Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1 2503590225, 9782503590226

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Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1

Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy Volume 1 Series Editors Andreas Rhoby (Austrian Academy of Sciences, Austria) Ida Toth (Oxford University, UK) Advisory Board Thomas Corsten (University of Vienna, Austria) Salvatore Cosentino (University of Bologna, Italy) Ivan Drpić (University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, USA) Antony Eastmond (The Courtauld Institute of Art, London, UK) Denis Feissel (Collège de France, Paris, France) Sophia Kalopissi-Verti (University of Athens, Greece) Fatih Onur (Akdeniz University, Antalya, Turkey) Charlotte Roueché (King’s College, London, UK) Andrey Vinogradov (Higher School of Economics, National Research University)

Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1

Edited by Andreas Rhoby Ida Toth

F

Cover illustration: Orchomos, Greece, church of the monastery of Skripou, inscription in the exterior (9th c.) Photograph: Brad Hostetler © 2022, Brepols Publishers n. v., Turnhout, Belgium. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. D/2022/0095/245 ISBN 978-2-503-59022-6 eISBN 978-2-503-59023-3 DOI 10.1484/M.SBE-EB.5.120716 Printed in the EU on acid-free paper.

Table of Contents

Abbreviations

13

Acknowledgements

15

Editors’ Note

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Byzantine Epigraphy: Whence and Whither? Andreas Rhoby – Ida Toth

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Space Oddity? A Praepositus Inscribing Power and Appropriating Cityscapes in Theodosian Constantinople Arkadiy Avdokhin

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Der Kaiser als Schutzwall 55 Epigraphische und topographische Untersuchungen zum Basileios-Epigramm aus Thessaloniki (AP IX 686) und zum spätantiken Kaiserbildnis Christoph Begass Epigrafia e società nella Sardegna bizantina (VII–XI secolo) Alcune osservazioni Salvatore Cosentino Incorporating a Name in an Image and an Image in a Name: Comparison between Byzantine and Latin Traditions Estelle Ingrand-Varenne Language, Identity, and Otherness in Medieval Greece The Epigraphic Evidence Sophia Kalopissi-Verti Greek Letters as scriptura franca: Writing in Local Languages on the Northern Periphery of the Byzantine World Denis Kashtanov – Maksim Korobov – Vadim Ponaryadov – Andrey Vinogradov

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93 113

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Word and Image in the Church of the Ascension in Nessebăr: The Role of Inscriptions for the Reconstruction of the Iconographic Programme of 1609 Emmanuel Moutafov Texts and Their Audiences: Some Thoughts on the Addressees of Inscriptions in Middle Byzantine Churches in Greece Giorgos Pallis

169

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Die Mosaikinschrift in Dara/Anastasiupolis aus dem Jahr 514 n. Chr. Mustafa H. Sayar (unter Mitarbeit von Andreas Rhoby)

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An Epigram for the Everyman? Strategies of Commemoration at a Cappadocian Tomb Anna M. Sitz

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Post-Byzantine Inscriptions, Traditions and Legends: Authentic or Fabricated? Christos Stavrakos – Dimitrios Liakos

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List of Illustrations

Arkadiy Avdokhin Fig. 1. Current state of obelisk base, angle view; photo author Fig. 2. Inscribed remains of wide side of obelisk base; photo author Fig. 3. Latin inscription on wider side; photo author Fig. 4. Greek inscription on wide side; photo author Fig. 5. Greek inscription on narrow side; photo author Fig. 6. Location of Capitolium and obelisk with cross in Late Antique Constantinople; from Berger, Untersuchungen, p. 347 Christoph Begass Abb. 1. AP IX 686: Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg, Cod. Pal. Gr. 23, fol. 473, © Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg

48 49 50 51 52 53

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Salvatore Cosentino Fig. 1a. Insediamenti e viabilità della Sardegna tardoantica, © Claudia Lamanna Salvatore Cosentino 84 Fig. 1b. Iscrizioni greche di età bizantina trovate in Sardegna, © Claudia Lamanna Salvatore Cosentino 85 Fig. 2. Iscrizione trionfale di Turris Libisonis. Da: Fiori, Costantino hypatos, tav. I 86 Fig. 3a. Iscrizione di Grekas. Da: Martorelli, ‘L’epigrafe di Grecà’, p. 131, fig. 3 86 Fig. 3b. Sarcofago di Grekas. Da: Martorelli, ‘L’epigrafe di Grecà’, p. 130, fig. 1 86 Fig. 4. Frammento di iscrizione, San Nicola di Donori. Da: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 217, p. 237, pl. 201 87 Fig. 5. Frammento di iscrizione, San Nicola di Donori. Da: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 220, p. 238, pl. 202 87 Fig. 6. Frammento di iscrizione, San Nicola di Donori. Da: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 221, pl. 203 87 Fig. 7. Frammento di iscrizione, San Nicola di Donori. Da: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 222, pl. 204 88 Fig. 8. Iscrizione celebrativa del restauro delle mura marittime da parte del magistros Bardas. Da: Van Milligen, Byzantine Constantinople, p. 185 88 Fig. 9. Iscrizione celebrativa del restauro di una torre a Nicea sotto Michele III. Da: Şahin, Katalog, nr. 463 89 Fig. 10. Frammento di iscrizione di Theopemptos, Roma, S. Giorgio al Velabro. Da: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 118, pl. 116 89

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Fig. 11a e 11 b. Fig. 12. Fig. 13. Fig. 14. Fig. 15. Fig. 16.

Iscrizione di Torchitorio, Salusio e Orzokor, vicinanze di Villasor, chiesa (forse) di S. Sofia (ora al Museo Archeologico di Cagliari). Da: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 223, pl. 205 Iscrizione di Torchitorio e Getit[e], Assemini, chiesa di S. Giovanni Battista. Da: Boscolo, La Sardegna bizantina, tav. X Parte iniziale della iscrizione di Torchitorio, Salusio e Nispella. Da: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 231, pl. 214 Sigilli degli arconti Torchitorio e Salusio. Da: Manno, ‘Sopra alcuni piombi’ (riprodotto in Cosentino, ‘Re-analysing’) Sigillo di Zerkis, arconte di Arborea, conservato presso l’Antiquarium Arborense. Da: Spanu, Zucca, I sigilli bizantini, nr. 77, p. 145 Pilastrino con croce e iscrizione, Dolianova, chiesa di S. Biagio. Da: Coroneo, ‘Epigrafia greca’, nr. 21, p. 359

Estelle Ingrand-Varenne Fig. 1. Saint Austremoine on the Saint Calminius Reliquary, twelfth-century chasse-form reliquary, treasury of Mozac Abbey. Image: Photothèque of the CESCM-Leonet-Bastien Fig. 2. The Christ Pantocrator of the Deesis mosaic (1261), in the south gallery of Hagia Sophia, Istanbul. Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne Fig. 3. Stained glass from Canterbury Cathedral at the Met Cloisters (1178–1180) depicting Noah. Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne Fig. 4. Lamb of God painted in the crypt of Notre-Dame-la-Grande at Poitiers at the end of the eleventh century. Image: Jean-Pierre Brouard/CIFM-CESCM Fig. 5. Mosaic in the southwest vestibule of Hagia Sophia in Istanbul representing Mary and Christ, Justinian and Constantine (10th c.). Image: Andreas Rhoby Fig. 6. Detail of the Limburg staurotheca (10th c.). Image: Andreas Rhoby, Epigramme auf Fresken, fig. 26 Fig. 7a and 7b. Saint Vincent painted on a column in the Nativity church of Bethlehem with his name in Greek and in Latin (third quarter of the twelfth century). Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne Fig. 8. John the Baptist painted on a pillar in the Hospitaller church of Abu Gosh in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem (c. 1170). Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne Fig. 9. The Virgin Mary on the Saint Calminius Reliquary, twelfth-century chasse-form reliquary, treasury of Mozac Abbey. Image: Photothèque of the CESCM-Leonet-Bastien Sophia Kalopissi-Verti Fig. 1. Basilica of St Gabriel in Psalidi, Kos. Arabic inscriptions carved on columns (716−718/19). (Photo: S. Kalopissi-Verti) Fig. 2. Dominican basilica of St Mary’s (St Paraskevi), Chalkis, Euboea, northeastern chapel. Funerary inscription of Petrus Lippamano,

90 90 90 91 91 92

104 105 106 107 107 108 109 110 111

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list of illustrations

Fig. 3.

Fig. 4. Fig. 5.

Fig. 6. Fig. 7. Fig. 8. Fig. 9.

Fig. 10.

councilor of Negroponte (1398). (Photo: I. M. Perrakis, © Ministry of Culture & Sports, Ephorate of Antiquities of Euboea) 146 Castle of Chlemoutsi, museum, funerary relief slab of Agnes/ Anna Komnene Doukaina, wife of the prince of Achaia William II Villehardouin (1286). (© Ministry of Culture & Sports, Ephorate of Antiquities of Ilia – Chlemoutzi Castle, Archaeological Receipts Fund, ΗΛ584) 147 Mystras, museum, epistylion, monograms in Greek and coat of arms of Isabelle de Lousignan. (© Ministry of Culture & Sports, Ephorate of Antiquities of Laconia) 147 Mt Athos, Hilandar Monastery, katholikon. Emperor Andronikos II, King Milutin and St Stephen the Protomartyr, c. 1320–1321. (After Smilja Marjanović-Dušanić and Dragan Vojvodić, ‘The Model of Empire − The Idea and Image of Authority in Serbia (1200−1371)’, in Byzantine Heritage and Serbian Art II. Sacral Art of the Serbian Lands in the Middle Ages, ed. Dragan Vojvodić and Danica Popović (Belgrade: The Serbian National Committee of Byzantine Studies, Institute for Byzantine Studies, Serbian Academy of Science and Arts, 2016), 303, fig. 238) 148 Church of St Athanasios tou Mouzaki in Kastoria. Dedicatory inscription of the Albanian brothers and patrons Stoias and Theodore Mouzaki (1383/84). (Photo: S. Kalopissi-Verti) 148 Church of Saint George in Prasteia near Siderounda, Chios. Dedicatory inscription of the Genoese nobleman Battista Giustiniani da Campi and his wife Bigota (1415). (Photo: Charis Koilakou) 149 Tower of the exterior defensive wall of the citadel in Chora, Samothrace. Metrical inscription of Palamede Gattilusio (1431/32). (© Ministry of Culture & Sports, Ephorate of Antiquities of Evros)149 Tower of the interior defensive wall of the citadel in Chora, Samothrace. Bilingual (Latin-Greek) inscription of Palamede Gattilusio (1431). (© Ministry of Culture & Sports, Ephorate of Antiquities of Evros) 149 City walls of Rhodes, close to St John’s gate. Bilingual (Italian− Greek) inscription of the master builder Manuel Kountes (1457). (© Ministry of Culture & Sports, Ephorate of Antiquities of the Dodecanese) 150

Denis Kashtanov – Maksim Korobov – Vadim Ponaryadov – Andrey Vinogradov Map of the monuments mentioned in the article (based on Google Maps) 164 Fig. 1. Zelenchuk inscription, three copies of the original drawing (redrawn by D. Kashtanov) 165 Fig. 2. Khumara inscription, drawing (after Roderich von Erckert, Der 166 Kaukasus und seine Völker) Fig. 3. MS St Petersburg, BAN gr. Q 12, f. 109v (after Alexander Lubotsky, Alanic Marginal Notes in a Greek Liturgical Manuscript) 166

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Fig. 4. Fig. 5. Fig. 6.

MS St Petersburg, RNB, Ф. 946, оп. 1, д. 1093 (courtesy of Russian National Library, St Petersburg) 167 Mangup Gothic graffito I.1, the lower part (photo by A. Vinogradov)168 Bakhchisaray Gothic graffito (courtesy of S. Kharitonov) 168

Emmanuel Moutafov Fig. 1. Architectural plan of the church of the Ascension, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, scheme: Daniel Netchev Fig. 2. View from the west of the interior of the church of the Ascension, with frescoes from 1609, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, photo: Ivan Vanev Fig. 3. Holy Mandylion, Sts Constantine and Helen, Christ Emmanuel: south wall of the church of the Ascension, with frescoes from 1609, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, photo: Ivan Vanev Fig. 4. General view of the decoration of the northern wall of the church of the Ascension, with frescoes from 1609, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, photo: Ivan Vanev Fig. 5. St Mercurius and St Menas the Egyptian, fragment of the fresco decoration of the church of St George the Younger, first decade of seventeenth century, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, exhibited in the Crypt of St Alexander Nevski Church, Sofia, photo: Ivan Vanev Fig. 6. Sts Ignatius, Silvester, and Constantine the Great, south wall of the church of St Stephen (New Metropolitan Cathedral), decorated in 1598/99, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, photo: Emmanuel Moutafov Fig. 7. The Vision of St Peter of Alexandria, north wall of the church of the Ascension, with frescoes from 1609, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, photo: Emmanuel Moutafov Fig. 8. Donor’s inscription on the west wall of the church of the Ascension, with frescoes from 1609, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, photo: Emmanuel Moutafov Fig. 9. Detail of the donor’s inscription with the cryptograph of Nikolaos on the west wall of the church of the Ascension, with frescoes from 1609, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, photo: Emmanuel Moutafov Fig. 10. Signature of the hieromonk Anthimos from 1843 in the Mesembrian Chronicle, now in the National Library of Bulgaria, НБКМ-БИА, col. 25, a. e. 1, (IIА 7690), f. 79/ p. 81, Sofia, Bulgaria, photo: Emmanuel Moutafov Giorgos Pallis Fig. 1. Panagia Skripou at Orchomenos, dedicatory inscription, 873/4 (cliché: author) Fig. 2. Corinth, Archaeological Museum, detail of the underside of a templon architrave with an inscribed roundel, ninth c. (cliché: author) Fig. 3. Agios Niketas at Kepoula, Mani, inscribed altar, eleventh c. (cliché: Sh. E. Gerstel)

185 186 186 187

187 188 188 189 189

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199 200 200

list of illustrations

Fig. 4.

Agios Demetrios, Boeotia, chapel of Agios Georgios, imperial letter IG VII 2870a, 155 ad (cliché: Y. Kalliontzis)

201

Mustafa H. Sayar (unter Mitarbeit von Andreas Rhoby) Abb. 1. Karte Kleinasiens und des Vorderen Orients. Aus: Historischer Atlas der antiken Welt (Der Neue Pauly, Supplemente 3) (Stuttgart – Weimar: Verlag J. B. Metzler, 2012) Abb. 2. Mosaikfußboden © Şehrigül Yeşil-Erdek Abb. 3. Inschrift © Şehrigül Yeşil-Erdek

209 210 211

Anna M. Sitz Fig. 1. Fig. 2. Fig. 3. Fig. 4.

Fig. 5.

Fig. 6.

Fig. 7. Fig. 8.

Exterior of the Eğri Taş church complex (Ihlara valley, Cappadocia). Photo: Robert Ousterhout 244 The arcosolium of Theognostos in the Eğri Taş crypt (Ihlara valley, Cappadocia). Photo: Anna M. Sitz 244 Elaborately painted cross in the burial annex, Eğri Taş Kilisesi (Ihlara valley, Cappadocia). Photo: Anna M. Sitz 245 Crypt, Eğri Taş complex (Ihlara valley, Cappadocia). Theognostos’s tomb is marked with an arrow. Note the carved recess where a wooden floor previously separated the church above from the crypt. Photo: Anna M. Sitz 246 The ΟΡΩΝ text, painted in light salmon pink, with some later re-tracing in a blackish pigment. Rear wall of Theognostos’s arcosolium, upper portion. Eğri Taş complex (Ihlara valley, Cappadocia). Photo: Anna M. Sitz 246 The ΕΝΘΑ ΚΑΤΑΚΗΤΕ epitaph, painted in a blackish-grey pigment. Rear wall of Theognostos’s arcosolium, lower right. Note the name of Leon painted in salmon (re-traced in black) at bottom. Eğri Taş complex (Ihlara valley, Cappadocia). Photo: Anna M. Sitz 247 The ΜΗΔΙΣ ΤΥΦΟΥΣ[Θ]Ω gnomic text, painted in a blackish-grey pigment. Rear wall of Theognostos’s arcosolium, lower left. Eğri Taş complex (Ihlara valley, Cappadocia). Photo: Anna M. Sitz 248 Christ in Glory, apse of the Pancarlık Kilise (near Ürgüp, Cappadocia). The paired pentameter ‘great fear’ text is painted on the base of Christ’s throne. Sketch: Anna M. Sitz 249

Christos Stavrakos – Dimitrios Liakos Fig. 1. The Monastery of the Dormition of the Virgin Molybdoskepastos (Konitsa, Epirus), private photo archive of Christos Stavrakos Fig. 2. The katholikon of the Monastery of the Dormition of the Virgin Molybdoskepastos (Konitsa, Epirus), private photo archive of Christos Stavrakos Fig. 3. The donor inscription of the katholikon of the Monastery of the Dormition of the Virgin Molybdoskepastos (1521), private photo archive of Christos Stavrakos

260 261 262

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Fig. 4. Fig. 5. Fig. 6. Fig. 7. Fig. 8.

The donor portraits at the katholikon of the Monastery of the Dormition of the Virgin Molybdoskepastos (1521), private photo archive of Christos Stavrakos Vatopedi Monastery; katholikon; exo-narthex; the legendary patrons; wall-painting, nineteenth c., private photo archive of Dimitrios Liakos Xeropotamou Monastery; belfry; marble sculpture; portrait of the legendary patron hosios Paul, private photo archive of Dimitrios Liakos Xeropotamou Monastery; belfry; marble sculpture; portrait of the legendary patron Poulcheria, private photo archive of Dimitrios Liakos Zographou Monastery; the marble funeral monument of the twenty-six monks, private photo archive of Dimitrios Liakos

263 264 265 266 267

Abbreviations

CIG CIL IG PLP PmbZ SEG

Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum Inscriptiones Graecae Prosopographisches Lexikon der Palaiologenzeit Prosopographie der mittelbyzantinischen Zeit Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum

Acknowledgements

The publication of this volume would not have been possible without the kind and generous financial support of the Association Internationale des Études Byzantines (AIEB) and the Oxford Centre for Byzantine Research (OCBR). We are also most grateful to Brepols Publishers, in particular its Publishing Manager Bart Janssens, for including the Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy (SBE) into the publishing programme. In addition, we should like to thank the anonymous readers and peer reviewers for their careful feedback, and to Judith Ryder and Rebecca Gowers as well as to Charlotte Roueché and Rachael Helen Banes for their help with the proofreading of individual contributions in this volume.

Editors’ Note

It is well known and widely acknowledged that many aspects of ancient and medieval civilization can be accessed only through inscriptional source material. Administrative and legislative actions, acts of beneficence, commemoration and thanksgiving all depended for their wider promulgation on publically displayed and highly visible epigraphs. Such traditions continued throughout Late Antiquity, a time, during which inscriptions still functioned as official announcements as well as becoming the most effective means of confessing, expressing, and spreading the new religion endorsed by the Roman State – Christianity. Even after Late Antiquity (c. ad 600), inscriptions persisted as regular features of Byzantine written culture until the fall of the Empire in 1453. Although the production of stone and mosaic inscriptions decreased, new epigraphic forms were employed, such as, for example, monumental fresco inscriptions in churches and epigrams on movable objects. Yet, in spite of the striking abundance of surviving evidence, the modern academic discipline of Byzantine Epigraphy remains uncodified and underexplored. In 2011, the Commission for Byzantine Epigraphy was set up under the aegis of the Association Internationale des Études Byzantines, with Peter Schreiner as its Chair. Since its foundation, the Commission spearheaded several major epigraphy-related projects and, more recently, it has instigated the idea of creating a publication platform for presenting and examining Byzantine inscriptions. This idea was realised when the Commission established the series Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy with Peter Schreiner as its founder and Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth as co-editors. Brepols Publishers have provided a welcoming home for this series and have pledged their support in promoting excellence and innovation in the modern scholarship of Byzantine Epigraphy. The Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy is envisioned as a scholarly hub for a wide range of publications: editions of Byzantine inscriptional material, monographs on specific aspects of Byzantine epigraphic culture, and collective volumes with contributions to individual epigraphic themes. In our capacity as editors, we will strive to create an outstanding academic resource exploring new avenues of research and setting agendas for the future of the discipline. Our ambition is to open the field to scholars in related disciplines, such as history, art history, and literature, and to reach out to a wider readership in classical, medieval, and early modern studies. Vienna and Oxford, May 2022 Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth

Andre a s Rhoby – Ida Tot h

Byzantine Epigraphy: Whence and Whither?

Writing about inscriptions in East and West in the first millennium AD, Ihor Ševčenko, one of the most influential Byzantinists of the twentieth century, stated the following: ‘A Byzantinist attempting to undertake a comparative study of inscriptions East and West will soon make a melancholy discovery. Information presented about the period beyond that covered by manuals of early Christian epigraphy […] quickly makes it evident how much farther ahead Western colleagues have progressed compared to his fellow Byzantinists.’1 This statement, pronounced more than twenty years ago, still has some validity today, even though in the field of Byzantine Epigraphy much has changed for the better. Over the past two decades, numerous scholarly initiatives have lead to a greater recognition of the importance of inscriptions for Byzantine culture.2 The foundations of the more recent scholarship were laid down by the pioneering work of Ševčenko himself, and of his frequent collaborator and a prolific epigrapher in his own right, Cyril Mango; among other researchers in the twentieth century, pars pro toto mention should be made of Denis Feissel and Charlotte Roueché and their authoritative editions and studies of late antique/early Byzantine inscriptions. It must also be noted that the study of late antique/early Byzantine Greek inscriptions is far better established than the study of Greek inscriptions of later centuries. By the same token, Greek inscriptions created in Byzantium and neighboring areas after the sixth century ad were for a long time widely neglected due to the erroneous assumption that writing was hardly ever publically displayed after the end of Late Antiquity. This assumption presupposed a very narrow definition of the term ‘inscription’, and relied on the fact that a considerably smaller number of monumental stone and mosaic inscriptions dates back to the Middle Ages proper than is the case with late antique material. The term ‘inscription’, however, is to be understood more broadly, as numerous researchers have already pointed out, including Cyril Mango: ‘On a broad definition, the discipline of epigraphy embraces all inscriptions other than those in manuscripts: in the first instance those on stone intended for public viewing, but also those in paint or mosaic, on coins,



1 Ihor Ševčenko, ‘Inscriptions in East and West in the First Millennium: The Common Heritage and the Parting of the Ways’, in Cultures and Nations in Central and Eastern Europe: Essays in Honor of Roman Szporluk (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2000) (= Harvard Ukrainian Studies 22, 1998), pp. 527–37: p. 533. 2 Cf. Andreas Rhoby, ‘A Short History of Byzantine Epigraphy’, in Inscriptions in Byzantium and Beyond. Methods – Projects – Case Studies, ed. Andreas Rhoby (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2015), pp. 17–29 and Marc Lauxtermann and Ida Toth, ‘Editors preface’, in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium. Continuities and Transformations. Papers from the Forty-Ninth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, ed. Marc Lauxtermann and Ida Toth (London, New York: Routledge, 2020), pp. xxi–xxv. Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1, ed. by Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth, SBE, 1 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 19–23. © FHG DOI 10.1484/M.SBE-EB.5.131796

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seals and weights, on objects of private or ecclesiastical ownership, such as silver plate, jewelry, ivories, liturgical vessels, etc.’3 The nature of the surviving evidence itself suggests significant changes in epigraphic traditions. While in antiquity and late antiquity stone and mosaic inscriptions were set up in open public spaces, in the middle, late and post-Byzantine periods, epigraphs found their places enclosed within churches or restricted to smaller writing surfaces of movable objects.4 Significant numbers of inscriptions on medieval frescoes, wooden icons, metal, etc. remained understudied for a long time.5 This applies especially to inscriptions in verse (epigrams), whose modern neglect stood in sharp contrast to their original popularity, which was so great that one can speak of an ‘epigrammatic inscriptional habit’ in Byzantium.6 Today, Byzantine epigraphy has a higher status than ever before aided by the numerous scholarly activities that have taken place in the recent years. Among these are the publication of editions and edited volumes,7 the organization of panels at international congresses, and the running of summer programmes and workshops.8 The establishment of the Commission for Byzantine Epigraphy (Inscriptiones Graecae Aevi Byzantini under the aegis of the Association Internationale des Études Byzantines) and, most recently, the inclusion of Byzantine Epigraphy in the program of the Union Académique Internationale 3 Cyril Mango, ‘Epigraphy’, in The Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies, ed. Elizabeth Jeffreys et al. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), pp. 144–49: p. 144. 4 Georgios Pallis, ‘The House of Inscriptions: The Epigraphic World of the Middle Byzantine Church’, in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium. Continuities and Transformations, pp. 147–61. 5 Ida Toth, ‘Later Byzantine Epigraphic Traditions’, in Readings in the Visual Culture of Later Byzantine (1081–1330s). Texts on Byzantine Art and Aesthetics, III, ed. Foteini Spingou (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2022), pp. 1429–36. 6 Paul Magdalino, ‘Cultural Change? The Context of Byzantine Poetry form Geometres to Prodromos’, in Poetry and its Contexts in Eleventh-century Byzantium, ed. Floris Bernard and Kristoffel Demoen (Surrey, Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2012), pp. 19–36: p. 32; see also Andreas Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, vols 1–4 (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2009–2018) and Ivan Drpić, Epigram, Art and Devotion in Later Byzantium (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016). 7 E.g., Art and Text in Byzantine Culture, ed. Liz James (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); Rhoby, Inscriptions in Byzantium and Beyond. Methods – Projects – Case Studies; Viewing Inscriptions in the Late Antique and Medieval World, ed. Antony Eastmond (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015); Inscriptions in the Byzantine and Post-Byzantine History and History of Art, ed. Christos Stavrakos (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz in Kommission, 2016); Sign and Design. Script as Image in Cross-Cultural Perspective (300–1600 ce), ed. Brigitte M. Bedos-Rezak and Jeffrey F. Hamburger (Washington: Dumbarton Oaks Library and Collection, 2016); The Epigraphic Cultures of Late Antiquity, ed. Katharina Bolle et al. (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2017); Writing Matters. Presenting and Perceiving Inscriptions in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, ed. Irene Berti et al. (Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 2017); Lauxtermann and Toth, Inscribing Texts in Byzantium. Continuities and Transformations; Materials for the Study of Late Antique and Medieval Greek and Latin Inscriptions in Istanbul. A Revised and Expanded Booklet, ed. Ida Toth and Andreas Rhoby (Oxford and Vienna 2020): https://epub.oeaw. ac.at/0xc1aa5576_0x003b8514.pdf (last access 01.07.2022); Cultic Graffiti in the Late Antique Mediterranean and Beyond, ed. Bryan Ward-Perkins and Antonio E. Felle (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021). 8 In July 2014, a Summer Workshop in Byzantine Epigraphy took place at the British School at Athens, funded by the National Hellenic Research Foundation, Oxford University and the Austrian Academy of Sciences, organized and run by Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth: https://oxfordbyzantinesociety.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/ byz-epigraphy-athens.pdf (last access 01.07.2022); and in September 2018, a Summer Programme in Byzantine Epigraphy, funded by the Koç University Stavros Niarchos Foundation Center for Late Antique and Byzantine Studies, Oxford University and the Austrian Academy of Sciences, was held at the Research Center for Anatolian Civilizations in Istanbul; it was likewise organized and run by Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth: https://www. oeaw.ac.at/fileadmin/Institute/imafo/pdf/forschung/byzanzforschung/BYZANTINE_EPIGRAPHY_ PROGRAM_2018.pdf (last access 01.07.2022).

byz an tin e epig ra phy: whence a nd whither?

(with the Austrian Academy of Sciences as the lead institution) means that the field has gained a strong institutional support and the encouragement to keep it moving forward. The series Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy (SBE) is further evidence for an ever-greater focus on inscriptions within Byzantine Studies. The present, inaugural volume aptly illustrates the advances in the field. It includes selected papers from the two panels dedicated to Byzantine Epigraphy held at the XXIII International Congress of Byzantine Studies in Belgrade, August 2016, and the XV International Congress of Greek and Latin Epigraphy in Vienna, August/September 2017. The papers, as indeed the events for which they were initially produced, celebrate both the progress and the promise of the discipline within medieval and early modern scholarship as a whole. Approaches and Directions In the course of our editorial work on this volume, we have frequently reflected on Ševčenko’s disheartened assessment quoted at the beginning of this essay.9 Ševčenko’s frustration was — understandably — caused by the general neglect of medieval Greek epigraphy and by a consequent lack of progress in the field. Revisiting the task that Ševčenko set for himself more than two decades ago — to compare and contrast inscriptions from East and West — has given us an opportunity to take stock of everything that has been achieved since, as well as to fully appreciate the advantages of editing a volume featuring wide-ranging, meticulously researched, and precisely contextualised inscriptional material. The collection in hand expands on the traditional ‘East/West’ binary by exploring the categories that Ševčenko himself defined as ‘common heritage’ and ‘parting of the ways’ while providing additional insights into multiple diversities but also the connections between different areas, languages, and periods. The highlights include: 1. A broad range, both in geographic and chronological terms: – Late antique (Avdokhin, Begass, Sayar) medieval (Cosentino, Ingrand-Varenne, Kalopissi-Verti, Kashtanov et al., Pallis, Sitz) and early modern (Moutafov, Stavrakos-Liakos) periods; – Urban, provincial and cosmopolitan areas in the Greek- and Latin-speaking world with a special emphasis on the multilingual and mutually interactive writing cultures of Sardinia (Cosentino), Sicily (Ingrand-Varenne), the northern periphery of Byzantium (Kashtanov et al.), the Holy Land (Ingrand-Varenne), and Greece and the Balkans (Kalopissi-Verti). 2. Multiple epigraphic genres: – Poetic compositions ranging from classicizing encomia and expressions of patronage (Avdokhin, Begass) to rhythmic verses conveying easily understandable moral sentiments (Sitz); – Imperial acclamations, dedications, and funerary texts (Cosentino);



9 See, above p. 19, footnote 1.

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– – – – – –

Name-bearing inscriptions on religious iconography (Ingrand-Varenne); Formal inscriptions and informal graffiti (Kalopissi-Verti); Apotropaic inscriptions (Kashtanov et al.); Texts accompanying iconographic programmes in churches (Moutafov, Pallis); Donor/building inscriptions (Sayar); ‘Forged’ testimonies of imperial patronage and historical events (Stavrakos and Liakos). 3. Evidence of commissioners of inscriptions as social actors: – High-ranking imperial officers inscribing themselves onto prominent sites in the Constantinopolitan cityscape (Avdokhin); – Individuals in their official capacity as provincial administrators (Cosentino); – Donors, whose funding impacts on the quality of commissions (Moutafov); – Patrons listed in inscriptions according to their social status (Sayar, Moutafov); – Commissioners privileged enough to have arcosolia in the crypts of well-outfitted churches (Sitz); – Rulers and high-ranking dignitaries appropriating other languages for political reasons (Kashtanov et al., Kalopissi-Verti). 4. Considerations of placement, visibility, legibility: – Highly visible epigraphs re-purposing and re-invigorating important parts of urban topography (Avdokhin); – City gates decorated with imperial statues and inscriptions symbolizing imperial power and protection (Begass); – Secular administrative buildings inscribed with imperial acclamations (Cosentino); – Representations of holy figures labeled by name-bearing inscriptions (Ingrand-Varenne); – The location and accessibility of inscriptions revealing target audiences (Pallis); – Restorations of inscriptions as evidence of continued interest in the maintenance of legibility (Sitz). 5. Language choices: – Greek acculturation in Sardinia among secular elites (Cosentino); – The use of Greek and/or Latin among foreign groups or individuals in medieval Greece: a) the use of Latin highlighting the ethnic identity and dominance of the patrons, and their social and religious life; b) Serb rulers preferring Greek as an expression of political, cultural and religious affiliation; c) the use of the Greek language by different ethnic groups showing the degree of assimilation into the indigenous population and/or political motives (Kalopissi-Verti); – Greek exerting a strong influence on local written cultures in the northern periphery of the Byzantine world: a) in Lazica and the Abkhazian Kingdom, Greek being the only written language constituting the identity of local elites; b) in Alania and Kabarda, the Greek alphabet adapted to the needs of the local languages and to the local realities; c) in the Crimea, Rus and the Balkans, Greek and local (Gothic, Cyrillic-Glagolitic) written cultures coexisting; d) the Northern Black Sea region demonstrating a significant influence of non-Greek realities on Greek writing (Kashtanov et al.).

byz an tin e epig ra phy: whence a nd whither?

6. Bilingualism: – Bilingual inscriptions reflecting the interaction between two co-existing communities, and their intercultural and interlinguistic contacts (Kalopissi-Verti); – The hierarchy of languages (Avdokhin); – Contacts, interactions, and possible competition between writing traditions of different cultures (Ingrand-Varenne); – Adaptations of writing systems to a foreign languages: Greek/Campidanian (Cosentino); Greek/Turkic (Kashtanov et al.). 7. Diverse functions of publically displayed texts: – Showing trends in both urban epigraphy and social mobility (Avdokhin); – Self-display and self-fashioning (Begass, Sitz); – Providing evidence for social history (Cosentino); – Naming holy persons as a means of expressing visually and materially the sanctity or the divinity of their subjects (Ingrand-Varenne); – Corroborating local onomastics (Moutafov); – Indicating interest in displaying texts and in the maintenance of their legibility (Sitz); – Offering insights into the degrees of literacy of their commissioners (Kalopissi-Verti); – Identifying inscriptional contexts for patriographic narratives (Stavrakos and Liakos). * Among the many stated highlights, one, the consideration of language and linguistic registers, permeates the present volume as a whole. The multifaceted nature of this question is aptly described by Sophia Kalopissi-Verti, a contributor to this collection and a scholar, whose groundbreaking work has been instrumental in bringing medieval Greek inscriptional heritage to light: ‘Depending on the public or private function of the epigraph, its location, the intentions of the commissioner(s), and the social conditions prevailing, the language chosen for the inscription, besides revealing an aspect or level of identity − ethnic, ancestral, individual, collective, dual, acquired, adopted, preferred, etc.−, manifests historical, social, and political circumstances, and the interaction between communities with different languages and cultures’.10 This quotation goes a long way towards summarizing the ramifications of focusing on the language of inscriptions. A closer perusal of this volume reveals further insights into this, and many other related issues; more broadly, it shows how important epigraphic material is for our understanding of medieval and early modern culture and society.

10 See below p. 144.

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Ark adiy Avdokhin

Space Oddity? A Praepositus Inscribing Power and Appropriating Cityscapes in Theodosian Constantinople*

For key social actors in Late Antiquity as well as earlier, it was a natural impulse to crave public visibility in urban spaces. Imperial officials, members of the senatorial aristocracy — both those who conventionally left their mark on cityscapes and those only vying for urban visibility — and, particularly, the emperor and his household, were key stakeholders in the re-shaping of cityscapes in Old and New Rome. They would sponsor eye-catching building projects, curating and reaping the rewards of honorific monuments that shaped the cities’ material texture. The monumental epigraphy, which often formed an organic part of such monuments, was itself a significant medium of physical, and social, visibility for a range of actors.1 The emperor Theodosios I dedicating the obelisk in the Hippodrome



* Results of the project Taboos in Medieval Society, carried out within the framework of the Basic Research Program at the National Research University Higher School of Economics (HSE) in 2021, are presented in this work. 1 Epigraphic, and broader honorific, self-representation of elites in public urban spaces in the imperial epoch and Late Antiquity as a mark of social status has been studied most in the Roman context. See e.g. Werner Eck, ‘Senatorische Selbstdarstellung und kaiserzeitliche Epigraphik’, in Monument und Inschrift. Gesammelte Aufsätze zur senatorischen Repräsentation der Kaiserzeit, ed. Werner Eck, Walter Ameling and Johannes Heinrichs (Berlin: DeGruyter, 2010), pp. 1–43 (see also other contributions to the volume); Robert Chenault, ‘Statues of Senators in the Forum of Trajan and the Roman Forum in Late Antiquity’, Journal of Roman Studies, 102 (2012), 103–32; Gregor Kalas, The Restoration of the Roman Forum in Late Antiquity (Austin: University of Texas Press), especially pp. 12–16 (with further bibliography), but also passim. Heike Niquet, Monumenta virtutum titulique: senatorische Selbstdarstellung im spätantiken Rom im Spiegel epigraphischer Denkmäler (Stuttgart: F. Steiner, 2000) remains indispensable. For developments in the eastern part of the empire, see e.g. Christof Schuler, ‘Local Elites in the Greek East’, in The Oxford Handbook of Roman Epigraphy, ed. Christer Bruun and J. Edmondson (Oxford: Oxford University Press), pp. 250–73; also the recent volumes: Inschriftliche Denkmäler als Medien der Selbstdarstellung in der römischen Welt, ed. Géza Alföldy (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2001); The Politics of Honour in the Greek Cities of the Roman Empire, ed. Anna Heller and Onno van Nijf (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2017), and Selbstdarstellung und Kommunikation: die Veröffentlichung staatlicher Urkunden auf Stein und Bronze in der römischen Welt: internationales Kolloquium an der Kommission für Alte Geschichte und Epigraphik in München (1. bis 3. Juli 2006), ed. Rudolf Haensch (München: C. H. Beck Verlag, 2009). For a wider thematic and chronological framework of discussion, see now Nicholas Melvani, ‘State, Strategy, and Ideology in Monumental Imperial Inscriptions’, in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium: Continuities and Transformations, ed. Mark D. Lauxtermann and Ida Toth (London, New York: Routledge, 2020), pp. 162–88. For discussion of urban euergetism as expression of elite status and a means of social competition, see e.g. Arjan Zuiderhoek, The Politics of Munificence in the Roman Empire: Citizens, Elites and Benefactors in Asia Minor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009); Kalas, Restoration, pp. 12–13; Christof Begass, ‘Φιλοκτίστης. Ein Beitrag zum spätantiken Euergetismus’, Chiron, 44 (2014), 165–89. Both urban euergetism and epigraphic self-representation of Late Roman elites have been recently analysed by Carlos Machado, Urban Space and Aristocratic Power in Late Antique Rome: ad 270–535 (Oxford: Oxford University Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1, ed. by Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth, SBE, 1 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 25–53. © FHG DOI 10.1484/M.SBE-EB.5.131797

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in Constantinople in ad 390; the urban prefect Prokulos taking the epigraphic credit for supervising the obelisk’s erection; female members of the imperial family such as Pulcheria, publicly presenting her devotion by consecrating an inscribed altar to the Great Church at Constantinople:2 all these were involved in a conscious game of epigraphic power-manifestation that amounted ultimately to a process of power-making. As Emanuel Mayer has discussed, this is particularly true for Theodosian Constantinople, where the making of a public person was her or his visual self-representation through publicly visible monuments and ‘written spaces’.3 The shaping of the imperial image through such monuments, in Mayer’s analysis, involved a range of players in the ebbing and flowing hierarchies of palatine, administrative, and military powers, and of their public, and private, manifestations. This multi-level — imperial, aristocratic, administrative — negotiation and re-negotiation of power, therefore, to a substantial degree consisted in ensuring one’s visible and material presence in the ever-entranced, but also ever-envious, eye of the urban public browsing the streets, porticoes, and squares of Late Antique cities. In what follows, I will discuss an epigraphic monument from early fifth-century Constantinople. The monument in question is a porphyry obelisk, set up at a strategic point in the cityscape. On its base is a series of Greek versified inscriptions. Commissioned by a praepositus sacri cubiculi (‘great chamberlain of the sacred bedroom’ of the emperor), the inscriptions, as I will argue, constitute a forceful, and ingenious, effort by a palatine office-holder, who drew his power from his intimate relationship with the emperor, to fashion a public space for himself that would match his covert, if not entirely private, exercise of immense power. Although largely neglected in modern scholarship on the urban development of Constantinople as well as on Late Antique epigraphy, the dedicatory inscriptions by Mouselios the praepositus, I will suggest, vividly illustrate various trends in both urban epigraphy and social mobility in the period. My argument has two parts. First, I suggest that the inscribed monument of Mouselios the praepositus is the largest surviving material witness of praepositi securing public presence through civic building projects of substantial size and standing. Second, as I aim to show, Mouselios substantially re-shaped the capital’s cityscape, appropriating its historical legacy in order to establish his own monumental presence on Constantinople’s

Press, 2019). For ‘written space’ as conceptual lens on monumental epigraphy, see Written Space in the Latin West, 200 bc to ad 300, ed. Gareth Sears, Peter Keegan and Ray Laurence (London; New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013). For the evolution of the aristocracy in Late Antiquity, see now John N. Dillon, ‘The Inflation of Rank and Privilege. Regulating Precedence in the Fourth Century ad’, in Contested Monarchy: Integrating the Roman Empire in the Fourth Century ad, ed. Johannes Wienand (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), pp. 42–66. 2 For the obelisk and its inscriptions (Greek: CIG 8612; Latin: CIL III 737), see e.g. Bente Kiilerich, The Obelisk Base in Constantinople: Court Art and Imperial Ideology (Roma: G. Bretschneider, 1998); Linda Safran, ‘Points of View: The Theodosian Obelisk Base in Context’, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies, 34.4 (1993), 409–35; Emanuel Mayer, Rom is dort wo der Kaiser ist. Untersuchungen zu den Staatsdenkmälern des dezentralisierten Reiches von Diocletian bis zu Theodosius II (Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums, 2002), pp. 115–27; for Pulcheria dedicating the inscribed altar, see Sozomen, Church History 9. 1. 4, with critical discussion in Jonathan Bardill, Brickstamps of Constantinople (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), p. 55, with further bibliography (I owe this reference to the anonymous reviewer). 3 Mayer, Rom is dort, passim, but especially Teil II D ‘Offene Konkurrenz: Das Constantinopel der theodosianischen Dynastie. Νέα Ῥώμη-Anspruch und autokratisches Herrscherbild’, pp. 105–58.

Spac e O ddity? A  Pr ae p o situs I n scribing Power

symbolic map of power. He achieved this by spatially inscribing himself onto a key element of the Constantinopolitan cityscape, and by visually, linguistically, and symbolically marginalizing the building inscription of an urban prefect as the original dedicator of the obelisk. I will also use my analysis of Mouselios’s inscriptions as the basis for a number of broader inferences about the changing social role of the praepositi and their increasing presence in built and written urban spaces in the Theodosian epoch. Mouselios’s Inscriptions on a Porphyry Obelisk Base Mouselios’s Greek inscriptions appeared on at least three sides of the base of a crosscrested porphyry obelisk that formed one element within a wider architectural complex at the Capitolium erected at some point between ad 414 and 420 (see below for details of dating and location). At the time, the obelisk, originally built and inscribed with an earlier dedication, quite probably around the 380s ad, still bore its original Latin building inscription, to which Mouselios added Greek inscriptions in verse.4 Heavily mutilated now (Fig. 1), with the most significant losses on its wider side (Fig. 2), the porphyry obelisk originally stood at the point in central Constantinople where the Via Egnatiana (Mese) split in two. It was erected upon a base which would have boasted measurements of c. 50 (depth) by 150 (width) by 220 (height) cm.5 It was, therefore, close in size to the bases of the largest imperial columns of the capital, namely: the Theodosian obelisk (ad 390; height 239+85 cm (upper and lower part), width 320 cm, depth 285 cm); Theodosios II’s column at Hebdomon (ad 402–450; height 56 cm, width 235 cm, depth 195 cm);6 Eudoxia’s column (ad 403; height 79.5 cm, width 145 cm);7 and Markianos’s column (ad 450–452; height 237 cm, width 195 cm, depth 175 cm).8 The Latin text, probably not lengthy already in the original inscription, is now heavily fragmented, which seriously impedes a full interpretation (Fig. 3):



4 In my discussion of the obelisk’s location, historical context, prosopography, as well as, crucially, the reconstruction of the texts of the Greek inscriptions, I rely on the seminal publication of Denis Feissel, ‘Le Philadelphion de Constantinople : inscriptions et écrits patriographiques’, Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, 147.1 (2003), 495–523, who draws on, and also critically reviews, the brief description (not a proper edition) of Alfons M. Schneider, Archäologischer Anzeiger, 1940, 589–92. Surprisingly, entry 30 in the recent database ‘Last Statues of Late Antiquity’ (http://laststatues.classics.ox.ac. uk/database/discussion.php?id=402) [henceforth referred to as LSA, with entry number; entries accessed in April 2021], in presenting the monument, omits to draw on Feissel’s discussion. 5 The base is now kept in the courtyard of the Aya Sofya museum in Istanbul (Ayasofya Mûzesi, inv. 145): Feissel, ‘Philadelphion’, p. 497 n. 13. The extant monument retains its original height but the two other measurements can only be calculated to differing degrees of certainty. Its lateral facet has 19 letters in line 1 of the almost fully recoverable Greek text (see below p. 29), with c. 5 cm letter width; this leaves us with c. 0.5 m original depth. Its width, as calculated by Schneider on the basis of a similar process (Feissel, ‘Philadelphion’, p. 497 n. 16), was c. 1.5 m. 6 Rudolf H. W. Stichel, Die römische Kaiserstatue am Ende der Antike (Roma: Giorgio Bretschneider, 1982), pp. 98–99, no. 100; LSA-31. 7 Stichel, Römische Kaiserstatue, p. 96 no. 91; LSA-27. 8 ‘The column of Marcian/Kıztaşı in Istanbul and an evaluation of its restorations’, in Structural Analysis of Historic Construction: Preserving Safety and Significance, vol. 2, by Dina D’Ayala and Enrico Fodde (London: Taylor & Francis, 2008), pp. 1167–73, at p. 1168.

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[D(omino) n(ostro)] Theodos[io …] OSITISqu[e … opus fec[it … –u]s praef[ectus urbi]9 To our lord] Theodosi[os ]ositis (?) and the task was perfor[med by ]s pref[ect of the city]10 It seems safe to conclude following earlier editors and commentators that the inscription opens with a dedicatory formula naming the emperor Theodosios. Quite possibly it also indicates the involvement of an urban prefect (line 4) in the dedication, and inscription, of the monument — a large-scale building project, as I discuss below.11 The Latin part of the inscription functions as the most ‘official’, if brief, element of the monument’s epigraphy, and is consistent with similar patterns in other bilingual imperial inscriptions and more general trends in the use of Latin in the eastern regions of the late empire.12 Immediately below the Latin text, with no perceptible break, comes a Greek text, which appears to be fragmented beyond reconstruction (but which must have been composed in a dactylic meter) (Fig. 4).13 Despite being made at a different time, the bilingual — Greek and Latin — inscriptions on the obelisk base are similar to those found on other Late Antique inscribed imperial monuments in Constantinople and elsewhere (such as those mentioned above: the obelisk of Theodosios, the column of Eudoxia14 and that of Markianos15). A further parallel to the epigraphy of the Theodosian obelisk is that the inscription on what was arguably conceived as the ‘facing’ side (the wide bilingual side) features a first-person, riddle-like versified statement (Latin on the obelisk, Greek in Mouselios’s epigraphy) as if by the monument itself.16 Central to my discussion below, the two texts on the wider side (‘façade’) of the obelisk base were boldly inscribed with large letters, although with no particular elegance in the ductus. The Latin text is inscribed in letters larger (9 cm height, c. 3.7 cm width) than those of the Greek text below (height up to 4 cm);17 its official gravitas is highlighted by its visual dominance and easy readability (for those who could read Latin, of course). The size of the lettering of the inscriptions,

9 I present a consciously conservative text with almost no restorations, including the conjectural reconstruction of the number of syllables lost on either side of the surviving text suggested by Feissel, ‘Philadelphion’, 500, and by Ulrich Gehn, in LSA-30; these reconstructions would suggest different readings of the metrical structure of the inscription, and, consequently, different reconstructed placing of the text on the base. 10 Translations are mine throughout. 11 Feissel, ‘Philadelphion’, p. 500, and LSA-30. 12 Andreas Rhoby, ‘Latin Inscriptions in (Early) Byzantium’, in Latin in Byzantium, vol. I, Late Antiquity and Beyond, ed. Alessandro Garcea, Michela Rosellini, and Luigi Silvano (Brepols: Turnhout, 2019), pp. 275–94. 13 Feissel, ‘Philadelphion’, 500 (with reference to Schneider). 14 CIL III, 738 = LSA-2461. 15 For the text and images, Stichel, Römische Kaiserstatue, p. 100 no. 110, and LSA-2744. 16 The first line of Mouselios’s almost-lost Greek inscription opens with ‘To me, however…’ (Αὐτ]ὰρ ἐμοὶ) a point missed in Gent’s discussion in LSA-30, 500; on the Theodosian obelisk, difficilis and iussus that open ll. 1 and 2 (CIL III 737) (‘Once stubborn, I was ordered […]’) are supported by the explicit ‘I was conquered’ (victus ego). 17 Calculations based on the monuments’ measurements as given by Schneider (n. 5 above) matched with the number of letters.

Spac e O ddity? A  Pr ae p o situs I n scribing Power

alongside their bilingual quality, places the monument on a level with other instances of imperial epigraphy in the city, some of which are inferior to Mouselios’s inscriptions in terms of letter size.18 The design of the inscription at the centre of the base therefore follows existing patterns of imperial epigraphy in a number of ways: in its reliance on Latin in the official dedicatory section; in the elaborate self-styling of the column as a ‘speaking’ monument; and, particularly, in the physical and visual presentation of the monument, whose measurements and letter size ensure that it would be ‘read’ as sufficiently imposing. It is, however, the inscription on the other, more modestly-sized, side of the base that will form the core of my discussion (Fig. 5). The left hand side of the base (when facing its ‘facade’) is furnished with a comparatively brief Greek inscription, which, although fragmentary, has been reliably reconstructed by Denis Feissel through recourse to the Greek Anthology, where almost the entire text has been preserved:19 1 [Ταῦτα λόγοις ἀν]έθηκεν [ἑκὼν Μουσήλιος] ἔργα [πιστεύων καθ]αρῶς [ὡς Θεός ἐστι Λ]όγος. 5 [Μουσείου τὰ μὲν αὐτὸς] ἐτεύξα[το], [πολλὰ δὲ σώσα]ς [ἑστῶτα σφαλερῶς ἵδρ]υσεν ἀσφαλ[έως]. [………. Μ]ουσήλι[ος] [……….] 10 [……….]θου μεγ[…]20 These structures set up for the sake of the arts of words, and eagerly, Mouselios, believing purely that Word is God. Part of the Mouseion he constructed himself; salvaging a lot, he set up solidly those elements that stood weakly. M]ouseli[os 18 Theodosios I’s obelisk (ad 390): c. 10 cm height (Safran, ‘Theodosian Obelisk’, 426); Theodosios II’s column at Hebdomon (ad 402–450): height c. 6–8 cm, width 3–4 cm (my own calculation based on measurements and the number of letters); the column of Markianos (ad 450–452): c. height 10 cm, width c. 4.5 m); the column of Eudoxia (ad 403): height c. 5 cm, width c. 3.5 cm (my own calculation based on measurements and the number of letters). The column of the Goths can also be referenced here, despite its unclear dating, including the possible re-dedication and re-writing/deletion of the inscription — Die Inschriften von Byzantion, ed. Adam Lajtar (Bonn: R. Habelt, 2000), no. 15: letter size, height c. 13 cm, width c. 8 cm (my own calculation based on measurements and the number of letters). For the column, see e.g. Rudolf H. Stichel, ‘Fortuna Redux, Pompeius und die Goten: Bemerkungen zu einem wenig beachteten Säulenmonument Konstantinopels’, Istanbuler Mitteilungen, 49 (1999), 467–92. 19 Feissel, ‘Philadelphion’, pp. 502–03. The origin of the text from the same column base is indicated in the lemma of epigram 799, book 9 of the Palatine Anthology [hereafter cited as AP, with book and epigram number] — Anthologie grecque, 12 vols, ed. Robert Aubreton, Félix Buffière, Guy Soury, and Pierre Waltz (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1928–2021)] ‘on the porphyry column at the Philadelphion’ (ἐν τῷ πορφύρῳ κίονι εἰς τὸ Φιλαδέλφιον). 20 Restored text and lacunae as printed in Feissel (502. Ll.1–4 = AP 9.800, ll. 5–7 = AP 9.801; ll. 8–10) were not included into the Planudean anthology and are now lost.

29

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This text is briefer than the now-indecipherable Greek inscription squeezed below the Latin text on the central side. This, however, may have allowed the carver to allot larger spaces to the letters. The inscription is also set deeper into the stone, and the Greek letters are executed with more finesse and finality than the Latin and Greek texts on the bilingual ‘façade’ (the latter is also written in smaller characters, more crammed together). The result is an inscription that features letters close in size to the distinctively large lettering of the Latin dedication (probably by an urban prefect), and which far surpasses the (now lost) Greek text below it, both in size and in the relaxed spacing around the letters. Although the letters were no larger than those of the magnificent Theodosian obelisk or the slightly later column of Markianos, the monument would arguably have excelled the former in its easy visibility from close-up,21 and the latter by virtue of being inscribed in a broadly understandable lingua franca of the eastern empire rather than the almost cryptic, if official-looking, Latin. The letters would also have exceeded in size and readability the inscriptions on the other imperial columns of the capital.22 Another text, which survives only in the Planudean anthology, is the longest section of Mouselios’s epigraphic dossier: 5

Εὔνους μὲν βασιλεῖ Μουσήλιος· ἔργα βοῶσιν δημόσια· σθεναρὴν πράγματα πίστιν ἔχει. Μουσεῖον Ῥώμῃ δ’ ἐχαρίσσατο καὶ βασιλῆος εἰκόνα θεσπεσίην ἐντὸς ἔγραψε δόμων· τιμὴν μουσοπόλοις, πόλεως χάριν, ἐλπίδα κούρων, ὅπλα δὲ τῆς ἀρετῆς, χρήματα τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς.23 Mouselios is loyal to the emperor. His public works say this loudly: his deeds are solid proof of this.24 He gifted the Mouseion to Rome, and of the emperor he painted a divine image on the premises: an honour for those who care for the Muses, joy of the city, hope of the youth, weapon of virtue, treasure for the noble ones.

Six lines in length, the epigram would almost certainly have been broken up into a twelve-line inscription, if we are to judge from the way in which the three epigrams surviving in the Palatine anthology (AP 9.799–801) were inscribed on the left-hand side of the base. The substantial space requirements for this honorific epigram, I suggest, indicated that it would, more logically, have been inscribed on the side opposite to the bilingual ‘façade’ of the base. The smaller lateral side would have been a poor choice since its surviving counterpart on the opposite side features a 10-line inscription (discussed above) and would have struggled to accommodate the full twelve lines. In contrast to the ten Greek lines squeezed onto the ‘facade’ under the earlier Latin opening formula (which, itself, is sumptuously presented in letters twice as high as the Greek), the large amount of available space means that Mouselios’s

21 22 23 24

See Safran, ‘Points of View’, on the poor visibility of the obelisk’s inscriptions. See above p. 29 n. 18. AP 9.799; see Feissel, ‘Philadelphion’, pp. 503–04. Literally ‘have strong faith/assurance’.

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further self-commendation as a loyal servant of the basileus, who had proved his worth by an impressive building project, would have been set in liberally-sized characters. The confidently and beautifully presented verses on the left-hand lateral side succinctly state the nature of Mouselios’s building projects and his orthodox credentials. Although largely overlooked in most modern academic narratives of Constantinopolitan urban spaces and epigraphy in Late Antiquity,25 these large-writ verses would have been among the most spectacular pieces of monumental epigraphy in Late Antique Constantinople. What, however, was the wider spatial context in which Mouselios’s (self)-praise was presented to fifth-century viewers? How and when would they have encountered it? How did these monumental inscriptions, commissioned by a praepositus sacri cubiculi in charge of an imperial building initiative, map onto the epigraphic landscape of early fifth-century Constantinople, and onto its networks of power brokers? Mouselios’s Epigraphy: Spatial & Performative Contexts in Theodosian Constantinople The sizeable marble base adorned with Latin and Greek inscriptions, upon which rested a four-sided, cross-crowned porphyry obelisk (τετράπλευρον κίων),26 was only a single

25 While deserving a mention in specialized discussions of epigraphy in Constantinople such as Cyril A. Mango, ‘The Byzantine Inscriptions of Constantinople: A Bibliographical Survey’, American Journal of Archaeology, 55.1 (1951), 52–66 (p. 66 no. 145), the inscriptions at best make inconspicuous cameo appearances, often only in footnotes, in the large-scale studies that inform broader scholarly narratives. Raymond Janin, Constantinople byzantine: développement urbain et répertoire topographique (Paris: Institut français d’études byzantines, 1964), p. 410, mentions them as anonymous epigrams. Wolfgang Wiener-Müller, Bildlexikon zur Topographie Istanbuls: Byzantion, Konstantinupolis, Istanbul bis zum Beginn d. 17. Jh. (Tübingen: Wasmuth, 1977), p. 267, omits to mention the inscriptions in his discussion of the Philadelphion. In Cyril A. Mango, Le développement urbain de Constantinople (ive–viie siècles) (Paris: Boccard, 1985) there is a mention on p. 29 n. 37. Albrecht Berger, Untersuchungen zu den Patria Konstantinupoleos (Bonn: Habelt, 1988), p. 333, makes a passing mention of Mouselios ‘a Christian’ as responsible for the renewal of the Mouseion. Franz A. Bauer, Stadt, Platz und Denkmal in der Spätantike: Untersuchungen zur Ausstattung des öffentlichen Raums in den spätantiken Städten Rom, Konstantinopel und Ephesos (Mainz: P. von Zabern, 1996), p. 232 n. 112, gives a footnote recognition to the inscriptions. Although Paul Magdalino emphasizes Feissel’s reconsideration of the role of the Capitolium in many parts of his Studies on the History and Topography of Byzantine Constantinople (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), he entirely overlooks the epigraphy of the place, a neglect shared by Sarah Bassett, The Urban Image of Late Antique Constantinople (Cambridge: University Press, 2004), pp. 31–32. Moreover, Magdalino misconstrues Mouselios’s monument as ‘a mutilated statue base’ (Introduction, p. xi), a mistake also made by Benjamin Anderson, ‘The Disappearing Imperial Statue: Towards a Social Approach’, in The Afterlife of Greek and Roman Sculpture: Late Antique Responses and Practices, ed. Troels M. Kristensen and Lea Stirling (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2016), pp. 290–309, at p. 298, and by Gent in LSA-30. Both Mouselios’s inscriptions and Feissel’s ‘Philadelphion’ have gone unnoticed in the recent monograph by Rebecca S. Falcasantos, Constantinople: Ritual, Violence, and Memory in the Making of a Christian Imperial Capital (Oakland, California: University of California Press, 2020). 26 Παραστάσεις σύντομοι χρονικαί, 58, 4–7 [hereafter cited as Parastaseis, with paragraph and line number]. Middle Byzantine patriographic writings evocatively describe the obelisk and its epigraphy as allegedly erected by Constantine I at the putative site of his legendary vision, where he put up ‘an image of a cross […] depicted […] on a four-sided column’: Parastaseis, 58, 9–19. See a similar account in the Patria Constantinoupolis 2.50, 7–8: ‘he put onto the column Latin inscriptions that speak of the last times’ (γράμματα Ῥωμαῖα τὰ ἔσχατα σημαίνοντα)’ [hereafter cited as Patria, with volume, section, and line number]. For editions of the Parastaseis and Patria, see, respectively, Scriptores originum Constantinopolitanarum, vol. 1, ed. Theodor Preger (Leipzig: Teubner, 1901), pp. 19–73, and Scriptores originum Constantinopolitanarum, vol. 2, ed. Theodor Preger (Leipzig: Teubner, 1907), pp. 135–289.

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element, if spectacular even on its own, of a complex at the Philadelphion/Capitolium. This was a crucial part of the topography of central Constantinople, located approximately where the thoroughfare of the Via Egnatiana (Mese) would have divided westwards into the street that led up to the Constantinian Church of the Holy Apostles (Fig. 6).27 It is difficult to ascertain the full scope and content of Mouselios’s building project. In the absence of surviving archaeological record, the inscription itself is our best guide. Mouselios was entrusted, apparently at the emperor’s bidding, with the restoration and expansion (τὰ μὲν αὐτὸς ἐτεύξατο, πολλὰ δὲ σώσας ἑστῶτα σφαλερῶς ἵδρυσεν ἀσφαλέως) of structures which can be identified as the Capitolium, or other buildings at the Philadelphion, in order to make them fit for use as venues for a higher education establishment. The Capitolium (referred to as the ‘Mouseion’ in the inscriptions) constituted the visual and symbolic centre of the complex of structures that Theodosios I had bravely re-fashioned as a monument to Constantinople’s newly re-affirmed oecumenical significance.28 Under Theodosios II, the Mouseion/Capitolium came to house the so-called ‘University’ of Constantinople from ad 425.29 Curiously, the Hellenized version of Mouselios’s originally Armenian name (Mušel) quite likely took its form in course of the complex’s dedication, including its adornment with the inscriptions.30 Intended for ‘liberal arts’ (logois anetheken), Mouselios’s work on the Mouseion apparently represented an early step in this direction. As part of his renovation project, an imperial portrait was also commissioned and displayed on the premises (βασιλῆος εἰκόνα θεσπεσίην ἐντὸς ἔγραψε δόμων). The name ‘Philadelphion’, regularly used in Middle Byzantine patriographic writings, but not widely attested beyond them, derives from porphyry images of re-carved and re-conceived Tetrarchic figures depicted in an act of brotherly embrace (philadelphion:‘brotherly concord’).31 These high-relief porphyry images of four embracing tetrarchs were famously displayed as a re-united statuary group at San Marco in Venice after ad 1204, transported there by looting crusaders. They may, however, have been a more integral part of the original spatial context, pre-history, and even materiality, of Mouselios’s epigraphic dedication than has been thought until quite recently. As Philip Niewöhner and Urs Peschlow have forcefully

27 For the Philadelphion/Capitolium, Feissel, ‘Philadelphion’, pp. 504–12 is the best discussion, citing full bibliography. 28 Berger, Untersuchungen, 330; also see below for Theodosios I’s project. 29 Decreed in Codex Theodosii 14.9.3. For the ‘University’ and its significance within Theodosios II’s broader policies, see, alongside Feissel, ‘Philadelphion’, pp. 510–12 (with further bibliography), the classic discussion in Paul Lemerle, Le premier humanisme byzantin: notes et remarques sur enseignement et culture à Byzance des origines au xe siècle (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1971), pp. 63–65, with an important review, and additions, by Paul Speck in Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 67.1 (1974), 385–93 (at 389–93). More recent treatments include Giusto Traina, 428 dopo Cristo: storia di un anno (Roma, Bari: Laterza, 2007), at pp. 55–56, and Christopher Kelly, ‘Introduction’, in Theodosius II: Rethinking the Roman Empire in Late Antiquity, ed. Christopher Kelly (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), pp. 3–64 (at pp. 29–30). 30 For the Armenian name, see Feissel, ‘Philadelphion’, pp. 513, 522. For the peculiar patterns of name-giving amongst Late Antique officials, see Avshalom Laniado, ‘Parenté, relations et dévotion: le phénomène de polyonymie chez les dignitaires de l’empire protobyzantin (ve–vie siècles)’, in Les stratégies familiales dans l’antiquité tardive, ed. Christophe Badel and Christian Settipani (Paris: De Boccard, 2012), pp. 27–56. 31 The literature on the Tetrarchic statues is substantial. Classic discussions include Paolo Verzone, ‘I due gruppi in porfido di S. Marco in Venezia ed il Philadelphion di Costantinopoli’, Palladio, 8 (1958), 8–14 and Rudolf Naumann, ‘Der antike Rundbau beim Myrelaion und der Palast Romanos I. Lekapenos’s’, Istanbuler Mitteilungen 16 (1966), 199–216, especially at pp. 209–11. For more recent developments, see n. 32 below.

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argued (simultaneously with, and independently from, Arne Effenberger), both the wellknown Tetrarchic figures and the rectangular shaft of porphyry which was repurposed as the obelisk standing at the Philadelphion could have originated from the dismembering of the porphyry columns that had once adorned a Tetrarchic capital, quite probably Thessaloniki.32 It would have been Theodosios I who set up the impressive porphyry obelisk:33 the early date is strongly suggested by the Chronicon Paschale’s reference to a ‘cross-like symbol’ (σιγνόχριστον) toppled by a storm in ad 407.34 If this is the case (and with the equation of the obelisk with the rectangular remnant of a column granted), the tantalizing combination of the starkly physical process of sawing porphyry columns,35 separating Tetrarchic images from them, and transporting the reliefs from a Tetrarchic capital to New Rome, still a recent creation, would have been a powerful assertion of Theodosios’s imperial presence in Constantinople.36 The environs of the Constantinian Capitolium had therefore been transformed, under Theodosios I, into a major site of imperial presence structured around the idea of translatio imperii. The ideological underpinnings of Theodosios’ building programme involved an emphatic re-affirmation of Constantinople’s credentials as the New Rome. The Tetrarchic images, through their presence in a crucial urban space, rich in classicizing architectural forms, such as the Capitolium, would have been an emphatic reminder of parallels from Tetrarchic capitals. The erection of a porphyry pillar would have similarly connected with Theodosios I’s efforts to reinforce spatial parallels between New and Old Romes, which would also be adding to his perceived legitimacy.37 At the same time, the erection of obelisks in Constantinople, including at the Capitolium, would evoke the Egyptian monuments in Rome, both Augustan and that of Constantios II (ad 357).38 Through the monumental and highly visible epigraphy of the obelisk base, Mouselios was therefore boldly claiming credit for having re-purposed, and re-invigorated, an extremely important part of Constantinople’s urban topography. Standing at the epicentre of a continual flow of urban crowds as they moved along Constantinople city’s central thoroughfares and browsed her public spaces, the majestic obelisk, imposingly inscribed with Mouselios’s praises, would have been perennially exposed to thousands of awestruck gazes.39 The Mouseion would, inevitably, have been a

32 Philipp Niewöhner and Urs Peschlow, ‘Neues zu den Tetrarchenfiguren in Venedig und zu Ihrer Aufstellung in Konstantinopel’, Istanbuler Mitteilungen, 62 (2012), 341–67; Arne Effenberger, ‘Zur Wiederverwendung der venezianischen Tetrarchengruppen in Konstantinopel’, Millennium, 10.1 (2013), 215–74. 33 As suggested by Berger, Untersuchungen, p. 333, and developed further by Niewöhner and Peschlow, ‘Neues zu den Tetrarchenfiguren’, 360–61. 34 Chronicon Paschale, ed. Ludwig A. Dindorf (Bonn: Weber, 1832), p. 570. 35 Niewöhner and Peschlow, ‘Neues zu den Tetrarchenfiguren’, 355–57 provide an overview of identification options. 36 For a wider lens on Theodosios I’s presence in the capital, see Brian Croke, ‘Reinventing Constantinople. Theodosius I’s Imprint on the Imperial City’, in From the Tetrarchs to the Theodosians. Later Roman History and Culture, 284–450 ce, ed. Scott McGill, Cristina Sogno, and Edward Watts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), pp. 241–64. 37 For the ideology and spatial politics of Late Antique Constantinople as the New Rome, see the collection of stimulating studies in Two Romes: Rome and Constantinople in Late Antiquity, ed. Lucy Grig and Gavin Kelly (Oxford: University Press, 2012). 38 For Theodosios’s obelisk, see p. 26 n. 2 above; for a broader view on the parallelism in the setting up of obelisks in Rome and Constantinople, see my Conclusion below. 39 My approach here is informed by the studies of epigraphic visuality, including urban, that have been on the rise recently. See e.g. Written Space; Öffentlichkeit—Monument—Text: Akten des XIV Congressus Internationalis Epigraphiae Graecae et Latinae 27.–31. Augusti MMXII, ed. Werner Eck and Paul Funke (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014);

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key calling-point on the itinerary of many urban parades, including imperial processions, as they marched through the city in a symbolically-charged and liturgically-elated atmosphere of public celebrations, such as coronations or dedications of imperial monuments.40 Significantly, Constantine I’s dedication festivities, involving the solemn progress of his Helios-stylized statue through the city, may have begun at the Capitolium/Philadelphion, according to the eighth-century Brief Historical Notes (Parastaseis Syntomoi Chronikai).41 Even if inaccurate regarding the developments of ad 330, this account dramatically illustrates the degree of imperial significance which the location held for later Byzantines.42 Although active almost a quarter of a century after the original dedication of the obelisk (see below for the dating concerns) and adornment of the Capitolium with porphyry Tetrarchic images, Mouselios the praepositus clearly chose a space where financial expenditure would generate the largest interest in the symbolic capital of his monumentalized visual presence. What do we know, however, about Mouselios himself, the builder and dedicator of inscriptions? Moreover, to what extent would a praepositus have been a regular, or welcome, social actor when it came to prominent building projects at the very heart of imperial cityscapes? How would Mouselios’s bold epigraphic self-commemoration have been perceived by his contemporaries? Mouselios’s Profile: Limitations and Insights The central problem in the dating and attribution of the monument, and in drawing up of Mouselios’s profile, is that he is a somewhat shadowy figure.43 As Feissel has argued, the Mouselios of the inscriptions and the one attested as praepositus sacri cubiculi, the recipient of the Theodosian constitution of 9 April ad 414, must be considered the same person

40

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Katharina Bolle, Materialität und Präsenz spätantiker Inschriften: Eine Studie zum Wandel der Inschriftenkultur in den italienischen Provinzen (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2019); Sean Leatherbury, Inscribing Faith: Between Reading and Seeing in Late Antiquity (London: Routledge, 2019). For the visuality of (inscribed) columns in Late Antique Constantinople, see Yoncacı Arslan, ‘Christianizing the Skyline: The Appropriation of the Pagan Honorary Column in Early Constantinople’, unpublished doctoral thesis, University of California, Los Angeles, 2015. On columns with crosses, see: Nikos Moutsopoulos, Σταυρωμένοι κίονες/Crossed Columns (Athens: Koan, 2004). As noted already by Müller-Wiener, Bildlexikon, p. 267. For the Capitolium/Mouseion, with its distinctive cross-topped column, as part of Late Antique imperial processions, see Cyril Mango, ‘The Triumphal Way of Constantinople and the Golden Gate’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 54 (2000), 173–88 (especially p. 177). For urban processions and their imprint on cities’ symbolic topography, see Nathanael Andrade, ‘The Processions of John Chrysostom and the Contested Spaces of Constantinople’, Journal of Early Christian Studies, 18.2 (2010), 161–89; The Moving City: Processions, Passages and Promenades in Ancient Rome, ed. Ida Ostenberg, Simon Malmberg, and Jonas Bjørnebye (London: Bloomsbury, 2015). Also Luke Lavan, Public Space in the Late Antique City, vol. 1 (Leiden: Brill, 2020), Chapter 2, pp. 150–234 (with further bibliography). Constantinopolitan contexts, apart from the more topographic scholarship on the capital’s urban topography cited earlier, have been specifically in focus in e.g. Franz A. Bauer, ‘Urban Space and Ritual: Constantinople in Late Antiquity’, Acta ad Archaeologiam et Artium Historiam Pertinentia, 15 (2001), 27–61; Basset, Urban Image; Falcasantos, Constantinople. Parastaseis 56, 5. For discussion and bibliography, see Jonathan Bardill, Constantine, Divine Emperor of the Christian Golden Age (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), p. 28; p. 109 n. 5. On the Parastaseis, particularly the issues of their historical reliability, see above p. 6 n. 27, and below, p. 16 n. 60. The classic study, edition, and translation is still Constantinople in the Early Eighth Century: The Parastaseis Syntomoi Chronicai, ed. Averil Cameron and Judith Herrin (Leiden: E. J. Brill. 1984). Apart from Feissel, ‘Philadelphion’ (especially pp. 513–14 for prosopographical issues), which by far supersedes earlier studies, see PLRE II, 768, Muselius 1, and Scholten, Eunuch, pp. 227–28 (both fail to positively identify the monument with Mouselios); he is not discussed in Guyot, Eunuchen, who does not go beyond the time of Theodosios I.

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(the odds of two independent attestations of this rather rare name in the courtly milieu of Theodosius II are extremely slim).44 The absence of any mention of his office in the inscriptions may be due to the fact that substantial sections of the inscriptions have been lost. Can we be entirely certain, however, that Mouselios (re)dedicated and (re)inscribed the Mouseion while acting as praepositus? Admittedly, the fasti of eastern PSCs in the late fourth–early fifth century are lacunose. They suggest, however, that Mouselios’s tenure was the earliest, dating back to the time of Anthemios’s tenure as praetorian prefect ( July 405–18 April 414), and the longest.45 The next reliably-attested PSC is the well-known Lausos, in 419/20 ad which, technically, opens the possibility of Mouselios remaining PSC for the six long years required to dedicate and inscribe the Mouseion. It is unlikely, however, that Mouselios could have held such a lengthy tenure (from at least ad 414, into 420) of so central an office as PSC and yet be so poorly-attested. It seems much safer to acknowledge the irreparably patchy quality of our knowledge of the PCS fasti for this period, and to surmise that Mouselios would have resigned substantially earlier than Lausos’s attested date of ad 420 (which is therefore only a terminus ante quem, with generous margins). It follows that this undermines the firm dating of the (re)construction and the (re)inscription of the Mouseion as indicated by Mouselios’s attestation in the Codex Theodosii (ad 414), despite the fact it is accepted in a number of publications. We are to prefer a significantly broader chronological window (as indeed Feissel did).46 Most crucially, however, it is practically impossible that the major initiative to (re)-shape a monumental site, complete with an imperial image, and thereby to re-encode historical memory in central Constantinople, could have been completed by a private benefactor — a development unparalleled in Late Antique cities.47 We can assert with almost complete certainty that a high-ranking imperial official would have been entrusted with this act. This, in turn, implies a date for Mouselios’s inscription, and the Mouseion’s (re)dedication, within the few years following April ad 414.48

44 A subscript of CTh XI 28.9 indicates that a copy was sent to ‘Musellio praeposito sacri cubiculi de titulis ad domum sacrum pertinentibus’ — Feissel, ‘Philadelphion’, p. 513. For the other attestations of the rather rare name, see Feissel, ‘Philadelphion’, p. 513 n. 77. 45 As listed in PLRE II, 1263–64: Eutropius (c. ad 395–399), Mouselios (9 April ad 414), Lausos (ad 420, or 419/20–422, 431–436 — so Scholten, Eunuchen, 206), Antiochos (c. 421, or 408, 414–, 419/20 — so Scholten, Eunuchen, 206). 46 Feissel, ‘Philadelphion’, pp. 512–13, broadly suggests the time frame of ad 414–419. 47 Although in provincial and metropolitan cities of second to third century Asia Minor private initiative (at least funding) could be behind large-scale construction projects in cities, with official administrators claiming public credit: see Stephen Mitchell, ‘Imperial Building in the Eastern Roman Provinces’, Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, 91 (1987), 333–65, for many examples. Explicitly imperial projects in capital cities in Late Antiquity, however, especially those that involved emperors’ statues, would have been a different matter. In general, the erection of honorific statues was increasingly regulated by imperial laws from mid fourth-century (CJ 24.1, 3, ad 398). In ad 439, dedication of statues was expressly forbidden by a law as an unwelcome means of self-celebratory display (CJ 21.4): see Bryan Ward-Perkins, ‘The End of the Statue Habit, ad 284–620’, in The Last Statues of Antiquity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), ed. R. R. R. Smith and Bryan Ward-Perkins, pp. 295–308, at p. 307 for the last two points and further bibliography. Speck’s interpretation (see p. 32 n. 29) of Mouselios’s project as a privately funded education facility is therefore mistaken. 48 Significantly less plausibly, Mouselios may have re-dedicated the column as part of the Capitolium’ re-purposing before, or in ad 414, which is, again, not supported by the extant evidence.

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In Late Antique cities, however, contributing to the (re)construction of a major imperial monument was a function associated primarily with the urban prefect (praefectus urbi, henceforth PV, including in Constantinople – PVC) (or, less usually, with the praetorian prefect).49 This was particularly true of both Romes, Old and New. Amongst the landmark inscribed monuments of the Constantinopolitan cityscape (high-responsibility, high-profile imperial building projects) curated by these officials are: the obelisk of Theodosios I dedicated by Prokulos (PVC ad 388–392, PLRE I, pp. 746–47, Proculus 6); the porphyry column with a silver statue of the emperess Eudoxia dedicated in ad 403 by Simplikios (PVC ad 403, PLRE II, p. 1014, Simplicius 4); the column (with statue) of Markianos dedicated by Tatianos (PVC ad 450–452, PLRE II, pp. 1053–4, Tatianus 1).50 The involvement of a palatine official, even one as powerful as a praepositus, in a construction project of this nature would have constituted a rather exceptional case. This is a good point for a brief overview of the significance of this office in Late Antique society.51 The office of Praepositus sacri cubiculi, in its progressive institutionalization, reflected the growing role of eunuchs at the imperial court in the later empire. Possibly introduced already under Diocletian, the office was first formally instituted under Constantine I. By the early fifth century, praepositi already enjoyed the title of illustres — the highest grade 49 Bibliography is vast, and focuses primarily on the developments in Rome, which was arguably the city where the Late Antique role of PV took its decisive shape that informed its function in Constantinople as the New Rome. My discussion in this section follows primarily, other than the classic study of André Chastagnol, La préfecture urbaine à Rome sous le Bas-Empire (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1960), the recent discussion in Carlos Machado, Urban Space and Aristocratic Power in Late Antique Rome: ad 270–535 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), Chapter 1 (especially pp. 30–39), who offers an up-to-date account and full bibliography. For a discussion, and list (not entirely impeccable: see p. 31 n. 25), of dedicators of imperial statues in Late Antique Constantinople, predominantly urban and pretorian prefects: see Anderson, ‘Disappearing Imperial Statue’. See also the useful remarks on the ceremonial function of PVCs in Falcasantos, Constantinople, pp. 35–36. 50 To these should be added the statues of Honorios, Pulcheria, and Theodosios II dedicated by the pretorian prefect Aurelianos (ad 414–416, PLRE I, pp. 128–29) in ad 414, as attested in the Chronicon Paschale, 1, p. 571. See LSA-2738–40 for discussion and bibliography. 51 In my discussion in this section, I primarily rely on the following monographs: Peter Guyot, Eunuchen als Sklaven und Freigelassene in der griechisch-römischen Antike (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1980), especially chapter 7 ‘Die Hofeunuchen im Römischen Reich im 4. Jahrhundert’, pp. 130–76; Dirk Schlinkert, ‘Ordo Senatorius’ und ‘Nobilitas’: Die Konstitution des Senatsadels in der Spätantike; mit einem Appendix über den ‘praepositus sacri cubiculi’ den “allmächtigen” Eunuchen am kaiserlichen Hof (Franz Steiner Verlag, 1996), ‘Appendix’ pp. 236–84; and Scholten, Eunuch (who gives full earlier bibliography). These remain indispensable, although Mariana Bodnaruk, ‘Producing Distinction: Aristocratic and Imperial Representation in the Later Roman Empire’, unpublished doctoral thesis, Central European University, Budapest (2019), pp. 360–66, has recently offered certain corrections to the evolution of the office. Keith Hopkins, ‘Eunuchs in Politics in the Later Roman Empire’, Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society, 9 (1963), pp. 62–80, is fundamental for his sociological insight. Literature on the significantly broader subject of eunuchs in Late Antiquity and Byzantium is substantially larger, although these studies tend to rely on Scholten and Hopkins for concrete historical analysis of the office of PSC. See e.g. Kathryn M. Ringrose, The Perfect Servant: Eunuchs and the Social Construction of Gender in Byzantium (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007); Mathew Kuefler, The Manly Eunuch: Masculinity, Gender Ambiguity, and Christian Ideology in Late Antiquity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001); Georges Sidéris, ‘Une société de ville capitale: les eunuques dans la Constantinople byzantine (ive–xiie siècle)’, Actes des congrès de la Société des historiens médiévistes de l’enseignement supérieur public, 36 (2005), pp. 243–74; Shaun Tougher, The Eunuch in Byzantine History and Society (London: Routledge, 2008); Charis Messis, Les eunuques à Byzance, entre réalité et imaginaire (Paris: Centre d’études byzantines, néo-helleniques et sud-est européennes, 2014). An important study looking specifically at the age of Theodosios II (although post-Mouselios in its scope) is Kathryn Chew, ‘Virgins and Eunuchs: Pulcheria, Politics and the Death of Emperor Theodosius II’, Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte, 55.2 (2006), pp. 207–27.

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of senatorial distinction, although it is debated when, and whether at all, the office was officially elevated to the senatorial rank (clarissimate), and its holders duly proceeded through its internal grades. In the hierarchy of the Notitia Dignitatum (early fifth century ad), praepositi were second only to urban and pretorian prefects (praefectus praetorio, praefectus urbi), and to the supreme military commander (magister militum). The role formed part of the imperial administration and entourage, which itself challenged the more traditional hierarchies of senatorial and administrative elites. Since the praepositi were charged with regulating physical entry to the emperor’s private quarters, they increasingly found themselves in control of important, if informal, routes of decision-making at court. The praepositi channeled their courtly influence so as to suit the many petitioners’ various agendas, which were not always limited to accumulation of personal wealth but could include religious, even doctrinal concerns. To a significant degree, they controlled the various ‘streams of persuasion’ (to use Fergus Millar’s phrase), such as the petitioning of the emperor by officials and broader elites, including ecclesiastical leaders, that formed the core of courtly politics under the Theodosians.52 In this sense, praepositi were above and beyond the all-embracing interface of hierarchies, interactions, and competition, just as they were beyond the conventional categories of gender and sex, being eunuchs (at least the vast majority of them).53 The alien quality of the praepositi was only enhanced by the fact that most of them were, geographically, outsiders, or indeed successful newcomers. Admittedly they were pivotal in the imperial promotion of the social, and political, mobility of homines novi, particularly in the newly-founded capital of Constantinople and its newly-made (senatorial) aristocracy.54 It is not surprising, therefore, that by the late fourth century, outstanding praepositi (or indeed imperially-favoured eunuchs whose careers had not necessarily peaked with the office but continued to progress higher) could achieve very prominent public presence. Their increasingly dominant social and political role is presented, in sources penned 52 As used throughout Fergus Millar’s brilliant A Greek Roman Empire: Power and Belief Under Theodosius II (408–50) (University of California Press, 2007). For the complex dynamics of decision-making at Theodosian courts and the many actors involved, see e.g. Kelly, ‘Introduction’ (with further bibliography). 53 While it is usually stated, or assumed, that only eunuchs could be appointed PSC, there may have been slight variation which, however, did not change the rule, e.g. the emperor Magnus Maximus appointing a non-eunuch praepositus, according to Zosimus, New History 4.37.2: see Alan Cameron, ‘The Date and Identity of Macrobius’, The Journal of Roman Studies, 56.1–2 (1966), 25–38, at p. 25 n. 9. For praepositi’s gender stance as eunuchs, and their perception by contemporaries, see: Kuefler, Manly Eunuch; Tougher, Eunuch. Schlinkert in the Appendix to his Ordo Senatorius specifically focuses on eunuchs serving as PSC as ‘others’. For the intricate mechanics and re-negotiations of hierarchies among elites and the emperor in Late Antiquity, see e.g. Millar, Greek Roman Empire (with a relevant focus on the epoch of Theodosios II); Christopher Kelly, Ruling the Later Roman Empire (Harvard University Press, 2009), especially chapter 5 ‘Autocracy and Bureaucracy’, pp. 186–231; Kelly, ‘Introduction’ (with further bibliography). For a stimulating application of a number of sociology-informed approaches to competition among Theodosian elites, see Christian Rollinger, ‘The Importance of Being Splendid: Competition, Ceremonial, and the Semiotics of Status at the Court of the Late Roman Emperors (4th–6th Centuries)’, in Gaining and Losing Imperial Favour in Late Antiquity, ed. Kamil C. Choda, Maurits S. de Leeuw, and Fabian Schulz (Leiden: Brill, 2019), pp. 36–72 (as well as other contributions to the volume). 54 For the political and social mobility of elites, particularly senatorial, in Late Antiquity, see Michael T. W. Arnheim, The Senatorial Aristocracy in the Later Roman Empire (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), especially pp. 47–102; Schlinkert, Ordo Senatorius; Rowland Smith, ‘Measures of Difference: The Fourth-Century Transformation of the Roman Imperial Court’, American Journal of Philology, 132.1 (2011), 125–51; Alexander Skinner, ‘Political Mobility in the Later Roman Empire’, Past & Present, 218.1 (2013), 17–53.

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predominantly by traditional elites, as scandalous notoriety; in other cases, however, they receive significantly more benevolent representation.55 The hotly-contested public presence of praepositi reached its peak (or at least so the conventional narrative goes, shaped primarily by one influential text) in the course of the infamous affair in which Eutropios’s statues were allegedly set up across Constantinople and elsewhere in the empire.56 In Aelius Claudian’s artfully vitriolic In Eutropium, the statues of the ex-praepositus Eutropios, now consul, are portrayed as a gross abomination, an outrage for traditional elites, created by the ultimate parvenu — an ‘eastern’ newcomer, a challenger to conventional social hierarchies and principles of upward mobility, a gender and, ultimately, a spatial oddity, occupying public areas in the capital and elsewhere, something to which he, in Claudian’s eyes (as well as, apparently, in those of his audience), could lay no credible claim.57 What evidence, however, is there of praepositi engaging in building projects in cities, and therefore encroaching on the traditional role of urban prefects as key administrators of Late Antique cityscapes? Praepositi and Building Projects: Late Antique Trends & Theodosian Innovations Earlier studies only began to address this question.58 While the task of presenting, framing, and fully contextualizing the evidence of PSCs’ engagement in the (re)construction of 55 For the criticism of eunuch-praepositi by Late Antique traditional elites, and wider critical sentiment, see Guyot, Eunuchen, pp. 157–76; Schlinkert, Ordo Senatorius, Appendix (with further bibliography); Scholten, Eunuch, 186–95; Hopkins, ‘Eunuchs’, 63–64, especially the list of standard critical accounts of contemporaries in n. 1 p. 63. Positive attitudes both to individual eunuch-PSCs and to praepositi as a class (especially in religious contexts) are also attested. A good example of the former is Eutherios, PSC under Julian (PLRE I, 314–15, Eutherius 1), famously praised in Ammianus, Res Gestae 16.7.14: see Schlinkert, Ordo Senatorius, pp. 261–66; David Woods, ‘Ammianus and Eutherius’, Acta Classica, 41 (1998), 105–17. For a more positive perception, the exalted position of the mystically-cast praepositi of Christ’s heavenly court in the Vision of Dorotheus (P. Bodm. 29, second half of the fourth century ad) is noteworthy; for a general overview, see Georges Sidéris, ‘“Eunuchs of light”. Power, imperial ceremonial and positive representations of eunuchs in Byzantium (4th–12th centuries)’, in Eunuchs in Antiquity and Beyond, ed. Shaun Tougher and Raʿanan S. Boustan (London: Classical Press of Wales and Duckworth, 2002), pp. 161–76. 56 Aelius Claudian, In Eutropium 2.70–83. 57 For the ideology of Claudian’s invective, its political and cultural underpinnings, and also its audience, see Long, Claudian’s In Eutropium, pp. 158, 213–14, 248, 256–58 (with further bibliography); Alan Cameron, Claudian: Poetry and Propaganda at the Court of Honorius (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970), chapter 5 ‘Eutropius’, pp. 124–55; Clare Coombe, Claudian the Poet (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), chapter 1 ‘In Rufinum: Heroes, Monsters, and the Universe’, pp. 33–70. 58 Scholten, Eunuchen, provides isolated insights into the building activity of individual eunuchs listed in her Appendix: e.g. Laurikios, PSC under Honorios, sponsoring a church of St Lawrence between ad 418 and 423 and later adding a martyrion (pp. 90–91, 221–22); Valentinianos, PSC under Constans II, allegedly overseeing building at the Hippodrome in Constantinople (p. 211: Parastaseis, 42, 9–10). I do not include him in my discussion, as the Patria account on which Scholten draws does not have independent corroboration, and he seems to belong among other courtly eunuchs of the Constantinian epoch, such as Euphrates, Olybrios, and Urbikios (Patria I, 58) who were arguably figments of Middle Byzantine fascination with fifth–sixth century praepositi as presumably important ktistai (see Sidéris, ‘Eunuchs’, 259–60). This Valentinianos may also be a distant echo of his namesake, prefect in Arabia under Valens, an active builder (PLRE I, p. 932, Valentinianus 3), similar to the figure of the presumably Constantinian Urbikios, apparently inspired by the powerful fifth-century PSC (see below pp. 39–40) The historic memory of these figures later morphed into the idea of exaggerated

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buildings deserves a separate, and substantial, study, I present in what follows a brief, but hopefully helpful, review of a number of key contexts.59 At least as early as the period of the Theodosian dynasty (although there are also earlier instances),60 courtly eunuchs and, more specifically, praepositi are consistently attested as donors of religious structures in Constantinople and other large cities of the eastern empire (although not necessarily during their tenure). For example, Kalopodios, a courtly eunuch only one step short of the office of PSC under Leo I (primirecius sacri cubiculi in ad 466, PLRE II, p. 254, Calopodius 2) built a chapel (εὐκτήριον οἶκον) dedicated to St Michael in Parthenopolis and settled there with a group of monks, the core of which had originated from no less a leader than Daniel the Stylite.61 Amantios, PSC under Anastasios I, ad 491–518 (PLRE II, pp. 67–68, Amantius 4) was most probably the donor behind the construction and decoration of the important church of the apostle Thomas at Constantinople.62 Mamas (PLRE II, p. 704, Mamas 2), cubicularius and later PSC under Anastasios I (ad 491–518), made a crucial financial contribution in the early stages of the development of what was to become the monastery of Theodosios, a major coenobitic establishment in the Judaean desert.63 This building project, however, seems to have been funded after Mamas’ tenure, in the years he spent at the monastery as a monk. Similarly, Gratissimos, PSC ad 461/2 (PLRE II, p. 519), built a church dedicated to St Kyriakos outside the Golden Gate of Constantinople, and became a monk there.64 Praepositi did, however, also engage in civic building in urban contexts. The construction projects sponsored by Urbikios, who famously held the longest succession of tenures as PSC under seven emperors (PLRE II, pp. 1188–90, Urbicius 1), are well attested on monuments, including in public urban epigraphy; these have a correspondingly wide range, geographically and typologically, from inscribed acclamations in his honour in Syrian

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63 64

importance of courtly eunuchs as fellow-builders of Constantine, the ktistes of Constantinople, for patriographic writers. Scholten also mentions (p. 250) Kalopodios’s building project, which I discuss below. A number of prominent PSCs (Amantios, Urbikios, Narses) have also been noted in this capacity by Vincent Puech, ‘Les biens fonciers des élites sénatoriales à Constantinople et dans ses environs (451–641)’, Archimède, 2 (2015), 170–93. I will not discuss instances of the essentially private, if sumptuous, residences (oikoi) of praepositi such as Lausos (see e.g. Jonathan Bardill, ‘The Palace of Lausus and Nearby Monuments in Constantinople: A Topographical Study’, American Journal of Archaeology, 101.1 (1997), 67–95), Antiochos (see e.g. Geoffrey Greatrix and Jonathan Bardill, ‘Antiochus the “Praepositus”: A Persian Eunuch at the Court of Theodosius II’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 50 (1996), 171–97), and Urbikios (see below p. 40 n. 65). e.g. Gorgonios building, and inscribing, a martyrium in Antioch in ad 351–354 ( John Malalas, Chronicle 13.17): David Woods, ‘Malalas, “Constantius”, and a Church-Inscription from Antioch’, Vigiliae Christianae, 59.1 (2005), 54–62. Life of Daniel the Stylite, 89 — Hippolyte Delehaye, Les saints stylites (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1923), pp. 1–94 (p. 84). Unless the building credit granted to him in Byzantine historiography (George the Monk, Short Chronicle 216. 4 = Symeon Logothetes, Chronicle 103. 3, Zonaras, Chronicle 14. 5. 16) is due to the churches’ location in the district of Amantios, which could have received its name from an earlier namesake such as the imperial counsel in ad 344–345 or another eunuch (that of Eudoxia): Raymond Janin, Les églises et les monastères de Constantinople byzantine (Paris: Centre National de la recherche scientifique, 1953), p. 248. Cumulatively, however, the evidence seems to favour Anastasios’s praepositus, as, alongside the narrative tradition, an epigram (AP I 5) directly names Amantios as the ktētōr of the church — Janin, Églises, pp. 248–50; Berger, Patria, pp. 596–97. Cyril of Scythopolis, Life of Theodosios—Kyrillos von Skythopolis, ed. Eduard Schwartz (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1939), pp. 235–41 (p. 240). Theodore Anagnostes, Church History, 384 — Theodoros Anagnostes. Kirchengeschichte, ed. Günther C. Hansen (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1995), pp. 96–151, at p. 124.

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Edessa (ad 449) to the epigraphical demarcations of the boundaries of his sumptuous estate at Constantinople.65 Alongside civic buildings, he also provided funds for religious structures, both in the capital and beyond. In Constantinople, he donated a chest for the relics of St Hypatios, clearly as part of broader involvement with the monastery of Roufinianai. As a devotee of St Julian, he also sponsored churches in the name of this saint both in the capital and near Jerusalem. However, Urbikios is not attested as engaging with imperial building projects, nor could he boast a spatial or epigraphic presence in the public spaces of the capital itself. Unlike Urbikios, however, Eutropios, arguably the infamous praepositus of Late Antiquity, ensured a remarkable if scandalous spatial presence in the capital through the allegedly ubiquitous statues in his honour. Although Claudian’s In Eutropium may contain quantitative exaggerations, his account of the praepositus’ many inscribed honorific statues scattered around Constantinople and elsewhere is corroborated by legal regulations for their removal after the praepositus’ fall and execution in ad 399.66 It did not much help that Eutropios was only honoured with statues, it seems, during his tenure as consul. The honorific statues set up across public spaces in Constantinople and elsewhere would clearly present, for the senatorial aristocracy, a major breach of both written and unwritten codes regulating distinctions between worthy and unworthy subjects, and the allotment to them of material and symbolic space. In subsequent years courtly eunuchs, despite their increasingly strong record of contributing to important building projects, including the imperial honorific monuments that I discuss below, probably knew better than to infringe on public space by having statues to themselves put up and inscribed. The isolated Middle Byzantine patrographic attestations to the contrary are almost certainly anachronistic and spurious.67 While the putting up of statuary and epigraphic honours to oneself may have been a path that, once proven pernicious by Eutropios, was eventually abandoned by the increasingly powerful Theodosian, and subsequent, praepositi, it was through the channel of supervision over imperial monuments that they found their way into the public space of Late Antique cityscapes, including the ‘written spaces’ of imperial honour. Curiously, however, the first of the few, but nevertheless significant, instances of praepositi acting as curator of

65 The standard discussion of Urbikios is Manfred Clauss, ‘Urbicius, Praepositus Imperii’, in Sodalitas: Scritti in Onore di Antonio Guarino, vol. 3, ed. V. Giuffre, (Milano: Editore Jovene, 1984), pp. 1245–57. For Urbikios’s constructions and estates, see now Christoph Begass, ‘Property and Power of the Senatorial Aristocracy of the Eastern Roman Empire in the Fifth and Sixth Centuries’, Journal of Late Antiquity, 9.2 (2016), 462–82, at pp. 465–66 (with further references). 66 Claudian, In Eutropium II, 70–74; CTh IX. 40. 17 (surprisingly neglected in the LSA database and Smith, WardPerkins, Last Statues). 67 Parastaseis 26 (= Patria II, p. 23) speaks of a statue to a cubicularius Plato supposedly located in the church (sic) of St Prokopios, an account almost certainly fantastical: Plato is not attested elsewhere, neither are statues in church spaces, let alone those honouring a eunuch: see Gent’s discussion in LSA-2790. For a possible historical background to the anecdote, see Berger, Untersuchungen, p. 460. Equally spurious is the account of a statuary group that allegedly included a praepositus Hilarion alongside Constantine, Fausta, and their third son (Parastaseis, 7 = Patria II, p. 93): Berger, Untersuchungen, pp. 729–31; LSA-2278. The account of a statue of Narses (most probably PLRE III, p. 930) in Patria III, p. 37 is only marginally less eccentric. His inclusion amongst the group of members of the imperial family, allegedly sculpted on top of four columns (an iconography which would have been at home in a Tetrarchic honorific complex of Late Antiquity) is quite improbable; the entire narrative is rather likely to be a garbled version of Patria II, p. 62, which features Justin’s mother Viglentia rather than Narses: Berger, Untersuchungen, pp. 570–72; LSA-345.

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imperial monuments which survive in extant evidence may be Eutropios’s. An inscribed column, probably the base for an imperial statue, is partially preserved at Chalcedon, near Constantinople. On it, the emperor Arkadios is honoured in a Latin inscription that comes to an abrupt end at what is probably the beginning of the name ‘Εuṭr(̣ o)p(ius’.68 As the reading of the initial letters is relatively reliable, the overall interpretation of the honorific column as dedicated by Eutropios at some stage in his career at court between ad 395 and 399 is indeed fairly likely. A potentially better documented case can be found by examining a similar honorific monument: a statue of Theodosios II on top of a column (στήλη ἐπὶ κίονος) set up at the Sigma forum in Constantinople, according to Patria II, 57, by the courtly eunuch Chrysaphios (spatharius ad 443–450, PLRE II, pp. 295–96, Chrysaphius qui et Ztummas).69 Given Chrysaphios’s intimacy with the emperor Theodosios II, his excessive power, and his ambition that involved plotting (in general successfully) against Eudokia and Pulcheria, conspiring to assassinate Attila (less successfully), and tampering with patriarchal appointments following his doctrinal (Miaphysite) agenda, it may be less significant that he is not attested as a formally-appointed PSC (with a potential possibility that he was).70 The all-powerful eunuch and spatharios aspired to, and successfully wielded, political influence which only outstanding PSCs could boast, either before or after. Although attested in the Patria, which is not always reliable, the account of Chrysaphios’s dedication of an honorific statue of Theodosios II is not inherently untrustworthy, as modern commentators agree.71 If true (and it is reasonably probable), this would indicate a landmark development in the agency of monumental imperial dedications in the capital(s). By curating imperial statues, conventionally controlled by the office of the urban prefect, which was firmly entrenched in traditional senatorial Roman institutions, the immense, if covertly wielded, courtly power of praepositi may have been making itself publicly seen, and read. Praepositi as shapers of significant elements of constructed, and written, urban spaces seem to have been further on the rise in post-Theodosian times. To take a brief yet suggestive peak into the later epoch, Narses (PLRE II, pp. 930–31, Narses 4), a spatharios, praepositus under Justin II (ad 565–578), alongside his many other pursuits also became an important imperial builder.72 As attested in a lavish inscription, he, alongside the empress Sophia 68 Katalog der antiken Inschriften des Museums von Iznik (Nikaia): Iznik Müzesi antik yazitlar katalogu, ed. Sencer Şahin, (Bonn: Habelt, 1981), pp. 297–98 (Addendum zum Band I), no. 70, pl. 27 = LSA-296. 69 Patria II, p. 57: Ἡ δὲ ἱσταμένη εἰς τὸ Σίγμα στήλη ἐπὶ κίονος ὑπάρχει Θεοδοσίου τοῦ μικροῦ ὑιοῦ Ἀρκαδίου· ἣν ἀνήγειρεν Χρυσάφιος ὁ εὐνοῦχος ὁ τζουμᾶς καὶ παρακοιμώμενος. For discussion, see Stichel, Römische Kaiserstatue, p. 98 no. 98, Berger, Untersuchungen, pp. 360–61, and LSA-29. Although citing Bauer’s brief discussion in his Stadt, pp. 213, 268, Sarah Basset, ‘Late Antique Honorific Sculpture in Constantinople’, in Using Images in Late Antiquity, ed. Stine Birk, Troels Myrup Kristensen, and Birte Poulsen (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2014), pp. 78–95, at p. 87 gives an entirely misconstrued description of the curator as ‘Chrysophios, a relative of Theodosius’. 70 The peak of his power at court (c. ad 441–450) coincides with the period for which the surviving record of praepositi is patchy: PLRE II, Fasti PSC (east), pp. 1263–64; Scholten, Eunuch, p. 206. Alongside the rich PLRE entry, see Paul Goubert, ‘Le rôle de Sainte Pulchérie et de l’eunuque Chrysaphios’, in Das Konzil von Chalkedon, vol. 1, ed. Alois Grillmeier and Heinrich Bacht (Würburg: Echter, 1951), pp. 303–21; Kenneth G. Holum, Theodosian Empresses: Women and Imperial Dominion in Late Antiquity (Berkeley, CA; London: University of California Press, 1982), pp. 303–21; Chew, ‘Virgins and Eunuchs’; Millar, Greek Roman Empire, pp. 192–94. 71 Alongside the literature cited in n. 67 above, see Mango, Développement, p. 50 n. 81, where it is accepted without particular discussion. 72 For Narses, see p. 40 n. 67.

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(probably named as the imperial sponsor), was the administrator behind the reconstruction of the Rhesion gates in Constantinople.73 In a remarkable parallel to Mouselios’s epigraphic infringement on the earlier Latin dedication, Narses’ inscription expanded and modified the bilingual epigraphic statement of praefectus praetorio Orientis Konstantinos (PLRE II, p. 317, Constantinus 6), who had been responsible for the construction of the gates in ad 447.74 It is in this context therefore that we should approach the complex at the Capitolium as (re)-dedicated and (re)-inscribed by Mouselios. Praepositi would arguably have been significantly more active as builders than is typically acknowledged, both as private donors of church architecture and, increasingly under the Theodosians, securing the right to officially supervise imperial monuments, including monumental columns with statues. So far, I have mostly looked at various implications of the placing and visibility of Mouselios’s inscriptions. Their text, and therefore message, are no less instructive. Below I will briefly discuss one of the aspects of the rhetoric of Mouselios’s self-representation that corresponds peculiarly well to the broader ideological and social implications of the monument he inscribed. Inscribing Loyalty The programmatic emphasis on loyalty to the emperor (Εὔνους μὲν βασιλεῖ Μουσήλιος· ἔργα βοῶσιν δημόσια· σθεναρὴν πράγματα πίστιν ἔχει) with which, as I have suggested, the inscription on one of the lateral sides of the base opens, is curious. The ideology of benevolent helpfulness to, and cooperation with, the polis and, later, the imperial power, was routinely expressed through the epigraphic idiom of εὔνοια (and its cognate εὔνους), from Classical to Hellenistic to imperial times.75 This, however, would have been a distant, historic language in early fifth-century Constantinople. No less irrelevant — chronologically, ideologically, and linguistically — would have been the epigraphic parlance of ‘friendship with the emperor’ (φιλόκαισαρ, φιλοσέβαστος and suchlike). Once widely used in the honorific self-proclamation of urban elites from Asia Minor to Palestine (with roots in Roman political amicitia as an elegant shorthand for patron–client relationships), it had become irretrievably obsolete by the time of Mouselios’s dedication.76 The stream of instances of the standard Latin formula ‘devoted to his/their divine power’ devotus numini 73 For edition and a comprehensive discussion, see Ihor Ševčenko, ‘The Inscription of Justin II’s Time on the Mevlevihane (Rhesion) Gate at Istanbul’, Zbornik Radova Srpske Akademije nauka, 12 (1970), 1–8 + 2 plates. 74 Latin — CIL III, 734; Greek — AP 9, 690. 75 Examples, and bibliography, are vast. For a selection of important Attic contexts, see Chryssoula VeligianniTerzi, Wertbegriffe in den attischen Ehrendekreten der klassischen Zeit (Franz Steiner Verlag, 1997), pp. 223–44, 275–76. For an informed discussion of eunoia and related concepts in Classical and Hellenistic epigraphy, see Stephen Lambert, ‘Inscribed Athenian Decrees of 229/8–198/7 bc (II3.1.5, 1135–1255)’, AIO Papers, 4 (2014), 1–32 (pp. 9–11). For philosophical reflections on the ideology of eunoia, see e.g. Evangelos Alexiou, ‘Eunoia bei Plutarch: von den Praecepta Gerendae Reipublicae zu den Viten’, in The Unity of Plutarch’s Work: ‘Moralia’ Themes in the ‘Lives’, Features of the ‘Lives’ in the ‘Moralia’, ed. Anastasios Nikolaidis (Walter de Gruyter, 2008), pp. 355–86. 76 Chryssoula Veligianni, ‘Philos und philos -Komposita in den griechischen Inschriften der Kaiserzeit’, Aspects of Friendship in the Graeco-roman World, ed. Michael Peachin (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2001), pp. 63–79; Arnaud Suspène, ‘Les rois amis et alliés face au principat: rapports personnels, représentations du pouvoir et nouvelles stratégies diplomatiques en Méditerranée orientale’, L’expression du pouvoir au début de l’Empire, ed. Michel Christol and Dominique Darde (Paris: Errance, 2009), pp. 45–51.

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maiestatoqie eius/eorum (DNMQ), that typically rounded off an inscribed imperial dedication, from honorific statues and stelae to building inscriptions (alongside its Greek calqued versions καθοσιωμένος τῇ ἑαυτῶν εὐσεβίᾳ), also peters out by the late fourth century ad.77 Beyond monumental epigraphy, however, the rhetoric of loyalty, phrased in the terms of personal devotion (καθοσιωμένος and cognates), and/or being true, to the emperor (πιστός vel sim) does feature regularly in Late Antique documentary papyri and epitaphs, primarily in the context of military dedications.78 Notably, grave inscriptions of foederati soldiers in sixth–seventh century Constantinople fashion the deceased as loyal (πιστός) imperial (δεσποτικός) subjects.79 Ethnic and social outsiders, yet nevertheless enterprising and, often, successful climbers of Late Antique social ladders in the capital, the military foederati and Mouselios may have shared a fundamentally compatible mode of how they expressed their loyalty-centred epigraphic identities to the emperor, however different — spatially, materially, and visually — their respective epigraphic statements were.80 There may be more immediate epigraphic comparanda for Mouselios’s inscribed loyalty, however. To begin with an instance which, admittedly, presents a possible rather than certain parallel attestation of the rhetoric of loyalty, the well-known building epigram inscribed on the base of a column erected to honour the empress Eudocia in Athens (ad 421–439) reads: ε̣[ἵνε]κα φ ---βασιληΐδος Εὐδ[οκίης τε] Θευδόσι[ος βασιλε]ὺ̣ς̣ στῆσ̣ εν ἄγαλ[μα τόδε] π̣ ισ̣ ̣ τ̣οτα[τ ----]ΕΘΟΝ̣ θεραποντ --ΘευδοσιΣ --- ΟΛ [..] ἐχοντ· --.81 For the sake of the … and (?) of the empress Eudocia, Theodosios the emperor set up this statue. The most loyal … servant … Theodosios … having (?) … 77 See the classic discussion of the formula in H. G. Gundel, ‘Devotus numini maiestatisque eius. Zur Devotionsformel in Weihinschriften der römischen Kaiserzeit’, Epigraphica, 15 (1953), 128–50. Its last, if still regular, attestations come from Latin-speaking regions, principally Rome. In the Greek East, however, Late Antique instances, appropriately for my discussion, cluster around Tetrarchic columnar monuments. Fl. Eutolmios Tatianos dedicated columnar statues of Honorius, Arkadios, and Valentinian II (ad 388–392) in Aphrodisias ‘with customary devotion’ (τῇ συνήθει καθοσιώσει): Aphrodisias in Late Antiquity. The Late Roman and Byzantine Inscriptions Including Texts from the Excavations at Aphrodisias Conducted by Kenan T. Erim, ed. Charlotte Roueché and Joyce M. Reynolds (London: Society for the Promotion of Roman Studies, 1989), nos 25–27 = LSA-164–66. In Gortyna, the local governor Oecumenios Asklepiodotos constructed a joint columnar monument to Gratian, Valentinian, and Theodosios I (ad 382–383) claiming devotion ‘to their piety’ (κ[αθοσιουμέν]ος / τῇ [[ἑ]]αὐτῶν [ε]ὐσεβίᾳ): for an edition, see Inscriptiones Creticae. Vol. 4. Tituli Gortynii, ed. Maria Guarducci (Roma 1950), no. 284 b. Francesca Bigi and Ignazio Tantillo, ‘Gortyna’, Last Statues, pp. 218–28 provide an up-to-date discussion of this important monument. 78 E.g. the military unit of ‘loyal (καθοσιωμένοι) Theodosians’ in P. Nessana (ad 512). For epitaphs, see n. 79 below. I am thankful to the anonymous reviewer for pointing these out. 79 For texts and discussion, see Ralf Scharf, Foederati: von der völkerrechtlichen Kategorie zur byzantinischen Truppengattung (Wien: Holzhausens, 2001), at pp. 91–99 (with further parallels and bibliography). 80 For the status and perception of foederati, alongside Scharf, Foederati, see now Eiki Faber, ‘How Foreign Soldiers Became More Important Than Roman Citizens’, in El espejismo del bárbaro: Ciudadanos y extranjeros al final de la Antigüedad, ed. David Á. Jiménez and Rosa S. Serrano (Castelló de la Plana Spain: Universitat Jaume, 2013), pp. 115–30. 81 IG II/III (2) 13285 = LSA-139, Agora-Museum, inv. no. I-3558.

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Although the reading of π̣ι̣σ̣τ̣οτα[τατ--] ‘most loyal’ in line three is Ekki Sironen’s editorial reconstruction, it seems plausible both palaeographically (as far as the badly damaged stone is able to help) and stylistically, since the phrasing of πιστός θεράπων (and cognates) is well-attested in Late Antique writings, including references to servants of the emperor.82 It is difficult to suggest with certainty who the ‘most loyal’ person was, if not the curator probably mentioned in lines 1 and 2.83 Clearly, however, this epigram shows that a rhetoric of loyalty very close to Mouselios’s was at work on an inscribed monument that is typologically quite similar, and chronologically close, to his. The most significant parallel comes from what may look like a private inscription rather than a public monumental structure. It attests, however, to the very same sentiment and wording of commendation for someone as a loyal friend, and servant, of the emperor. Originally inscribed on a ceremonial sceptre presented to Amantios, rather probably PSC under Anastasios I,84 the epigram, which survives in the Palatine anthology, reads: Τοῦτο γέρας λάχεν ἐσθλὸς Ἀμάντιος, ὡς βασιλῆι πιστὸς ἐών, Χριστὸν δὲ θεουδείῃσιν ἰαίνων.85 It was the noble Amantios who received this token of honour, because to the emperor he is loyal while pleasing Christ through god-fearing acts. Both the material aspect of the inscribed object, inasmuch we can discuss it, and its literary emphases are peculiarly telling when juxtaposed with Mouselios’s inscriptions. A sceptre, although almost entirely different to an inscribed monumental structure in terms of its sheer size and commanding visibility, is, ultimately, an object that would be intended for public wielding and ostentatious presentation, at least in courtly interactions. It would have been an interactive, communicative artefact proclaiming status, mediating messages of power. The accompanying inscription appropriately focuses on two facets of the honorand’s profile that ensure his fitness for this honour and status: the praepositus’ personal loyalty, coupled with fervent piety. The convergence of the two qualities is, tantalizingly, the rhetoric of Mouselios’s inscription in a nutshell (Εὔνους μὲν βασιλεῖ Μουσήλιος; πιστεύων καθαρῶς ὡς Θεός ἐστι Λόγος). Two learned poets of Late Antique Constantinople, the author of Mouselios’s versified inscriptions, and the author of the sceptre epigram, saw it as advantageous for their respective subjects to be praised in texts that would be either located at a pinnacle of urban visibility or wielded confidently in interactive courtly contexts. The praepositi’s personal loyalty to the emperor and their profound religious commitment were, for them, two equally

82 See Ekki Sironen, ‘An Honorary Epigram for Empress Eudocia in the Athenian Agora’, Hesperia, 59 (1990), 371–74 for further details. The literary parallels adduced by Sironen can be further expanded. To cite only Christian examples: Hebrews 3.4 (πιστὸς ἐν ὅλῳ τῷ οἴκῳ αὐτοῦ ὡς θεράπων), cited abundantly in patristic authors, including, most relevantly, a poetic text: ps.-Apollinaris, Metaphrasis of the Psalms, 2. 88. 105 (πιστότατος θεράπων); Gregory of Nazianzen, Funeral Oration on his Father (Or. 18) (πιστὲ θεράπον), Patrologiae cursus completus (series Graeca), vol. 35, ed. Jean-Pierre Migne (Paris: Migne, 1857–1866), pp. 985–1044, at p. 985; but also in prose, e.g. Eusebios, Life of Constantine, 1. 6 (πιστὸς καὶ ἀγαθὸς θεράπων). 83 The emperor Theodosius II himself, as interpreted by Sironen and the commentators of LSA-139. 84 See p. 39 above on him; PLRE II, p. 68 positively identifies this Amantios as the addressee of the epigram. 85 AP 1.96.

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important laudanda. Both these aspects of their personal profile clearly belong among the ones that the praepositi would be eager to present as being at the heart of their public image, and as a mighty buttress to their exalted status. Conclusion: Appropriating Spaces and Functions The inscribed porphyry pillar that fifth-century viewers encountered when browsing the streets while going about their everyday business or jubilantly joining in celebratory processions along the capital’s central thoroughfares was a monument to successive appropriations. Theodosios I and a civic official (probably an urban prefect) acting on his behalf had audaciously transported symbolically-charged elements of an imperial monument from a Tetrarchic capital (probably Thessaloniki) in the late fourth century. Then, soon after ad 414, our praepositus arranged to have the prestigious structures re-purposed, and to take visible epigraphic credit for it. In doing so, he both in-scribed his name onto what had already been an epigraphic statement of traditional civic power, and presented his own agency as potent, and worthy, enough to re-shape public spaces of Constantinople. Created in the course of re-inventing social functions and meanings of earlier structures, Mouselios’s statement was made manifest — physically, visibly, and symbolically — within the material texture of the monument. Just as the praepositus was involved in a vertiginous tour de force of re-mapping the cityscape in and around the Capitolium, his praises encroached — materially as well as symbolically — on the inscribed representation of traditional civic power of the urban prefect, almost teasingly retained from the earlier stages of inscribing the obelisk base. In a broader Late Antique perspective, this act of epigraphic, and spatial, appropriation finds intriguing parallels. Unlike the instances of epigraphic re-use that have received more academic discussion — those of forcible epigraphic deletion and obliteration — Mouselios’s inscriptions reveal keenness to insert his own social agency into existing structures and their urban visibility.86 In doing so, he put himself in the company of such individuals as e.g. the governor Aufidios Priskos, re-dedicating, and re-inscribing, an earlier statue to the emperor Constantios I in Caesarea Maritima (ad 293/305),87 or the Roman urban prefect Petronius Maximus (PLRE II, pp. 749–51, Maximus 22) who added his own epigraphic claim to fame as a (re)-dedicator of the imperial statue of Valens,88 or the newly-made Gothic aristocrat Valila re-purposing and re-inscribing c. ad 470 what had been a civic basilica dedicated by the Roman urban prefect Junius Bassus,89 or indeed the provincial governor 86 For Late Antique damnatio memoriae, including epigraphic, see e.g. Charles Hedrick, History and Silence: The Purge and Rehabilitation of Memory in Late Antiquity (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2000), and, more recently, Mariana Bodnaruk, ‘Damnatio Memoriae of the High-ranking Senatorial Office-holders in the Later Roman Empire, 337–415’, in ‘Optanda erat oblivio’: Selection and Loss in Ancient and Medieval Literature, ed. Nicoletta Bruno, Martina Filosa, and Giulia Marinelli (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2022), pp. 185–214 (both with references to further extensive literature). 87 The Greek and Latin Inscriptions of Caesarea Maritima, ed. Clayton M. Lehmann and Kenneth G. Holum (Boston, MA: American Schools of Oriental Research), no. 17 = LSA-1106. 88 CIL VI 36956b = LSA-1343. 89 Gregor Kalas, ‘Architecture and Elite Identity in Late Antique Rome: Appropriating the Past at Sant’andrea Catabarbara’, Papers of the British School at Rome, 81 (2013), 279–302.

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L. Turcius Secundus putting his name on the building inscription of the monumental gates in Fanum Fortunae, originally an Augustan project.90 In Carlos Machado’s felicitous words, ‘Late antique inscriptions […] should not always be seen as name tags or captions, but as interventions that added meanings to an object. In this case, the reuse introduced a new instance of social agency into the life of the monument.’91 The three latter inscriptions constitute instances of social actors seeking to affirm their significance by epigraphically appropriating monuments that had once been set up, and inscribed, by their social superiors who, at the time of the re-dedication, were no longer firmly so. Alongside them, Mouselios found it especially fitting (or maybe only practically achievable) for his project to re-frame earlier monuments, and to visually and symbolically marginalize their historic curators while retaining the latter’s epigraphic presence in the urban spaces he was creating anew. The chronologically later instance of the praepositus Narses acting at imperial behest to repair, and re-inscribe, the Rhesion gates in Constantinople, originally constructed by an urban prefect, also falls within the same category.92 Mouselios’s ambition, however, was loftier; he aspired to lay claim on a porphyry obelisk. As a type of monument, obelisks had been established, at least from Augustan times on, as a visual medium particularly suitable for large-scale cultural and historical appropriation.93 Octavian Augustus, in setting up the two obelisks he had brought from Egypt (10/9 bc) in a spatial and symbolic conjunction with the Ara Pacis, had been engaged in re-inventing spaces of power in Rome.94 Constantios II, acting as a continuator (albeit underachieving) of his father’s project to transport an Egyptian obelisk to Constantinople, in ad 357 brought it to the Old Rome during his one-time visit (CIL VI 1163). As Grant Parker put it, ‘Obelisks thus mark particular moments in the use of power, usually in the context of the state; they are also interventions in memory with the potential for considerable social impact over time’.95 Culminating in Theodosios I’s erection of the monumental obelisk on the Hippodrome in ad 390, this ‘obelizing activity’,96 put into practice by the highest civic administrators (Prokulos the urban prefect), was the ultimate form of cultural appropriation of potent symbols, and of their erector’s utmost power. By appropriating, re-framing, and thereby marginalizing the agency of an urban perfect as the original dedicator, Mouselios was effectively giving an ousting push to the civic order that underpinned the senatorial elite’s once-unchallenged involvement in the shaping of urban landscapes — the civic order that would have already begun receding into a historical twilight. In this, Mouselios was soon to be joined by other praepositi and courtly eunuchs

90 CIL XI 6218/19; see Carlos Machado, ‘Dedicated to Eternity? The Reuse of Statue Bases in Late Antique Italy’, in Epigraphic Cultures, pp. 323–62, at p. 344. 91 Machado, ‘Dedicated to Eternity?’, p. 348. 92 See above p. 17. 93 For obelisks as a regular means of appropriation of historic past(s) in the imperial and Late Antique epoch, see now Grant Parker, ‘Monolithic Appropriation? The Lateran Obelisk Compared’, in Rome, Empire of Plunder: The Dynamics of Cultural Appropriation, ed. Carolyn MacDonald, Dan-el Padilla Peralta, and Matthew P. Loar (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), pp. 137–59 (with earlier bibliography). 94 See e.g. Jennifer Trimble, ‘Appropriating Egypt for the Ara Pacis Augustae’, in Rome, Empire of Plunder, pp. 109–36. 95 Parker, ‘Monolithic Appropriation’, p. 141. 96 Parker, ‘Monolithic Appropriation’, p. 147.

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as dedicators of imperial monuments. Urban perfects, no doubt, would continue to be seen erecting imperial monuments, as e.g. the column of Markianos clearly shows. The last imperial statue of (Late) Antiquity, however, was to be dedicated by an ex-praepositus in ad 608, who proudly paraded this office in the inscription on the base of Phokas’ column in Rome — an epigraphic dedication which, notably, focuses on Smaragdos’s own honores only a little less than on the emperor’s.97

97 For Phokas’s column, statue, and inscription (CIL VI 1200 = LSA-1313), see now Gregor Kalas, ‘The Divisive Politics of Phocas (602–10) and the Last Imperial Monument of Rome’, Antiquité Tardive, 25 (2017), 173–90 (with earlier bibliography).

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Fig. 1. Current state of obelisk base, angel view; photo author

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Fig. 2. Inscribed remains of wide side of obelisk base; photo author

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Fig. 3. Latin inscription on wider side; photo author

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Fig. 4. Greek inscription on wide side; photo author

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Fig. 5. Greek inscription on narrow side; photo author

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Fig. 6. Location of Capitolium and obelisk with cross in Late Antique Constantinople; from Berger, Untersuchungen, p. 347

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Christoph Begass

Der Kaiser als Schutzwall Epigraphische und topographische Untersuchungen zum Basileios-Epigramm aus Thessaloniki (AP IX 686) und zum spätantiken Kaiserbildnis* Nachdem die Stadtmauern griechischer und römischer Städte während der Kaiserzeit vor allem der städtischen Repräsentation dienten, bedurften die Städte ab dem 3. Jahrhundert wieder ihres Schutzes.1 Angesichts zunehmender Angriffe ,barbarischer‘ Gruppen auf das Imperium Romanum an der unteren Donau und auf dem Balkan wurden dort in zahlreichen Städten die alten Stadtmauern renoviert und verstärkt.2 Dies gilt auch für Thessaloniki, als Statthaltersitz und zeitweilige Kaiserresidenz die wichtigste Stadt im nördlichen Griechenland. Unter Theodosius II. erhielt die alte Königsstadt neue Stadtmauern, die, mit mittelalterlichen Ergänzungen, noch heute das Stadtbild prägen.3





* Für hilfreiche Anmerkungen danke ich Matthias Becker, Gunnar Brands, Andreas Rhoby und Ida Toth sowie dem anonymen Gutachter. 1 Für zahlreiche Beispiele aus dem gesamten östlichen Mittelmeerraum vgl. Christoph Begass, ‘Kaiser Marcian und Myra. Beiträge zur Geschichte und Epigraphik Lykiens in der Spätantike’, Chiron, 49 (2019), 215–50. 2 Vgl. Dietrich Claude, Die byzantinische Stadt im 6. Jahrhundert (München: Beck, 1969), pp. 18–41; Efthymios Rizos, ‘The Late-Antique Walls of Thessalonica and Their Place in the Development of Eastern Military Architecture’, Journal of Roman Archaeology, 24 (2011), 450–68 (pp. 461–65); John Wilkes, ‘The Archaeology of War: Homeland Security in the South-West Balkans (3rd – 6th c. A. D.)’, in War and Warfare in Late Antiquity, ed. by Alexander Sarantis und Neil Christie (Leiden und Boston: Brill, 2013), pp. 735–57; A. G. Poulter, ‘Illyricum and Thrace from Valentinian I to Theodosius II: The Radical Transformation of the Danubian Provinces’, in Production and Prosperity in the Theodosian Period, ed. by Ine Jacobs (Leuven: Peeters, 2014), pp. 27–68; ders., ‘Goths on the Lower Danube: Their Impact upon and behind the Frontier’, Antiquité Tardive 21 (2013), 63–76; ders., ‘The Economy, the Countryside, Forts and Towns: The Early Byzantine Period on the Lower Danube during the 4th–6th ad’, in A Most Pleasant Scene and an Inexhaustible Resource: Steps Towards a Byzantine Environmental History, ed. by Henriette Baron and Falko Daim (Mainz: RGZM, 2017), pp. 79–99. 3 Zu den spätantiken und byzantinischen Stadtmauern Thessalonikis vgl. Georgios Gounaris, The Walls of Thessaloniki (Thessaloniki: Institute for Balkan Studies, 1982); Jean-Michel Spieser, Thessalonique et ses monuments du ive au vie siècle: Contribution à l’étude d’une ville paléochrétienne (Paris: Boccard, 1984); Massimo Vitti, Ἡ πολεοδομικὴ ἐξέλιξη τῆς Θεσσαλονίκης ἀπὸ τὴν ἵδρυσή της ἕως τὸν Γαλέριο (Athen: Athenais Archaiologike Hetaireia, 1996), pp. 164–72; Eutychia Kourkoutidou-Nikolaidou und Anastasia Tourta, Spaziergänge durch das byzantinische Thessaloniki (Athen: Kapon, 1997), pp. 15–27; Georgios M. Velenis, Τα τείχη της Θεσσαλονίκης από τον Κάσσανδρο ως τον Ηράκλειο (Thessaloniki: University Studio Press, 1998), pp. 89–134 mit den Bemerkungen von Jean-Michel Spieser, ‘Les remparts de Thessalonique: À propos d’un livre recent’, Byzantinoslavica, 60 (1999), 557–74 = Urban and Religious Spaces in Late Antiquity and Early Byzantium (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001), Nr. VIII; James Crow, ‘Fortifications and Urbanism in Late Antiquity: Thessaloniki and Other Eastern Cities’, in Recent Research in Late-Antique Urbanism, ed. by Luke Lavan (Portsmouth, RI: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2001), pp. 89–106 (pp. 93–98); Rizos, ‘Walls’, pp. 450–68 mit dem besten Überblick über die Datierungsprobleme. Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1, ed. by Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth, SBE, 1 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 55–69. © FHG DOI 10.1484/M.SBE-EB.5.131798

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Dieser Aufsatz widmet sich zunächst den Stadtmauern und dem Epigramm AP IX 686 (Abschnitte 1–3), bevor er in einem zweiten Teil der Frage nachgeht, welche Rolle dem Kaiserportrait in dieser Zeit zukam (Abschnitte 4–5). 1. Die Stadtmauern Thessalonikis und das Epigramm AP IX 686 Für die Datierung dieser Bauarbeiten sind drei Inschriften von besonderer Bedeutung. Zunächst bezeugt eine stark fragmentierte Inschrift, dass ein Kaiser Theodosius „diese Mauer“ erbaut habe.4 Gerade im Kontext mit der – im folgenden zu diskutierenden – Inschrift des Hormisdas scheint es sich hier eher um Theodosius II. (408–450) als um seinen gleichnamigen Großvater (379–395) zu handeln.5 Zugleich ist jedoch auch die Identität jenes Hormisdas, der ebenfalls für die Stadtmauern verantwortlich zeichnet, nicht abschließend zu klären. Der Text seines inschriftlichen Epigramms, das an der Ostmauer aus Backsteinen gesetzt ist, lautet:6 τεί[χ]εσιν ἀρ[ρή]κτοις Ὁρμίσδας ἐξετέλεσσε τήνδε πόλ[ι]ν [μεγάλην χ]εῖρ[α]ς ἔχ[ω]ν καθαρά[ς] „Mit unzerstörbaren Mauern hat Hormisdas, der unschuldige Hände hat, diese große Stadt vollendet.“ Da es jedoch mehr als unwahrscheinlich erscheint, dass es sich hier um den gleichnamigen Bischof von Rom handelt (514–523),7 identifiziert ihn mittlerweile ein Großteil der Forschung mit dem praefectus praetorio Orientis der Jahre 448–450.8 Daran ändert m. E. Zu Baumaßnahmen an der Nordmauer um 620–30 vgl. Velenis, Τείχη, pp. 128–31 (SEG 48, 849bis), zu Renovierungsarbeiten in spätbyzantinischer Zeit vgl. Melina Païsidou und Alexandros Chatziioannidis, ‘Αρχαιολογικές παρατηρήσεις στα βόρεια τείχη της Θεσσαλονίκης’, Μακεδονικά, 38 (2009), 21–47. 4 IG X 2, 1, 42; Denis Feissel, Recueil des inscriptions chrétiennes de Macédoine du iiie au vie siècle (Paris: de Boccard, 1983), pp. 88–89, Nr. 88 (hernach: Feissel, RICM): Θ̣ε̣υδόσιος σκητοῦ[χος] | [ἄν]α̣ξ̣ τ̣όδ̣ε τεῖ(χος) ἔτε̣(υξ)εν. 5 Vgl. Feissel, RICM, p. 89; Rizos, ‘Walls’, p. 454. 6 IG X 2, 1, 43; Feissel, RICM, pp. 89–90 Nr. 89: τεί[χ]εσιν ἀρ[ρή]κτοις Ὁρμίσδας ἐξετέλεσσε τήνδε πόλ[ι]ν. Bereits H. Hunger, ‘Rezension zu Travaux et Memoires 5 (1973)’, Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 23 (1974), 315–17 (p. 316) hatte erkannt, dass es sich um eine metrische Inschrift handelt, deren Hexameter mit ἐξετέλεσσε endet; dem folgt Jean-Michel Spieser, ‘Les inscriptions de Thessalonique. Supplément’, Travaux et Mémoires 7 (1979), 303–48 (p. 333). Doch erst Argyres Kountouras, ‘Τρεις επιγραφές από τα τείχη της Θεσσαλονίκης’, in Τρίτο Συμπόσιο Βυζαντινής και Μεταβυζαντινής Αρχαιολογίας και Τέχνης (Αthen: Aithousa tes Archaiologikes Etaireias, 1983), pp. 39–40 (p. 39) konnte nach πόλ[ι]ν die Worte lesen: [χ]εῖρ[α]ς ἔχ[ω]ν καθαρά[ς]; vgl. die Umzeichnung bei Thanases Papazotos, ‘Τα τείχη’, in Ἡ Θεσσαλοκίκη καὶ τὰ μνημεῖα της (Thessaloniki: Ephoreia Byzantinon Archaioteton, 1985), pp. 25–33 (p. 27) (SEG 36, 642). Auf dieser Grundlage bot Denis Feissel, Bull. ép. 1987, 440 = ders., Chroniques d’épigraphie byzantine (Paris: Association des amis du Centre d’Histoire et Civilisation de Byzance, 2006), p. 24, Nr. 74 folgenden Text: τεί[χ]εσιν ἀρ[ρή]κτοις Ὁρμίσδας ἐξετέλεσσε τήνδε πόλ[ι]ν [◡ ◡ – χ]εῖρ[α]ς ἔχ[ω]ν καθαρά[ς]. Für die metrisch wie inhaltlich gelungene Ergänzung πόλ[ι]ν [μεγάλην χ]εῖρ[α]ς vgl. Gianfranco Agosti, ‘Miscellanea epigrafica I: Note letterarie a carmi epigrafici tardoantichi’, Medioevo Greco, 5 (2005), 1–30 (p. 2), die von Rizos, ‘Walls’, p. 454 übernommen wurde. 7 So jedoch Michael Chatze Ioannu, Ἀστυγραφία Θεσσαλονίκης. Ἔτοι τοπογραφικὴ περιγραφὴ τῆς Θεσσαλονίκης (Thessaloniki: Ἡ Μακεδονία, 1880, ND Thessaloniki: Νέα Πορεία 1976), pp. 11–16; dagegen u. a. Feissel, RICM, p. 90 und Rizos, ‘Walls’, p. 455. 8 PLRE II 571, s. v. Hormisdas; Michael Vickers, ‘The Date of the Walls of Thessalonica’, Annual Report of the Istanbul Archaeological Museums, 15–16 (1969), 313–18 (p. 316); ders., ‘Further Observations on the Chronology of the Walls of Thessaloniki’, Μακεδονικά 12 (1972), 228–33; Feissel, RICM, p. 90 (mit der älteren Literatur);

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auch der in den 1980er Jahren entdeckte Schluss der Inschrift nichts. Die dort betonten καθαραὶ χεῖρες des Hormisdas hat Thanases Papazotos erneut als Indiz für eine Verbindung zum Goten-Massaker im Hippodrom von Thessaloniki betrachtet, das Theodosius I. 390 befahl.9 Damit sei die Inschrift zugleich in die letzten Jahre des 4. Jahrhunderts datiert.10 Aus der Betonung der „sauberen Hände“ sollten aber keine zu weitreichenden Folgerungen gezogen werden, da dies ein übliches Epitheton spätantiker Statthalter-Panegyrik darstellt.11 Neben den von Louis Robert angeführten Beispielen sei gerade in einem sich immer christlicher gebenden Reich auch auf Ps 23, 4LXX hingewiesen: ἀθῷος χερσὶν καὶ καθαρὸς τῇ καρδίᾳ ὃς οὐκ ἔλαβεν ματαίῳ τὴν ψυχὴν αὐτοῦ καὶ οὐκ ὤμοσεν ἐπὶ δόλῳ τῷ πλησίον αὐτοῦ. „Einer, der unschuldige Hände und ein reines Herz hat, der sein Leben nicht unnütz gebraucht hat und nicht zum Betrug an seinem Nächsten geschworen hat.“12 Verhältnismäßig sicher einzuordnen sind hingegen die Baumaßnahmen an der Stadtmauer durch Paulos, Sohn des Vivianus und 512 consul ordinarius.13 Einen terminus ante quem für dessen Bautätigkeit mag der Tod des Kaisers Anastasios darstellen, als dessen enger Vertrauter Paulos 518 kaltgestellt wurde.14 Auf die Stadtmauern bezieht sich auch das Epigramm, das einst, nach Ausweis des Lemmas in der Anthologia Palatina, inschriftlich am „östlichen Stadttor Thessalonikis“ (εἰς τὴν πύλην ἀνατολικὴν τῆς Θεσσαλονίκης) angebracht war und sich direkt auf eine Statue bezieht, die auf dem Tor stand:15



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Velenis, Τείχη, pp. 117–18. Der These Oreste Tafralis (Topographie de Théssalonique [Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1913], pp. 32–40), nach der Hormisdas in die Zeit Theodosius’ I. datiert, folgen nach wie vor Vitti, Πολεοδομική, pp. 126–27, Georgios Gounaris, ‘Παρατηρήσεις τινές επί της χρονολογίας των τειχών της Θεσσαλονίκης’, Μακεδονικά 11 (1971), 311–23 sowie Kourkoutidou-Nikolaidou und Tourta, Spaziergänge, p. 20. Bedenkenswert erscheint mir hingegen der Erklärungsversuch Brian Crokes, ‘Hormisdas and the Late Roman Walls of Thessalonika’, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies, 19 (1978), 251–58 (pp. 256–58), der zeigen konnte, dass angesichts der hunnischen Bedrohungen die Mauern Thessalonikis ab ca. 442/443 unter Hormisdas errichtet worden sein müssen, der zu dieser Zeit PPO Illyrici gewesen sei, bevor er später zum PPO Orientis ernannt wurde. Die Quellen sind zusammengestellt bei Jens-Uwe Krause, Gewalt und Kriminalität in der Spätantike (München: Beck, 2014), p. 92, Anm. 450; die detaillierteste Untersuchung bietet Daniel Washburn, ‘The Thessalonian Affair in the Fifth-Century Histories’, in Violence in Late Antiquity: Perceptions and Practices, ed. by H. A. Drake (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), pp. 215–33. Papazotos, ‘Τείχη’, pp. 27–28; dem folgen Nikolaidou und Tourta, Spaziergänge, p. 20. Zahlreiche Belege bei Louis Robert, Hellenica IV: Épigrammes du Bas-Empire (Paris: Adrien-Maisonneuve, 1948), pp. 38–40; Ihor Ševčenko, ‘A Late Antique Epigram and the so-called Elder Magistrate from Aphrodisias’, in Synthronon. Art et archéologie de la fin de l’Antiquité et du Moyen Âge: Recueil d’études par André Grabar et un groupe de ses disciples (Paris: Klincksieck, 1968), pp. 29–41 (pp. 35–36); Clive Foss, ‘Stephanus, Proconsul of Asia, and Related Statues’, in Okeanos: Essays Presented to Ihor Ševčenko on his Sixtieth Birthday by his Colleagues and Students (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1983), pp. 196–219 (p. 200 Anm. 17); D. Feissel, Bull. ép. 1994, 740 = Chroniques, p. 25, Nr. 79. Übers. nach Septuaginta deutsch, ed. by Wolfgang Kraus and Martin Karrer (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2009), p. 772. IG X 2, 1, 280; Feissel, RICM, pp. 90–91, Nr. 90. Zu seiner Karriere vgl. PLRE II, pp. 854–55; Christoph Begass, Die Senatsaristokratie des oströmischen Reiches, ca. 457–518: Prosopographische und sozialgeschichtliche Untersuchungen (München: Beck, 2018), p. 207, Nr. 166 (Paulos); pp. 261–62, Nr. 219 (Vivianus). AP IX 686; IG X 2, 1, 47; Feissel, RICM, pp. 87–88, Nr. 87; Ogereau, ICG 3097.

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Ἠνορέης ὀλετῆρα ὑπερφιάλου Βαβυλῶνος 2 καὶ σέλας ἀκτεάνοιο Δίκης Βασίλειον ὕπαρχον, ξεῖνε, νόῳ σκίρτησον, ἰδὼν ἐφύπερθε πυλάων. 4 εὐνομίης ποτὶ χῶρον ἀριστογένεθλον ὁδεύεις, βάρβαρον οὐ τρομέεις, οὐκ ἄρρενας ἀρρενοκοίτας. 6 ὅπλα Λάκων, σὺ δὲ τεῖχος ἔχεις βασίλειον ἄγαλμα. 2 Δίκης Robert Edson Feissel, δίκης alii. 6 Bασίλειον Feissel, βασίλειον Beckby Mango „Wandrer, jauchze im Herzen! Du siehst ob dem Tor den Präfekten 2 Basileios, den Mann, der Babylons übergewaltge Macht zerstört hat, die Leuchte des unbestechlichen Rechtes, 4 kommst zum Orte der besten Regierung mit trefflichstem Sohne, brauchst nicht Barbaren zu fürchten noch Männer, die Männern sich gatten. 6 Spartas Schutzwall sind Waffen, Dein Wall ist die Statue des Kaisers/des Basileios.“ (Übers. Beckby2) In der Diskussion über Umfang und Datierung der spätantiken Stadtmauern wurde das Epigramm nicht berücksichtigt, obschon es eng mit der Errichtung der Fortifikationen zusammenhängt. Vielmehr hat sich die umfangreiche Forschung zu diesem Epigramm auf andere Probleme konzentriert, in erster Linie auf die Frage, wen die im Gedicht genannte Statue dargestellt habe.16 Die ersten drei Verse preisen den ὕπαρχος Basileios, den „Vernichter“ der Perser und gerechten Richter der Armen, dessen Statue der Betrachter (ξεῖνε) auf dem Tor erblicken kann (ἐφύπερθε πυλάων), die zwei folgenden Verse hingegen loben die εὐνομία und ihre positiven Folgen, bevor das Gedicht mit dem beruhigenden Vers endet, Sparta werde von seinen Waffen geschützt, Thessaloniki aber von der Statue. Dieses Wortspiel hat zu unterschiedlichen Interpretationen in der Forschung geführt. Während ein Teil davon ausgeht, dass es sich um eine kaiser 16 Feissel, RICM, pp. 87–88, Nr. 87 mit der älteren Literatur; Cyril Mango, ‘Anthologia Palatina, 9.686’, Classical Quarterly, 34 (1984), 489–91 (pp. 489–90) (SEG 39, 633); Barry Baldwin, ‘Anthologia Palatina 9.686’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 79 (1986), 263–64 = Roman and Byzantine Papers (Amsterdam: Gieben, 1989), pp. 274–75 widerspricht Mangos Identifizierung des Präfekten und damit der Datierung in das Jahr 529 und datiert das Epigramm stattdessen in die Zeit Basileios’ I. (867–86). Terézia Olajos, ‘Zum historischen Hintergrund des Epigramms Anthologia Graeca IX 686’, Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, 32 (1989), 187–91 datiert das Epigramm wiederum in das erste Jahrzehnt des 7. Jahrhunderts, in die Zeit der Wirren um den Sturz des Phokas durch Herakleios (p. 191). Vgl. zuletzt Efthymios Rizos, ‘Civic Administration in Late Antique Illyricum and Thrace’, Antiquité Tardive, 26 (2018), 201–13 (p. 209), der, ohne Diskussion der Forschung, von einer Datierung in das späte 4. Jahrhundert ausgeht. Nützliche Beobachtungen bietet hingegen Julien M. Ogereau, ‘Authority and Identity in the Early Christian Inscriptions from Macedonia: An Overview’, in Identity and Authority in Emerging Christianities, ed. by Ciliers Breytenbach and Julien M. Ogereau (Leiden: Brill, 2018), pp. 217–39 (pp. 217–21). Erst nach Abschluss der vorliegenden Untersuchung wurde mir das Buch von Andreas E. Gkoutzioukostas, Θεσσαλονίκεια επιγραφικά μελετήματα. Xρονολογικές και ερμηνευτικές προσεγγίσεις βυζαντινών κτητορικών επιγραφών από τα τείχη της πόλης και τη βασιλική του Αγίου Δημητρίου (Thessaloniki: Vanias, 2020) bekannt, der dem Epigramm eine ausführliche Analyse widmet (pp. 95–138; mit englischem Fazit, pp. 139–41). Nach einem detaillierten Referat der bisherigen Forschungsmeinungen (pp. 96–109) schlägt er eine Datierung in die Zeit Basileios’ II. (976–985/6) vor (pp. 125–26). Einer solchen Spätdatierung steht jedoch die allgemein akzeptierte Datierung der Sammlung des Kephalas, auf der die Anthologia Palatina basiert, um 900 entgegen; vgl. dazu zuletzt Christoph Begass, ‘Kaiserkritik in Konstantinopel. Ein Spottepigramm auf Kaiser Anastasius bei Johannes Lydus und in der Anthologia Palatina’, Millennium, 14 (2017 [2018]), 103–50 (pp. 106–07), wo die relevante Literatur zusammengestellt ist.

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liche Statue (βασίλειον ἄγαλμα) gehandelt habe,17 vertritt ein anderer die Ansicht, es handele sich um die Statue des zu Beginn genannten Präfekten Basileios (Bασίλειον ἄγαλμα).18 Mit dieser Frage ist aufs engste das Problem verknüpft, ob der Präfekt Basileios prosopographisch zu fassen und über seine Amtszeit das Epigramm sicher zu datieren ist. 2. Die Identifizierung des ὕπαρχος Basileios Jede Prosopographie läuft Gefahr, eine bisher unbekannte Person mit einem anderen Individuum gleichen Namens zu identifizieren, das aus den Quellen bereits bekannt ist.19 So kann es nicht verwundern, dass in der Forschung unterschiedliche Vorschläge vorgebracht wurden, den im Epigramm genannten Basileios zu fassen, obschon es keine sicheren Indizien gibt, einen dieser Präfekten oder Statthalter mit dem ὕπαρχος (praefectus) Basilieios zu identifizieren. Da aber an der Zuordnung des Geehrten die Datierung des Epigramms hängt, seien die verschiedenen Vorschläge kurz rekapituliert.20 Zunächst fällt ins Auge, dass das Epigramm von den Kompilatoren der Anthologia Palatina mit Bedacht in die Reihe ähnlicher Bauinschriften eingereiht worden ist (AP IX 689–91), die in das 4. und 5. Jahrhundert datieren, wobei jedoch die zwei direkt folgenden Gedichte (IX 687–88) in einen anderen Kontext gehören.21 Nachdem Louis Robert den ὕπαρχος Basileios als einen sonst unbekannten praefectus praetorio per Illyricum des 5. Jahrhunderts identifiziert hatte,22 plädierte Rudolf Keydell dafür, in ihm den praefectus praetorio Orientis des Jahres 486 zu sehen.23 Cyril Mango hingegen bevorzugte als Geehrten Justinians hochdekorierten Vertrauten Basilides und datierte das Epigramm daher auf 529.24 Dieser war zunächst PPO Orientis (vor 528), danach Mitglied der Kommission zur Erarbeitung des neuen Codex und PPO per Illyricum (529), später magister officiorum (536–39).25 Die Variation des Namens im Epigramm – Βασιλίδης statt 17 Dies gilt v. a. für die Übersetzungen des Epigramms, vgl. W. R. Paton, The Greek Anthology, 5 vols (London und New York: William Heinemann/G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1916–1918), III (1917), p. 381: „The Spartan for a wall has his arms, and thou a royal statue (or the statue of Basil)“; Hermann Beckby, Anthologia Graeca, 4 vols (München: Heimeran, 21964), III, 409; Pierre Waltz und Guy Soury, Anthologie Grecque 8 vols (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1944–), VIII (1974), p. 138: „Pour rempart, le Laconien avait ses armes, toi, tu as cette statue vraiment royale“ (ebd. 138 Anm. 5 weisen die Herausgeber auf das Wortspiel hin). 18 Edson, IG X 2, 1, 47; Mango, ‘Anthologia Palatina’, p. 489; Feissel, RICM, pp. 87–88; Rizos, ‘Civic Administration’, p. 209; Ogereau, ‘Identity’, pp. 217–21. 19 Vgl. exemplarisch Christian Habicht, ‘Namensgleiche Athener in verschiedenen Demen’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik, 103 (1994), 117–27; Begass, Senatsaristokratie, pp. 27–30. 20 Eine knappe Zusammenfassung, die vor allem die Frage nach der Datierung diskutiert, findet sich in SEG 39, 633; vgl. auch Begass, Senatsaristokratie, pp. 95–96. 21 Zur Reihe AP IX 687–94 vgl. zuletzt Hendrich Schulte, Griechische Epigramme der Kaiserzeit: Handschriftlich überliefert, 2 vols (Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier, 2009–2011), II, pp. 69–75. 22 Robert, Hellenica IV, p. 24 mit zahlreichen Belegen für Δίκη und Verwandtes in spätantiken Epigrammen auf hohe Magistrate; für weitere Literatur zu diesem Topos vgl. zuletzt Begass, ‘Kaiser Marcian’, p. 236, Anm. 109. 23 Rudolf Keydell, ‘Rezension zu H. Beckby, Anthologia Graeca’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 52 (1959), 359–64 (p. 363) = Kleine Schriften (Leipzig: Zentralantiquariat, 1982), 583–88 (p. 587). 24 Mango, ‘Anthologia Palatina’, pp. 489–90: “Hence it is virtually certain that the epigram is not later than the 6th century.” 25 PLRE IIIA 172–73, s. v. Basilides.

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Βασίλειος – erkläre sich laut Mango aus dem Wortspiel mit βασίλειον ἄγαλμα (Z. 6).26 Diese Lösung kann nicht befriedigen. Zwar war es möglich, in einem Epigramm aus metrischen oder stilistischen Gründen eine Amtsbezeichnung leicht zu verändern – so wurde etwa in einem Epigramm auf einen praeses die Amtsbezeichnung ἡγεμών zu ἡγεμονεύς27 –, für den Namen des Geehrten galten hier aber sehr enge Grenzen, da eine so weitreichende Veränderung des Namens, wie sie Mango vorschlägt, doch dem Sinn des Epigramms zuwider läuft.28 In einem Epigramm aus Smyrna wurde der Name des Geehrten in adjektivischer Form wiedergegeben, so dass aus den „Mühen, die Asklepios für seine Heimatstadt auf sich nahm“ die „asklepiadischen Mühen“ (τῶν Ἀσκληπιαδῶν καμάτων) wurden, doch stellt dies, soweit ich sehe, die äußerste Form der Verfremdung eines Eigennamens in einem spätantiken Epigramm dar.29 Da der Dichter des Epigramms aus Thessaloniki sein Handwerk, wie das Gedicht deutlich zeigt, durchaus verstand, müssen wir davon ausgehen, dass es ihm möglich war, einen Eigennamen vollständig und zudem metrisch korrekt in einem Epigramm unterzubringen.30 Mit dem Namen des Präfekten hängt eine überzeugende Interpretation des letzten Verses direkt zusammen. Die auf den ersten Blick eleganteste Lösung hat Hermann Beckby 1965 im kritischen Apparat der zweiten Auflage seiner Ausgabe der Anthologia Palatina vorgebracht.31 Beckby zog in Erwägung, ob am Schluss des letzten Verses statt βασίλειον ἄγαλμα nicht „fortasse Βασιλείου ἄγαλμα“ zu lesen sei. Barry Baldwin hat in dieser Konjektur eine Möglichkeit gesehen, den „gordischen Knoten zu durchschlagen“ und zu einer befriedigenden Interpretation des Epigramms zu gelangen.32 Beckbys Vorschlag birgt aber mindestens drei Probleme, die letztlich dazu führen, ihn zu verwerfen. Zunächst ist festzuhalten, dass die Heidelberger Handschrift in v. 6 eindeutig ΒΑΣΙΛΕΙΟΝ ἈΓΑΛΜΑ überliefert (Abb. 1), wobei ΒΑΣΙΛΕΙΟΝ exakt so geschrieben ist wie in v. 2: auf dem Iota ist der Akzent gesetzt, der Umlaut EI ist in der üblichen Ligatur geschrieben,33 auf dem ersten Alpha von ἄγαλμα steht der Spiritus lenis.34 Einen zweiten Einwand hat Jean-Michel Spieser vorgebracht, als er darauf hinwies, dass sich Βασιλείου ἄγαλμα nicht in das Metrum füge.35 Das dritte und größte Problem ist aber ein inhaltliches.

26 Die Variation des Namens wurde zuvor weder von Robert noch von Keydell problematisiert. 27 Robert, Hellenica IV, p. 72. 28 Aus metrischen Gründen wurde etwa der Name Θεοδόσιος in Θευδόσιος geändert, vgl. Feissel, RICM, pp. 88–89 Nr. 88. 29 AP IX 675 (Smyrna); Reinhard Merkelbach und Josef Stauber, Steinepigramme aus dem griechischen Osten, 5 vols (Stuttgart, Leipzig, München: Teubner/Saur, 1998–2002), I, p. 510, Nr. 05/01/17; Denis Feissel, ‘Gouverneurs et édifices dans les épigrammes de Smyrne au Bas-Empire’, Revues des études grecques, 111 (1998), 125–44 (pp. 135–39); Christoph Begass, ‘Herrschaftsrepräsentation spätantiker Aristokraten in Häfen des östlichen Mittelmeerraums’, in Mare nostrum – mare meum: Wasserräume und Herrschaftsrepräsentation, ed. by Oliver Schelske and Christian Wendt (Hildesheim: Olms, 2019), 137–57 (p. 146). 30 Vgl. aber Schulte, Griechische Epigramme, p. 59: „Metrische Fehler sind bei Personennamen in der Spätantike erlaubt“ (mit zahlreichen Beispielen). 31 In der ersten Auflage von 1958 fehlt dieser Vorschlag. 32 Baldwin, ‘Anthologia Palatina’, p. 264, Anm. 9. 33 So auch in τρομέεις (v. 5) τεῖχος und ἔχεις (beide v. 6); getrennte Buchstaben hingegen in ξεῖνε (v. 3). 34 Zu Schreiber B, von dem diese Passage stammt, vgl. Alan Cameron, The Greek Anthology from Meleager to Planudes (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), pp. 99–108. 35 Jean-Michel Spieser, ‘Les inscriptions de Thessalonique’, Travaux et Mémoires, 5 (1973), 145–80 (pp. 150–51) („impossible pour des raisons métriques“); dem folgt Feissel, RICM, p. 87, Nr. 87.

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Nach Beckbys Lesart bestünde der Schutz der Stadt in der Statue des Statthalters Basileios. Dies erscheint jedoch, gerade in justinianischer Zeit, gänzlich unwahrscheinlich. Nach der Lesung βασίλειον ἄγαλμα hingegen, die zudem den Rückhalt in der handschriftlichen Überlieferung hat, stünde die Stadt deshalb unter besonderem Schutz, weil der Kaiser – in Gestalt seines Abbildes – sie beschirmte. Neben der Amtszeit des Präfekten können nur zwei weitere Stellen für eine Datierung dienen. Zum einen wurde in der Wendung ἄρρενας ἀρρενοκοίτας (v. 5) eine Anspielung auf Justinians Verfolgungen Homosexueller gesehen.36 Eine sichere Datierung in justinianische Zeit ermöglicht diese Stelle, hinter deren Vokabular offenbar Paulus’ erster Brief an die Korinther steht, allein aber nicht.37 Auch der Verweis auf die Perserkriege, mit dem das Epigramm anhebt (ὀλετῆρα ὑπερφιάλου Βαβυλῶνος, v. 1), bietet keinen festen Anhaltspunkt für eine Datierung; zu häufig sind Auseinandersetzungen mit den Sāsāniden und zu häufig bieten sie daher Anlass für Kaiserlob, weshalb viele Kaiser des späten 5. und 6. Jahrhunderts für ihre vermeintlichen Siege gegen die Perser gepriesen wurden. Bereits Franz Dölger hat darauf hingewiesen, dass die Wendung Ἠνορέης ὀλετῆρα … Βαβυλῶνος deutliche Ähnlichkeit mit jenem Epigramm hat, das am Fuße von Justinians Reiterstatue angebracht war.38 Dass sich Justinian als ὀλετήρ der Perser feiern ließ, ist zweifellos korrekt, doch bevor wir dies als Beweis für eine Datierung von AP IX 686 in justinianische Zeit gelten lassen, ist zu bedenken, dass sich eine ähnliche Formulierung schon in einem Epigramm findet, das Urbikios’ Taktika vorangestellt war und Kaiser Anastasios dafür rühmt, neben Heeren der Sarazenen, Hunnen und Isaurier auch die Perser vernichtet zu haben.39 Dass dieses Bild in der Folgezeit zum Topos gerann, zeigt sich daran, dass seine Nachfolger in ähnlicher Weise gefeiert wurden: Justinian wird auch in einem anderen Epigramm als „Zerschmetterer der Meder“ (ὦ βασιλεῦ Μηδοκτόνε) angerufen,40 Justin II. habe einen Erfolg über Assyrien – eine poetische Variante für Persien – gefeiert.41 Selbst wenn die oben diskutierten Indizien in der Summe am ehesten auf die Zeit Justinians deuten, lässt sich der Text des Epigramms nicht abschließend datieren; weder kann der Präfekt prosopographisch sicher bestimmt werden, noch bietet das Epigramm selbst eindeutige Hinweise auf eine zeitliche Verortung.

36 Vgl. Mango, ‘Anthologia Palatina’, p. 490. Vgl. jetzt George M. Hollenback, ‘Boswell’s ἄρρενας ἀρρενοκοῖται (Anthologia Palatina 9.686)’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 110 (2017), 645–48. Zu Justinians Verfolgungen zuletzt Hartmut Leppin, Justinian: Das christliche Experiment (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 2011), p. 105. Rizos, ‘Civic Administration’, p. 219 Anm. 67 bringt unter Berufung auf Soz. VII 25, 3–4 diesen Vers mit dem Massaker von 390 in Verbindung; zu dieser Stelle vgl. ausführlich Washburn, ‘Thessalonian Affair’, pp. 216–18. 37 1. Korinther 6,9: οὔτε πόρνοι οὔτε εἰδωλολάτραι οὔτε μοιχοὶ οὔτε μαλακοὶ οὔτε ἀρσενοκοῖται … βασιλείαν Θεοῦ κληρονομήσουσιν. 38 APl. 63, 1: ὀλλυμένην Βαβυλῶνα mit Franz Dölger, ‘Rezension zu Kyriakides, Βυζαντιναὶ Μελέται’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 40 (1940), 180–91 (pp. 180–83); weitere Parallelen bei Gianfranco Agosti, ‘Literariness and Levels of Style in Epigraphical Poetry of Late Antiquity’, Ramus, 37 (2008), 191–213 (p. 210, Anm. 23). 39 AP IX 210, 7: Πέρσας ὀλέσεις; diese Wendung erinnert ebenfalls stark an AP IX 686, 1: ὀλετῆρα ὑπερφιάλου Βαβυλῶνος. 40 APl. 62 mit dem Lemma εἰς στήλην Ἰουστινιανοῦ βασιλέως έν τῷ Ἱπποδρόμῳ. Vgl. zuletzt Schulte, Epigramme, p. 140 mit weiterer Literatur. 41 AP IX 810: ἀπ’ Ἀσσυρίοιο θριάμβου.

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3. Statthalter und Stadtmauern Der Text des Epigramms bezeugt zweifellos, dass auf dem Stadttor – vielleicht auch über dem Durchgang in einer Nische – ein Bildnis des praefectus Basileios zu sehen war. Zwar steht bisher eine systematische Untersuchung spätantiker Stadtmauern aus,42 doch finden sich genügend Belege, die zeigen, dass es neben Statthaltern auch praefecti praetorio waren, die für die Neuerrichtung oder Renovierung der Stadtmauern in ihrem Amtsbereich verantwortlich zeichneten. In diesen Kontext gehört auch das Epigramm des Basileios. Bereits 1948 hatte Louis Robert auf ein Epigramm aus dem böotischen Thespiae hingewiesen,43 das gewisse Ähnlichkeiten zu AP IX 686 aufweise.44 Daran anknüpfend sah Jean-Michel Spieser eine weitere, für unser Problem relevante Parallele zwischen beiden Gedichten, da in Thespiae der proconsul Achaiae als τεῖχος Ἀχαιϊάδος bezeichnet wird. Dies zog er als Stütze für die Annahme heran, in Thessaloniki stelle die Statue des Basileios einen „Schutzwall“ der Stadt und ihrer Bewohner dar.45 Zwei Gründe sprechen jedoch gegen diese Deutung. Anders als in Thessaloniki handelt es sich beim Epigramm aus Thespiae nicht um eine Bauinschrift, sondern um einen Titulus, der auf der Basis einer Statue eingraviert wurde,46 darüber hinaus wird der geehrte Vettius Agorius Praetextatus (Ἑλλάδος ἀνθύπατος = proconsul Achaiae 362–64)47 nicht nur metaphorisch als „Mauer Achaias“ (τεῖχος Ἀχαιϊάδος), sondern auch als „Krone Roms“ (Ῥώμης στέφος) und „Stolz seines Geschlechts“ (αἵματος εὖχος) gepriesen. Er schütze, so die Aussage dieses Epigramms, die Bewohner seiner Provinz durch seine Gerechtigkeit, verehrte die Musen und machte so dem Imperium Romanum und seiner Familie Ehre. Ob er tatsächlich für eine Stadtmauer verantwortlich zeichnete oder ob er hier nicht vielmehr metaphorisch als Schutz der Bewohner fungiert, lässt sich anhand dieses Gedichtes nicht nachweisen. Eine Ehrung, die derjenigen aus Thessaloniki tatsächlich nahe steht, ist die des praeses Cariae Fl. Constantius. Dieser hatte in Aphrodisias neben der Stadtmauer mehrere Bauwerke errichten bzw. instandsetzen lassen und war dafür von Rat und Volk geehrt worden:48

42 Vgl. aber die Überblicke von Rizos, ‘Walls’, pp. 461–65 (zum Balkan); James Crow, ‘Fortification and The Late Roman East: From Urban Walls to Long Walls’, in War and Warfare in Late Antiquity, ed. by Alexander Sarantis und Neil Christie (Leiden und Boston: Brill, 2013), pp. 397–432 und dems., ‘Fortifications’, in The Archaeology of Byzantine Anatolia: From the End of Late Antiquity until the Coming of the Turks, ed. by Philipp Niewöhner (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), pp. 90–108 sowie jüngst City Walls in Late Antiquity: An Empire-Wide Perspective, ed. by Emanuele Intagliata, Christopher Courault und Simon J. Barker (Oxford: Oxbow, 2020). 43 Ed. pr. André Plassart, ‘Fouilles de Thespies et de l’hiéron des muses de l’Hélicon. Inscriptions: Dédicaces de caractère religieux ou honorifique, bornes de domaines sacrés’, Bulletin de correspondance hellénique, 50 (1926), 383–462 (p. 444, Nr. 85; I.Thesp. 418, 1–3; LSA-839): τὸν πάσαις Μούσαισι καὶ εὐδικίαισι τραφέντα | ἀρχεγόνου γαίης Ἑλλάδος ἀνθύπατον, | τεῖχος Ἀχαιϊάδος, Ῥώμης στέφος, αἵματος εὖχος. 44 Robert, Hellenica IV, p. 24. 45 Spieser, ‘Inscriptions Supplément’, p. 333, Nr. 2. 46 I.Thesp. 418: „Base rectangulaire de calcaire […]. À la face supérieure, cavité d’encastrement ovale pour statue de pierre, avec plusieurs trous de scellement.“ 47 Zur Amtsbezeichnung vgl. Thomas Corsten, ‘Proconsul Graeciae’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik, 117 (1997), 117–22 (p. 119); zur Person vgl. PLRE I, pp. 722–24, s. v. Vettius Agorius Praetextatus 1 (p. 722) und Maijastina Kahlos, Vettius Agorius Praetextatus: A Senatorial Life in Between (Rom: Institutum Romanum Finlandiae Rome, 2002), pp. 31–35. 48 ALA 2004, 22.

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Φλ(άουιον) Κωνστάντιον τὸν λαμπρότατον ἡγεμόνα ἡ βουλὴ καὶ ὁ δῆμος ☙ μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων ἔργων καὶ τὸ τεῖχος ἀναστήσαντα ❊ „Fl(avius) Constantius, den clarissimus praeses, der, neben der anderen Werken, auch die Mauer errichtet hat, haben Rat und Volk [aufgestellt].“ Wie Marietta Horster betont hat, ist diese Inschrift „nicht nur wegen ihrer Prosaform untypisch, sondern […] auch deswegen, weil sie nicht auf einer Basis eingeschrieben, sondern als Bauinschrift an einem der Stadttore angebracht war.“49 Daher erscheint es sicher, dass auch eine Statue des Fl. Constantius auf diesem Stadttor stand.50 Hinzu kommt, dass sich, anders als in den Provinzen, wo sich die Statthalter große Freiheiten in ihrer Selbstdarstellung gestatten konnten, die Kaiser dieses Privileg in Konstantinopel und anderen herausragenden Städten für sich behielten.51 Dies gilt in besonderem Maße für Konstantinopel, wo Kaiser Julian die Stadtmauern als Siegeszeichen (τρόπαιον) und „Zeichen seines Wachens“ (ἑῆς σύμβολον ἀγρυπνίης) gegen die Feinde errichten ließ.52 An der dortigen theodosianischen Landmauer verkündeten Inschriften, die Stadt habe diese Mauern Theodosius II. zu verdanken, während sein praefectus urbi Constantinus lediglich als ausführender Beamter erscheint.53 Thessaloniki genoss als Provinzhauptstadt und Sitz des praefectus praetorio per Illyricum, als wichtigste Stadt des

49 Marietta Horster, ‘Ehrungen spätantiker Statthalter’, Antiquité Tardive, 6 (1998), 37–59 (p. 52). Wie aus einer Mosaikinschrift hervorgeht, hat dieser Statthalter, dessen Amtszeit seinem Titel zufolge (τὸν λαμπρότατον ἡγεμόνα) in das 4. Jahrhundert gehört, tatsächlich mehrere Werke in der Stadt angeregt: [Φλ(άβιος) Κ]ωνστάντιος | [ὁ λ]αμπρότατος | [ἡ]γεμὼν καὶ τοῦτο τὸ | [ἔ]ργον ἐποίησεν (ALA 2004, 235). Hier ist offenbar die Mosaizierung des Fußbodens in der Basilica bezeichnet, vgl. Christopher Ratté, ‘New Research on the Urban Development of Aphrodisias in Late Antiquity’, in Urbanism in Western Asia Minor. New Studies on Aphrodisias, Ephesos, Hierapolis, Pergamon, Perge and Xanthos, ed. by David Parrish (Portsmouth, RI: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2001), pp. 117–47, (p. 125). Zur Stadtmauer von Aphrodisias vgl. die immer noch unpublizierte (und mir daher nicht zugängliche) Dissertation von Peter De Staebler, ‘The City Wall of Aphrodisias and Civic Identity in Late Antique Asia Minor’ (Dissertation New York University, 2007); eine Zusammenfassung der Ergebnisse findet sich in Peter De Staebler, ‘The City Wall and the Making of a Late-Antique Provincial Capital’, in Aphrodisias Papers 4: New Research on the City and its Monuments, ed. by Christopher Ratté und R. R. R. Smith (Portsmouth, RI: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2008), pp. 284–318 (zu den Stadttoren: pp. 296–304). In den letzten Jahren bezeugt eine weitere Inschrift die Bautätigkeit eines spätantiken spectabilis tribunus (περίβλεπτος τριβοῦνος), ed. pr. Angelos Chaniotis, ‘New Inscriptions of Late Antique Aphrodisias’, Tekmeria, 9 (2008), 219–32 (pp. 221–22, Nr. 1) mit einer Korrektur von Denis Feissel, Bull. ép. 2011, 707 (SEG 58, 1191). Welches Bauwerk er errichtete, ist aus der Inschrift ebenso wenig zu erfahren wie aus einer christlichen Bauinschrift, die noch weiter fragmentiert ist, ed. pr. Angelos Chaniotis, ‘Inscriptions’, in Aphrodisias 5: The Aphrodisias Regional Survey, ed. by Christopher Ratté und Peter De Staebler (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 2012), pp. 347–66 (pp. 362–63, Nr. 19; SEG 62, 817). 50 So auch Charlotte Roueché in ihrem Kommentar zu dieser Inschrift (ALA 2004, 22). 51 Vgl. Begass, ‘Herrschaftsrepräsentation’, p. 145. 52 AP IX 689; zu diesem Epigramm s. unten Anm. 86. 53 AP IX 690–91 und das Epigramm, ed. pr. Hatice Kalkan – Sencer Şahin, ‘Epigraphische Mitteilungen aus Istanbul’, Epigraphica Anatolica, 23 (1994), 145–56 (p. 151; SEG 44, 580; AE 1994, 1633; Denis Feissel, Bull. ép. 1995, 720 = Chroniques, pp. 57–58, Nr. 179); vgl. dazu Wolfgang D. Lebek, ‘Die Landmauer von Konstantinopel und ein neues Bauepigramm (Θευδοσίου τόδε τεῖχος)’, Epigraphica Anatolica, 25 (1995), 107–54 (pp. 137–46) und Neslihan Asutay-Effenberger, Die Landmauer von Konstantinopel-İstanbul: Historisch-topographische und baugeschichtliche Untersuchungen (Berlin und New York: De Gruyter, 2007), pp. 37–51; zu Constantinus vgl. jetzt Begass, Senatsaristokratie, pp. 108–09. Vor diesem Hintergrund geht Rizos, ‘Walls’, p. 454 davon aus, dass vor dem erhaltenen Teil der Hormisdas-Inschrift der Name des Kaisers gestanden haben müsse. Diese Vermutung äußerte bereits Chatze Ioannu, Ἀστυγραφία Θεσσαλονίκης, p. 12, dem Edson, IG X 2, 1, 43 folgt (s. oben Anm. 6–8).

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nördlichen Griechenlands und ehemalige Kaiserresidenz ebenfalls einen besonderen Status, der zwar nicht mit jenem Konstantinopels vergleichbar war, übrige Provinzhauptstädte aber deutlich übertraf.54 Ein letzter Aspekt sei hier noch berücksichtigt. Zwar wurde Vettius Agorius Praetextatus in Thespiae metaphorisch als „Mauer Achaias“ gepriesen, während in Aphrodisias der Statthalter möglicherweise für das Tor verantwortlich zeichnete, im Vergleich zur Inschrift aus Thessaloniki unterscheiden sich die genannten Beispiele aber in einem entscheidenden Punkt. Obschon Statthalter – oder in besonderen Fällen praefecti praetorio – für Fortifikationen der Städte zuständig waren, kam deren Abbild keine besondere Bedeutung zu. Im Gegensatz dazu wurde aber dem Kaiser und seinen Bildnissen auch in der Spätantike eine apotropäische Wirkung zugeschrieben. Aus diesem Grunde hilft Ogereaus Hinweis auf die Inschrift und das Statuenensemble auf der Stadtmauer von Anasartha nicht weiter.55 Denn obschon dort auch der praefectus praetorio, der Bischof der Stadt und ein Architekt genannt werden (Z. 6–8), wird die Stadt vor allem durch „Christus, den Retter“ und das „siegreiche Kaiserpaar“ beschützt.56 Christi Name erscheint zudem in einem Medaillon erneut: ☩ Ἰησοῦ[ς Χ(ριστό)ς] | Ἐμανουήλ, | ☩ [ἐπὶ] πάντων θ(εό)ς. Vor diesem Hintergrund sei abschließend untersucht, wie Stadttore überhaupt mit Statuen und Bildnissen geschmückt wurden (Abschnitt 4) und welche Funktionen Kaiserbildern in diesem Zusammenhang zugeschrieben wurden (Abschnitt 5). Diese Analyse wird das Rätsel des Epigramms AP IX 686 nicht vollständig lösen können, aber wichtige Bausteine für eine umfassende Interpretation liefern, die neben philologischen und epigraphischen auch historische und topographische Überlegungen einschließt. 4. Stadttore und Kaiserstatuen Zunächst ist festzuhalten, dass es im gesamten Mittelmeerraum nur wenige Belege für Stadttore gibt, die mit Statuen ausgestattet waren.57 Vor allem aus Rom und Konstantinopel ist aber bekannt, dass dort Statuen von Kaisern der theodosianischen Dynastie die Tore beschirmten, doch dieser Eindruck scheint vor allem der Überlieferungslage geschuldet zu sein. So sind aus Rom mehrere Inschriften erhalten, die zeigen, dass Statuen von Arcadius und Honorius auf mindestens drei Stadttoren standen.58 In seinem Bericht eines Erdbebens,

54 S. unten Anm. 67. 55 Vgl. Ogereau, ‘Authority’, p. 221 mit Verweis auf IGLS II 288 = SGO IV 20/21/02. Diese Inschrift wurde neuediert von Glen W. Bowersock, ‘Chalcis ad Belum and Anasartha in Byzantine Syria’, Travaux et Mémoires, 14 (2002), 47–55 (p. 53). Vgl. zuletzt Begass, ‘Kaiser Marcian’, pp. 238–39 mit weiterer Literatur. 56 IGLS II 288, 5: [σωτ]ῆρα Χριστόν, κ[αλ]λινίκους δεσπότας. 57 Ine Jacobs, ‘Gates in Late Antiquity: The Eastern Mediterranean’, BABESCH, 84 (2009), 197–213; dies., Aesthetic Maintenance of Civic Space: The ‘Classical’ City from the 4th to the 7th c. ad. (Leuven: Peeters, 2013), pp. 60–92. Zu Aphrodisias s. oben Anm. 49. 58 Porta Praenestina: CIL VI 1189 = ILS 797; Porta Tiburtina: CIL VI 1190 („idem titulus“); Porta Portuensis: CIL VI 1188. Allein aus den Inschriften selbst lässt sich jedoch nicht eindeutig bestimmen, wo die Statuen an den Toren angebracht waren. Zur Datierung vgl. André Chastagnol, Les fastes de la Préfecture de Rome au Bas-Empire (Paris: Nouvelles Éditions Latines, 1962), pp. 255–57, der diese Statuen anhand der Amtszeit des Stadtpräfekten auf zwischen Ende 401 und dem 10. Januar 402 datiert; ihm folgt Thomas Pekáry, Das römische Kaiserbildnis in Staat, Kult und Gesellschaft: Dargestellt anhand der Schriftquellen (Berlin: Mann, 1985), p. 27.

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das 740 Konstantinopel heimsuchte, berichtet Theophanes Confessor, dass durch die Erschütterungen dort mehrere Statuen von Stadttoren fielen. Vom Atalos-Tor, dem sog. Konstantininischen oder älteren Goldenen Tor, stürzten die Standbilder Konstantins des Großen sowie des Atalos, nach dem das Tor benannt war,59 hinab, während vom Goldenen Tor am Südende der Landmauer eine Statue des Theodosius I. heruntergefallen sei.60 Über dem Goldenen Tor prunkte eine lateinische Inschrift, die in Bronzelettern den Sieg des Kaisers über einen tyrannus feierte: Haec loca Theudosius decorat post fata tyranni | Aurea saecla gerit qui portam construit auro.61 Laut den Patria (I 73) habe Theodosius II., als er die Landmauern errichten ließ, auf dem Goldenen Tor sein eigenes Bildnis aufstellen lassen, das er hinter einer Elephantengruppe plaziert habe (ἐξ οὗ καὶ στήλην ἔστησεν αὐτοῦ ὄπισθεν τῶν ἐλεφάντων), die angeblich aus dem Tempel des Ares in Athen stammten (II 58).62 Abgesehen von der hier unerheblichen Frage, ob es sich um Theodosius I. oder seinen gleichnamigen Enkel handelte,63 zeigen diese Passagen deutlich, dass die Tore Roms und Konstantinopels von Kaiserstatuen bewacht wurden.64 Während Theodosius in seinem Bildnis auf dem Goldenen Tor in Konstantinopel durch die Inschrift als erfolgreicher Feldherr erscheinen musste, hatte die Statue in Thessaloniki, wie aus dem Epigramm hervorgeht, einen allgemeineren Zweck. Der immerwährend siegreiche Kaiser ist in seinem Abbild präsent und beschützt so die Stadt.65 Während

59 Zum Atalos-Tor – vermutlich identisch mit dem alten Goldenen Tor – vgl. Cyril Mango, ‘The Triumphal Way of Constantinople and the Golden Gate’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 54 (2000), 173–88 (p. 175) und jetzt Georges Kazan, ‘What’s in a Name? Constantinople’s Lost ‘Golden Gate’ Reconsidered’, in Discipuli dona ferentes: Glimpses of Byzantium in Honour of Marlia Mundell Mango, ed. by Tassos Papacostas und Maria Parani (Turnhout: Brepols, 2017), pp. 291–320. 60 Theoph. a. m. 6232, pp. 412, 6–13 de Boor. Dessen Bericht ist auch in die Auszüge aus einem megas chronographos eingegangen: Peter Schreiner, Die byzantinischen Kleinchroniken, 3 vols (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1975–1979), I, p. 44, Nr. 15. Zum Tor vgl. Bruno Meyer-Plath und Alfons Maria Schneider, Die Landmauer von Konstantinopel. Zweiter Teil: Aufnahme, Beschreibung und Geschichte (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1943), p. 41, die davon ausgehen, das Tor sei „aufs reichste mit Statuen geschmückt“ gewesen. Eine Diskussion über den statuarischen Schmuck auf dem Goldenen Tor bietet jetzt James Crow, ‘Power and Glory: Ceremonial Gates in Constantinople and the Balkans: Prototypes and Legacy’, in City Walls in Late Antiquity. An Empire-Wide Perspective, ed. by Emanuele Intagliata, Christopher Courault und Simon J. Barker (Oxford: Oxbow, 2020), pp. 65–75 (p. 67). 61 CIL III 735; Meyer-Plath und Schneider, Landmauer, p. 43. 62 Vgl. Josef Strzygowski, ‘Das Goldene Thor in Konstantinopel’, Jahrbuch des Kaiserlich Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts 8 (1893), 1–39 (p. 29); Albrecht Berger, Untersuchungen zu den Patria Konstantinupoleos (Bonn: Habelt, 1988), pp. 367–68; Jonathan Bardill, ‘The Golden Gate in Constantinople: A Triumphal Arch of Theodosius I’, American Journal of Archaeology, 103 (1999), 671–96 (pp. 689–90); Sarah Bassett, The Urban Image of Late Antique Constantinople (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 212. 63 Schon Strzygowski, ‘Goldenes Thor’, p. 29 plädierte für Theodosius I., und zu dieser Deutung ist zuletzt Bardill, ‘Golden Gate’, pp. 671–96 zurückgekehrt. Da die Landmauern aber erst unter Theodosius II. zwischen 408–13 errichtet wurden, sieht ein Großteil der Forschung in der Statue den jüngeren Theodosius, vgl. Rudolf H. W. Stichel, Die römische Kaiserstatue am Ende der Antike (Rom: Brettschneider, 1982), pp. 97–98, Nr. 97 mit der älteren Forschung sowie zuletzt ausführlich Asutay-Effenberger, Landmauer, pp. 54–61, die sich bei ihrer abgewogenen Diskussion aber hinsichtlich der Statue nicht festlegt; vgl. auch LSA-2497. 64 Aus Malalas erfahren wir, dass in Antiochia am Orontes Theodosius II. eine Basilika errichten ließ, die von Statuen dieses Kaisers sowie des Valentinian III. gekrönt wurde (Malal. XIV 13, pp. 280, 82–281, 90 Thurn). Zudem ließ er nach dem Vorbild des Goldenen Tores in Konstantinopel das Daphne-Tor vergolden, das ebenfalls „bis in jetzige Zeit das Goldene Tor heißt“ (ebd, pp. 281, 90–94 Thurn), jedoch erwähnt Malalas hier keine Statuen. 65 Die Verbindung des siegreichen Kaisers findet sich auch in Julians Epigramm AP IX 689, vgl. Anm. 52 und 86.

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Sparta durch seine Waffen beschirmt werde, sei Thessaloniki, wie der letzte Vers des Epigramms hervorhebt, durch das Bild des Kaisers geschützt (ὅπλα Λάκων, σὺ δὲ τεῖχος ἔχεις βασίλειον ἄγαλμα).66 Entscheidend ist hier, nochmals zu betonen, dass es sich auch bei Thessaloniki keinesfalls um eine beliebige Provinzhauptstadt handelte, sondern um die wichtigste Stadt Nordgriechenlands, der gerade in der Mitte des 5. Jahrhunderts im Kampf gegen die Hunnen eine Schlüsselstellung zukam.67 Auch wenn das Lemma der Anthologia Palatina nicht ausdrücklich angibt, auf welchem der östlichen Stadttore die Statue stand, legt die Formulierung τὴν πύλην ἀνατολικὴν τῆς Θεσσαλονίκης nahe, dass es sich um das Haupttor im Osten, die Kassandreotike Pyle gehandelt hat.68 Durch dieses Tor betraten alle Reisenden, die über die via Egnatia aus Richtung Konstantinopel in die Provinzhauptstadt kamen, die Stadt, so wie Theodoros Studites im März des Jahre 797.69 Sie folgten, zu ihrer linken Hippodrom und Kaiserpalast erblickend, der monumentalen Hauptstraße (via regia bzw. λεωφόρος)70 und sahen zur Rechten den Galerius-Bogen, bevor sie das Goldene Tor wieder auf die via Egnatia in Richtung Westen entließ.71 5. Kaiser und Kaiserbild Seit augusteischer Zeit repräsentierte die Kaiserstatue den Kaiser selbst. Da sich in ihr dessen übernatürliche Kräfte vereinigten, die weit über die menschliche Sphäre hinaus 66 Den poetischen Hintergrund dieser Vorstellung bietet möglicherweise Aisch. Pers. 349: ἀνδρῶν γὰρ ὄντων ἕρκος ἐστὶν ἀσφαλές – „Solange es Männer gibt, ist der Schutzwall fest.“ 67 Zum Status Thessalonikis vgl. Ernst Stein, ‘Untersuchungen zur spätrömischen Verwaltungsgeschichte’, Rheinisches Museum für Philologie, 74 (1925), 347–94 (pp. 357–58) = Opera minora selecta (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1968), pp. 145–92 (pp. 155–56), der darauf hinweist, dass Thessaloniki seit 395 Sitz des praefectus praetorio per Illyricum gewesen und dies bis etwa 535 geblieben sei, als Justinian die Präfektur – zumindest offiziell – nach Iustiniana Prima verlegte (Nov. Just. 11 mit Stein, ‘Untersuchungen’, p. 360 = Opera minora selecta, p. 158); Crow, ‘Fortifications’, p. 93; Rizos, ‘Civic Administration’, p. 219; zu den Rangunterschieden spätantiker Städte vgl. Hendrik Dey, ‘Privileged Cities: Provincial, Regional and Imperial Capitals’, Antiquité Tardive, 26 (2018), 163–95. 68 So auch Rizos, ‘Civic Administration’, pp. 219–21 und Ogereau, ‘Authority’, p. 217. Zur heute zerstörten Kassandreotike Pyle vgl. Spieser, Thessalonique, pp. 50–51; zum mittelalterlichen Namen Kalamaria-Tor, vgl. Gounaris, ‘Walls’, p. 22. 69 Theodoros Studites, Ep. 3 (PG 99, 913–20, neuediert von Jean-Claude Cheynet und Bernard Flusin, ‘Du monastère Ta Kathara à Thessalonique: Théodore Stoudite sur la route de l’exil’, Revue des études byzantines, 48 (1990), 193–211 (pp. 198, 51–55) = Theodori Studitae Epistulae, 2 vols, ed. by Georgios Fatouros [Berlin und New York: De Gruyter, 1992], II, pp. 15, 107 [zur Datierung ebd. I, p. 10*]), wo aber ebenfalls nur vom Eintritt ἐν τῇ ἀνατολικῇ πόρτῃ die Rede ist. Zur Deutung dieses Tores als Kassandreotike Pyle vgl. Tafrali, Topographie, p. 147; Cheynet und Flusin, ‘Monastère’, p. 210; Charalambos Bakirtzis, ‘Imports, Exports and Autarky in Byzantine Thessalonike from the Seventh to the Tenth Century’, in Post-Roman Towns, Trade and Settlement in Europe and Byzantium II: Byzantium, Pliska, and the Balkans, ed. by Joachim Henning (Berlin und New York: De Gruyter, 2007), pp. 89–118 (p. 95). 70 Belege für die Bezeichnung als λεωφόρος in byzantinischer Zeit bei Charalampos I. Makaronas, ‘Via Egnatia and Thessalonike’, in Studies Presented to David Moore Robinson on his Seventieth Birthday, ed. by Georgios E. Mylonas, 2 vols (St. Louis: Washington University Press, 1951), I, pp. 380–88 (p. 384 Anm. 12) = ΘΕΣΣΑΛΟΝΙΚΗΝ ΦΙΛΙΠΠΟΥ ΒΑΣΙΛΙΣΣΑΝ: Μελέτες για την αρχαία Θεσσαλονίκη (Thessaloniki: Archaiologiko Museio Thessalonikes, 1985), 392–401 (p. 397 Anm. 12) und Vickers, ‘Hellenistic Thessaloniki’, p. 162 Anm. 33. 71 Zum Goldenen Tor vgl. Spieser, Thessalonique, pp. 55–56. Kritisch gegenüber dem üblicherweise angenommenen Verlauf der via Egnatia ist Makaronas, ‘Via Egnatia’, pp. 384–88.

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wiesen,72 taten sich die frühen Christen zunächst schwer, die Statue kultisch zu verehren.73 Dies änderte sich jedoch ab konstantinischer Zeit, und spätestens seit der Mitte des 4. Jahrhunderts wurde der christliche Wunderglaube rasch und intensiv mit früheren Vorstellungen der kaiserlichen Allmacht vermengt, während der Kaiser zunehmend in gemalten Bildern und immer seltener statuarisch dargestellt wurde.74 Exemplarisch seien hier zwei Beispiele angeführt, die für die affirmative Einstellung der Kirchenväter stehen, den Statuen den gleichen Wert wie dem Kaiser selbst zuzugestehen. Vor dem Hintergrund der im arianischen Streit zentralen Frage nach dem Verhältnis Christi zum Vater betont Athanasius in seiner dritten Rede gegen die Arianer, man „sehe den Vater im Sohn und den Sohn im Vater“.75 Um diese Wesensgleichheit zu illustrieren, führt er mit der Kaiserstatue die für seine Zeitgenossen, wie er eigens betont, nächstliegende Parallele an:76 τοῦτο δὲ καὶ ἀπὸ τοῦ παραδείγματος τῆς εἰκόνος τοῦ βασιλέως προσεχέστερόν τις κατανοεῖν δυνήσεται. ἐν γὰρ τῇ εἰκόνι τοῦ βασιλέως τὸ εἶδος καὶ ἡ μορφή ἐστι, καὶ ἐν τῷ βασιλεῖ δὲ τὸ ἐν τῇ εἰκόνι εἶδος ἐστιν. ἀπαράλλακτος γάρ ἐστιν ἡ ἐν τῇ εἰκόνι τοῦ βασιλέως ὁμοιότης, ὥστε τὸν ἐνορῶντα τῇ εἰκόνι ὁρᾶν ἐν αὐτῇ τὸν βασιλέα καὶ τὸν πάλιν ὁρῶντα τὸν βασιλέα ἐπιγινώσκειν, ὅτι οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ ἐν τῇ εἰκόνι.

72 Vgl. Helmut Kruse, Studien zur offiziellen Geltung des Kaiserbildes im römischen Reich (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1934); Pekáry, Kaiserbildnis, pp. 132–33; Simon R. F. Price, Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), pp. 196–200. 73 Vgl. Pekáry, Kaiserbildnis, p. 151. 74 Zum sich wandelnden statue habit, der hier nicht eigens untersucht werden kann, sei verwiesen auf Franz Alto Bauer und Christian Witschel, ‘Statuen in der Spätantike’, in Statuen in der Spätantike (Wiesbaden: Reichert, 2007), pp. 1–24; Franz Alto Bauer, ‘Statuen hoher Würdenträger im Stadtbild Konstantinopels’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 96 (2003), pp. 493–513 (p. 510); ders., ‘Monument und Denkmal’, in Reallexikon zur Byzantinischen Kunst, 6 (2005), pp. 656–720 (pp. 689–91); Jacobs, Aesthetic Maintenance, pp. 406–45; dies., ‘Old Statues, New Meanings: Literary, Epigraphic and Archaeological Evidence for Christian Reidentification of Statuary’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 113 (2020), 789–836. Auf der Basis der Last Statues of Antiquity wertet jetzt Bryan Ward-Perkins den gesamten statuarischen Befund der Spätantike aus, vgl. ‘Statues at the End of Antiquity: The Evidence of the Inscribed Bases’, in The Last Statues of Antiquity, ed. by R. R. R. Smith und Bryan Ward-Perkins (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), pp. 28–40; ders., ‘The End of the Statue Habit, ad 284–620’, in ebd., pp. 295–308. Zum Ende der Statuen vgl. Cyril Mango, ‘Épigrammes honorifiques, statues et portraits à Byzance’, in Studies on Constantinople (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1993), Nr. IX (zuerst 1986). Mango diskutiert ebd., p. 25 auch die Frage, ob es sich beim Bildnis des Petros Barsymes (APl. 37 εἰς στήλην) um eine Statue oder ein gemaltes Bild handelte. Zuletzt tendierten Bauer, ‘Statuen’, p. 510 und Ulrich Gehn, LSA-477 wieder zu einer Statue bzw. zu einer Statuengruppe; vgl. auch und Jean-Michel Spieser, ‘Réflexions sur l’abandon de la statuaire dans l’Antiquité Tardive’, in Statue. Rituali, scienta e magia dalla Tarda Antichità al Rinascimento, ed. by Luigi Canetti (Florenz: Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2017), pp. 123–44. Unter Justinian scheint es zu einem kurzzeitigen Revival der statuarischen Repräsentation dieses Kaisers gekommen zu sein, vgl. Constantin Zuckerman, ‘The Dedication of a Statue of Justinian at Antioch’, in Actes du Ier Congrès international sur Antioche de Pisidie, ed. by Thomas DrewBear (Lyon: Université Lumière-Lyon 2, 2002), pp. 243–55 (pp. 250–51 mit Denis Feissel, Bull. ép. 2002, 620 = Chroniques, p. 120, Nr. 377). 75 Athan. III Orat. c. Arian. 5, 1: οὕτως τὸν πατέρα ἐν τῷ υἱῷ, θεωρήσει δὲ καὶ τὸν υἱὸν ἐν τῷ πατρί. 76 Athan. III Orat. c. Arian. 5, 3. Zum theologischen Hintergrund vgl. Eginhard P. Meijering, Athanasius, Die dritte Rede gegen die Arianer. Einleitung, Übersetzung und Kommentar, 3 vols (Amsterdam: Gieben, 1996–1998), I, pp. 64–69, der aber auf die Kaiserstatue nicht eigens eingeht. Zu ähnlichen Stellen vgl. Kenneth M. Setton, Christian Attitude Towards the Emperor in the Fourth Century. Especially as Shown in Addresses to the Emperor (New York: Columbia University Press, 1941), p. 199; Johannes Kollwitz, ‘Bild III. (christlich) II.c.4’, in Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum 2 (1954), pp. 318–41 (pp. 329–30) und Josef Engemann, ‘Herrscherbild’, in Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum 14 (1988), pp. 966–1047 (pp. 1038–39).

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„Dieses wird man auch leichter von dem Beispiel des Kaisers her verstehen können. Denn in dem Bild ist die Gestalt und Form des Kaisers, und in dem König ist die Gestalt in dem Bilde: denn unveränderlich ist das Gleichnis des Königs in dem Bild, so dass, wer in das Bild schaut, darin den König sieht, und dass er andererseits den König sieht, versteht, dass er derjenige ist, der im Bilde ist.“ (Übers. Meijering) Dieser Argumentation folgte eine Generation später Basilius der Große, in vielem ein Anhänger des Athanasius. Nachdem er auseinandergesetzt hat, dass Sohn, Vater und Heiliger Geist zwar jeweils eines seien, zusammen aber nicht drei, sondern ebenfalls eines – und die Christen daher keine Polytheisten –,77 betont auch er die Realpräsenz des Kaisers in der Statue. Gottvater und Christus seien nicht zwei Götter, „weil auch das Bild eines Kaisers ,Kaiser‘ genannt wird, und sie doch keine zwei Kaiser sind. Weder ist ihre Macht geteilt noch ihre Ehre gespalten. […] Denn die Ehrung des Bildes geht auf das Urbild über.“78 Umgekehrt wohnt daher die Macht des Kaisers seiner Statue inne. Letztlich sei also der Kaiser in seiner Statue selbst anwesend.79 Aus diesem Grunde konnte noch im 5. Jahrhundert die Kaiserstatue Schutzsuchenden Asyl bieten.80 All dies führte jedoch zu einer so intensiven Verehrung der Kaiserstatuen, dass sich Theodosius II. und Valentinian III. gezwungen sahen, 425 ein Gesetz zu erlassen, das diese Praxis stark einschränken sollte.81 Neben der Kaiserstatue schrieb die christliche Bevölkerung, anknüpfend an ältere Traditionen, vielen Artefakten apotropäische Wirkung zu. Neben Reliquien und inschriftlichen Gebeten,82 die an den Stadtmauern befestigt wurden, kam vor allem Kreuzen eine herausragende Bedeutung zu,83 die sich auch in großer Zahl an der Stadtmauer von

77 Bas. De spiritu sancto 18,44: οὐχὶ ἀπαιδεύτῳ ἀριθμήσει πρὸς πολυθεΐας ἔννοιαν ἐκφερόμεθα. 78 Bas. De spiritu sancto 18,45: πῶς οὖν, εἴπερ εἷς καὶ εἷς, οὐχὶ δύο θεοί; ὅτι βασιλεὺς λέγεται καὶ ἡ τοῦ βασιλέως εἰκών, καὶ οὐ δύο βασιλεῖς. οὕτε γὰρ ὁ κράτος σχίζεται, οὔτε ἡ δόξα διαμερίζεται. […] διότι ἡ τῆς είκόνος τιμὴ ἐπὶ τὸ πρωτότυπον διαβαίνει (Übers. nach Hermann-Joseph Sieben, Basilius von Caesarea, De spiritu sancto/Über den Heiligen Geist [Freiburg: Herder, 1993; leicht verändert]). Benoît Pruche weist daraufhin, dass sich die Formel ὅτι βασιλεὺς λέγεται καὶ ἡ τοῦ βασιλέως εἰκών, καὶ οὐ δύο βασιλεῖς in den Akten des Zweiten Konzils von Konstantinopel von 553 wiederfindet (ACO IV 2, pp. 95, 13–14 Schwartz): quia et imperator et imperatoris imago, et non sunt duo imperatores, vgl. Benoît Pruche, Basile de Césarée, Sur le Saint-Esprit (De Spiritu sancto) (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 21968), ad loc. 79 Bas. De spiritu sancto 18, 45 mit Pekáry, Kaiserbildnis, p. 132. Ähnliche Stellen diskutiert ausführlich Setton, Christian Attitude, pp. 196–99; vgl. auch Stichel, Kaiserstatue, pp. 5–7. 80 CTh IX 44, 4 = CJ I 25, 1 (a. 386). Vgl. Kruse, Studien, p. 9, Anm. 1; Pekáry, Kaiserbildnis, pp. 130–31; Price, Rituals and Power, pp. 192–95; Richard Gamauf, Ad statuam licet confugere: Untersuchungen zum Asylrecht im römischen Prinzipat (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1999), bes. pp. 138–39. 81 CTh XV 4, 1 = CJ I 24, 2 (a. 425) mit Pekáry, Kaiserbildnis, p. 151. 82 Als Beispiel verweise ich nur auf die Inschriften, die angeblich zum Schutz gegen die Pest im Jahre 165 auf Anweisung des „Lügenprophets“ Alexander von Abounoteichos an vielen Stadttoren angebracht wurden, vgl. Luk. Alex. 36 mit Merkelbach und Stauber, Steinepigramme, III, p. 215. Für die spätantike und byzantinische Zeit vgl. Claude, Byzantinische Stadt, pp. 139–43. Exemplarisch sei hier ein inschriftliches Gebet angeführt, mit dem die Bewohner von Amphipolis um Christi Schutz für ihre Stadt bitten: Χ(ριστ)ὲ ὁ Θ(εὸ)ς ἡμῶν σῶσον καὶ ἀνάστησον καὶ τὴν πόλειν ταύτην, ed. pr. Charalambos Bakirtzis, ‘Ἀμφίπολι Χριστιανική’, in Το Ἐργον της Ἀρχαιολογικής Ἑταιρείας (1996 [1997]), 69–72 mit Abb. 57 (AE 1997, 1362; SEG 47, 881; Denis Feissel, Bull. ép. 1998, 630 = Chroniques, p. 32 Nr. 110). 83 Vgl. Christopher Walter, ‘IC XC NI KA: The Apotropaic Function of the Victorious Cross’, Revue des études byzantines, 55 (1997), 193–220; Jacobs, Aesthetic Maintenance, pp. 83–84; jetzt umfassend Ildar Garipzanov, Graphic Signs of Authority in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, 300–900 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), pp. 74–76.

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Thessaloniki erhalten haben.84 Eine Stadt, die unter dem Zeichen des Kreuzes stand, konnte ebensowenig erobert werden, wie eine, die vom Kaiser persönlich beschirmt wurde.85 Dies verdeutlicht nicht zuletzt die bereits angesprochene Inschrift, die über dem Eugenius-Tor in Konstantinopel angebracht war und in ihrer Grundaussage dem Epigramm aus Thessaloniki ähnelt (AP IX 689). Sie feierte Kaiser Julian, der die Mauern (τείχεα) als Siegeszeichen (τρόπαιον) errichtet habe. Nicht nur sind die Mauern hier „ein Zeichen seines Wachens“ (ἑῆς σύμβολον ἀγρυπνίης)86 über die Stadt, der Kaiser selbst thronte als Statue auf dem Stadttor – den Einwohnern als Schutz, den Feinden als Drohung. Stand also doch auf dem Stadttor von Thessaloniki, neben oder über der Statue des Basileios, auch ein Bildnis des Kaisers? Auf diese Weise würden sich die Widersprüche, die immer wieder zwischen den erwähnten statthalterlichen und kaiserlichen Eigenschaften konstatiert wurden, weitgehend auflösen. Der doppelte Sinn von βασίλειον ἄγαλμα, dem Fluchtpunkt des gesamten Epigramms, bezöge sich demnach auf zwei Statuen: eine des Βασίλειος und eine des βασιλεύς.

Abb. 1. AP IX 686: Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg, Cod. Pal. Gr. 23, fol. 473, © Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg

84 Velenis, Τείχη, pp. 112–13, Σχ. 19–22. 85 So auch Ine Jacobs, ‘Production to Destruction? Pagan and Mythological Statuary in Asia Minor’, American Journal of Archaeology, 114 (2010), 267–303 (p. 278, Anm. 71). 86 Ohne die Bedeutung Platons für Julian und dessen philosophisches Selbstverständnis im Blick zu haben, hat G. Lohse, ‘ΣϒΝΤΟΝΟΣ ΑΓΡϒΠΝΙΗ’, Hermes, 95 (1967), 379–81 (p. 380, Anm. 2) gezeigt, dass hinter dem Bild des wachsamen Julian wohl die platonischen Wächter stehen, „die wachsam wie Hunde“ sein müssten (ὥσπερ κύνας ἀγρύπνους, Plat. Rep. 404a). Zum Topos der ἀγρυπνία in spätantiken Ehrungen vgl. Foss, ‘Stephanus’, p. 203.

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Epigrafia e società nella Sardegna bizantina (VII–XI secolo) Alcune osservazioni In un libro comparso nel 1983 il glottologo italiano Giulio Paulis argomentò che il superstrato greco della lingua sarda medievale era stato una componente di considerevole importanza. La sua influenza non si era limitata alla sfera del potere e dell’amministrazione, ma si era estesa a molteplici aspetti della vita quotidiana, dalla devozione alla toponomastica, dall’economia rurale alla fitonomastica.1 I rinvenimenti archeologici successivi al 1983 hanno sostanzialmente confermato il principale assunto del libro di Paulis. Soprattutto la scoperta, nel 1988, di 78 sigilli di piombo nell’area dell’oggi scomparso insediamento di San Giorgio di Sinis (Cabras), a pochi km a nord di Tharros, ha contribuito a gettare nuova luce sulla Sardegna bizantina. Questo gruppo di sigilli è stato pubblicato nel 2004 da Pier Giorgio Spanu e Raimondo Zucca; esso testimonia la presenza di diversi membri appartenenti alla burocrazia costantinopolitana – come Georgios koubikoularios, Pantaleon mandatōr, Georgios nipsistiarios, Theophylaktos (forse kouratōr) tōn Marinēs, Niketas meizoteros – assieme a ufficiali militari, portatori di dignità ed ecclesiastici.2 Durante il VII secolo la Sardegna sperimentò un aumento della componente dei parlanti greco. Esso è riflesso nella produzione epigrafica che trasformò profondamente il proprio habitus tra la Tarda Antichità e l’Alto Medioevo. Tale fenomeno non riguarda solo la drastica diminuzione delle iscrizioni attestata in tutto il mondo post-romano a partire dalla fine del VI secolo; in Sardegna, esso si manifesta anche attraverso un cambiamento del principale strumento linguistico della comunicazione epigrafica, che passa dal latino al greco. Per il periodo che va dal V agli inizi dell’XI secolo ci sono state tramandate 32 iscrizioni scritte in greco – tenendo conto di quelle integre o in stato frammentario.3 Di esse, solo tre sono







1 Cfr. Giulio Paulis, Lingua e cultura nella Sardegna bizantina. Testimonianze linguistiche dell’influsso greco (Sassari: L’Asfodelo, 1983), pp. 23–24. Si veda ora dello stesso autore ‘Greco e superstrati primari’, in Manuale di linguistica sarda, ed. by Eduardo Blasco Ferrer, Peter Koch, Daniela Marzo (Berlin: De Gruyter 2017), 104–18. Una precedente indagine sul peso della lingua greca nel sardo medievale era stata condotta da GiandomenicoSerra, ‘Nomi personali d’origine greco-bizantina fra i membri di famiglie giudicali o signorili nel Medioevo sardo’, Byzantion, 19 (1949), 223–45. 2 Pier Giorgio Spanu e Raimondo Zucca, I sigilli bizantini della Σαρδηνία (Roma: Carocci, 2004). Di questi 78 sigilli, 72 portano legenda greca, o greco-latina (o, in una minoranza di casi, solo latina) e sembrerebbero datare ad una età compresa tra il VI e l’VIII secolo; 4 sono sigilli con legenda in arabo (pp. 142–44, nrr. 73–76); infine, 2 sono sigilli di arconti databili all’XI secolo. 3 Un’utile rassegna delle iscrizioni greche prodotte in Sardegna tra la tarda antichità e l’XI secolo, con sommaria analisi descrittiva e bibliografia, è contenuta in Michele Orrù, ‘Le fonti greche di età bizantina per lo studio della Sardegna altomedievale (VI–XII secolo)’, (Tesi di Dottorato, Università di Cagliari, aa. 2012–2013); cfr. anche id., Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1, ed. by Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth, SBE, 1 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 71–92. © FHG DOI 10.1484/M.SBE-EB.5.131799

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databili ad un’età compresa tra il V e il VI secolo. Se confrontate alle 217 testimonianze raccolte da Antonino Corda nel suo corpus Le iscrizioni cristiane della Sardegna anteriori al VII secolo (1999), esse rappresentano solo l’1,38 per cento, a fronte di un rimanente 98,62 per cento prodotte in lingua latina. Per il periodo dal VII fino all’XI secolo non disponiamo di una vera e propria organica raccolta di iscrizioni provenienti dalla Sardegna, per cui non è possibile fornire stime precise. Ma credo possa essere affermato, senza tema di smentita, che la maggior parte delle testimonianze conservatesi in questo periodo sia scritta in greco, non in latino. L’Alto Medioevo coincise, quindi, con un vero è proprio ‘linguistic turn’ nell’espressione dei ceti dirigenti in una regione che in età romana era in larghissima misura latinofona. La maggior parte dei documenti epigrafici proviene da Cagliari oppure dalla fertile pianura del basso Campidano a nord-est del capoluogo isolano. L’attestazione di testimonianze giunteci da quest’area è rilevante (Cagliari, Maracalagonis, Solanas, Assemini, Dolianova, Donori, Nuraminis, Samassi, Villasor e Decimoputzu) (Figg. 1a e 1b). Esse sono pertinenti a edifici di culto in cui la liturgia era evidentemente celebrata per famiglie aristocratiche, comunità di villaggio o congregazioni di monaci in cui il greco costituiva la lingua quotidiana.4 Un’ iscrizione proviene dall’isola di Sant’Antioco, l’antica Sulcis, nell’area sud-occidentale della Sardegna;5 un’altra – forse la più famosa delle iscrizioni greco-bizantine della nostra regione – da Porto Torres, l’antica Turris Libisonis e una terza dall’area della moderna Oristano;6 un frustolo di marmo con lettere greche inscritte è stato trovato nel territorio di Oschiri (provincia di Sassari).7 Tutte queste testimonianze si collocano cronologicamente nel periodo che va dal VII al X secolo; due possono essere

‘Ruolo, funzione e potere della scrittura greca nel contesto storico-culturale della Sardegna tra VI e XII secolo’, in Civiltà del Mediterraneo: interazioni grafiche e culturali attraverso libri, documenti, epigrafi, a cura di Luisa D’Arienzo e Santo Lucà (Spoleto: CISAM, 2018), pp. 105–13. L’autore nella sua tesi di dottorato censisce 31 testimonianze, tra le quali la nr. 27 credo sia anteriore al VI sec., come forse anche la nr. 3. Alcune delle epigrafi giunteci in modo frammentario potrebbero essere non testi a sé, ma disiecta membra di un’unica iscrizione (come è il caso di diversi frammenti di Donori e di quelli della chiesa di S. Costantino). Alle epigrafi menzionate da Orrù, si aggiunga anche l’epitaffio di un certo, o di una certa, Niketas (Νικήτα), già giudicato spurio da Mommsen (cfr. CIL X 1, 1319*), ma rivalutato come autentico da Pier Giorgio Spanu e Raimondo Zucca, ‘Nuovi documenti epigrafici della Sardegna bizantina’, in Epigrafia romana in Sardegna, a cura di Francesca Cenerini e Paola Ruggeri, con la collaborazione di Alberto Gavini (Roma: Carocci, 2008), pp. 147–72 (p. 151). Si noti che non è chiaro dall’iscrizione se il defunto fosse un uomo o una donna, giacché articolo e aggettivo sono al femminile, ma il nome è in genere usato per il maschile (ἐντάδε κατάκειτε ἡ δού/λη τοῦ Θεοῦ Νικοίτας). 4 Cfr. Orrù, ‘Le fonti greche’, nrr. 1 (Cagliari, forse da S. Saturno), 5–6 (Maracalagonis, ma provenienti dalla chiesa di S. Stefano); 7 (Solanas, chiesa di Santa Barbara); 8–12 (Assemini, chiesa di S. Giovanni Battista); 12 (Dolianova, chiesa di S. Biagio); 13–20 (Donori, chiesa di S. Nicola, oggi scomparsa); 21–23 (Nuraminis, S. Pietro, ma giuntaci dalla distrutta chiesa di S. Costantino); 24 (Samassi, chiesa di San Gemiliano); 25–26 (ruderi di una chiesa tra Villasor e Decimoputzu). 5 Cfr. André Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions grecques médiévales d’Italie, Collection de l’École Française de Rome, 222, (Rome: EFR, 1996), nr. 231, p. 246. 6 Per l’iscrizione di Turris Libisonis cfr. infra, nota 10. Da Oristano proviene un reliquiario di ‘S. Basilio’ (in realtà di S. Gregorio di Nazianzo) con iscrizione greca, un manufatto, però, forse, di produzione romana: cfr. Salvatore Cosentino, ‘Sul cosiddetto reliquiario di s. Basilio conservato nella chiesa di S. Francesco in Oristano’, Nea Rōmē. Rivista di ricerche bizantinistiche, 5 (2008), 169–84 (ripubblicato in Forme e caratteri della presenza bizantina nel Mediterraneo occidentale: la Sardegna (secoli VI–XI), a cura di Paola Corrias [Cagliari: ETS, 2012], pp. 19–32). 7 Segnalato da Fabrizio Sanna e Luca Sarriu, ‘Nuove attestazioni epigrafico-scultoree della grecità bizantina in Sardegna’, in Isole e terraferma nel primo cristianesimo. Identità locale ed interscambi culturali, religiosi e produttivi, a cura di Rossana Martorelli, Antonio Piras e Pier Giorgio Spanu, 2 voll. (Cagliari: PFTS University Press, 2015), II, pp. 821–24.

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datate agli inizi dell’XI secolo. Tutte le iscrizioni sono incise su supporti di marmo.8 Per quanto riguarda la loro funzione, in larga misura esse appartengono a membrature architettoniche di edifici di culto, come architravi, epistili o archi di amboni, e segnalano in genere la partecipazione del personaggio che vi è commemorato all’edificazione o al restauro della chiesa, o ancora all’arricchimento del suo arredo scultoreo o liturgico. Solo una testimonianza – l’epigrafe di Turris Libisonis – doveva forse in origine appartenere ad un edificio civile, che con molta cautela è stato indicato in un praetorium.9 Passiamo ora ad esaminare alcuni dei testi più interessanti, partendo dall’ultimo di cui si è fatta menzione, che è anche quello più noto agli studiosi. L’iscrizione di Turris Libisonis è stata infatti oggetto di ampio dibattito, soprattutto per quanto riguarda la sua datazione (Fig. 2).10 Eccone il testo: † Νικᾷ ἡ τύχη τοῦ βασιλέως καὶ τῶ(ν) ῾Ρομέων † 1| † Σέ, τὸν μόνον τροπεῦχον τῆς ὅλης οἰκουμένης δεσπότην καὶ ἐχθρῶ(ν) ὀλετῆρα Λαγγοβαρδῶν καὶ λοιπῶν βαρβ(άρων) 2| ἀμφηβίου χημõνος καταπλήτοντος πολητίαν σκάφη κ(αὶ) ὅπλα βαρβάρων ἀντητάτετε τοῖς ῾Ρωμαίοις 3|, τῇ δὲ κυβέρνου σου εὐβουλίᾳ ἀνθοπλισάμενο(ς), Κωνσταντῖνε, τὸν θεῖον λόγον γαλινηõντα τὼν 4| κόσμων ἀναδήξεις τοῖς ὑπηκόοις ὥθεν τὰ τῆς νήκις σύνβωλα προσφέρη τõ τῖς ὅλης ὐκουμένης 5| δεσπότῃ Κωνσταντῖνος ὁ πανεύφημος ὕπατ(ος) κ(αὶ) δοὺξ τὰς Λαγγουβαρδῶν πτώσεις τυράννων 6| κ(αὶ) λοιπῶν βαρβάρων ἐνοπλουμένων κατ᾿ αὐτῆς τῆς δουληκῆς σου τῆς Σαρδῶν νίσσου †. Trascrizione normalizzata: † Νικᾷ ἡ τύχη τοῦ βασιλέως καὶ τῶ(ν) ῾Ρωμαίων † | † Σέ, τὸν μόνον τροπεῦχον τῆς ὅλης οἰκουμένης δεσπότην καὶ ἐχθρῶ(ν) ὀλετῆρα Λαγγοβαρδῶν καὶ λοιπῶν βαρβ(άρων) | ἀμφιβίου χειμῶνος καταπλήττοντος πολιτείαν, σκάφη κ(αὶ) ὅπλα βαρβάρων ἀντιτάττεται τοῖς ῾Ρωμαίοις |, τῇ δὲ κυβέρνου σου εὐβουλίᾳ ἀνθοπλισάμενος, Κωνσταντῖνε, τὸν θεῖον λόγον γαληνιῶντα τὸν | κόσμον ἀναδήξεις τοῖς ὑπηκόοις, ὅθεν τὰ τῆς νίκης σύμβολα προσφέρει τῷ τῆς ὅλης οἰκουμένης | δεσπότῃ Κωνσταντῖνος ὁ πανεύφημος ὕπατος καὶ δοὺξ τὰς Λαγγουβαρδῶν πτώσεις τυράννων | καὶ λοιπῶν βαρβάρων ἐνοπλουμένων κατ᾿ αὐτῆς τῆς δουλικῆς σου τῆς Σαρδῶν νήσου †. (Vince la fortuna dell’imperatore e dei Romani! Tu ineguagliabile trionfatore, signore di tutta la terra e distruttore dei nemici longobardi e di altri barbari, mentre una duplice tempesta scuote lo stato – navi e armi dei barbari si contrappongono ai Romani – armato della saggezza del tuo governo, o Costantino, farai conoscere ai

8 Secondo Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 229, p. 243 (fig. 211) uno dei frammenti provenienti dalla chiesa di S. Nicola sarebbe inciso su pietra calcarea, ma si veda invece la descrizione di Roberto Coroneo, Scultura mediobizantina in Sardegna (Nuoro: Poliedro, 2000), pp. 69–72 e Id., ‘L’epigrafia greca medioevale in Sardegna: a margine del libro di André Guillou’, in Cultus splendore. Studi in onore di Giovanna Sotgiu, a cura di Antonio M. Corda, 2 voll. (Senorbì: Edizioni Nuove Grafiche Puddu, 2003), I, nr. 17, p. 357, in cui essa è ascritta ad un blocco di marmo. Sull’uso del marmo nell’isola cfr. da ultime Claudia Barsanti, Alessandra Guiglia, ‘Il ruolo dei marmi bizantini nella produzione scultorea della Sardegna tardoantica e paleocristiana’, in Isole e terraferma nel primo cristianesimo, II, pp. 349–68. 9 V. infra, n. 10. 10 Riporto il testo greco nell’edizione che ne ha data Francesca Fiori, Costantino hypatos e dux di Sardegna [Quaderni della Rivista di Bizantinistica, 16] (Bologna: Lo Scarabeo, 2001), pp. 9–10; si veda anche l’edizione di Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 230, pp. 244–45.

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sudditi la divina parola che rasserena il mondo; e perciò Costantino, l’eccellentissimo consul e dux, offre al signore dell’intera ecumene i simboli della vittoria, le spoglie dei tiranni longobardi e degli altri barbari che levano le armi contro quest’isola dei Sardi che ti è suddita). Circa il problema della sua datazione, l’unico dato certo è che l’iscrizione è stata composta durante il regno di un imperatore chiamato ‘Costantino’, che può essere identificato tanto con Costante II (641–668), quanto con Costantino IV (669–685) o Costantino V (741–775). Essa è, pertanto, sicuramente da datare, in forma larga, ad una età compresa tra l’ultimo terzo del VII e la prima metà dell’VIII secolo.11 L’indizio più significativo per formulare ipotesi volte a restringerne la datazione mi pare sia senz’altro il luogo in cui l’epigrafe è stata rinvenuta: Porto Torres. Giacché nel testo si fa esplicito riferimento ad un attacco condotto contro la Sardegna da parte dei ‘tiranni longobardi e di altri barbari’, sembra ragionevole inferire che esso sia stato lanciato da nord, molto probabilmente dalla Corsica. In quest’ultima regione è sicuramente documentata una presenza longobarda a partire dall’VIII secolo. Da un testamento dettato nel 754 dal vescovo Walprando di Lucca, apprendiamo infatti che questi aveva un patrimonio fondiario di una certa consistenza, in cui figuravano beni fondiari anche in Corsica.12 Si ritiene comunemente che la presenza longobarda in quest’ultima isola sia dovuta ad una sua occupazione per iniziativa del re Liutprando (712–744). Se così, è suggestivo leggere nelle righe 6–7 del testo (‘la sconfitta dei tiranni longobardi e degli altri barbari che levano le armi contro quest’isola di Sardegna, che ti è suddita’) un’espressione retorica in cui è però riflessa l’attualità di alcuni avvenimenti precisi. L’epigrafe usa il plurale, non il singolare: Λαγγοβαρδῶν τύραννοι, non Λαγγοβαρδῶν τύραννος. Nel corso del regno di Liutprando, in effetti, nel 735 venne associato al trono, in occasione di una grave malattia del re, suo nipote Ildebrando, affiancato allo zio per iniziativa della nobiltà longobarda.13 Nel periodo tra il 735 e il 744 vi erano ufficialmente al governo del regno longobardo due sovrani. Nel 735 i musulmani avevano compiuto un attacco contro la Sardegna, che potrebbe spiegare il riferimento agli ‘altri barbari’ presente alle righe 2 e 7.14 Infine, un’ipotesi di datazione dell’epigrafe agli inizi 11 Per una rassegna degli studi concernente l’iscrizione di Turris Libisonis cfr. Fiori, Costantino hypatos, pp. 45–54; Orrù, Le fonti greche, E 31, pp. 171–73; Marco Muresu, La moneta “indicatore” dell’assetto insediativo della Sardegna bizantina (secoli VI–XI), (Perugia: Morlacchi Editore U.P., 2018), pp. 337–38. Nei miei interventi precedenti sull’epigrafe sono stato a lungo incerto sulla sua cronologia, avendo una lieve preferenza per l’età di Costante II; ma ora, anche alla luce di quanto è emerso e sta emergendo sulle testimonianze greco-bizantine della Sardegna, una data all’età di Costantino V mi pare l’ipotesi più convincente. Si veda anche l’articolo di Marco Muresu, ‘La Sardegna nel Mediterraneo di VII–VIII secolo attraverso il dato archeologico, numismatico e sfragistico’, Mélanges de l’École française. Moyen Âge, 132.2 (2020), 1–25, part. p. 23, consultabile online https://journals.openedition.org/mefrm/7947. 12 Cfr. Luigi Schiaparelli, Codice diplomatico longobardo, 3 voll. (Roma: Tipografia del Senato, 1929), I, nr. 114, p. 335. Si veda anche P. Pergola, ‘Vandales et Lombards en Corse: sources historiques et archéologiques’, in La cultura in Italia tra Tardo Antico e Alto Medioevo, 2 voll. (Roma: CNR, 1981), II, pp. 913–17. 13 L’episodio è raccontato in Paul. Diac. Hist. Lang. VI, 55. Su Ildebrando cfr. la voce di Andrea Bedina, in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, 62 (2004), accessibile in rete presso l’indirizzo https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/ re-dei-longobardi-ildeprando_(Dizionario-Biografico)/ (consultato il 20 gennaio 2021). 14 Desumo questo dato dalla cronologia degli attacchi portati dagli arabo-musulmani contro la Sardegna stabilita da Maria Giovanna Stasolla, ‘La Sardegna nelle fonti arabe’, in Ai confini dell’impero. Storia, arte e archeologia della Sardegna bizantina, a cura di Paola Corrias e Salvatore Cosentino (Cagliari: ETS 2002), pp. 79–91; si veda anche Alex Metcalf, ‘Early Muslim Raids on Byzantine Sardinia’, in The Making of Medieval Sardinia, ed. by Alex Metcalf, Hervin Fernández-Aceves, Marco Muresu (Leiden: Brill 2021), pp. 126–59: 127.

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degli anni ’40 dell’VIII secolo potrebbe forse anche chiarire l’oscuro riferimento della riga 3, in cui si parla di una ‘duplice tempesta che scuote lo stato’. In questo grave momento di difficoltà che comprende due eventi si potrebbero vedere, da un lato, l’attacco portato da re Liutprando contro l’esarcato di Ravenna e la Pentapoli, attorno al 743; dall’altro, la guerra combattuta dall’imperatore Costantino V (741–775) con il genero Artavasdos tra il 742 e il 743 per il possesso del trono romano-orientale. Queste speculazioni, in effetti, troverebbero riscontro anche nel linguaggio e nell’appartato decorativo dell’epigrafe, in cui centrale è l’ideologia della vittoria imperiale espressa visivamente dalla grande croce nicèfora che attira lo sguardo dell’osservatore.15 Ugualmente difficile da comprendere è la frase ‘o Costantino, farai conoscere ai sudditi la parola che rasserena il mondo’. Se, infatti, il termine λόγος è da intendere come ‘parola divina’, Verbum, mi pare che ci troviamo di fronte a qualcosa di più della tradizionale nozione della regalità sacra di matrice tardoantica. Qui l’imperatore non è semplicemente una figura che imita nel suo agire le qualità divine ed è responsabile della salvezza della comunità cristiana, governando l’impero in conformità all’ortodossia; qui, egli trasmette direttamente e in prima persona ‘la parola divina’ ai sudditi, senza alcuna mediazione di carattere sacerdotale. Viene in mente un passo importante del proemio dell’Ecloga, emanata da Leone III e Costantino V nel 741, dove gli imperatori affermano che quando Dio ha affidato loro il potere ‘ha dato una prova del nostro amore per Lui, e ci ha ordinato, giusta l’esempio di Pietro, vetta più alta degli Apostoli, di pascere il gregge dei fedeli’.16 L’iscrizione di Turris sembra echeggiare questa nozione dell’imperatore che è, allo stesso tempo, sovrano e sacerdote, un altro indizio per ascriverla all’età di Costantino V. Nel testo non vi è alcun elogio per colui che ha sconfitto i nemici di persona – presumibilmente il doux Konstantinos – salvo rimarcarne la posizione all’interno della gerarchia imperiale. Non solo la vittoria è ascritta alla figura dell’imperatore, ma costituisce una diretta conseguenza delle sue virtù carismatiche. In un linguaggio evocativo, ricco di metafore e di lessemi ideologici, l’epigrafe tratteggia gli elementi fondativi della istituzione imperiale, la basileia, la quale, in quanto istituzione voluta da Dio, è fortunata, apportatrice di pace, trionfante, eterna e universale. Lo stretto legame tra il sovrano e la croce costituisce la cifra comunicativa di maggiore impatto nella celebrazione della vittoria. La stessa acclamazione iniziale – † Νικᾷ ἡ τύχη τοῦ βασιλέως καὶ τῶ(ν) ῾Ρομέων † (Vince la fortuna dell’imperatore e dei Romani!), inserita tra due croci apocalittiche – sembra esprimere la mistica ineffabile del rapporto tra l’imperatore, i Romani e Dio, in una formula capace di trasformare la realtà mediante una forza di carattere magico. Si è forse eccessivamente accentuata la discrepanza tra il contenuto culturale dell’iscrizione e la forma grafica con cui è incisa, ritenuta di qualità rozza e incerta.17 Ma, a dire il vero, ‘l’impaginatura insicura, 15 Punto sottolineato da Fiori, Costantino hypatos, pp. 53–54. 16 Cfr. Ecloga. Das Gesetzbuch Leons III und Konstantinos’ V [Forschungen zur byzantinischen Rechtsgeschichte, 10], hergs. Ludwig Burgmann (Frankfurt am Main: Löwenklau – Gesellschaft E. V., 1983), proem, ll. 21–24 (p. 160): ἐπεὶ οὖν τὸ κράτος τῆς βασιλείας ἐγχειρίσας ἡμῖν, ὡς ηὐδόκησε, δεῖγμα τοῦτο τῆς ἐν φόβῳ πρὸς αὐτὸν ἀγαπήσεως ἡμῶν ἐποιήσατο κατὰ Πέτρον, τὴν κορυφαιοτάτην τῶν ἀποστόλων ἀκρότητα, ποιμαίνειν ἡμᾶς κελεύσας τὸ πιστότατον ποίμνιον […]. 17 Cfr. Guglielmo Cavallo, ‘Le tipologie della cultura nel riflesso delle testimonianze scritte’, in Bisanzio, Roma e l’Italia nell’Alto Medioevo [Settimana CISAM, XXXIV], (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo, 1988), pp. 467–516.

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gli ondeggiamenti delle linee, gli squilibri modulari, [la] compressione dei segni’,18 si ritrovano in molti altri documenti tra la metà del VII e la metà dell’VIII secolo, alcuni provenienti da culture epigrafiche provinciali, come la Cappadocia o la Calabria, che non erano affatto così eccentriche rispetto a Costantinopoli.19 Se la nostra testimonianza è effettivamente degli anni ’40 dell’VIII secolo, come sembrerebbero indicare gli indizi che si sono esaminati, ciò significa che il livello di acculturazione politica del ceto dirigente isolano in questo periodo condivideva gli schemi mentali e il sistema dei valori comuni a tutte le élites dell’impero bizantino di età isaurica. Meno conosciuta, al di fuori dell’ambito degli specialisti, è l’epigrafe che riguarda una certa Grekas, che definisce sé stessa come mōnastrēa (sc. μονάστρια), cioè monaca (Fig. 3a–3b).20 † Μνήσθητη Κ(ύρι)ε τῆς δούλης 1| (σ)ου Γρεκᾶ μωνάστρηα, ἀμήν. ᾿Ανάθεμα ἕσχουσην 2| τõν ἁγήων τρηακοσήω3|ν ἐξήκοντα πέντε πατ4|έρον ᾧ ἐχοανίζη τὸ λαρν5|άκι τοῦ τοιώτῃ ὅδη οὐδ6|ὲ χρυσάφη οὐδὲ ἀρσήμη. Con trascrizione normalizzata: † Μνήσθητι Κύριε τῆς δούλης σου Γρεκᾶ μονάστρια, ἀμήν. ᾿Ανάθημα ἕξουσιν τῶν ἁγίων τριακοσίων ἑξήκοντα πέντε πατέρων ᾧ ἐξανοίξει τῷ λαρνάκι τῷ τοιούτῳ, ὅδε οὐδὲ χρυσάφη οὐδὲ ἀ{ρ}σήμη. (Ricordati, Signore, della tua serva Grekas, monaca, amen. Chi aprirà questo sarcofago, che non contiene né oro, né argento, sarà maledetto dai 365 Padri). Antonino Ferrua, seguito da diversi studiosi, ne ha datato la composizione al V o al VI secolo,21 asserendo che la menzione dei 365 Padri nella sua clausola comminatoria – in sé, un’allusione ai partecipanti al II concilio di Nicea del 787 – debba essere necessariamente un errore del lapicida. Questi avrebbe scritto ‘365’, invece di ‘318’ (cioè i Padri presenti al I concilio di Nicea del 325, la cui menzione è molto più frequente nei formulari epigrafici), perché avrebbe confuso il numerale con i giorni dell’anno. Tuttavia, un simile errore meccanico non sembra facile da giustificare. Una data all’età tardoantica contrasta, inoltre, con la lingua e la paleografia impiegate nell’iscrizione, che paiono indicare un’età più

18 Ibid., p. 473. 19 Per esempio, per la Cappadocia cfr. Nicole Thierry, ‘Les enseignements historiques de l’archéologie cappadocienne’, Travaux et Mémoires 8 (1981 = Hommage à Paul Lemerle) 501–19, part. nr. 2, pp. 507–08 (iscrizione nella chiesa dello stilita Niceta, a Üzümlü, Kızıl Çukur, datata tra fine VII e inizio VIII secolo); per la Calabria, cfr. Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 132, p. 132 (epitafio del dux Sergios), datato dall’editore all’VIII-IX secolo, ma che a me parrebbe – per i contenuti dell’epigrafe – piuttosto del VII–VIII secolo; si vedano anche esempi in Georges Kourtzian, Recueil des inscriptions grecques chrétiennes des Cyclades: de la fin du iiie au viie siècle après J.-C., Travaux et Mémoires du Centre de Recherche d’Histoire et de Civilisation de Byzance, Monographies, 12 (Paris: Centre de Recherche d’Histoire et de Civilisation de Byzance, 2000). 20 Ultimo editore: Antonio M. Corda, Le iscrizioni cristiane della Sardegna anteriori al VII secolo (Città del Vaticano: Pontificio Istituto di Archeologia Cristiana, 1999), CAR034, pp. 73–74. Un recente contributo, con citazione della precedente bibliografia, è stato dedicato all’epigrafe da Rossana Martorelli, ‘L’epigrafe di Grecà. Nuove ipotesi di lettura nel contesto della Cagliari bizantina’, in Studi in memoria di Giuseppe Roma, a cura di Adele Coscarella (Arcavacata di Rende: Università della Calabria, 2019), pp. 129–43. Per quanto suggestiva, la tesi centrale dell’autrice che il termine monastria (μονάστρια) vada inteso non come ‘monaca’, ma come ‘sepolcro’, non pare compatibile con la comprensione della prima riga dell’iscrizione. Il vocabolo è ben attestato con il significato di ‘monaca’: per esempio nella novella 123 di Giustiniano e nelle opere del patriarca Niceforo: cfr. TLG online version, s. v. 21 Cfr. supra, a nota 20 la rassegna bibliografia in Martorelli, ‘L’epigrafe di Grecà’, pp. 133–35.

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avanzata nel tempo. Il suo committente (o il lapicida) sembra avere un’alfabetizzazione superficiale, dimostrata dai numerosi – benché normali – errori di etacismo, itacismo, incapacità di distinguere le vocali lunghe da quelle brevi, che sono presenti nel testo. È un grecofono che vive in una società in cui si parla anche il latino, l’influenza del quale si coglie nell’uso della consonante doppia ‘ξ’, il cui suono viene reso ortograficamente con la consonante latina ‘x’.22 La concordanza nel numero tra verbo (plurale) e pronome (singolare), nella formula comminatoria, è errata (rr. 2–5: ‘ἕξουσιν … ᾧ’). Inoltre, sembra difficile immaginare che una monaca, nel V o agli inizi del VI secolo, scegliesse di farsi seppellire in un sarcofago in cui era ancora ben visibile l’invocazione agli Dis Manibus, le divinità dei defunti. Ciò parrebbe indicare che il periodo in cui la lastra di marmo venne riusata in un ambiente cristiano fosse lontano dal tempo in cui l’invocazione ai Manes poteva ancora essere percepita, nell’immaginario collettivo, come un simbolo di paganesimo. Come altri ritengo, dunque, che l’iscrizione sia da datare alla fine dell’VIII o, meglio, nel corso del IX secolo.23 D’altra parte, l’esistenza di una componente monastica di lingua greca nella Sardegna, durante l’alto medioevo, è provata da diverse testimonianze. Già alla metà del VII secolo un discepolo di Massimo il Confessore, Anastasio, dal suo esilio a Cherson, scrive una lettera a una comunità di confratelli che si trovava a Cagliari.24 Nella seconda metà del IX secolo arrivò sull’isola un gruppo di monaci seguaci di Gregorio Asbestas, il potente arcivescovo di Siracusa, poi metropolita di Nicea, che fu uno dei più importanti sostenitori di Fozio nella lotta contro il patriarca Ignazio.25 Un’iscrizione frammentaria, conservata nel Museo Archeologico di Cagliari e di incerta provenienza – forse la stessa Cagliari – reca memoria di un monaco greco, di nome Anastasio, Atanasio o Teodosio, che si rende forse benemerito del finanziamento o restauro di un qualche elemento architettonico di una chiesa ([---]σηου μοναχοῦ πόθῳ ἀν[αφέρει o ἀνακαίνει (?)---] / [---]καλὸ(ν) δὲ πάντα ετε---]).26 Inoltre, un gruppo di sei frammenti iscritti provenienti dalla scomparsa chiesa di San Nicola, nelle vicinanze dell’attuale centro di Donori, sembra di possibile, cauta attribuzione ad una comunità di monaci ellenofoni che viveva nella zona. Il sito della chiesa venne indagato nel gennaio 1884 da Filippo Vivanet, anche se la relazione di scavo fu redatta da Giuseppe Fiorelli l’anno successivo.27 L’area restituì diversi materiali di ornato architettonico, assieme ad iscrizioni di età romana, tardoromana e bizantina, alcune delle quali erano state reimpiegate come lastre pavimentali. Le iscrizioni di età altomedievale constavano di diversi frammenti, che si caratterizzavano tutti per essere 22 Al r. 1: ἕξουσιν > ἕχσουσιν > ἕσχουσιν (con metatesi di ‘χ’ e ‘σ’); al r. 5: ἐξανίζει > ἐχοανίζη. 23 Della stessa opinione: Enrico Morini, ‘Il monachesimo’, in Ai confini dell’impero. Storia, arte e archeologia della Sardegna bizantina, a cura di Paola Corrias, Salvatore Cosentino (Cagliari: ETS, 2002), pp. 39–53 (part. 43–45); e Martorelli, ‘L’epigrafe di Grecà’, p. 134. 24 Cfr. PG 90, cc. 133–36 = PL 129, cc. 623–26. La lettera ci è giunta solo in versione latina. Parziale sua traduzione in André Guillou, ‘La diffusione della cultura bizantina’, in Storia dei Sardi e della Sardegna, I, Dalle origini alla fine dell’età bizantina, a cura di Massimo Guidetti (Milano: Jaca Book, 1987), pp. 396–98; Morini, ‘Il monachesimo’, p. 42. 25 Cfr. Morini, ‘Il monachesimo’, pp. 43–45. 26 Edizione di Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 228, pp. 242–43; cfr. anche Coroneo, ‘L’epigrafia greca’, pp. 347–72 (nr. 18, p. 358), con ulteriore bibliografia. 27 Notizie degli Scavi di Antichità comunicate alla Regia Accademia dei Lincei per ordine di S. E. il Ministro della Pubblica Istruzione, gennaio 1885 (Roma: Tipografia Salviucci, 1885), pp. 229–37, part. 229–31.

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scritti in greco. André Guillou ha datato tutta questa piccola collezione al secolo X.28 Tuttavia, alcune particolarità paleografiche delle epigrafi nrr. 217, 220–22 (Figg. 4–7), come la grandezza delle lettere o il particolare disegno di alcune di esse, come l’omega, epsilon, delta o pi, sembrano avvicinarne la scrittura a esempi costantinopolitani (Fig. 8) o niceni (Fig. 9) dell’età dell’imperatore Michele III (842–867).29 Una somiglianza dei menzionati frammenti di S. Nicola di Donori con testimonianze prodotte a Roma tra il IX e il X secolo è anche evidente nel caso dell’epigrafe sepolcrale di Theopemptos, conservata in San Giorgio al Velabro,30 oppure nel caso della cornice iscritta di un manufatto proveniente dal Foro di Traiano (Fig. 10).31 Alla luce di questi confronti, sarebbe opportuno prevedere una cronologia più ampia per i citati frammenti di Donori, che non escluda il IX secolo. Tre famose iscrizioni dedicatorie celebrano la figura di un Torkitorios prōtospatharios e archōn; in due, egli è ricordato assieme ad un’altra persona, Salousios, qualificato sempre come archōn, presumibilmente il figlio.32 La storiografia tende a datare queste tre testimonianze al X secolo, o ad un periodo tra il X e l’XI secolo.33 Le somiglianze appaiono

28 Cfr. Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nrr. 217, 220–21, 224–25, 229, pp. 237–43; per un aggiornamento bibliografico (che include gli importanti lavori prodotti dal compianto Roberto Coroneo), si veda Orrù, Le fonti greche, nrr. 13–20, pp. 147–56. Orrù, facendo propria un’ipotesi di Coroneo (cfr. Coroneo, La scultura medio-bizantina, pp. 74–76, fig. 26 e Id, ‘L’epigrafia greca’, nr. 30, p. 363) pensa che un frustolo di iscrizione greca trovato nella chiesa di S. Sebastiano ad Ussana – non pubblicato da Guillou – ([---]σου…μω[---]/[---]ἀνάπαυσιν τ[ῶν ---]) sia proveniente dalla chiesa di S. Nicola di Donori. Dei materiali pubblicati da Guillou, la nr. 221 e la nr. 222 sono due frammenti di una medesima iscrizione, così come la nr. 224 e la nr. 225. 29 Per Costantinopoli, il calco dell’iscrizione qui pubblicato si deve ad Alexander van Milligen, Byzantine Constantinople: The Walls of the City and Adjoining Historical Sites (London: J. Murray, 1899), p. 185. Si tratta dell’iscrizione che commemora la ricostruzione di un settore delle mura marittime promossa da Michele III, e realizzata dal magistros Bardas tra l’857 e l’865. L’iscrizione è conservata attualmente al Museo Archeologico di Istanbul, ma era originariamente murata a nord di Incili Köşk. Per Nicea, la riproduzione è tratta da: Sencer Şahin, Katalog der antiken Inschriften des Museums von Iznik (Nikaia), 3 voll., Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien, 9, (Bonn: R. Habelt, 1979), I, nr. 463. 30 Si veda l’analisi di questa epigrafe fatta di recente da Francesco D’Aiuto, ‘Per una riconsiderazione dell’epigrafia greca medievale di Roma: le iscrizioni su pietra’, in Roma e il suo territorio nel Medioevo. Le fonti scritte tra tradizione e innovazione, a cura di Cristina Carbonetti, Santo Lucà e Maddalena Signorini (Spoleto: CISAM, 2015), pp. 553–612 (part. pp. 588–606), con citazione delle edizioni precedenti, tra cui, tra le più recenti, quella di Andreas Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme III/1–2: Byzantinische Epigramme auf Stein, nebst Addenda zu den Bänden 1 und 2, [Osterreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophischhistorische Klasse, Denkschriften, 474; Veröffentlichungen zur Byzanzforschung, 35] (Wien: ÖAW, 2014), vol. 1, nr. IT16, pp. 447–50; Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 118, pp. 129–30. 31 Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 48, pp. 46–48; D’Aiuto, ‘Per una riconsiderazione’, pp. 574–78. 32 Edizioni delle tre epigrafi: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nrr. 215, p. 235 (Assemini); nr. 223, p. 239 (chiesa, forse dedicata alla Santa Sofia, oggi scomparsa, tra Decimoputzu e Villasor); nr. 231, p. 246 (Sant’Antioco). Per una bibliografia aggiornata: Orrù, Le fonti greche, nrr. 8 (Assemini), 25 (Santa Sofia di Villasor), 29 (Sant’Antioco), rispettivamente pp. 140–41, 161–62, 168–69. 33 Datazione delle tre epigrafi al X secolo: Antonio Taramelli, ‘Di alcuni monumenti epigrafici bizantini’, Archivio Storico Sardo, 3 (1907), 72–107, part. pp. 73–75, 77–79, 83–85; Enrico Besta, La Sardegna medioevale, 2 voll., Le vicende politiche dal 450 al 1326 (Palermo: Reber, 1908), I, pp. 48–49; Alberto Boscolo, La Sardegna bizantina e alto-giudicale (Sassari: Chiarella, 1978), pp. 112–13 (volume le cui affermazioni in alcuni casi sono da prendere con cautela); Guillou, ‘La diffusione della cultura bizantina’, pp. 407–08. Alcuni autori ritengono che le iscrizioni di Assemini e di Villasor / Decimoputzu siano da datare al X secolo, mentre quella di Sant’Antioco agli inizi dell’XI secolo: cfr. Arrigo Solmi, ‘Le carte volgari dell’archivio arcivescovile di Cagliari’, Archivio Storico Italiano, 35 (1905), 273–330 (part. pp. 8, 12–13); Coroneo, La scultura mediobizantina, pp. 86–87 (Sant’Antioco), pp. 208, 217 (Assemini e Villasor/Decimoputzu), conclusioni ribadite in id., ‘Catalogo’, in Ai confini dell’impero, cit.,

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particolarmente stringenti tra due di esse, delle quali la prima, proveniente dai ruderi di una chiesa tra Villasor e Decimoputzu, recita (Fig. 11a–11b): † Κ(ύρι)ε βοήθη τῶν δούλων τοῦ Θ(εο)ῦ Τουρκοτουρίου βα(σιλικ)ωῦ πρωτοσπαθαρίου κ(αὶ) Σαλουσίου τῶν εὐγενεστάτων ἀρχόντων ἡμῶν. Μνήσθητι Κ(ύρι)ε κ(αὶ) τοῦ δού/λου σου ᾿Ορτζόκορ(ος) ἀμήν (Signore, soccorri i servi di Dio Torchitorio, prōtospatharios imperiale, e Salousios, i nostri nobilissimi governanti. Ricordati Signore anche del tuo servo Ortzokor); la seconda, conservata nella chiesa di S. Giovanni Battista di Assemini, più stringata della prima, riporta (Fig. 12): † Κ(ύρι)ε βωήθι τοῦ δούλου [σ]ου Τωρκοτορήου ἄρχοντος Σαρδηνία(ς) κὲ τῖς δούλι(ς) σου Γετίτ[ης?] (Signore soccorri il tuo servitore, Torkotorios, arconte di Sardegna, e la tua servitrice Getit[e]).34 Gli elementi architettonici sui quali le due epigrafi sono scolpite – forse epistili di un templon – mostrano gli stessi motivi decorativi, ciò che rende plausibile pensare che siano stati prodotti nella medesima officina artigianale. Tuttavia, le due invocazioni sono state incise sulla base di due modelli leggermente differenti e, quasi sicuramente, da due diversi lapicidi. Il nome Torkitorios, nei due testi, non è scritto nello stesso modo, come anche il verbo βοηθέω; le lettere omega e alfa sono incise in maniera differente, e l’allineamento delle lettere nello spazio di scrittura non è il medesimo, essendo meno regolare nella prima iscrizione rispetto alla seconda. Un confronto con la terza iscrizione di Torkitorios può giovare a mettere meglio a fuoco la cronologia dell’intero dossier. Quest’ultima testimonianza è conservata nella chiesetta di Sant’Antioco sull’omonima isola (Sardegna sud-occidentale). Manca della parte iniziale, che può essere però ricostruita come segue (Fig. 13): [Κύριε βοήθει τῶν δούλων σου Τ] ωρκοτορίου προτουσπαταρίου κα[ὶ Σα]λουσήου [ἄρχο]ντος κ[αὶ τῆς συμβ]ήου αὐτῆς [pro αὐτοῦ] Νήσπελλα» ([Signore soccorri i tuoi servi T]orkotorios prōtospatharios e Salousios archōn, e anche sua moglie Nispella).35 La decorazione scultorea dell’elemento di marmo su cui è incisa l’iscrizione – forse un architrave – è completamente differente dagli esempi di Assemini e di Santa Sofia di Villasor. Inoltre, le lettere dell’iscrizione sono alte, rigide, ostentate, profondamente incise, ma mancano di qualsiasi naturalezza, come se fossero dei pittogrammi piuttosto che segni viventi di un alfabeto. La nobildonna menzionata nell’epigrafe sembra da identificare con la Nispella Ochotis[a] citata in un’altra iscrizione proveniente dalla chiesa di San Giovanni Battista di Assemini,36 il cui testo recita: † ᾿Εν ὠ[νόματι τοῦ Πατρὸς καὶ τοῦ Υἱοῦ καὶ τοῦ ῾Αγίου Πνεύματος], ἐγω Νήσπελλα ᾿Οχώτησ[α ---------| ]τῶν ἁγιήων κωρυφέων ἀποστ(ό)λλω(ν) Πέτρουι καὶ Παύλου καὶ τοῦ ἁγήου ᾿Ιωάννου τοῦ Βαπ[τιστοῦ καὶ τῆς |] παρθενωμάρτυρος Βαρβάρας, ὧν τῆς πρεσβήες αὐτῶν, δώει μοι Κ(ύριο)ς ὁ Θ(εὸ)ς τὴν ἄφεσην τ[ῶν ἁμαρτιῶν]» (In nome del Padre, del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo, Io Nispella Ochotis(a) [---] grazie all’intercessione dei corifei degli apostoli, Pietro e Paolo, di Giovanni Battista e della martire vergine Barbara, affinché il Signore mi conceda la remissione [dei peccati]). Per lingua, contenuto e paleografia nrr. 43–45, pp. 276–77, e Coroneo, ‘L’epigrafia greca’, nr. 1 (ultimo quarto del X secolo), 10 (metà del X secolo), 27 (inizi XI sec.), pp. 350, 354, 362. Cavallo, ‘Le tipologie della cultura’, pp. 467–516, part. 473, data tutti i marmi, prudentemente, tra il X e l’XI secolo. 34 La prima iscrizione è oggi conservata nel Museo Archeologico di Cagliari; la seconda, come si è detto, si trova nella chiesa di S. Giovanni Battista di Assemini: v. supra, n. 32. 35 V. supra, n. 32. 36 Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 216, p. 236 (la dice erroneamente collocata nella chiesa di S. Pietro); per ulteriore bibliografia, Orrù, Le fonti greche, nr. 9, pp. 142–43.

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quest’ultima testimonianza sembra da datare ad un’età più avanzata rispetto agli esempi di Assemini e di Villasor. La Vita di Giorgio, vescovo di Suelli, scritta in data incerta, ma comunque non prima della fine dell’XI secolo,37 racconta che un iudex Callaritanus di nome Torquitoris e sua moglie Sinispella, donarono al santo vescovo due estese tenute, la villa Suellensis e la villa Simieri.38 Parrebbe di potere concludere, pertanto, sulla scorta dell’opinione di diversi studiosi, che il Torchitorio citato nell’iscrizione di Sant’Antioco sia un personaggio diverso rispetto all’omonimo arconte menzionato nelle epigrafi di Assemini e di (Santa Sofia di) Villasor. Quest’ultimo individuo, che probabilmente sposò una dama di nome Getit[e], dovrebbe essere vissuto in un periodo precedente rispetto a quello in cui fu attivo colui che sposò Nispella. Giacché secondo l’analisi di Motzo, il vescovo Giorgio visse nella prima metà dell’XI secolo e Torquitoris era un suo contemporaneo, si può concludere che l’iscrizione sulcitana sia da attribuire a questo periodo, mentre le testimonianze campidanesi al secolo precedente. Le citate testimonianze epigrafiche concernenti gli arconti di Sardegna possono utilmente essere messe a confronto con alcuni sigilli che ne menzionano i protagonisti. Nell’Archivio Arcivescovile di Cagliari è conservata una collezione di 21 documenti che vanno dall’XI al XIII secolo; nella maggior parte dei casi, si tratta di donazioni di beni fondiari effettuate dai giudici di Cagliari a favore della chiesa del capoluogo isolano.39 Esse sono particolarmente interessanti perché ogni carta era accompagnata, in origine, da un sigillo. Secondo Solmi, tuttavia, le bullae si riferiscono solo ai due nomi, che egli interpreta come ‘dinastici’, di Torchitorio e Salusio. A quanto mi risulta, questo piccolo corpus non è mai stato pubblicato integralmente. Alcuni specimina dei sigilli degli arconti di Cagliari si possono però vedere in un saggio pubblicato da A. Manno nella seconda metà del XIX secolo.40 Uno di essi appartiene a un Torgotorios, che si qualifica ἄρχοντ(ι) μερεί(ας) Καράλεως; due ad un Salousios, che utilizza la medesima qualificazione – ἄρχοντ(ι) μερ(είας) Καλάρεως (Fig. 14).41 I sigilli recano nel recto il monogramma cruciforme di tipo V e nei quarti l’usuale scritta | ΤΩ | ΣΩ | ΔΟΥ | ΛΩ (Θεοτόκε βοήθει τῷ σῷ δούλῳ). La locuzione greca μέρεια Καράλεως, o Καλάρεως è evidentemente sinonimo di ‘area’, ‘territorio’, un significato che combacia con il latino pars o regnum che si trova in documenti latini o volgari rogati nel 1089, 1102, 1107, 1108.42 Pertanto, la produzione 37 Cfr. Raimondo B. Motzo, ‘La vita e l’ufficio di S. Giorgio vescovo di Barbagia’, in id., Studi sui Bizantini in Sardegna e sull’agiografia sarda (Cagliari 1987), pp. 131–54, part. p. 136 (saggio già pubblicato originariamente in Archivio Storico Sardo 15, fasc. 1–2, 3–26). 38 Ibid., lectio V, p. 150. 39 Su questi documenti cfr. Solmi, ‘Le carte volgari’, p. 6. Oggi questa intera raccolta di carte viene considerata spuria. L’età precisa della falsificazione non si conosce, forse la prima metà del XIII o il XIV secolo. La finalità era quella di assicurare alla chiesa di Cagliari un titolo legale al possesso di terre per le quali ne era priva: cfr. Giulio Paulis, Studi sul sardo medievale (Nuoro: Ilisso, 1997), pp. 133–39. 40 Antonio Manno, ‘Sopra alcuni piombi sardi’, Atti della Reale Accademia delle Scienze di Torino XIII (1877–1878), pp. 466–84. 41 Cfr. Salvatore Cosentino, ‘Re-analysing some Byzantine bullae from Sardinia’, in Siegel und Siegler, hrsg. von Claudia Ludwig, Berliner Byzantinische Studien, 7, (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2005), pp. 69–81, part. 70–73. Non credo più, oggi, che ‘μερ’ possa essere sciolto come μέρ(ους). L’ipotesi conseguente alla mia proposta di allora è da ritenersi infondata. 42 Anno 1089: “εγω ιουδικι […] ποτεσδανδο πορτε δε Καραλη”: Carl Wescher e Louis Blanchard, ‘Charte sarde de l’abbaye de Saint Victor de Marseille écrite en caractères grecs’, Bibliothèque de l’École de Chartes, 35 (1874), pp. 255–64, r. 1. Anno 1102: “ego iudice Turbini de Lacon potestando parte de Arborea”: Pasquale Tola, Codice

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dei menzionati sigilli dovrebbe riferirsi ad un momento in cui la partizione dell’isola in signorie autonome era in atto o già compiuta. La divisione politica dell’isola in quattro giudicati era sicuramente conclusa nel 1073, come si apprende da una lettera inviata da papa Gregorio VII il 14 ottobre di quell’anno a Mariano di Porto Torres, Orzocco di Arborea, Orzocco di Cagliari e Costantino di Gallura.43 Non rientra nelle finalità di questo articolo addentrarsi nella incerta storia istituzionale della prima Sardegna giudicale. Limitandoci a considerare il rapporto tra epigrafi e sigilli, se gli esemplari in cui Torgotorios e Salousios si definiscono signori della μέρεια Καράλεως sembrano successivi alle epigrafi – dove non si fa riferimento ad alcuna limitazione territoriale del loro potere – non paiono nemmeno collocarsi a grande distanza temporale da esse. In termini di storia culturale questo però implica che, nell’XI secolo, la conoscenza del greco doveva essere ancora viva nella tradizione familiare degli arconti / giudici di Cagliari e di Arborea.44 In quest’ultimo caso, l’affermazione è avvalorata dal rinvenimento presso San Giorgio di Cabras, nell’Oristanese, del sigillo di Zerkis ἄρχων ᾿Αρβορέ(ας) (Fig. 15). Esso sul recto è caratterizzato dallo stesso monogramma cruciforme dei sigilli di Torgotorios e Salousios; i suoi editori lo riferiscono plausibilmente al primo giudice di Arborea storicamente documentato.45 Giacché nella citata lettera di Gregorio VII il giudice di Arborea è Orzoccus, ciò significa che il sigillo di Zerkis è anteriore al 1073. Per concludere, l’insieme delle epigrafi in greco medievale provenienti dalla Sardegna rappresenta un’importante fonte storica per argomentare che dal VII alla prima metà dell’XI secolo la cultura scritta sull’isola fu profondamente influenzata da gruppi di parlanti greco. Benché ci sia preclusa ogni possibilità di accertare la loro incidenza demografica sul totale della popolazione e, dunque, di influenzare significativamente la lingua della comunicazione quotidiana, possiamo osservare che le testimonianze in greco rappresentano la maggioranza delle memorie scritte tramandateci dall’alto medioevo. La storia culturale della Sardegna in questo periodo è composta da sigilli, iscrizioni e pochi manoscritti – come il famoso Laudianus gr. 35, conservato nella Bodleian Library di Oxford, manoscritto bilingue contenente gli Atti degli Apostoli, sempre che sia stato prodotto sull’isola e non a

diplomatico della Sardegna, 2 voll., presentazione di Alberto Boscolo, introduzione di Francesco C. Casula, (Sassari: C. Delfino, 1984) [rist. Torino 1861–1868], I, nr. 22, p. 165; anno 1107: “ego iudex Torchitor de Lacono pro voluntate Dei potestando regnum Callaritani”: Tola, Codice diplomatico, nr. 3, p. 178; anno 1108: “ego iudice Trogotori potestando parte Karalis”: Tola, Codice diplomatico, nr. 5, p. 189. Sugli atti dei giudici sardi nell’XI e XII secolo si veda il lavoro di Jean-Marie Martin, ‘Les actes sardes (xie-xiie siècles)’, in L’héritage byzantin en Italie (viiie-xiie siècle), I, La fabrique documentaire, ed. Jean-Marie Martin, Annick Peters-Custot e Vivien Prigent, Collection de l’École française de Rome, 449 (Rome: EFR, 2011), pp. 191–205 e Alessandro Soddu, ‘L’aristocrazia fondiaria nella Sardegna dei secoli XI-XII’, in L’héritage byzantin en Italie (viiie-xiie siècle), IV, Habitat et structure agraire, ed. Jean-Marie Martin, Annick Peters-Custot e Vivien Prigent, Collection de l’École française de Rome, 531 (Rome: EFR, 2017), pp. 145–206. 43 Cfr. Das Register Gregors VII., hrgs. Erich Caspar, I, in MGH, Epp. selectae in usum scholarum editae (Berolini: Weidmannsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 19552), nr. 29, p. 46. 44 Questa conclusione mi sembra valida anche se considerassimo, come pensava il compianto Jean-Marie Martin, su suggerimento di uno specialista come Jean-Claude Cheynet, che i sigilli di Torgotorios e Salousios abbiano imitato, al recto, matrici di sigilli che risalivano all’VIII (o, aggiungo io, al IX) secolo, e al verso, abbiano inserito il formulario arcontale: Jean-Marie Martin, ‘L’Occident chrétien dans le Livre des Cerimonies, II, 48’, Travaux et Mémoires, 13 (2000), pp. 617–46 (p. 637, n. 165). 45 Spanu, Zucca, I sigilli bizantini, pp. 145–46.

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Roma46 – che evidenziano un processo di diffusione della grecofonia, almeno nelle élites civili, un processo che appare profondo e radicato, così come proposto in una prospettiva glottologica da Giulio Paulis già una quarantina di anni fa. Il momento di acculturazione greca dei ceti dirigenti isolani credo vada cercato indubbiamente nella storia del VII secolo. È questo il periodo in cui anche in Africa un recente studio sui sigilli conservati nel Musée National de Carthage ha evidenziato un aumento delle legende scritte in greco, riflesso dell’accrescimento dei grecofoni negli alti gradi della gerarchia amministrativa.47 Per quanto riguarda la Sardegna, si può sperare che futuri ritrovamenti da parte dell’archeologia di materiali scritti – epigrafi o sigilli – prodotti sull’isola, possano portare a precisare meglio un fenomeno che, ora come ora, possiamo solo intravedere nei suoi tratti essenziali. Mi pare centrale per l’agenda della ricerca futura soprattutto la comprensione del IX secolo, un secolo importante per la ridefinizione della storia sociale, culturale ed economica del Mediterraneo. Il punto essenziale è quello di comprendere quali furono, nel concreto, le modalità di contatto della Sardegna con il Meridione italiano e Costantinopoli, in un secolo in cui il dominio politico di Bisanzio sulla Sicilia era progressivamente ridotto a motivo dell’avanzata degli Aghlabidi. Com’era successo nel VII secolo in Africa, anche due secoli dopo la conquista di una regione importante come la Sicilia nello scacchiere politico del Mediterraneo occidentale portò ad un ripiegamento di nuclei dell’apparato militare bizantino in Sardegna? La sensazione che si ha, è che il famoso passo del De cerimoniis, che menziona la formula con la quale la cancelleria imperiale costantinopolitana era solita rivolgersi all’arconte di Sardegna nella sua corrispondenza, non sia un relitto di antiquaria diplomatica, ma l’indizio di relazioni tra l’isola e Costantinopoli che tra la metà del IX e la metà del X furono forse più intense di quanto supposto finora.48 Alla luce del peso avuto dalle comunità di parlanti greco nella storia sociale e culturale della Sardegna tra il VII e l’XI secolo, anche testimonianze note da tanto tempo possono acquistare un diverso significato. È il caso, per esempio, della famosa donazione scritta in campidanese, ma con caratteri dell’alfabeto greco, rilasciata dal giudice di Cagliari, Costantino, a favore del monastero di S. Saturno tra il 1089 e il 1113.49 L’uso dell’alfabeto greco da parte della

46 Per una origine romana si sono pronunciati diversi studiosi, tra cui Paolo Radiciotti, ‘Manoscritti digrafici grecolatini e latinogreci nella tarda antichità’ in Da Ercolano all’Egitto. Ricerche varie di papirologia, a cura di M. Capasso (Galatina: Congedo 1999) [Papyrologica Lupiensia, 7], 154–85: 160–63; id., ‘Le sacre scritture nel mondo tardoantico grecolatino’ in Forme e modelli della tradizione manoscritta della Bibbia, a cura di Paolo Cherubini, (Città del Vaticano: Scuola Vaticana di Paleografia, Diplomatica e Archivistica, 2005) [Littera Antiqua, 13], pp. 35–60: 56 e Andrea Lai, ‘Il codice laudiano greco 35 e la Sardegna altomedievale’, Bollettino di Studi Sardi, 1 (2008), pp. 129–44; id., ‘Nuove osservazioni a proposito dell’origine romana del ms. Oxford, Bodleian Library, Laud. gr. 35’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 110 (2017), 673–90 (con bibliografia precedente). 47 Cfr. Vivien Prigent, Études sur l’histoire administrative de l’Afrique byzantine au viie siècle. L’apport des sceaux [Mémoire de recherche inédit pour l’habilitation à diriger les recherches], Paris 2019, pp. 64–65. Ringrazio cordialmente l’autore per avermi fatto prendere visione del manoscritto prima della sua pubblicazione. 48 Sul valore della testimonianza del De cerimoniis per la Sardegna, e, in genere per le signorie territoriali italiane, cfr. Martin, “L’Occident chrétien”. Per il brano del De cerimoniis, cfr. Constantin VII Porphyrogénète, Le livres de Cérémonies, sous la direction de Gilbert Dagron (†) et Bernard Flusin, 5 voll. (Paris: Association des Amis du Centre d’Histoire et Civilisation de Byzance, 2020), III, II, 48, p. 371 (= Reiske, p. 690 B). 49 Pubblicata da Wescher e Blanchard, v. supra, n. 42. Cfr. ora, per un altro documento della stessa tipologia, Alessandro Soddu, Paola Crasta e Giovanni Strinna, ‘Un’inedita carta sardo-greca del XII nell’Archivio Capitolare di Pisa’, Bollettino di Studi Sardi 3 (2010), 5–42; Giovanni Strinna, ‘The Earliest Charter Sources from Medieval Sardinia’, in The Making of Medieval Sardinia, ed. Metcalfe, Fernández-Aceves, Muresu, pp. 314–42.

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cancelleria giudicale è certamente uno strumento ideologico per sacralizzare le deliberazioni del giudice e per sanzionarne l’autorità politica.50 Ma ciò che oggi siamo meglio in grado di comprendere è che, nella Sardegna dell’XI secolo, il greco non doveva essere percepito come una lingua ossificata di un passato remoto, ma come uno strumento di comunicazione che era stato vivo nella storia culturale dell’isola fino a non molto tempo prima il governo del giudice Costantino. Appendice Nella facciata della chiesa parrocchiale di S. Biagio, a Dolianova, si trova reimpiegato un pilastrino con croce (così da descrizione e riproduzione in Coroneo, ‘Epigrafia greca’, nr. 21, p. 359, che rimanda anche a Coroneo, Scultura mediobizantina, pp. 84–85), attorno ai cui lati è incisa una iscrizione greca. Non mi è stato possibile trovare una riproduzione fotografica del pilastrino, ma solo un calco dei suoi elementi decorativi. Il manufatto, secondo Coroneo, ‘Epigrafia greca’ è ‘reimpiegato ab antiquo nella facciata della parrocchiale di S. Biagio a Dolianova’, ma a quel che intendo sarebbe proveniente dagli scavi effettuati nella chiesa di S. Pantaleo, sempre a Dolianova, in occasione dei lavori di restauro della stessa chiesa condotti nel 1927 da Carlo Aru (cfr. Coroneo, Scultura mediobizantina, p. 84). L’iscrizione è segnalata da Orrù, Le fonti greche, E 12, p. 146 che ne trascrive le lettere visibili. Non mi sembra esista un tentativo di lettura dell’epigrafe, per cui mi è parso opportuno proporne un’interpretazione, pur senza avere effettuato un’autopsia, e senza disporre di altra documentazione che il suo calco (Fig. 16). Testo: ΩC/ΖΩ/Ο/TΩΝ/ΤΗ/ẸYΠΡ/ΤΗ/Μ/Ο̣ ΝΤΟΝΠΟΝ Trascrizione: [Φ]ῶς ζωόντων τὴ(ν) ὄντον ἐ(λ)π(ίδα) ὑπὲρ ὑμᾶς [pro ἡμᾶς] Luce dei viventi che sei speranza per noi La metafora della luce divina trasmessa dal segno di Cristo, o la speranza in Lui per la propria salvezza, sono motivi abbastanza comuni nei testi epigrafici. L’associazione tra ‘luce e speranza’, per esempio, ricorre in un’iscrizione proveniente dalla chiesa di S. Atanasio, a Koropi (nei pressi di Atene),51 mentre Cristo come ‘speranza’ e ‘rifugio’ è motivo attestato in una testimonianza proveniente da Beroia, in Macedonia.52 Non è possibile pronunciarsi sulla datazione dell’epigrafe, in mancanza di una sua fotografia o di un esame diretto. La datazione proposta da Coroneo – X secolo – si basa su criteri stilistici relativi alla fattura della croce e del supporto su cui è scolpita.

50 Cosentino, “Potere e istituzioni nella Sardegna bizantina”, in Ai confini dell’impero, cit., pp. 1–13, part. 11. 51 Cfr. Erkki Sironen, The Late Roman and Early Byzantine Inscriptions of Athens and Attica, Helsinki 1997, nr. 344bis, p. 348 = IG II2, 13315. 52 SEG 35, 733.

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Fig. 1a. Insediamenti e viabilità della Sardegna tardoantica, © Claudia Lamanna Salvatore Cosentino

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Fig. 1b. Iscrizioni greche di età bizantina trovate in Sardegna, © Claudia Lamanna Salvatore Cosentino

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Fig. 2. Iscrizione trionfale di Turris Libisonis. Da: Fiori, Costantino hypatos, tav. I

Fig. 3a. Iscrizione di Grekas. Da: Martorelli, ‘L’epigrafe di Grecà’, p. 131, fig. 3

Fig. 3b. Sarcofago di Grekas. Da: Martorelli, ‘L’epigrafe di Grecà’, p. 130, fig. 1

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Fig. 4. Frammento di iscrizione, San Nicola di Donori. Da: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 217, p. 237, pl. 201

Fig. 5. Frammento di iscrizione, San Nicola di Donori. Da: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 220, p. 238, pl. 202

Fig. 6. Frammento di iscrizione, San Nicola di Donori. Da: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 221, pl. 203

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Fig. 7. Frammento di iscrizione, San Nicola di Donori. Da: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 222, pl. 204

Fig. 8. Iscrizione celebrativa del restauro delle mura marittime da parte del magistros Bardas. Da: van Milligen, Byzantine Constantinople, p. 185

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Fig. 9. Iscrizione celebrativa del restauro di una torre a Nicea sotto Michele III. Da: Şahin, Katalog, nr. 463

Fig. 10. Frammento di iscrizione di Theopemptos, Roma, S. Giorgio al Velabro. Da: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 118, pl. 116

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Fig. 11a e 11 b. Iscrizione di Torchitorio, Salusio e Orzokor, vicinanze di Villasor, chiesa (forse) di S. Sofia (ora al Museo Archeologico di Cagliari). Da: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 223, pl. 205

Fig. 12. Iscrizione di Torchitorio e Getit[e], Assemini, chiesa di S. Giovanni Battista. Da: Boscolo, La Sardegna bizantina, tav. X

Fig. 13. Parte iniziale della iscrizione di Torchitorio, Salusio e Nispella. Da: Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions, nr. 231, pl. 214

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Fig. 14. Sigilli degli arconti Torchitorio e Salusio. Da: Manno, ‘Sopra alcuni piombi’ (riprodotto in Cosentino, ‘Re-analysing’)

Fig. 15. Sigillo di Zerkis, arconte di Arborea, conservato presso l’Antiquarium Arborense. Da: Spanu, Zucca, I sigilli bizantini, nr. 77, p. 145

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Fig. 16. Pilastrino con croce e iscrizione, Dolianova, chiesa di S. Biagio. Da: Coroneo, ‘Epigrafia greca’, nr. 21, p. 359

Est ell e Ingrand-Var e nn e

Incorporating a Name in an Image and an Image in a Name Comparison between Byzantine and Latin Traditions Writing a holy figure’s name near its representation seems very simple and obvious. Yet that is far from being the case. The status of an image, of writing, and of language in relation to the view of the represented body and the medium in which it has been executed are all at issue in such inscriptions. The articulation of all these elements has semantic implications. My aim in this article is to consider the compositional arrangement of name-bearing inscriptions on religious iconography, specifically when they are divided and distributed on each side of a figure. Already practiced in Late Antiquity, this form flourished in the written culture of the Western world, particularly during the high medieval period,1 and in the Byzantine world2 after the iconoclastic period. In the Christian West, it reappeared concomitantly with the so-called “inflation of the name”: representations and names of saints multiplied, and, similarly, the individual attributes — that is, the accessories used to identify a figure in a picture — became more numerous in a systematic and effective way at the beginning of the thirteenth century. This practice is aptly illustrated by the inscription naming Austremoine on the twelfth-century Saint Calminius reliquary in the treasury of Mozac Abbey3 [Fig. 1] and the Christ Pantocrator of the deesis mosaic in Hagia Sophia (1261) [Fig. 2] — to give two different examples, Latin and Greek, on object and monument in this period. The persistent use of this compositional arrangement and its proliferation in the Middle Ages suggest that it was typical of medieval culture and mentality, even if its significance at times differed across different periods and regions. I would like to explore the meanings conveyed by this manner of name representation. I wish to stress that this habit is in no way connected to the issue of space economy; the placement of inscriptions conveys deliberate choices and well-attested habits, rather than being dependent on (and necessitated by) the amount of available space. This phenomenon

1 See Vincent Debiais, La croisée des signes: l’écriture et les images médiévales, 800–1200 (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 2017). 2 On inscriptions and images in Byzantium, see the analysis of Catherine Jolivet-Lévy in her article, ‘Inscriptions et images dans les églises byzantines de Cappadoce: Visibilité/lisibilité, interactions et fonctions’, in Visibilité et présence de l’image dans l’espace ecclésial. Byzance et Moyen Âge occidental, ed. Sulamith Brodbeck and Anne-Orange Poilpré (Paris: Éditions de la Sorbonne, 2019), pp. 379−408; also the bibliography listed in the first footnote of the article. 3 Corpus des inscriptions de la France médiévale [hereafter referred to as CIFM], 18, Allier, Cantal, Loire, Haute-Loire, Puy-de-Dôme, ed. Robert Favreau et al. (Paris: CNRS Éditions, 1995), no 74, p. 227.

Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1, ed. by Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth, SBE, 1 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 93–111. © FHG DOI 10.1484/M.SBE-EB.5.131800

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can be qualified as a dispositif, to use Michel Foucault’s term, developed and explained by Daniel Russo as “a concept that allows for an understanding of the relationships established by the writing of words on images […] within a historically situated graphic system at the heart of which the chosen medium, the material used and the working technique also appear as important means”.4 Analysis of the dispositif of the divided name in medieval French epigraphic material shows four distinct features. First, it concerns only names or equivalent expressions; more precisely, it relates almost exclusively to personal names, consequently proper nouns. It is also employed in a few cases for the names of vices and virtues, months, zodiac signs, or generic names of characters in allegorical personifications. These are inscribed alone and not in a sentence. Second, most of these names in an epigraphic context pertain to the sphere of the sacred: they denote the Virgin Mary, the apostles, saints, and biblical characters. As far as I know, this setting is never used for historical figures in France. Third, it is generally employed for portraits consisting of full- or half-length standing figures, and rarely occurs in narrative scenes. Fourth, the defining feature of this convention is the division of the word.5 Taking as the starting point Western traditions, this study wishes to put forward a methodology that has been productively used in the study of medieval Latin epigraphy, and propose that it can be usefully applied to Byzantine material. Although Byzantine epigraphy arises from a very different set of practices to those of the Latin West, examining Byzantine epigraphical traditions serves to enhance this enquiry. If the portraits of saints, depicted according to strict iconographic codes, are almost invariably identified by a name after the ninth century, for pragmatic or theological reasons,6 we must ask how the name was inscribed. How was it laid out spatially? What do comparisons of this form of onomastic inscriptions in Byzantine and Latin art reveal about the semantic, syntactic, and symbolic relations at stake, in this shared approach to the writing of names in medieval Christian culture?7 This contribution is intended as a preliminary study, and, as such, it does not offer exhaustive coverage of all extant material. In what follows, my analysis will focus on a selection of tenth- to thirteenth-century inscriptions in the West, in Byzantium, and





4 Daniel Russo, ‘Des lettres sur l’image dans l’art du Moyen Âge. Pour une nouvelle articulation du textuel et du visuel’, in Qu’est-ce que nommer? L’image légendée entre monde monastique et pensée scolastique, ed. Christian Heck (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), p. 129. See also Giorgio Agamben, Qu’est-ce qu’un dispositif? (Paris: Éditions Payot & Rivages, 2007); Giorgio Agamben traces a summary genealogy of this term, first within Foucault’s work and then in a broader historical context. 5 See Estelle Ingrand-Varenne, ‘Nommer, couper, incorporer: Quand le nom rencontre le corps de l’image’, Les Mots au Moyen Âge – Words in the Middle Ages, ed. Victoria Turner and Vincent Debiais (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), pp. 185−204. 6 Henry Maguire, The Icons of Their Bodies. Saints and Their Images in Byzantium (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1996), in particular chapter 3, ‘Naming and Individuality’, pp. 100−145; Karen Boston, ‘The Power of Inscriptions and the Trouble with Texts’, in Icon and Words. The Power of Images in Byzantium. Studies presented to Robin Cormack, ed. Anthony Eastmond and Liz James (Ashgate: Ashgate Publishing Ltd., 2003), pp. 35−57; J. Cotsonis, ‘The contribution of Byzantine lead seals to the study of the cult of the saints (sixth-twelfth centuries)’, Byzantion, 75 (2005), 383−497. 7 See Vincent Debiais, ‘La tentation de Byzance. Réflexions sur les inscriptions byzantines vues de la Latinité’, in Inscriptions in Byzantium and Beyond. Methods – Projects – Case Studies, ed. Andreas Rhoby (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2015), pp. 39−49.

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Syria-Palestine, with the intention of understanding the deeper meaning of this particular dispositif. This paper is part of a larger investigation of the “mise en scène”, the iconic character of the inscriptions,8 and the modalities of writing a name.9 Proximity and Distance between Name and Body The verb usually employed in English to describe the name placement and its relation to the figure is “to flank”. The text of the name “flanks” the portrait, so to speak. This figurative meaning connects directly with the body and evokes the text’s proximity to the pictured body. Indeed, making an intimate connection between name and body is certainly the essential point of this dispositif. But if we follow the etymology (the flanks are the sides of an animal or a person between the ribs and hip), the limitations of this verb become apparent. “Flank” is misleading, because, although in the case of saint Austremoine [Fig. 1] the name flanks the holy body, because it is centrally located at the midpoint of the mandorla, this is not the most common layout. Analysis of the 26 volumes of the Corpus des inscriptions de la France médiévale shows that the head is the most usual contact point (74%), followed by the trunk (shoulders or the middle of the body: 15%) and the lower half of the body (in particular the knees: 6%). Other cases involve an unspecified location or a more general location, including the entire figure (5%). French epigraphists prefer another term borrowed from poetic vocabulary: “caesura”.10 This choice, rather than the word “cut”, “division” or “split”, implies a pause in a line. It is not a true rupture but a temporary break or a suspension in the graphic line of text, and one that also supports iconographic continuity. This change of word is also a change of gaze, which shifts the focus from the image to that of the text. If the image is indeed first in the process of artistic realization, and the name added afterwards, the result produced creates neither hierarchy nor temporal succession. The names of the biblical figures in the stained glass from Canterbury Cathedral (1178–1180) at the Met Cloisters are inscribed near their head or their shoulders. In the Noah window, his name, No/e, is in white letters, the same colour as his tunic, and forms a complete compositional unit with his flesh-coloured hair and face, and, more generally, with his entire body against the blue background [Fig. 3]. The position of the text in the image is particularly important for the viewer. Writing the name over the figure’s head or under the feet anticipates a top-down or bottom-up movement of the eyes, whereas placing the inscription near the head positions the words

8 To give a few examples: Viewing inscriptions in the late antique and medieval world, ed. Anthony Eastmond (New York: Cambridge University press, 2015); Debiais, La croisée des signes; Sign and Design: Script as Image in a CrossCultural Perspective (300–1600 ce), ed. Brigitte Myriam Bedos-Rezak and Jeffrey F. Hamburger (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 2016). 9 See the international French-Dutch project: MEDNAME: Inscribing Names in Medieval Sacred Spaces, joint project between University of Poitiers (CESCM) and Utrecht University, with the publication of the book, Writing Names in Medieval Sacred Spaces. Inscriptions in the West, from the Late Antiquity to the Early Middle Ages, dir. Janneke Raaijmakers (†), Elisa Pallottini and Estelle Ingrand-Varenne (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022). 10 This term appears in the 23rd volume of the CIFM, published in 2008 (e.g, no 68, 69, 134). Vincent Debiais was the first to use the expression.

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in ostensive relation to the face, which is the mirror of the soul,11 as well as the seat of identity and the self. The positioning of the text also places emphasis on the sensory organs, including the eyes and the mouth, which project the gaze and the voice. It is as if the saint, whose name is written, himself says, “I am he”, and as if the viewer in his or her turn invokes the saint saying, “It is he” whose name I see.12 This proximity of the name to the face finds precedents in the writings of iconophile theologians. According to Nikephoros I, Patriarch of Constantinople at the beginning of the ninth century, in his refutation of a writing by the Emperor Constantine Copronymus on images, “the inscription seals the authenticity, advertising to us that the form and the person (πρόσωπον) are truly the ones of the model.”13 The Greek word prosopon, a technical term in Christian theology signifying person, originally simply meant “face”. The relationship between a sacred name and its image in this dispositif are different in the Byzantine East and the Latin West. In Western epigraphy, it is not enough for the image to be near the name, it has to touch it. In the Lamb of God painted in the crypt of Notre-Dame-la-Grande at Poitiers at the end of the eleventh century,14 the names are very close to the halo, which encompasses the entire divine figure. Moreover, the caesura is not between the two words, but both words, Agnus and Dei, have been divided and distributed on each side (Ag/nus De/i) [Fig. 4]. In Byzantine epigraphy, however, it seems that the name does not need to be so close; it may even be graphically isolated. In the mosaic in the southwest vestibule of Hagia Sophia (Istanbul, tenth c.), representing Justinian offering a model of Hagia Sophia, Mary holding the Christ-child in her lap, and Constantine presenting the city of Constantinople, each word of the name of the Virgin Theotokos, MP ΘY for Μ(ήτη)ρ Θ(εo)ῦ, is distant from the figure and placed in a medallion, mirroring the halo of her head.15 [Fig. 5] Each word is autonomous. The fact that her monograms resemble her halo reinforces this link between the name and the “face” of the person depicted.16 Finally, the question of proximity and distance between name and body can be developed to include proxemic relationships of words in their spatial, iconographic, and material contexts. I borrow this terminology from Edward Hall, an American anthropologist who defined it in his book The Hidden Dimension, published in 1966, as relating to the observations and theories regarding the human use of space. For Hall, the hidden dimension is the cultural dimension. Hall’s study of nonverbal communication

11 To quote Cicero, De Oratore, III, 22 (on Cicero and the invention of visual communication, see Fernand Delarue, ‘Cicéron et l’invention du regard’, L’information littéraire, 56 (2004), 32−41; on the activation of the senses during the performance of the liturgy in the Middle Ages, see Éric Palazzo, L’invention chrétienne des cinq sens dans la liturgie et l’art au Moyen Âge (Paris: Cerf, 2014). 12 See Gilbert Dagron, Décrire et peindre: essai sur le portrait iconique (Paris: Gallimard, 2007), pp. 68−69. 13 Nikephoros I, Antirrhetici, I. 38, in Patrologia Graeca 100, col. 293. 14 CIFM I-1, Poitou-Charentes: Ville de Poitiers, ed. Robert Favreau and Jean Michaud (Poitiers-Paris: CESCM, 1974) no 18, pp. 17−18, pl. XII, fig. 20−22; CIFM Hors-Série II, Inscriptions de Poitiers: Les inscriptions de Poitiers (fin viiedébut xvie siècle). Une source pour l’histoire de la ville et de ses monuments, ed. Robert Favreau et al. (Paris: CNRS éditions, 2017) no 52, pp. 81−82. 15 Robert S. Nelson, ‘Image and Inscription. Pleas for Salvation in Spaces of Devotion’, in Art and Text in Byzantine Culture, ed. Liz James (Cambridge/New York/Melbourne: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 100−119 (pp. 102−103). 16 I would like to thank Brad Hostetler for this remark.

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also concerns the effects of population density on behavior, communication, and social interaction. I believe that this concept can be fruitfully applied to medieval writing, as is demonstrated in three articles written by Brad Hostetler on the location of names on reliquaries.17 The Break and the Weld The fact that the name or the nominal expression has to be broken in the mosaic composition from St Sophia shows that the inscription is not merely an added layer, external to the image and exogenous, but shares the same surface, the golden background of the picture. Writing is a “composite medium”, which partakes of the image’s pictoriality and gesturality;18 this shared nature can be seen in the ambiguity of the Greek verb “graphein,” meaning both to write and to draw, as some early Byzantine authors had noted.19 Just as word and image both participate in the meaning of “graphein,” so too the labelling text and the labelled image are bound together in this medieval dispositif of the surface, which itself provides background for both writing and representation. The existence and character of the common background show that this kind of onomastic dispositif, when applied to flat images or relief sculptures, cannot be understood as being independent from the background. During their apogee in the Western world, these naming inscriptions were especially common in three media: gold and silver items, wall paintings, and stained-glass windows. I have found very few examples in sculpture from the same period, no doubt because the eleventh-thirteenth centuries are a period in which statuary was developing, with forms breaking away from the background, where the name would have been commonly engraved.20 Moreover, from a graphical point, it was also during this period that the approach to writing in manuscripts evolved considerably, with new layouts and new paratextual tools (paragraph division, margin notes, index, tables, etc.). Works were divided, distinguished, segmented into units of meaning by means of visual devices, and this new organization of

17 Brad Hostetler, ‘The Iconography of Text: The Placement of an Inscription on a Middle Byzantine Reliquary’, Eastern Christian Art 8 (2011), 49−55; Brad Hostetler, ‘The Limburg Staurotheke: A Reassessment’, Anthanor 30 (2012), 7−13; Brad Hostetler, ‘Towards a Typology for the Placement of Names on Works of Art’, in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium: continuities and transformations: papers from the Forty-Ninth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, ed. Ida Toth and Marc D. Lauxtermann (London/New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group, 2020), pp. 267−290. 18 Anne-Marie Christin, L’invention de la figure (Paris: Flammarion, 2011), p. 28. In her studies, Anne-Marie Christin focuses on the iconicity of script, with the idea that writing should be emancipated from its subjection to speech: she argues that the legible originated from the visible, not from a linguistic mode of communication. See AnneMarie Christin, L’Image écrite ou la déraison graphique (Paris: Flammarion, 2009; first edition 1995). 19 For instance, a seventh-century author, Stephanus of Bosra, in a passage inspired by John Damascene, plays on the ambivalence of the verb graphein when he writes: Εἰκὼν αὐτῇ ἐστιν ὄνομα καὶ ἐστιν τοῦ ἐν αὐτῇ ὁμοίωσις (The icon indeed is the name and likeness of the one inscribed therein) (Patrologia Graeca 94, 1376 B), quoted by Dagron, Décrire et peindre, p. 67; see also Gilbert Dagron, ‘Mots, images, icônes’, Nouvelle Revue de Psychanalyse, 44 (1991), 151−168, (p. 160). 20 On the difference in the understanding of the background in Romanesque and Gothic sculpture, see Jean-Claude Bonne, L’art roman de face et de profil. Le tympan de Conques (Paris: Le Sycomore, 1985), p. 145.

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reading replaced the ruminatio of the early Middle Ages.21 At the same time, the writing was no longer scriptio continua; words were now being separated by spacing.22 Instead of blank space, the inscriptions marked the boundaries of words or graphic sequences with punctuation marks (such as one, two, three vertical dots), which were used as word-dividers to increase the legibility of the text. The appearance of this kind of graphic sequence can be dated to the period between the eleventh century and the first half of the twelfth century. This punctuation habit then took off in the second half of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.23 The word was thus clearly thought of as a distinct unit of writing, an atomic nucleus, unbreakable; the fact that it is found divided in epigraphic contexts is therefore all the more important.24 The most important difference between the Byzantine and Latin examples of these labeling inscriptions is in the direction of the writing, which has consequences for the perception of the whole. The West preferred text laid out horizontally, whereas Byzantium preferred vertical lines of text. As Cyril Mango explained, “in the religious sphere, i.e. in church decorations and icons, the device of writing names in vertical columns (kionedon), possibly inspired by Syriac, comes into use by the sixth century (and remains standard thereafter).”25 The tenth-century Limburg staurotheca, specifically the sliding lid of the box, is a good example with subtle variations.26 Covered in gilded silver and lavishly decorated with gemstones, it features nine enamel panels. The top and bottom panels portray the twelve apostles, arranged two by two. The article ho and the adjective hagios are inscribed vertically to the left of each figure; the name is inscribed in the same way to the right side. Some characters appear together in the same line (for instance: ΓΙ in hagios, ΤΡ in Petros, etc.), and the adjective hagios is occasionally abbreviated when the saint has an epithet. In the middle panel is Christ, accompanied by John the Baptist and the Virgin Mary, themselves surrounded by Gabriel and Michael. The names of Christ and Mary are inscribed horizontally with the nomina sacra. The names of the archangels are given without adjective, in a mix of horizontal and vertical inscriptions. [Fig. 6]

21 Dominique Poirel, ‘Machina universitatis: les mutations du texte aux xiie-xiiie siècles’, in Qu’est-ce que nommer?, pp. 41−53; Pierre Chastang, ‘L’archéologie du texte médiéval. Autour de travaux récents sur l’écrit au Moyen Âge’, Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales, 63, no 2 (2008), 245−269; Jacqueline Hamesse, ‘Le modèle scolastique de la lecture’, in Histoire de la lecture dans le monde occidental, ed. Guglielmo Cavallo and Roger Chartier (Paris: Seuil, 1997), pp. 125−145. 22 See the pioneering research of Malcolm B. Parkes, Pause and Effect. An Introduction to the History of Punctuation in the West (Aldershot: Scolar press, 1992), and Paul Saenger, Space between Words. The Origins of Silent Reading (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997). 23 Estelle Ingrand-Varenne, ‘Trois petits points: L’interponctuation dans les inscriptions médiévales’, in Ponctuer l’œuvre médiévale: des signes au sens, ed. Valérie Fasseur et al. (Genève: Droz, 2016), pp. 215−232. 24 On the delimitation of words and the sequencing of the writing line, see Nina Catach, ‘Les signes graphiques du mot à travers l’histoire’, Langue française, 119 (1998), 10−23. 25 Cyril Mango, ‘Byzantine Epigraphy (4th to 10th centuries)’, in Paleographia e Codicologia Greca: atti del II colloquio internazionale (Berlino-Wolfenbüttel, 17–21 ottobre 1983), ed. Dieter Harlfinger et al. (Alessandria: Edizioni dell’orso, 1991), I, 235−249, p. 243. 26 This reliquary of the True Cross is currently housed in the cathedral treasury of Limburg an der Lahn in Germany. It was produced between 968 and 985. See Andreas Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung. II, Byzantinische Epigramme auf Ikonen und Objekten der Kleinkunst. Nebst Addenda zu Band I “Byzantinische Epigramme auf Fresken und Mosaiken” (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2010), pp. 163−165 (with further bibliography).

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In the twelfth-century decoration of the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, the column paintings represent twenty-nine figures of saints (biblical figures, apostles and evangelists, bishops, deacons, soldier-saints, ascetics), each standing in its own frame, reflecting the medieval concept of the saint as a pillar of the church.27 The twelfth-century inscriptions in Latin, Greek, and even Syriac on the wall-mosaics and the painted marble columns are an almost unique case showing the close co-operation between the Byzantine authorities (Manuel I Komnenos, emperor 1143–1180), Latin rulers (Amalric, king of Jerusalem 1163–1174), and the bishop of Bethlehem (Ralph, 1154–1174), reflecting a desire for better unity between the churches. In this “Byzantine-Latin joint venture” to use Michele Bacci’s expression,28 most of the representations have bilingual inscriptions: names appear in both Greek and Latin, with various layouts. The name of saint Vincent shows clearly the shared requirement for the broken name (the adjective ‘saint’ to the left of the halo, and the name ‘Vincent’ to the right), and at the same time two different ways of writing it. [Fig. 7a et b] Nevertheless, this Greek format was also at times employed with the Latin alphabet, for example for the names of the 144 saints in the mosaics of the Monreale Cathedral (Sicily, twelfth century), where the mosaics themselves combine Eastern and Western traditions.29 A further case of Greek names featuring in a Latin context can be found in the Hospitaller church of Abu Gosh in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. This church preserves the most complete set of wall paintings to survive from the Latin Kingdom. Commissioned by the Hospitallers from Byzantine artists, these paintings must have been executed in the last two decades of the reign of Manuel I Komnenos. Inscriptions are in Latin and Greek, as in the name of St John the Baptist painted on a pillar next to the saint’s representation: Ὁ ἅ(γιος) Ἰω(άννης) ὁ Πρόδρομος.30 Horizontal pairs of letters organized in vertical columns (for example, the nomina sacra Jesus Christ and Mother of God) are also employed in Latin inscriptions [Fig. 8]. The writing direction (from top to bottom or from left to right) may lead to different relationships to the image and different visual perceptions. For example, horizontal and vertical texts meet perpendicularly and form a cross, as in the examples of the Saint Calminius [Fig. 1] reliquary and the stained glass from Canterbury Cathedral [Fig. 3]. The vertical text and the image of the figure are parallel, as in the Limburg staurotheca. The columnar text, inscribed along each side of the columnar body, seems to frame the picture literally and figuratively, in order to structure the viewer’s reception. The figure embodies the meaning of the name, alleviating anonymity, cultivating familiarity 27 Gustav Kühnel, Wall painting in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem (Berlin: Gebr. Mann, 1988), p. 9. 28 Michele Bacci, The mystic cave: a history of the Nativity Church in Bethlehem (Brno: Masaryk University, Roma: Viella, 2017), p. 136; Bianca and Gustav Kühnel, The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem: the crusader lining of an early Christian basilica (Regensburg: Schnell & Steiner, 2019). 29 See Ernst Kitzinger, I mosaici di Monreale (Palermo: Flaccovio Editore, 1991); Sulamith Brodbeck, Les saints de la cathédrale de Monreale en Sicile. Iconographie, hagiographie et pouvoir royal à la fin du xiie siècle (Rome: École française de Rome, 2010). 30 On these paintings, see: L’église d’Abu Gosh: 850 ans de regards sur les fresques d’une église franque en Terre sainte, ed. Jean-Baptiste Delzant (Paris: Tohubohu éditions/Archimbaud éditeur, 2018); Rachel Ouizemann, ‘Between conservation and restoration: the wall paintings in the church of the Crusaders in Abu Gosh and the authentication of the site as Emmaus’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 112 (2019), 935−958; and Gil Fishhof, ‘The Meanings of Byzantium: The Church of Abu-Ghosh (Emmaus) and the Meanings of Byzantine Pictorial Language in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem’, Convivium, 7, iss. 2 (2020), 15−34.

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and intimacy with the viewer, and giving form and expression to the thoughts and the prayers of the believer.31 Whatever the orientation of text and image, both Latin and Greek inscriptions connect with the image in the dispositif of the surface. This intersection or frame forms a new iconic unit: a “mixtio”, to quote Vincent Debiais.32 After the break comes the weld. The proximity of text to the body, particularly to the sacred body, adds a special texture and a corporeal dimension to the name, even if the point of contact of text and image is precisely localized. The name embraces the body in a general way and verbally incorporates the figure represented. This dismembering bisection of the name text is paradoxically the means of its attachment to the image that asserts the indivisibility of the two. This recalls the thinking of Theodore of Stoudios, a Byzantine iconophile author, who stressed that one could not separate the veneration of the inscription and the image, just as one could not distinguish between a man and his name.33 The Meaning of the Divided Name In Byzantium, the name/image dispositif is not a new scheme invented after Iconoclasm. It had been used for sixth–seventh-century inscriptions. Its origin may be found in the placement of the Greek letters alpha and omega in Christian Antiquity. These symbols accompanied the Chrismon (Chi-Rho) on oil lamps and in representations of Christ in the fourth-century catacombs in Rome (for example, in the Catacombs of Commodilla they flank the bearded Christ).34 Alpha and Omega are not names, but in the Book of Revelation (1.8; 21.6; 22.13), they metaphorize the nature and identity of Christ, as the beginning and the end of all things. The incorporation of these letters in the Chrismon, merging them with Christ’s monogram, demonstrates that they participate onomastically in the definition of Christ’s complex nature.35 The “interrupted” format for split naming inscriptions appears to have originated in religious culture. This is especially pertinent to the theological argument that developed in Byzantine culture about the function of the name on the icon. From the eighth century, the idea spread that the images of saints are sanctified by their names, which united them under a prototype: the designation of the image by its holy name made it 31 On the other hand, the anonymity of a representation could increase its ‘operativity’, because the worshipper invoked several saints. See Henry Maguire, ‘Eufrasius and friends. On Names and Their Absence in Byzantine Art’, in Art and Text in Byzantine Culture, ed. Liz James (Cambridge/New York/Melbourne: Cambridge University Press, 2007), pp. 139−160. 32 Debiais, La croisée des signes, pp. 250−254. 33 Theodore of Stoudios, Antirrhetikos I, 14, in Patrologia Graeca 99, col. 345; see the translation by C. P. Roth: St Theodore the Studite, On the holy icons (New York: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1981), pp. 34−35. 34 We can see others examples in the wall paintings of the catacombs of Marcellinus and Peter. See Les catacombes chrétiennes de Rome: Origine, développement, décor, inscriptions, ed. Vincenzo Fiocchi Nicolai, Fabrizio Bisconti, Danilo Mazzoleni (Regensburg: Schnell und Steiner, 1999). 35 See Vincent Debiais, ‘From Christ’s Monogram to God’s Presence. An Epigraphic Contribution to the Study of Chrismons in Romanesque Sculpture’, in Sign and Design: Script as Image in a Cross-Cultural Perspective (300–1600 ce), ed. Brigite Myriam Bedos-Rezak and Jeffrey F. Hamburger (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 2016), pp. 135−151; Peter Scott Brown, ‘The Chrismon and the Liturgy of Dedication in Romanesque Sculpture’, Gesta, 56.2 (2017), 199−223.

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sacred, rendering a prayer of consecration unnecessary.36 The name inscribed on a cult image is a nomen sacrum; it has an intrinsic sacredness. While I do not claim that this consecration is present explicitly in the format of the divided name, it is beyond doubt that the inscription participates in its visibility. To a certain extent, it is a new formulation of the “nomina sacra” (here extended to the saints), not characterized by abbreviation but by the same intention to express religious reverence by visually setting the words apart by the way that they are written.37 We must also bear in mind the status of the name in Christian thought during the Middle Ages. The act of naming was crucial in making something exist, as seen in one of the foundational linguistic events: the naming of animals by Adam as recounted in Genesis 2.19–20. Within this rich biblical tradition, as well as in Greek theological thought, the name was considered to be a sign, an index and an emblem; it had the capacity to designate, to show, to represent, and, at times, to replace what it referred to.38 How to split the name? A study of the different divisions of Mary’s name in French inscriptions has demonstrated that the solutions vary: SC/A MARIA,39 SCA/MARIA,40 S MA/RIA or MA/RIA41 (the most frequently used); S MAR/IA,42 S/MA RI/A.43 [Fig. 9] Even if the syllabic distribution is recurring, the break can be almost anywhere in the word. It seems to be mainly a question of graphic balance and not a linguistic problem. But as we saw in the case of the Limburg staurotheca, the division of the inscribed names emphasizes human and divine aspects. The adjective hagios/hagia, saint, on one side of the image, specifies the figure’s celestial aspect, and the name on the other side refers to his/her earthly identity and life. The signs indicating Christ translate the inseparable union of natural, human and divine, in the Incarnation; IC refers to the visible hypostasis, 36 For Epiphanius the Deacon, “Many of the sacred things which we have at our disposal do not need a prayer of sanctification, since their name itself says that they are all-sacred and full of grace … In the same way, when we signify an icon with a name, we transfer the honor (sic) to the prototype; and by embracing it and offering to it the veneration of honor, we share in the sanctification” (Mansi, Collectio, vol. 13, 269; translation in D. J. Sahas, Icon and logos: sources in eighth-century iconoclasm: an annotated translation of the sixth session of the seventh Ecumenical Council (Nicea, 787), containing the definition of the Council of Constantinople (754) and its refutation, and the definition of the seven ecumenical council (Toronto/Buffalo/London: University of Toronto Press, 1986), p. 99. The images are sanctified by the signification of the name that unites them to the prototype. This function of the inscription is confirmed just after 815 by the Patriarch Nikephoros: Antirrrheticus III, 54, in Patrologia Graeca 100, col. 477D–480A). See the analysis of Jean-Marie Sansterre, ‘La parole, le texte et l’image selon les auteurs byzantins des époques iconoclaste et posticonoclaste’, Testo e immagine nell’alto Medioevo (Spolète: Settimane di studio del Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo 41, 1994), pp. 202−203. 37 Larry W. Hurtado, ‘The Origin of the Nomina Sacra: A Proposal’, Journal of Biblical Literature, 117 no. 4 (1998), 655−673; Ludwig Traube, Nomina Sacra: Versuch einer Geschichte der christlichen Kürzung (München: Beck, 1907). 38 See Writing Names in Medieval Sacred Spaces, dir. Janneke Raaijmakers (†) et al. (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022). 39 CIFM 24, 196, pp. 205−206 (stained glass with the miracles of the Virgin, Mans Cathedral, c. 1235). 40 CIFM 17, Isère 18, pp. 44−45, pl. XIV, fig. 29−31 (tympanum of the church Saint-Alban-du-Rhône, first half of the twelfth c.). 41 CIFM II, Haute-Vienne 3, p. 91, pl. XX, fig. 39−40 (enamelled casket in the church of Bellac, c. 1200); CIFM 23, 134, pp. 132−133 (wall paintings with the story of the Virgin Mary in the church Notre-Dame de Pouzauges, Vendée); CIFM 18, Puy-de-Dôme 74, pp. 224−228, pl. CXX–CXXVI, fig. 257−270 (reliquary of Saint-Calmine in the church Saint-Pierre de Mozac, end of the twelfth c.). 42 Metropolitan Museum, Prov: Made in Meuse Valley, Netherlands, champlevé enamel. 43 L’Œuvre de Limoges. Émaux limousins du Moyen Âge, ed. Élisabeth Taburet-Delahaye et al. (Paris: Réunion des musées nationaux, 1995), no 1, pp. 68−70 (portable altar of Conques abbey).

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XC indicates the presence of the divinity.44 As Vincent Debiais explained in his study of inscriptions and images, the name allows for the articulation. It is one of its two functions: distinction (it separates from the rest) and articulation (it allows for a double verbalisation with the creator and the rest of the creatures).45 Anthropological studies on the proper name have indeed shown that naming has a distinctive and classifying function, while at the same time being an individual marker made for collective purposes.46 In this way, the inscribed name binds the icon to the prototype. In my view, the convention of the divided name in Latin epigraphy constitutes a graphical means of showing that the name contains the being. Understood in this way, it is a graphical translation or a materialization of an etymological thought. Etymology here is not to be understood in the postmodern sense, as a search for the origin of words in the sense of following the evolution of a word from its oldest attested case, or filiations. According to Claude Buridant, the concept of etymology in the Middle Ages presents a broad spectrum and can be defined by two fundamental layers of meaning: the first is the philological or grammatical, that of onomastic or translational interpretation, derivation and composition; the second is the ontological, more precisely rhetorical: that of interpretation.47 This ontological etymology, which reveals the fundamental connection between signs and things or beings, becomes the etymology itself. For Isidore of Seville and his Etymologiae at the beginning of the seventh century, merging antique and biblical thought, etymology is a hermeneutics of the reality, leading from linguistics to ontology, from word to existence. This concept describes precisely the graphic, syntactic, and symbolic functions of the dispositif of the divided name. In the etymological method, as in the etymologies of saintly names in the Golden Legend,48 the name is, in a sense, broken into parts, in order to understand what is inside. It is the same thing here. The broken name goes beyond the question of identification or even of identity. At its heart is the notion of being, thus we can speak of it as an ontological device. Conclusion In all written cultures, it seems that a person’s name is distinguished from other names by visual specificities particular to writing: graphic capitalisation (the use of capital letters in alphabetic culture), or spatial isotopies (inscription of the name in privileged margins of

44 But for theologians — iconophiles and iconoclasts — the name Christ signifies the presence of both the divine and human natures in Jesus. So it is not a real distinction. See Boston, ‘The Power of Inscriptions and the Trouble with Texts’, p. 41; Charles Barber, ‘Neophytus Prodromenus on epigraphy’, in Theologisches Wissen und die Kunst: Festschrift Martin Büchsel, ed. R. Müller et al. (Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 2015), pp. 211−225. 45 See Debiais, La croisée des signes, p. 27. 46 L’écriture du nom propre, ed. Anne-Marie Christin (Paris/Montréal: L’Harmattan, 1998), in particular the contribution by Anne-Marie Christin, pp. 7−8. 47 Claude Buridant, ‘Les paramètres de l’étymologie médiévale’, L’étymologie de l’Antiquité à la Renaissance, ed. Claude Buridant et al. (Villeneuve-d’Ascq: Presses universitaires du Septentrion, 1998), pp. 18−20. 48 Each legend begins with an etymology evoking the relationship between the name of the saint and their extraordinary destiny. See: Iacopo da Varazze, Legenda aurea, edizione critica a cura di Giovanni Paolo Maggioni, 2a edizione rivista dall’autore, (Firenze: Sismel/Ed. del Galluzzo, 1998).

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the text, in its line spacing, such as the “surname”).49 The hybrid production of the name’s positioning on each side of a figure is one of these graphical specificities, which shows the generative power of the letter as a graphic entity with spatial and plastic potential. The pervasive convention of the divided name in medieval epigraphy constitutes “nonverbal visual evidence,” — to use the expression of Anthony Eastmond50 — that carries meanings beyond those conveyed by its content. The foundational act of naming in medieval thought is enhanced and extended by the graphic format of the inscription, which aims toward a kind of semiotic summary of the signified. Most frequently, the convention pertains only to holy names, and it was a privileged means of expressing visually and materially the sanctity or the divinity of its subject. The name is no longer juxtaposed to or co-existing with the image, but part of the sign that results from their union in an articulation of the sacred. This short study of a common dispositif has also pointed to connections between Byzantine and Latin epigraphy, even if the status of the name and image differed between the two worlds. This overview invites further graphical comparisons between the Western and Byzantine worlds, in order to explore the contacts, interactions, and possible competition between writing traditions of the different cultures,51 especially in the shared space of the Holy Land.52

49 L’écriture du nom propre, in particular the presentation of Anne-Marie Christin, p. 15. 50 Eastmond, Viewing inscriptions in the late antique and medieval world, Introduction pp. 1−9. 51 See e.g. the recent dissertation of Desi Marangon, ‘Scrivere alla greca a Venezia: alfabeti ibridi e identità a confronto (secoli XI–XV)’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, Università degli Studi di Padova, 2020). 52 This aspect will be one of the goals of an ERC Starting Grant project: GRAPH-EAST, Latin as an Alien Script in the Medieval Latin East (2021–2026), led by E. Ingrand-Varenne.

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Fig. 1. Saint Austremoine on the Saint Calminius Reliquary, twelfth-century chasse-form reliquary, treasury of Mozac Abbey. Image: Photothèque of the CESCM-Leonet-Bastien

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Fig. 2. The Christ Pantocrator of the deesis mosaic (1261), in the upper south gallery of Hagia Sophia, Istanbul. Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne

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Fig. 3. Stained glass from Canterbury Cathedral at the Met Cloisters (1178–1180) depicting Noah. Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne

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Fig. 4. Lamb of God painted in the crypt of Notre-Dame-la-Grande at Poitiers at the end of the eleventh century. Image: Jean-Pierre Brouard/CIFM-CESCM

Fig. 5. Mosaic in the southwest vestibule of Hagia Sophia in Istanbul representing Mary and Christ, Justinian and Constantine (10th c.). Image: Andreas Rhoby

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Fig. 6. Detail of the Limburg staurotheca (10th c.). Image: Andreas Rhoby, Epigramme auf Fresken, fig. 26

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Fig. 7a and 7b. Saint Vincent painted on a column in the Nativity church of Bethlehem with his name in Greek and in Latin (third quarter of the twelfth century). Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne

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Fig. 8. John the Baptist painted on a pillar in the Hospitaller church of Abu Gosh in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem (c. 1170). Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne

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Fig. 9. The Virgin Mary on the Saint Calminius Reliquary, twelfth-century chasse-form reliquary, treasury of Mozac Abbey. Image: Photothèque of the CESCM-Leonet-Bastien

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Language, Identity, and Otherness in Medieval Greece The Epigraphic Evidence Introduction Among the plethora of epigraphs from medieval Greece, written for the most part in Greek, there are some inscriptions composed in languages other than Greek, as well as a small number of bilingual ones, that point to the temporary or lasting presence, settlement, and activities − military, commercial, administrative, religious − of foreign groups or individuals.1 In addition, it has been ascertained that some epigraphs written in Greek were commissioned by non-native speakers of Greek or “Hellenized” conquerors, rulers, and settlers. Various considerations and motivations that may be detected in the choice of language will be discussed, e.g. differences of ethnicity, identity, and culture, interaction or cultural and linguistic appropriation between coexisting communities, as well as individual aspirations and expectations. This paper is by no means intended to be a comprehensive catalogue, but is instead limited to a number of representative case studies of public and private inscriptions, the study of which offers an insight into the lives of the individuals and the social groups that commissioned or authored them. Besides inscriptions − carved and painted − certain graffiti have been examined because, despite their mostly unofficial character, they record the spontaneous and emotional reactions of individuals at a given time. The examples cited comprise selected epigraphic material from works of architecture, sculpture, and monumental painting2 over a wide time span, from the late seventh to c. mid fifteenth century, in which the historical and social conditions on the Greek mainland and the Aegean islands are reflected.





1 An early version of this paper was presented in a Round Table entitled the Agency of Inscriptions in Byzantium, in the West and in the Slavonic World, convened by Andreas Rhoby and held at the 23rd International Congress of Byzantine Studies, Belgrade, 22–27 August 2016, Proceedings, pp. 908−36. I wish to thank Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth for inviting me to participate in the first issue of Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy. I would also like to address my warmest thanks to Anna-Maria Kasdagli and Maria Xenaki for their valuable help and stimulating discussions. I have also profited from the insightful and constructive comments of the anonymous readers. During the pandemic, when the libraries were closed, I was very grateful to all my friends and colleagues who generously provided me with e-bibliography: my thanks to Michalis Kappas, Dora Konstantellou, Stavros Mamaloukos, Giorgos Pallis, Andreas Rhoby, and Myrto Veikou. 2 The examples I will present do not include inscriptions on objects. This rich material, stored in monasteries and museums, is a demanding research subject in its own right. Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1, ed. by Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth, SBE, 1 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 113–150. © FHG DOI 10.1484/M.SBE-EB.5.131801

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In the following I will attempt to share some thoughts on the issue of language as an indicator of the identity of those who commissioned or authored the inscriptions in relation to their audience and social environment but also, in certain cases, as a sign of their culture, intentions, and political aspirations.3 Can the language in which an inscription is written always be interpreted as a sign of ethnic identity? In some cases the answer is in the affirmative, particularly with regard to people who only stayed in Greek-speaking regions for a short time, such as Arab soldiers and Scandinavian mercenaries. On the other hand, descendants of “foreigners” who had settled in Greece a couple of generations earlier, such as the Slav tribe of the Melingοi, appear assimilated and Byzantinized. They use Greek as their native language. In contrast, other communities, for example the Jews, preserve their own written language to a great extent, as a sign of identity, religion, and tradition. And what about foreign rulers in conquered Greek-speaking regions? Why did the Franks prefer Latin, while the Serbs used mostly Greek in their inscriptions in monastic foundations, demonstrating, besides political aspirations, a strong feeling of cultural and religious identity with the Byzantines? Further questions that arise concern the interlinguistic contacts between the different communities and the political and social motives or criteria for selecting one language rather than another or for using two languages in public or private epigraphs. In the case of the bilingual inscriptions, moreover, the interconnections and interactions between the two languages need to be examined. Why, for example, is the Greek text sometimes an exact translation of the Latin, whereas at other times it functions in complementary fashion, providing additional information? Further issues that need to be investigated are: the degree of literacy of the writers and carvers of these inscriptions or graffiti; the role of the craftsmen, in particular the master masons, whose names appear ever more frequently in late medieval inscriptions; the location of a public text; and the agency of the audience. In order to organize the material as a whole, the examples I will deal with have been grouped into the following three categories: a) non-Greek inscriptions related to conquerors, warriors, immigrants, settlers, etc., b) inscriptions in Greek written by non-native Greek speaking or “Hellenized” conquerors, warriors, and settlers and c) bilingual inscriptions. A. Non-Greek Inscriptions related to Conquerors, Warriors, Temporary Immigrants, Settlers, etc. In the long history of Medieval Greece, both the mainland and the islands, inscriptions and/or graffiti in non-Greek languages testify to the activities of conquerors and warriors or to the settlement of foreign groups and individuals. Two selected cases of appropriation of Latin and French by a Jew and a Greek princess respectively will also be discussed;



3 Language and identity − personal, social, ethnic − as well as bilingualism are among the key topics examined by sociolinguists concerned with the relationship between language and society. For an introduction, see John Edwards, Language and Identity. An Introduction. Key Topics in Sociolinguistics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009); Susanne Romaine, Language in Society. An Introduction to Sociolinguistics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994).

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interestingly, these manifest multifarious aspects of the complex issues involved in choice of language in the mixed society of late medieval Greece. Arabic and Pseudo-Arabic

Four Arabic graffiti, inscribed on two columns of the basilica of St Gabriel in Psalidi on the island of Kos and dated to the late seventh and beginning of the eighth century, reflect the turbulent period of the Arab attacks in the eastern Mediterranean (Fig. 1). They have recently been published by Frédéric Imbert.4 Graffito K1: …and they have… ʿAṭā’ b. Saʿd al-… | the infidels during the expedition of … | …in the year 99 / 718/19 | The help of God and the victory | glorious!… Graffito K2: God have pity | on Mahdī b. Rabīʿa | al-Ruʿaynī then al-Bunānī | who is part of the troops | of Ifrīqiyya (= Africa) (last decade of the 7th c.). Graffito K3: Al-Ḥakam b. al-Ḥakam has confidence in God! | In muḥarram (= the first month of the Islamic calendar) of the year 98, | August / September 716. Written by | Maḫlūf. Graffito K4: …in the year | …and 90 (716/17 or 717/18).5 These are commemorations of individuals, evidently soldiers, and, though fragmentary, their content alludes to historical events. They refer to an expedition, a glorious victory, infidels, and appeal for God’s help. Three of them, dated to between 716 and 718/19, have been connected with the siege of Constantinople in 717/18, led by the Ummayad Caliph Sulaymān, and the Arab defeat. Probably written by Arab soldiers stationed on Kos, who presumably came from different tribes in north Africa and western Asia, the graffiti in the basilica of St Gabriel function as historical documents, show a certain degree of literacy on the part of those who carved them, and offer evidence of individual anxiety in a time of uncertainty.6 A small number of fragments of true Arabic inscriptions in Kufic script, now in the Christian and Byzantine Museum in Athens and dated to c. 1000, have been connected to a small colony of Muslims, more likely traders and craftsmen than military men, who settled in Athens towards the end of the tenth century, and to the small mosque they used.7





4 Frédéric Imbert, ‘Graffiti arabes de Cnide et de Kos: premières traces épigraphiques de la conquête musulmane en Méditerranée’, in Constructing the Seventh Century, ed. Constantin Zuckerman. Travaux et Mémoires, 17 (2013), 731−58 (pp. 746−50). See also Archeologia protobizantina a Kos: la basilica di S. Gabriele, ed. Isabella Baldini and Monica Livadiotti, Alma Mater Studiorum − Università di Bologna. Dipartimento di Archeologia. Studi e scavi, n. s. 28 (Bologna: Ante quem, 2011), p. 61, fig. I.4.2. Similar, broadly contemporary, Arabic graffiti have been found in Knidos, Imbert, pp. 733−45. 5 After the French translation by Imbert, pp. 746−50. 6 Imbert, p. 756. 7 Kenneth M. Setton, ‘On the Raids of the Moslems in the Aegean in the Ninth and Tenth Centuries and their Alleged Occupation of Athens’, in Athens in the Middle Ages (London: Variorum Reprints, 1975), II, pp. 311−19 (pp. 316−18); George C. Miles, ‘The Arab Mosque in Athens’, Hesperia, 25 (1956), 329−44; George C. Miles, ‘Byzantium and the Arabs: Relations in Crete and the Aegean Area’, DOP, 18 (1964), 1−32 (pp. 18−20); Maria Sklavou-Mavroeidi, Γλυπτά του Βυζαντινού Μουσείου Αθηνών: κατάλογος (Athens: Ministry of Culture. Archaeological Receipts Fund, 1999), pp. 125−26, nos 169−71. On a Kufic (?) graffito in the Hephaisteion in Athens, which has not been read, as far as I know, see Georgios Ladas, ‘Βυζαντιναὶ ἐπὶ τοῦ “Θησείου” ἐπιγραφαὶ ἀνέκδοτοι καὶ διορθώσεις εἰς τὰς ἤδη ἐκδεδομένας’, Ὁ “Συλλέκτης”, 3–5 (1949), 57−85 (p. 77, no. 15). I thank Maria Xenaki for drawing my attention to it.

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The pseudo-Kufic inscriptions that adorn tenth to twelfth century churches mainly in southern Greece have been the subject of both early and more recent scholarly work.8 They appear as a rule in the form of brick motifs either in the masonry of the exterior walls or carved on marble cornices, and sometimes in the mosaic and fresco decoration of a church. Although they seem to copy the foliated and floriated Kufic letters used before and during the Fatimid dynasty (907−1171), they do not — with very few exceptions, such as the mid-eleventh century church of the Kapnikarea in Athens — make readable and meaningful texts. In the case of the Kapnikarea church, the Qur’anic phrase “power [belongs] to God” has recently been read in a Kufic inscription on the south wall, and has been connected with Muslim craftsmen.9 Pseudo-inscriptions are not unknown in Islamic art.10 In Byzantine Greece, pseudo-Kufic letters first appear on the church of the Panagia of the Hosios Lukas monastery complex, and Laskarina Boura has convincingly argued that they express the victory of the Byzantines over the Muslims after the conquest of Islamic Crete by Nikephoros Phokas in 961.11 Thus it seems that in this case the Byzantines appropriated the script of the defeated



8 These have been recently re-examined by Alicia Walker, ‘Pseudo-Arabic “Inscriptions” and the Pilgrim’s Path at Hosios Lukas’, in Viewing Inscriptions in the Late Antique and Medieval World, ed. Anthony Eastmond (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), pp. 99−123 (with earlier bibliography); Walker, p. 119, n. 1, prefers the term pseudo-Arabic to pseudo-Kufic or Kufesque. On pseudo-Kufic script and ornament and the different interpretations, see also Silvia Pedone and Valentina Cantone, ‘The pseudo-kufic ornament and the problem of cross-cultural relationships between Byzantium and Islam’, in Byzantium, Russia and Europe. Meeting and Construction of Worlds, ed. Ivan Foletti with the collaboration of Zuzana Frantová, Opuscula Historiae Artium, 62 (2013), Supplementum, 120−36. For a recent study on Byzantine-Muslim cultural interaction regarding literature and material objects, see Rustam Shukurov, ‘Byzantine Appropriation of the Orient: Notes on its Principles and Patterns’, in Islam and Christianity in Medieval Anatolia, ed. A. C. S. Peacock et al. (Farnham (Surrey) and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2015), pp. 167−82. 9 Chrysanthos Kanellopoulos and Lara Tohme, ‘A True Kūfic Inscription on the Kapnikarea Church in Athens?’, Al-Masāq, 20/2 (2008), 133−39. On the church: Nikolaos Gkioles, ‘The Church of Kapnikarea in Athens: Remarks on Its History, Typology and Form’, Zograf, 31 (2006−2007), 15−27 (p. 20 on the pseudo-Kufic brickwork patterns); Charalambos Bouras, Βυζαντινή Ἀθήνα 10ος−12ος αἰ., Benaki Museum, Suppl. 6 (Athens: Benaki Museum, 2010), pp. 196−202. On the role of Arabic script in the medieval Latin West and possible interpretations à propos the twelfth-c. sculpted tympanum of Saint-Pierre-le-Puellier at Bourges, see Estelle Ingrand-Varenne, ‘Beyond Graphical Boundaries. Arabic Writing and a Poem to the Virgin Mary inscribed on the Tympanum of Saint-Pierre-le-Puellier at Bourges’, in Über Grenzen hinweg − Inschriften als Zeugnisse kulturellen Austauschs. Beiträge zur 14. Internationalen Fachtagung für mittelalterliche und frühneuzeitliche Epigraphik, Düsseldorf 2016, ed. Helga Giersiepen and Andrea Stieldorf, Nordrhein-Westfälische Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Künste (Leiden: Brill, 2020), pp. 137−57; in an appendix to this article, pp. 150−51, Nicole Cottart identifies certain Arabic letters and reads parts of words and possibly the word Allāh (= God), but the pseudo-Arabic inscription as a whole is illegible. 10 Don Aanavi, ‘Devotional Writing: “Pseudoinscriptions” in Islamic Art’, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, 26.9 (1968), 353−58; Jeremy Johns, ‘Arabic inscriptions in the Capella Palatina: Performativity, Audience, Legibility and Illegibility’, in Viewing Inscriptions in the Late Antique and Medieval World, ed. Anthony Eastmond (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), pp. 124−47 (p. 139). To quote Aanavi, p. 358: ‘They (“pseudoinscriptions”) reflect a thoughtful and enormously sophisticated attitude toward the significance of writing, and we would do well to remind ourselves that what we may not understand is not, by consequence, meaningless’. 11 Laskarina Boura, Ὁ γλυπτὸς διάκοσμος τοῦ ναοῦ τῆς Παναγίας στό μοναστήρι τοῦ Ὁσίου Λουκᾶ, Βιβλιοθήκη τῆς ἐν Ἀθήναις Ἀρχαιολογικῆς Ἑταιρείας, 95 (Athens: Ἡ ἐν Ἀθήναις Ἀρχαιολογικὴ Ἑταιρεία, 1980), pp. 18−21, 121. For the connection between victories over Islam and the appropriation by the Byzantines of an ‘Islamicising visual vocabulary’, see Alicia Walker, ‘Islamicising Motifs in Byzantine Lead Seals: Exoticising Style and the Expression of Identity’, The Medieval History Journal, 15.2 (2012), 385−413 (p. 408).

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Arabs and used it as an ornament on their religious buildings.12 Admittedly, since these inscriptions are not readable, and, even if they were, would not have been understood by Greek-speaking viewers, we should look beyond their ornamental character and try to understand the symbolisms their creators intended, such as the commemoration of Byzantine victories over the Arabs, the appropriation of another “exotic” culture, or some kind of apotropaic function. It is interesting to note that in her study on the Arabic lettering at the monastic complex of Hosios Lukas, Alicia Walker discusses both old and new interpretations, and rightly argues that although the pseudo-Arabic script found in Byzantine architecture and art is not readable, it connotes symbolically “the identity and alterity of Islam”.13 In addition, while in the late tenth-century Panagia church of the Hosios Lukas monastic complex the connotation of Christian triumph over Muslims prevails, Walker suggests that in the eleventh-century katholikon of the same complex the pseudo-Arabic lettering should rather be associated with the Holy Land and the loca sancta visited by pilgrims, and with the aspirations of Christians to liberate those territories from Muslim control.14 Runic

The ancient statue of the Lion (late fourth c. bc) which once stood at the entrance to the harbour of Piraeus, until it was transferred to the Arsenal of Venice by Francesco Morosini in 1688, bears runic inscriptions on both sides. These have been attributed to members of the Varangian troops who served as mercenaries under the Byzantine rulers.15 According to the most recent re-reading of the runes, by Thorgunn Snædal, the inscription on the left foreleg and flank of the lion, dated to the 1020s or 1030s, was carved by Swedish soldiers to commemorate their comrade Haursi, a farmer in his own country, who died before he received his share of the plunder: They cut (the runes), the men of the host …but in this harbour those men cut runes after | Haursi, the farmer … | Swedish men applied this on the lion. | (He) fell/perished before he could receive ‘geld’. The second short inscription, dated to the eleventh century too, is found on the left hind leg of the lion and mentions warriors who carved the runes young men/warriors cut the runes.

12 On the notion of appropriation of the languages and scripts of previous rulers, and also on the use of pseudoArabic inscriptions in the ceiling of the Capella Palatina in Palermo, see Johns, ‘Arabic inscriptions in the Capella Palatina’, pp. 124, 139−40. 13 Walker, ‘Pseudo-Arabic “Inscriptions”’, p. 100. 14 Walker, ‘Pseudo-Arabic “Inscriptions”’, pp. 102−17. 15 Sigfús Blöndal, The Varangians of Byzantium. An Aspect of Byzantine Military History, translated, revised and rewritten by Benedikt S. Benedikz (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978 repr. 2007), pp. 49, 230−33; Gert Kreutzer, ‘Der Runenlöwe von Piräus’, Analecta Septentrionalia, 65 (2009), 717−29; Ida Toth, ‘Epigraphic Traditions in Eleventh-Century Byzantium. General Considerations’, in Inscriptions in Byzantium and Beyond. Methods − Projects − Case Studies, ed. Andreas Rhoby, Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Phil.Histor. Klasse, Denkschriften, 478, (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2015), pp. 203−25 (p. 210).

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The third inscription, on the right side of the lion, incised by a skillful carver, mentions three names, evidently of soldiers, and has been dated to the late eleventh century: Åsmund carved these runes, they, Eskil(?) …Torler and …16 Hebrew

The settlement of Jews in Greece has a long history, going back to the early Hellenistic period. The vast majority of the extant Jewish inscriptions from Late Antiquity, mostly sepulchral epigraphs on stone and a few synagogal ones in mosaic, are written in Greek following the linguistic tradition of Hellenistic and Roman times.17 After the seventh/ eighth century, however, Hebrew predominates in the relatively few Jewish epigraphs that have come down to us. These are mostly funerary slabs, and most of them refer to rabbis and members of their families. One inscription, possibly dating to the tenth century and referring to the premature death of a dyer, comes from Corinth; two come from Thebes (fourteenth c.); and two from Ioannina (1426 and 1438). A further three examples have been found in Herakleion in Crete, and another one in Thessaloniki, which are dated to the last two decades of the fifteenth century.18 A rare example of a dedicatory inscription in Hebrew, probably from a synagogue and dated to 1326, was found immured in the medieval walls of Chalkis when they were demolished in 1890−91: …[?Eve of the Sabbath,] 23rd day | of the month of Nisan in the year 5086 of the Creation of the World | according to the reckoning used by us here in the Holy | Congregation of Evripon. And I placed upon | the […] the sidra (= commandment) from the Levites(?) and beneath | “And I, behold, I have taken your brethren the Levites from among the children of Israel: to you they are given as a gift for the Lord, to do the service of the tabernacle of the congregation” (Numbers, 18.6).19 Moreover, a conspicuous example of a Jew whose funerary inscription is written in Latin will be discussed in the following section. What is noteworthy is the small number of 16 Thorgunn Snædal, ‘Runes from Byzantium: reconsidering the Piraeus lion’, in Byzantium and the Viking World, ed. Fedir Androshchuk et al., Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis. Studia Byzantina Upsaliensia, 16 (Uppsala: Uppsala Universitet, 2016), pp. 187−214, translation of the inscriptions on pp. 194, 202, 205. Anthony Kaldellis, The Christian Parthenon. Classicism and Pilgrimage in Byzantine Athens (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 83−84, has surmised that the epigraphs could have been written by a pilgrim travelling to the East. 17 See the recent Corpus Inscriptionum Judaicarum Graeciae. Σύνταγμα Ιουδαϊκών και Εβραϊκών Επιγραφών από την Ηπειρωτική και Νησιωτική Ελλάδα (τέλη 4ου π.κ.ε./π.Χ. – 15ος αιώνας) (Athens: The Jewish Museum of Greece, 2018). The very few (three) surviving bilingual (Greek−Hebrew) inscriptions also date from the fourth to the sixth c. and will not be discussed here, being beyond the time limits of the present study. The most interesting is no. CIJG 41, a dedicatory stele in the Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, for the way the few lines in Hebrew are interwoven with the Greek text. 18 Corpus Inscriptionum Judaicarum Graeciae, p. 20 and nos CIJG 73, 100, 101, 01, 02, 29−31, 46. See also Nicholas de Lange, ‘Hebrew inscriptions of the Byzantine empire’, in Manuscrits hébreux et arabes: Mélanges en l’honneur de Colette Sirat, ed. Nicholas de Lange and Judith Olszowy-Schlanger. Bilbiologia, 38 (Turhhout: Brepols 2014), pp. 415−24 (pp. 418−21). The illegible graffiti in Hebrew under the Greek inscription of Anna Palaiologina (Anna of Savoy), wife of Emperor Andronikos III, who commissioned the construction of a gate in the acropolis of Thessaloniki (1355/56)), are also of interest, Corpus Inscriptionum Judaicarum Graeciae, no. CIJG 44. 19 Corpus Inscriptionum Judaicarum Graeciae, no. GIJG 103, translation by Nicholas de Lange.

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epigraphs in Hebrew from the Medieval period by comparison with those of Late Antiquity, and their exclusive use of Hebrew, a language with a very long tradition in written form. It seems that it was the intention of the authors of these inscriptions to underline their religious and ethnic identity. Latin / French / Italian

There is a plethora of Latin inscriptions (but very few in French or Italian) preserved in Greece after the Fourth Crusade, related to the activities of the new settlers established on the Greek mainland and the islands. In addition to valuable prosopographical information, these epigraphs show aspects of the Latins’ religious life, their funerary practices, their military and defence policies, etc.20 As is to be expected, in the painted churches, chapels, and buildings of Latin patronage intended for a Frankish audience, the tituli accompanying the holy figures are written in Latin. This is the case, for example, in the church of St Francis at Glarentza (1260−70)21 and in the gateway of Akronauplia (1291−1311).22 Moreover, painted Latin inscriptions accompany the scenes depicting the preaching of the apostles Philip and Andrew to be found in the northeast chapel of the Dominican basilica in Chalkis (Hagia Paraskevi), the funerary chapel of Pietro Lippamano or Lippomano, who died in 1398.23

20 Latin inscriptions in the Eastern Mediterranean in medieval times are being thoroughly studied in the framework of the project Latin as an Alien Script in the Medieval ‘Latin East’ (ERC Project Graph East) directed by Estelle Ingrand-Varenne (2021−2026). On Latin inscriptions in Byzantium in Late Antiquity and beyond, mostly of official public (imperial and administrative) character, see Andreas Rhoby, ‘Latin Inscriptions in (Early) Byzantium’, in Latin in Byzantium I. Latin Antiquity and Beyond, ed. Alessandro Garcea, Michela Rosellini, and Luigi Silvano (Turnhout: Brepols, 2019), pp. 275−94. On Latin inscriptions in Greece, ibid. pp. 288–90. 21 Demetrios Athanasoulis, Γλαρέντζα/ Clarence (Athens: Hellenic Ministry of Culture − 6th Ephorate of Byzantine Antiquities, 2005), pp. 40−41. Demetrios Athanasoulis, ‘The Triangle of Power: Building Projects in the Metropolitan Area of the Crusader Principality of the Morea’, in: Viewing the Morea. Land and People in the Late Medieval Peloponnese, ed. Sharon E. J. Gerstel, Dumbarton Oaks Byzantine Symposia and Colloquia (Washington D. C., Dumbarton Oaks, 2013), pp. 111−51 (pp. 124−25). 22 Wulf Schaefer, ‘Neue Untersuchungen über die Baugeschichte Nauplias im Mittelalter’, AA, 76 (1961), 156−214; Sharon E. J. Gerstel, ‘Art and Identity in the Medieval Morea’, in The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, ed. Angeliki E. Laiou and Roy Parviz Mottahedeh, Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2001). pp. 263−85 (pp. 265−68); Monika Hirschbichler, ‘The Crusader Paintings in the Frankish Gate at Nauplia, Greece. A Historical Construct in the Latin Principality of Morea’, Gesta, 44.1 (2005), 13−30; Sophia Kalopissi-Verti, ‘Monumental Art in the Lordship of Athens and Thebes under Frankish and Catalan Rule (1212−1388): Latin and Greek Patronage’, in A Companion to Latin Greece, ed. Nickiphoros I. Tsougarakis and Peter Lock (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2015), pp. 369−417 (pp. 376−79). On the few examples in Rhodes, Anna-Maria Kasdagli, ‘Hospitaller Rhodes: The Epigraphic Evidence’, in The Hospitallers, the Mediterranean and Europe. Festschrift for Anthony Luttrell, ed. Karl Borchardt et al. (Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, c. 2007), pp. 109−29, (p. 110). 23 Nikos D. Kontogiannis, ‘What Did Syropoulos Miss? Appreciating the Art of the Lippomano Chapel in Venetian Negroponte’, in Sylvester Syropoulos Politics and Culture in the Fifteenth-Century Mediterranean: Themes and Problems in the Memoirs, Section IV, ed. Fotini Kondyli et al., Birmingham Byzantine and Ottoman Studies, 16, (Farnham and Burlington: Ashgate, 2014), pp. 107−34 (pp. 124−32). On the church, Nikolaos D. Delinikolas and Vasiliki Vemi, ‘Η Αγία Παρασκευή Χαλκίδας. Ένα βενετικό πρόγραμμα ανοικοδόμησης το 13ο αιώνα’, in Venezia − Eubea, da Egripos a Negroponte, Atti del Convegno Internazionale, Chalkida 12−14 Novembre 2004, ed. Chryssa A. Maltezou and Christina E. Papakosta (Venice − Athens: Istituto Ellenico di Studi Bizantini e Postbizantini di Venezia − Società di Studi sull’Eubea, 2006), pp. 229−66; Pierre Α. MacKay, ‘St Mary of the Dominicans: The Monastery of the Fratres Praedicatores in Negropont’, in Venezia − Eubea, pp. 138−41 (with earlier bibliography).

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Of Jewish descent, Lippamano converted to Catholicism, was made a patrician by the Venetians for his financial support for Venice’s military campaigns, and was elected a member of the Grand Council. His tombstone in the funerary chapel in the Dominican church of Negroponte bears his coat of arms and a Latin inscription that reads as follows:24 Hic jacet nobilis et egr|egius vir dominus Petrus | Lippamano nec non honora|bilis consiliarius Nigripo(n)|tis a Venetorum ducali | dominio constitutus. | qui ab hoc seculo migra|vit d(omi)ni subannis MCCC|LXXXXVIII die septimo | mensis setenbris. Et suor(um) | heredum. Here lies the noble and illustrious lord Petrus Lippamano and, moreover, honourable councillor of Negroponte appointed by the ducal state of the Venetians. He departed this life in the year 1398 on the seventh day of the month September. And of his descendants25 (Fig. 2). The language, the content of the inscription, the coat of arms and, moreover, the art in the funerary chapel all testify to the new identity of Lippamano as a Venetian nobleman and official. Mention should be made of further gravestones bearing Latin inscriptions. As a rule they are adorned with effigies of the deceased and their coats of arms, sometimes also with symbols of death, with the inscription running all around the border of the relief slab. Over 100 such tombstones, some of them now fragmented, have come to light in Hospitaller Rhodes.26 They belong to knights Hospitaller, Latin nobles, laymen and clerics. Anna-Maria Kasdagli has pointed out the changes in style in the script used in the 24 The inscription was published by Spyridon Lampros, ‘Πέτρος Λιππαμάνος, ο σύμβουλος της Χαλκίδος’, Νέος Ελληνομνήμων, 7 (1910), 314−16. See also Johannes Koder, Negroponte. Untersuchungen zur Topographie und Siedlungsgeschichte der Insel Euboia während der Zeit der Venezianerherrschaft. Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Denkschriften, 112. Veröffentlichungen der Kommission für die TIB, I (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1973), p. 93, n. 154. The online article by Pierre A. McKay, ‘The Patrician from Negropont’. Angiolello.net 2006 is no longer accessible. For a description of Lippamano’s tomb see Kontogiannis, ‘What Did Syropoulos Miss?’, pp. 117−123. 25 The formula et heredum suorum is commonplace in the fourteenth-c. Latin sepulchral inscriptions in Arap Camii, where it is placed between the name of the deceased and the date in order to describe the grave of the deceased and his descendants, Eugenio Dalleggio d’Alessio, Le pietre sepolcrali di Arab Giamí (Antica Chiesa di S. Paolo a Galata), Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria, n.s. 5 (69) (Genoa: R. Deputazione di Storia patria per la Liguria, 1942), pp. 25−162. In the Lippamano inscription, however, it has been misplaced at the end of the text, potentially causing problems of comprehension. 26 Elias Kollias, Η μεσαιωνική πόλη της Ρόδου και το παλάτι του μεγάλου Μαγίστρου (Athens: Ministry of Culture − Archaeological Receipts Fund, 2000; 2nd ed.), p. 132, figs 73−75; Anna-Maria Kasdagli, ‘Τα ταφικά μνημεία της Ιπποτοκρατίας στη Ρόδο’, Δελτίον της Εραλδικής και Γενεαλογικής Εταιρίας της Ελλάδος, 11 (2001), 121−43; Anthony Luttrell, The Town of Rhodes: 1306−1356 (Rhodes: Archaeological Receipts Fund, 2003), pp. 39−47; Anna-Maria Kasdagli and Yianna Katsou, ‘Η κοινωνική διάσταση στα επιτύμβια. Δύο προσωπογραφίες’, in Γλυπτική και Λιθοξοϊκή στη Λατινική Ανατολή, 13ος−17oς αιώνας, ed. Olga Gratziou (Irakleio: Crete University Press, 2007), pp. 90−101; Anna-Maria Kasdagli, ‘Funerary Monuments of Hospitaller Rhodes: An Overview’, in The Military Orders, Volume, 4. On Land and By Sea, ed. Judith Upton-Ward (Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2008), pp. 175−88; Anna-Maria Kasdagli, Stone Carving of the Hospitaller Period in Rhodes. Displaced Pieces and Fragments (Oxford: Archeopress, 2016), pp. 56−74. On the tombs of the Grand Masters of Rhodes see Jean-Bernard de Vaivre, ‘Les tombeaux des Grands Maîtres des Hospitaliers de Saint-Jean de Jérusalem à Rhodes’, Monuments et Mémoires Piot, 76 (1998), 35−88. For recent supplementary additions, Anna-Maria Kasdagli, ‘Nέα στοιχεία για τους τάφους των Μεγάλων Μαγίστρων του Τάγματος των Ιωαννιτών Ιπποτών στη Ρόδο’, ΑΑΑ, 35−38 (2002−2005), 249−58.

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Rhodian epigraphs, which broadly follow earlier developments in medieval Europe. Thus, during the fourteenth century, the so-called Lombard style prevailed; this was replaced by the Gothic black-letter style in the fifteenth century, while Renaissance capitals prevailed after the 1470s.27 Funerary monuments inscribed in Latin have also been found in smaller numbers on other islands of the Aegean,28 as well as in the Principality of the Morea (Elis, Achaia).29 The owners of the tombs are for the most part Westerners. In exceptional cases they may be of Greek origin, indicating their assimilation into the Latin milieu and adoption of Latin burial practices. An early sixteenth-century tombstone in Rhodes with a Greek inscription around the border testifies to the degree of acculturation of a certain number of well-to-do locals to Latin society.30 It was found in the funerary crypt of the church of St Spyridon in the town of Rhodes, and the inscription, in fine capital letters, reads: Κόνις καλύπτ[ει τάφον] τάφος κοινὸν χρέως φύσεως ἀν(θρωπ)ίνης ἀνδρὸς ε[…] [πανσ]έπτῳ τριάδει ˏαφη´ (= 1508) Αὐγούστ(ου) ιε´.31 Dust covers the tomb. The grave is a common fate of the human nature. Of a man …to the holy Trinity, 1508, August 15th.32 In this example, language helps identify the Greek ethnicity of the deceased, who in all other aspects has adopted Latin art and mortuary habits. What, then, is his identity?

27 Kasdagli, ‘Funerary Monuments’, p. 181; Kasdagli, Stone Carving, pp. 40−55. 28 On Latin-inscribed sepulchral examples from Genoese Chios (1346−1566), Frederick William Hasluck, ‘The Latin Monuments of Chios’, ABSA, 16 (1909–1910), 137–84 (pp. 152−67); Eric A. Ivison, ‘Latin Tomb Monuments in the Levant 1204−ca. 1450’, in The Archaeology of Medieval Greece, ed. Peter Lock and Guy D. R. Sanders, Oxbow Monograph, 59 (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1996), pp. 91−106 (p. 94); Olga Vassi, ‘Spolia από λατινικούς ναούς της Χίου του 15ου αιώνα’, in Γλυπτική και Λιθοξοϊκή, pp. 102−13 (pp. 111−12, figs 11−12). On an example from Lesbos, Andreas Mazarakis, ‘Συμβολή στην εραλδική των αναμνηστικών και επιταφίων πλακών της περιόδου των Γατελούζων στη Μυτιλήνη’, ArchDelt, 53 (1998) A' Μελέτες, 361−86 (pp. 384−85, no. 19). On the numerous funerary slabs in medieval Cyprus, see Brünehilde Imhaus, Lacrimae Cypriae ou Recueil des inscriptions lapidaires pour la plupart funéraires de la période franque et vénitienne de l’île de Chypre, 2 vols (Nicosia: Département des Antiquités, Chypre, 2004). For an overview, Frank A. Greenhill, Incised Effigial Slabs: A Study of Stone Memorials in Latin Christendom c. 1100−1700 (London: Faber & Faber, 1976). 29 For fourteenth-c. examples in Elis, see Antoine Bon, ‘Pierres inscrites ou armoriées de la Morée franque’, DChAE, 4 (1964−65), 89−102 (pp. 96−99, 100−01); Denis Feissel and Anne Philippidis-Braat, ‘Inventaires en vue d’ un recueil des inscriptions historiques de Byzance. III. Inscriptions du Péloponnèse (à l’exception de Mistra)’, Travaux et Mémoires, 9 (1985), 267−395 (p. 336, no. 75); for an example from the Castle of Patras (1320−40), see Mediterranean Patras, ed. Anastasia Koumoussi, exhib. cat. Archaeological Museum of Patras, August 2019 − February 2020 (Patras: Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports − Ephorate of Antiquties of Achaea, 2019), pp. 124−26, no. 88 (Anastasia Koumoussi). 30 See Anthony Luttrell, ‘Mixed Identities on Hospitaller Rhodes’, in Union in Separation: Diasporic Groups and Identities in the Eastern Mediterranean (1100–1800), ed. Georg Christetal (Rome: Viella, 2015), pp. 381−86 (pp. 383, 385). 31 Elias E. Kollias, Η μνημειακή εκλεκτική ζωγραφική στη Ρόδο στα τέλη του 15ου και στις αρχές του 16ου αιώνα. Μνήμη Μανόλη Χατζηδάκη (Athens: Academy of Athens. Research Centre of Byzantine and Post-Byzantine Art, 2000), p. 12, fig. 1; Η Ρόδος από τον 4ο αιώνα μ.Χ. μέχρι την κατάληψή της από τους Τούρκους (1522). Παλάτι Μεγάλου Μαγίστρου, ed. Diana Zapheiropoulou (Athens: Archaeological Receipts Fund, 2004), p. 91; Kasdagli, ‘Stone Carving’, p. 168, no. 224. 32 On the common use of the word κόνις in funerary inscriptions, see Andreas Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme auf Stein, Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, 2 vols (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2014), II, p. 885, index: word.

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Greek or Latin, or maybe both? His mixed Greco-Latin funerary monument reveals that he is part of a mixed community. A very characteristic example of hybridity is the gravestone of one Agnès († 1286), born the daughter (Anna) of Michael II Angelos Komnenos Doukas, ruler of Epiros (1231−71), and Theodora Petralipha. The gravestone is now exhibited in the Museum of the Castle of Chlemoutsi33 (Fig. 3). She married the prince of Achaia, William II Villehardouin (1246−78), in 1258, took the name Agnès, and was buried in the church of St James in Andravida, the burial place of the Villehardouin family, in 1286. According to Catherine Vanderheyde, the sculpted decoration of the funerary slab is a typical testimony to acculturation.34 The relief cross and four peacocks, symbols of immortality of the soul, are often encountered on Byzantine sarcophagi, whereas the four salamanders, invulnerable to fire and symbols of faith and salvation from eternal fire, follow a western European tradition. The French inscription reads: † Ici gist madame Agnes iadis fille |dou despot kiur Mikaille et [--------------] | [--------c. 28-----------] | [---------- MCCL]XXXVI as IIII jours de janvier Here lies lady Agnes, once daughter of despot kyr Michael and …1286 on the fourth of January.35 It is assumed that in the now destroyed part of the funerary inscription Agnès’s relationship to William II Villehardouin was likely to have been mentioned. Correspondingly, a relief epistyle, a work of local craftsmanship carved in local stone and now in the Museum of Mistra, is another interesting example of the amalgamation of Byzantine and Western traditions36 (Fig. 4). In this case it was a French princess, Isabelle de Lusignan, married to the Despot of Morea, Manuel Kantakouzenos (1348/9–80), who appropriated her Greek-speaking husband’s language and artistic expression, without losing 33 Antoine Bon, ‘Dalle funéraire d’une princesse de Morée (xiiie siècle)’, Monuments et Mémoires Piot, 49 (1957), 129−39; Bon, ‘Pierres inscrites’, pp. 95−96, pl. 29; Antoine Bon, La Morée franque. Recherches historiques, topographiques et archéologiques sur la principauté d’Achaïe (1205−1430), 2 vols (Paris: E. de Boccard, 1969), I, pp. 590−91; Theocharis Pazaras, Ανάγλυφες σαρκοφάγοι και επιτάφιες πλάκες της μέσης και ύστερης βυζαντινής περιόδου στην Ελλάδα, Δημοσιεύματα του Αρχαιολογικού Δελτίου, 38 (Athens: Ministry of Culture − Archaeological Receipts Fund, 1988), pp. 83−84, no. 61; Ivison, ‘Latin tomb monuments’, p. 94; Angeliki Liveri, Die byzantinischen Steinreliefs des 13. und 14. Jahrhunderts im griechischen Raum. Εταιρεία των Φίλων του Λαού. Κέντρον Ερεύνης Βυζαντίου, 6 (Athens: Εταιρεία Φίλων του Λαού, 1996), pp. 190−91, no. 53; Sharon E. J. Gerstel, ‘The Morea’, in Heaven and Earth, 1. Art of Byzantium from Greek Collections, ed. Anastasia Drandaki et al., (Athens: Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports − Benaki Museum 2013), pp. 300−03 (p. 301, fig. 125). 34 Catherine Vanderheyde, ‘Le salamandre: un curieux détail sculpté sur une plaque funéraire trouvée à Andravida dans le Peloponnèse’, Ktema, 37 (2012), 359−72. On Anna Doukaina of Epiros in the political and cultural milieu of the Principality of Morea, see John Haines, ‘The Songbook for William of Villehardouin, Prince of the Morea (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, fonds français 844): A Crucial Case in the History of Vernacular Song Collections’, in Viewing the Morea. Land and People in the Late Medieval Peloponnese, ed. Sharon E. J. Gerstel, Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks 2013), pp. 57−109 (pp. 97−108). 35 Feissel and Philippidis-Braat, ‘Inscriptions du Péloponnèse’, pp. 317−18, no. 58, pl. XV, 2. 36 The City of Mystras. Byzantine Hours. Works and Days in Byzantium, exhib. cat., Mistra, August 2001 − January 2002, ed. Aimilia Bakourou et al. (Athens: Ministry of Culture, 5th Ephorate of Byzantine Antiquities, 2001), pp. 183−84, no. 29 (Aimilia Bakourou); Aspasia Louvi-Kizi, ‘Οι κτήτορες της Περιβλέπτου του Μυστρά’, DChAE, 24 (2003), 101−18 (p. 104, figs 3−4); Sophia Kalopissi-Verti, ‘Mistra. A Fortified Late Byzantine Settlement’, in Heaven and Earth, 2. Cities and Countryside in Byzantine Greece, ed. Jenny Albani and Eugenia Chalkia (Athens: Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports and Benaki Museum, 2013), pp. 224−39 (p. 238, fig. 210).

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her French identity. Born in Constantinople in 1333/34, the daughter of Guy de Lusignan, king of Lesser Armenia, and Theodora Syrgianni, Isabelle married Kantakouzenos in 1355.37 On the epistyle, geometric motifs inspired by the Byzantine repertoire enclose three medallions. Those on the sides include the monograms of Isabelle de Lusignan, in the Hellenized form of her name: ΖΑΜΠΕΑ on the left, ΝΤΕΛΕΖΗΝΑΩ, on the right. The central medallion displays the coat of arms of the Lusignans of Cyprus: the heraldic lion and the Jerusalem cross.38 Thus a French family heraldic device is combined with traditional Byzantine monograms in Greek. Obviously, in the preceding two examples the language does not show the ancestral identity of these noble ladies but the identity they acquired by marriage to a foreign ruler. On the gravestone of Anna, a Greek princess married to a French prince, there is a French inscription commemorating her by her new name, Agnès. On the marble relief epistyle bearing the name of the French princess Isabelle, married to the Byzantine despot of Morea, the Lusignan coat of arms is combined with typical Byzantine monograms written in Greek script. The latter record her French name in Hellenized form, not her adopted Greek one, Maria (-Margarita), which appears in the foundation inscription of the church of St George in Longanikos, in Laconia (1374/75).39 So these noble ladies were assimilated to the milieu in which they lived after their marriage, and the language of the inscriptions in which they are mentioned demonstrates their official status and identity as married women. However, their ancestral identity is also clear, and either recorded in words, as in the case of Agnès/Anna, described in the inscription as the daughter of kyr Michael, or denoted by the family’s coat of arms, in the Latin way, as in the case of Isabelle de Lusignan. The few graffiti in Latin which have been preserved in ancient monuments of Athens are also informative. Of the 235 informal inscriptions recorded on the columns of the Parthenon, converted into the church of the Virgin Atheniotissa, only five are written in Latin. Four of them are obituaries of clerics and are dated to between 1403 and 1412, i.e. the period of the rule of Antonio I Acciajuoli (1403−35). One mentions the abbot of the Daphni monastery, three others refer to members of the Latin church hierarchy.40 Five

37 For a concise biography of Isabelle, Aspasia Louvi-Kizi, Ἡ φράγκικη πρόκληση στὸν βυζαντινὸ Μυστρᾶ. Περίβλεπτος καὶ Παντάνασσα, 2 vols (Athens: Academy of Athens, 2019), Ι, pp. 53−72. 38 The Jerusalem cross has four small crosses between the arms of the central cross. 39 [Ἐπὶ]…τῶν εὐσεβῶν δεσποτ(ῶν) ἡμῶν Μανουὴλ καὶ Μαρί(ας) τῶν Καντακουζηνῶν, Feissel and Philippidis-Braat, ‘Inscriptions du Péloponnèse’, pp. 339−40, no. 78. 40 Anastasios K. Orlandos and Leonidas Vranousis, Τὰ χαράγματα τοῦ Παρθενῶνος ἤτοι ἐπιγραφαὶ χαραχθεῖσαι ἐπὶ τῶν κιόνων τοῦ Παρθενῶνος κατὰ τοὺς παλαιοχριστιανικοὺς καὶ βυζαντινοὺς χρόνους (Athens: Academy of Athens − Research Centre of Medieval and Modern Hellenism, 1973), pp. 17, 23, 176−80, nos 36, 223−26; Ida Toth, ‘Epigraphic Traditions in Eleventh-Century Byzantium. General Considerations’, in Inscriptions in Byzantium and Beyond. Methods − Projects − Case Studies, ed. Andreas Rhoby, Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Denkschriften, 478 (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2015), pp. 203−25 (pp. 210−11). For a picture see Manolis Korres, ‘Ο Παρθενώνας από την αρχαία εποχή μέχρι τον 19ο αιώνα’, in Ο Παρθενώνας και η ακτινοβολία του στα νεώτερα χρόνια, ed. Panagiotis Tournikiotis (Athens: Melissa, 1994), pp. 138–61, (p. 151, fig. 18). On the Greek graffiti see Maria Xenaki, ‘The (In)formality of the Inscribed Word at the Parthenon. Legibility, Script, Content’, in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium: Continuities and Transformations, Papers from the Forty-Ninth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies March 2016, Exeter College, Oxford, ed. Marc Lauxtermann and Ida Toth (London and New York: Routledge, 2020), pp. 211−33. See also the forthcoming book by Maria Xenaki, Recueil des inscriptions grecques chrétiennes de l’Attique (vie/viie−xiie siècles), Série Études Épigraphiques, École française d’Athènes.

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names of members of the Latin clergy have also been recorded in Latin graffiti in the Hephaisteion (St George).41 In his monumental work on the Venetian monuments of the island of Crete, Giuseppe Gerola published c. 250 Latin inscriptions (and a very small number of Italian and French ones) from Crete, carved in stone or marble and dating from the fourteenth to the seventeenth centuries.42 Fewer than ten of these are dated to the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. For the most part, Cretan Latin inscriptions refer to Venetian officials involved in the construction of fortifications and other public works. Those of a private nature are mostly funerary. This ample historical and prosopographical material has recently been enriched by the publication of a corpus of the graffiti in Cretan churches and monasteries by Demetrios and Eleni Tsougaraki.43 Approximately 70% are in Latin or Italian. While Greek graffiti are mostly written by clerics and monks and commemorate deaths, births, marriages or other important life events, as well as pilgrimages and church services held, the Latin or Italian graffiti as a rule include name, date, and title or office, if any, and are mostly written by administrative and military officials as well as by clerics. They are sometimes accompanied by monograms and coats of arms. An important group is made up of the inscriptions in Latin, and more rarely Italian, often combined with heraldry, immured in the fortifications erected by Westerners. There are several examples in Hospitaller Rhodes, dating from the fourteenth to the early sixteenth century.44 An interesting case study concerns the inscriptions of the Genoese Gattilusio family, lords of several islands (Lesbos, Samothrace, Thasos) and coastal towns in the northeastern Aegean (Ainos, Palaia Phokaia).45 The preserved inscriptions, dating to the late fourteenth and first half of the fifteenth century, commemorate the construction or renovation of fortifications, illustrating the great interest the Gattilusi took in the defences of 41 Archim. Antonin (Kapustin), O drevnih hristijanskih nadpisah v Afinah (Sankt Petersburg: Imperial Academy of Sciences, 1874), p. 23, nos 12−16; Anne Mc Cabe, ‘Byzantine funerary graffiti in the Hephaisteion (Church of St George) in the Athenian Agora’, in Inscribing Texts, pp. 234−63 (p. 239, fig. 11.7). See also Bente Kiilerich, ‘The Hephaesteion in the Byzantine period’, in Byzantine Athens. Proceedings of a Conference October 21−23, 2016 Byzantine and Christian Museum Athens, ed. Helen Saradi in collaboration with Aikaterini Dellaporta (Athens: Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports and Byzantine and Christian Museum, 2021), pp. 196−211 (pp. 199−200). 42 Giuseppe Gerola, Monumenti veneti dell’isola di Creta, 4 vols (Venice: R. Istituto veneto di scienze, lettere ed arti, 1905 − 32), IV (1932), pp. 301−89. Latin funerary inscriptions. dating from the 15th to the 17th c., are included in the recent book Η Γλυπτική στη Βενετική Κρήτη (1211−1669), ed. Maria Vakondiou and Olga Gratziou (Herakleio, Crete: Cretan University Press, 2021), vol. I, Μελέτες, pp. 143−169 (Kostas Yapitzoglou, ‘Ταφικά μνημεία στην ύπαιθρο της Κρήτης:τα αρκοσόλια’) and vol. II, Lapidarium, pp. 367−82 (Historical Museum of Crete, Herakleio), pp. 434−37 (Ephorate of Herakleio, Eleni Kanaki). For other inscriptions, mainly honorific, ibid. vol. II, pp. 393−94, 497−502 and passim. 43 Demetrios Tsougarakis and Eleni Aggelomati-Tsougaraki, Σύνταγμα (Corpus) χαραγμάτων εκκλησιών και μονών της Κρήτης (Athens: Academy of Athens. Research Centre of Medieval and Modern Hellenism, 2015). 44 On Rhodes see the classic work by Albert Gabriel, La Cité de Rhodes, MCCCX−MDXXII I, Topographie. Architecture militaire (Paris: E. de Boccard, 1921), pp. 93−104; for a comprehensive overview, see Anna-Maria Kasdagli, ‘Hospitaller Rhodes: The Epigraphic Evidence’, in The Hospitallers, the Mediterranean and Europe. Festschrift for Anthony Luttrell, ed. Karl Borchardt et al. (Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, c. 2007), 109−29. In the city of Rhodes there are, moreover, examples of Latin inscriptions immured in the facades of public buildings and private houses, Albert Gabriel, La Cité de Rhodes, MCCCX−MDXXII. II. Architecture civile et religieuse (Paris: E. de Boccard, 1923), pp. 13−128 (passim); Kasdagli, ‘Hospitaller Rhodes’, pp. 112−14. 45 On the Genoese in Romania, Michel Balard, La Romanie génoise (xiie − début du xve siècle), Bibliothèque des écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 235 − Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria, n.s. 18 (92) / Bibliothèque des Écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 235, 2 vols (Rome: École française de Rome − Genova: Società

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the northeastern Aegean.46 The Latin commemorative inscriptions immured in the fortress of Mytilini are relevant in this context, while Greek or bilingual inscriptions commissioned by or for the Gattilusi will also be discussed below. Addressed to a mixed local populace and to present and future enemies, commemorative inscriptions in fortification walls have an official character recording the patron, usually the ruler, of the fortification works, and conveying messages about effective defences, power and prestige. B. Inscriptions in Greek by Non-Native Greek Speaking or “Hellenized” Conquerors, Warriors, and Settlers This category of epigraphs reflects in most cases the settlement in Greece of foreign ethnic groups who adopted the Greek language in which they then composed their public inscriptions. This appropriation of the Greek language may have had different motivations and interpretations in each particular case, e.g: political deliberations and claims; the need to communicate with the indigenous population; assimilation and “Byzantinization”/”Hellenization” of the authors of the inscriptions, whose families had been settled in Greek-speaking regions for several generations; a feeling of belonging and a religious and/or cultural relationship with the Byzantines. Bulgarians

An epigraph found in the ruins of the sixth-century domed Basilica B in Philippi,47 written in vernacular Greek and dated to the second quarter of the ninth century, records a reference to the Bulgarian ruler Presian I (836−852/3); he sent the Kavhan Isbul with troops and other high officials (Ichirgu-boila, Khan-boila Kolobron) against the Slav tribe of the Smolyani, known to the Byzantines as the Smolenoi, who had settled in the Rhodope mountains.48

Ligure di Storia Patria, 1978); on the Gattilusi, William Miller, ‘The Gattilusi of Lesbos (1355−1462)’, BZ, 22 (1913) 406−47; Christopher Wright, The Gattilusio Lordships and the Aegean World, 1355−1462 (Leiden − Boston: Brill, 2014). 46 All commemorative inscriptions of the Gattilusi immured in the walls of the fortress of Mytilini are in Latin, Mazarakis, ‘Συμβολή στην εραλδική’ (n. 28), pp. 375−81. On the inscriptions of Francesco I Gattilusio (1355−1383), who married Maria Palaiologina, sister of Emperor John V, in the castle of Mytilini see Chara Konstantinidi, Η Μαρία Παλαιολογίνα σύζυγος Φραγκίσκου Γατελούζου στην Λέσβο και η βυζανινή παρακαταθήκης της. Μνήμη Μανόλη Χατζηδάκη (Athens: Research Centre for Byzantine and Post-Byzantine Art at the Academy of Athens, 2016), pp. 69−88; see also n. 85. Furthermore, there are two Latin inscriptions referring to the Gattilusi in Ainos (Turk. Enez) in Eastern Thrace, immured in towers of the city’s fortress. These include only the dates (1382 and 1413 respectively), written in Latin characters, and the Gattilusio coat of arms with the scale motif and the single-headed eagle: Catherine Asdracha, Inscriptions protobyzantines et byzantines de la Thrace orientale et de l’île d’Imbros (xiie−xve siècles). Présentation et commentaire historique (Athens: Hellenic Ministry of Culture − Archaeological Receipts Fund, 2003), I, 219−91 (pp. 259−61, nos 29 and 30, pl. 111a−b, 112a); Robert Ousterhout and Charalambos Bakirtzis, The Byzantine Monuments of the Evros / Meriç River Valley (Thessaloniki: European Center for Byzantine and Post-Byzantine Monuments, 2007), pp. 21−23. 47 Today it is exhibited in the Museum of Philippi. 48 Paul Lemerle, Philippes et la Macédoine orientale à l’époque chrétienne et byzantine. Recherches d’histoire et d’archéologie, 2 vols, Bulletin des Écoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 158 (Paris: E. de Boccard), pp. 135−39, 420, 425, 519; Veselin Beševliev, Die protobulgarischen Inschriften, Berliner byzantinische Arbeiten, 23 (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1963) no. 14, pp. 163−74; Ioannes Karayannopoulos, ‘Η πρωτοβουλγαρική επιγραφή του

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[Τõ]ν πολῶν Βου[λ]γά|ρο[ν ὁ] ἐκ θεοῦ ἄρχον ὁ Π|ερσιάνος ἀπέστιλεν | Ἰ[σ]βοῦλον τὸν καυχά|νον δόσας αὐτὸν φοσά|τα κ(ὲ) τον Ἠτζιργουβοιλ|ὰν κ(ὲ) τὸν Καναβοιλὰ Κο|λόβρον κ(ὲ) ὁ καυχάνος | ἐπὶ τοὺς Σμολεάνους | […] Persianos the lord [appointed] by God of the many Bulgarians sent the Kavkhan Isboulos having given him troops and the Itzirgouboilas and the Kanaboilas Kolobron and the kavkhan against the Smolyani.49 The epigraph belongs to the group of so-called Proto-Bulgarian inscriptions, found in the territory of the First Bulgarian Empire and dated to the eighth and ninth centuries, before the Christianization of the Bulgars in 864/5. Written in vernacular Greek, they usually record military achievements, treaties, boundary markers, etc. or are funerary or honorific inscriptions. The Greek language is used amongst other things in order to communicate messages from the conquerors to the indigenous, Greek-speaking population.50 Slavs / Serbs

Certain inscriptions preserved in the Mani, dating from the second half of the eleventh to the mid-fourteenth century, testify that members of the Slav tribe of the Melingoi, who had probably first settled in the region of Mount Taygetos in the seventh century, had become completely assimilated into the local society, both in terms of religion and language, by the eleventh century. This seems to be due to the efforts of the emperors of the Macedonian dynasty to reorganize the Greek provinces administratively and ecclesiastically after the defeat of the Arabs in Crete in 961. In Laconia the role of the holy man Nikon Metanoeite was crucial in this respect. He preached and founded churches, introducing to Laconia new iconographic subjects and saints’ cults in accordance with the policy of the central authority in Constantinople.51 Two eleventh-century altar slabs found in churches in the village of Melea in Messenian Mani, which have been studied by Nikolaos Drandakis, have Greek inscriptions mentioning Direkler’, Εγνατία. Επιστημονική Επετηρίδα της Φιλοσοφικής Σχολής του Αριστοτελείου Πανεπιστημίου Θεσσαλονίκης, 23/1 (1981), 219−57; Peter Pilhofer, Philippi: Band II. Katalog der Inschriften von Philippi, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 119 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009; 2nd ed.), pp. 436−41 (no. 368/ G180), with previous bibliography. Georgios Velenis, ‘Το περιεχόμενο της πρωτοβουλγαρικής επιγραφής των Φιλίππων’, Proceedings of the 22nd International Congress of Byzantine Studies, Sofia 22-27 August 2011, vol. III, Sofia 2011, pp. 57-58. A second epigraph also found in the Basilica B was thought to be the continuation of the inscription of Kavhan Isbul, Pilhofer, pp. 441−46 (no. 368a/G933), however, considers it for a forgery of the twentieth c. Ṇ Ἢ [τη]ς τὴν ἀλήθηαν γ|υρεύη, ὁ θ(εὸς) θεορῖ· κ(ὲ), ἤ της ψ|εύδετε, ὁ θ(εὸς) θεορῖ· τοὺς | χριστηανοὺς οἡ Βουλγάρι|ς πολὰ ἀγαθὰ ἐπύισα[ν], | κ(ὲ) οἱ χριστηανοὶ ἐλησμόν|ησαν, ἀλλὰ ὁ θ(εὸ)ς θεορῖ. 49 Text after Pilhofer, Philippi, p. 438. 50 For a concise presentation of the language and content of these inscriptions, Veselin Beševliev, ‘Les inscriptions protobulgares et leur portée culturelle et historique’, Byzantinoslavica, 32 (1971), 35−51. See also Geoffrey Horrocks, Greek: A History of the Language and its Speakers (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010; 2nd ed.), pp. 325−27. 51 Elias Anagnostakis, ‘Μονεμβασία − Λακεδαίμων: Για μια τυπολογία αντιπαλότητας και για την Κυριακή αργία στις πόλεις’, in Οι βυζαντινές πόλεις, 8ος−15ος αιώνας: προοπτικές της έρευνας και νέες ερμηνευτικές προσεγγίσεις, ed. Tonia Kiousopoulou (Rethymno: School of Philosophy of the University of Crete, 2012, pp. 101−37 (pp. 124−29); Anna Takoumi and Kyriaki Tassoyannopoulou, ‘Entre Constantinople et périphérie: Saint Léon, Évêque de Catane particulièrement vénéré en Laconie, Peloponnèse’, in Ἐν Σοφίᾳ μαθητεύσαντες. Essays in Byzantine Material Culture and Society in Honour of Sophia Kalopissi-Verti, ed. Charikleia Diamanti and Anastasia Vassiliou (Oxford: Archeopress, 2019), pp. 81−99 (pp. 89−93).

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donors whose names betray Slav origins. The square marble altar slab in the church of St Nicholas in Melea (1070s) has a Greek inscription around a foliated cross, mentioning two obviously Christianized and Hellenized Slav donors, Stanenas and Pothos, son of Sirakos, whom we may assume were descendants of the Slav tribe of the Melingoi. † Θησηασθή{η}ρηο τοῦ ἁγήου Νηκολάου κὲ | τῆς ἁγήας Βαρβάρας· ἡ ψάλοντες εὔχεσθε τοῦ | δούλου τοῦ θ(ε)οῦ Στανήνα κὲ Πόθ|ου, ἡοῦ Σηράκου† | † Νηκήτα(ς) μαρμαρᾶς ἀπὸ χόρα Μαήνης†. † Altar of St Nicholas and of St Barbara; chanters, pray for the servant of God Staninas and Pothos, son of Sirakos† † Niketas the marble-worker from the town of Maina†.52 The mention of the marble worker Niketas from Maina is a valuable piece of information. And he is, in fact, a well-known craftsman who was very active in the area and is recorded in several inscriptions, one of which mentions the date 1075.53 Similarly, a Greek inscription on another marble altar slab, in the church of the Theotokos in Melea, bears witness to another donor of Slav origin, one Doborotas. This semicircular slab decorated with a foliated cross in relief has also been attributed on stylistic grounds to the stone-carver Niketas, and dated to the second half of the eleventh century. The inscription reads: † Μηνίστιτη Κ(ύρι)ε τοῦ δούλου σου Δοβορότα (κ)ὲ τῆ σινβίου (καὶ) τον τέκον ἀφτοῦ† † Remember, Lord, Thy servant Doborotas and his spouse and children†54 Similar references to donors of Slav origin are documented in dedicatory inscriptions in Maniot churches up to the mid-fourteenth century.55 These descendants of the Melingoi appear to be completely assimilated into the local society, sharing the same religion and cultural, artistic, and linguistic forms as the native population.56

52 Nikolaos Drandakis, ‘Δύο βυζαντινὲς ἐνεπίγραφες πλάκες ἁγίας Τράπεζας σὲ ναοὺς τῆς Μεσσηνιακῆς Μάνης’, in Μνήμη. Τόμος Γεωργίου Ἰ. Κουρμούλη, ed. Georgios Babiniotis (Athens: n.p., 1980), pp. 179−85 (pp. 179−81) (= Nikolaos Β. Drandakis, Μάνη καὶ Λακωνία, ed. Chara Konstantinidi, Lakonikai Spoudai. Supplement, 17, 5 vols, Athens: Society of Lakonian Studies, 2009, I, no. 9, pp. 215−21); Feissel and Philippidis-Braat, ‘Inscriptions du Péloponnèse’ (n. 29), pp. 304−05, no. 45; Nikolaos Drandakis, Βυζαντινὰ γλυπτὰ τῆς Μάνης, Βιβλιοθήκη τῆς ἐν Ἀθήναις Ἀρχαιολογικῆς Ἑταιρείας, 222 (Athens: Ἡ ἐν Ἀθήναις Ἀρχαιολογικὴ Ἑταιρεία, 2002), pp. 19−20. Although he is the son of Sirakos, probably a Slav, the Pothos mentioned in the inscription bears a Greek name. 53 On the stone-carver Niketas, see Nikolaos B. Drandakis, ‘Νικήτας Μαρμαρᾶς’, Δωδώνη, 1 (1972), 21−44 (= Drandakis, Μάνη καὶ Λακωνία, no. 3); Nikolaos B. Drandakis, ‘Ἄγνωστα γλυπτά τῆς Μάνης ἀποδιδόμενα στό μαρμαρὰ Νικήτα ἤ στό εργαστήρι του’, DChAE, 8 (1975−76), 19−28 (= Drandakis, Μάνη καὶ Λακωνία, no. 7). 54 Drandakis, ‘Δύο βυζαντινὲς ἐνεπίγραφες πλάκες’, pp. 181−83; Feissel and Philippidis-Braat,‘Inscriptions du Péloponnèse’, p. 307, no. 48; Drandakis, Βυζαντινὰ γλυπτὰ, pp. 57−58. 55 Sophia Kalopissi-Verti, ‘Donors in the Palaiologan Churches of the Mani in Southern Peloponnese: Individuality, Collectivity and Social Identities’, in Art of the Byzantine World: Individuality in Artistic Creativity. A Collection of Essays in Honour of Olga Popova, ed. Anna Zakharova et al. (Moscow: State Institute for Art Studies, 2021), pp. 160−89 (pp. 168−80, with earlier bibliography). 56 Sophia Kalopissi-Verti, ‘Epigraphic Evidence in Middle-Byzantine Churches of the Mani. Patronage and Art Production’, in Λαμπηδών. Αφιέρωμα στη μνήμη της Ντούλας Μουρίκη, ed. Mary Aspra-Vardavaki, 2 vols (Athens: Technical University of Athens, 2009), I, pp. 339−54 (pp. 343−44).

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In another context and geographical area, namely the Principality, later Kingdom and Empire, of Serbia, the dedicatory initiatives of Serb rulers demonstrate a lively pattern of commissioning monuments in southern Balkan territories which were under either Byzantine or Serb control.57 Privileges, donations and relevant epigraphic material primarily concern monastic foundations. The principal donors, especially as regards the monastic community of Mount Athos, were the Grand Župan of Raška, Stefan Nemanja, who died as the monk Simeon in 1199, his son St Sava (1175−1236), King Milutin (1282−1321), King Stefan Dečanski (1322−1331), and Tsar Stefan Uroš IV Dušan (crowned 1331, emperor from 1345/46 to 1355) and his successors. On Mount Athos, the Serb rulers renovated and supported several monasteries financially, including Vatopedi, where St Sava built three chapels;58 he and his father St Simeon were considered the second ktetors or patrons of the monastery. The most important example of Serbian patronage is the reconstruction of the deserted monastery of Hilandar by Sts Simeon and Sava. Hilandar was to become the centre of Serbian Orthodox monasticism on Athos, and was later renovated and decorated by King Milutin in 1320/2159 (Fig. 5). Interestingly the original dedicatory inscription is in Church Slavonic, but most of the inscriptions accompanying the figures of saints or scenes are in Greek, including the funerary and dedicatory portraits which depict Serb and Byzantine rulers.60 Later in the fourteenth century Despot Jovan Uglješa, brother of King Vukasin and founder of the monastery of Simonopetra, who ruled over the province of Serres and Mount Athos from 1365 to 1371, built and decorated the chapel of The Holy Anargyroi in Vatopedi.61 Notably, besides the Greek tituli of the paintings, the inscription accompanying the portrait of Despot Jovan Uglješa (1365−1371) is also in Greek.62

57 For a survey of this topic see Miodrag Marković, ‘Serbia in Byzantium. The Patronage of Serbian ktetors in the Byzantine Empire’, in Byzantine Heritage and Serbian Art II. Sacral Art of the Serbian Lands in the Middle Ages, ed. Dragan Vojvodić and Danica Popović (Belgrade: The Serbian National Committee of Byzantine Studies, Institute for Byzantine Studies, Serbian Academy of Science and Arts, 2016), pp. 57−74. 58 The chapels of the Nativity of the Theotokos, St John Chrysostomos and Transfiguration of Christ, Marković, ‘The Patronage of Serbian ktetors’, p. 58. On the monastery, Ἱερά Μεγίστη Μονή Βατοπαιδίου. Παράδοση−Ἱστορία− Τέχνη, 2 vols (Mt Athos: Ἱερά Μεγίστη Μονή Βατοπαιδίου, 1996). 59 Vojislav J. Djurić, ‘La peinture de Chilandar à l’époque du roi Milutin’, Hilandarski Zbornik, 4 (1978), 36−64; Dimitrije Bogdanović, Vojislav Djurić, and Dejan Medaković, Chilanadar: on the Holy Mountain (Belgrade: Jugoslavenska Revija, 1978; 2n ded.); Vojslav J. Djurić, ‘Les portraits des souverains dans le narthex de Chilandar’, Hilandarski Zbornik, 7 (1989), 105−21; Hilandar Monastery, ed. Gojko Subotić (Belgrade: The Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts, 1998); Sreten Petković, Chilandar (Belgrade: Institute for the Protection of Cultural Monuments, 1999; 2nd ed.); Branislav Todić, Serbian Medieval Painting. The Age of King Milutin (Belgrade: Draganić, 1999), pp. 351−58. 60 On Milutin’s dedicatory inscription in Slavonic in the narthex, dated to the year 1321 and repainted in the nineteenth century, see Miodrag Marković and Vilijam Tejlor Hosteter, ‘Prilog hronologiji gradnje osli kavarija hilandarskoj katolikona’, Hilandarski Zbornik, 10 (1998), 201−20. The repainting of the frescoes of the katholikon in 1803/4 largely respected the original iconography and inscriptions. On the Greek inscriptions on the fresco paintings, Miodrag Marković, ‘The Original Paintings of the Monastery’s Main Church’, in Hilandar Monastery, pp. 221−42. On the Greek inscriptions on the donor portraits, Dragan Vojvodić, ‘Donor Portraits and Compositions’, in Hilandar Monastery, pp. 249−62. 61 On the painted decoration of the chapel, Efthymios Tsigaridas, ‘Οἱ τοιχογραφίες τοῦ Παρεκκλησίου τῶν Ἁγίων Ἀναργύρων’, in Ἱερά Μεγίστη Μονή Βατοπαιδίου, pp. 280−84. The author believes (p. 284) that the frescoes, which were repainted in 1847 and have been partly cleaned, should be dated on stylistic grounds not to the time of Uglješa but later, i.e. end of the fourteenth / beginning of the fifteenth c. 62 Gabriel Millet, Jules Pargoire, and Louis Petit, Recueil des inscriptions chrétiennes de l’Athos, Bibliothèque des écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 91 (Paris: Fontemoing, 1904; 2nd ed. Ἁγιορειτικὴ Ἑστία. Ἀθωνικά Ἀνάλεκτα 1, Thessaloniki: Μυγδονία, 2004), p. 33, no. 105; Dimitrios Liakos, ‘Byzantine and Post-Byzantine

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Furthermore, it has been surmised by several researchers that King Milutin founded and decorated the church of Hagios Nikolaos Orphanos in Thessaloniki in the second decade of the fourteenth century.63 Part of the frescoes of the original exonarthex of the katholikon of the monastery of St John the Forerunner on Mount Menoikion near Serres were probably commissioned by Stefan Dušan between 1345 and 1355.64 In both these churches, as is well known, the inscriptions accompanying the paintings are in Greek. A similar policy, which aimed at collaboration between the Serbian ruling family and Serbian aristocracy and the Greek clergy and monks, was followed by Simeon Uroš, who ruled over Thessaly (1359−1370). He supported the monastic community of Meteora, issuing chrysobulls, prostagmata, etc. in favour of monasteries in the area of Trikala. His son and heir, Joannes Uroš Angelos Doukas Palaiologos (c. 1350−1422/3), who became a monk under the name of Ioasaph, was co-founder of the old katholikon of the monastery of the Transfiguration (Megalo Meteoro), together with the monk Athanasios, in 1387/8, as evidenced by two inscriptions in Greek, one carved on the mullion of the apse window and the other painted on the inside north wall.65 Furthermore, during Simeon Uroš’s reign a certain Konstantinos, thought by some scholars to be a Serb nobleman, who had become the monk Kyprianos, contributed to the cost of the fresco decoration of the church of the Ascension (later monastery of Hypananti) at Meteora, together with the ktetor Hieromonk Neilos, as testified by three inscriptions in Greek.66 It is noteworthy that, although some of the Serb patrons’ dedicatory inscriptions were written in Church Slavonic, for example at Hilandar and in the katholikon of the monastery of St Paul, built by the Serb ruler George Branković in 1447,67 in most of the Athonite monasteries and those of Meteora the dedicatory epigraphs and the inscriptions on the paintings are written in Greek, as noted above. This has been interpreted as part of the policy of the Serb rulers, who collaborated very closely with the hegoumenoi of

63

64

65

66

67

Athonite Dedicatory Inscriptions in Historical and Archaeological Context’, in Texts, Inscriptions, Images. Art Readings, 2016, 2 vols, ed. Emmanuel Moutafov and Elena Erdeljan (Sofia: Institute of Art Studies, 2017), I, pp. 165−66, 180, cat. no. 14, fig. 3. 61. Anna Tsitouridou, Ὁ ζωγραφικὸς διάκοσμος τοῦ Ἁγίου Νικολάου Ὀρφανοῦ στὴ Θεσσαλονίκη, Βυζαντινὰ Μνημεῖα, 6 (Thessaloniki: Κέντρο Βυζαντινῶν Ἐρευνῶν, 1986), pp. 41−45; Todić, The Age of King Milutin, pp. 347−50; Ἅγιος Νικόλαος Ὀρφανός. Οἱ τοιχογραφίες, Hellenic Ministry of Culture − Ephoreia of Byzantine Antiquities – Thessaloniki, ed. Charalampos Bakirtzis (Thessaloniki: Akritas Publications, 2003), p. 71 (Evterpi Marki). Andreas Xyngopoulos, Αἱ τοιχογραφίαι τοῦ καθολικοῦ τῆς Μονῆς Προδρόμου παρὰ τὰς Σέρρας, Ἵδρυμα Μελετῶν Χερσονήσου τοῦ Αἵμου, 136 (Thessaloniki: Ἑταιρεία Μακεδονικῶν Σπουδῶν, 1973), pp. 27−58. On Dušan’s policy towards Mount Athos, see George C. Soulis, ‘Tsar Stephen Dušan and Mount Athos’, Harvard Slavic Studies II (1954), 125−39 (= George Soulis, 1927−1966. Ιστορικά Μελετήματα. Βυζαντινά − Βαλκανικά − Νεοελληνικά (Athens: 1980), pp. 51−67. According to the inscription, the old katholikon was painted in 1483 on the initiative of the monks of the monastery, Evangelia N. Georgitsoyanni, Les peintures murales du Vieux Catholicon du monastère de la Transfiguration aux Météores (1483), Bibliothèque Sophia N. Saripolos, 92 (Athens: National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, 1992), pp. 19−40. Gojko Subotić, ‘Počeci monaškog života i ckrva manastira Sretenja u Meteorima’, Zbornik za likovne umetnosti, 2 (1966), 125−81; Demetrios Z. Sophianos and Lazaros Deriziotis, Ἡ Ἱερὰ Mονὴ τῆς Ὑπαπαντῆς τῶν Μετεώρων. Δεύτερο μισὸ τοῦ 14ου αἰῶνα (Athens: Academy of Athens, Research Centre of Medieval and New Hellenism, 2011); Marković, ‘The Patronage of Serbian ktetors’, p. 67. On Milutin’s dedicatory inscription in the narthex of Hilandar: Marković and Hosteter, ‘Prilog’, pp. 201−20. On the now lost inscription in St Paul’s: Millet, Pargoire, and Petit, Receuil des inscriptions (n. 62), pp. 143−44, no. 426; Liakos, ‘Athonite Dedicatory Inscriptions’, pp. 159−86 (pp. 164−65, 180, cat. no. 13).

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the monasteries and supported the Greek clergy, aiming in exchange to be accepted as legitimate rulers who respected and recognized the Greek Church’s pre-existing rights and privileges.68 The predominant use of Greek in inscriptions, and the close collaboration between Serb donors and Greek clergymen and monks, demonstrate the close cultural and religious links between the Serbs and the Greeks. Albanians

Albanians belonging to the ruling class also used the Greek language for their church inscriptions. According to the dedicatory inscription of Hagios Athanasios tou Mouzaki in Kastoria, dated to 1383/84, the church was founded by the Albanian brothers Stoias and Theodore Mouzakis, in collaboration with a hieromonk named Dionysios, probably also a member of the Mouzakis family: † Ἀνειγέρθη κ(αὶ) ἡνεκενίστει εκ βάθρου κ(αὶ) κόπου κὲ μόχθου· ὀ θεὶος | καὶ πάνσεπτος να(ὸς) οὔτος του ἐν αγίεις π(ατ)ρ(ὸ)ς ημ(ῶν) Ἀθανασίου του μεγάλου. | κ(αὶ) ανειστορήθην παρ(ὰ) τους κτιτόρους. ἥγου του παν[ευγ]ενεστάτους κὺρ Στώ|ια κ(αὶ) Θεοδώρου του Μουζάκη. κ(αὶ) του ἐν ϊἐρο(μον)άχ(οις) Δηονησίου· ἀυθεν|τέυόντ(ων) δὲ τ(ῶν) αὐτ(ῶν) αὐταδελφω(ν) πα[ν]ευγενεστάτους κυ(ρ) Στώια· κε κυρ| Θεοδώρου του Μουζάκη. ἀρχιἐρατ[εύ]οντ(ος) δὲ τοῦ πανϊἐροτάτου ἐπησκό[που] | κυ(ρ) Γαυρηἰλ· κ(αὶ) πρωτ[οθρόνου εν ἔτει ˏϛω]ϟβ´ † (6892 = 1383/84).69 This holy and venerable church of our holy father Athanasios the Great was erected and renovated from the foundations with labour and pains and it was painted by the ktetors, i.e. the most noble kyr Stoias and Theodoros Mouzaki and the priest-monk Dionysios in the time of the rule of these two most noble brothers kyr Stoias and kyr Theodoros Mouzaki, during the prelature of the most holy Bishop and protothronos [of Kastoria] kyr Gabriel, in the year 1383/84 (Fig. 6). The Mouzaki brothers governed Kastoria in the short interval between the end of Serbian rule sometime after the battle of Marica in 1371 and the Ottoman conquest in 68 Marković, ‘The Patronage of Serbian ktetors’, p. 58. On the political ideology of the Serb rulers, the appropriation of Byzantine imperial models, and the Byzantinization of Serbian society regarding culture and ideology, especially after the peace of 1299, and their reflection on art see Smilja Marjanović-Dušanić and Dragan Vojvodić, ‘The Model of Empire − The Idea and Image of Authority in Serbia (1200−1371)’, in Byzantine Heritage and Serbian Art II (n. 57), pp. 299−315. 69 Anastasios K. Orlandos, ‘Τὰ βυζαντινὰ μνημεῖα τῆς Καστορίας’, Ἀρχεῖον τῶν Βυζαντινῶν Μνημείων τῆς Ἑλλάδος, 4 (1938), 147−58 (p. 157); Vojislav Djurić, ‘Mali Grad − Sv. Atanasije u Kosturu − Borje’, Zograf, 6 (1975), 31−50 (p. 39); Stylianos Pelekanides and Manolis Chatzidakis, Καστοριά. Βυζαντινή Τέχνη στην Ελλάδα. Ψηφιδωτά Τοιχογραφίες (Athens: Melissa, 1984), pp. 106−119 (p. 106); Eugenia Drakopoulou, Η Πόλη της Καστοριάς τη Βυζαντινή και Μεταβυζαντινή Εποχή (12ος − 16ος αι.). Ιστορία − Τέχνη − Επιγραφές. Τετράδια Βυζαντινής Αρχαιολογίας και Τέχνης, 5 (Athens: Χριστιανική Αρχαιολογική Εταιρεία, 1997) pp. 65, 95−97; Nikos Pazaras, ‘Οι τοιχογραφίες του ναού του Αγίου Αθανασίου του Μουζάκη και η ένταξή τους στη μνημειακή ζωγραφική της Καστοριάς και της ευρύτερης περιοχής’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, 2013 https://www. didaktorika.gr/eadd/handle/10442/29197). Inscription text after Pazaras, p. 29; Euthymios N. Tsigaridas, Καστοριά. Κέντρο ζωγραφικής την εποχή των Παλαιολόγων (1360−1450) (Thessaloniki: Εταιρεία Μακεδονικών Σπουδών, 2016), pp. 201−41; Ioannis Vitaliotis, ‘Les Albanais et la dernière phase de la période byzantine (xive−xve siècles). Quelques témoignages provenant de la peinture murale’, in Βyzance et ses voisins, xiiie-xve siècle; art, identité, pouvoir, ed. Elisabeth Yota. Pour une histoire nouvelle de l’Europe, 17 (Brussels: Peter Lang, 2021), pp. 63−88 (pp. 70−72).

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1385. The inscription in Hagios Athanasios, in which the bishop of Kastoria is mentioned, demonstrates that they worked harmoniously with the local ecclesiastical authorities. As is shown by the extant epigraphic evidence, in the late Middle Ages Albanian donors did not use their own language in written form for church inscriptions; instead they chose Greek, Latin or Slavonic, depending on the geographical region and the historical conditions of the time.70 In addition, it should be noted that, according to epigraphic evidence, Greek was the lingua franca in church inscriptions commissioned by the local mixed populations − Greeks, Albanians and Slavs − in the bishoprics subordinated to the archbishopric of Ohrid. Particularly during the fourteenth century, local Albanian and Slav rulers, office holders and aristocrats, as well as clerics and common people, generally composed their dedicatory inscriptions in Greek.71 In the fifteenth century this phenomenon becomes rarer. In addition, it is noteworthy to note that the painter of the church of Hagios Athanasios belonged to a workshop active in Kastoria and its broader region in the decades 1360−1400.72 The same acculturation combined with the political aspirations of the Albanian rulers is evident in conspicuous examples in Epiros. In the Paregoretissa in Arta, an imposing church, built in its present form and decorated with high-quality mosaics between 1294 and 1296/98 by Nikephoros I Angelos Komnenos Doukas, despot of Epiros (1267/68−1296/98) and his wife Anna Palaiologina,73 there is an interesting wall painting in the north-eastern

70 Theofan Popa, Mbishkrime të kishave të shqipërisë (Tirana: Akademia e shkencave e RSH, 1998), pp. 49−52, 149−51. Latin prevails in the region of Shkodra (Shkodër) in northern Albania, Popa, pp. 329−34. See also Ioannis Vitaliotis, ‘Late Byzantine and Early Post-Byzantine Painting in a Borderland: Considering Some Frescoes with Slavonic Inscriptions in the Peschkopi Area, Eastern Albania’, in Marginalia. Art Readings 2018, ed. Ivanka Gergova and Elissaveta Moussakova (Sofia: Institute of Art Studies, BAS, 2019), pp. 365−81; Ioannis Vitaliotis, ‘“In fernem Land, unnahbar euren Schritten…”. Theodor Anton Ippen’s reports on the Medieval Churches of the Albanian North. A critical approach’, in Journeys. Art Readings 2020, ed. Emmanuel Moutafov and Μargarita Κujumdzhieva (Sofia: Institute of Art Studies, BAS, 2021), pp. 101−23; Vitaliotis, ‘Les Albanais’, 63−88. I thank Ioannis Vitaliotis for this useful information. 71 Djurić, ‘Mali Grad − Sv. Atanasije u Kosturu −Borje’, (n. 69) 31−50; Cvetan Grozdanov, Ohridsko zidno slikarstvo XIV veka (Belgrade: Institut pour la protection des monuments de la culture et Musée national d’Ohrid, 1980), p. 103, fig. 88 (church of the Virgin in Zaum, 1361), p. 122, fig. 116 (church of the Virgin Peribleptos, chapel of St Gregory the Theologian, Ohrid, 1364/65), p. 151, fig. 164 (Mal Sv. Kliment, Ohrid, 1378); Gojko Subotić, Sveti Konstantin i Jelena u Ohridu (Belgrade: Faculté de Philosophie, Institut d’histoire de l’art, 1981), pp. 18−19, 106−08, fig. 12; Saška Bogevska-Capuano, Les églises rupestres de la région des lacs d’Ohrid et de Prespa, Milieu du xiiie − milieu du xve siècle (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015), pp. 357−462 (Mali Grad); Vitaliotis, ‘Les Albanais’, pp. 68−70 (Mal Sveti Kliment). On the ecclesiastical and political role of the archbishopric of Ohrid see Angeliki Delikari, Η Αρχιεπισκοπή Αχριδών κατά τον Μεσαίωνα. Ο ρόλος της ως ενωτικού παράγοντα στην πολιτική και εκκλησιαστική ιστορία των Σλάβων των Βαλκανίων και του Βυζαντίου (Thessaloniki: University Studio Press, 2014). 72 On the Greek inscriptios of the 15th c., Subotić, Ohridsko slikarska škola XV veka (Belgrade: Institut d’histoire de l’art − Institut pour la protection des monuments de la culture et Musée national d’Ohrid, 1980), p. 86, fig. 65 (St Nicholas in Selu Vevi, 1460), p. 95, fig. 72 (church of the Ascension in Leskoec, 1461/62). On the painters’ workshop which painted Hagios Athanasios, see above n. 69. 73 On the church, Anastasios K. Orlandos, Ἡ Παρηγορήτισσα τῆς Ἄρτης, Βιβλιοθήκη τῆς ἐν Ἀθήναις Ἀρχαιολογικῆς Ἑταιρείας, 52 (Athens: Ἡ ἐν Ἀθήναις Ἀρχαιολογικὴ Ἑταιρεία, 1963); Lioba Theis, Die Architektur der Kirche der Parēgorētissa in Arta/Epirus (Amsterdam: A. M. Hakkert, 1991); Lorenzo Riccardi, ‘Uniform, Incomplete and Partly Lost: On the Mosaic and Sculptural Decoration of the Paregoretissa Church in Arta’, in Epirus Revisited. New Perceptions of Its History and Material Culture, ed. Christos Stavrakos, Byzantioς Studies in Byzantine History and Civilisation, 16 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), pp. 139−84; Lorenzo Riccardi, ‘La Parigoritissa di Arta, un incrocio di tradizioni artistiche nel Despotato d’Epiro’, Arte Medievale, IV serie, 10 (2020), 353−62.

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chapel.74 Two noble members of the Albanian Spata family are depicted on either side of the Archangel Michael: Pavlos Spata, archon of Angelokastron (1401/2−1406) and Naupaktos (1406−1407/8) to his right, and Ioannes/Gkines Mpoua Spata, despot of Arta (1373/74−1399) to his left. Following a well-established Byzantine iconography, the despot is being led by the Archangel Michael to the Mother of God, depicted on the adjacent wall. The fresco, previously dated to the beginning of the fifteenth century, has now been redated to the last decades of the fourteenth.75 Moreover, in a recent article, Christos Stavrakos drew attention to another Greek inscription carved on a column of the south gallery of the church of the Pantanassa in Philippias/Epiros, in which the same Albanian despot, Ioannes/Gkines Mpoua Spata, is commemorated.76 The church was built by Michael II Angelos Komnenos Dukas shortly before the middle of the thirteenth century and the galleries were added by Despot Nikephoros in the early 1290s. The names of the Albanian patrons are written in Greek in the badly-damaged inscriptions in both churches, the Paregoretissa and the Pantanassa. Thus, language and iconography demonstrate the high degree of acculturation of the Albanian rulers, especially Ioannes Mpoua Spata, who chose not by chance to commemorate himself in churches built by earlier despots of Epiros, claiming to be their heir. Genoese

Two very interesting cases concern Latins of the ruling class who adopted the Greek language for their official inscriptions. According to the dedicatory inscription, the church of Saint George in Prasteia near Siderounda on the island of Chios was renovated and painted at the expense of the Genoese nobleman Battista Giustiniani da Campi and his wife Bigota (born Arangio) in the year 1415.77 Ἀνεκενήσθη ἐκ βάθρων καὶ ὑλογραφήθη ὁ πάνσεπτος οὗτος καὶ θεῖος να|ὸς τοῦ ἁγίου καὶ ἐνδόξου μεγαλομάρτυρος καὶ τροπαιοφόρου Γεωργίου δι’ ἐ|ξόδου τοῦ ὑψηλωτάτου αὐθέντου μησὲρ Πατέστω Ἰουστινία τα Κάμπια | καὶ τῆς ὑψηλωτάτης μαδόνας Πηκότας..ἔτους [ˏϛ]ϡΚΓ’ Ñ | Η: μηνί Αὐγούστω ΚΒ (6923 = 1415). This most venerable and holy church of the glorious grand martyr and victorious saint George was renovated from its foundations and painted at the expense of his

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On the inscription, Sophia Kalopissi-Verti, Dedicatory Inscriptions and Donor Portraits in Thirteenth-Century Churches of Greece. Veröffentlichungen der Kommission für die Tabula Imperii Byzantini, 5 (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1992), pp. 53−54, no. 7. Demetrios Giannoulis, ‘Το παρεκκλήσιο του Αρχαγγέλου Μιχαήλ στο καθολικό της Παρηγορήτισσας και η αναθηματική παράσταση ηγεμόνων του Δεσποτάτου της Ηπείρου’, in Μίλτος Γαρίδης (1926−96). Αφιέρωμα, 2 vols (Ioannina: University of Ioannina, Department of Archaeology, 2003), ed. Athanasios Paliouras and Angeliki Stavropoulou, Παράρτημα Επετηρίδας “Δωδώνη”, 66, I, pp. 123−52; Barbara Papadopoulou, ‘Επιτύμβια παράσταση στο ναό της Παναγίας Παρηγορήτισσας στην Άρτα’, DChAE, 25 (2004), 141−54; Christos Stavrakos, ‘The Albanian Family of Spata in Late Byzantine and Post-Byzantine Epirus: The Epigraphic Evidence’, in Epirus Revisited. (n. 73), pp. 37−58 (pp. 39−46); Vitaliotis, ‘Les Albanais’ (n. 69), pp. 75−78. Stavrakos, p. 40; Vitaliotis, ‘Les Albanais’, p. 78. Stavrakos, pp. 41−46. Charikleia Koilakou,‘Ὁ ναός τοῦ Ἁγίου Γεωργίου στά Πραστειά Σιδερούντας Χίου’, DChAE, 11 (1982−83), 37−76, inscription text on p. 41. See also Johannes Koder, Aigaion Pelagos (Die nördliche Ägäis), TIB 10 (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1998), pp. 276−77.

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excellency lord sire Patesto Ioustinia ta Kampia (Battista Giustiniani da Campi) and her excellency the Lady Pikota (Bigota), in the year 1415, 8th indiction, in the month of August, [on] the 22nd) (Fig. 7). Despite the Genoese descent and ethnicity of the donors as evidenced by their names in the foundation inscription, the iconographic programme of the church is entirely Orthodox in character. The style follows the currents of the great artistic centres of late Byzantium, and all the tituli of the holy figures and accompanying epigraphs are written in Greek. Had the dedicatory inscription not been preserved, nobody would ever have suspected that the founders were Genoese noblemen, descendants of renowned families of the maona, the mercantile company which governed Chios from 1346 to 1566.78 What possible interpretation can we put on the appropriation of the Greek language by the noble Genoese couple, and what is the message they wish to convey by doing this/through this? The complete assimilation of the third-generation Genoese nobility into the Greek cultural, religious and linguistic environment? Their respect for the local population and perhaps an attempt to convince them of the need for solidarity in resisting the threat from the Turks?79 Similarly, a Greek inscription commissioned by the local Genoese ruler is found in the citadel of Chora in Samothrace. The metrical inscription, dated to 1431/32, commemorates Palamede Gattilusio, Genoese lord of Ainos and Samothrace.80 Written in dodecasyllabic verses on a marble slab (2.27 m × 0.42 m), it is immured in the south side of a rectangular tower in the exterior defensive wall of the citadel: † Κ(αὶ) τοῦτον ἀνήγειρεν ἐκ βάθρων πύργον | μέγας ἀριστεύς φιλόπολις αὐθέντης | Αἴνου λαμπρᾶς πόλεως κ(αὶ) τῆσδε νήσου | Παλαμήδης ἔνδοξος Γατελιοῦζος | ὅς κ(αὶ) τοῦτο ἔστησεν ἐν χρόνοις ἔργον | τετράκις δέκα ἱππεύουσι κ(αὶ) πρὸς γε | ἐννακοσίοις κ(αὶ) χιλίοις ἑξάκις | φοβερὸν ὁ λαμπρὸς φρούριον πολεμίοις. | ˏϛϡμα´ [and in a separate field on the left:] Κωστ(αντῖνος) μάστ(ορας).81 The illustrious Palamedes Gateliouzos erected this tower from its foundations, the great, excellent, lover of the city, lord of glorious Ainos and of this island, he, who built this work in the year six thousand nine hundred and forty (6940 = 1431/32), a formidable fortress (is) the magnificent (tower) against enemies. ϛϡμα = 6941 = 1432/33 Master mason Konstantinos.82 (Fig. 8). 78 On the establishment of the Genoese on Chios, Balard, La Romanie génoise (n. 45), pp. 119−27, 259−64. On the Latin-inscribed monuments of the island, Hasluck, ‘Latin Monuments’ (n. 28). 79 Koilakou,‘Ὁ ναός τοῦ Ἁγίου Γεωργίου’, p. 75. 80 On Παλαμήδης Γατελιούζος (Palamede Gattilusiο), lord of Ainos (1409−55) and Samothrace (c. 1431−55), PLP, no. 3583. 81 Catherine Asdracha and Charalambos Bakirtzis, ‘Inscriptions byzantines de Thrace (viiie−xve siècles). Édition et commentaire historique’, ΑD, 35 (1980) Μελέτες [Athens, 1986], 241−82 (pp. 273−76, no. 31); Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme auf Stein (n. 32), pp. 345−48, no. GR 107; Κάστρο Χώρας Σαμοθράκης. Το μνημείο και το έργο ανάδειξης (Samothraki: Ministry of Culture and Sports − Ephorate of Antiquities of Evros, 2015), pp. 28−29. See also Koder, Aigaion Pelagos, pp. 153−54, on Samothrace, pp. 273−75. 82 There is a slight discrepancy between the date mentioned in lines 6−7 of the epigram (6940 = 1431/32) and the date incised in the left field under the epigram (6941 = 1432/33), Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme auf Stein, pp. 346−47. There are two possible translations of the last verse, depending on whether λαμπρός refers to Palamedes who erected this formidable fortress against enemies (Asrdracha and Bakirtzis) or to the tower which

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Between the two parts of the inscription, there are four square fields representing in relief the single-headed eagle and the scale motif, both emblems of the Gattilusi, as well as the double-headed eagle and the Palaiologan monogram, symbols of the Byzantine ruling family. The group of four betas in the quadrants of a cross above the scale motif has previously been interpreted as standing for Βασιλεύς Βασιλέων Βασιλεύων Βασιλευόντων and being related to the Palaiologoi, a theory which has since been questioned. This motif appears on coins of Andronikos II and Michael IX Palaiologos (1294−1320),83 while Pseudo-Kodinos in his Treatise De officiis refers to it in relation to navy officials as “the customary imperial banner that is a cross with flint-strikers”.84 The reference to the Palaiologoi alludes not only to the Gattilusio family’s relationship by marriage to the Byzantine ruling dynasty85 but also to the desire of the Genoese to legitimize their sovereignty over Samothrace and the other islands of the northeastern Aegean by presenting themselves as heirs of the Palaiologoi.86 The master mason Konstantinos is recorded in two further Greek inscriptions referring to the foundation of churches in Ainos, dated to 1420/21 and 1422/23 respectively, and in one bilingual epigraph on one of the towers of the castle of Samothrace from the year 1431.87 The sophisticated metrical inscription, with its encomiastic content in relation to the illustrious Palamede Gattilusio, and the inclusion of the Palaiologan monogram and emblems alluding to the Byzantine imperial family, is addressed to the Greek indigenous population of Samothrace, conveying a clear message. By erecting a mighty stronghold, is a formidable fortress against enemies (Rhoby). On the phenomenon of providing the date in verses, Andreas Rhoby, ‘“When the year ran through six times of thousands…”: The Date in (Inscriptional) Byzantine Epigrams’, in “Pour une poétique de Byzance”. Hommage à Vassilis Katsaros, ed. St. Efthymiadis et al., Dossiers byzantins, 16 (Paris: De Boccard, 2015), pp. 223−42 (p. 242, no. 18). 83 Catalogue of the Byzantine Coins in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection and in the Whittemore Collection, ed. Alfred R. Bellinger and Philip Grierson, 5 vols (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Center for Byzantine Studies, 1966−99), 5.2, pl. 36. 618−21 (trachea), pl. 40. 699, 700, 711 (assaria). On the different interpretations of the four betas, whether as a letter or the representation of a fire steel (French: briquet), familiar in Western heraldry, see Catalogue of the Byzantine Coins, 5.1, pp. 87−89. 84 Ruth Macrides, Joseph A. Munitiz, and Dimiter Angelov, Pseudo-Kodinos and the Constantinopolitan Court: Offices and Ceremonies. Birmingham Byzantine and Ottoman Studies, 15 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013), pp. 70−71 (167). 19−21 “Καὶ οἱ μὲν εἰς τὰ ἕτερα κάτεργα εὑρισκόμενοι ἄρχοντες ὡς κεφαλαὶ, ἱστῶσι τὸ σύνηθες βασιλικὸν φλάμουλον ἤτοι σταυρὸν μετά πυρεκβόλων.” For a discussion of the Byzantine insignia, see Andrea Babuin, ‘Standards and Insignia of Byzantium’, Byzantion, 71.1 (2001), 5−59 (pp. 37−40); Andrea Babuin, ‘Σημαίες της παλαιολόγειας περιόδου’, ArchEph, 149 (2010), 109−43 (pp. 127−28); Robert Ousterhout, ‘Emblems of Power in Palaiologan Constantinople’, in The Byzantine Court: Source of Power and Culture. Papers from the Second International Sevgi Gönül Byzantine Studies Symposium, 21−23 June 2010, ed. Ayla Ödekan et al. (Istanbul: Koç University Press, 2013), pp. 89−94 (pp. 90−91). 85 Francesco I Gattilusio, grandfather of Palamede, married the sister of Emperor John V Palaiologos, Eirene/Maria, in 1355 and received Lesbos as her dowry. Francesco II probably married a daughter of John V, Anthony Luttrell, ‘John V’s Daughters: A Palaiologan Puzzle’, DOP, 40 (1986), 103−12. On the family tree of the Gattilusio Lords, Wright, The Gattilusio Lordships (n. 45), XVii. 86 Balard, La Romanie génoise, I, 83−104; Asdracha and Bakirtzis, ‘Inscriptions byzantines de Thrace’, p. 272. 87 Asdracha, Inscriptions protobyzantines et byzantines de la Thrace (n. 46), pp. 261−67, nos 32 (1420/21) and 34 (1422/23) in Ainos; Asdracha and Bakirtzis, ‘Inscriptions byzantines de Thrace’, pp. 271−73, no. 30 (1431) in Samothrace. On the church of Chrysopege in Ainos and its inscription, see Stavros Mamaloukos and Ioannes Perrakis, ‘The Church of Theotokos Chrysopege at Ainos (Enez)’, in Proceedings of the 4th International Symposium on Thracian Studies: Byzantine Thrace. Evidence and Remains. Komotini 18−22 April 2007, ed. Charalambos Bakirtzis et al., Byzantinische Forschungen, 30 (2011), pp. 503−35 (pp. 507−08, figs 6−8). On the bilingual inscription in the fortress of Samothrace, see below.

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the glorious lord Palamede, showing great self-confidence, assumes the defence of the island against the Ottomans as a relative and ally of the Palaiologoi. The Gattilusio lord appropriates the language of the local Greeks, probably appealing to them to co-operate, and, moreover, entrusts the composition of the epigram to the talents of a Greek scholar and the erection of the tower to the skills of a Greek master builder. Appropriating the Greek language and espousing Greek culture does not mean that the Genoese lords ignored their ancestral identity. In my view it is a conscious political act aimed at engaging with and winning over their audience, the Greek-speaking local population. C. Bilingual Inscriptions Bilingual inscriptions, mostly Latin or Italian and Greek, occur primarily in the late medieval period and reflect the new historical and social conditions and the complex mixed societies that developed after the Fourth Crusade, with the settlement of foreign populations in the fragmented world of the former Byzantine territories.88 Slavonic − Greek

A short bilingual inscription has been preserved on a pseudo-sarcophagus slab from the Church of the Transfiguration at Chortiates, near Thessaloniki. In the middle of the slab a foliated double-cross bearing the Greek abbreviations IC XC is flanked by griffons and eagles. Under the griffons, on either side, a flat band has the same plain inscription: in Greek † τάφ]ος Μιχαήλ (= Michael’s tomb) on the left and in Church Slavonic † СНI ГРѠБЪ МНХАНЛѠВЪ (= This is Michael’s tomb) on the right.89 This is a rare example of a bilingual inscription in a funerary context. The Slavonic inscription may indicate the ancestral identity of the bilingual owner of the tomb, while the use of Greek would imply that he also thought of himself as belonging to another, Greek-speaking, social group. However, the exact opposite hypothesis could also be proposed: the deceased, Michael, could have been a person of Greek descent, living and acting in a Serbian milieu. Whichever is the case, a sense of dual identity seems to be evident. The relief slab has been dated to the first half of the fourteenth century, a period of intensive interaction and artistic exchange between Greeks and Serbs, especially in the reign of King Milutin (1282−1321).

88 On bilingualism in the ancient world down to the fourth century ad and the relation of Latin to other languages, see the seminal book by James N. Adams, Bilingualism and the Latin Language (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). On bilingualism in Byzantium, see Peter Schreiner, ‘Bilingualismus, Bilaterität und Digraphie in Byzanz’, in Historische Mehrsprachigkeit, ed. Dietrich Boschung and Claudia Maria Riehl, ZSMStudien, 4 (Aachen: Shaker Verlag, 2011), pp. 125−41. On multilingualism in Latin Romania in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries with regard to state institutions — administrative, fiscal, judicial — see David Jacoby, ‘Multilingualism and Institutional Patterns of Communication in Latin Romania (Thirteenth−Fourteenth Centuries)’, in Diplomatics in the Eastern Mediterranean 1000–1500. Aspects of Cross-Cultural Communication, ed. Alexander D. Beihammer, Maria G. Parani, and Christopher D. Schabel (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2008), pp. 27−48. On bilingual inscriptions (Latin − Greek) in early Byzantium see Rhoby, ‘Latin Inscriptions’ (n. 20), pp. 287−88, 293 and passim. 89 Pazaras, Ανάγλυφες σαρκοφάγοι (n. 33), pp. 35−36, no. 37, pl. 26b. I wish to thank Anna Zakharova for her help with the Slavonic text.

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The most numerous and most interesting group in this category consists of Latin (sometimes Italian)−Greek inscriptions. As a rule they are more or less direct translations. Sometimes, however, they may have different content. For example, on a thirteenth-century pointed double arch from a funerary monument found on the Acropolis, now in the Byzantine and Christian Museum in Athens, the relief figures of the deceased couple are accompanied by a Latin epigraph: Hic jace[nt] … sei q(ui) op(us) fe[cit] … no(stri) d(omi)ni hue …(= Here lie …this work was made …of our Lord …). On the same arch there is also a very fragmentary Greek inscription [τ]οῦ κιβουρίο[υ] (= of the ciborium) alluding to a sepulchral monument.90 Given the fragmentary condition of both inscriptions, it cannot be deduced whether one was a translation of the other, or whether they functioned complementarily. The relief decoration of this sepulchral arch shares the same Western stylistic features with a number of sculpted arches from funerary ciboria also from Athens which have Greek inscriptions, while on a fragment of another arch the apostle Paul can be identified thanks to a Latin inscription [P]aul[us].91 All these reliefs have been stylistically associated with a workshop which came from Italy, probably Apulia, and worked on the sculpted decoration of the first phase of the Paregoretissa in Arta, built by Michael II Angelos Komnenos Dukas around the mid thirteenth century.92 Recently Lorenzo Riccardi has challenged this date and linked the Paregoretissa’s sculptures to the church’s second phase of construction, carried out under the Despot Nikephoros in 1294−1296/98.93 Whether they are dated to the mid-thirteenth century, or instead to the late thirteenth century, on the basis of their stylistic resemblance to the Paregoretissa sculptures, it has been surmised that this group of reliefs from Athens, with western decorative features and mixed Greco-Latin inscriptions, was intended to address an audience made up of both Greeks and Latins, probably a mixed social elite which apparently emerged in Athens after the Frankish occupation. In this case the agency of the inscriptions is decisive, because it is through the language of the epigraphs and not through differentiated artistic forms and styles

90 Sklavou-Mavroeidi, Γλυπτά του Βυζαντινού Μουσείου Αθηνών (n. 7), p. 192, no. 266. 91 On these sculptures see Andreas Xyngopoulos, ‘Φραγκοβυζαντινὰ γλυπτὰ ἐν Ἀθήναις’, ΑrchΕph, 1931, 69−102; Ivison, ‘Latin Tomb monuments’ (n. 28), pp. 92–93; Liveri, Die byzantinischen Steinreliefs (n. 33), pp. 129−31, 178, nos 41−43; Sklavou-Mavroeidi, Γλυπτά του Βυζαντινού Μουσείου Αθηνών, pp. 189−95. 92 On the sculptures of the Paregoretissa see Orlandos, Ἡ Παρηγορήτισσα (n. 73) pp. 66−93; Linda Safran, ‘Exploring Artistic Links between Epiros and Apulia in the Thirteenth Century: the Problem of Sculpture and Wall-Painting’, in Πρακτικά Διεθνούς Συμποσίου για το Δεσποτάτο της Ηπείρου, Άρτα 27−31 Μαΐου 1990, ed. Evangelos Chrysos (Arta: Μουσικοφιλολογικός Σύλλογος Άρτης “Ο Σκουφάς”, 1992), pp. 455−74; Sophia Kalopissi-Verti, ‘Relations between East and West in the Lordship of Athens and Thebes after 1204: Archaeological and Artistic Evidence’, in Archaeology and the Crusades. Proceedings of the Round Table, Nicosia, 1 February 2005, ed. Peter Edbury and Sophia Kalopissi-Verti (Athens: Pierides Foundation, 2007), pp. 25−27; Nikos Melvani, ‘Η γλυπτική στις “ιταλοκρατούμενες” και “φραγκοκρατούμενες” περιοχές της ανατολικής Μεσογείου κατά τον 13ο και 14ο αιώνα’, in Γλυπτική και Λιθοξοϊκή (n. 26), pp. 34−46 (pp. 36−37); Nicholas Melvani, Late Byzantine Sculpture. Studies in the Visual Cultures of the Middle Ages, 6 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), pp. 117−18. On the first phase of the Paregoretissa, Theis, Die Architektur (n. 73). 93 Riccardi, ‘Uniform, Incomplete and Partly Lost’ (n. 73), pp. 139−84; Riccardi, ‘La Parigoritissa di Arta’, (n. 73) pp. 353−62.

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that the ethnicity and identity of the owners of the tombs may be traced.94 Another hypothesis could be that these funerary monuments, some of which were found on the Acropolis, were used by the Frankish aristocracy, a group of nobles with cosmopolitan characteristics, open to acculturation. A now-lost bilingual (Latin and Greek) inscription in Patras referring to the restoration of a church by the Latin archbishop of Patras, Pandolfo Malatesta, in 1426, consisted of two marble blocks, re-used until the Second World War as the jambs of a door in the keep of the castle. In the middle of each block there was a coat of arms. The bilingual text read:95 A. Insigniu(m) seu arma | domini Pandulpḥ[i] dẹ [M]alatestis archi|epischopi Patrace[n(sis)] aedificatoris hui(us) | ecclesie MCCCCXXVI (= 1426) B. Σημεῖον αὐθέντου Πανδούλφου | ντὲ Μαλατέστοις μ(ητ)ροπολίτου Παλαιῶν Πατρῶν, τọῦ ἀνακαι|νίσαντος τὸν τῇδε θεῖον ναὸν τῷ χιλιοστῷ τετρακοσι|oστῷ εἰκοστῷ ἕκτῳ ἔτει. Insignium (coat of arms) of Lord Pandulphos de Malatestis, metropolitan of Old Patras, who renovated this holy church in the year 1426. Pandolfo Malatesta was the last Latin archbishop of Patras (1424−1429), before the city was surrendered to Konstantinos Palaiologos in 1430.96 It has been surmised that the church mentioned in the inscription was that of the Sts Theodore, in all probability initially a Byzantine church, which was situated in the castle.97 It is obvious that the official policy of the Latin metropolitan of Patras was to address not only his Latin flock but the Greek inhabitants as well. It is interesting to note that the Greek text is a more or less exact translation of the Latin, well adapted to the Greek linguistic formulae of an official inscription. This raises questions as to the way the secretariat of the Latin archbishopric may have functioned. Were there two different people responsible for the texts, a Latin and a Greek, who collaborated, or was there only one official, fluent in both languages, who composed the bilingual inscription?98 Two examples of bilingual inscriptions, dated to the 1430s, are related to the Gattilusi, lords of Samothrace and Thasos at that time. The first appears on a marble slab (1.15 m × 0.42 m) immured in the east wall of a rectangular tower in the inner enclosure wall of the Chora in Samothrace. The Latin text is written in two lines framing the upper and lower part of three square fields, which include the insignia of the Gattilusi: the single-headed eagle,

94 It should be noted that all inscriptions on the sculptures of the Paregoretissa are in Greek, Orlandos, Ἡ Παρηγορήτισσα, pp. 66−93. 95 Bon, ‘Pierres inscrites’ (n. 29), pp. 99−100, pl. 28b; Feissel and Philippidis-Braat, ‘Inscriptions du Péloponnèse’ (n. 29), pp. 347−49, no. 86, pl. XXVII, 4–5. 96 Denis A. Zakythinos, Le Despotat grec de Morée. Histoire politique. Édition revue et augmentée par Chryssa Maltezou (London: Variorum, 1975), I, pp. 208−09; Bon, La Morée franque (n. 33), I, pp. 290−92, 452−53. 97 Hélène Saranti-Mendelovici, ‘À propos de la ville de Patras aux 13e−15e siècles’, REB, 38 (1980), 219−32 (p. 229). Bon, ‘Pierres inscrites’, p. 100, suggested the church of the inscription should be identified with the church of St Andreas. 98 On this topic, Jacoby, ‘Multilingualism’ (n. 88), pp. 27−48 (p. 45).

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the scale motif with the cross and the four betas in its quadrants, as well as the monogram of the Palaiologoi:99 MCCCCLXXXI † […] Palamides Paleol(ogus) Gatilu[sius dominus] Eney zehedificar[i fe]cit hanc turrim die XXVI marcii 1481 Palamides Palaiologos Gatilusius, lord of Ainos, had this tower erected on the 26th day of March. On three separate vertical bands the Greek part of the inscription is written: ˏϚϡΛΘ´ / Παλαμ(ήδης) / μά(στορας) Κωστ(αντῖνος)

1431. Palamedes. The master mason Konstantinos (Fig. 9). The Greek text does not render the Latin word for word; it repeats the basic information, i.e. the patron’s name (Palamedes) and the date 1431, and it complements it by adding the name of the master mason Konstantinos, known also from other inscriptions as discussed above. 1431 is considered to be the correct date, not 1481, as given in the Latin text, since by then Samothrace was already in the hands of the Ottomans.100 It is interesting to note that in the case of the Samothrace fortress, it is the location of the inscriptions that plays a decisive role with regard to the choice of language. On the exterior defensive wall the inscription is in Greek101 because it addresses the Greekspeaking inhabitants of the island; by contrast, the inscription on the inner wall of the castle is principally composed in Latin, with few additions in Greek, probably because it was meant for the Latin and mixed populace of the castle. The second Latin–Greek inscription connected, indirectly, to the Gattilusi is found on Thasos. It comes from the castle and is engraved on a marble slab (0.84 m × 0.38 m) reused in the southeast corner of the church of St Athanasios (1804).102 The Latin text, in one line on the top of the relief slab, reads: † In Christi no(m)i(n)e factun est MCCCCCXXXIIII die p(rima) ap(ri)llis † In the name of Christ [this] was made on the first of April 1534. The Greek text is written in a line under the Latin text: † έτους Ϛϡμβ − Μπέρτο Γριμάλταο † In the year 6942 = 1434 Berto Grimaltao. Under the inscriptions the coat of arms of the Gattilusi (with the scale motif and the cross with the four Bs) is placed in the centre, flanked by the coat of arms of the Grimaldi family and two fleurs-de-lis. Oberto Grimaldi was connected by marriage to the Gattilusi and was in the service of Dorino I Gattilusio, lord of Mytilini (1426/28−55). However, it 99 Asdracha and Bakirtzis, ‘Inscriptions byzantines de Thrace’ (n. 81), pp. 271−73, no. 30, pl. 76a; Κάστρο Χώρας Σαμοθράκης (n. 81), pp. 30−31. On the insignia of the Gattilusio, see above, pp. 133-34. 100 Asdracha and Bakirtzis,‘Inscriptions byzantines de Thrace’, p. 271. 101 See above pp. 133-34. 102 Charalambos Bakirtzis, ‘Trois inscriptions de Kastro (Thasos)’, in Thasiaca, BCH Suppl. V (1979), 455−66, 464−65, fig. 5.

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is not known in what capacity he exercised authority on Thasos in 1434.103 The year 1434, given in the Greek text, is the right one; obviously the date 1534 of the Latin inscription is a mistake, as by that time the island had long since come under Ottoman rule. The errors in the Latin dates probably indicate that the carvers were Greek and not very well acquainted with Latin numerals. These bilingual inscriptions of the Genoese Gattilusi express the interaction between different cultures in the mixed societies of their lordships in the unstable political world of the fifteenth-century northeastern Aegean. They demonstrate the degree of acculturation of the Genoese lords in late medieval Romania, and also reveal their political aims. On another Aegean island, Hospitaller Rhodes, a marble slab with a bilingual inscription, with the first five lines in Italian and the last three in Greek, is immured in the city walls close to St John’s gate (or Koskinou gate or Red gate). It records that this part of the wall was built by the master mason who constructed all the new walls of Rhodes, Manoles Kountes, in the year 1457, when the Grand Master Jacques de Milly (1454−61) ruled the island.104 The Italian inscription reads: † man[o]li c[ou]nti p[ro]tomaistro muradur e stato | p[ro]tomaist[ro] de tuta la muralia nova de rodo p[er] laqual | cosa de licencia de lo r[everendissimo] m[agist]r[o] pre[claro] signo[r] mo[n]signo[r] fra | jacobo de mil[l]i maist[ro] de lo hospital de sant Io[hanni] de ih[e]r[usa]l[e]m | a fato far questo seto l’an mo iiijo lvij a xx de aoust Manolis Kountes, master mason, was the master builder of all the new walls of Rhodes; for this reason and by permission of the most reverend illustrious master lord monsignor brother James [ Jacques] of Milly, master of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem, (he) had this (inscribed) slab made in the year 1457 on August 20. The Greek text follows: † Ἀνηγέρθη ἐκ βάθρου καὶ ἀνικοδομή|θει τὸ παρὸν τηχαῖον τῆς Ρόδου· προ|τομαστορέβοντος καμοῦ Μανο[υ]ὴλ Κουντ[ῆ]. This wall was erected from the foundation and built when I, Manuel Kountes, was master builder (Fig. 10). This is a rare kind of inscription, which was actually made to commemorate not a Grand Master of the Order but the master mason of the new fortification walls of the city of Rhodes. It seems that master masons, or more probably engineers, able to build strong defensive city walls, were persons of significance in an age when the security of urban centres was at risk. It is not

103 Wright, The Gattilusio Lordships (n. 45). pp. 278−79. 104 Gabriel, La Cité de Rhodes (n. 44), I (1921), pp. 97−98, fig. 58, pl. XXIX, 3; Pietro Egidi, ‘Di un’inscrizione medievale italo-greca sulle mura di Rhodi’, Atti della Reale Accademia delle Scienze di Torino, 63 (1928), 61−69; Giuseppe Gerola, ‘Il contributo dell’Italia alle opere d’arte militari rodiesi’, Atti del Reale Istituto Veneto di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti, Anno academico 1929−30, 89 (1930), 1015−27 (pp. 1020−21). The name of the master mason was previously read as Manolis Konstantinou, but it is clear that the name should be read as Manolis Kountis: Kollias, Η Μεσαιωνική Πόλη της Ρόδου (n. 26), p. 83. According to Gabriel, p. 98, the word seto can refer either to the wall or the inscription slab. On the tower of St John and the inscription, Anna Maria Kasdagli and Katerina Manousou-Della, ‘The Defences of Rhodes and the Tower of St John’, Fort, 24 (1996), 15−35 (on the inscription, pp. 23, 34, n. 28, fig. 18).

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by chance that another master builder, Konstantinos, is recorded in the inscriptions on some city walls of the Gattilusio lordships.105 However, the Gattilusio inscriptions on the fortifications were intended to commemorate the Genoese lord, as is evident from the epigraphic text and the family insignia; in accordance with medieval customs and perceptions, the mason’s name was recorded separately and rather discreetly.106 The inscription from Rhodes on the one hand expresses the builder’s great pride in his own skills, and on the other underlines the great significance of the walls for the defence of the city in the face of the Ottoman advance. The Greek text of the inscription from Rhodes is not an exact translation of the Italian version. Beginning with the mention of the master mason’s name, the Italian text includes a respectful reference to the Grand Master, and is evidently addressed to the Hospitallers and the Latin inhabitants of the island. The Greek part is shorter and commemorates only the name of the master mason. This brief statement of identity was seemingly the essential message the builder wished to convey to the native Greek population, and reveals his ethnicity, his self-confidence, and a certain pride. Regarding the fortifications of Rhodes and bilingualism, it is noticeable that one of the c. thirteen relief icons immured in the city walls for the protection of towers and gates, and more specifically the one representing Saint Athanasios (0.70 × 0.60 m), close to the homonymous gate, is accompanied by a bilingual titulus, in Latin S(anctus) ATh|AnA|SIuS, in Lombard script, and in Greek Ο (άγιος) ΑΘΑΝ|ΑCΙΟ(ς). It is dated to the time of the Grand Master Fluvian (1421−37).107 Moreover, a rare example of a bilingual inscription in an urban domestic milieu is found in a private house in the town of Rhodes (end of fifteenth / beginning of sixteenth c.). Here the Latin inscription was immured in the facade, while the exact Greek translation was found in the courtyard: Pax huic domui et omnibus habitantibus in ea. Ἡ εἰρήνη τῷ οἴκῳ τούτῳ κ(αὶ) πᾶσι τοῖς κατοικοῦσιν ἐν αὐτῷ Peace to this house and to all those who live in it.108 The mansion, earlier thought to have belonged to the Greek bishop of Rhodes, has recently been identified by de Vaivre, on the basis of a coat of arms, as the residence of the noble Venetian family of the Zaccaria. One of its members, Zorzi Zaccaria, was vice-consul of Venice in Rhodes in 1517.109 It is interesting to note that a Venetian nobleman had not only

105 See Kasdagli and Manousou-Della, ‘The Defences of Rhodes’, pp. 27−28. See also the mention of another master mason, Petros, in a commemorative inscription in Mytilini in the time of the Gattilusi, Mazarakis, ‘Συμβολή στην εραλδική’ (n. 28), pp. 376−77. 106 On the status of architects and master masons in Byzantium and their relationship to the patrons, see Robert Ousterhout, Master Builders of Byzantium (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 2008), pp. 39−57. 107 Gabriel, La Cité de Rhodes, I (1921), p. 46, pl. XXVIII,4; Anna Maria Kasdagli, ‘Μικρή συμβολή στην επιγραφική και τη γλυπτική της μεσαιωνικής Ρόδου’, in Σοφία άδολος. Τιμητικός τόμος για τον Ιωάννη Χρ. Παπαχριστοδούλου, ed. Pavlos Triantafyllidis (Rhodes: Ministry of Culture and Sports − Archaeological Institute of Aegean Studies, 2014), pp. 215−32 (pp. 221−23). 108 Gabriel, La Cité de Rhodes, II (1923), pp. 112−14, fig. 75; Kasdagli, Stone Carving (n. 26), n. 284. On mixed identities in the multiethnic and multicultural milieu of Hospitaller Rhodes, see Luttrell, ‘Mixed Identities’ (n. 30), pp. 381−86. 109 Jean-Bernard de Vaivre, ‘Éléments héraldiques et épigraphiques de quelques églises et édifices de Rhodes’, Archives héraldiques suisses, 2010-I, 52−74 (pp. 71−74).

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a Latin inscription but also its Greek translation, obviously addressed to the indigenous guests and visitors, immured in his house. Lastly, although simple and unofficial, the thirteen bilingual (Greek−Latin/Italian) graffiti recorded in churches on Crete, mostly dated to the sixteenth century, are humble testimonies to the presence of a mixed, bilingual populace.110 They contain names or dates written in Latin and Greek, bilingual or mixed short texts, as well as Greek names, words or phrases written in the Latin alphabet.111 To sum up, bilingual epigraphs used by the Latin authorities, civil and ecclesiastical, to convey selected messages to both the Latin and the Greek community, illustrate the agency and effectiveness of inscriptions. Analyzing them helps us assess the extent to which these rulers were assimilated, but also their political intentions and ambitions as well as the identity and self-awareness of each community. Private inscriptions show the extent of social and interlinguistic contacts in the community. Comparable multicultural and multilingual regions, where Greeks and Latins were involved, include Sicily, where in the twelfth-century even quadrilingual inscriptions occur (Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Arabic), and the Salento in Southern Italy.112 In one of her articles, Linda Safran, who has aptly analyzed the linguistic and epigraphic evidence of the medieval Salento, deals with bilingual Latin−Greek inscriptions of the twelfth to fourteenth centuries, using terms and principles from the discipline of sociolinguistics, which examines the effect of all aspects of society on language and how language and society are interwoven.113 It should be noted that language mixing, in the sense of intra-sentential language mixing,114 as seen in the Salento inscriptions, is not strongly evidenced in those found in Latin Greece. Here the use of the two languages seems to be quite distinct. In the case of bilingual inscriptions, the Latin text precedes the Greek, emphasizing the dominance and power of the foreign rulers. Addressed to the Frankish community, Latin

110 Tsougarakis and Aggelomati-Tsougaraki, Σύνταγμα (n. 43), pp. 40−41. 111 Tsougarakis and Aggelomati-Tsougaraki, Σύνταγμα, nos 62.9, 62.16, 74.6, 127.9 for names or dates in the two languages; nos 59.14, 20.4 for bilingual and nos 20.62, 61.2, 187.4 for mixed graffiti; nos 14.12, 14.15, 14.58, 158.81 for Greek words or phrases written in Latin characters. 112 On the inscriptions in Sicily, André Guillou, Recueil des inscriptions grecques médiévales d’Italie. Collection de l’ École française de Rome, 222 (Rome: École française de Rome, 1996), pp. 218−20, 224−25, nos 199, 201; Barbara Zeitler, ‘“Urbs felix dotata populo trilingui”: Some Thoughts about a Twelfth-Century Funerary Memorial from Palermo’, Medieval Encounters, 2 (1996), 114−39; Jeremy Johns, ‘The Quadrilingual Epitaph of Anna, the Mother of Grisandus, a Priest of the Cappella Palatina, Palermo’, in The Visual Culture of Later Byzantium (c. 1081 − c. 1350), ed. Foteini Spingou. Sources for Byzantine Art History, vol. 3, II (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), pp. 1448−61. On the Salento inscriptions, Linda Safran, ‘Public Textual Cultures: A Case Study in Southern Italy’, in Textual Cultures of Medieval Italy, ed. William Robins (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2011), pp. 115−44; Linda Safran, The Medieval Salento. Art and Identity in Southern Italy, The Middle Ages Series (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2014), pp. 38−57 (with earlier bibliography). See also Andreas Rhoby, ‘The Greek inscriptions of Norman-Staufian Apulia in the late eleventh, the twelfth and the thirteenth centuries: texts and contexts’, in Oltre l’alto medioevo: etnie, vicende, culture nella Puglia Normanno-Sveva. Atti del XXII Congresso internazionale di studio sull’alto medioevo, 21−24 novembre 2019 (Spoleto: Fondazione Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 2020), pp. 392−417. 113 Linda Safran, ‘Language Choice in the Medieval Salento: A Sociolinguistic Approach to Greek and Latin inscriptions’, in Zwischen Polis, Provinz und Peripherie: Beiträge zur byzantinischen Geschichte und Kultur, ed. Lars Hoffmann, Mainzer Veröffentlichungen zur Byzantinistik, 7 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2005) pp. 853−82. 114 “Intra-sentential language mixing” means that “a single ‘sentence’ begins in one language and ends in, or is interrupted by, another”, Safran, ‘Language Choice’, p. 857.

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epigraphs are customarily more formal, elaborate, and complete. The Greek text follows, usually juxtaposed as an exact translation. Sometimes, however, it can deviate from the Latin version and then it underlines a certain message for the addressees — the Greek community — or offers complementary information. In the latter case, as well as in the case of certain graffiti recorded in the churches of Crete,115 we might speak of language mixing in the sociolinguistic sense. Conclusions Far from being exhaustive, this paper aimed to present a brief survey and discuss selected examples of extant inscriptions which reveal the presence and activities of foreign groups or individuals in medieval Greece, as well as the intercultural communication and interlinguistic contacts between them and the indigenous population. Non-Greek inscriptions reflect the historical conditions in medieval Greece, a nexus of different ethnicities, cultures and languages through time. Various ethnic groups, conquerors and immigrants, passed through or stayed for a short time, others settled in different parts of Greece: Jews, Albanians, and Melingoi, but also, importantly, Serbs, and Latins (who included Franks, Venetians, Genoese and the multi-ethnic military religious order of St John). They all left their epigraphic imprint, public or private, on fortifications, secular buildings and religious and funerary monuments, either in the shape of formal inscriptions or informal graffiti. Commissioned by rulers, administrative and military officials, clerics, noblemen and noblewomen, Latin inscriptions predominate among those written in a language other than Greek in the late medieval period, reflecting the turbulent time of political fragmentation in the Aegean and the Eastern Mediterranean after the Fourth Crusade and the predominance of Westerners in economic and commercial life.116 Inscriptions in Latin (and more rarely French or Italian) highlight the ethnic identity and dominance of the patrons and shed light on aspects of their social and religious life, their funerary customs and, not least, their concern for effective defences in the face of the Ottoman threat. Conversely, Serb rulers who were very active patrons and supporters of monasteries in the regions they ruled over far preferred the Greek language for their inscriptions. This appropriation of language reveals political ambitions, but also a sense of sharing the same cultural ideals and religious beliefs, in accord with the imperial title assumed by Dušan in 1345: βασιλεὺς καὶ αὐτοκράτωρ Σερβίας καὶ Ῥωμανίας.117 However, to what extent can we argue that the language of the inscriptions always reveals individual or collective ethnic identity?118 The selected examples presented 115 See above p. 124. 116 Jacoby, ‘Multilingualism’ (n. 88), pp. 27−48. 117 George Christos Soulis, The Serbs and Byzantium During the Reign of Tsar Stephen Dušan (1331−1355) and his Successors (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1984), pp. 29–30. 118 Issues related to identity have been the subject of recent research, see XIX International Congress of Byzantine Studies. University of Copenhagen, 18–24 August, 1996. Byzantium. Identity, Image, Influence. Major Papers. Plenary Session I: The Identity of Byzantium, ed. Karsten Fledelius, Copenhagen: Danish National Committee for Byzantine Studies Eventus Publishers, 1996), pp. 3−60. For an update of the relevant bibliography, Johannes

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above have shown that the answer is complicated. Language seems to be only one of the parameters of identity, a complex, multifaceted and multi-level issue, involving culture, religion, traditions, customs, family and social milieu. An inscription in Latin may manifest not the ancestral identity of the persons involved but their identity by choice, as in the case of the converted Jew Lippamano, or their identity by marriage, as in the case of the Greek princess Agnès de Villehardouin, i.e. a second identity or another level of identity. On the other hand, Greeks in the Latin-governed regions, who belonged to a well-to-do middle class of traders and entrepreneurs and who seem to have been assimilated to the Latin milieu, make use of Western style tombstones with Greek funerary inscriptions, showing, despite their adoption of Latin culture and customs, their preference for the Greek language, possibly as a marker of ancestral and/or ethnic identity. As a rule, the use of the Greek language by different ethnic groups settled in the territories that once belonged to the Byzantine Empire shows the degree of their assimilation into the indigenous population and/or their political choices. This applies, for example, to the Greek inscriptions in churches in the Mani, which reveal patrons of Slav origin who were apparently Hellenized and Christianized by the eleventh century. Their diachronic presence in church inscriptions until the fourteenth century shows the significant role they played once assimilated into the local Maniot society. Another example concerns the Albanian ruling families in Arta and Kastoria in the fourteenth century. Having no written tradition in their own language, Albanian local rulers appropriated Greek, the lingua franca of the regions they ruled, for their inscriptions, showing a willingness to communicate with the indigenous Greek inhabitants and participate in their culture and language. Can language in this case, where it does not reveal ethnic identity, be interpreted as an expression of an identity adopted in order to achieve political and social ambitions? In fact, in inscriptions written in Greek, the ancestral ethnic identity of the Slavs and Albanians, as well as the Latins, is not revealed in the choice of language, but only in the mention of their names, albeit in Hellenized form. Genoese linguistic preferences constitute a more complicated issue. The use of Greek in the metrical Greek inscription of the Gattilusio lord Palamede in the citadel of Samothrace, seems to be promoting a new (dual) identity for the Genoese, manifesting a certain degree of assimilation and appropriation and a conscious political strategy aimed at winning over the local population. Thus, it is obvious that the choice of language in public inscriptions may have political motives. Bilingual inscriptions, mainly Latin−Greek, in which Latin is the dominant language, are of special interest. They reflect the interaction between the two co-existing communities,

Koder, ‘Time as a Dimension of Byzantine Identity’, Studia Ceranea, 9 (2019), pp. 523−42; see also Gill Page, Being Byzantine: Greek Identity before the Ottomans (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008); Liquid and Multiple: Individuals and Identities in the Thirteenth−Century Aegean, ed. Guillaume Saint Guillain and Dionysios Stathakopoulos, Collège de France − CNRS, Monographies, 35 (Paris: ACHCByz, 2012); Identity and the Other in Byzantium. Papers from the Fourth International Sevgi Gönül Byzantine Studies Symposium, Istanbul, 23–25 June 2016, ed. Koray Durak and Ivana Jevtić (Istanbul: Koç University, 2019). For a discussion of the development of ethnicity and ethnic identity in medieval times, Patrick Geary, ‘Ethnic Identity as a Situational Construct in the Early Middle Ages’, Mitteilungen der anthropologischen Gesellschaft in Wien, 113 (1983), pp. 15−26. For a discussion of Greek identities from antiquity to the present day, see the recent collective volume Έλλην, Ρωμηός, Γραικός. Συλλογικοί προσδιορισμοί και ταυτότητες, ed. Olga Katsiardi-Hering et al. (Athens: Evrasia, 2018).

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their intercultural and interlinguistic contacts, and the foreign rulers’ need to communicate messages of power, ownership, and prestige not only in their own language but also in the local language. The case of the Gattilusio lords who used either Latin or Greek or both with equal ease in their fourteenth- and fifteenth-century public inscriptions is particularly impressive. The language mixing is consistent with the Gattilusio coat of arms. Intermingled with Byzantine dynastic symbols (the cross with the four Betas, the single- or double-headed eagle, a Palaiologan monogram), the overall composition shows the same intentional amalgamation of western and eastern elements aimed at promoting the Gattilusi as relatives and faithful partners of the Byzantine emperors and their successors. The Gattilusio public inscriptions and coat of arms are in keeping with their consensual policy, a policy of acceptance of the local population and mutual religious respect.119 Moreover, they reveal a flexibility and fluidity in matters of identity in response to local historical and social conditions.120 In addition, the selected inscriptions presented in this paper offer an insight into the degree of literacy of the commissioners, which varies according to their position in the social and administrative hierarchy and/or their educational level. As a rule, official inscriptions, as might be expected, show a high degree of literacy in all languages. Surprisingly, certain epigraphs of a private character also demonstrate that the patron or author was highly literate, as in the bilingual inscription in the house of the Zaccaria family in Rhodes. In conclusion, the language used — or rather, chosen — for an inscription, and its association with identity, is a complex and delicate issue.121 Depending on the public or private function of the epigraph, its location, the intentions of the commissioner(s), and the social conditions prevailing, the language chosen for the inscription, besides revealing an aspect or level of identity — ethnic, ancestral, individual, collective, dual, acquired, adopted, preferred, etc. —, manifests historical, social, and political circumstances, and the interaction between communities with different languages and cultures.

119 Wright, The Gattilusio Lordships (n. 45), pp. 283−302. Another typical example of the acculturation of the Genoese is found in the Genoese church of Sts Paul and Domenico (Arap Camii) in Constantinople, where the fourteenth-c. frescoes were executed by Greek masters who were continuing the style of the mosaics and frescoes of the Chora monastery, Engin Akyürek, ‘Dominican Painting in Palaiologan Constantinople: The Frescoes of the Arap Camii (Church of S. Domenico) in Galata’, in Kariye Camii, Yeniden. The Kariye Camii Reconsidered, ed. Holger A. Klein et al. (Istanbul: Arastırmaları Enstitüsü, 2011), pp. 299−341; Rafal Quirini-Poplawski, ‘Greek Painters for the Dominicans or Trecento at the Bosphorus? Once again about the Style and Iconography of the Wall Paintings in the Former Dominican Church of St Paul in Pera’, Arts, 2019, 8/131, pp. 1-26 (with previous bibliography) The sculpted arcosolia (1315−23) are also very close to those in the Chora church, Melvani, ‘Η γλυπτική’ (n. 92), pp. 44−46. However, inscriptions − tituli and funerary − are in Latin, Dalleggio d’Alessio, Le pietre sepolchrali (n. 25); Desi Marangon, ‘Latin Inscriptions in the Arap Camii’, in Materials for the Study of Late Antique and Medieval Greek and Latin Inscriptions in Istanbul. A Revised and Expanded Booklet, prepared by Ida Toth and Andreas Rhoby, Oxford and Vienna 2020), pp. 107−10 (with earlier bibliography) https://doi. org/10.1553/inscriptions_in_Istanbul. 120 Fluidity, subjectivity, and situational terms are issues discussed with regard to identity in Geary, ‘Ethnic Identity (n. 118), pp. 15−26; Page, Being Byzantine (n. 118), p. 267 and passim. 121 On the problem of associating language with identity on the basis of the multilingual public inscriptions in Ani, see Anthony Eastmond, ‘Inscriptions and authority in Ani’, in Der Doppeladler. Byzanz und die Seldschuken in Anatolien vom späten 11. bis zum 13. Jahrhundert, ed. Neslihan Asutay-Effenberger and Falko Daim. Byzanz zwischen Orient und Okzident. Mainz Leibnitz-Wissenschaftscampus (Mainz: Verlag des RömischGermanischen Zentralmuseums, 2014), pp. 71−84.

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Fig. 1. Basilica of St Gabriel in Psalidi, Kos. Arabic inscriptions carved on columns (716−718/19). (Photo: S. Kalopissi-Verti)

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Fig. 2. Dominican basilica of St Mary’s (St Paraskevi), Chalkis, Euboea, northeastern chapel. Funerary inscription of Petrus Lippamano, councilor of Negroponte (1398). (Photo: I. M. Perrakis, © Ministry of Culture & Sports, Ephorate of Antiquities of Euboea)

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Fig. 3. Castle of Chlemoutsi, museum, funerary relief slab of Agnes/Anna Komnene Doukaina, wife of the prince of Achaia William II Villehardouin (1286). (© Ministry of Culture & Sports, Ephorate of Antiquities of Ilia – Chlemoutzi Castle, Archaeological Receipts Fund, ΗΛ584)

Fig. 4. Mystras, museum, epistyle, monograms in Greek and coat of arms of Isabelle de Lousignan. (© Ministry of Culture & Sports, Ephorate of Antiquities of Laconia)

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Fig. 5. Mt Athos, Hilandar Monastery, katholikon. Emperor Andronikos II, King Milutin and St Stephen the Protomartyr, c. 1320–1321. (After Smilja Marjanović-Dušanić and Dragan Vojvodić, ‘The Model of Empire − The Idea and Image of Authority in Serbia (1299−1371)’, in Byzantine Heritage and Serbian Art II. Sacral Art of the Serbian Lands in the Middle Ages, ed. Dragan Vojvodić and Danica Popović (Belgrade: The Serbian National Committee of Byzantine Studies, Institute for Byzantine Studies, Serbian Academy of Science and Arts, 2016), 303, fig. 238)

Fig. 6. Church of St Athanasios tou Mouzaki in Kastoria. Dedicatory inscription of the Albanian brothers and patrons Stoias and Theodore Mouzaki (1383/84). (Photo: S. Kalopissi-Verti)

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Fig. 7. Church of Saint George in Prasteia near Siderounda, Chios. Dedicatory inscription of the Genoese nobleman Battista Giustiniani da Campi and his wife Bigota (1415). (Photo: Charis Koilakou)

Fig. 8. Tower of the exterior defensive wall of the citadel in Chora, Samothrace. Metrical inscription of Palamede Gattilusio (1431/32). (© Ministry of Culture & Sports, Ephorate of Antiquities of Evros)

Fig. 9. Tower of the interior defensive wall of the citadel in Chora, Samothrace. Bilingual (Latin-Greek) inscription of Palamede Gattilusio (1431). (© Ministry of Culture & Sports, Ephorate of Antiquities of Evros)

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Fig. 10. City walls of Rhodes, close to St John’s gate. Bilingual (Italian−Greek) inscription of the master builder Manuel Kountes (1457). (© Ministry of Culture & Sports, Ephorate of Antiquities of the Dodecanese)

Denis Kashtanov – Ma k si m Korobov – Vadi m Ponarya d ov – A n d rey V inogra d ov

Greek letters as scriptura franca: Writing in Local Languages on the Northern Periphery of the Byzantine World*

The northern periphery of the Byzantine world, i.e. the Caucasus, the Northern Black Sea region and the Northern Balkans, was always perceived by both the Byzantines and modern scholars as a place of active contacts of the Greek civilization with all sorts of ‘barbarians’ in various spheres, including the field of writing culture. The linguistic aspect of these contacts is especially strongly represented in epigraphic monuments, which best reflect the actual language use in society. The problem of bilingualism is well studied for the territory of medieval Bulgaria, both with regard to the Greek-Turkic ‘proto-Bulgarian’ epigraphy of the ninth century,1 and to the Greek-Cyrillic inscriptions of the First Bulgarian Kingdom and later.2 However, for other regions of the northern periphery of the Byzantine world (see, the map, p. 164), this issue has not been examined, with the possible exception of the Alanic material, but even here the situation is much more complicated than it usually seems. Thus, the purpose of this article is to review all known cases of epigraphic bilingualism in the region under consideration, primarily the attested evidence for the use of the Greek alphabet for inscriptions in local languages. 1. Alanic Texts in Greek Script For a long time, the only monument of the Alanic script was considered to be the famous Zelenchuk inscription, carved in Greek letters and found in the upper reaches of the Bolshoy



* This study was carried out and funded within the framework of the research project ‘Epigraphies of Pious Travel: Pilgrims’ Inscriptions, Movement, and Devotion between Byzantium and Rus’ in the 5th–15th Centuries C.E.’ 1 Veselin Beševliev, Die protobulgarischen Inschriften (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1963); Veselin Beševliev, ‘Les inscriptions protobulgares et leur portée culturelle et historique’, Byzantinoslavica, 32 (1971), pp. 35−51; Geoffrey Horrocks, Greek: A History of the Language and its Speakers, 2nd edn (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2014), pp. 325‒27. 2 Krasimir Popkonstantinov and Otto Kronsteiner, Starobălgarski nadpisi. Altbulgarische Inschriften, 1‒2 (Die Slawischen Sprachen, 36, 52) (Salzburg: Institut für Slawistik der Universität Salzburg, 1994‒1997); Krasimir Popkonstantinov and Rossina Kostova, ‘Literacy, Literature, and Liturgy in Bulgarian Monasteries of the ninth to tenth centuries’, in Love of learning and devotion to God in orthodox monasteries (Beograd/Columbus: Raška škola/Ohio State University, 2006), pp. 142‒63; cf. also: Kiril Petkov, Voices of medieval Bulgaria, seventh-fifteenth centuries: the records of a bygone culture (East Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, 450–1450, 5) (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2008). Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1, ed. by Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth, SBE, 1 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 151–168. © FHG DOI 10.1484/M.SBE-EB.5.131802

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Zelenchuk river.3 Its study is complicated, however, by the loss of the original stone and confusion caused by several pieces of mutually incongruent evidence. The first editor of the inscription, Vsevolod Miller reported that the painter Dmitry Strukov had brought a copy of the inscription from his voyage to the Caucasus in the summer of 1888.4 In addition to this copy, two drawings of the slab are known, both stored in the archive of the Institute of the History of Material Culture of the Russian Academy of Sciences in St Petersburg. One (Ф. P1, Nº 273) comes from the album of Strukov’s voyage in 1888, which was undertaken between the autumn of 1889 and May 1890, whereafter the album was obtained by the Russian Archaeological Society. This drawing is based on a ‘picture’ by hieromonk Seraphim, the founder of the Zelenchuk monastery, who showed a keen interest in the antiquities of the Caucasus. It is especially important that Seraphim was an icon-painter, who spent twenty years on Mount Athos and was thus well acquainted with Greek writing. Strukov’s second voyage to Bolshoy Zelenchuk in 1890 brought about another album (Ф. Р1, Nº 339). The drawing of the Zelenchuk inscription from this album was published only in 1968.5 During his second visit, Strukov examined and sketched the find-spot of the slab, but not the inscription itself, reproducing instead Seraphim’s drawing again. Ladislav Zgusta conducted a meticulous comparison of the published drawings (1 and 3), and came to the conclusion that their differences were due to the fact that Miller had corrected Strukov’s drawing on the back of the evidence of another source — a ‘print’ by German Kulikovsky,6 the location of which is unknown. However, this conclusion, on the basis of which Zgusta built some important hypotheses, is groundless. Miller himself clearly indicated that the published drawing accurately conveyed the copy delivered by Strukov, and the corrections made on the basis of the print are indicated in Miller’s text.7 All three drawings (Fig. 1) are almost identical, and their history can be reconstructed as follows. In July 1888, Strukov received from Seraphim a drawing of Zelenchuk inscription that Seraphim himself or one of his companions had discovered in 1886–1888. On his return, Strukov gave the drawing or its copy to Miller, and also included it in his first album. As a result of the second voyage in 1890, Strukov created another album, into which he again copied Seraphim’s drawing of the inscription, which was not identical to his own copy from the first album. Thus, all extant sources of the Zelenchuk inscription go back to one drawing by hieromonk Seraphim. The three copies (two drawn and one printed) cannot be considered as independent pieces of evidence, since they all originate from a single protograph drawing, whose location is unknown, as is the location of the original slab. At the beginning of the inscription, the Greek words Ἰ(ησοῦ)ς Χ(ριστός) and ὁ ἅγιος Νικόλαος are clearly readable. The middle part of the text is occupied by a list of names modelled on the formula ‘patronymic + name’. However, Alanic φούρτ ‘son’ does not function as an independent word, but as integral part of the patronymic; the list of names

3 Ladislaw Zgusta, The old Ossetic inscription from the river Zelenčuk (Sitzungsberichte der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-historische Klasse, 486) (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1987). 4 Vsevolod F. Miller, ‘Otgoloski kavkazskix verovanij na mogil’nyx pamjatnikax’, Materialy po arxeologii Kavkaza, 3 (1893), pp. 119‒36. 5 Vladimir A. Kuznecov, ‘Novye dannye o Zelenčukskoj nadpisi X veka’, Izvestija SONII, 27 (1968), pp. 193‒99. 6 Zgusta, ‘The old Ossetic inscription’, pp. 16‒19. 7 Miller, ‘Otgoloski kavkazskix verovanij’, p. 114.

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could, therefore, be mechanically reproduced by a monolingual Greek carver.8 It is also not clear where the last, most recent name beginning with Λακα- ends: it may well have occupied the last two lines of the inscription (especially if it was a double name, i.e. Alanic + Christian, beginning with Θεο-). But, in any case, the last lines of the inscription are not clearly readable and therefore cannot be deciphered unambiguously. Thus, the Zelenchuk inscription cannot with certainty be considered a text written in the Alanic language. However, another inscription, containing at least one unmistakably Alanic word, escaped the attention of researchers. Unfortunately, Ivan Pomyalovsky made an error indicating the place where it was found: ‘A stone pillar found in 5 versts [c. 5 kilometres] from the stanitsa Pregradnaya on the road to the stanitsa Zelenchukskaya’.9 But the transcripts of the meetings of the Department of Russian and Slavic archaeology of the Russian Imperial Archaeological society dated March 30, 1878, to which he refers,10 report ‘three stone crosses with inscriptions’ brought from Yekaterinodar: the first was found ‘in the church fence of the stanitsa Storozhevaya’; the second, ‘broken, in Abukov’s aul near Khumara’, and the third ‘5 versts from the stanitsa Pregradnaya on the road to the stanitsa Zelenchukskaya’ (there may have been a confusion with a cross bearing a Cyrillic inscription). Indeed, Roderich von Erckert claims to have seen this stele on the right bank of the Kuban river, a few kilometres north of Khumarinsk, i.e. Abukov’s aul (modern (Old) Khumara), on the road towards Batalpashinsk (modern Cherkessk).11 The stone was photographed by Eugeny Felitsyn,12 but the photo was later lost. In the copy of this inscription made by von Erckert (Fig. 2), among other illegible words (possibly also Alanic), we can clearly read the Alanic word ΔΖΟΥΒΑΡ ‘cross, sanctuary’, which originates from the Georgian word jvari ‘cross’ and — as τζουβαρ — is attested in another source. The source is a prophetologion from St Petersburg (BAN gr. Q 12), written in 1275 and subsequently provided with Alanic scholia13 (the scholion including the word τζουβαρ is placed on f. 109v) (Fig. 3). Its existence demonstrates that at this time the Alans continued to conduct Greek worship on the annual cycle, completely preserving a Byzantine liturgical tradition (probably a monastic one). The reader of the prophetologion however no longer understood all the Greek abbreviations for the days, and needed their translation into Alanic. Here there is no doubt that it is an Alanic text (written in Greek letters with diacritics), but we should take into consideration that these scholia are auxiliary notes taken ad hoc — separate words (max. two together), not forming even a phrase. Therefore, there remains a significant doubt about the existence of a widespread tradition of written Alanic, except for the occasional use of some Alanic terms in Greek letters.



8 A good analogy would be the modern Greek transcription of the famous Icelandic poet’s name Σνόρρι Στούρλουσον which includes his patronymic, lit. ‘Sturla’s son’. 9 Ivan Pomjalovskij, Sbornik grečeskix i latinskix nadpisej Kavkaza (St.-Petersburg: Russian Imperial Academy of Sciences, 1881), p. 8, no. 12, pl. 3. 10 ‘Zasedanija Otdelenija russkoj i slavjanskoj arxeologii 30 marta 1878 goda’, in Izvestija Imperatorskogo Russkogo Arxeologičeskogo obščestva, 9.4 (1880), coll. 440‒44. 11 Roderich von Erckert, Der Kaukasus und seine Völker (Leipzig: Frohberg, 1887), p. 78. 12 ‘Ot redakcii’, in Materialy po arxeologii Kavkaza, 7 (1898), pp. 137‒42. 13 Alexander Lubotsky, Alanic Marginal Notes in a Greek Liturgical Manuscript (Veröffentlichungen zur Iranistik, 76) (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2015).

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2. North Caucasian Turkic Texts in Greek Script from Kabarda Even after the devastation by Tamerlane (1370–1405) and the disappearance of the Byzantine hierarchy in the North Caucasus, Greek writing survived for a long time among the local Christianized peoples. In particular, it was used in lapidary inscriptions (e.g., from Kuban region, 1435;14 Belorechenskaya, 1468;15 Taman, 1590;16 Kantyshevo, 1581;17 Etoka river, 160418) and on amulets, ‘without which the locals did not leave the house and did not get on horseback’.19 One of the reasons for this was the survival of the Orthodox clergy in this region, which can be seen in the listed inscriptions, mainly from the territories once inhabited not by the Alans, but by Adyghe peoples. All the more unexpected is that two of these inscriptions, deciphered recently with the help of their 3D models,20 have revealed a very interesting phenomenon of bilingualism, this time a Greek-Turkic one. The first is found on an inscribed monument dating back to 1581. It was set up near the village of Kantyshevo (in the plain area of modern Ingushetia), now kept in the State Historical Museum, Moscow. It is a stele more than 3 metres in height, with a broken cross-shaped top (similar to that of the Elkhotovo inscription21): on one side, there is an image of three horsemen, and on the other, an inscription, partially framed by a sculpted chain. At the beginning, we read the following Greek text: † Μνήσθητι κ(ύρι)ε τὴν ψηχὴν τοῦ δούλου σου Γεωργήου Σολὰκ-Τεμὺρ ἐν ὅρᾳ τῆς κρήσεως ἐς τῇ δευτέρᾳ (παρ)ουσήᾳ σου. Ἔτους ͵ζπθʹ, Ἀ]πρηλύου ε’ ≡ 14 Vasilij V. Latyšev, ‘Kavkazskie pamjatniki v Moskve’, Zapiski Imperatorskogo Russkogo arheologičeskogo obščestva, n.s., 2 (1887), pp. 46‒47; Denis V. Kaštanov, ‘Grečeskaja ėpigrafika Severnogo Kavkaza: problemy datirovki’, in Problemy hronologii i periodizacii arheologičeskih pamjatnikov i kul’tur Severnogo Kavkaza. XXVI “Krupnovskie čtenija” po arheologii Severnogo Kavkaza (Magas: s.e., 2010), pp. 174‒76. 15 Anna Amiranašvili, ‘Grečeskie nadpisi muzeja Gruzii’, Vestnik Muzeja Gruzii, 5 (1928), pp. 199‒200. 16 Vasilij V. Latyšev, Sbornik grečeskih nadpisej hristianskih vremen iz Južnoj Rossii (St.-Petersburg: Russian Imperial Academy of Sciences, 1896), pp. 111‒12. no. 102; Vasilij V. Latyšev, ‘Epigrafičeskie novosti iz Južnoj Rossii’, Izvestija Imperatorskoj Arheologičeskoj komissii, 58 (1915), pp. 37‒38. 17 Miller, ‘Otgoloski kavkazskix verovanij’, 133‒34. 18 Latyšev, ‘Kavkazskie pamjatniki v Moskve’, pp. 46‒7; Vladimir A. Kuznecov, ‘Izvajanie “Duka-bek”: istorikoarheologičeskie problemy’, Istoriko-arheologičeskij al’manah, 5 (1999), 83‒99; see further below. 19 Jakob Reineggs. Allgemeine historisch-topographische Beschreibung des Kaukasus, 1 (Gotha/St.-Petersburg: Gerstenberg und Dittmar, 1796), p. 280. 20 https://rssda.su/auxil/ep-bis_ve688.html; https://rssda.su/auxil/ep-bis_ve688–1.html. Made by Yuri Svoysky (RSSDA Laboratory), to whom we are very grateful. 21 Pomjalovskij, Sbornik grečeskih i latinskih nadpisej Kavkaza’, p. 15, no. 29.

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‘Lord, remember the soul of Your servant Georgios Solak-Temir in the hour of the Judgement in your Second Coming. In the year of 7089, April 5’. Below, after a small indent, the second text reads as follows: . ε.ειζ? πεσ… τενετ ≡ καση ετκεν ≡ ουστα .]ατη ≡

The poor state of its preservation makes its interpretation difficult. In any case, its language is not Greek. Some words allow a Turkic reading: πεσ = beš ‘five’; ετκεν = etken ‘made’; oυστα = usta ‘master’. It is quite possible that at the end was the name of the master who made the inscription or the stele. Although the inscription is only partially legible, the presence of the Turkic name Σολὰκ-Τεμύρ ‘Solak-Temir’22 in the Greek section leads to the assumption that the language of the second text is Turkic. Another short inscription is found on the side of the same stele, above the relief depicting two figures. It reads: Ποκουζ Κόπχου. Neither of the words in this inscription is Greek, but the second of them seems to contain the genitive ending -oυ typical of Greek patronyms, i.e. they are likely to be a combination of two non-Greek proper names, the first of which is a personal name, and the second a patronymic. Like Σολὰκ-Τεμύρ in the main Greek text, both names may be of Turkic origin. Ποκουζ probably reflects Turkic Boɣuz (cf. boɣuz ‘throat, gorge’ in Uyghur and in some Uzbek and Turkish dialects, boɣaz in the rest of Turkic). Κόπχου, minus the Greek ending, contains the stem Κόπχ-, which could be used for rendering different proper names based on Turkic nouns köpek/köbek ‘dog’, köbek ‘navel’, köpük ‘foam’; less likely qabuq ‘bark’, etc.23 The second inscribed monument, usually called ‘Duka-Bek’ (dated to 1604; see above) probably also features a Turkic text (or, more precisely, a list of names) written in Greek letters and placed in the lower section of the inscription. It was found in the Temir-Kubchek gorge of the Beshtau mountains, on the Etoka river and is now kept in the State Historical Museum, Moscow.24 The text reads as follows: Ἰ(ησοῦ)ς Χ(ριστὸ)ς ν(ι)κᾷ. † Ἒκειμέθε : [τ]οῦ δούλου τοῦ θ(εο)ῦ Гεοργέου Πέκ : ἔτος ζρ-

22 Composed of Turkic solaq ‘left-handed, unlucky’ + temir/temür ‘iron’, both elements being attested in onomastics, see Laszlo Rasonyi and Imre Baski, Onomasticon Turcicum. Turkic Personal Names (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), pp. 666, 731‒33. 23 Rasonyi and Baski, Onomasticon Turcicum, pp. 158, 381. 24 https://rssda.su/auxil/ep-bis_ve689.html; https://rssda.su/auxil/ep-bis_ve689–1.html

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ιβ´ : ἐ(ν?) μάρτες ιδ´. ‘Jesus Christ conquers. Fell asleep the servant of God Georgios Bek, in the year 7112, March 14’. The following lines contain again a non-Greek text: Τοῦ : Κουκου ≡ Κανηκου Κουπεκ : Ιτζορ Καρα ≡ Μερενιεκου Γουκολ : Εασε : Γασ

In addition to the Turkic word Πέκ ‘bek, lord’ following the Christian name ‘Georgios’, in the last lines, where the only Greek word is the article τοῦ (cf. genitive instead of nominative in the main text), all other words seem to represent non-Greek proper names (including, as in the Kantyshevo inscription, non-Greek patronymics with Greek genitive endings). At least some of the constituent elements of these names are widely represented in the Turkic onomasticon: e.g., Κουπεκ < köpek/köbek ‘dog’ (cf. above); Καρα < qara ‘black’.25 However, others (e.g., Ατζορ, Γουκολ) can hardly be derived from the Turkic languages. It is possible that their source was one of the autochthonous Caucasian languages, but so far no convincing etymology has been proposed for these onomastic elements. However, the most interesting case of Greek-Turkic bilingualism and adaptation of Greek writing to a Turkic language in the Caucasus is attested in manuscript evidence. In 2017, we found a Greek manuscript (Ф. 946, оп. 1, д. 1093), consisting of 10 separate sheets, in the collection of Avram Firkovich in the Russian National Library in St Petersburg. The watermarks (’jester’s head’) allowed us to date it to the late seventeenth – early eighteenth centuries. Two similar sheets are in the collection of Andreas Sjögren in the National Library of Finland in Helsinki (F. 209, box 19, envelope ‘Бек-Мурзин, Н.Ш.’). They were sent to Sjögren in July 1840 from Pyatigorsk by the famous Kabardian intellectual Shora Nogmov.26 According to the latter, the manuscript belonged to an uzden (a nobleman) Ismail Shogenov, who died in 1830, and whose family passed this valuable legacy from father to son.27 According to Avram Firkovich, in 1849, a certain Shogenov, who lived in the Atazhuko Atazhukin’s aul in the Baksan region, used the manuscripts for healing, ‘reading them in his own wild voice, chanting, assigning each letter a special name and assuring everyone that this is the name of different angels and spirits summoned to their aid’.28 According to Shogenov, the manuscripts were copied ‘by his grandfather from a book written on leather’. The same ancestor of Shogenov was probably also mentioned in 1732 by Dmitry Eropkin as ‘a Baksan resident’, who ‘brought a book in c. 24 pages, written on parchment,

25 Rasonyi and Baski, Onomasticon Turcicum, pp. 381, 422. 26 Osnovopoložnik rossijskogo akademičeskogo kavkazovedenija akademik Andrej Mixajlovič Šëgren: Issledovanija. Teksty, ed. A. I. Alieva (Мoscow: IMLI RAN, 2010), pp. 373‒75. 27 Šora Nogmov, Istorija adyhejskogo naroda, sostavlennaja po predanijam kabardincev (Tiflis: The Caucasus Viceroyalty’s Headquarters, 1861), p. 45. 28 Avram Firkovič, ‘Arheologičeskie razvedki na Kavkaze’, Zapiski Imperatorskogo arheologičeskogo obščestva, 9 (1857), 393‒94.

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and announced that neither he nor anybody else in Kabarda could read it, but that they only placed it on the heads of patients, and thereby the patients recovered’.29 This kind of custom existed already in the seventeenth century among the Circassians. Moreover, while in this century the shogens (a word for Christian priests borrowed from Ossetian: Ir. sawǵyn, Dig. sawgin, lit. ‘black-clad’) still could somehow read Greek, by the eighteenth century this knowledge was lost. In the late eighteenth century, according to Jacob Reineggs, ‘Tatar mullahs’ used Greek writing to record ‘secret prayers’ against diseases. Shogenov’s manuscript consists of fragments of an abridged Greek lectionary, containing erratically and repetitively written Gospel readings for Matins and Liturgies of the most important feasts (Christmas, Annunciation, Transfiguration), Sundays, general readings for the feasts of saints (martyrs), and possibly for Lent, as well as a calendar with troparia for selected feasts and saints and a Computus. Deviations from the standard text of the lectionary are both quite small (e.g., εγενοντου instead of ἐγένετο in Matthew 17.2), and significant: insertions of ησ μαρτερεον after λαληθήσεται in Matthew 26.13, αυτου (scil. αὐτόν) after ὀφθέντες in Luke 9.31; τεσκιφαλης instead of τὴν κεφαλήν in Matthew 26.8, μεθι:λιτε instead of θέλετέ μοι in Matthew 26.15, παραλαμβανον … αναφερε instead of παραλαμβάνει … καὶ ἀναφέρει in Matthew 17.1; the text of Luke 9.36 is corrupted due to confusion with Matthew 17.5, as well as the end of the troparion of St George. At the end of the manuscript, there is a calendar, without beginning or end, for February–April; ordinal numbers of the 28-year solar cycle of the ‘Rhomaic’ computus; and a Turkic text written in Greek letters. The Greek text contains numerous deviations from the norm, and these are more abundant in the troparia than in the Gospel readings. First, we see trivial errors made while copying the text: confusion of similar minuscule letters (especially υ and ν, β, and μ), permutation of letters (που = ὑπό), haplography, omission of letters, syllables or whole words (κουσαντες:θαυμασαν = ἀκούσαντες ἐθαύμασαν, αλαλη = ἐλαλήθη, αυτος = πρὸς αὐτούς), most often at the junction of vowels and at the beginning of words (κεπελθι = καὶ ἀπῆλθε, κεδου = καὶ ἰδού, τουνομα = τὸ ὄνομα), and of σ in εστ, and, vice versa, insertion of extra letters, including η in the middle of a word (ανουηντες = αἰνοῦντες) and ε at the end (ηοσεφε, ανηρε). Some of the deviations are due to the fact that the scribe perceived each letter separately, and therefore itacism is observed even in diphthongs (πουμενης = ποιμένες). However, the principal deviations from the norm are regular and concern vowels: constant interchange of the sounds e and i, o and u (e.g., καρδεα = καρδίᾳ, λαληθιντον = λαληθέντων; δουξαζοντος = δοξάζοντες; προσ:αυτοσ = πρὸς αὐτούς) — hundreds throughout the text! Occasionally, there are irregular vowel interchanges (e.g., δουξαζοντος = δοξάζοντες, πασαν = πᾶσιν), often through α, but on the whole the text contains less than 30 of them. As concerns consonants, deviations are much rarer, which can be explained by the more developed sensitivity to the difference in consonants as perceived by a native speaker of the Kabardian language with its rich consonantism. Almost all cases appear only once: the replacement of ζ with σ (θαυμασαν = θαυμάζων, ζτενλος = στῦλος), τ with θ (θιν = τήν), β

29 Georgij Kokiev, Materialy po istorii Osetii (XVIII vek), 1 (Ordzhonikidze: The North-Ossetian ASSR State Publishing House, 1934), pp. 34‒36.

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with π (γαπρουηλ = Γαβριήλ). The interchange of πτ and π appears four times (in πτωχοί, ἐξαστράπτων; πῶς); cf. also ευανκελιον (and even ευακελιον) along with ευαγγελιον, γεριχθη for κηρυχθῇ, ηαοσ κερκε < ἅγιος Γεώργιος. The fact that the above-mentioned deviations from the original Greek text are for the most part not accidental, but rather systematic, reflects the way in which the two Gospel pericopes are re-written: Matthew 1.18–20, and Luke 1.34–36. In both cases, the text entry is literally not the same, but the system of deviations from the norm is similar. On the margins of the Gospel section there are scholia, which sometimes contain names, including non-Greek ones (e.g., κανπουλατ ‘Ganbulat’), obviously for commemoration purposes. Of particular interest is the text on the last page, which is slightly cropped on the right edge. It consists of 12 lines divided into five paragraphs, each marked with Greek numerals; the last paragraph is written in small letters, probably due to the lack of space. Although written by the same hand as on the preceding pages, the text is not in Greek (Fig. 4). Careful consideration allowed us to determine that this part is written in Turkic. 1 : ωθεορεμ : τερκεγα ελπαργαν : 2 : κουμελι[…] τεν : εσαγαντιν : κουη[…] ανη : κεμεσ : κουμελη : ε[…] μανπουλερ : 3 : ασεμαν[…] παρσα : πακ : ανταθο[…] ρα : ηαχσεπουληρ : 4 : τεγερταν : τεθετεαη[…] τερ : κεμκουμελεσε[…] τουρερ : κετουτ : ολερ : κ[…] λερ : κουμελεαν : εγα[…] αρσα : ηαχσεπουλερ 5 : απηα : χατου : ηα[σ]επ : ταγαλομε αχαματ : χουτ : χα[…] : καρα 1. ošï urïm ter ki yalbarɣan. 2. köŋili(n-)den isaɣa din qoy(ɣ-)anï kim is köŋili iman bulïr. 3. asïman(da) barča pak anda so(ŋ-)ra yaxšï bolïr. 4. teŋerden tese de aytïr kim köŋil ese(n) turïr haydut ölir k(i ö)lir köŋilien ege(r b)arsa yaxšï bolïr 5. … … … … … … qatï yazïp taɣallum e … … … … … … … …… … qara 1. That Greek says that he prayed. 2. It is from his heart that he professes the religion of Jesus. Someone will find faith with his heart. 3. In the heaven everything is pure. It will be good there later. 4. Speaking of God, he tells that his heart is calm. The robber, if he dies, he dies. If he follows his heart, it will be good. 5. … … … … write it down firmly and learn it. … … … … … … … look Various assumptions can be made about the purpose of writing this text, but it is most likely that this Turkic text divided into short paragraphs could serve for magical purposes (cf. above). Karamanli texts written in Turkish in Greek letters are well known and well studied, but the Turkic text in the Shogenov manuscript differs significantly from them both in terms of language and spelling. First, the language of the text is undoubtedly not Anatolian Turkish (which itself belongs to the Oghuz group), but reflects a certain Kipchak dialect. This is indicated by the forms of the suffixes of the participle -ɣan, the dative case -ɣa instead of the Turkish -(y)an, -(y)a, the use of the verb bol- ‘to be’ instead of the Turkish ol-, and some other markers. Closer examination allows us to conclude that this Kipchak dialect shows greater affinity to the modern Crimean Tatar language than to the Turkic languages of the North Caucasus: the initial y- in a number of words in place of KarachayBalkar and Kumyk ǯ-, the underdevelopment of the labial synharmonism, and the use of the specific instrumental suffix -nen. At the same time, the existence of transitional dialects that have disappeared in the North Caucasus by the time of writing is not excluded. The text could have been written in such a dialect, and in this case some deviations from the

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Crimean Tatar language can be explained, e.g., the unexpected pleophony (köŋili, asïman, teŋeri instead of köŋli, asman, teŋri). On the other hand, they can be due to the fact that the author of the text wrote in Crimean Tatar, but knew it imperfectly, and the influence of his native language led to the deviations from the expected phonetic phenomena. The Turkic text shows the same deviations in the use of vowels as in the Greek one (e.g. ωθεορεμ = ošï urïm), so the hypothesis about the influence of the specific phonetics of the author’s native language on the spelling seems very promising. As mentioned before, the most frequent phonetic phenomenon of the manuscript, present in both the Greek and the Turkish texts, is the interchange of the mid vowels e, o and the close vowels i, u. Since the manuscript itself originates from Kabarda, we can explain this phenomenon by the influence of the Kabardian language, which is characterized by a relative poverty of vocalism common to all Adyghe languages. The interference of the native Kabardian language apparently prevented the scribe from distinguishing some Greek and Turkic vowels. It is noteworthy that in the two above-mentioned lapidary inscriptions from Kabarda (‘Duka-Bek’ and ‘Elkhotovo cross’) we find the same interchange of e and i: Γεοργεου = Γεωργίου, εκειμεθε = ἐκοιμήθη; υκιμ[ι]σθ[η] = ἐκοιμήθη. However, there are such examples also earlier, e.g., in the inscription from the Krasnodar Museum, which was produced before 1392: δολος τοῦ θεοῦ ὑερεός = δοῦλος τοῦ θεοῦ ὑερεύς.30 This shows that in Kabarda at least since the seventeenth century, and among other Adyghe people even earlier (probably since the late fourtheenth century) Greek texts could be written ‘phonetically’. At the same time, Greek letters could be used for writing in Turkic, both in inscriptions and manuscripts. 3. Greek Acronyms in Crimean Gothic Graffiti In Crimea, no Greek alphabet inscriptions or manuscripts in local languages have been found so far. However, this region provides evidence for a very interesting epigraphic phenomenon of interchanging Greek and Gothic letters. 3.1. Gothic Graffito I.1 from Mangup

In 2015, five graffiti written in the Gothic language were discovered in Bakhchysarai Museum, Crimea on fragments of a cornice that was originally a part of an early Byzantine basilica at Mangup-Qale.31 Based on palaeographic and historical considerations, they are datable to the time between the late ninth and the early eleventh centuries. Most of them (Ι.2, Ι.4, ΙΙ.1) bear invocative formulae corresponding to Greek Κύριε βοήθει τῷ δούλῳ σου (sometimes adding ἁμαρτωλῷ and ἀναξίῳ)32 which are found on the same stones.

30 Latyšev, ‘Epigrafičeskie novosti iz Južnoj Rossii’, pp. 37‒38. 31 Maksim Korobov and Andrey Vinogradov, ‘Gotische Graffito-Inschriften aus der Bergkrim’, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur, 145.2 (2016), pp. 141‒57; Andrey Vinogradov and Maksim Korobov, ‘Gothic graffiti from the Mangup basilica’, NOWELE: North-Western European Language Evolution, 71.2 (2018), pp. 223‒35. 32 IOSPE V3 183.1 (https://iospe.kcl.ac.uk/5.183.html), 193.3–4 (https://iospe.kcl.ac.uk/5.193.html).

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The longest graffito I.1, numbering eight lines in total, contains a Gothic version of the second half-verse of Psalm 76.14 and the next half-verse of Psalm 76.15 (lines 1–4), plus a previously unattested and (apparently) rhythmicised text reminiscent of Byzantine Easter hymns (lines 5–8). In line 8, the text breaks off in midsentence for no apparent reason. Perhaps there were some external circumstances that prevented it from being completed, yet what is left of it on the stone suggests that, apart from purely poetic devices, the author/carver of the graffito was trying to impart a degree of textual cohesion by employing visual means. To wit, the first three lines of the ‘hymn’ (lines 5, 6, and 7 of the graffito respectively, Fig. 5) all start with the letter u, thus producing a tautogram (word division normally lacking in Gothic): line no.   5 6 7

transliteration   USSTOÞ UNDAIWIṆṢ USDAUÞAIM

Transcription   Usstoþ und aiwins

translation   [he] rose for ever

us dauþaim

from the dead

To achieve this, the carver divided the text into lines in a manner that at first sight might seem peculiar, i.e. leaving line 5 with one single word despite plenty of free space to the right of it. This is not congruent with the fairly regular segmentation per cola et commata as attested in several Gothic manuscripts,33 nor indeed with scriptio continua in most of the others. The resulting three u’s are carefully placed one under the other forming a clear-cut left margin, with the first line letter written almost two times larger than normal as if to highlight the hymn’s beginning. What, if any, additional message was being conveyed here remains a topic for further research. For now, this set of observations has made us to re-assess the Psalm section of the graffito (Fig. 5) leading us to conclude that here again, the segmentation into lines seems premeditated and, in a sense, ‘artificial’. This arrangement does not fully conform with the syntax of the text: 1 2 3 4

ǶAṢG͞ÞMIKILS ͞ UNṢARÞU SWEGÞ

ISG͞ÞWAURḲJANḌS SILDALEIKA AINNṢ

ƕas g(u)þ mikils

who [is a] god [so] great

swe g(u)þ unsar þu

as god ours thou

is g(u)þ waurkjands

art [the] god working

sildaleika ainns

wonders [the] one [god]

Now, the four initial letters taken and put together — ƕ s ï s — are pretty meaningless in Gothic. However, if read in Greek, they form the sequence ΘΣΙΣ which may acronymically stand for Θ(εὸ)ς Ἰ(ησοῦ)ς, ‘God Jesus’ or ‘God [is] Jesus’. Acronyms of this or similar type are indeed attested in early Byzantine epigraphy.34 As to the technical possibility of reading

33 Carla Falluomini, The Gothic version of the Gospels and Pauline Epistles: Cultural Background, Transmission and Character (Arbeiten zur neutestamentlichen Textforschung, 46) (Berlin/Boston: De Gruyter, 2015), pp. 59‒61. 34 Korobov and Vinogradov, ‘Gotische Graffito-Inschriften’, p. 148 (fn. 31).

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Gothic letters in Greek, this was facilitated by letter shapes in the more conservative variant of the Gothic alphabet that the carvers of the Crimean graffiti were using. Namely, the letter s in this variant looked almost identical to Greek sigma (which had originally served as its model), while the shape of ƕ stood fairly close to that of Greek theta. In view of the widespread Gothic-Greek bilingualism of the Crimean Goths, this interpretation seems all the more plausible. 3.2. Gothic Graffito from Bakhchysarai

Another example of Greek letters in a Gothic context is provided by the recently published short inscription from Bakhchysarai (Fig. 6).35 Consisting of only three letters, it was arguably written by a person who was competent both in the locally practiced variant of Gothic, and in Greek. In Greek, the inscription reads ΣΘΙ which we think stands for Σ(ωτὴρ) Θ(εὸς) Ἰ(ησοῦς) ‘Saviour God [is] Jesus’. The same acronymized formula is independently attested elsewhere.36 For the Gothic part, it is the shape of ƕ written with two unconnected curves instead of a full-drawn circle of contemporary Greek theta that betrays an influence of Wulfila’s alphabet, and, more precisely, of its more archaic variant. Any attempt at dating the inscription would be problematic due to how little we currently know about Gothic palaeography in Crimea. Some external evidence, in particular the replica of the Tatar trident-like emblem carved in the same technique and placed right next to the inscription may suggest a late medieval provenance (around the fifteenth century) for both. This would mean that several hundred years lie between the very similar formula in the acrostic of graffito I.1 from Mangup and the one in the inscription from Bakhchysarai. One can only wonder at how resilient the tradition of Greek formulas of Christological nature was in a Crimean Gothic milieu. If we are to speculate about possible reasons behind this, we may refer to the conditions of the Crimean Goths living in a foreign environment or, more likely, to the earlier inter-Christian polemics, viz. between competing Homoeans (‘Arians’) and Nicaeans (‘Orthodox’), which started in the fourth century with the ‘Arian’ baptism of Gothi minores in Moesia by bishop Wulfila.37 This triggered reactions from the Imperial church of Constantinople, notably by John Chrysostom who organized efforts to (re-)convert the Goths to the Nicene doctrine and dispatched missions as far as Crimea and Bosporus to fight the Homoean influence allegedly present there.38 Recurrent verbal formulas echoing the Nicene Creed might probably be viewed as markers of the specific Christian identity of those who wrote them.

35 Andrey Vinogradov and Maksim Korobov, ‘The Early Christian History of the Black Sea Goths in the Light of New Gothic Inscriptions from Crimea’, Byzantion: Revue Internationale des Études Byzantines, 89 (2019), pp. 497‒512. 36 James Wiseman, ‘The Gymnasium Area at Corinth, 1969‒1970’, Hesperia: The Journal of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 41.1 (1972), 31 (no. 23); Vinogradov and Korobov, ‘The Early Christian History’, pp. 506‒07. 37 Pertinently, Wulfila also devised the Gothic alphabet for the purpose of translating the Bible and liturgy into the language of his new converts, see Kurt Schäferdiek, ‘Ulfila und der sogenannte gotische Arianismus’, in Arianism: Roman Heresy and Barbarian Creed, ed. Guido M. Berndt and Roland Steinacher (Farnham/Burlington (VT): Ashgate, 2014), pp. 30‒31. 38 Vinogradov and Korobov, ‘The Early Christian History’, pp. 508‒09.

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Conclusions For a comprehensive study of the phenomenon of Greek writing on the northern periphery of the Byzantine world, we should also consider the regions, in which Greek writing culture existed without being used for recording local languages. Thus, in Laziсa and in Abkhazia Greek was the only written language until the eleventh century: moreover, even though most of the names featuring in local inscriptions are not native, they are certainly Christian. The same applies to the Byzantine Northern Black Sea region for the period between the fourth to fifteenth centuries; however, from the thirteenth century onwards Turkic elements in the local onomasticon increase, as can be seen from the inscriptions of the Crimean mountains39 and the Synaxarion of Sougdaia.40 The situation looked different in pre-Mongol Rus’: the main script here was Cyrillic, but there also survive about a hundred Greek graffiti on the walls of churches, mainly in St Sophia of Kiev.41 Some of these were made by Greek visitors, but some certainly by the local Slavs. There are no bilingual inscriptions; however, two graffiti in Saint Sophia of Novgorod include the incipits of Greek chants written in the Cyrillic alphabet: о херетис|cги поми = ὁ χερετις(μός). г(оспод)и поми(луй) (i.e. κύριε ἐλέησον in Slavic), and типерб|махостратиго = τ(ῇ) ἡπερμάχο στρατηγȏ.42 Comparing the traditions of using Greek writing in various regions on the northern periphery of Byzantium, we see both differences and similarities between them. Radically different from other regions is the Byzantine Northern Black Sea region, in which the majority of the population was Greek-speaking. Here — as is to be expected — Greek epigraphy was the most common kind of publically displayed writing, although in the Mountainous Crimea it coexisted with Gothic practices. In Lazica and the Abkhazian Kingdom, Greek was the main language of worship and writing, although the vast majority of the population, with the exception of a few coastal poleis, spoke the ancestral forms of the modern Abkhazian and Kartvelian (Svan, Megrelian and Lazo-Chan) languages, which, however, did not have their own writing systems. In Alania, on the contrary, the existence of Greek worship and writing brought about the practice of writing names and terms in Alanic with Greek letters, which might have been facilitated by the Indo-European (Iranian) phonetics of the Alanic language (in contrast to the neighbouring Kartvelian, Adyghe, and Nakh languages, with their rich consonantism). The same applies to the late medieval Kabarda, where Turkic texts were written with Greek letters both in inscriptions and manuscripts. Finally, in pre-Mongol Rus’, Greek as the language of the Church, played a modest role as compared to Church Slavonic and Old Russian, especially since the active development of the latter’s literacy from the mid-eleventh century. However, everywhere we see evidence for an active spread of Greek writing in the framework of the

39 See https://iospe.kcl.ac.uk/corpora/byzantine/introduction.html#III 40 Μαρία Γ. Νυσταζοπούλου, Η εν Ταυρική χερσονήσω πόλις Σουγδαία από του ΙΓ’ μέχρι του ΙΕ’ αιώνος (Athens: Uperesia archaioteton kai anasteloseos, 1965), pp. 111‒60. 41 Aleksandra A. Evdokimova, ‘Korpus grečeskih graffiti Sofii Kievskoj na freskah pervogo etaža’, in Drevnejšie gosudarstva Vostočnoj Evropy. 2005 g. (Moscow: Indrik, 2008), pp. 465–518; Andrej Ju. Vinogradov, ‘Zametki o grečeskih graffiti v drevnerusskih hramah’, Voprosy ėpigrafiki, 7.2 (2013), 89‒105. 42 Vinogradov, ‘Zametki o grečeskih graffiti’, pp. 101‒4.

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missionary Hellenization.43 But, given the absence of political dependence on Byzantium and the presence of a local written language, the use of Greek was slightly reduced (unlike in Bulgaria). On the other hand, throughout the northern periphery of the Byzantine world, we see the influence of Greek writing on local written cultures. In the North Caucasus, Greek writing was adapted to record not only words in Alanic, but also texts in a Turkic language. In the Crimean Mountains, in Gothic epigraphy we see the use of Greek formulas and even Greek acronyms, which had a theological significance and may date back to the early fifth century. In pre-Mongol Rus’, Greek epigraphy affected not only the formulas of Slavic inscriptions, but also the transcription of Greek words and texts in Cyrillic letters. As for suitable comparanda, they can be found in the typologically similar medieval phenomenon of the use of Greek writing in the Slavic Balkans. On the one hand, this approach reveals a number of significant and even essential parallels: not only in the impact of types and formulas of Greek inscriptions on the local ones (Slavic in the Balkans and Rus’, Gothic in Crimea), but also in the penetration of Greek words and expressions into the epigraphy in local languages. Reverse developments are also attested whereby local languages (Turkic, Alanic) permeated Greek inscriptions (the ‘proto-Bulgarian’ epigraphy, the Greek epigraphy of Alania). On the other hand, significant differences in the adaptation of the Greek script are also confirmed. For example, nowhere else do we find the Balkan phenomenon of biscriptual Greek-Cyrillic texts (acts, liturgy, and manuscripts44), usually written in parallel, which apparently go back to the Slavic-Greek bilingualism in Bulgaria and reflect status claims by the Bulgarian kings. However, some phenomena of this kind can be very local, such as specific adaptation of the Greek text to Circassian phonetics, which is not the case in ‘proto-Bulgarian’ inscriptions. So, at the level of theoretical generalization, we can distinguish three basic types of use of Greek writing in a foreign-language environment on the Northern periphery of the Byzantine world. The first type, exemplified by the evidence of Lazica and the Abkhazian Kingdom, is characterized by the use of Greek as the only written language (including worship), constituting the identity of local elites, without almost any contact with the local language environment (even in onomastics). The second type is attested in Alania and Kabarda, where the Greek alphabet also remained the only one in use and was therefore adapted, on the one hand, to the needs of the local languages (Alanic, Turkic), and, on the other, to the local realities (onomastic constructions, titles, etc.). This type also testifies to the phonetics of local languages (e.g. in Kabarda) penetrating actively into Greek texts. The third type is distinguished by the coexistence of two written cultures, the Greek and the local one: Gothic in the Crimea, Cyrillic-Glagolitic in Rus’ and the Balkans, with a significant influence of the first on the second, but not vice versa. In addition, the Northern

43 See Sergey A. Ivanov, Pearls before swine: Missionary work in Byzantium (Monographies de Centre de recherche d’histoire et civilisation de Byzance, 47) (Paris: Association des Amis du Centre d’histoire et Civilisation de Byzance, 2015). 44 Popkonstantinov and Kronsteiner, ‘Starobălgarski nadpisi’, I, pp. 129, 141, 153, 181, 187, 215; II, p. 51; Popkonstantinov and Kostova, ‘Literacy, Literature, and Liturgy’; Petkov, ‘Voices of medieval Bulgaria’. For a similarly-styled Armenian-Cyrillic inscription see Popkonstantinov and Kronsteiner, ‘Starobălgarski nadpisi’, I, p. 199.

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Black Sea region (except for the Crimean Mountains), where Greek remained for a long time the only written language of the predominantly Greek-speaking population, also demonstrates a significant influence of non-Greek realities on Greek writing, as in the second type.

Map of the monuments mentioned in the article (based on Google Maps)

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Fig. 1. Zelenchuk inscription, three copies of the original drawing (redrawn by D. Kashtanov)

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Fig. 2. Khumara inscription, drawing (after Roderich von Erckert, Der Kaukasus und seine Völker)

Fig. 3. MS St Petersburg, BAN gr. Q 12, f. 109v (after Alexander Lubotsky, Alanic Marginal Notes in a Greek Liturgical Manuscript)

G reek letters a s scr iptur a fr anc a

Fig. 4. MS St Petersburg, RNB, Ф. 946, оп. 1, д. 1093 (courtesy of Russian National Library, St Petersburg)

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Fig. 5. Mangup Gothic graffito I.1, the lower part (photo by A. Vinogradov)

Fig. 6. Bakhchisaray Gothic graffito (courtesy of S. Kharitonov)

Emmanu el M outafov

Word and Image in the Church of the Ascension in Nessebăr The Role of Inscriptions for the Reconstruction of the Iconographic Programme of 1609 Introduction: the Churches of Nessebăr Formerly the Metropolitan See of Mesembria, modern-day Nessebăr has had many churches and chapels since the medieval period.1 Ten of these are Byzantine churches that have survived in varying states of preservation. Of the Byzantine churches of Nessebăr, the ruins of the Old Metropolitan Cathedral, dedicated — significantly — to St Sophia (that is, Holy Wisdom), and dated to the second half of the fifth or the early sixth century, have survived in the immediate vicinity of what is known as the New Metropolitan Cathedral, dedicated to St Stephen. St Sophia is a three-aisled basilica (25.50 × 20.20 m) of imposing construction, reminiscent of the Roman public buildings of the Republic in its heyday. It was constructed on the site of the ancient forum, in the exact location of the former temple of Apollo.2 It is contemporary with, and very similar to, the Stoudios Monastery in Constantinople, and monograms of Justinian and Theodora are carved into two of its Ionic capitals.3 Justinian’s reign is also associated with the initial construction work on the Basilica of the Theotokos Eleousa (sixth c.) in Nessebăr.4 The Byzantine churches of Nessebăr include: St John the Baptist (ninth-tenth cc.); St John Aleiturgetos (fourteenth c.); St Theodore (thirteenth c.); Christ Pantocrator (thirteenth c.); Holy Archangels (thirteenth c.); St Paraskeve (thirteenth c.).5 From the Byzantine period there is also the original building of the New Metropolitan Cathedral of St Stephen. Its extant murals, dating to the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries, make it the last in this glorious line of monuments.

1 See Peter Soustal, Thrakien (Thrakē, Rhodopē und Haimimontos) (= Tabula Imperii Byzantini, vol. 6) (Wien: Verlag der Österreischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1991), pp. 355–59 (Mesēmbria (2)). 2 Evterpi Theoklieva-Stoïtseva, Η τοπογραφία της Μεσημβρίας του Ευξείνου Πόντου από τον 4ο έως τις αρχές του 7ου αιώνα (Alexandroupolis: Private Publishing, 2009), p. 390, scheme 2. 3 Catherine Vanderheyde, ‘The Architectural Decoration of the Early Byzantine Churches on the West Coast of the Black Sea’, Art Studies Quarterly, 2 (2012), 6–9: p. 7. 4 Theoklieva-Stoïtseva, Η τοπογραφία της Μεσημβρίας του Ευξείνου Πόντου από τον 4ο έως τις αρχές του 7ου αιώνα, p. 399, scheme 4. 5 Marianna Koromila, Οι Έλληνες στη Μαύρη θάλασσα (Athens: Panorama, 2001), pp. 132–39 and Margaritis Konstantinidis, Ἡ Μεσημβρία τοῦ Εὐξείνου (Athens: Estia, 1945) reports 27 churches.

Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1, ed. by Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth, SBE, 1 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 169–190. © FHG DOI 10.1484/M.SBE-EB.5.131803

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Four Nessebărian churches were built or refurbished in the Ottoman period: the Church of the Ascension, St Spyridon, St George the Elder, and St George the Younger (the Less). The latter two were demolished in the 1950s, partly because of the poor condition of their construction, but primarily to make way for new urban planning schemes implemented by the secular Bulgarian authorities.6 All four churches had similar church floor plans: single-aisled, no narthex, one apse, simple stonework, flimsy double-pitched roof structures. The churches of St George the Elder and the Younger and St Spyridon were built on the sites of earlier churches, incorporating their east walls and apses. This gives researchers reason to assume that the earlier buildings had the same dedications.7 The Church of the Ascencion in Nessebăr The church of the Ascension in Nessebăr, which is the main subject of this study, is single-aisled, single-apse, with a wooden ceiling and without a narthex. Its dimensions are as follows: external 11.69 (minus the apse) × 6.93 m, 4–4.50 m in height; internal 10.06 × 5.45 m. It was built of undressed stone bonded together with mortar and timber beams embedded in walls, no sculptural decoration. It is unclear when the church was built (Fig. 1). Originally there was a narthex all along the very thin north wall, separating it from the naos. The west wall was rebuilt in 1609. It is unclear when the narthex was pulled down and the north wall strengthened. Restoration interventions were carried out in the 1940s and 1960s. The architect D. Suselov decided to remove the ceiling to make the roof structure visible, the bricked-up door on the south wall was opened, and that on the west wall was bricked up.8 In 1967–1971, Damian Zaberski undertook an emergency restoration. Yanaki Verani removed the murals from the north wall in 1984. A team led by Kliment Atanasov conducted restoration work between 1985 and 1990. The mural paintings removed from the north wall were consolidated and remounted. The most recent restoration work, carried out by Stoyan Zabunov and Kiril Kolev, continued until 1991.9 The mural iconographic programmes of the church of St George the Younger (Fig. 5) and of the Ascension, dating back to the sixteenth century, certainly belong to the immediate artistic milieu of the wall paintings of the New Metropolitan Cathedral of St Stephen, dated to 1598/9. This milieu probably also included wall paintings at the church of the Dormition on St Anastasia Isle in the Bay of Burgas. Here I will deal only with the church of the Ascension, in order to present a clearer picture of the iconographic repertoire and

6 Asen Vassiliev, ‘Tsărkvi ot po-novo vreme v Nessebăr i Sozopol’, Izvestia na narodnia muzei v Burgas, 1 (1950), 53–65: р. 53. 7 Ibid., p. 53. 8 The description of the church of the Ascension follows the catalogue item in Corpus na stenopisite ot XVII vek v Bălgaria, ed. Bisserka Penkova and Tsveta Kuneva (Sofia: Institute of Art Studies, 2012), pp. 28–32, authored by Ivanka Gergova, with commentary on the inscriptions by me, see ibid., p. 283. The same church is also discussed in Emmanuel Moutafov, Mitropolitskiat hram “Sv. Stefan” v Nessebăr i negoviat hudozhestven krăg: kulturen kontekst, intertekstualnost i intervizualnost (Sofia: Publishing House of the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences ‘Prof. Marin Drinov’, 2022), pp. 297–323. 9 Corpus na stenopisite ot XVII vek v Bălgaria, p. 28.

wo r d an d image in the c hurch of the a scension in nessebă r

the style of wall painting there, which undoubtedly relate to the atelier that worked on the New Metropolitan Cathedral. The best part of the mural decoration of the church of the Ascension dates from the seventeenth century. However, on the crown of the apse an earlier paint layer is discernible: a fragment of an inscription.10 Wall paintings cover the east, south and north walls. The west wall, undoubtedly of later construction, was left unpainted, then pulled down in 1968 and rebuilt.11 There is no information as to whether there were murals in the now-removed narthex.12 The Mural Iconographic Programmes Here I will present the seventeenth-century mural paintings, following their order as presented in what is currently the most accurate publication to deal with them.13 Naos East wall: Apse: 1. Theotokos Platytera (in the conch) — Μ(ήτ)ηρ Θ(ε)οῦ ἡ [Πλατυτέρα] τῶν Οὐρανῶν — The Most Holy Mother of God More Spacious than the Heavens.14 Noteworthy is the pyramidal composition which contains the representation of the Mother and Child, behind whose representation a triangle is formed as if part of the Maphorion of the Virgin. This composition is to some extent reminiscent of that found in the narthex of the New Metropolitan Cathedral of St Stephen in Nessebăr, where, however, semicircular radiancy is represented behind the triangle denoting Christ (Fig. 2). 2. Adoration of the Lamb — no extant inscriptions. 3. Two unknown hierarchs and two angels; the painter’s signatures and the texts on the scrolls are indecipherable. First register: 1. Mary being blessed by the priests — εὐλoγηθεῖσα χερσϊν (sic!) τῶν ἱερέων — Blessed by the hands of the priests or The infant Virgin blessed by the priests, as this composition is also titled, is a scene based on the Protoevangelium of James, ch. 6. The same scene occurs on the south wall of the diakonikon at the church of St Stephen. At the church of the Ascension the scene has survived partially, and the inscription is translated according to how it was deciphered by A. Vassiliev before the restoration, i.e. before the removal of the murals, on frames, and their remounting, when apparently losses

10 Ibid. 11 Ibid. 12 Ibid. 13 Ibid., pp. 28–32. 14 Unless otherwise indicated translations are those of the author.

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were recorded.15 In any case, A. Vassiliev’s record points to an exact correspondence between the titles of the scenes at St Stephen’s and the church of the Ascension, and though the latter lacks a diaconicon, the scene is also to the north of the apse in the chancel. 2. Two Archangels (upon the crown of the apse). St Michael the Archangel, Μιχαὴλ (on the viewer’s right). The label above St Gabriel the Archangel is lost. 3. A fragment of an unknown scene (to the right and south of the apse) — О…Х| ОХС.16 ІІ register: 1. Christ the Great Hierarch (prothesis niche) — a partially lost representation, now without inscriptions. 2. Two Deacons (between the niche and the apse) — no extant inscriptions, but these are possibly St Stephen and St Euplus, judging by their significance and positioning at the church of St Stephen. 3. St Gregory the Theologian (south of the apse), (ὁ ἅγιος Γρηγόριος) ὁ Θεολόγος. 4. A bust-length of an unknown hierarch. 5. An unknown hierarch. South wall: І register (east-west): 1. The Nativity (fragment). 2. The Presentation of Christ in the Temple (lost). It is noteworthy that at the church of the Ascension both the timeline of the events and their iconographic logic are observed, while at St Stephen’s the scenes go from The Baptism to The Presentation to The Nativity. 3. The Baptism of Christ — ἡ βάπτησις τοῦ Χριστοῦ. This also occurs on the south wall at St Stephen’s, and the personifications of the Jordan River and the sea are similar to those at the church of the Ascension. As has been noted in earlier publications, The Baptism at St Stephen’s is wholly identical to that at St George the Younger in Nessebăr. There are also indications that the figure of Christ, the personification of the sea, and the shape of the heavenly ray depicted in the fragment at the church on St Anastasia Island are also similar.17 4. The Transfiguration of Christ — ἡ μεταμόρφωσις τοῦ Χ(ριστο)ῦ. The Transfiguration of Christ at St Stephen’s is on the north wall. 5. The Raising of Lazarus — ἡ ἔγερσις τοῦ Λαζάρου. At St Stephen’s, this scene has been partially lost as part of the second register of murals at the prothesis. It has, however, survived as a fragment in the wall paintings removed from the Nessebărian church of

15 Vassiliev, ‘Tsărkvi ot po-novo vreme v Nessebăr i Sozopol’, p. 57. 16 Corpus na stenopisite ot XVII vek v Bălgaria, p. 29. No such letters are currently discernible. 17 Ivanka Gergova and Emmanuel Moutafov, ‘Stenopisite ot tsărkvata Sv. Georgi Mali v Nessebăr’, Art Studies Quarterly, 1 (2004), 43–55: p. 49.

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St George the Younger.18 The composition at the church of the Ascension is very well preserved and may give an idea of the entire scene at St Stephen’s. 6. The Entry into Jerusalem — ἡ Βαϊοφόρος. Palm Sunday is a scene from the second mural register on the north wall of the naos of the New Metropolitan Cathedral (= St Stephen’s) in Nessebăr, following The Transfiguration of Christ. The scenes of the Entry into Jerusalem at the church of the Ascension and St Stephen’s are absolutely identical. At the church of the Ascension the error in the New Metropolitan Cathedral ἡ Βαϊωφόρος has been corrected. 7. Christ washing the feet of his disciples — ὁ ἱερὸς νιπτήρ. This scene is also on the north wall of St Stephen’s, between The Last Supper and Christ Praying in Gethsemane. At St Stephen’s, however, only ὁ νιπτήρ is written ( John 13.5). From the aforementioned scenes in the decoration of St Stephen’s,19 it transpires that the Christological Cycle here follows the universally-recognised pattern of the Gospel, which is reflected in a logical iconographic order. Such a sequence of the Great Feasts (Nativity – Presentation – Baptism) occurs, for instance, in the decoration of the bema at the Church of the Dormition of the Virgin Mary in the village of Zervat, Albania, dating to 1605/6.20 The scenes from the life of Christ at the church of the Ascension, described above, are identical to the same scenes from the Gospels at St Stephen’s, which bespeaks not only the use of the same models, but also the hand of the same painters. ІІІ register (east-west): 1. Two unknown full-length hierarchs (in the chancel). 2. St Spyridon of Trimythous — ὁ ἅγιος [Σπυρίδω]ν. The saint is also represented in the diaconicon of St Stephen.21 3. John the Forerunner as Angel of the Desert — ὁ ἅγιος Ἰω(άννης), holds a scroll with an illegible text. This scroll usually contains a text from Matt. 4.17, as, for example, in the church in Zervat.22 4. Seraphim in the window reveals. 5. An ornament. 6. St Sisoes the Great on the grave of Alexander the Great (below the window; the representation was damaged during the restoration); 7. Mandylion (right of the window) — ΙС ΧС, halo — ὁ ὤν. Over the identical representation in the central nave of St Stephen runs the text: τὸ ἅγιον Μανδήλιον. Christ’s face is very similarly rendered in both churches, but the Mandylions differ in form. At St Stephen’s, the cloth is tied in the form of a swing, while at the church of the Ascension it hangs like a curtain from a cornice, allowing the painter to render

18 19 20 21

Ibid., p. 48. Vassiliev, ‘Tsărkvi ot po-novo vreme v Nessebăr i Sozopol’, p. 57. Corpus na stenopisite ot XVII vek v Bălgaria, p. 29. Maria Kolusheva, ‘Tsărkvata Uspenie Bogoroditchno v Zervat’, Art Studies Quarterly, 1 (2018), 59–74: p. 62. A similarity between the faces of St Spyridon at the church of the Ascension and St Cyril at St Stephen’s has been noted in Diana Popova, ‘Kăm văprosa za hudozhestvenoto atelie ili shkola v Nessebăr ot kraja na ХVІ i nachaloto na ХVІІ vek’, Izkustvo, 2 (1985), 34–41: р. 38. 22 Kolusheva, ‘Tsărkvata Uspenie Bogoroditchno v Zervat’, p. 65, ill. 8.

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the pattern on the cloth. Both cloths showing the impression of Christ’s face in the two churches are fringed, and the patterns are similar. The Mandylion at the church of the Ascension again occurs on the south wall because of the lack of a dome, and is combined with a niche. 8. St John Kalybites (the niche under the Mandylion) — ὁ Ἰω(άννης) ὁ Καλυβίτης.23 Dionysius of Fourna describes the saint as young, beardless, holding a closed Gospel book.24 His feast day falls on 15th January. At the church of the Ascension he is represented instead as a martyr, with a cross in his right hand and an empty left hand. 9. Sts Constantine and Helen — ὁ ἅγιος Κωνσταντίνος, ἡ ἁγία Ἐλένη. (Fig. 4) The representation of Sts Constantine and Helen at St Stephen’s is very similar: the faces of the Emperor and the crowns are almost identical at both monuments. Slight differences are discernible in their clothing. It is also noteworthy that Sts Constantine and Helen are represented, like at St Stephen, on the south wall of the naos, rather than on the west wall. Apparently it is a local tradition, because the two saints are also depicted on the south wall, surrounded by Sts Nestor and Mercurius, at the Nessebărian Church of St George the Elder, refurbished in 1709.25 Constantine and Helen also appear on the south wall in the sixteenth-century painted murals in the church in the village of Vukovo. 10. Christ Emmanuel — Ἰ(ησοῦ)ς Χ(ριστὸ)ς ὁ Ἐμ(μα)νουὴλ, holds a scroll reading: Πνεῦμα Κ[υρίου] ἐπ᾿ ἐ|μέ, οὗ ἄ|νεκεν (sic! lege ἕνεκεν vel εἵνεκεν) ἔχρι[σέν με,…] — The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He has anointed me … (as translated in KJV) (Isa 61.1, Lu 4.18). The appearance of Christ Emmanuel with these words on the south wall of the church of the Ascension is once again due to the fact that the Cathedral is domeless, as already noted, for instance, with regard to the Mandylion. Emmanuel is depicted in the vaults between the two pendentives which depict the evangelists together with the Mandylion and the Keramidion, as recommended by Dionysius of Fourna.26 Here the young Jesus is portrayed in glory, as he would usually be depicted in The Transfiguration, The Mandylion and Christ Emmanuel, thus underlining the great importance of Sts Constantine and Helen, represented between them. 11. An unidentified hermit saint (left reveal) — ὁ ἅγιος … Judging by the representations on the reveals of the west door at St Stephen’s, together with the following representation (St Macarius), this is probably St Onouphrius of Egypt. 12. St Macarius of Rome (right reveal) — ὁ ἅγιος Μακάριος. Exists in the iconographic programme at St Stephen’s. 13. St Anastasia Pharmacolytria (west of the door) — ἡ ἁγία Ἀναστασία ἡ Φαρμακολύτρια. It is noteworthy that there is no extant representation of St Anastasia at St Stephen’s, though the cult of this saint, originating in Asia Minor, was very popular with the Greeks on the Black Sea coast. It would appear, however, that the parishioners at the

23 Vassiliev, ‘Tsărkvi ot po-novo vreme v Nessebăr i Sozopol’, p. 57 writes the name of the saint in Cyrillic letters, which is not based on fact. 24 Dionysius of Fourna, Ἑρμηνεία τῆς ζωγραφικῆς τέχνης. ed. Athanasios Papadopoulos-Kerameus (St Petersburg: Kirschbaum, 1909), p. 166. 25 Vassiliev, ‘Tsărkvi ot po-novo vreme v Nessebăr i Sozopol’, p. 55. 26 Dionysius of Fourna, Ἑρμηνεία τῆς ζωγραφικῆς τέχνης, p. 216.

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church of the Ascension insisted on having her as one of their heavenly protectors, as she was believed to have healing powers and to break spells. 14. St Catherine? — ἡ ἁγία … St Catherine is represented on the south wall of the naos at St Stephen’s, but here the inscription containing the name has been lost. The identification with St Catherine is drawn from A. Vassiliev.27 15. St Paraskeve — ἡ ἁγία Παρασκευ[ὴ]. A. Vassiliev wrongly identified this saint as St Matrona,28 hence this error has been repeated in later publications.29 St Paraskeve is represented on the west arch underneath the south wall of the central nave of St Stephen’s and is one of the most venerated Orthodox saints. The icon of St Paraskeve now in the collections of the Nessebăr Museum of Archaeology (inv. no. 31, 73 × 53 cm) was probably painted by the same artist.30 16. St Marina — ἡ ἁγία Μαρίνα. St Marina, hammering the devil, is also a much-venerated saint around the Black Sea and in southern Bulgaria generally. She is absent at St Stephen, while at St George the Younger the master painter placed the female saints on the north wall, and painted St Cyriace (Cyriaca, Dominica), St Paraskeve, and St Marina next to St Barbara.31 This suggests that the most venerated female saints were probably more often represented in the parish churches in Nessebăr, because the majority of their churchgoers may have been women and girls, while the Metropolitan Cathedral — St Stephen’s — would have been a venue for solemn liturgical services attended more by clergymen. It is noteworthy that the female saints depicted include figures from Orthodox Church history whose names are among the most popular female personal names (Elena, Ecatherina, Anastasia, Marina, Paraskeve, with the addition of Barbara at St Stephen). From this it is possible to draw conclusions about onomastics in the region in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. 17. Dado, ornament. Northern wall: (Fig. 4) І Register (west-east): 1. Ressurrection of Christ — ἡ Ἀνάστασις τοῦ Χ(ριστο)ῦ. This scene followed the same pattern as that at St Stephen’s, where it is also found on the north wall. Since this scene at the church of the Ascension was damaged when a new window opening was made and another window bricked up, the scene at St Stephen’s can be used to reconstruct the earlier painting. 2. Doubting Thomas — ἡ ψηλάφησις τοῦ Θωμᾶ. A scene exactly identical to that at St Stephen’s, where the Doubting is also on the north wall, but between Mid-Pentecost and the Descent into Hell or Anastasis (Resurrection).32 27 Vassiliev, ‘Tsărkvi ot po-novo vreme v Nessebăr i Sozopol’, p. 57. 28 Ibid. 29 Corpus na stenopisite ot XVII vek v Bălgaria, p. 29. 30 Zheanna Tchimbuleva and Vasil Gyuzelev, Ikoni ot Nessebur (Sofia: Guttenberg, 2003), no. 53. The identification is in Gergova and Moutafov, ‘Stenopisite ot tsărkvata Sv. Georgi Mali v Nessebăr’, p. 50, where parallels are drawn between the image of St Demetrius at St George the Younger and an icon of the same name. 31 Gergova and Moutafov, ‘Stenopisite ot tsărkvata Sv. Georgi Mali v Nessebăr’, p. 45. 32 These are different titles of the same iconographic scene for the art historians.

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3. The Ascension of Christ — ἡ Ἀνάληψις. The second register of scenes on the north wall at St Stephen’s begins with The Ascension, i.e. it precedes Mid-Pentecost, Doubting Thomas and The Descent into Hell. The composition at St Stephen’s is analogous and here it is understood to be related to the cathedral’s dedication to the Ascension. 4. Pentecost — ἡ ἁγία Πεντηκοστή. An identical Descent of the Holy Spirit (Pentecost) is represented at St Stephen’s, but on the west wall of the naos, near the monumental Dormition. 5. The Dormition of the Theotokos — ἡ κοίμησις τῆς Θ(εοτό)κου. Since there is less space allotted to The Dormition of the Theotokos at St Stephen’s, an abbreviated version of the composition is observed here, compared to the same scene at St Stephen.33 Only one of the hierarchs, probably St John of Damascus, holds an open book, but the text is now illegible. In his description of this scene, Dionysius of Fourna recommends writing on his scroll: Ἀξίως ὡς ἔμψυχον σὲ οὐρανὸν ὑπεδέξατο οὐράνια, πάναγνε, θεῖα σκηνώματα, καὶ παρέστηκας34 — You are worthy to be received living into heaven, most pure (Virgin), and appear in the heavenly tabernacles. At St Stephen’s, however, the text by the same hymnographer is longer: Εἰ ὁ ἀκατάληπτος ταύτης καρπός, δι᾿ ὃν οὐρανὸς ἐχρημάτισε, (ταφὴν ὑπέστη, ἑκουσίως ὡς θνητός. Πῶς τὴν ταφὴν ἀρνήσεται, ἡ ἀπειρογάμως κυήσασα;) — Since the fruit of her womb with whom the Heavens blessed her, was entombed as if he were a mortal, how should the one who conceived seedlessly be denied laying to rest? (Liturgy of St John of Damascus for 15th Sept.). The choice to represent the The Dormition on the north wall is also unconventional, but here it is above the door and perhaps the following scenes explain this choice. 6. The Nativity of the Theotokos — ἡ γέννησις τῆς Θ(εοτό)κου. The same Nativity of the Theotokos is painted on the south wall of the north aisle at St Stephen’s, where it corresponds to The Nativity of St John the Baptist, represented below. It would appear that at St Stephen’s, the Cycle of the Life of the Virgin, i.e. the eternal life of the Virgin, unconventionally beginning with The Dormition, continues here. 7. The Presentation of the Theotokos — ἡ ἐν τῷ ναῷ εἴσοδος τῆς Θ(εοτό)κου. Following the events chronologically, the painter represented the Presentation here, but, unlike at St Stephen’s, did not give it the title τὰ ἅγια τῶν ἁγίων — Holy of Holies (north wall of the south aisle), although the composition is identical. Here again, as at St Stephen, the moment when the Virgin receives bread from the hand of an angel is combined with the Presentation (τὰ εἰσόδια τῆς Θεοτόκου), as recommended in the later hermeneiai.35 St Stephen’s, however, lacks the impressive capitals of the kouvouklion (aedicula) that existed in the earlier painted church. This scene is an illustration of the Protoevangelium of James 7.4–9. It is evident here that the painters, in contrast to the decoration of the St Stephen’s, did not produce their best work. From this it can be inferred that even the production of the same painters might vary in quality depending on the importance of

33 The similarity of this scene in both cathedrals has already been noted in Popova. ‘Kăm văprosa za hudozhestvenoto atelie ili shkola v Nessebăr ot kraja na ХVІ i nachaloto na ХVІІ vek’, pp. 37–38. For an icon, probably painted by the same master, see Doroteia Sokolova, ‘Pet nesebărski ikoni ot XVI XVII vek’, Izkustvo, 8 (1978), p. 14–17: 16. 34 Dionysius of Fourna, Ἑρμηνεία τῆς ζωγραφικῆς τέχνης, p. 145. 35 Dionysius of Fourna, Ἑρμηνεία τῆς ζωγραφικῆς τέχνης, p. 144.

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the commission, the status of a church or a church donor, and the amount of money paid, i.e. paying the painters better would result in more attention to detail. 8. St Joachim (a bust-length on the east front on the thickening of the wall) — ὁ ἅγιος Ἰωακείμ. Logically, the Mariological Cycle deals with the Virgin’s parents, who also take their rightful place in the central nave at St Stephen’s.36 9. St Anna — ἡ ἁγία Ἄννα. Here again, as at St Stephen’s, the representations of St Joachim and St Anna correspond diagonally to the Mandylion on the south wall. 10. St Nicephorus of Constantinople (three medallions with bust-length hierarchs at the altar) — ὁ ἅγιος Νικηφόρος. There is no extant inscription signifying St Nicephorus at St Stephen’s. However, these representations could be a good basis for identification of the hierarchs who are depicted around the altar of St Stephen’s. 11. St Eleutherios, Bishop of Illyricum — ὁ ἅγιος Ἐλ[ευθέριος]. St Eleutherios is connected with safe delivery in childbirth, and for this reason is very popular amongst Greeks. His presence in the iconographic programme of St Stephen’s has not been established. 12. St Babylas — ἅ[γιος] Βαβήλας (sic! lege Βαβύλας). His feast day falls on 4th September, and he may also be used for reconstructing the unknown hierarchs in the chancel at St Stephen’s. ІІ Register (west-east): Full-length saints: 1. St James the Persian — ὁ ἅγιος Ἰάκοβος ὁ Πέρσος (sic! lege Ἰάκωβος ὁ Πέρσης). The name Πέρσος, instead of Πέρσης, is spelled almost in the same way in the third register on the north wall at St Stephen. There, however, the first name is spelled correctly, Ἰάκωβος, while at the church of the Ascension there are two ‘ο’s. In both churches the saint’s pose is identical, but there are certain differences in the representation of his garb and his bizarre hat. In illustration of what has been said above about the connection between attention to detail and the prestige of the artistic commission, the representation at St Stephen’s is, of course, more sophisticated, and features richer details, especially in the rendering of the exotic hat. However, the fabric of the saint’s garb at the church of the Ascension is more ornamented, as noted above with regard to the description of the Mandylions in the two churches. St James the Persian’s hat at St Stephen’s is rather reminiscent of the same detail, dating to 1557, at the Monastery of St Nicholas Anapaúsas in Meteora, painted by Theophanes the Cretan.37 2. St Menas — ὁ ἅγιος Μηνᾶς ὁ Αἰγύπτιος. To provide symmetry with St James the Persian, the next saint holds his martyrial cross in his left hand. There is no record of a representation of St Menas at St Stephen’s, not even in an inscription. This probably suggests that the choice of the warrior saints on the north wall at the church of the Ascension should be associated not only with the popularity of the martyrs, but also

36 Popova, ‘Kăm văprosa za hudozhestvenoto atelie ili shkola v Nessebăr ot kraja na ХVІ i nachaloto na ХVІІ vek’, pp. 38–39 notes similarities between this St Joachim and the representation of St Peter at St Stephen’s, but does not specify which image of St Peter at St Stephen’s she refers to. 37 Photograph in Margarita Kuyumdzheiva, ‘Kăsnosrednovekovnite zhivopistsi – profesionalen status i metodi na rabota’, in Roads of the Balkan Painters, ed. Bisserka Penkova (Sofia: Institute of Art Studies, 2020), 20–29: p. 24.

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with the specific cults of a particular parish, and possibly with local onomastics, as indicated above in relation to the female representations. 3. St Eustathius Placidas — ὁ ἅγιος Εὐστάθιος (ὁ Πλακίδας). There is a variant form of this name, Εὐστράτιος,38 and both versions are hugely popular with the Greeks on the Black Sea. St Eustathius Placidas is a warrior saint, whose feast day falls on 20th September. At St Stephen’s, however, another Eustratius is represented as one of the five martyrs of Cappadocia or Armenia: Sts Auxentius, Mardarius, Eugenius and Orestes. Their feast day falls on 13th December.39 4. St Nestor — ὁ ἅγιος Νέστωρ. His feast day is celebrated on 27th October, together with St Demetrius, and he continues the order of the warrior saints, represented here, however, simply as martyrs holding a cross. St Nestor was represented next to St Theodore Stratelates at St George the Younger.40 The representation on the west wall at St Stephen’s is probably also of him, but there is no extant inscription. 5. St Artemius — ὁ ἅγιος Ἀρτέμιος. There is a representation of St Artemius at St Stephen’s as well, and the saint’s face is rendered in a similar fashion by the painter in both churches. 6. St Procopius — ὁ ἅγιος Προκόπιος. St Artemius is also represented next to St Procopius on the north wall of St Stephen’s. There, however, his face has been destroyed, when a new window opening was made and then later bricked up. The figure of St Procopius at the church of the Ascension may therefore serve as an indication of the model used by the painters for this personage. Dionysius of Fourna describes him as young and beardless,41 which is how he appears at St Stephen’s. 7. St Theodore the Tyro — ὁ ἅγιος Θεόδωρος ὁ Τήρων. There is also a similar representation in the register of full-length standing saints on the west wall of St Stephen’s. 8. The Three Holy Youths (from the fiery furnace) (three bust-length medallions above the door) — Τρεῖς παίδες| Ἀνανίας, Ἀζαρίας, Μισαὴλ. The representations of Ananias, Azarias and Misael also appear in medallions in the prothesis of St Stephen’s, where they were probably combined with the representation of Prophet Daniel. 9. St Theodore Stratelates, an erased inscription. The same warrior saints were represented in almost the same order at the now-demolished Church of St George the Younger in Nessebăr, but there St Demetrius is denoted as ‘myrrh-exuding’ (μυροβλήτης).42 10. St Demetrius of Thessalonica — Δ(ημή)τρ(ιος). 11. St George the Victory-bearer — Γεώ[ργι]ο[ς]. St George and St Demetrius are also found next to each other in the iconographic programme of the west wall at St Stephen’s. 12. St Michael the Archangel, illegible inscription.

38 Dionysius of Fourna, Ἑρμηνεία τῆς ζωγραφικῆς τέχνης, pp. 158, 314. Βιβλίον τῆς ζωγραφικῆς τέχνης, Appendixes 4–5 in Dionysius of Fourna, Ἑρμηνεία τῆς ζωγραφικῆς τέχνης, ed. A. Papadopoulos-Kerameus (St Petersburg: Kirschbaum, 1909), p. 270. 39 Argyro Karaberidi, Η Μονή Πατέρων και η ζωγραφική του 16ου και 17ου αιώνα στην περιοχή της Ζίτσας Ιωαννίνων (Ioannina: Etereia Ipirotikon Meleton, 2009), p. 67. 40 Gergova and Moutafov, ‘Stenopisite ot tsărkvata Sv. Georgi Mali v Nessebăr’, p. 46 with a photograph. 41 Dionysius of Fourna, Ἑρμηνεία τῆς ζωγραφικῆς τέχνης, p. 157. 42 Gergova and Moutafov, ‘Stenopisite ot tsărkvata Sv. Georgi Mali v Nessebăr’, p. 45.

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13. St Mary the Egyptian receiving communion (on the east front of the wall in front of the altar), erased inscription. This scene is found also at St Stephen’s. 14. Mary of Egypt receiving her Last Communion from the hands of St Zosimus. The inscriptions are not discernible except ὁ ἅγιος . 15. The vision of St Peter of Alexandria (at the altar) — ὁ ἅγιος Πέτρος ὁ Ἀλεξανδρεῦς, Ἰ(ησοῦ)ς Χ(ριστὸ)ς, text in the background of the scene (Fig. 7): χιτῶνα σεπτὸν τίς ὁ ῥυγνύ(ς) (sic! lege ῥηγνύς) σου, Λόγε,43 ὡς γυμνὸν| ὀφθῆναί σε44 τῆς θείας δόξης; μὴ δῆμος αὗθις Ἑβραίων παρανό|μων ἐφ’ ἱματισμόν κλῆρον ἐμβάλ[λ]ουσίν σου;| in the margins: ὁ Χ(ριστό)ς: Οὐκοῦν θεοκτονοῦσιν αἱβραίοι (sic! lege Ἑβραῖοι) πάλ(ιν), ὁ δ’ ἀσ(ε)βὴ(ς) Ἄρειος,| ἀρᾶς προστάτης, λόγοις βδελυροῖς, τμητικοῖς ὑπ(ὲρ) ξίφος,| ἀπαμφιάζει πατρικῆς ἐξουσίας καὶ συναποστερεῖ με τῆς τιμῆς| τῆς ἐνθέου. (St Peter of Alexandria asks:) – Who tore thy humble robe, Word, Leaving thee uncovered to thy divine glory? Did the unlawful people of the Jews Bet your himation on a game of dice? (Christ answers:) – Jews shalt not kill God anymore, But the sacrilegious Arius, the accursed heretic, Using foul words, as sharp as a sword, Denies my father’s power Forfeiting the honour of the divine. The dialogue between Peter of Alexandria and Christ in this scene is usually much shorter: Τίς σου τὸν χιτῶνα, Σῶτερ, διεῖλεν; – Οὗτος ὁ (ἄφρων καὶ)45 παγκάκιστος Ἄρειος, Πέτρε — Who tore thy robe, O Saviour? – The (insane and) most evil/ wicked Arius, O Peter.46 The longer verses are only to be found in prototype of the Priest Daniel’s Hermeneia. The abridged version of this dialogue is found in the later tradition recorded by Dionysius of Fourna. To me, this is further evidence that the prototype of Daniel’s manual was used to compile the iconographic programmes in Nessebăr around the turn of the seventeenth century.47 16. St Alexis, the Man of God (in the niche below the inscription – bust-length) — ὁ ἅγιος Ἀλέξιος ὁ τοῦ Θ(εο)ῦ ἄ(νθρωπ)ος. Interestingly, St Alexis is also represented in 43 Spyridon Lampros, ‘Τὸ ὑπ’ ἀριθμὸν ΠΘ´ κατάλοιπον’, Neos Hellenomnemon, 18 (1924), 212–16, p. 213; Corpus na stenopisite prez XVII vek v Bălgaria, 2012, pp. 29–30 with some differences and mistakes, without citing Lampros. 44 σου in Dionysius of Fourna, Ἑρμηνεία τῆς ζωγραφικῆς τέχνης, p. 279. 45 Ibid., p. 219. 46 Ibid., p. 279 without ‘insane’. 47 Gergova and Moutafov, ‘Stenopisite ot tsărkvata Sv. Georgi Mali v Nessebăr’, p. 51.

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a niche on the north wall at St Stephen’s. It would seem that the choice of representing this particular saint in such spaces was typical of the atelier that worked in Nessebăr around the turn of the seventeenth century. The Historical Context and the Function of the Script From what has been described above, it is apparent that the Great Feasts and part of the Cycle of the Life of the Virgin were illustrated at the church of the Ascension. It is also evident that the painters had a tendency to apply unconventional solutions, such as placing Sts Constantine and Helen on the south wall, or The Dormition on the north. Their literary interest is also pronounced: two long inscriptions, one of which in metrical verse. However, this is nothing when compared with the impressive number of texts inscribed at St Stephen’s, because the church of the Ascension was just one of Nessebăr’s parish churches. The murals are dated in the donor’s inscription — which will be described in detail below — to 1608–1609. At least two artists were involved in the decoration of the church. Their work can also be detected in the inscriptions and wall paintings at St Stephen’s (1599) (Fig. 6), while the hand of the master painter was found also at the Church of St George the Younger in Nessebăr.48 One of the painters had, in all probability, also painted the murals at the church on St Anastasia Isle in the Bay of Burgas.49 Of the iconostasis at the church of the Ascension, only the Royal Doors have survived (National History Museum, Sofia, inv. no. 29055, 141 × 190),50 and it is already known which icons stood there.51 M. Konstantinidis is the only scholar to mention an inscription on the Royal Doors, reading: Δέησις τοῦ δούλου τοῦ Θ(εο)ῦ Ἰω(άννου) τοῦ Ἀγούρου ἅμα συμβίου καὶ τῶν τέκνων αὐτοῦ. ἀμὴν ἔτους ˏΖ Ξ´Θ´ (7069 = 1561)52 — Prayer offered by the servant of God Ioannes Agouros together with his wife and children. Amen – 1561. From this it transpires that the iconostasis was already in place when the Cathedral was painted in 1609. It is also important to specify that the comparisons between St Stephen’s and the church of the Ascension are drawn on the basis of almost exact correspondence between the compositions, treatment of faces, colouring and three-dimensional depth. Until 1968, the famous marble stela (195 × 92 cm) of the Byzantine princess Matthaisa Cantacuzena Palaiologina was situated in the floor of the church of the Ascension. The commemorative inscription on the stela was deciphered by A. Vassiliev as reading: † Ἐκοιμήθη ἡ δούλη τοῦ Θεοῦ Ματθαΐσα Κα(ν)τακουζινὴ ἡ Παλαι|ολογίνα ἔτους στ´э´υ´ μηνὶ νοεμ(βρίῳ) ἰνδ(ικτιῶνος) ε´ † — The servant of God Matthaisa Cantacuzina Palaeologina

48 Corpus na stenopisite ot XVII vek v Bălgaria, p. 30. 49 Gergova and Moutafov, ‘Stenopisite ot tsărkvata Sv. Georgi Mali v Nessebăr’, p. 46. 50 Tchimbuleva and Gyuzelev, Ikoni ot Nessebăr, pp. 40–41; Ivan Vanev, Po patia na nessebărskite ikoni (Sofia: Institute of Art Studies, 2013), р. 110. 51 Vanev, Po patia na nessebărskite ikoni, p. 110. 52 A normalised transcription after Konstantinidis, Ἡ Μεσημβρία τοῦ Εὐξείνου, p. 95. In the same instance, he quotes an inscription of 1543 in the Royal Doors at St Theodore — ἔξοδος τῆς εὐγενεστάτ[ης] ἀρχόντισσας κυρᾶς Κα(ν) τακουζινῆς Ῥάλενας. ἀμὴν ἔτει ˏζ ν´α´ (7051 = 1543) — All this evidence demonstrates that by the mid-sixteenth century churches were widely decorated in Nessebăr, which most probably relates to the growing affluence of the locals owing to the supply of boats to the Ottoman navy by the local shipyard.

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found her final resting place in the year 6950 (= 1441), November, Indiction V.53 Matthaisa Cantacuzena Palaiologina, formerly Maria-Eirene, was a Bulgarian queen, wife of Michael Asan IV (1322–1355). Following the death of the Bulgarian king she took her vows as a fully professed nun and received her religious name, Matthaisa, at the Monastery of the Theotokos Eleousa in Nessebăr. She died in 1399 and later, her grave was moved to the cathedral dedicated to the Wisdom of God, in the days of Demetrius Palaeologus, the city governor. Her stela is now kept in the Nessebăr Museum of Archaeology.54 This spolium was, in all likelihood, moved to the church of the Ascension in the early seventeenth century, when the Cathedral was refurbished and painted by Theotókis Cappadoukas. The donor’s inscription at the church of the Ascension, above the doorway on the south wall reads: † Ἀρχιερατεύοντος τοῦ πανιερωτάτου Μ(ητ)ροπολίτ[ου] τῆς ἁγιωτάτ(ης) Μητροπόλεως Μεσημβρί(ας) κύρου Κυπριανοῦ καὶ ἱερατεύοντος τοῦ εὐλαβε(στάτου) ἐν ἱερεύσιν| κὺρ Ἀγαπίου, ἱερέως καὶ σακελαρίου Μεσημβρί(ας) άνιστορίθ(η) (sic!) ὁ θεῖος οὗτος καὶ πάνσεπτος ναὸ(ς) τῆς ὑπεραγί(ας) δεσποίν(ης) ἡμ(ῶν) Θ(εοτό)κου καὶ ἀειπαρθένου Μαρί(ας) τῆς ἐπονομαζομένης Ἀναλήψεως, δι’ ἐξό|δων τοῦ τιμιωτάτου καὶ εὐγενεστάτου ἄρχοντος κὺρ Θε[ο]τοκίου τοῦ Καππάδοκα εἰς ὠφέλειαν καὶ ψυχικὴν περιποί[η]σιν τῆς ἑαυτοῦ καὶ εἰς εὐλογίαν καὶ παραμυθείαν τῶν θεοσεβῶν τε καὶ φιλο|χρίστων τῶν συνδρομησάντων ἀνδρῶν τε καὶ γυναικῶν, τῶν εἰσιόντων ἐν αὐτῷ μετὰ φόβου Θ(εο)ῦ καὶ εὐλαβείας, ἔξουσι δὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ τὴν πανυπέραγνον καὶ ἀειπάρθενον καὶ [τῆς] μητέρας τοῦ φωτὸς ἄγρι|πνον (sic! lege ἄγρυπνον) ἀεὶ τῆς ψυχῆς φύλακα, πρέσβιν εὐπρόσωπον πρὸς τὸν γεννηθέντα ἐξ αὐτῆς υἱὸν καὶ Λόγον τοῦ Θ(εο)ῦ ἐν κυνδίνοις ἀντιλήπτορα καὶ βοηθὸν ἐν τῷ ἐνεστώτι| βίῳ καὶ ἐν τῷ μέλλον[τι] αἰῶνι, δοξάζειν Πατέρα, υἱὸν καὶ ἅγιον πνεῦμα, τ(ὴν) μίαν Θεότητα[ν] καὶ βασιλείαν εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας ἀμὴν † ἔτους ˏΖ Ρ´Ι´Ν´ (7117 = 1609) ἰνδ(ικτιώνος) Ζ´ … ΝϞΠΛ́ΟΘΛΩ = Νικόλαος † — In the days of the Metropolitanate of the Most Holy Metropolitan of the Holy Mesembrian See, Master Cyprianus, and the priesthood of the most blessed among the priests, Master Agapius, a priest and sacellarius of Mesembria, this holy and all-pure church of Our Most Holy Lady Mother of God and the Ever-Virgin Mary, called the Ascension, was painted with the funds of the most honest and noble Archon, Master Theotókis Cappadokas for the betterment and spiritual care for him and as a blessing and an encouragement to the God-fearing and Christ-loving donors – men and women, to those entering this temple with fear of God and adoration, so that of them also may be perpetual protectress the all-holy and the ever-virgin mother of the light undying, as well as a winsome-faced advocate with Her Son and the Word of God, redeemer from trouble and succour in this world and in the world to come, praising the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, the consubstantial God and His Kingdom forever. Amen † 1609, Indiction VII … Nicholaos.55

53 Lampros, ‘Τὸ ὑπ’ ἀριθμὸν ΠΘ´ κατάλοιπον’, p. 213; Konstantinidis, Ἡ Μεσημβρία τοῦΕὐξείνου, p. 94 — The editor of Konstantinidis Georgios Megas, also a Messembrian, mentioned that in 1910 the ledger stone was still contained in the flooring of the church of the Ascension. The reading agrees with that in Vassiliev, ‘Tsărkvi ot po-novo vreme v Nessebăr i Sozopol’, pp. 58–59, who in all likelihood used the publications of G. Balaschev and consulted T. Gerasimov regarding the Greek texts in Nessebăr. 54 Doncheva, ‘Μεσημβρία (Νεότεροι χρόνοι)’. The inscription, copied onto a 1856 print by Auguste Desarnod, reads: ἐκοιμήθη ἡ δούλη τοῦ Θεοῦ Ματθαΐσα Κα(ν)τακουζινή ἡ Παλαιολογίνα ἔτους 1441 μηνί Νοεμ(βρίου) Ἰν(δικτιώνος) Ε´ — The servant of God Mataisa Cantacuzina Palaeologina found her final resting place in the year 1441, November, Indiction V. Also published in Konstantinidis, Ἡ Μεσημβρία τοῦ Εὐξείνου, p. 94. 55 The end of the inscription is discussed below on pp. 183-4.

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A thorough perusal of the above text shows that this church was painted in the days of Cyprianus, Metropolitan of Messembria, and of the priest and sacellarius Agapius, with the funds of Archon Theotókis Cappadoukas. The latter’s name was previously deciphered as Theotókis Cappa Doukas.56 The correct interpretation of this name as Cappadoukas (Cappadokas) has recently allowed G. Gerov to connect this donor with a noble Nessebărian family of Cappadocian Greeks, the most famous member of whom was Archon Theotókis Cappadokas (coming from Cappadocia).57 His name is also found in an inscription from the Royal Doors of the iconostasis at St Stephen, now in the collections of the National Museum of History, Sofia (inv. no. 29058):58 Δέησις τοῦ δούλου τοῦ Θεοῦ Θεοτόκη Καππαδόκα| ἅμα συμβίου καὶ τέκνων αὐτοῦ| αἴτους (sic! lege ἔτους) Α´Χ´Στ´59 — A prayer offered by the servant of God Theotokis Kappadokas together with his wife and children. Amen, year 1606.60 Other records provide information that the name of Theotókis’ wife was Keratsa Kalouda or Cappadokina.61 In other words, their family were renowned patrons in Nessebăr around the turn of the seventeenth century. Previously, the year in this inscription was deemed to be 1660/1,62 but redating the doors at St Stephen, together with establishing the presence of the same hand at work in the donor’s inscription on the Royal Doors now at the Church of St Paraskeve in the town of Biala,63 demonstrates that the atelier was also working in Nessebăr, and therefore that royal doors were made not only for St Stephen’s, but also for the Church of St George the Younger (whence they were taken to Biala). I rule out the possibility that the doors, presented by Sfrandzis Reyzis, were commissioned for the church of the Ascension, since in 1606 there would have been an earlier iconostasis (from 1561, presented by Ioannis Agouros).64 The seventeenth-century paint layer was not the earliest at the New Metropolis (St Stephen), the only cathedral in the post-Byzantine period: on the crest of the apse an earlier paint layer is discernible with a badly damaged inscription …Ι CΟΙ ΠΕT …?, which I believe to be from around the turn of the sixteenth century. Spolia were used in the Cathedral, and capitals of ancient columns were incorporated into the prothesis niche as ‘shelves’. What is noteworthy in the inscription, besides its strict grammatical correctness and length, is the use of many hymnographic loan phrases, which are due to the fact that it was written by a cleric, Priest Nicholaos. Was Nicholaos an icon painter? The earliest attempt to descipher the end of the inscription at the church of the Assumption was made by

56 Konstantinidis, Ἡ Μεσημβρία τοῦ Εὐξείνου, p. 97. 57 Georgi Gerov, ‘Nessebărskata hudozhestvena produkcia ot kraja na XVI – nachaloto na XVII vek. Novi danni’, Art Studies Quarterly, 2 (2012), 20–26: р. 24. 58 Theofana Matakieva-Lilkova, Icons in Bulgaria (Sofia: Borina, 1994), pp. 54–55, no. 17. The year was deciphered as 1660 or 1661 and repeated in other, later publications. 59 Matakieva-Lilkova, Icons in Bulgaria, pp. 54–55; Ralitsa Ruseva (ed.), Khristianskoe iskusstvo Bolgarii (exhibition catalogue) (Moscow: State History Museum, 2003), p. 44; Ivan Vanev and Nadezhda Tsvetkova, ‘Ot tsărkvata do museja. Po patia na nessebărskite ikoni’, Art Studies Quarterly, 2 (2011), 20–25: p. 24. 60 The year was corrected as a result of a reading by Ts. Vassilev in: Ekaterina Аndonova, ‘Restavracia na sveti dveri ot tsărkvata “Sv. Paraskeva” v grad Byala’, Art Studies Quarterly, 3 (2014), 10–14: p. 12. 61 Konstantinidis, Ἡ Μεσημβρία τοῦ Εὐξείνου, p. 97. 62 Matakieva-Lilkova, Icons in Bulgaria, pp. 54–55; Ruseva, Khristianskoe iskusstvo Bolgarii, p. 44; Vanev and Tsvetkova, ‘Ot tsărkvata do museja. Po patia na nessebărskite ikoni’, p. 24. 63 Аndonova, ‘Restavracia na sveti dveri ot tsărkvata “Sv. Paraskeva” v grad Byala’, p. 12. 64 Lampros, ‘Τὸ ὑπ’ ἀριθμὸν ΠΘ´ κατάλοιπον’, p. 213.

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G. Megas, confirmed by Sp. Lampros,65 and then repeated by M. Konstantinidis; they read the year: 7117, Indiction VII † … ΝϞΠΛ́ΟΘΛΩ (= Νικόλαος Χ.). In other words, as early as 1924 it was clear that the end of the commemorative text was a cryptogram: ‘Nicholaos’, but nothing else was offered about the preceding words.66 A. Vassiliev read the year 7117 (= 1609), but he deciphered the indiction as VII, which is wrong. He left the end without any suggestion as to how to read it, stressing that ‘the last words of the inscription, probably containing the name of the one who wrote them, are unreadable and can hardly be deciphered’.67 Neither of the authors mentions the existence of the words ‘August–September’, which did not appear until Zhdrakov’s publication.68 No names of months occurred in the inscription itself after the restoration. A thorough interpretation of the end reads: Ẻ ́ΤΟΥΣ ˏΖΡΙΖω, Ỉν(δικτιῶν)ος, Ζ(ης) ⁕ Ἱερεύς · ΝϞΠΛ́ΟΘΛΩ † — year seven thousand one hundred and seventeen, Indiction VII, Priest Nicholaos † The former ‘cryptogram’ is a spelling of the word ἱερεύς of a ‘monocondylia’ type, typical of certain documents. The word ἱερομόναχος is enciphered in a similar manner in the calligraphic signature of Anthimus, found in the Chronicle of Mesembria (Mesembrian codex).69 What is indisputable here is the existence of the name Νικόλαος, and that it is in the nominative case.70 This nominative case, in its turn, excludes the agreement of the name with the phrase διὰ χειρός, which takes a genitive case, i.e. διὰ χειρός Νικολάου. At the end, where M. Konstantinidis sees a ‘Х’, and Zhdrakov ἱερέως, a stylised cross is inscribed, such as would be added at the end of a document, or at the end of the verses containing the dialogue between St Peter of Alexandria and Jesus at the same church. In other words, it is beyond doubt that we have here the name of Priest Nicholaos, but it remains an enigma as to whether he was the painter or the writer of the inscription, as A. Vassiliev, the founding father of Bulgarian art history, assumed. By mentioning ‘enigma’ in the context of the cryptograph in question, I would like to specify that in my opinion, along with the two functions of inscriptions formulated by Andreas Rhoby — informative and decorative71 — some inscriptions, such as the enciphered signature of Priest Nicholaos, and that of the Hieromonk Anthimus from Iraklitsa, etc., as well as the widespread cryptograms combined with representations of crosses usually found in monastic settings — also have an enigmatic function. That is to say, they are an enigma to the uninitiated recipients or readers, who are outside the setting of the creation of this puzzle of letters or are unaccompanied by someone initiated in the decipherment. Such enciphered messages have the value of a specific rebus allowing for various readings, but only one of these is true, the one relating to the religion, local cults, the specifics of the congregation, and other realia. It is this enigmatic function of certain inscriptions that

65 Lampros, ‘Τὸ ὑπ’ ἀριθμὸν ΠΘ´ κατάλοιπον’, p. 213. 66 Konstantinidis, Ἡ Μεσημβρία τοῦ Εὐξείνου, p. 97. 67 Vassiliev, ‘Tsărkvi ot po-novo vreme v Nessebăr i Sozopol’, p. 58. 68 Zarko Zhdrakov, ‘Vlianieto na kritskata shkola vărhu bălgarskata zhivopis prez ХVI vek’, in The Bulgarian Sixteenth Century, ed. Boriana Khristova (Sofia, National Library of Bulgaria, 1996), pp. 565–73 and are repeated in Corpus na stenopisite ot XVII vek v Bălgaria, p. 30. 69 Petăr Tchilev, ‘Mesemvrijska kondika (codex)’, in Perioditchno spisanie 1908, vol. 9–10, 608–22: pp. 608–12. 70 Elpidio Mioni, Εισαγωγή στην ελληνική παλαιογραφία (Athens: Protoporia, 2009), p. 112. 71 Andreas Rhoby. ‘Interactive Inscriptions: Byzantine Works of Art and Their Beholders’, in Spatial Icons (Moscow: Indrik, 2011), 317–33: p. 319.

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attracts the greatest amount of attention from the audience, since it poses a challenge. The other representations connected with the inscriptions contained therein are readable and their message is invariable but limited. For example, a representation of a saint with familiar attributes, or a scene from the Gospels accompanied by an inscription signifying their already obvious content, bear witness to presence, respect for the prototype, conformity to the canon, fulfillment of liturgical and illustrative functions. An enciphered message, by contrast, creates conditions for reasoning and active reception of the cult, and lays the groundwork for shaping a metanarrative. It is no coincidence that the palaeographical tradition outside Nessebăr knew the cryptogram for Nicholaos as ΝϞΠΛ́ΟΘΛΩ. It, however, can only be deciphered by an educated Orthodox Christian, well versed and living in the tradition. That was why M. Konstantinidis succeeded in deciphering the enciphered writing centuries later, while the rest of his contemporaries, especially those who were not native Greek speakers, failed, creating their own legends. Returning to the content of the donor’s inscription at the church of the Ascension, it should be noted that the church apparently had a double dedication to the Theotokos and the Ascension of Christ, as the formula was used: … church of Our Most Holy Lady Theotokos and the Ever-Virgin Mary, called Ascension,… (The Church of St Spyridon, for instance, has a double dedication as well, being also known as the Church of the Theotokos Ponolytria).72 Another characteristic feature of its content is the hierarchically arranged ordering of the names, beginning with Metropolitan Cyprianus, then priest Agapius, who was also the sacellarius of Mesembria, followed by the affluent citizen who funded the decoration of the Cathedral, then, finally, Priest Nicholaos. Taking into account that the same painter and his journeymen did not sign the far more masterfully crafted iconographic programme at the more important Metropolitan Cathedral of St Stephen, I am more and more certain in my belief that Priest Nicholaos was the parish priest of the church of the Ascension, rather than the painter of the church, decorated in 1609. Parish priests were important figures in the Greek coastal cities on the Black Sea in the Ottoman period. In sixteenth-century Achtopolis, for example, there were 13 neighbourhoods, and most of these were given the names of local priests as place names: neighbourhood of Father Yorgi (from Γιώργος) Slav, of Father Vlade, Father Konstandin, Father Todor, Father Michael, Father Yani, Father Yani the archpriest, etc.73 The parish priests were, in all likelihood, the authors and the writers of the donor’s inscriptions, as they expressed the will of the donors. They were inexperienced in painting inscriptions on walls, and that was why Priest Nicholaos put his signature as if signing a document. But then again, the hand of the donor’s inscription at the church of the Ascension is not identical to the hand of the sixteenth-century donor’s inscriptions at St Stephen. In the light of what has been said above, I do not deem it necessary to search for a possible member of the atelier named Nicholaos as a clue to identifying the masters who worked on the Nessburian churches for a decade or so around the turn of the seventeenth century.

72 Πονολύτρια means ‘she who delivers from pain’. 73 Elena Grozdanova and Stefan Andreev, Bălgarite prez XVI vek. (Sofia: Bulgarian Academy of Sciences, 1986), p. 196.

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Fig. 1. Architectural plan of the church of the Ascension, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, scheme: Daniel Netchev

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Fig. 2. View from the west of the interior of the church of the Ascension, with frescoes from 1609, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, photo: Ivan Vanev

Fig. 3. Holy Mandylion, Sts Constantine and Helen, Christ Emmanuel: south wall of the church of the Ascension, with frescoes from 1609, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, photo: Ivan Vanev

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Fig. 4. General view of the decoration of the northern wall of the church of the Ascension, with frescoes from 1609, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, photo: Ivan Vanev

Fig. 5. St Mercurius and St Menas the Egyptian, fragment of the fresco decoration of the church of St George the Younger, first decade of seventeenth century, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, exhibited in the Crypt of St Alexander Nevski Church, Sofia, photo: Ivan Vanev

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Fig. 6. Sts Ignatius, Silvester, and Constantine the Great, south wall of the church of St Stephen (New Metropolitan Cathedral), decorated in 1598/99, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, photo: Emmanuel Moutafov

Fig. 7. The Vision of St Peter of Alexandria, north wall of the church of the Ascension, with frescoes from 1609, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, photo: Emmanuel Moutafov

wo r d an d image in the c hurch of the a scension in nessebă r

Fig. 8. Donor’s inscription on the west wall of the church of the Ascension, with frescoes from 1609, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, photo: Emmanuel Moutafov

Fig. 9. Detail of the donor’s inscription with the cryptograph of Nicholaos on the west wall of the church of the Ascension, with frescoes from 1609, Nessebăr, Bulgaria, photo: Emmanuel Moutafov

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Fig. 10. Signature of the hieromonk Anthimos from 1843 in the Mesembrian Chronicle, now in the National Library of Bulgaria, НБКМ-БИА, col. 25, a. e. 1, (IIА 7690), f. 79/ p. 81, Sofia, Bulgaria, photo: Emmanuel Moutafov

Giorg os Pallis

Texts and Their Audiences: some Thoughts on the addressees of Inscriptions in Middle Byzantine Churches in Greece*

One crucial question concerning the presence and function of the written word in medieval Byzantium is the legibility of inscriptions. Modern scholarship tries to clarify this issue by focusing on the evidence of literary sources and the surviving epigraphic material,1 especially the inscriptions in church buildings, where the public would most frequently come into contact with inscriptions.2 Texts exposed on the outer facades and particularly in the interior of the church, constitute important evidence for the relationship between the written word and the beholder. Church inscriptions can be approached through various perspectives. In this chapter, I will try to classify them according to their addressees, studying their location, form and content — three aspects that provide insight into the perception of the written word. At the same time, I will discuss the way in which ancient Greek inscriptions are reused in church buildings, considering that in several cases their new placement seems to reveal a degree of reverence on the part of new users, even if their meaning might not have been fully comprehensible to them. My case studies date from the middle Byzantine era and come from Greece, where a large number of churches and inscriptions have been preserved.





* Τhis paper was delivered at the 23rd International Congress of Byzantine Studies (Belgrade, 22–27 Αugust 2016), in the Round Table “The Agency of Inscriptions in Byzantium, in the West and in the Slavonic World”, under the title “Legible and illegible inscriptions in Μiddle Byzantine churches of Greece”. I would like to thank Andreas Rhoby, organizer of the Round Table, for his kind invitation to participate in it. I am thankful to Sharon Gerstel for her comments on my essay. For the inscriptions mentioned, I am using the first or latest critical edition. 1 Andreas Rhoby, ‘Inscriptions and the Byzantine beholder: the perception of script’, in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium: Continuities and Transformations. Papers from the Forty-Ninth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, ed. Marc D. Lauxtermann and Ida Toth (London and New York: Routledge 2020), pp. 107–21. 2 Andreas Rhoby, ‘Byzantinische Kirchen als Orte der Interaktion von Wort, Bild und Betrachter – Inschriften im sakralen Kontext’, in Öffentlichkeit – Monument – Text. XIV Congressus Internationalis Epigraphiae Graecae et Latinae (27. – 31. Augusti MMXII), Akten, ed. Werner Eck and Peter Funke (Berlin/Boston: De Gruyter 2014), pp. 650–52. Georgios Pallis, ‘The House of Inscriptions: The Epigraphic World of the Middle Byzantine Church’, in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium: Continuities and Transformations. Papers from the Forty-Ninth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, ed. Marc D. Lauxtermann and Ida Toth (London and New York: Routledge 2020), pp. 147–61. Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1, ed. by Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth, SBE, 1 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 191–201. © FHG DOI 10.1484/M.SBE-EB.5.131804

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Texts for the Faithful Beginning with easily accessible and legible texts, what attracts us most is the epigraphy of mural paintings. The vast majority of church inscriptions consist of names and phrases painted next to the images of individuals and narrative scenes.3 This practice appears since the Early Christian era, but not in a standard or codified form. Yet, after the end of Iconoclasm, it becomes mandatory to epigraphically identify a holy figure or scene. The written word affirms the identity of every saint and every episode or symbolic representation of any other kind, preventing dangerous misinterpretations of religious images in dogmatic terms. Moreover, in combination with the permanent iconographic features of each image, the written word has the capacity to convey the true nature of the depicted holy person, sometimes even his/her miraculous virtues. These inscriptions, displayed in large numbers throughout the church interior, are easily visible and understandable by the faithful who take part in the services or pray surrounded by them. Apart from the naming inscriptions, there is another group that can be defined as instructive or didactic.4 These texts consist of excerpts from Holy Scripture, hymnography and works of the church fathers, as well as of newly composed epigrams, which declare the wisdom of God and his will to save humans. These texts additionally underline the significance of the holy mysteries, indicate the exceptional function and importance of specific spaces in the church, or even direct the congregation’s movement within it.5 Because of their didactic nature and purposes, they are regularly written in large and clear capital letters, autonomously or inserted in open gospels and scrolls. They are also frequently found on holy vessels, defining their use and sacred character (e.g. the holy





3 Vojislav J. Đurić and Anna Tsitouridou, Namentragende Inschriften auf Fresken und Mosaiken auf der Balkanhalbinsel vom 7. bis zum 13. Jahrhundert. Glossar zur frühmittelalterlichen Geschichte im östlichen Europa, Beiheft 4 (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1986). Henry Maguire, The Icons of their Bodies. Saints and their Images in Byzantium (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), pp. 100–06, fig. 83–91. Robert Nelson, ‘Image and Inscription: Pleas for Salvation in Spaces of Devotion’, in Art and Text in Byzantine Culture, ed. Liz James, (Cambridge – New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007), pp. 100–19. Nancy Ševčenko, ‘Written Voices: The Spoken Word in Middle Byzantine Monumental Painting’, in Resounding Images: Medieval Intersections of Art, Music, and Sound, ed. Susan Boynton and Diane J. Reilly (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015), pp. 153–65. 4 Ida Toth uses the term “Christian didactic epigraphy” (‘Epigraphic Traditions in Eleventh-Century Byzantium. General Considerations’, in Inscriptions in Byzantium and Beyond. Methods – Projects – Case Studies, ed. Andreas Rhoby, (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2015), pp. 203–25 (p. 214)). 5 Numerous examples from Greece are found in the following studies: Gordana Babić and Christopher Walter, ‘The inscriptions upon liturgical rolls in Byzantine apse decoration’, Revue des études byzantines, 34 (1976), pp. 269–80. Аnne-Mette Gravgaard, Inscriptions of Old Testaments Prophecies in Byzantine Churches, Opuscula Byzantina and Neograeca 1 (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum 1979). Andreas Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme auf Stein, nebst Addenda zu Bänden 1 und 2, in Byzantinische Epigramme in Inschriftlicher Überlieferung, B. 3/I, ed. Wolfram Hörander, Andreas Rhoby, and Annelise Paul (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 2014). Andreas Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme auf Fresken und Mosaiken, in Byzantinische Epigramme in Inschriftlicher Überlieferung, B. 1, ed. Wolfram Hörander, Andreas Rhoby, and Annelise Paul (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2009).

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chalice of Tsolozidis Collection, Thessaloniki, tenth-eleventh c.,6 and the processional cross of Docheiariou monastery, Mount Athos, ninth-tenth c.).7 The majority of dedicatory or donor inscriptions of the middle Byzantine church,8 which commemorate the offering and express the entreaties of the donor to God, can also be categorized as easily accessible. These texts may refer to the whole building or just to a single object of its equipment. Donor inscriptions manifest as either intricate epigrams or simple, laconic phrases; in both cases, they predominantly demand holy intercession and remission of donors’ sins as a remuneration for their gifts. Inscriptions of this category appear on the outer facades of churches (Fig. 1), either in a monumental form (for example, on Panagia Skripou at Orchomenos, dated to 873/49 and Areia Moni at Nauplion, from the year 114910), or added to architectural elements, usually featuring on the cornices of door frames (e.g. Panaghia Chalkeon in Thessaloniki, 102811 and Old Metropolis at Veroia, eleventh c.12). More frequently they are found in the interior of the church, carved on architectural elements and structures (door frames, columns, capitals, tie-beams, and especially on templon screens)13 or painted on murals, with the inner lintel of the central door as the favorite location (e.g. Agios Nikolaos tou Kasnitze in Kastoria, twelfth c.14 and Zoodochos Pege at Vrondamas, Laconia, 120115). Most of these inscriptions are straightforwardly legible, as their donors are interested in having the texts read by the faithful in order to repeat and enact the demands, which they address epigraphically to God or to specific saints. Not uncommonly, donors ask through their inscriptions the readers and chanters, who participate in the services, to pray for their salvation16 — and, of course, these demands imply that the texts must be read. Nevertheless, the concern of the donors to eternalize epigraphically their offers and demands does not reveal just their wishes for eternal life: the written word was also a means to declare publicly the donors’ actions and their personal status, and a way to increase their social prestige.

6 Συλλογή Γεωργίου Τσολοζίδη. Το Βυζάντιο με τη ματιά ενός συλλέκτη (Athens: Archaeological Receipts Fund 2001), pp. 39–40, fig. 54. 7 Θησαυροί του Αγίου Όρους, ed. Athanasios A. Karakatsanis (Thessaloniki: Ministry of Culture, Museum of Byzantine Civilization, 1997), pp. 319–20, n. 9.26. 8 Toth, ‘Epigraphic Traditions’, pp. 215–16. 9 Amy Papalexandrou, ‘The Church of the Virgin of Skripou: Architecture, Sculpture and Inscriptions in 9th Century Byzantium’, v. 1 (unpublished doctoral thesis, Princeton University, 1998), pp. 110–55, fig. 5, 41–51. 10 Rhoby, Epigramme auf Stein, pp. 310–12, Nr. GR93, fig. XXXVIII. 11 Rhoby, Epigramme auf Stein, pp. 384–88, Nr. GR126, fig. LIX. 12 Rhoby, Epigramme auf Stein, pp. 202–03, Nr. GR41, fig. XIX–XX. 13 Georgios Pallis, ‘Τhe “Speaking” Decoration: Inscriptions on Αrchitectural Sculptures of the Middle Byzantine Church’, in Inscriptions in the Byzantine and Post-Byzantine History and History of Art. Proceedings of the International Symposium ‘Inscriptions: Their Contribution to the Byzantine and Post-Byzantine History and History of Art’ (Ioannina, June 26–27, 2015), ed. Christos Stavrakos (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag 2016), pp. 389–403. 14 Rhoby, Epigramme auf Fresken und Mosaiken, pp. 175–79, Nr. 94, fig. XXVIII. 15 Denis Feissel and Anne Philippides-Braat, ‘Inventaires en vue d’un recueil des inscriptions historiques de Byzance, III. Inscriptions du Peloponnèse (à l’exception de Mistra)’, Τravaux et Mémoires, 9 (1985), 267–395 (pp. 310–11, n. 53, pl. XIII,2). 16 As for example in a group of inscriptions from Mani, Peloponnese (Sophia Kalopissi-Verti, ‘Epigraphic Evidence in Middle-Byzantine Churches of the Mani (Patronage and Art Production)’, in Λαμπηδών. Αφιέρωμα στη μνήμη της Ντούλας Μουρίκη, ed. Μaria Αspra-Vardavaki, v. 1 (Αthens: EMP University Editions 2003), 339–54 (pp. 340, 341, 342, 347, fig. 3).

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Burial inscriptions found on tombs of clerics and other dignitaries, located most often in the narthex of the church are generally easily legible.17 These texts mention the names of the deceased and provide information about their identity and, at times, the dates and circumstances of death. They are usually written on the sarcophagus slabs or the covering slabs of burial places, as well as on paintings above or near the tombs, sometimes accompanying funerary portraits.18 The length and the quality of the inscriptions vary again, and they range between specially commissioned long epigrams and very short texts. Burial inscriptions are easily accessible and readable, as their commemorative function requires the participation of the beholder, who reenacts through reading the written prayers for the salvation of the soul of the deceased. Following a long-established topos of ancient epigraphy, some burial texts directly address the person standing before the grave and reading the inscription (e.g. the epitaph of Dionysios Kampsorymes, Stomion, Thessaly, eleventh c.).19 In all the above-mentioned groups of inscriptions, the sculptors and painters, who executed the texts, intended the epigraphs to be easily legible. Several factors made this possible: the placement of the inscription on spots easily accessible to the viewers’ eye, the shape and the size of the usually capital letters, as well as their color, which contrasts with the background on which they are placed (e.g. black letters on golden ground for mosaics or white letters on deep blue ground for murals). We cannot be sure who was in each case responsible for the selection of these features — the artists, the donor or both of them in collaboration. Texts for the Clergy In several churches, however, there appear inscriptions that were only accessible and legible to the clergy who celebrated the holy mysteries in the sanctuary. As a result of their location behind a screen, the texts of this category were inaccessible and thus invisible to lay members of the congregation. A well-known example of this kind is found on the inner side of the eleventh-c. templon architrave of the Theologos great basilica at Ephesus, where a dedicatory text had been carved.20 In Greece, an inscription of this kind appears on a ninth-c. templon architrave from Corinth.21 Here, the invocation of a certain Petros was carved on the underside, in one of

17 Erik A. Ivison, Mortuary Practises in Byzantium (c. 950–1453). An Archaeological Contribution (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Birmingham, 1993), 66–81 and passim. Ursula Weißbrod, „Hier liegt der Knecht Gottes…”. Gräber in byzantinischen Kirchen und ihr Dekor (11. bis 15. Jahrhundert), Μainzer Veröffentlichungen zur Byzantinistik (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag 2003). Vasileios Marinis, ‘Tombs and Burials in the Monastery tou Libos in Constantinople’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 63 (2009), 147–66 (pp. 149–56). 18 Theocharis N. Pazaras, Ανάγλυφες σαρκοφάγοι και επιτάφιες πλάκες της μέσης και ύστερης βυζαντινής περιόδου στην Ελλάδα (Athens: Archaeological Receipts Fund, 1988), with examples from Greece. 19 Rhoby, Epigramme auf Stein, pp. 363–65, n. GR114, fig. 46. 20 Recep Meriç, Reinhold Merkelbach, Johannes Nollé and Sencer Şahin ed., Die Inschriften von Ephesos, v. VII, 2 (Bonn: Habelt Verlag 1981), p. 469, n. 4301. 21 Βenjamin D. Meritt, Corinth VIII, Part I, Greek Inscriptions 1896–1927 (Masachusetts: Harvard University Press 1931), pp. 164–65, n. 321. Νikos Α. Bees, Corpus der Griechisch-Christlichen Inschriften von Hellas. B. I. Die Griechisch-Christlichen Inschriften des Peloponnes, Lieferung 1: Isthmos – Korinthos (Athen: Christlich – Archäologische Gesellschaft zu Athen 1941), pp. 27–28, n. 12.

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the interconnected roundels that decorate the surface, oriented in such a way that it could only be read by the priests who were celebrating in the sanctuary (Fig. 2). The rich relief with floral and animal patterns that cover the other roundels and the remaining surface, as well the loose order of the letters, makes it rather difficult to distinguish and read the inscription. The carver may have followed the instructions of the donor, who excluded the faithful from the reading of the text and restricted it to the clergy, to whom he entrusted the reading of the invocation. A small group of inscriptions carved on holy altar tables, belongs to the same category. To my knowledge, there are just four examples of this kind, all from the Mani peninsula, Peloponnese, and a nearby site in Laconia: a) an altar slab at the church of Ai-Giannakis at Trypi, Laconia, dated to the tenth-eleventh c.,22 b) an altar at the church of Agios Niketas at Kepoula, Mani, dated to the eleventh c.23 (Fig. 3), c) an altar slab at the church of Agios Nikolaos at Milea, a work of the local sculptor Niketas Marmaras dated to the second half of the eleventh c.24 and d) an altar slab from Exechoro, Mani, dated to the eleventh c.25 Only the clergy could have accessed and read these texts, which were carved on the most sacred built structure of the sanctuary and the whole church. Three of them were invocations to God, while the one from Trypi is an epigram related to the Holy Communion. The question is whether these texts were permanently covered under liturgical cloths, as in the first case, resulting in their message remaining invisible. Texts for God Many dedicatory inscriptions ask God, the Virgin or a specific Saint for salvation, remission of sins and eternal life. These demands are displayed on prominent spots (door lintels, templon screens, processional crosses, etc.) and use their readers the means of conveying them to the holy persons. However, there were texts incised or carved on locations that were hardly accessible by any viewers, either lay or clergymen, or were even totally invisible. These inscriptions seem to address God or a saint directly, without any human mediation, after their carving. At the church of Agios Nikolaos Rangavas in Athens, dated to the second half of the eleventh c., a carved inscription is found on one of the colonettes of the dome, a spot that nobody could approach nor see standing on the ground level.26 The inscription was carved by a certain Leon Rangavas, who himself was most likely the donor of the church — his surname survives until today as the eponym of the saint venerated in this church. Located 22 Christos Stavrakos and Evangelia Pantou, ‘Μια άγνωστη έμμετρη μεσοβυζαντινή επιγραφή από την Τρύπη Ταϋγέτου’, Το Αρχαιολογικό Έργο στην Πελοπόννησο 2, Πρακτικά της Β´ Επιστημονικής Συνάντησης, Καλαμάτα, 1–4 Νοεμβρίου 2017, ed. Μaria Xanthopoulou et al. (Kalamata: University of the Peloponnese 2020), pp. 609–16. 23 Nikolaos B. Drandakes, Βυζαντινές τοιχογραφίες της Μέσα Μάνης (Αthens: The Archaeological Society at Athens 1995), pp. 340, 342, fig. XV.2. 24 Nikolaos B. Drandakes, ‘Δύο βυζαντινές ενεπίγραφες πλάκες αγίας Τράπεζας σε ναούς της Μεσσηνιακής Μάνης’, in Μνήμη. Tόμος εις μνήμην Γεωργίου Ι. Κουρμούλη (Αthens: 1980), pp. 179–85 (pp. 179–81, fig. 1). 25 Pari Kalamara, Ιστορίες θρησκευτικής πίστης στη Μάνη (Athens: Ministry of Culture, 5th Ephorate of Byzantine Antiquities 2005), pp. 80–81, n. 38 (Νiovi Bouza). 26 Eleni Kounoupiotou-Manolessou, ‘Άγιος Νικόλαος Ραγκαβάς. Συμβολή στην ιστορία του μνημείου’, Deltion tes Christianikes Archaiologikes Etaireias, 4/24 (2003), 55–62 (pp. 59–60, fig. 11).

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in the section of the building that symbolizes the eternal world and is practically hidden from the faithful, this inscription probably addressed only God, without any concern as to whether or not a reader could decipher its text. Recently, a new example of this kind of epigraphy was found during the restoration works in the katholikon of the Andromonastiron Monastery in Messenia, Peloponnese. A templon architrave dated c. 1200 bears the invocation of Leon, carved on the upper side of the stone.27 From this location, Leon addressed directly God who was probably depicted in the dome, looking down towards the inscription. With such an immediate connection, the intervention of readers was absolutely unnecessary. There is one more group of texts to be possibly ascribed to this category, on the basis of their scripture, which uses dispersed, small or badly carved letters that could not be easily discernible. Niketas Marmaras, the marble mason who was active in Mani in the second half of the eleventh c. signed the templon screen of Hagioi Theodoroi at Kafiona incising his supplication on the leaves of the rinceaux pattern, which decorates the crowning of a closure slab.28 Dispersed into small groups, the letters are not easily visible and make reading rather difficult. The same placement of text appears on the fragments of a cornice from Hagios Philippos at Kouniotike Poula,29 on the templon architrave of Agios Vasileios at Stavri30 and on one of the architraves of Agios Ioannes at Keria.31 All these sculptures have been attributed to the workshop of Niketas Marmaras or to his influence. Here Niketas himself and his colleagues seem to have disregarded readers and directed their supplications straight to God, using the medium of the sacred space — the templon screen — on which they carved their words. Ancient Texts: for whose Benefit? Ancient Greek or Roman inscriptions incorporated into the facades or the interior of Middle Byzantine churches comprise a peculiar category of texts exposed to public view, easily accessible but comprehensible only with difficulty. Their remarkable number in the Greek mainland poses intriguing questions: to what extent were the ancient texts readable by medieval viewers? Were they simply treated as decorative elements, or as rectangular blocks useful in construction? Does their new location on the edifice show regard for the written word they bear? 27 Evangelia Militsi-Kehagia et al., Andromonastiro of Messenia. Restoration and display of the monastic complex (Kalamata: Ephorate of Antiquities of Messenia 2015), p. 24. Evangelia Militsi-Kehagia et al., ‘Εφορεία Αρχαιοτήτων Μεσσηνίας’, Archaeologikon Deltion, 70 (2015) B´1, 146–257 (p. 187, footnote 92). 28 Nikolaos B. Drandakis, Βυζαντινά γλυπτά της Μάνης (Athens: Library of the Archaeological Society at Athens n. 222, 2002) p. 27, fig. 38. For a view about the “echo” of this text, see Sharon E. J. Gerstel, ‘Recording Village History: The Church of Hagioi Theodoroi, Vamvaka’, Journal of Modern Greek Studies, 38 (2020), 21–42 (p. 32). 29 Drandakis, Βυζαντινά γλυπτά της Μάνης, pp. 35–36, fig. 55–56. 30 Drandakis, Βυζαντινά γλυπτά της Μάνης, p. 43, fig. 64α–β. 31 Drandakis, Βυζαντινά γλυπτά της Μάνης, p. 50, fig. 74–75; see also Angeliki Mexia, ‘The Synthesis of the Façade of the Church of St John at Keria in Mesa (Inner Mani): The Role of the Marble Spolia built into the Walls’, in Ἐν Σοφίᾳ μαθητεύσαντες. Essays in Byzantine Material Culture and Society in Honour of Sophia Kalopissi-Verti, ed. Charikleia Diamanti and Anastasia Vassiliou (Oxford: Archaeopress 2019), pp. 183–202.

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The numerous existing cases vary and some of them are very intriguing. For example, in the case of the church of Virgin Skripou at Orchomenos, Boetia, dated to 873/4,32 numerous ancient inscriptions — especially tombstones — were used around the lower part of the façades of the building, under a brick cornice, together with other spolia.33 At Gorgoepikoos in Athens, a marble-rich structure of the late twelfth c.,34 ancient inscriptions of different kinds are found embedded in the masonry regularly, obliquely or inverted.35 In both cases, it seems that the inscribed side of the stone was intentionally displayed for the viewer. Two columns with long manumission inscriptions dated to the middle of the third century ad36 were permanently visible in the interior of the Old Metropolis of Beroia, the cathedral of the city, rebuilt at the end of eleventh-first half of twelfth c.37 Another column bearing two second-third century manumissions38 is found in the Middle Byzantine cathedral of the Dormition at Kalambaka, Thessaly.39 The display of ancient texts in the sacred space of the church does not seem to have been objectionable in dogmatic terms. Of great interest is also the case of the “Christianization” of a reused ancient inscription: on the imperial letter IG VII 2870a of 155 ad (Fig. 4), which has been incorporated into the chapel of Agios Georgios at the village Agios Demetrios, Boeotia, a Maltese-type cross with expanding ends, distinctly middle Byzantine in appearance, has been carefully carved in a separate roundel.40 The content of ancient inscriptions was incomprehensible at the time when they were embedded in the masonry of the churches. An average medieval reader could not understand the meaning of an ancient honorary decree, a manumission document or

32 Τhe rich bibliography on the monument has been recently gathered by Charikleia Koilakou and Eleutheria Voltyraki, ‘Ο ναός της Παναγιάς Σκριπούς στον Ορχομενό μέσα από την αρχαιολογική έρευνα’, Deltion tes Christianikes Archaiologikes Etaireias, 4/41 (2020), pp. 93–112. 33 Papalexandrou, ‘The Church of Skripou’, pp. 94–98. 34 Charalambos Bouras, Bυζαντινή Αθήνα, 10ος – 12ος αι. (Αthens, Benaki Museum 6th Supplement: 2010), pp. 158–65, fig. 122–30, with the bibliography up to 2010. On the use of spolia in the building see Manolis Korres, ‘Aναχρησιμοποίηση λίθων. Ναός Παναγίας Γοργοεπηκόου’, Deltion tes Christianikes Archaiologikes Etaireias, 4/39 (2018), 29–66. Α different view on the date of the church has been published by Ioanna Stoufi-Poulimenou, ‘Regarding the dating of the church of the Panagia Gorgoepekoos in Athens’, Deltion tes Christianikes Archaiologikes Etaireias, 4/39 (2018), pp. 195–206. 35 IG II² 3038. IG II² 6419. IG II² 7701. IG II² 3038. 36 Unpublished. 37 Georgios Skiadaresis, ‘Η Παλαιά Μητρόπολη της Βέροιας στο πλαίσιο της βυζαντινής αρχιτεκτονικής’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, 2014) (https://www.didaktorika.gr/eadd/ handle/10442/39320). 38 IG IX 2, 1342. Mairi-Electra Zachou-Kontogianni, ‘Aπελευθερωτικές επιγραφές Αιγινίου (Καλαμπάκας)’, Εgnatia, 7 (2003), pp. 29–49 [39–42, fig. 5]. 39 Vassiliki Sythiakakis-Kritsimallis and Sotiris Voyadjis, ‘Redating the Basilica of Dormition, Kalampaka, Thessaly’, Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik, 61 (2011), pp. 195–227. 40 Y. Kalliontzis, ‘Inscriptions funéraires de la Béotie de l’Ouest’, Grammateion, 3 (2014), 15–30 [20, fig. 22]. This case recalls the reuse of imperial act of Diocletian which has been incorporated in the late Byzantine Church of Agios Ioannis at Geraki, Laconia (Amy Papalexandrou, ‘The Architectural Layering of History in Medieval Morea: Monuments, Memory and Fragments of the Past’, in Viewing the Morea: The Land and People of the Medieval Peloponnese, ed. Sharon E. J. Gerstel (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection 2013), pp. 23–54 (pp. 43–44, fig. 16–17)).

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even a simple funerary text.41 However, I believe that the masons who reused them as building material were able to realize that these stones bear letters and in many cases they did not treat them like simple rectangular blocks with smooth surfaces useful in the process of construction. So, it seems that there was an attitude of respect for the written word in ancient representations too, even though these were not comprehensible. In the case of the imperial letter from Boeotia, the addition of the cross can be interpreted as a measure to secure that the illegible text did not contain anything dangerous in spiritual matters. And it is also remarkable that the cross was not carved on the text, but carefully on the empty space next to it. The case of the church of Skripou at Orchomenos, has led modern scholars to various interpretations. Amy Papalexandrou has suggested that the display of ancient inscriptions around the building was an instrument to manipulate the memory of the community, to promote cultural identity or even — in the case of tombstones — to underline the burial function of the monument.42 Nevertheless, this view overlooks basic practical issues, such as the need to secure the stability of the building using larger blocks in the lower parts of it or the concern to protect the masonry from the humidity of the ground. Moreover, recent restoration works proved that many inscribed tombstones have been reused in the interior of the church as well, where they were permanently covered with plaster.43 Conclusion In conclusion, the epigraphic display in middle Βyzantine churches of Greece had three main audiences: the faithful, the clergy and God himself. The location and the accessibility to the viewer’s eye were of utmost significance for the reception of a text. Standing in the nave, the congregation was surrounded by dozens of easily readable texts, naming holy figures, reproducing quotations from Holy Scripture, directing the prayers and eternalizing the faithful’s petitions. On the other hand, texts inscribed in the sanctuary were intended for the eyes of priests, while inscriptions hidden from, or invisible to, the faithful, addressed God. The content had no crucial role, as it could be the same in all categories, especially in the case of invocations. Next to these groups, there were numerous ancient inscriptions, illegible or incomprehensible to the medieval viewer, who, in any case, could recognize that they were bearing letters. It remains unclear to what extent this knowledge impacted on the decisions to reuse older inscribed stones.

41 Even a prominent intellectual of the rank of Michael Psellos felt puzzled in front of an ancient inscribed text (Gilbert Dagron, ‘Psellos épigraphiste’, in Okeanos. Essays presented to Ihor Ševčenko on his Sixtieth Birthday by his Colleagues and Students, ed. Cyril Mango and Omeljan Pritsak (Massachusetts: Harvard Ukrainian Research Institute 1983), pp. 117–24). 42 Amy Papalexandrou, ‘Memory tattered and torn: spolia in the heartland of Byzantine Hellenism’, in Archaeologies of Memory, ed. Susan E. Alcock and Ruth M. van Dyke (Blackwell, 2003), pp. 56–80 (pp. 64–66, 69–70, 72–74, fig. 4.3, 4.1). 43 Kalliontzis, ‘Inscriptions de la Béotie’, pp. 15–19, fig. 1–17.

Tex t s a nd Their Audiences

Fig. 1. Panagia Skripou at Orchomenos, dedicatory inscription, 873/4 (cliché: author)

1 99

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gi org os pallis

Fig. 2. Corinth, Archaeological Museum, detail of the underside of a templon architrave with an inscribed roundel, ninth c. (cliché: author)

Fig. 3. Agios Niketas at Kepoula, Mani, inscribed altar, eleventh c. (after Nikolaos B. Drandakis, Βυζαντινές τοιχογραφίες της Μέσα Μάνης (Athens: The Archaeological Society at Athens 1995), fig. XV.2)

Tex t s a nd Their Audiences

Fig. 4. Agios Demetrios, Boeotia, chapel of Agios Georgios, imperial letter IG VII 2870a, 155 ad (cliché: author).

201

Mustafa H. S ayar (unter Mitarbeit von Andreas Rh oby)

Die Mosaikinschrift in Dara/Anastasiupolis aus dem Jahr 514 n. Chr.*

in memoriam Metin Ahunbay

Die Siedlung Dara, die in der Provinz Mardin im Südosten der Türkei liegt, wurde von Kaiser Anastasios zu Beginn des 6. Jahrhunderts als Grenzfestung gegen die Angriffe der Sassaniden errichtet, nachdem die langjährigen Kämpfe im Jahr 505 mit einem Waffenstillstand geendet hatten.1 (Abb. 1) Zu diesem Zeitpunkt wurde die Siedlung in Anastasiupolis umbenannt.2 Anastasios beauftragte Thomas, den miaphysitischen



* Den anonymen Gutachter*innen ist für wichtige Hinweise zu danken, ebenso Prof. Dr. Metin Ahunbay für die Einladung zur Bearbeitung der Mosaikinschrift in Dara und Prof. Dr. Zeynep Ahunbay für wichtige Hinweise und hilfreiche Informationen aus dem Nachlass von Prof. Dr. Metin Ahunbay. 1 Proc. Bell. Pers. I, 9, 24; Malal. Chron. 16, 10 (pp. 326–27 Thurn), 18, 50 (p. 380 Thurn); S. Fraenkel, ‘Dara 2’, in Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaften, IV/2 (1901), p. 2150; Ernst Honigmann, Die Ostgrenze des byzantinischen Reiches von 363 bis 1071 nach griechischen, arabischen, syrischen und armenischen Quellen (Brüssel: Éd. de l’Inst. de Philol. et d’Histoire Orientales, 1935), pp. 6–16; Raymond Janin, ‘Dara’, in Dictionnaire d’Histoire et de Geographie Ecclesiastiques, XVI (1960), pp. 83–84; Geoffrey Greatrex, Rome and Persia at War, 502–32 (Leeds: Cairns, 1998), pp. 76–78; Josef Rist, ‘Der Bau der ostsyrischen Stadt Dara (Anastasiupolis). Überlegungen zum Eigengut in der Kirchengeschichte des Ps.-Zacharias Rhetor’, in Syriaca II. Beiträge zum 3. Deutschen Syrologen-Symposium in Vierzehnheiligen, hrsg. von Martin Tamcke (Münster: LIT-Verlag, 2002), p. 245; Işın Demirkent, ‘Antik Mardin’, in Taşın Belleği Mardin, ed. by Filiz Özdem (İstanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2005), pp. 41–74; Henning Börm, Prokop und die Perser (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2007), p. 305 und pp. 327–28; Helmut Leppin, Justinian. Das christliche Experiment (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 2011), p. 83; Hugh Elton, The Roman Empire in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), p. 249. 2 Jim Crow, ‘Dara. A late Roman fortress in Mesopotamia’, Yayla, 4 (1981), 12–20; Brian Croke und Jim Crow, ‘Procopius and Dara’, Journal of Roman Studies, 73 (1983), pp. 148–50; Michael Whitby, ‘Procopius and the development of Roman defences in upper Mesopotamia’, in The Defence of the Roman and Byzantine East: Proceedings of a Colloquium Held at the University of Sheffield in April 1986, ed. by Philip Freeman and David L. Kennedy (Oxford, British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara, 1986), p. 720; Idem, ‘Procopius’ Description of Dara (Buildings II.1–3)’, ibid., pp. 737–83; Andreas Luther, Die syrische Chronik des Josua Stylites (Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 1997), pp. 210–12; Greatrex, Rome and Persia at War, 120; Gunnar Brands, ‘Ein Baukomplex in Dara-Anastasiopolis’, Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum, 47 (2004), pp. 144–55; Mischa Meier, Anastasios I. Die Entstehung des Byzantinischen Reiches (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 2009), pp. 212–14; Ahmet Kütük, ‘Bizans İmparatorluğunun Alternatif İstihkam Şehri: Dara (Anastasiopolis) Kuruluşu ve Günümüze kadarki Durumu’ / ‘The Alternative Fortification City of the Byzantine Empire: Dara (Anastasiopolis) its Foundation and Situation until the Modern Times’, Ortadoğu Araştırmaları Dergisi, 8/2 (2013), pp. 69–85. Zu den Funden aus den Nekropolen der Stadt siehe Maria C. Mundell, ‘A Sixth Century Funerary Relief at Dara in Mesopotamia’, Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik, 24 (1975), pp. 209–27. Zur Stadt siehe ferner Oliver Nicholson, ‘Two Notes on Dara’, American Journal of Archaeology, Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1, ed. by Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth, SBE, 1 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 203–211. © FHG DOI 10.1484/M.SBE-EB.5.131805

2 04

m us ta fa   h. sayar ( un ter mitar b eit von a ndrea s rhoby)

Bischof von Amida, mit der Errichtung der Festung, wie Ps.-Zacharias in seiner Chronik berichtet.3 Im Zuge der Notgrabungen und Bauaufnahmen von Metin Ahunbay,4 die er gemeinsam mit der Direktion des Museums von Mardin durchführte,5 kamen 2001, etwa 200 Meter von der südwestlichen Ecke der Stadtmauer entfernt, Reste eines großen Gebäudes mit einem Mosaikboden zutage.6 (Abb. 2) In der Mitte des Mosaikbodens befindet sich eine in eine tabula ansata eingeschriebene, aus elf Zeilen bestehende griechische Inschrift. (Abb. 3) In den ansae der tabula sind jeweils zweizeilige Inschriften mit den Personennamen ΜΑΡΟC und CABAC lesbar. Auf dem Mosaikboden sind auch einige Tiere dargestellt. Es handelt sich um eine Hirtenszene, da man oberhalb einer nicht vollständig erhaltenen Figur ΠΥΜΕΝ (= ποιμήν) lesen kann. Der Inhalt der Inschrift bestätigt Stellen im Bericht des Ps.-Zacharias über die Neugründung von Dara als Anastasiupolis.7 So erzählt Ps.-Zacharias Folgendes: Kaiser Anastasius schwört, dass Thomas, der Bischof von Amida (= Diyarbakır), und seine Kirche weder von ihm noch von seinen Nachfolgern in Rechenschaft gezogen wird. Thomas ernennt den Priester Eutychianos zum ersten Bischof der neuen Stadt Anastasiupolis. Zacharias beschreibt Eutychianos als einen gewissenhaften, erfahrenen und geschäfts­



3



4



5



6



7

89/4 (1985), pp. 663–71. Zu den Ausgrabungen in der Stadt siehe Birol Can und Nihat Erdoğan, ‘Dara, Bizans-Sasani Sınırında Bir Garnizon Kenti ve Kazıları’, in Anadolu’nun Zirvesinde Türk Arkeolojisinin 40 Yılı, hrsg. von Hasan Kasapoğlu und Mehmet Ali Yılmaz (Ankara: Bilgin Kültür Sanat Yayınları, 2014), pp. 347–71. Siehe Ps.-Zacharias, HE 7, 6, pp. 116, l. 22 - 119, l. 28; Meier, Anastasios I., p. 216 mit Anm. 254; Geoffrey Greatrex, Robert R. Phenix and Sebastian P. Brock, The Chronicle of Pseudo-Zachariah Rhetor. Church and War in Late Antiquity (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2011), pp. 250–51. Prof. Dr. Metin Ahunbay (†), Technische Universität Istanbul, Fakultät für Architektur, Seminar für Baugeschichte. Metin Ahunbay, ‘Dara Anastasiopolis’, in XII. Kazı Sonuçları Toplantısı I. Ankara 28 Mayıs – 1 Haziran 1990 (Ankara: Kültür Bakanlığı Anıtlar ve Müzeler Genel Müdürlüğü, 1991), pp. 391–97; Idem, ‘Dara-Anastasiopolis 1990 Yılı Çalışmaları’, in XIII. Kazı Sonuçları Toplantısı I, 27–31 Mayıs 1991 (Ankara: Kültür Bakanlığı Anıtlar ve Müzeler Genel Müdürlüğü, 1992), pp. 197–203; Demirkent, ‘Antik Mardin’, pp. 41–74; Zeynep Ahunbay, ‘Mardin’in Oğuz Köyü’ndeki Anıtlar ve Korunmaları ile ilgili Öneriler’, in Kârgir Yapılarda Koruma ve Onarım Semineri VII Bildiri Kitabı 1–2 Aralık 2015, hrsg. von Filiz Atay und Nevriye Özcan (İstanbul: Büyükşehir Belediyesi Yayınları, 2015), pp. 192–203; Eadem, ‘Ayatekla, Binbirkilise ve Dara’da Korumaya Yönelik Çalışmalar’, in Metin Ahunbay’ın izinden: Ayatekla, Binbirkilise ve Dara/Anastasiopolis Araştırmalarından Özel Konular, hrsg. von Turgut Saner, Bilge Ar und Gizem Mater (İstanbul: İTÜ Vakfı Yayınları, 2017), pp. 9–16; Arzu Öztürk, ‘Dara Kazıları Mimari Süsleme Buluntuları Üzerine Gözlemler’, ibid., pp. 29–40; Nisa Semiz, ‘Dara/ Anastasiopolis Antik Kenti Araştırmaları Kapsamında Bir Belgeleme Çalışması: Kaya Mezarı’, ibid., pp. 41–56; Umut Almaç, ‘Mardin-Dara ve Mersin-Silifke Ayatekla (Meryemlik) Ören Yerlerinde Su Yapılarına İlişkin 2013–2014 Yıllarında Yürütülen Çalışmalar’, ibid., pp. 59–63; Ebru Harman Aslan – Cengiz Can, ‘Arkeolojik ve Kırsal Mimari Miras Birlikteliğinin Korunabilirliği: Oğuz/Dara Antik Kenti Örneği’, Elektronik Sosyal Bilimler Dergisi, 16 (2017), pp. 1063–80: https://doi.org/10.17755/esosder.318330 (letzter Zugriff 01.07.2022). Auf Einladung von M. Ahunbay nahm der Verfasser im Januar 2007 die Mosaikinschrift und andere Grabinschriften in der Nekropole von Dara auf. Der Mosaikboden wurde nach der Aufnahme zugedeckt, nachdem Konservierungsmaßnahmen getroffen worden waren. Im Jahr 2010 öffnete die Museumsdirektion von Mardin im Zuge der Reinigungsarbeiten den Mosaikboden wieder, und die Inschrift wurde nochmals aufgenommen: Siehe dazu U. Possekel, in The Eerdmans Encyclopedia of Early Christian Art and Archaeology, vol. I, ed. by Paul Corby Finney (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2017), pp. 397–99, s. v. Dara; Elif Keser-Kayaalp and Nihat Erdoğan, ‘Recent Research on Dara-Anastasiopolis’, in New Cities in Late Antiquity. Documents and Archaeology, ed. by Efthymios Rizos (Turnhout: Brepols, 2017), pp. 163–65. Ps.-Zacharias, HE 7, 6; Greatrex, Phenix and Brock, The Chronicle of Pseudo-Zachariah Rhetor, pp. 247–51; Rist, ‘Der Bau der ostsyrischen Stadt Dara (Anastasiupolis)’, pp. 254–55.

di e m os a ik in sc hr if t in dar a/ an asta siupolis aus dem j a hr 514  n. chr

tüchtigen Mann. Thomas stattet ihn mit dem Privileg aus, für seine Kirche von jener in Amida Spenden zu sammeln. Johannes, ein römischer Soldat aus Amida, wird ihm zugewiesen. Eutychianos macht ihn zum Priester und Leiter des Xenodocheions. Als Thomas nach Anastasioupolis kommt, ist Johannes in seinem Gefolge. Als Eutychianos dem Kaiser Anastasios präsentiert wird, gestattet der Kaiser die Ausstattung der Kirche. Eutychianos, der in der Inschrift erwähnt wird, ist wohl mit dem ersten Bischof von Anastasiupolis identisch. Die Maßangaben: Höhe der tabula: 94 cm Breite der tabula: 149 cm Höhe des Schriftfeldes: 78 cm Breite des Schriftfeldes: 133 cm Buchstabenhöhe: 4,2–5,2 cm; Z.11: 6,4 cm. Der Text der mosaizierten Inschrift lautet: Ἐκαρποφορέθη κ(αὶ) ἐκτίσθη κ(αὶ) ἐψηφώθη μετὰ Θ(εὸ)ν τῶν τοῦ εὐσεβεστ(άτου) κ(αὶ) φιλοχ(ρίστο)υ ἡ[μ]ῶν βασιλ(έως) Ἀναστασίου κελεύσει μὲν τοῦ ἐνδοξ(οτάτου) Δαέθου τοποτηρητοῦ ⁞ τῶν ὑπερλάμπρων ἐπάρχων προνοíᾳ δὲ τῶν προεισταμένων τῆς ἁγιωτ(άτης) ἐκκλ(ησίας) Ἀμίδης θεοφιλλ(εστάτων) ἀνδρῶν ⁞ ἐν χρ(όνοις) Εὐτυχιανοῦ τοῦ ὁσιωτ(άτου) ἐπισκ(όπου) τῆς Ἀναστασιουπόλ(εως) οἰκονομούντων ταύτης Ἀβραάμου κ(αὶ) Θωμᾶ τῶν θεο[σε]βε(στάτων) πρεσβ(ευτέρων) vacat Μη(νὶ) Δίῳ ἰνδ(ικτιωνος) η´ τοῦ Ϛκω´ ἔτους εἰς δόξαν Θ(εο)ῦ π[(ατ)ρ(ὸ)ς] καὶ τοῦ Χ(ριστο)ῦ αὐτοῦ καὶ τοῦ ἀγíου πνεύματος ἀμήν ⁝ Μάκιμος vacat Es wurde Gott entsprechend dargebracht und errichtet und mit Mosaiken ausgestattet (?) unseres sehr frommen und Christus liebenden Kaisers Anastasios, einerseits durch den Befehl des sehr angesehenen Daethos, Topoteretes der überaus glänzenden praefecti praetorio, andererseits durch die Fürsorge der der heiligsten Kirche von Amida vorstehenden, von Gott sehr geliebten Männer. In den Jahren des sehr heiligen Bischofs von Anastasiupolis Eutychianos, während die sehr gottesfürchtigen Priester Abraamos und Thomas diese verwalteten. Im Monat Dios, der 8. Indiktion, des Jahres 826, zur Ehre von Gottvater und seines (Sohnes) Christus und des Heiligen Geistes. Amen. Makimos. Kommentar: Wie auch sonst oft bei mosaizierten, in Stein geritzten oder gemalten Inschriften belegt, werden die Buchstaben gegen unten hin größer. Auch die Abstände zwischen den Buchstaben werden größer. Dies liegt auch hier daran, dass der Handwerker gegen Ende der Anbringung der Inschrift bemerkte, dass weit mehr Platz vorhanden war als ursprünglich gedacht. Z. 1: Das Subjekt zu den Verben im Passiv (ἐκαρποφορέθη, ἐκτίσθη u. ἐψηφώθη) ist nicht genannt; dieses muss daher im Geiste ergänzt werden, etwa „das Gebäude“.

205

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m us ta fa   h. sayar ( un ter mitar b eit von a ndrea s rhoby)

Grammatikalisch korrekt müsste es ἐκαρπορήθη heißen, doch ist diese Art der Bildung des passiven Aorists schon sehr früh belegt.8 Z. 2: Zu Beginn der zweiten Zeile ist entweder etwas ausgefallen (der Mosaizist könnte hier einen Fehler begangen haben), oder der Artikel τῶν ist bewusst als einziges Wort der zu erwartenden Formel gesetzt. Wie auch zuletzt von A. Palmer richtig festgestellt wurde, würde man zu Beginn der zweiten Zeile die Nachricht erwarten, dass die Arbeiten vom Kaiser finanziert wurden.9 Es ist nicht unwahrscheinlich, dass der Artikel τῶν den verbliebenen Rest der in kaiserzeitlichen Stifterinschriften weit verbreiteten Formel ἐκ τῶν ἰδίων (aus eigenen Mitteln)10 darstellt. Doch es gibt auch eine alternative Erklärung: Vor τῶν könnte die Präposition ἐπί ausgefallen sein: vgl. SEG 7, 993: Ἐπὶ Μαξίμου θεοσεβ(εστάτου) πρεσβ(υτέρου) καὶ Κυριακοῦ εὐλαβ(εστάτου) διακ(όνου) καὶ λοιπῶν ἀδελφῶν [ἐ]ψηφώθη τὸ ἔργον τῆς ἁγιοτά|της ἐκλησίας κτλ. Dies würde in der vorliegenden Inschrift aus Anastasiupolis bedeuten, dass der Akt der Errichtung des Gebäudes von denen (d. h. Männern) unseres sehr frommen und Christus liebenden Kaisers Anastasios ausgeführt wurde, die danach explizit genannt werden. Die Wendung τοῦ εὐσεβεστ(άτου) κ(αὶ) φιλοχ(ρίστο)υ ἡ[μ]ῶν βασιλ(έως) ist eine feststehende Formel; pars pro toto sei eine Inschrift aus Sinope erwähnt, die in justinianische Zeit gehört: Ἀνενεώθησα[ν] οἱ ὅροι ἐπὶ τοῦ εὐσεβαστάτου καὶ φιλοχρίστου ἡμῶν βασιλέως Ἰουστινιανοῦ.11 Z. 3: Das inschriftliche ΕΝΔΟΞ´ könnte auch als ἐνδόξ(ου) aufgelöst werden.12 Daethos ist wohl ein nichtgriechischer Name. Bei Thukydides (5, 19, 1; 5, 24, 1) ist ein Spartiate Δάιθος genannt, und in einer Inschrift aus Tinos vom 3. Jh. v. Chr. ist ἄριστον Δαιθο… zu lesen, wobei das Fragment des zweiten Wortes wohl zu einem Eigennamen gehört. Z. 3–4: Der τοποτηρητής ist der militärische „Vorsteher“, der dem dux (siehe unten) untersteht.13 Der Titel ἔπαρχος (auch ὕπαρχος) bezeichnet in frühbyzantinischer Zeit den praefectus praetorio bzw. urbi oder einen Provinzstatthalter.14 In der vorliegenden Inschrift dürften die ἔπαρχοι dem τοποτηρητής unterstehen. Z. 5: lege θεοφιλ(εστάτων). Das in der Inschrift vorhandene Doppel-Lambda zeigt den Plural an.15 Z. 7: In der englischen Übersetzung von A. Palmer wird ταύτης auf die Stadt Anastasiupolis bezogen: … while the administrators of this (city) … Das Demonstrativ-Pronomen könnte

8 Raphael Kühner und Friedrich Blass, Ausführliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache. Erster Teil: Elementar- und Formenlehre. Zweiter Band (Hannover: Hahn, 31890 (Reprint Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2015)), p. 595. 9 Andrew Palmer, in Keser-Kayaalp and Nihat Erdoğan, ‘Recent Research on Dara-Anastasiopolis’, p. 167 übersetzte … the (monies) of our most pious … 10 Veronika Scheibelreiter, Stifterinschriften auf Mosaiken Westkleinasiens (Wien: Holzhausen, 2006), p. 31. 11 David H. French, The Inscriptions of Sinope (Bonn: Habelt Verlag, 2004), Nr. 179a–b. 12 Thomas Corsten, Die Inschriften von Prusa ad Olympum. Teil II: Die Geschichte der Stadt in der Antike, Inschriften unbekannter Herkunft im Archäologischen Museum Bursa (Bonn: Habelt Verlag, 1993), p. 182. 13 Alexander Kazhdan, ‘Topoteretes’, in Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), pp. 2095–2096. 14 Corsten, Die Inschriften von Prusa ad Olympum, p. 182. 15 Denis Feissel, Recueil des inscriptions chrétiennes de Macédoine du iiie au vie siècle (Paris: De Boccard, 1983), Nr. 236, Z. 2 u. app. crit.

di e m os a ik in sc hr if t in dar a/ an asta siupolis aus dem j a hr 514  n. chr

aber auch die Kirche meinen, da der in derselben Zeile genannte Abraamos wohl der dem Bischof unterstellte notarios war.16 Z. 9: Der Monat Dios bezeichnet im Mondsonnenjahr der Makedonier, das mit der Herbstnachtgleiche (aequinoctium autumnale) begann, den ersten Monat (= Oktober). Mit Alexander dem Großen wurde der makedonische Kalender teilweise auch in den Provinzen des Ostens übernommen.17 Vermutlich wurden die makedonischen Monatsnamen auf den babylonischen Kalender übertragen.18 Die Jahreszahl Ϛκω ist rückwärts zu lesen, was nach der Seleukidischen Ära, die im Jahr 312 v. Chr. beginnt, 826 ergibt.19 Somit ist das Mosaik ebenso wie die Fertigstellung des Gebäudes in das Jahr 514 n. Chr. zu datieren. Z. 11: Makimos ist wohl der Mosaizist;20 der Name ist eine Nebenform von Maximos, die allerdings sonst nicht belegt sein dürfte. Um Mosaizisten wird es auch bei den in die Henkel der tabula ansata eingeschriebenen CABAC und MAPOC handeln.21 Maros dürfte ebenso wie Sabas ursprünglich ein semitischer Name sein. Unter Anastasios wurden im Rahmen der Grenzsicherungspolitik sehr viel Geld für große Bauprojekte investiert, wobei die Festung von Dara eines dieser Projekte war. Mit der Errichtung der Befestigung von Dara wurde wohl aus dringender militärischer Notwendigkeit heraus im Jahr 505 begonnen. Trotz mehrerer sassanidischer Angriffe und Versuche, den Bau der Festung zu stören, setzte die römische Armee die Errichtung der Verteidigungsanlagen fort.22 Da der sassanidische König Kabades aber auch gegen die Hunnen Krieg führen musste, begnügte er sich mit einer Protestnote, obwohl der Festungsbau in grenznahen Gebieten nach dem Vertrag von 441 verboten war.23 Die Festung Dara war nunmehr ein Gegengewicht zu Nisibis, wo sich das sassanidische Hauptquartier befand. Der Bau der Festung scheint um 507/08 abgeschlossen gewesen zu sein.24 Dara war von 507 bis 532 Sitz des dux Mesopotamiae, dem der in der Inschrift genannte Topoteretes unterstand; nach Anastasios wurde die Stadt auch unter Justinian

16 Keser-Kayaalp and Nihat Erdoğan, ‘Recent Research on Dara-Anastasiopolis’, p. 167. 17 Dittenberger, ‘Dios 13)’, in Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaften, 5/1 (1903), pp. 1080–82. 18 Alan E. Samuel, Greek and Roman Chronology: Calendars and Years in Classical Antiquity (München: Beck, 1972), pp. 140–42. 19 Elias J. Bickermann, ‘Notes on Seleucid and Parthian Chronology’, Berytus Archaeological Studies, 8/2 (1943), pp. 73–83; Vitalien Grumel, La chronologie (= Traité d’Études Byzantines, vol. I) (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1958), pp. 168–69; Wolfgang Leschorn, Antike Ären. Zeitrechnung, Politik und Geschichte im Schwarzmeerraum und in Kleinasien nördlich des Tauros (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1983), pp. 436–38; Paul J. Kosmin, Time and its Adversaries in the Seleucid Empire (Cambridge, Mass./London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2018), pp. 19–44. 20 Keser-Kayaalp and Nihat Erdoğan, ‘Recent Research on Dara-Anastasiopolis’, p. 167. 21 Ibid., pp. 165–67. 22 Greatrex, Rome and Persia at War, pp. 502–32; Meier, Anastasios I., p. 213. 23 Procop. Bell. Pers. 1, 2, 15; 10, 16; De aed. II 1, 5; Meier, Anastasios I., p. 213; Rist, ‘Der Bau der ostsyrischen Stadt Dara (Anastasiupolis)’, p. 246. 24 Paul Collinet, ‘Une “ville neuve” byzantine en 507. La fondation de Dara (Anastasiopolis) en Mesopotami’, in Mélanges offerts à M. Gustave Schlumberger, vol. 1: Histoire du Bas-Empire, de l’Empire Byzantin et l’Orient latin, philologie byzantine (Paris: P. Geuthner, 1924), pp. 55–60; Enrico Zanini, ‘La Cinta Muraria di Dara. Materiali per un’analisi stratigrafica’, Milion, 2 (1990), pp. 229–64; Geoffrey Greatrex and Samuel N. C. Lieu, The Roman Eastern Frontier and the Persian Wars. Vol. 2: ad 363–630 (London/New York: Routledge, 2002), p. 77.

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weiterhin befestigt.25 Im Jahr 530 besiegten die Römer eine sassanidische Streitmacht bei Dara.26 Die Stadt war als Grenzfestung nicht nur Schauplatz mehrerer Gefechte, sondern auch zahlreicher diplomatischer Verhandlungen zwischen den Römern und Sassaniden.27 Unter Justinian verlangten die Sassaniden von den Römern, die gegen die vertragliche Vereinbarung von 506 errichtete Festung von Dara aufzugeben.28 Die Römer lehnten dies aber ab. Dennoch war die Festung von Dara nicht uneinnehmbar. Im Jahr 573 gelang es dem Sassanidenkönig Xusro I., die Stadt zu erobern.29 Die Befestigungsanlagen von Dara wurden zerstört und die Bevölkerung wurde deportiert.30 Die hier behandelte Mosaikinschrift bezeugt die Existenz eines bisher unbekannten Gebäudes außerhalb der Stadtmauern von Dara, dessen Funktion unklar bleibt.31 Palmers Vermutung, dass das Gebäude als Unterkunft für Gäste (= xenodocheion) diente, die entweder längere Zeit in Dara verweilten oder nach kurzem Aufenthalt weiterreisen wollten, ist naheliegend. Falls diese Vermutung zutrifft, könnte es sich daher um ein Gästehaus der Kirche handeln.32

25 Börm, Prokop und die Perser, p. 47. 26 Procop. Bell. Pers. 1, 17, 29; Börm, Prokop und die Perser, pp. 93, 168 und 228; Leppin, Justinian, p. 130; Elton, The Roman Empire in Late Antiquity, p. 257. Die Römer ratifizierten den sogenannten „endlosen Friedensvertrag“ von 532 und waren damit einverstanden, Dara nicht mehr als Militärstützpunkt zu verwenden; siehe Leppin, Justinian, p. 136; Elton, The Roman Empire in Late Antiquity, p. 258. 27 Procop. Bell. Pers. 1, 11, 26; Börm, Prokop und die Perser, p. 218. 28 Procop. Bell. Pers. 1, 16, 4–8; Börm, Prokop und die Perser, p. 237. 29 Zur Eroborung Daras durch die Sassaniden und der damit zusammenhängenden Abdankung Justins II. siehe Averil Cameron, ‘An Emperor’s Abdication’, Byzantinoslavica, 37 (1976), pp. 161–67. 30 Croke und Crow, ‘Procopius and Dara’, p. 150; Possekel, in The Eerdmans Encyclopedia of Early Christian Art and Archaeology, p. 399. 31 Nach Keser-Kayaalp und Erdoğan handelt es sich dabei um ein praetorium. Da das Gebäude, in dem die Mosaikinschrift gefunden wurde, auβerhalb der Stadtmauer errichtet worden war, kann diese Interpretation wohl kaum als zutreffend gelten. Praetorium-Gebäude lagen meistens innerhalb der befestigten Siedlungen, wie viele Beispiele der bisher entdeckten Baureste solcher Gebäude unter Beweis stellen. 32 Rist, ‘Der Bau der ostsyrischen Stadt Dara (Anastasiupolis)’, p. 255.

Abb. 1. Karte Kleinasiens und des Vorderen Orients. Aus: Historischer Atlas der antiken Welt (Der Neue Pauly, Supplemente 3) (Stuttgart – Weimar: Verlag J. B. Metzler, 2012)

di e m os a ik in sc hr if t in dar a/ an asta siupolis aus dem j a hr 514  n. chr 209

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Abb. 2. Mosaikfußboden © Şehrigül Yeşil-Erdek

di e m os a ik in sc hr if t in dar a/ an asta siupolis aus dem j a hr 514  n. chr

Abb. 3. Inschrift © Şehrigül Yeşil-Erdek

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Ann a M. Sitz

An Epigram for the Everyman? Strategies of Commemoration at a Cappadocian Tomb ‘O champion and glory of the martyrs, your head, which the stones of martyrdom once crowned, I too now crown with the material of gold and silver’. So runs a verse inscription on a reliquary (now lost) of the head of St Stephen, dated between 945 and 959.1 The reliquary was commissioned by one of the leading men of Byzantium at the time, Basil ‘the Nothos’, brother-in-law to Emperor Constantine VII; the poem deftly contrasts the stones that had bashed in Stephen the Protomartyr’s head with the present encasement of precious metals. Epigrams adorned all manner of objects, art, and architecture in Byzantium. The Greek word ἐπίγραμμα means simply ‘inscription’, ‘text written on (something)’; in practice, it was primarily used for texts in verse (whether or not they were ever actually inscribed).2 Some epigrams were generic and prone to be copied in various contexts across the empire; these ‘ready-mades’ could be drawn from literary collections of epigrams (anthologies) or from painter’s manuals. But bespoke epigrams — those created for a specific patron and a specific object/building — were a powerful status symbol for those at the highest levels





1 Τὴν σὴν κάραν, πρώταθλε, μαρτύρων κλέος, | ἣν μαρτυρικοὶ πρὶν κατέστεψαν λίθοι, | στέφω κἀγὼ νῦν ἐξ ὕλης χρυσαργύρου. Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, ed. Andreas Rhoby, 4 vols (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 2009–2018), II (2010), p. 213, no. Me44; translated by Marc D. Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry from Pisides to Geometres, 2 vols (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2003–2019), I, p. 163. In this essay, I use | to mark verse units and / to mark a line break in the inscribed or painted physical text. I wish to thank several individuals and institutions, including the anonymous reviewer, who made many incisive comments and corrections, Robert Ousterhout, Stratis Papaioannou, Charlie Kuper, Marc D. Lauxtermann, Tolga Uyar, the Council of American Overseas Research Centers, the Universität Heidelberg, and of course the indefatigable organizers of the conference panel and editors of the volume, Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth. An essay by Maria Xenaki giving very important new critical editions of several of the texts discussed in this paper unfortunately appeared too late to be taken into account, but the reader is directed to consult her critical editions, which supersede the transcriptions I provide below: Maria Xenaki, ‘Μηδεὶς τυφούσθω τῇ ὀρέξει τοῦ πλούτου. Retour sur une épigramme funéraire gnomique de Cappadoce’, in ΕΥΛΟΓΙΑ. Sulle orme di André Jacob, ed. Roberta Durante (Lecce: Edizioni Grifo, 2021), pp. 645– 71. Although her new readings change some of the details of the following discussion, they do not impact my overall argument. This publication is a product of the Collaborative Research Centre 933 ‘Material Text Cultures. Materiality and Presence of Writing in Non-Typographic Societies’ (Subproject A01). CRC 933 is funded by the German Research Foundation (DFG) under Project Number 178035969 – SFB933. 2 For the definition of ‘epigram’ and overviews of their production and use, see Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, pp. 22–34; Die kulturhistorische Bedeutung byzantinischer Epigramme, ed. Wolfram Hörandner and Andreas Rhoby (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2008); Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, I, pp. 37–47; Ivan Drpić, Epigram, Art, and Devotion in Later Byzantium (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), pp. 21–48; Foteini Spingou, ‘Byzantine Collections and Anthologies of Poetry’, in A Companion to Byzantine Poetry, ed. Wolfram Hörandner, Andreas Rhoby, and Nikos Zagklas (Leiden: Brill, 2019), pp. 381–403. Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1, ed. by Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth, SBE, 1 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 213–249. © FHG DOI 10.1484/M.SBE-EB.5.131806

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of society.3 Carefully crafted verses usually in dodecasyllabic meter attested the literary talent of the poet (or rather we should say man or woman of letters; Byzantines did not differentiate between poet and prose writer in the same way that we do today) and the refined tastes of its recipient. The challenge of producing passable dodecasyllable verse lay, at a minimum, in regulating the number of syllables per line (it should be twelve), ending each line with an accent on the penult, using appropriate epigrammatic vocabulary and topoi, and remaining within the basic strictures of Greek grammar — all while communicating the desired content and, hopefully, showing off the composer’s cleverness.4 Producing a pleasing epigram as an abstract literary exercise was therefore challenge enough, but as substantial research in recent decades has emphasized, the best epigrams were far more than ‘just’ texts: they existed in a symbiosis with their writing-bearer, surrounding context, referential object, layout, physical materials, and spoken performance.5 Epigrams could communicate status, paideia, taste, and even construct the discursive ‘self ’ as mediated through this poetic and material prism.6 They were often written on gold and silver objects, set within glittering mosaics, paired with richly painted figures, or carved on glistening marble. Epigrams frequently (as in the example of the St Stephen reliquary) referenced their own materiality. The ‘golden words’ of an epigram, to quote the twelfth-century writer Niketas Eugeneianos, simultaneously adorned and transformed, producing sublime spectacles for both divine and mortal viewers.7 The resources that went into the production of e.g. a reliquary for the head of St Stephen were impressive: 3 Drpić, Epigram, Art, and Devotion, pp. 29–48. 4 See now Lauxtermann’s ‘Appendix Metrica’ in Byzantine Poetry, II, pp. 267–380; also Paul Maas, ‘Der byzantinische Zwölfsilber’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 12.1 (1903), pp. 278–323; Andreas Rhoby, ‘Vom jambischen Trimeter zum byzantinischen Zwölfsilber. Beobachtung zur Metrik des spätantiken und byzantinischen Epigramms’, Wiener Studien, 124 (2011), pp. 117–42. 5 Liz James, ‘”And Shall These Mute Stones Speak?” Text as Art’, in Art and Text in Byzantine Culture, ed. Liz James (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), pp. 188–206; Andreas Rhoby, ‘The Meaning of Inscriptions for the Early and Middle Byzantine Culture. Remarks on the Interaction of Word, Image and Beholder’, in Scrivere e leggere nell’alto medioevo. Spoleto, 28 aprile – 4 maggio 2011 (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo, 2012), pp. 731–57; Andreas Rhoby, ‘Text as Art? Byzantine Inscriptions and Their Display’, in Writing Matters: Presenting and Perceiving Monumental Inscriptions in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, ed. Irene Berti et al. (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017), pp. 265–83; Andreas Rhoby, ‘Inscriptions and the Byzantine Beholder: The Perception of Script’, in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium: Continuities and Transformations, ed. Marc D. Lauxtermann and Ida Toth (London: Routledge, 2020), pp. 107–21; Sean Leatherbury, ‘Writing (and Reading) Silver with Sidonius: The Material Contexts of Late Antique Texts’, Word & Image, 33.1 (2017), pp. 35–56; Sean Leatherbury, Inscribing Faith in Late Antiquity: Between Reading and Seeing (London: Routledge, 2020); Brad Hostetler, ‘The Function of Text: Byzantine Reliquaries with Epigrams, 843–1204’ (unpublished doctoral dissertation, Florida State University, 2015); Brad Hostetler, ‘Image, Epigram, and Nature in Middle Byzantine Personal Devotion’, Natural Materials of the Holy Land and the Visual Translation of Place, 500–1500 (2017), pp. 172–89; Reading in Byzantium and Beyond, ed. Teresa Shawcross and Ida Toth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018); Ivan Drpić and Andreas Rhoby, ‘Byzantine Verses as Inscriptions: The Interaction of Text, Object, and Beholder’, in A Companion to Byzantine Poetry, ed. Hörandner et al., pp. 430–55; Ivan Drpić, ‘Chrysepes Stichourgia: The Byzantine Epigram as an Aesthetic Object’, in Sign and Design: Script as Image in Cross-Cultural Perspective (300–1600 ce), ed. Brigitte Miriam Bedos-Rezak and Jeffrey F. Hamburger (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2016), pp. 51–69; Drpić, Epigram, Art, and Devotion; Ivan Drpić, ‘Short Texts on Small Objects: The Poetics of the Byzantine Enkolpion’, in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium, ed. Lauxtermann and Toth, pp. 309–34. For the oral performance of epigrams, see notes 124 and 125 below. 6 See especially Drpić, Art, Epigram, and Devotion. 7 Χρυσεπῆ … στιχουργίαν: Niketas Eugeneianos, verse monody for Theodore Prodromos. Translated and discussed in Drpić ‘Chrysepes Stichourgia’, p. 55; Drpić Art, Epigram, and Devotion, pp. 186–87.

a n epig ra m for the everyma n?

the sourcing of raw materials, the processing and manipulation of those materials by artisans, and the cooperation between patron, poet, and artisan. All these elements came together and underwent an almost alchemical transformation to produce an object that could bring the viewer to tears — whether of joy or sorrow, as appropriate for the subject matter — and aid the patron in his or her quest for salvation (and social prestige).8 Given the powerful synergy between customized epigrams and well-crafted objects/ images/spaces, it is no wonder that most scholarly discourse on Byzantine verse inscriptions has gravitated towards these elite commissions. As in every academic field, the best examples of art, literature, and architecture are showcased, and rightly so, given that they were the ideals towards which other artists/artisans, writers, and builders strove in imitation, in competition, or sometimes in enmity. These top-notch epigram-art synergies are preserved today throughout the former Byzantine empire and beyond in a variety of spaces (usually ecclesiastical) and on a variety of objects (also usually religious in nature), although this bias towards the spiritual may be an accident of survival rather than a definite indicator of elite preferences. But not every ‘self ’ in Byzantium was an elite. Some were slaves, many were dirt poor and illiterate, others managed to accumulate some expendable income and perhaps a smattering of functional literacy, still others were dirt poor but highly literate (later Byzantine poets often fell into this category, or wanted us to think that they did), and only a very few were wealthy, healthy, and wise (or at least highly educated). Fortunately, the recent publication of a full corpus of inscribed Byzantine epigrams allows us to view the medieval Greek ‘epigrammatic habit’ holistically and to encounter a more diverse subset of Byzantine selves.9 It is my goal in this essay to tear our gaze away from the most outstanding exempla of Byzantine epigrammatic art for a brief moment and turn it towards an inscribed tomb of humbler origins. This grave belongs to an otherwise unknown individual named Theognostos and dates to circa the tenth century; it is located in the Eğri Taş Kilisesi (‘Crooked Stone Church’) in the Ihlara (Peristremma/Belisırma) valley in Cappadocia in central Turkey (Fig. 1). The church, as well as the arcosolium where Theognostos was buried, is hewn directly from the stone of the cliff-face, as are the many other Byzantine rock-cut churches lining this valley. As Ursula Weißbrod has indicated, Cappadocia offers up a large number of tombs with preserved painted inscriptions, which allow for a more comprehensive appraisal of Byzantine funereal commemoration than is possible from the very wealthy tombs that have been published in major urban or monastic centres.10 Theognostos’s tomb may be carved from earthy and organic stone, but as we shall see, the burial space

8 For Byzantine art and emotions, see Leslie Brubaker, ‘Perception and Conception: Art, Theory, and Culture in Ninth-Century Byzantium’, Word & Image, 5.1 (1989), pp. 19–32; Henry Maguire, Image and Imagination: The Byzantine Epigram as Evidence for Viewer Response (Toronto: Canadian Institute of Balkan Studies, 1996); Rainer Warland, Byzantinisches Kappadokien (Darmstadt: Zabern, 2013), pp. 65–67. Compare also ancient Greek predecessors: Angelos Chaniotis, ‘Moving Stones: The Study of Emotions in Greek Inscriptions’, in Unveiling Emotions: Sources and Methods for the Study of Emotions in the Greek World, ed. Angelos Chaniotis (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2012), pp. 91–129. 9 Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, I–IV. Epigrammatic habit: Paul Magdalino, ‘Cultural Change? The Context of Byzantine Poetry from Geometres to Prodromos’, in Poetry and Its Contexts in EleventhCentury Byzantium, ed. Floris Bernard and Kristoffel Demoen (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), pp. 19–36 (p. 32). 10 Ursula Weißbrod, ‘Hier liegt der Knecht Gottes…’. Gräber in byzantinischen Kirchen und ihr Dekor (11. bis 15. Jahrhundert) (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2003), p. 5.

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was not without artifice. In what follows, I first give a general overview of Byzantine grave inscriptions at a variety of social levels before detailing the physical context of Theognostos’s arcosolium tomb in the Eğri Taş complex and the process of making it. We then turn to the texts painted in this arcosolium; I present updated readings of two of these inscriptions. Finally, the texts are analysed for what they can tell us about Theognostos’s ‘self ’, which is framed through this grave monument and epigrammatic writing somewhere at the nexus of privileged and provincial, powerful and poor. This framing was not accidental, but was achieved through a variety of commemorative strategies at play in this small arcosolium. Social Status and Grave Inscriptions in Byzantium But what do we mean when we refer to an epigrammed object/space or an individual as ‘elite’? The definition of ‘elite’ differs from society to society, and in Byzantium, the term (our word, not theirs) is particularly hard to pin down: political, military, economic, and religious elites overlapped sometimes but not always. Byzantium lacked a clearly defined aristocratic class, at least prior to the eleventh century; although wealth, privilege, and social networks were passed down from generation to generation, and a vague notion of ‘noble birth’ existed, there was no single term or hereditary titles carving off one segment of the population as a separate estate, as was the case in medieval France, for example.11 The Byzantine sources generally do not use terms such as ‘aristocracy’ (although it is a perfectly good Greek word), but tend to refer in general to the powerful (dynatoi) and the poor.12 The state depended heavily on land-owning provincial elites (the powerful) to staff military and administrative positions, both of which were handsomely compensated financially and in terms of social prestige; yet these individuals served at the pleasure of the reigning emperor and could be replaced if they fell from grace.13 Sons had to compete to gain the titles held by their fathers, and the emperor could confiscate elite landholdings at will. Military fortresses throughout the empire belonged to the crown and were granted to members of the military elite only for a single generation; the emperor therefore avoided competition with a ‘count so-and-so’ living in his ancestral castle and accumulating too much individual clout over the centuries.14 Of course, some of the dynatoi did become too powerful and rebelled against, or murdered and replaced, the emperor. At the same time,

11 The literature on Byzantine social structures is substantial, but see especially Jean-Claude Cheynet, The Byzantine Aristocracy and its Military Function (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006) and A Social History of Byzantium, ed. John Haldon (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009). 12 John Haldon, ‘Social Élites, Wealth, and Power’, in A Social History of Byzantium, ed. John Haldon, pp. 168–211 (pp. 179–81); Meriç Öztürk, ‘The Provinicial Aristocracy in Byzantine Asia Minor (1081–1261)’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, Boğaziçi University, 2013), pp. 18–27; Maria Kouroumali, ‘Aristocracy, Byzantine’, in Encyclopedia of Ancient History, ed. Roger S. Bagnall et al. (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013), pp. 695–96; Anthony Kaldellis, ‘The Social Scope of Roman Identity in Byzantium: An Evidence-Based Approach’, Byzantina Symmeikta, 27 (2017), pp. 173–210 (p. 177). 13 But the emperor himself was not all-powerful: for the role of the people (the poor) in Byzantine politics, see now Anthony Kaldellis, The Byzantine Republic: People and Power in New Rome (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015). 14 Peter Frankopan, ‘Land and Power in the Middle and Later Period’, in A Social History of Byzantium, ed. John Haldon, pp. 112–42 (p. 116).

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social mobility was possible: lower class individuals could occasionally rise through the ranks to join the powerful through a combination of merit, networking, and luck, especially in the ninth and tenth centuries.15 Meanwhile, spiritual elites, that is, the saints and holy men and women from a variety of backgrounds, wielded substantial power of a different sort over the faithful. In any case, most exquisite epigrammed objects or buildings now comprising museum show-pieces and tourist attractions were commissioned or owned by Byzantine elites of one type or another, however we wish to define them. Social privilege lasts for a short time, but death is forever, and powerful Byzantines duly made sure that their graves were outfitted to project both their religious sentiments and social status long into the future. Burial of the privileged took place at monasteries or in family chapels; a particularly wealthy patron might found an entirely new monastery to serve as her/his funerary home and ensure a charitable legacy.16 Such individuals often prescribed a tomb for themselves and their family members, as well as the appropriate liturgical commemorations, in a typikon (a foundation document).17 Tombs gathered in the narthexes and side chapels (parekklesia) of Middle and Late Byzantine churches, for example, at the monasteries of Lips and Pantokrator in Constantinople.18 The deceased could be commemorated in verse, as was the case for the parekklesion containing the burial of Michael Glabas Tarchaniotes (d. c. 1310) at the Pammakaristos Church in Constantinople. It was probably the well-known poet Manuel Philes, who penned an epigram in the voice of Michael’s wife Martha, which runs along the exterior marble cornice of the chapel: ‘You as a lion tireless in battles now sleep in the grave instead of in the bush. But I have built for you a stone roof…’.19 Epitaphs (whether in prose or verse) addressing the deceased person directly in the second person were staged as laments from the next of kin, offering the opportunity to publicise status markers, as in Martha’s celebration of her husband’s military prowess. They could be quite moving: John Geometres’ epitaph for his deceased father

15 Paul Magdalino, ‘Court Society and Aristocracy’, in A Social History of Byzantium, ed. John Haldon, pp. 212–32 (p. 217); Claudia Ludwig, ‘Social Mobility in Byzantium? Family Ties in the Middle Byzantine Period’, in Approaches to the Byzantine Family, ed. Leslie Brubaker and Shaun F. Tougher (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013), pp. 233–45; Nathan Leidholm, Elite Byzantine Kinship, ca. 950–1204: Blood, Reputation, and the Genos (Leeds: Arc Humanities Press, 2019), pp. 3–11. 16 For Byzantine funerary commemoration, see Cyril Mango, ‘Sépultures et épitaphes aristocratiques à Byzance’, in Epigrafia medieval greca e latina. Ideologia e funzione, ed. Guglielmo Cavallo and Cyril Mango (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo, 1995), pp. 99–117; Titos Papamastorakis, ‘Επιτύμβιες παραστάσεις κατά τη μέση και ύστερη βυζαντινή περίοδο’, Δελτίον της Χριστιανικής Αρχαιολογικής Εταρείας, 19.4 (1996–1997), pp. 285– 304; Nikolaos G. Laskaris, Monuments funéraires paléochrétiens (et byzantins) de la Grèce: Notes, bibliographie, planches (Paris: Université de Paris I, 2000); Robert G. Ousterhout, Visualizing Community: Art, Material Culture, and Settlement in Byzantine Cappadocia (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2017), pp. 372–85; Vasileios Marinis, Death and the Afterlife in Byzantium: The Fate of the Soul in Theology, Liturgy, and Art (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017). 17 See various examples in Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents, ed. John Thomas and Angela Constantinides Hero (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2000). 18 Vasileios Marinis, ‘Tombs and Burials in the Monastery tou Libos in Constantinople’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 63 (2009), pp. 147–66; Robert G. Ousterhout, Eastern Medieval Architecture: The Building Traditions of Byzantium and Neighboring Lands (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), pp. 370–78. 19 My translation after Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, III, p. 663, no. TR76; see also Alice-Mary Talbot, ‘Epigrams in Context: Metrical Inscriptions on Art and Architecture of the Palaiologan Era’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 53 (1999), pp. 75–90 (pp. 77–79); Weißbrod, pp. 181–95; Drpić, ‘Chrysepes Stichourgia’, pp. 52–54; Drpić, Epigram, Art and Devotion, pp. 203–13; Ousterhout, Eastern Medieval Architecture, pp. 602–05.

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memorializes John’s presence at the deathbed, the journey home, and finally the burial.20 Epitaphs in the first person allowed the deceased individual to perpetually confess his or her sins (usually not in detail, regrettably) and ask God for mercy; official titles were often worked into this inscribed monologue. A first-person epitaph probably contemporaneous with Theognostos’ burial is the catanyctic (penitential) sepulchral elegy of Eustathios, a tourmarches (military leader, see further below) buried in Ankara within the former Temple of Augustus. His carved epitaph is still visible on the inner wall of the cella. The first letters of the nineteen lines in dodecasyllable verse spell out the name and title ‘Eustathios tourmarches’; the epigram reads in part ‘I cry out to You, maker of the universe, to rescue this person […] from the weight of my sins […] Behold from the tomb I too call out to you, “Save me, saviour, at the last judgement.”’21 The epitaph was clearly custom-made for Eustathios and mentions his military service, but even so, the content is largely generic. The change in self-representation from the time of Augustus (63 bce–14 ce) — whose autobiographical Res Gestae were inscribed on the exterior walls of the same temple — is clear: Eustathios gives us little information about his ‘accomplishments’ and instead sticks to the expression of appropriate theological sentiments.22 For most Byzantine elites, however, third person grave texts offered the best chance to delineate why, exactly, they should be remembered after their death from a supposedly objective point of view: s/he was brave, a faithful subject of the emperors, extremely learned, extremely pious, was of ‘noble birth’, etc.23 Such lengthy and customized verse texts are most likely to be found on the tombs of the uppermost echelon of Byzantine society. For those lower down on the social ladder, more laconic epitaphs simply proclaimed ‘here lies so-and-so’ or some variant thereof: a c. tenth-century epitaph on a marble plaque at Aphrodisias reads ‘here lies the remains of Nikolaos’.24 Designation of the deceased as the ‘servant of god’ (doulos or doule theou) was common.25 Sometimes, funerary epigraphy did not mark the actual grave, but recorded the day and year of death for posterity in a visible location, as in the case of the obits written on the columns of the Parthenon in Athens. Most of these texts were professionally carved and commemorated the deceased bishops of Athens, beginning in 693 ce.26 They were generally non-metrical but in many cases employed well-carved, decorative letter forms to offer a suitably formal and elevated memorial for the bishops.

20 Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, p. 220, and for the conventions of first, second, and third person epitaphs, pp. 215–16. 21 Translated by Stephen Mitchell and David French, The Greek and Latin Inscriptions of Ankara (Ancrya), 2 vols (Munich: Beck, 2012–2019), II (2019), p. 254, no. 501. See also Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, III, pp. 546–48, no. TR18. 22 A Byzantine emperor, of course, could take liberties when presenting himself in the first person on a tomb and might follow more closely the pattern of Augustus. Basil II (the ‘Bulgar-slayer’, died 1025) worked his campaigns in both the west and the east into his epitaph and even enumerated his defeated enemies: Persians, Scythians (Bulgars), Abasgians, Ishmaelites, Arabs, and Iberians (Georgians). Catherine Asdracha, Inscriptions de la Thrace Orientale et de l’ile d’Imbros (xie–xve s.) (Athens, Ministry of Culture, 2003), pp. 310–16, no. 102. 23 Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, pp. 223–24. 24 I.Aphrodisias 2007 no. 4.312: [ἐν]ταῦθ(α) κεῖτ(αι) τὸ λείμψανον Νικολά(ου). 25 For the frequency of this phrase on Cappadocian graves, see the catalogue of Weißbrod, pp. 200–44. 26 Maria Xenaki, ‘The (In)formality of the Inscribed Word at the Parthenon: Legibility, Script, Content’, in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium, ed. Lauxtermann and Toth, pp. 211–33.

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These written records of life and death are, however, the exceptions rather than the rule. The number of preserved funerary inscriptions from the medieval period pales in comparison with the ancient period. Epitaphs for ‘non-elite’ individuals (such as craftspeople) largely disappear in the seventh century in most parts of the late Roman/early Byzantine empire, although a few late examples for craftsmen can be found on the former Temple of Hephaistos in Athens.27 Given that the epigraphic habit in general contracted significantly in this period, this lack of inscribed tombstones is not surprising.28 Most Byzantines received no written commemoration at the grave, as indicated by the many anonymous pit, cist, tile, and rock-cut burials found by archaeologists (but not always published).29 A number of Middle Byzantine graves (tenth/early eleventh century) excavated since 2018 at Labraunda, a rural Byzantine settlement at a former Greek sanctuary in the Karian mountains (southwestern Turkey), were marked only with reused bricks/tiles of various shapes and sizes, some bearing roughly-carved crosses.30 These ceramic elements were stuck into the ground like a tombstone at the head (and sometimes foot) of the grave. The crosses were scratched on the bricks/tiles with a sharp object; the grave markers offer no other identifying information about the deceased. Nonetheless, the fact that some graves were re-opened and received a second burial (after the first individual had become disarticulated and the bones could easily be swept towards the foot of the grave cavity) suggests that the burial plots could still be distinguished on the basis of the cross-bricks: community members may have been able to recognize which brick marker belonged to specific individuals and therefore which grave was suitable for receiving a new burial — no mean feat in the densely-packed cemetery. The lack of epigraphic commemoration at most Byzantine graves does not therefore automatically equate to anonymity, at least not until

27 Cyril Mango, ‘Epigraphy’, in The Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies, ed. Elizabeth Jeffreys et al. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), pp. 144–49 (p. 145); Ida Toth, ‘Epigraphic Traditions in Eleventh-Century Byzantium: General Considerations’, in Inscriptions in Byzantium and Beyond: Methods – Projects – Case Studies, ed. Andreas Rhoby (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2015), pp. 203–25 (p. 218); Ida Toth, ‘Reflections on a Period of Transformation in Early Byzantine Epigraphic Culture’, in Inscriptions in the Byzantine and Post-Byzantine History and History of Art, ed. Christos Stavrakos (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017), pp. 17–40. The numerous short obits carved on the walls and columns of the Temple of Hephaistos record both abbots and lay individuals, such as Demetrios the builder (οἰκοδόμος) and Nikolaos the dyer (βαφεύς): Anne McCabe, ‘Byzantine Funerary Inscriptions on the Hephaisteion (Church of St George) in the Athenian Agora’, in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium, ed. Lauxtermann and Toth, pp. 234–63. 28 Katharina Bolle, Carlos Machado, and Christian Witschel, ‘Introduction: Defining the Field – the Epigraphic Cultures of Late Antiquity’, in The Epigraphic Cultures of Late Antiquity, ed. Katharina Bolle et al. (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2017), pp. 15–32 (pp. 18–19); Sylvain Destephen, ‘The Process of “Byzantinization” in Late Antique Epigraphy’, in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium, ed. Lauxtermann and Toth, pp. 17–34 (pp. 19–22). 29 There is currently no comprehensive work on non-elite Byzantine burial practices. For mortuary habits in Byzantine Asia Minor in general, see Eric A. Ivison, ‘Funerary Archaeology’, in The Archaeology of Byzantine Anatolia: From the End of Late Antiquity until the Coming of the Turks, ed. Philipp Niewöhner (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), pp. 160–75; Natalia Poulou-Papadimitriou et al., ‘Burial Practices in Byzantine Greece: Archaeological Evidence and Methodological Problems for its Interpretation’, in Rome, Constantinople and Newly-Converted Europe. Archaeological and Historical Evidence, ed. Maciej Salamon et al. (Leipzig: Geisteswissenschaftliches Zentrum Geschichte und Kultur Ostmitteleuropas e.V., 2012), pp. 377–428; Sophie Violet Moore, ‘A Relational Approach to Mortuary Practices within Medieval Byzantine Anatolia’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Newcastle upon Tyne, 2013). 30 Anna M. Sitz and Demet Delibaş, ‘Labraunda 2019: Sector Z Tetraconch Necropolis’, section in ‘Labraunda 2019’, Olivier Henry et al. Anatolia Antiqua (forthcoming).

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a generation or two had passed. Nonetheless, the more well-to-do members of Byzantine society preferred to be memorialized in writing after death. Theognostos’s Grave: Context and Production Process The painted tomb of Theognostos carved in the Eğri Taş church in Cappadocia is, to be blunt (and provocative), ugly. Absent are the mosaics in gold and glass, the refined figural painting in rich pigments, the sparkling carved marble or precious metals that beautified elite tombs. The texts painted to commemorate Theognostos could hardly be described as ‘golden words’, as we will see shortly. The pigments used for the palette of reds and greys have faded; the palaeography of the various texts ranges from decent to poor; letter sizes contract and expand. A red painted arch with a checker-board pattern spreads unevenly on the arcosolium’s rear wall, following its somewhat irregular rock-cut curvature, while a cross in the same colour and pattern on the centre of the rear wall is crowded by text in all four of its quadrants (Fig. 2). The texts themselves are un-evenly distributed, with the lower left quadrant displaying a far longer text than the others. On the right soffit of the arcosolium’s span is another cross with the text Σ(ταυ)ρ(ὸ)ς κοιμαζομένων βοηθός (‘Cross, succour of the deceased’).31 The difficult-to-decipher image on the left soffit of the arcosolium may be another cross, marked by the nomina sacra ΙΣ ΧΣ, Jesus Christ. The damage to the painted plaster of the arcosolium, with large sections (especially on the north and south soffits) now missing, does not improve the aesthetics of the burial place. Theognostos’s grave is ugly, not only by my extremely subjective standard, but on the terms of the other painted spaces in the Eğri Taş complex, some of which show an organized and professional painted decorative program in richer pigments. The rock-cut architecture comprises two main levels: the burial space below and an elaborately decorated barrel-vaulted church carved out above.32 According to a dedicatory inscription in prose mentioning the Emperors Romanos I Lekapenos and Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos on the east wall, the church was founded or decorated sometime between 921–927 (or 944) by an individual probably named Christophoros, a spatharokandidatos and tourmarches of Spadiata and Pates (two unidentified toponyms).33 Spatharokandidatos was a minor post in the civic administration, but tourmarches was a military position of some importance.34 Christophoros may perhaps have been involved in the major Byzantine military push towards the east c. 920–970 to re-capture territory in northern Syria; this resulted in greater stability for the region of Cappadocia, which had previously suffered from occasional Arab

31 Nicole Thierry and Michel Thierry, Nouvelles églises rupestres de Cappadoce. Region du Hasan Dagi (Paris: CNRS, 1963), p. 69, no. 5. 32 For the context of this cave church, see Thierry and Thierry, Nouvelles églises rupestres, pp. 374–79. 33 Nikolaos Oikonomides, ‘The Dedicatory Inscription of Eğri Taş Kilisesi (Cappadocia)’, Harvard Ukrainian Studies, 7 (1983), pp. 501–06; Irène Beldiceanu-Steinherr, ‘Une tourma révélée par l’inscription de l’église Eğri Taş de Cappadoce. Avec la collaboration de Nicole Thierry’, Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik, 38 (1988), pp. 395–420 (pp. 400–02). 34 The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, ed. Alexander P. Kazhdan (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), p. 1936 (spatharokandidatos) and pp. 2100–01 (tourmarches); Ousterhout, Visualizing Community, p. 349.

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incursions.35 Indeed, at the time of the Eğri Taş painted program, Cappadocia was on the cusp of a major agricultural bloom: core samples from Lake Nar in western Cappadocia indicate that farming and animal husbandry took off again c. 950 after a period of significant contraction beginning c. 670.36 The later tenth and eleventh century in Cappadocia saw a flourishing of settlements, churches, and painted decorative programs. Given his titles, Christophoros was a member of the provincial elite (whatever his personal background and education), and had almost certainly visited Constantinople. He perhaps brought back with him a taste for rich ecclesiastical spaces: the Eğri Taş church’s extensive decorative program includes an ascending Christ with an enthroned Theotokos in the apse and an elaborate jewelled cross on its barrel-vaulted ceiling; the walls of the church are covered with narrative scenes from the life of Christ, extending onto the ceiling.37 The Magi are starring figures in more than one scene; dressed in their eastern garb (pants, pointy hats), ΜΕΛΧΕΟΝ (‘Melcheon’, more commonly known as Melchior), ΓΑΣΠΑΡ (‘Gaspar’), and ΒΑΛΤΑΣΑΡ (‘Balt(h)asar’) are depicted offering gifts to Christ within a vision and meeting with Joseph, Mary, and the babe at the manger. These unusual scenes have led to the suggestion that the painters’ workshop included individuals from Egypt, the Levant, or Armenia.38 In any case, the Eğri Taş Kilisesi painted program shares both stylistic and iconographic elements with other churches in the Ihlara valley; for example, the Magi also feature in the Kokar and Pürenli Seki churches, and both Eğri Taş and Kokar display the unusual habit of naming the shepherds present at Christ’s birth with the words of the Latin palindrome magical square transliterated into Greek letters: ΣΑΤΟΡ (‘Sator’), ΑΡΕΠΟ (‘Arepo’), ΤΕΝΕΤ (‘Tenet’), ΟΠΕΡΑ (‘Opera’), and ΡΟΤΑΣ (‘Rotas’).39 The painted delights of the Eğri Taş complex were not limited to the church. A burial annex to the south and on the lower level is also richly painted in reds, greens, yellows, and pinks. Elaborate crosses appear within painted arcades on the lateral walls (Fig. 3). The Theotokos holding the Christ child is depicted on both the rear and the northern lateral wall; a female donor kneels beside her in one of these images. An epitaph on the wall beside the donor is unfortunately in a fragmentary state; three burial cavities are carved into the floor. Perhaps Christophoros, the founder of the church (or at least the donor of its decorative program), was also buried here; or he may have been buried in the

35 John F. Haldon and Hugh Kennedy, ‘The Arab-Byzantine Frontier in the Eighth and Ninth Centuries: Military Organisation and Society in the Borderlands’, Zbornik Radova Visantoloskog Instituta (Belgrade) 19 (1980), pp. 79–116 (p. 83). 36 John Haldon et al., ‘The Climate and Environment of Byzantine Anatolia: Integrating Science, History and Archaeology’, Journal of Interdisciplinary History, 45.2 (2014), pp. 113–61. 37 Thierry and Thierry, Nouvelles églises rupestres, pp. 42–61; Marcell Restle, Die byzantinische Wandmalerei in Kleinasien, 3 vols (Recklinghausen: Aurel Bongers, 1967), I, pp. 167–69; Jacqueline Lafontaine-Dosogne, ‘Nouvelles notes cappadociennes’, Byzantion, 33.1 (1963), pp. 121–83 (pp. 168–70); Catherine Jolivet-Lévy, Les églises byzantines de Cappadoce (Paris: CNRS, 1991), pp. 300–02; Alice Lynn McMichael, ‘Rising Above the Faithful: Monumental Ceiling Crosses in Byzantine Cappadocia’ (unpublished doctoral dissertation, City University of New York, 2018), pp. 189–90. 38 Nicole Thierry, ‘Notes critiques à propos des peintures rupestres de Cappadoce’, Revue des Études Byzantines, 26 (1968), 337–66 (pp. 345–51); Lafontaine-Dosogne, ‘Nouvelles notes’, pp. 171–73; Jolivet-Lévy, Les églises byzantines, p. 301. 39 Thierry and Thierry, Nouvelles églises rupestres, p. 50, Fig. 12; Ousterhout Visualizing Community, p. 220.

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narthex, which has now completely collapsed.40 In the western part of the complex, another well-to-do individual was laid to rest in a carefully-painted arcosolium tomb. Christ stands between the Theotokos and John the Baptist to form a Deesis scene where the two holy figures intercede with Christ on behalf of the deceased. The palette is similar to the nave, and a well-executed vine frieze surrounds the arcosolium. A brief inscription painted on a narrow strip of red border to the left of the Deesis informs us that the occupant of the tomb was a nun named Anna: Ὑπὲρ ἀναπαύσεως τῆς δούλης τοῦ θεοῦ Ἄννης μο(να)χ(ῆς) (‘For the repose of the servant of God Anna, nun’).41 Various other anonymous tombs are carved directly into the rock floor of the subsidiary spaces to the west of the Eğri Taş church. In comparison with the highly-decorated spaces of elite commemoration, Theognostos was in better company in the burial room beneath the church, which I refer to as the ‘crypt’.42 This rock-cut space may have originally served as a storage room, based on the cuttings for shelves in some of the niches, which pre-dated the white plaster that covers the walls of the burial room (Fig. 4). The crypt was separated from the nave of the church directly above by a wooden floor, now disappeared. Various arcosolia and a rectangular burial niche are carved on the three preserved walls of this room. The burial spaces show, in some cases, painted epitaphs and simple depictions of crosses in a palette of reds, greys and sometimes yellow on the white plaster. Additional notices of burials are painted in red along the current ground level of the space. The texts in the large rectangular burial niche are mostly illegible but are accompanied by a red cross and two rectangular depictions, now damaged.43 The grave to the left of this niche preserves a short epitaph with a stylized cross: κ(οί)μ(η)σις μ(ονα)χ(οῦ) Πέτρου πρ(εσβυτέρου) τῆς ὑπεραγ(ί)ας Θ(εοτό)κο[υ] (‘resting place of the monk Petros, priest of the extremely holy Theotokos’).44 On the west wall, an acrosolium next to Theognostos’s holds two epitaphs, one belonging to a [Κω]νστ[αντίνου] (‘Konstantinos’) and the other to Ἐ(ι)ρήνη (‘E(i) rene’).45 Neither is designated as a monastic; it seems that the crypt at Eğri Taş served both lay and ecclesiastical individuals. The arcosolium belonging to Theognostos is located on this western wall of the Eğri Taş crypt and is stylistically consistent with the other tombs surrounding it: reds and greys on a white background. The backwall of the arcosolium bears three painted texts, to which we will come in due course. First, however, I will describe the process of making the tomb, based on the physical evidence of its decorative program. After the arcosolium and the burial cavity had been carved from the rock, the arcosolium was covered in white plaster (Fig. 2).46 Next, the uneven arch following the curvature of the arcosolium and the large central cross were painted in a light salmon pink pigment. Both elements were decorated with a salmon and grey checker-board pattern (the grey pigment may perhaps 40 For the narthex as a favoured location for the burial of a church’s patron, see Marinis, ‘Monastery tou Libos’, pp. 159–60. 41 Lafontaine-Dosogne, ‘Nouvelles notes’, p. 168; Weißbrod, p. 224, no. 24.7. 42 For bi-level churches with burial chambers on the lower floor, see Weißbrod, pp. 35–42. 43 Thierry and Thierry, Nouvelles églises rupestres, p. 67, no. 1. 44 Thierry and Thierry, Nouvelles églises rupestres, p. 67, no. 2; Lafontaine-Dosogne, ‘Nouvelles notes’, p. 167. 45 Thierry and Thierry, Nouvelles églises rupestres, pp. 69–70, no. 6. 46 An underlayer of mud with straw is visible underneath the white plaster covering the main walls of the crypt, but is not present in Theognostos’ arcosolium. This may indicate separate phases of plastering.

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have been added only later). After these pictorial/decorative elements, the painter, still working with the salmon pigment, wrote the first text on the tomb near its top, in the upper two quadrants of the cross arms. The text begins † ΟΡΩΝ ΤΟΝ ΤΥΠΟ(Ν) (‘Seeing the image’; Fig. 5). The painter of the ΟΡΩΝ text clearly was not experienced at producing the written word. S/he lacked an appropriate brush: the letters of the top line are quite small and spindly; the text in subsequent lines becomes rather fat.47 The salmon pigment is unevenly applied: some words have faded almost into oblivion, while others have been subsequently re-traced in a darker color. Lines slant, and word breaks are awkwardly split over the central bar of the cross. The salmon pigment was also used for a small staurogram (cross with a rho) placed under the left arm of the cross. A name at the lower right of the arcosolium wall perhaps identifies the painter responsible for this salmon-phase: ΛΕΟΝ (Λέων, ‘Leon’).48 The name is written in fat letters in the salmon pigment, which dripped at places; it had to be later re-traced in black. It is possible that Leon was not the painter, but rather the patron, of the tomb; we will return to the question of agency below. After this salmon phase, a different painter (one better versed in painting text) added two inscriptions in a blackish-grey pigment in the two lower quadrants of the cross. At the right, we find a brief epitaph beginning † ΕΝΘΑ ΚΑΤΑΚΗΤΕ (‘Here lies’; Fig. 6). At the left, the painter first drew a line to separate his new text from the salmon text above. S/he then painted a c. fifteen-line gnomic text beginning ΜΗΔΙΣ ΤΥΦΟΥΣ[Θ] Ω (‘Let no one take pride’; Fig. 7). On both these left and right lower quadrants, the text is well-spaced, lines are more or less level, and the brush used was appropriate for writing text. The grey pigment has faded at places but is largely legible except where the plaster itself has been damaged or fallen from the wall. The final stage of decoration involved the addition of a rich red pigment, which outlines the cross and the arch on the rear wall of the arcosolium, on top of the salmon. That the red paint was added last is confirmed by a single errant brushstroke in line six of the gnomic text (ΜΗΔΙΣ ΤΥΦΟΥΣ[Θ]Ω): the dark red stroke covers part of an omega in the greyish pigment. The soffits to the left and right show the same pigments, though perhaps a different order of application. The outfitting of Theognostos’s tomb therefore was a multi-step affair involving at least two individuals. The Inscriptions Theognostos’s tomb fits well into its surroundings in the crypt; it is neither the most elaborate tomb in that space nor the most plain. The tombs of the Eğri Taş complex are paralleled by various other rock-cut graves in the Ihlara valley as well as farther afield: to be buried in a rock-cut arcosolium in or near a cave church was quintessentially Cappadocian. Red

47 For a drawing of this inscription, see Anna Sitz, ‘“Great Fear”: Epigraphy and Orality in a Byzantine Apse in Cappadocia’, Gesta 56.1 (2017), pp. 5–26 (p. 17, Fig. 16). 48 For artists’ signatures in the Middle Byzantine period, which are rare but do occur in professionally painted programs, see Toth, ‘Eleventh-Century Byzantium’, pp. 218–20; Maria Lidova, ‘Manifestations of Authorship: Artists’ Signatures in Byzantium’, Venezia Arti, 26 (2017), pp. 89–105 (pp. 94–98).

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pigment is commonly used in Cappadocia for both underpainting and simple decoration on white plaster; similar epitaphs in red and white with crosses appear elsewhere in the Ihlara valley churches, for example, in the recently published graves from the Karagedik Kilisesi.49 Theognostos’ tomb therefore participated in particularly local burial customs, but the texts painted in the arcosolium cast a surprisingly wide net in space and time. I will say a few brief words on the palaeography of these inscriptions before we turn to consider the three texts in turn. All three painted inscriptions are written in majuscules, without breathing or accent marks. As mentioned above, the letter forms of the ΟΡΩΝ text are irregular; those of the other two greyish texts are more regular. The greyish texts show lunate sigmas, epsilons, and w-omegas, as expected; phi is angular but other letters are not. Iota takes a double dot above it. Alpha shows a tendency towards the minuscule form. Letters are occasionally ligatured (as in ΜΗΔΙΣ) and abbreviation signs are used at some line endings (l. 6, where the terminal αι is represented by a squiggly line), but there are no punctuation marks or word breaks. Commonplace phonetic spellings (omicrons for omegas; etas for iotas and epsilon iotas; epsilons for terminal alpha iotas) are rife. The hand is different than that of Christophoros’s 921–927/944 dedicatory inscription in the church above, but the overall characteristics of the writing are similar; the Theognostos grave texts fit well into the tenth century, or perhaps the ninth, if we hypothesize that the crypt pre-dates the decorative program sponsored by Christophoros in the church above. As Maria Xenaki has recently produced a new publication on the inscriptions of Eğri Taş, which appeared too late to be taken into consideration here, it is not my aim to provide new editions of these texts; my goal at the time of writing was to update in a few instances the previously published editions of Nicole and Michel Thierry, which are self-evidently incorrect, as has already been noted by Marc Lauxtermann (‘The text edited by the Thierry’s on pp. 68–69 differs somewhat from what I read on pl. 37’) and partially rectified by Andreas Rhoby.50 The Epitaph: † ΕΝΘΑ ΚΑΤΑΚΗΤΕ

We will begin with the text naming Theognostos himself, located in the lower right quadrant of the rear wall of the arcosolium in greyish paint. The prose text reads: † ΕΝΘΑΚΑΤΑΚΗΤΕ ΩΔΟΥΛΟΣΤΟΥΘ(ΕΟ)ΥΘ̣ΕΟ ΓΝΟΣΤΟΣΜΕ̣ΤΑΤΕ ΘΗΣΕΚΤΟΥΒΗΟΥΜΙΝΙ _ ̣ ΦΕΥΡΟΥΑΡΗΩΗ̣Κ̣Α̣ϹB

49 Maria Xenaki, ‘Découvertes épigraphiques dans la Vallée de Peristremma en Cappadoce’, in Travaux et Mémoires 20/2: Mélanges Catherine Jolivet-Lévy, ed. Sulamith Brodbeck et al. (Paris: CNRS, 2016), pp. 693–705 (pp. 694–97, Fig. 1). 50 Thierry and Thierry, Nouvelles églises rupestres, pp. 68–69, no. 4, repeated by Weißbrod, p. 224, no. 24.3–4; Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, p. 351, Appendix VIII, no. 99a; Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, I, p. 290, no. TR201.

a n epig ra m for the everyma n?

† Ἔνθα κατάκειται ὁ δοῦλος τοῦ θ(εο)ῦ θεόγνωστος μετατεθεὶς ἐκ τοῦ βίου μηνὶ_ φεβρουαρίῳ Η̣Κ̣Α̣Ϲ ̣ B ‘Here lies the servant of God Theognostos, taken out of life (in the) month of February, day 8, Κ̣Α̣Ϲ ̣ 2’.51 This is a fairly straightforward epitaph: Theognostos has died in February, probably the eighth day of the month, although I cannot make sense of the final letters of line five: one expects an indiction year (year 2). Below this text is the name Leon, which, as I have argued above, represents a distinct writing act because of the different pigment, writing implement, and letter forms. In any case, the reader gets the most salient information about Theognostos quickly from this epitaph in the third person: name, membership in the Byzantine in-group (servants of God), and some indication of the date of death. The Gnomic Text: ΜΗΔΙΣ ΤΥΦΟΥΣ[Θ]Ω

The other text painted in greyish on Theognostos’s tomb presents a greater challenge to decipher. The reading published by Thierry and Thierry is largely unintelligible and departs in several instances from even clearly preserved letters on the wall: for example, in lines one through four, they read Μηδ(εὶ)ς ΤΥΦΛΟΥΣ [σ]ωθ(εὶ)ς τῇ ὀρέξ(ει) τοῦ πλούτου πολ(λ)οῦ ἀλ(λ)’ ἀγάπης κ(αὶ) δικαίας (εἰ)ρήνης· (‘No one will be saved through a desire for great wealth, but through that of charity [agape] and just peace’).52 What is actually written on the arcosolium offers a less uplifting message: there is no agape and peace, only φιλαρ̣γ υρία (‘avarice’ or ‘love of money’), as Rhoby has already noted.53 The reading of the text can be supplemented in a few places by comparable inscriptions at other churches, discussed further below. The full text at Eğri Taş, as far as I can read it, is:

51 Thierry and Thierry, Nouvelles églises rupestres, p. 68, no. 4B. They read parts of lines 3 and 4 as ΜΕΤΑΤΕ- / ΘΗΣΕΚΤΟΥΕΗΟΥ, μετατεθ(εὶ)ς ἐκ τοῦ ἐ(μ)οῦ (‘qui m’a quitté le…’, ‘who left me…’), thereby turning this short generic epitaph into a lamentation. The beta in line 3, however, is relatively clear: ἐκ τοῦ βίου makes more sense than ἐκ τοῦ ἐ(μ)οῦ. Compare Franz Cumont, ‘Nouvelles inscriptions du Pont’, Revue des Études Grecques, 15.65–66 (1902), pp. 311–35 (p. 313, no. 5). They also read the final line as ΦΕΥΡΟΥΑΡΗΩ..ΗΣ, φευρουαρ(ί)ῳ … [τ]ῆς ι’ [ἰν(δικτιῶνος)]. [Τ]ῆς is not possible, however, based on the preserved painted strokes, and there is no space for a deleted [ἰν(δικτιῶνος)] at the end. Nonetheless, it does seem likely that the final beta with an overline refers to an indiction year 2. For the spelling φευρουαρ(ί)ῳ, compare the grave of a Konstantinos from the ninth or tenth century at Karagedik Kilisesi (Xenaki, ‘Découvertes épigraphiques’, pp. 699–700). 52 My translation after the French of Thierry and Thierry, Nouvelles églises rupestres, pp. 68–69, no. 4C. 53 Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, I, p. 290, no. TR201, has lines 1–4 as Μηδ(εὶ)ς τυφούσ[θ]ω τῇ ὀρέξει τοῦ πλούτου· πολοὺς γὰρ ἀπώλε[σε φ]ιλ[αργ]υρία (‘Niemand soll überheblich werden durch die Gier nach Reichtum. Viele nämlich hat das Streben nach Geld verdorben’). See now Maria Xenaki, ‘Μηδεὶς τυφούσθω τῇ ὀρέξει τοῦ πλούτου. Retour sur une épigramme funéraire gnomique de Cappadoce’, pp. 647–59, for an updated and fuller reading of this epigram.

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1 ΜΗΔΙΣΤΥΦ ΟΥΣ[-]ΩΕΝΤΗΟΡΕΞ̣ΗΤΟΥ ΠΛΟΥΤΟΥΠΟΛΟΥΣ̣Γ̣ΑΡΑΠΕ̣Λ̣/54 ΚΕ̣ΝΗΦΗΛΑ̣Ρ̣ΓΥΡΗΑΗΣΑΡΞ 5 ΤΑΥΤΗΧΟΥΣΠΗΛΟΣΚΕΓ̣[-]Η̣Ν̣ ΕΠ̣Ο̣Υ̣Ι̣ΤΕΤΕΤΟΥ̣Τ̣ΟΕΠΕΡΕΤ̣∼55 ΧΛΕΥΙΝΕΑΥΤΟΕΛΠΗΖΗΝΑ ΘΑΝΑΤΟΝΗΝ̣[-----]Ε̣ΤΕΓ̣ΑΡ Ε̣Ξ̣Α ΔΙΛ̣[--]ΤΟΞ[-------]Ξ̣Ε 10 Τ̣Ο̣Π̣ΑΡΑΞΕΝΟΠ̣ΡΟΣΟ̣ΠΟ̣ΚΛΑΥΣ̣ΕΤΕ[-] [----]Ο̣Σ̣ΟΤΗΠΑΣΘ̣ΑΝΑ̣ΤΟΥΡΟΦΙΣ ΟΔ̣ΕΜ[--]Ν̣Ι̣Κ̣ΕΝΙΠΟΛ̣Η̣ΦΙΛΑΡ[----]Α̣Λ-Π̣Ρ̣ΟΣΕ̣ [----]ΤΟΝΤΡΙΕ̣ΥΠΙΣΤ[…c. 9…]Ρ̣[--] ΠΙΣ[---]ΤΕΚ̣ΟΣΑ̣[--]Ο̣[…c. 15…] 15 [--]Κ̣[--]Τ̣Γ̣[…] 1 Μηδεὶς τυφ ούσ[θ]ω ἐν τῇ ὀρέξ̣ει τοῦ πλούτου· πολ(λ)οὺς̣ γ̣ὰρ ἀπέ̣λ̣(ε) κε̣ν56 ἡ φιλα̣ρ̣γυρία· ἡ σὰρξ 5 ταύτη57 χοῦς, πηλὸς, καὶ ̣γ̣[ῆ ] εἶν αι·58 Π̣Ο̣Υ̣Ι̣ΤΕΤΕ τοῦ̣τ̣ο (?), ἐπαίρετ̣αι χλεύην ἑαυτὸ(ν) ἐλπίζειν ἀ θάνατον εἶν̣[αι59---]Ε̣ΤΕ γ̣αρ ἐ̣ξ̣ ἀδήλ[ου] τόξ[οις?60-----]Ξ̣Ε 10 τ̣ῷ̣ π̣αραξένῳ π̣ροσώ̣πῳ̣ κλαύσ̣εται[-] [-εἰδ]ὼ̣ς̣ ὅτι πᾶς ἄν̣(θρωπ)ο̣ς θ̣ανά̣του ΡΟΦΙΣ·61

54 l. 3 — the final lambda is attached to a slanted line, an abbreviation sign. 55 l. 6 — the final tau has a squiggly line attached to its lower bar, an abbreviation sign. 56 Ἀπέλ(ε)κεν is a kappa aorist for ἀπέλεσεν, which appears at Kale Kilisesi in Selime (see below). The slanted line therefore abbreviates for epsilon. For kappa aorists, see David Holton et al., The Cambridge Grammar of Medieval and Early Modern Greek, 4 vols (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), III, pp. 1341–47. I especially wish to thank the anonymous reviewer for several important corrections and supplements to my reading of this text. 57 Alternatively ταύτῃ, ‘the flesh here’. 58 Verse 3 — Cf. Panion in Thrace, where the verse ends with ὑπάρχει. At Eğri Taş, line 5 appears to end ΙΝ, but the iota lacks the usual double dot above, so I have taken it as the right bar of an eta and propose ΗΝ. The word continues onto the next line: ηνε = εἶναι, as pointed out by the anonymous reviewer. Cf. Holton et al., III, 1725, for the use of εἶναι with both singular and plural subjects. Ὑπάρχει is better metrically, resulting in a twelve-syllable line, but I do not think we can force the painter-poet at Eğri Taş to be a better metrician than s/he actually was. 59 ll. 7–8 — Rhoby proposes ἑαυτὸ(ν) ἐλπίζειν ἀθάνατον (Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, I, p. 291, no. TR201); also possible is ἑαυτῷ ἐλπίζειν ἀθανάτων (‘to hope for himself [to have something] of the immortals’). Cf. Panion, ll. 7–9: ἐλπ[ίζει] αὑτὸν ὡς ἀθάν[ατον εἰ]ναι (‘he hopes that he is immortal’). 60 ll. 8–9 — Depending on the restoration of Ε̣ΤΕ (l. 8), the restoration of l. 9 may rather be τοξ[εύετ(αι)]. Cf. Panion, l. 9–10: τοξεύετ̣[αι]. 61 ll. 10–11 — the proposed reading of Thierry and Thierry, ῥοφ(η)σ/μα cannot stand because there is no -μα, but it is not easy to make sense of this word, the reading of which is relatively secure. One expects something like τροφή (‘food’). For the term ῥόφισμα, which is attested in a number of manuscripts of the Kyranides, see Andreas Rhoby, ‘Varia Lexicographica’, Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik, 57 (2007), pp. 1–16 (p. 16).

a n epig ra m for the everyma n?

ὁ δ̣ὲ Μ[--]Ν̣Ι̣Κ̣ΕΝ οἱ πολ(λ)οὶ φιλαρ[γυρί]ᾳ Λ[-]Π̣Ρ̣ΟΣΕ̣ [----] τὸν τρι(ς) ε̣ὔπιστ[ον…62 c. 7…]Ρ̣[--] πις[τὸς?] τέκ̣ος(?)63 Α̣[--]Ο̣[…c. 15…] 15 [--]Κ̣[--]Τ̣Γ̣[…] Let no one take pride in the desire for wealth. | For avarice has destroyed many. | This flesh is dust, clay, and earth. | … this (?), he is haughty… to hope that he is immortal.64 For he [will be struck?] by arrows out of the blue, […] he will cry out to the extraordinary countenance, [knowing?] that every man is the food(?) of death. But he […] the many […] by avarice. […] the thrice trusting […] faithful child (?) […] Although the reading and reconstruction of some lines remain insecure, the text’s content can now be grasped more clearly: it is a moralizing message about the dangers of money-love and a memento mori on the inescapability of death. As has been noted, lines 1–5 comprise three verses of an un-prosodic, dodecasyllable gnomic epigram. In fact, however, in my reading none of these three lines is quite twelve syllables: verses 1 and 2 (lines 1–4) have thirteen syllables each, while verse 3 (line 4–5/6) has eleven. Nonetheless, the text gets its point across. The goal of a gnomic epigram was to present in a short and memorable form advice about how to live life: these maxims ‘prescribe how the average Byzantine is supposed to behave’.65 The genre of gnomic wisdom goes back to antiquity, but Byzantine authors, such as the ninth-century nun Kassia, gave the tradition a new lease on life, or rather the afterlife: the goal was to instill in the reader/hearer proper Christian morality, tending towards monastic or even ascetic ideals.66 Do not love the things of this world, and be prepared to meet your maker at a moment’s notice. No eating, drinking, and being merry here. These sentiments were particularly well-suited as grave texts, where the memento mori message was amplified by the setting.67 Gnomic epigrams were related to other types of medieval wisdom literature, such as apophthegmata or chreiai (famous sayings), proverbs, and metrical redactions of Aesop’s fables (mythoi), which condensed the fables into short, memorable form. The sixth-century bce Aesop and his animal tales remained popular in Byzantium; his fables appear in both written and pictorial form at the Eski Gümüş complex near Niğde in Cappadocia, probably a secular residence decorated in the eleventh century.68 These are, remarkably, the only monumental non-religious

62 l. 13 — the epsilon of εὔπιστ[ον] may rather be the terminal sigma of τρις. 63 l. 14 — τέκ̣ος: poetic for τέκνον. 64 For the admonition that it is foolish to hope the body will last forever, cf. a gnomic verse inscription for a Byzantine nun now in the cathedral of Bari: Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, pp. 245–46. The anonymous reviewer suggests that the subject of the verbs in lines 6–11 should be “this flesh,” because no pronoun or other nominative is offered. But a masculine pronoun appears here (l. 7) and at Panion (l. 8), so I follow the previous editors of the Panion text (see below) in supplying a “he” as subject. 65 Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, p. 241. For the gnomic tradition in general, see also Denis M. Searby, The Corpus Parisinum: A Critical Edition of the Greek Text with Commentary and English Translation (Lewiston: Edwin Mellen, 2007), pp. 6–7 and pp. 50–59. 66 Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, pp. 241–63. 67 Ousterhout, Visualizing Community, p. 258. 68 Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, II, pp. 403–06, no. Add19; Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, p. 177, and II, p. 233.

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wall painting to survive from Byzantium.69 Presenting the nugget of moralizing wisdom within the framework of the metrical animal story made it easier to grasp and remember. The ΜΗΔΙΣ ΤΥΦΟΥΣ[Θ]Ω gnomic epigram at Eğri Taş, however, is less pithy and memorable than many other Byzantine gnomic texts: there is no surprising reversal or clever word play in the three definitely metrical verses (lines 1–5/6). The text rather evokes pastoral epistolography, such as Ephesians 5.6 (Μηδεὶς ὑμᾶς ἀπατάτω κενοῖς λόγοις. διὰ ταῦτα γὰρ ἔρχεται ἡ ὀργὴ τοῦ θεοῦ ἐπὶ τοὺς υἱοὺς τῆς ἀπειθείας, ‘Let no man deceive you with vain words. For because of these things cometh the anger of God upon the children of unbelief ’) or monastic catecheses delivered by abbots to strengthen the ascetic resolve of their listeners.70 The Eğri Taş epigram exists more to instruct than to impress literarily, and indeed, the remaining lines of the painted inscription, which may be in prose rather than verse (although the fragmentary state of the text makes this difficult to establish for certain), also have homiletic/ascetic overtones: man will be struck down unexpectedly and must be ready to face judgement after death. Faith appears near the end of the text to save the day only after the reader/listener has been scared straight by the uncertainty of life and properly chastened into repentance. The gnomic text on Theognostos’s tomb was no ex-novo literary commission: it is in fact paralleled at other churches in Cappadocia and beyond, as Marc Lauxtermann and Andreas Rhoby have also indicated, although no iteration of the text is exactly the same. The new reading of the Eğri Taş text now allows for a closer comparison with this group, which I will call the ‘μηδείς group’ after the first word of the gnomic maxim represented. The closest geographically to Eğri Taş is found in the Yılanlı Kilise (‘Snake Church’), also in the Ihlara valley. This church was decorated probably in the late ninth century, but the funerary text painted with a cross in an acrosolium on the east wall of the narthex may perhaps date from later.71 The inscription informs us that the grave belongs to a Paula and then continues with its gnomic epigram: 1 [Μηδ]εὶς τ[υ]φούσθω τοῦ ὡραιοτάτου πλούτου,72 πολ(λ)οὺς γ[ὰρ ὀ]λώλεκεν ἡ

69 Robert Ousterhout, ‘Reading Aesop in Cappadocia’, in After the Text: Byzantine Enquiries in Honour of Margaret Mullett, ed. Liz James et al. (London: Routledge, forthcoming). 70 Douay-Rheims translation; Mary Cunningham, ‘Homilies’, in The Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies, ed. Robin Cormack et al. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), pp. 872–79 (p. 877). 71 For the church’s painted program and its date, which is debated, see Thierry and Thierry, Nouvelles églises rupestres, pp. 89–114; Jolivet-Lévy, Les églises byzantines, pp. 307–10; Lafontaine-Dosogne, ‘Nouvelles notes’, pp. 162–65; Ousterhout, Visualizing Community, p. 213. For the inscription (I print here only the regularized, edited text), see Hans Rott, Kleinasiatische Denkmäler aus Pisidien, Pamphylien, Kappadokien und Lykien (Leipzig: Weicher, 1908), p. 273 for a diplomatic transcription; Weißbrod, p. 228, no. 28; Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, I, p. 292, no. TR203. 72 Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, I, p. 292 corrects the first line to rather read [Μηδ] εὶς τ[υ]φούσθω τῇ ὀρέξ̣ει τοῦ πλούτου based on the other extant examples of the epigram. In my view, such an emendation is not justified given how mutable this type of text was, although the genitive τοῦ ὡραιοτάτου πλούτου is now awkwardly forced to act as a source (of the pride/delusion). Furthermore, the second word without regularization reads τ[υ]φούστο; the replacement of θ with τ in this word occurs also at Kale Kilisesi (see below) and perhaps at Eğri Taş (the letter of interest is missing). The transition of σθ to στ was very common in

a n epig ra m for the everyma n?

5 φιλαργυρία. Ἔγκυψον ὧδε καὶ ἰδὲ τα[ύ]τη(ν)…73 Let no one take pride from the most enticing wealth, | for avarice has destroyed many. | Look closely here and see this (woman?) … The main subject of the epigram, philargyria, is clearly the same as at Eğri Taş. The gnomic epigram appears again at the Kale Kilisesi (‘Fortress Church’) in Selime at the north end of the Ihlara valley.74 This church is associated with an extensive rock-cut double courtyard complex probably functioning as the residence of a local military leader in the tenth/eleventh century.75 The inscription is painted in red on the porch and is perhaps to be associated with an arcosolium tomb there, although the text is divided into two parts, one at the north and the other at the south.76 It most likely dates to the tenth century based on its (surprisingly fine) uncial script.77 Only the first three lines of the c. ten-line text are legible: 1 Μηδεὶς τυφούσθω τῇ ὀρέξει τοῦ πλ[ούτου]· πολ(λ)οὺς γὰρ ἀπέλεσεν ἡ φιλαργυρία· ἡ σὰρξ γὰρ ταύτη χοῦς, πηλὸς καὶ [γῆ εἶναι·]78 Let no one take pride in the desire for wealth. | For avarice has destroyed many. | For this flesh [is] dust, clay, and [earth.] The final occurrence of the ‘μηδείς group’ text tradition is far from Cappadocia and in a different medium: a marble plaque from the Blachernae Church in Panion in eastern Thrace

spoken Greek already in the early Byzantine period: Geoffrey Horrocks, Greek: A History of the Language and its Speakers, 2nd edn (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), p. 282. Τυφόω can have the sense either ‘to be deluded’ or ‘to be arrogant’. 73 The second half of this line, and the following line, as recorded by Rott, Kleinasiatische Denkmäler, p. 273, are too garbled to make sense of, so I have not reproduced them here. See now Maria Xenaki, ‘Μηδεὶς τυφούσθω τῇ ὀρέξει τοῦ πλούτου. Retour sur une épigramme funéraire gnomique de Cappadoce’, pp. 665–68, for an updated and fuller reading of this epigram. 74 For this church’s painted program, see Jacqueline Lafontaine-Dosogne ‘La Kale Kilisesi de Selime et sa representation de donateurs’, in Zetesis. Album amicorum door vrieenden en collega’s aangeboden aan Prof. Dr E. de Stryker (Antwerpen: Boekhandel, 1973), pp. 741–53; Lafontaine-Dosogne, ‘Nouvelles Notes’, pp. 174–76; JolivetLévy, Les églises byzantines, pp. 331–32; Ousterhout, Visualizing Community, p. 72. 75 Lynn Rodley, Cave Monasteries of Byzantine Cappadocia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), pp. 63–85; Veronica Kalas, ‘The 2004 Survey of the Byzantine Settlement at Selime-Yaprakhisar in the Peristrema Valley, Cappadocia’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 60 (2006), pp. 271–93; Ousterhout, Visualizing Community, pp. 336–39. 76 Rott, Kleinasiatische Denkmäler, p. 264; Lafontaine-Dosogne, ‘La Kale Kilisesi’, pp. 741–42; Lafontaine-Dosogne, ‘Notes nouvelles’, Fig. 40; Rodley, Cave Monasteries, p. 73; Lauxtermann Byzantine Poetry, I, p. 244; Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, I, p. 291. 77 Lafontaine-Dosogne, ‘La Kale Kilisesi,’ p. 742. 78 Here I combine the editions of Lafontaine-Dosogne, ‘La Kale Kilisesi’, p. 742 and Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, I, p. 291, add in the new restoration at the end of line three (εἶναι) from Eğri Taş, and avoid metrical corrections (line 2 has thirteen syllables as written). See now Maria Xenaki, ‘Μηδεὶς τυφούσθω τῇ ὀρέξει τοῦ πλούτου. Retour sur une épigramme funéraire gnomique de Cappadoce’, pp. 659–68, for an updated and fuller reading of this epigram.

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(in the modern Tekirdağ province of Turkey), dating from sometime between the ninth and eleventh century.79 It probably functioned as a grave cover, now lost. The text reads: 1 5 10

Μηδεὶς τυφλούτω τῇ ὀρέξει τοῦ πλούτου· πολ(λ)οὺς λυμένει ἡ τοῦ κόσμου φιλία· ἡ σὰρ̣ξ̣ γὰρ ταύτῃ χοῦς, πηλὸς, γῆ ὑπάρχει· Θυμοῦται τύφῳ [ἀναστρ]έφεται φρένα, ἐλπ[ίζει] α̣ὑτὸν ὡς ἀθάν[ατον εἰ]ν̣α̣ι· τοξεύετ̣[αι] […6…] π̣λουτο̣ Let no one be blinded in the desire for wealth; | love of the world corrupts many people; | for this flesh is dust, clay, earth; | he (the man) is angry with pride, his spirits are troubled, | he hopes to be immortal, | he is struck with arrows […] by wealth?80

The marble is broken and so the text may have gone on for an undetermined number of lines. While the opening verse parallels the Cappadocian examples (except for τυφλούτω instead of τυφούσθω), in the second we find not love of money, but love of the world in general. The later verses, however, show in some places a definite affinity for the text at Eğri Taş: an un-named man (he is even absent syntactically) hopes that he is immortal but is struck with arrows (cf. Eğri Taş ll. 7–9). The new reading of the Eğri Taş text is significant because it indicates that the Panion epitaph was not unique in these lines mentioning being struck by arrows; clearly, another text or tradition links these two distant grave texts. Nonetheless, the two inscriptions are different enough that they have not been simply ‘copy-pasted’ from an inscribed prototype or authoritative version. How can we understand these multiple variants of the ‘μηδείς group’? These three examples from Cappadocia and one from Thrace should, in my opinion, not be viewed as faulty copies of an idealized text, but rather as embodiments of a ‘text type’. As defined by the Database of Byzantine Book Epigrams, a text type is an overarching text tradition that appears in various occurrences (individual epigrams).81 The inscriptions at Eğri Taş Kilisesi, Yılanlı Kilise, Kale Kilisesi, and Panion indeed are bound together by their first line (‘Let no one take pride / be blinded in the desire for wealth’ vel sim) and the general contrast of earthly desires with the literally earthy nature of human flesh, which is dust, clay, and earth (except at Yılanlı Kilise, where the text moves to entirely different topics, if the transcription is trustworthy). But despite these

79 For the text, see Asdracha, Inscriptions de la Thrace, pp. 286–87, no. 78; Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, pp. 244–45; Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, I, p. 293. 80 Edition and translation after Asdracha, Inscriptions de la Thrace, p. 287. I have here followed Rhoby in regularizing the text in a few instances. 81 The Database of Byzantine Book Epigrams: www.dbbe.ugent.be (last consulted on 15–09–2020). See also Sien De Groot, ‘Byzantine Book-Epigrams: From Manuscript to Edition’, in (Un)documented. Was bleibt vom Dokument in der Edition?, ed. M. Berghöfer et al. (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2020), pp. 39–60 (pp. 49–52).

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similarities, we need not engage in the hunt for an original source lying behind these varied inscriptions. An ‘ur-text’ is possible, especially for the two or three verses of the gnomic epigram, but it is irretrievable, and largely irrelevant: this was an ‘“open” text tradition’, in the words of Lauxtermann, where fluid texts could evolve, adapt, be pared down or padded up.82 This transmission took place in many cases not on paper, stone, or paint, but in the mind: gnomic epigrams were meant to be memorized.83 They were most effective as an antidote against sin and shortsightedness if they could be carried with the individual everywhere, always present in one’s internal discourse. An awareness of this mode of transmission helps to explain, not only the significant variety among the epigraphic attestations of this type, but also the metrical difficulties apparent in several of the iterations, for example at Eğri Taş, where it appears that none of the three dodecasyllable verses actually succeeds at being twelve syllables. Syllables are harder to count when they are verbal or internalized than when written down, if anyone cared to count them in the first place. And even when written down, individual cola could be paired up as ‘intonation units’ (to borrow a term from linguistics) which did not necessarily amount to twelve syllables, according to Julie Boeten and Mark Janse.84 The end result was cognitively acceptable, even if it would not quite pass muster with the strictest metricians. A recently-published grave text, perhaps related to the ‘μηδεὶς group’ but not a part of it, further indicates the broad tradition of making gnomic statements on Middle Byzantine tombs. It was inscribed on stone in the quadrants of a cross in approximately the tenth century and was found at Konya (ancient Ikonion), some 180 km to the southwest of the Ihlara valley. The epigram marked the tomb of a monk and priest named Sabbas and opens with an address to kinsmen, friends, monks and priests before proceeding: μηδὴς {ι} τυφούτο τῇ τōν προσκέρον δόξᾳ{ν} κὲ μολύνετε τῆς τοῦ βίου {ου} ἀπάτες ὁς κ̣[ἀ]γὸ μεμόλυσμε… (‘Let no-one take pride in the glory of this world, | and be defiled by the deceptions of life, | as I too am defiled…’).85 The words μηδὴς {ι} τυφούτο are similar to those of the Eğri Taş text (Μηδεὶς τῦφούσ[θ]ω), but after this brief gnomic warning about taking pride in the glory of the world, Sabbas’s grave text goes in its own direction, lamenting the monk’s sinfulness in the first person — as Byzantine first-person epitaphs were supposed to do. The Jingle: ΟΡΩΝ ΤΟΝ ΤΥΠΟΝ

The final text of Theognostos’s grave arcosolium in the Eğri Taş crypt, which was in fact the first to be painted, is also one occurrence of a broader text type and lends itself well to analysis as intonation units. It is painted in salmon pink in the upper portion of the 82 Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, p. 244, p. 254. 83 Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, p. 242. 84 Julie Boeten and Mark Janse, ‘A Cognitive Analysis of Metrical Irregularities in the “Ὅσπερ ξένοι” Book Epigrams’, Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 42.1 (2018), pp. 79–91. See also Marc D. Lauxtermann, The Spring of Rhythm: An Essay on the Political Verse and Other Byzantine Metres (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften), pp. 84–86. 85 Published and translated Marc D. Lauxtermann and Peter Thonemann, ‘A Byzantine Verse Inscription from Konya’, in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium, ed. Lauxtermann and Toth, pp. 337–46.

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arcosolium wall. Like the gnomic ΜΗΔΙΣ ΤΥΦΟΥΣ[Θ]Ω inscription, this text finds echoes at other churches in Cappadocia and beyond. The iteration on Theognostos’s tomb reads: 1 Ὁρῶν τὸν τύπο(ν), τίμα τὸν τ̣όπον· μικρὸς ὁ τύπος, μεγά̣λ̣η δόξ̣α· δ̣ιὰ τοῦ τύπου τού του σῴζ̣εται̣ κόσμος. Seeing the image, | honour the place; | small is the image, | great is the glory. | Through this image the world is saved.86 The image (or typos, sign) here is presumably the image of the cross painted as the centrepiece of Theognostos’s arcosolium.87 When read aloud in the Greek, as a literate Byzantine viewer would have done, it is immediately clear that this text has a certain rhythmic quality, although it does not correspond precisely to the usual meters of Byzantine poetry (except for the final two lines, which form a respectable dodecasyllable). The text has therefore been denied the label of ‘epigram’ (the dodecasyllable verse was fully published only in 2017).88 In fact, however, the first part of the text is composed of paired pentasyllable cola, with each verse totaling ten syllables (a decasyllable). It is debatable whether these paired pentasyllables would be recognized by contemporary Cappadocian readers as a rare form of metrical verse, but in any case, it probably sounded like verse even to the ears of the metrically uninitiated.89 Lauxtermann has argued that pentasyllable verse originated in the metrical experimentations of Late Antiquity; paired pentasyllables occasionally substitute for 5+7 or 7+5 dodecasyllable verses even in the Byzantine period, thereby creating ten-syllable lines.90 Actual decasyllable verse (often with a diaeresis after the sixth syllable) was sometimes used in Byzantine demotic carols and in a sixth-century circus dialogue; this evidence probably indicates a popular origin for this rhythmic pattern.91 The Eğri Taş text composed of paired pentasyllables in fact finds its origins in Late Antiquity: two humble grave stones from Greece (one from Attica and the other from Gortyn on Crete), which read Θεωρῶν τὸν τύπον, τίμα τὸν τόπον (‘Seeing the image, honour the place’).92 These 86 Edition and translation: Sitz, ‘”Great Fear”’, p. 26, no. 17b, and Fig. 16. See also now Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, IV, p. 531. The text was first published by Thierry and Thierry, Nouvelles églises rupestres, p. 68, no. 4a, but with very significant misreadings. 87 Τύπος can have many meanings in Greek: see Jolivet-Levy, Les églises byzantines, pp. 221–22; Sitz ‘”Great Fear”’, pp. 13–14. I have chosen ‘image’ as the simplest translation. Ida Toth notes that the first word, Ὁρῶν, is an imperatival participle with the force of an imperative, so it could also be translated, ‘See the image, honour the place’. 88 Sitz, ‘”Great Fear”’, pp. 17–19. 89 Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, IV, p. 531, no. 21, raises the possibility that these lines are simply rhythmic prose: ‘Zwei Zehnsilber bzw. vier Fünfsilber bzw. rhythmisierte Prosa, darauf folgt ein (vielleicht zufällig gebildeter) Zwölfsilber’. For rhythmic prose, see Vessela Valiavitcharska, Rhetoric and Rhythm in Byzantium: The Sound of Persuasion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). 90 Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, II, pp. 370–71; Boeten and Janse, ‘Metrical Irregularities’, p. 84. 91 Lauxtermann, Spring of Rhythm, pp. 58–60, p. 76, p. 85; compare also the ten-syllable verses interspersed in the fifth-century Life of Epiphanius of Cyprus: Claudia Rapp, ‘Frühbyzantinische Dichtung und Hagiographie am Beispiel der Vita des Epiphanius von Zypern’, Rivista di Studi Bizantini e Neoellenici, 27 (1990), pp. 3–31. 92 Attica: Erkki Sironen, Late Roman and Early Byzantine Inscriptions of Athens and Attica (Helsinki: Hakapaino Oy, 1997), no. 346 bis; Gortyn: Antonino di Vita, ‘Atti della Scuola, 1986–1987’, Annuario della Scuola archeologica di Atene e delle missioni italiane in Oriente 64–65 (1991), pp. 435–536 (pp. 502–03, Fig. 101). For these texts and

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epitaphs probably date to the fifth or sixth century ce, and at least one was accompanied by a cross. Although there is one extra syllable (Θεωρῶν instead of Ὁρῶν, both meaning ‘seeing’), the rhythmic quality of the text is essentially the same as at Eğri Taş, and Θεωρῶν may simply exhibit synizesis (the pronouncing of εω as a single syllable). Another church of the tenth or eleventh century in Middle Byzantine Cappadocia presents an even closer parallel to the Eğri Taş verses (and can in fact be restored on the basis of this inscription): a painted inscription in the vestibule of the large hall next to the Bezirhane Kilisesi at Avcılar is probably identical to the Eğri Taş variant: Ὁρῶν τὸν τύπον, τίμα τὸ[ν τόπον· μικρὸς ὁ τύπος μεγάλ]η δόξα· διὰ τοῦ τύπου τ[ο]ύ[του σῴζεται κόσμος].93 The short and catchy Late Antique text type has expanded over the centuries and gained a pleasing dodecasyllable finale. Nearby, the Pancarlık Kilise close to Ürgüp in Cappadocia offers an interesting variant on this paired pentasyllable text tradition, sans the dodecasyllable verse: Μικρὸς ὁ τύπος · μέγας ὁ φόβο̣[ς]· ὁ̣ρ̣ῶ̣ν τ[ὸ]ν τύπον, τίμα τὸν τόπον (‘Small is the image, | great is the fear. | Seeing the image, | honour the place’).94 The intonation units (the individual cola) have their order changed, and ‘glory’ (δόξα) has been replaced by ‘fear’ (φόβος). At the Pancarlık church, the text accompanies not a cross, but an image of Christ in Glory (Majestas Domini) in the apse, painted in the late ninth or early tenth century (Fig. 8).95 Given these multiple occurrences of the verses spanning from Late Antiquity to the tenth century and from Greece to central Anatolia, I proposed in 2017 that this text type represents an oral tradition, with the lines (in short or long form) forming a sort of jingle (catchy saying or idiom) that reinforced for the speaker/hearer the power of the cross.96 Though images of the cross may be small, they bring great glory to Christ; seeing an image of the cross requires the viewer to treat the spot respectfully, perhaps by bowing or making the sign of the cross. This ΟΡΩΝ ΤΟΝ ΤΥΠΟΝ text type therefore functioned both didactically (instructing the reader what to do in the ritualized space) and as internalized wisdom, as with the gnomic epigram tradition outlined above. I have furthermore argued that the variant of the text found in the Pancarlık apse, where ‘fear’ replaces ‘glory’, was a site-specific manipulation and adaptation of this broader oral text type tradition. ‘Great fear’ is well suited to the image of the Majestas Domini painted in the apse: Christ sits on a throne within an awe-inspiring mandorla, surrounded by the four symbols of the evangelists and assembled cherubim, seraphim, and an assortment of biblical and angelic figures. This image type is simultaneously dogmatic and narrative: it depicts both Christ’s eternal, glorious state and the specific moment at the end of time other details on the connection of the Eğri Taş verses with other inscriptions, see Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, I, no. TR197; Sitz, ‘Great Fear’, p. 16. 93 Guillaume de Jerphanion, ‘Inscriptions byzantines de la région d’Urgub en Cappadoce’, Mélanges de l’Université Saint-Joseph, 6 (1913), pp. 305–400 (pp. 341–42, no. 58); Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, I, pp. 286–88, no. TR197 (but for the updated restoration see Sitz, ‘”Great Fear”’, p. 18 and Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, IV, p. 531). 94 Jolivet-Lévy, Les églises byzantines, p. 222; Sitz, ‘”Great Fear”’, p. 23, no. 1e. 95 For the painted program of the Pancarlık Kilise and the church’s context, see Guillaume de Jerphanion, Un nouvelle province de l’art byzantin: Les églises rupestres de Cappadoce, 3 vols (Paris: Geuthner, 1925–1934), II.1, pp. 17–47; Restle, Die byzantinische Wandmalerei, III, Fig. 374–87; Nicole Lemaigre Demesnil, Architecture rupestre et décor sculpté en Cappadoce (ve–ixe siècle) (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2010), pp. 102–07; Jolivet-Lévy, Les églises byzantines, pp. 219–22; Ousterhout, Visualizing Community, pp. 43–45. 96 Sitz, ‘“Great Fear”’, p. 19. See also Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, II, p. 371.

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when he returns to earth and humans will be judged. Reverential fear and apocalyptic anxiety are therefore the proper viewer responses, and the apse does its best to provoke these emotional/psychological reactions through the dominating presence of Christ, the otherworldly creatures (many-eyed, hybrid-bodied cherubim; seraphim hidden behind their own wings), and through the painted verses, which subvert the comforting message of ‘great glory’ inscribed at Eğri Taş and Bezirhane and instead forces the reader to verbalize and reflect on the words ‘great fear’. Painted imagery and text work together at Pancarlık to bring about the desired response in this church.97 The publication in 2018 of another variant of this text has proven, however, that the ‘great fear’ text at Pancarlık was not a specifically local manipulation of the ‘great glory’ jingle, as I had proposed: both the ‘great fear’ and ‘great glory’ variants are in fact part of the larger text type that stretches across media, settings, and centuries. The new text is neither painted nor carved but written on the illuminated frontispiece of an eleventh-century manuscript now housed in Bucharest.98 The manuscript is a tetraevangelium, and the frontispiece features a luxurious, highly-decorated cross painted in blues and golds. The text that interests us is found near the bottom of the page in Alexandrian majuscule script with diacritical marks around the lower quadrants of the cross.99 It reads: Μικρὸς ὁ τύπος, μέγας ὁ φόβος· ὁρῶν τὸν τύπον τίμα τὸν τρόπον. οὗτος ὁ τύπος σῴζει τὸν κόσμον.100 Small is the image, | great is the fear. | Seeing the image, | honour the custom. | This image | saves the world. Clearly, ‘great fear’ was not an innovation of the painters at Pancarlık, as I had thought, but was a more widespread variant.101 This alteration in one colon is paralleled in other text types, where individual intonation units vary in different settings or with different scribes.102 Besides this, the astute reader will note two small departures in the Bucharest manuscript from the texts we have encountered so far. First, both Pancarlık and Eğri Taş have τίμα τὸν τόπον (‘honour the place’) rather than the manuscript’s τίμα τὸν τρόπον

97 Sitz, ‘“Great Fear”’, pp. 20–21; for other instances of Byzantine art and text designed to evoke an emotional response, see note 8 above. For inscriptions and divine fear in ancient Greece, see Angelos Chaniotis, ‘Constructing the Fear of God: Epigraphic Evidence from Sanctuaries of Greece and Asia Minor’, in Unveiling Emotions: Sources and Methods for the Study of Emotions in the Greek World, ed. Angelos Chaniotis (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2012), pp. 205–34. 98 Biblioteca Academiei Române MS 1175 (Diktyon 11250). For an image, see http://byzantion.itc.ro/web/home/465 (last accessed 15–09–20). 99 Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, IV, pp. 377–78, no. RO2. Alexandrian majuscule was used after the seventh century mainly as an Auszeichnungsscript (used for title pages, for example). See also Database of Byzantine Book Epigrams Type 7092, occurrence 26453. https://www.dbbe.ugent.be/types/7092 (last accessed 15–09–20). 100 I here present the text divided into its three verses, rather than by lines as physically written in the manuscript. 101 Excluding the unlikely possibility that the Pancarlık church was the source of the text in the manuscript, directly or indirectly. Nicole Lemaigre Demesnil, ‘Architetcture et liturgie’, Dossiers d’Archéologie, 203 (2003), pp. 18–25 (p. 19), suggests that Pancarlık was a pilgrimage site, but even so, it is just one among hundreds of cave churches in Cappadocia. 102 Boeten and Janse, ‘Metrical Irregularities’, pp. 82–90.

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(‘honour the custom’), that is, the way things are done.103 Second, the final line in the manuscript is not, as at Eğri Taş and (probably) Bezirhane, a dodecasyllable verse, but another paired pentasyllable (or a decasyllable line, with a caesura after the fifth syllable). As discussed for the ΜΗΔΙΣ ΤΥΦΟΥΣ[Θ]Ω gnomic epigram, the ΟΡΩΝ ΤΟΝ ΤΥΠΟΝ text type was part of an open text tradition. It not only evolved over time, but a specific variant could be chosen to suit a particular context. The scribe of the tetraevangelium manuscript was cognizant that τόπον (‘place’) was not quite right for the space of a book page; τρόπον (‘custom’) was more suitable. It reminded the reader to keep the faith generally and maintain best practice when reading the text of the Gospels in particular. Likewise, both the manuscript and the apse at Pancarlık instructed the reader to adopt an attitude of reverential fear before the divine; at Theognostos’s grave and in Bezirhane, the emphasis was instead on glory. Such text types were customizable and may well have existed in more variants than have been preserved. Who was Theognostos? These three texts are all that remain to attest Theognostos’s corporeal existence. The rock-cut grave cavity itself has long since been emptied. So who was Theognostos? We will start with the basics: despite the ascetic messages in his tomb texts, he was, apparently, not a monk. Others in the Eğri Taş funereal complex (the monk Petros and the nun Anna) were designated as monastics, but Theognostos is not in his epitaph. Perhaps Christophoros had also funded small male and female convents to care for his church and perform the proper rites for him and his family members after death, resulting in the occasional burial of monastics in the complex. Robert Ousterhout has recently argued that the dense accumulation of Middle Byzantine churches and refectories in the Cappadocian area known as Göreme served mainly funereal, rather than monastic, purposes, with wealthy donors establishing richly-painted commemorative churches for themselves and their families, served by only a small number of care-takers or monks.104 Perhaps the many churches of the Ihlara valley served a similar purpose. Was Theognostos a relative of Christophoros? We have no way of knowing. No family name or patronymic is given for Theognostos nor, for that matter, Christophoros, despite the fact that there were many Christophoroi at court in tenth-century Byzantium.105 Family names were used occasionally from the later eighth century onwards but became ubiquitous only in the eleventh century, when the genos (‘clan’, ‘family’) came to play a defining role in gaining titles and prestige.106 Finally, no titles are recorded for Theognostos. He apparently did not rise to the level of a spatharokandidatos, or any other official position — or he did not wish to record this information on his tomb in an act of perpetual self-representation. 103 At Bezirhane, the fragmentary text does not preserve any trace of τόπον: it is possible that it in fact read τρόπον, but, given the inscription’s placement within an architectural space and the closer (geographically and temporally) examples of the Eğri Taş and Pancarlık texts, I view τόπον as more likely. 104 Ousterhout, Visualizing Community, pp. 474–78. 105 As indicated by a search of the PmbZ (Prosopographie der mittelbyzantinischen Zeit, ed. by Ralph-Johannes Lilie and others (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013)). 106 Haldon, ‘Social Élites’, p. 183; Leidholm, Elite Byzantine Kinship, p. 11.

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But was this self-representation? I have phrased it as if Theognostos designed his own tomb and picked out the texts to be displayed. But, given that the day of his death is recorded in the epitaph, the inscriptions in blackish pigment at least were added posthumously. The salmon colored cross and ΟΡΩΝ text may conceivably have been painted already in Theognostos’s lifetime, but, as mentioned previously, the agent behind the salmon pigment seems to have been Leon, whose name is recorded in that paint. Was Leon a friend or relative of Theognostos who prepared the tomb for him, or was Leon the painter who signed his work? It is impossible to say. In any case, at most Byzantine graves we do not know the agent (the deceased themselves or someone else) who arranged the burial; it is rare in Byzantium for the deceased to explicitly state that s/he prepared his/her own tomb before death (in contrast to Roman practice).107 At the so-called Hermitage of Symeon at Zelve in eastern Cappadocia, the monk Symeon recorded on his tomb a home-spun epigram stating ‘Living I prepared the rock-hewn tomb’.108 This idiosyncratic text of perhaps the tenth century began with a reflection on Symeon’s gestation in his mother’s womb and how he recognized the Creator through instruction in divine writings. Symeon may have been both poet and the painter — the text reflects local linguistic habits and is painted, bizarrely, in a difficult-to-read arc over the tomb; this unorthodox layout suggests a lack of formal training as a painter. Theognostos does not appear so prominently on his tomb at Eğri Taş. None of the three texts painted there is in the first person, and we should be cautious of describing the tomb décor as ‘self-representation’ because we do not know who chose the texts or even organized the tomb. It may be useful, however, to side-step this question of agency by accepting the presentation of Theognostos at his tomb as a ‘persona’ of the deceased: as his ‘funereal self ’, on the pattern of the ‘lyrical self ’ presented in first-person poetry or the ‘devotional self ’ in first-person dedicatory inscriptions.109 These first-person texts present a ‘discursively-crafted “I”’ that does not necessarily reflect the actual emotions or experiences of the individuals who are ‘speaking’; such texts obviously continue to communicate to us long after the death of both the author and the authored.110 Theognostos does not ‘speak’ to us in the first person, of course, nor do we gain many details about his life, and yet it is a certain kind of self — a faithful servant of God, a wise individual — that is on display. Strategies of Commemoration We will now examine more closely Theognostos’s ‘funereal self ’ and the strategies used to present and commemorate this persona. The texts of the arcosolium may initially seem to 107 Lauxtermann and Thonemann, ‘A Byzantine Verse Inscription’, p. 342. 108 Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, I, pp. 299–303, no. 210. See also Jerphanion, Une nouvelle province, I, p. 577, no. 111; Rodley, Cave Monasteries, pp. 192–93; Weißbrod, p. 243, no. 46; Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, p. 217 (with English translation); Ousterhout, Visualizing Community, pp. 406–08. 109 ‘Lyrical self ’: Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, p. 37; II, pp. 192–97. ‘Devotional self ’: Ivan Drpić, ‘The Patron’s “I”: Art, Selfhood, and the Later Byzantine Dedicatory Epigram’, Speculum, 89.4 (2014), pp. 895–934 (p. 897) and Drpić, Art, Epigram, and Devotion, pp. 82–89. 110 Drpić, Art, Epigram, and Devotion, p. 70.

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be de-personalized: both the ΜΗΔΙΣ ΤΥΦΟΥΣ[Θ]Ω gnomic epigram and the ΟΡΩΝ ΤΟΝ ΤΥΠΟΝ verses do not provide specific information about Theognostos and in fact appear on various tombs and in other contexts in both Cappadocia and beyond, as we have seen. Yet this repetition of a widely-used text type may have been an intentional strategy to link Theognostos into a wider matrix of pious, down-to-earth individuals. Given that the gnomic epigram is attested in two preserved churches in the vicinity of the Ihlara valley (and perhaps originally decorated many more, now lost), the gist of the epigram likely sounded familiar to local readers/listeners. The rhythmic ΟΡΩΝ text, which has survived to the present day in three Cappadocian churches (in variable form) was likewise probably familiar, especially if it did, as I still think, correspond with an oral tradition of popular piety. Cognitive scientists have demonstrated that repetition makes an idea seem more believable; people respond favorably to familiar words, even if they have no actual information about what they mean.111 Visitors to Theognostos’s tomb probably nodded their head agreeably upon reading/hearing the vaguely familiar, pious sentiments; they did not have to work very hard to grasp Theognostos’s ‘funereal self ’ and his appropriate religious sentiments. Through these reproducible texts, Theognostos is framed as a down-to-earth individual, having neither the poetic pretensions of the hermit Symeon at Zelve nor the ostentatious desire for a custom-crafted funereal text. In reality, poetry in ninth and tenth century Byzantium was written almost exclusively by the upper echelons of society (bishops, those high in the civil administration, and generals, with a few teachers and monks mixed in).112 The title-less Theognostos probably could not have rubbed shoulders with the literati in Constantinople, even if he had wanted to. Yet his funereal persona wants us to think that he might have had that option: the epigram on the dangers of money-love strongly implies that Theognostos was well-off and yet avoided letting it go to his head. The tomb does not try to hide the fact that the ΜΗΔΙΣ ΤΥΦΟΥΣ[Θ]Ω text is not custom-made: the ‘copied’ nature of the inscription is emphasized by the semantically un-linked bits of text (probably prose) that follow the initial three-verse epigram, which correspond in some sections to the variant at Panion in Thrace. These pronouncements on the man who hopes to be immortal but is struck down by arrows reads like a series of excerpts from a longer text: ‘the man’ is never introduced as subject, not even by a pronoun.113 Rather, this ‘sampling’ (to borrow a term from hip hop) suggests to the reader that only the best sections of a fuller text are here epitomized. The authoritative feel of the gnomic text is thereby heightened (the reader had better take heed of these selected warnings about money and the brevity of life), as is the broad acceptance of this wisdom: it was a text worth repeating, copying, sampling. This strategy of reproducing and condensing wider traditions of piety in Theognostos’s arcosolium is complemented by a second strategy of commemoration: oral performance. As has been demonstrated in several studies, Byzantine inscribed texts were meant to

111 Daniel Kahneman, Thinking, Fast and Slow (London: Penguin Books, 2012), pp. 60–67. 112 Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, p. 39. 113 Even if we were to accept ‘this flesh’ (feminine in the Greek) as the subject of the verbs, as the anonymous reviewer suggests (see note 64 above), we would be left with an un-named ‘he’: Panion ll. 7–9 ‘(this flesh) hopes that he (α̣ὑτὸν) is immortal’. Who, exactly?

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be read aloud and gained much of their power through verbalization.114 Indeed, some epigrams were designed explicitly to be performed, not actually to be inscribed.115 Both the gnomic ΜΗΔΙΣ ΤΥΦΟΥΣ[Θ]Ω passage and the rhythmic ΟΡΩΝ text benefitted from being read aloud, because neither was particularly successful on paper, as it were. We have already discussed how the ΟΡΩΝ jingle in paired pentasyllables was in a meter not typically used for epigrams in tenth-century Byzantium — but it sounded epigrammatic because of its rhythmic quality, accent on the penult, and partnered ‘intonation units’ (‘small is the image, great is the glory’, etc.). Both because of this lack of a standard meter, and because of uncertainty about the reading of the Eğri Taş ΟΡΩΝ variant, this text was largely left out of the scholarly discourse on epigrams (which usually sticks with accepted meters, such as dodecasyllable or hexameter) until the recent publication of the ΟΡΩΝ text in the manuscript.116 That text, despite being only paired pentasyllables without a single dodecasyllable line, is so very epigrammatic in its form and function that it can hardly be excluded from studies of epigrams. Yet each of these texts, at Εğri Taş, Bezirhane, and Pancarlık, could have passed as a typical epigram when read out loud. Likewise, the metrical difficulties in the Eğri Taş ΜΗΔΙΣ ΤΥΦΟΥΣ[Θ]Ω epigram, where the superfluous inclusion of ‘extra’ words such as ἐν in verse 1 (ἐν τῇ ὀρέξ̣ει) mucks up the proper number of syllables, would have been unnoticeable when performed aloud. These texts on Theognostos’s tomb appropriate the form of standard Middle Byzantine epigrams in order to gain certain benefits: the cultural cache of epigrammatic display, the idea that epigrams (such as those of Kassia) encapsulated wisdom necessary to live and die well, and the inherently more memorable nature of rhythmic text, which, like advertising jingles today, could get stuck in the mind and repeatedly remind the subject to ‘think this, not that’ and ‘do this, not that’. When this strategy of orality is taken in conjunction with a third strategy of commemoration, that is, the combination of text and image (in this case a somewhat plain cross), a new aspect of the rhythmic ΟΡΩΝ text emerges: it functioned as an almost ‘magical’ protective element for the grave, in the same way that curses were appended to epitaphs in the Roman and Late Roman periods. The apotropaic function of the cross is well-known, as is its general role as an identity marker, in this case, ‘pious Christian’.117 But when combined with the ΟΡΩΝ text, it does more: the verse draws attention to the mikros typos (the cross) and then commands the viewer to ‘honour the place’. This is, in

114 For orality in Byzantium, see especially Elizabeth Jeffreys and Michael Jeffreys, ‘The Oral Background of Byzantine Popular Poetry’, Oral Tradition, 1.3 (1986), pp. 504–47; Herbert Hunger, Schreiben und Lesen in Byzanz. Die byzantinische Buchkultur (Munich: Beck, 1989), pp. 125–29; Amy Papalexandrou, ‘Text in Context: Eloquent Monuments and the Byzantine Beholder’, Word & Image, 17.3 (2001), pp. 259–83; Amy Papalexandrou, ‘Echoes of Orality in the Monumental Inscriptions of Byzantium’, in Art and Text in Byzantine Culture, ed. James, pp. 161–213; Niels Gaul, ‘Performative Reading in the Late Byzantine Theatron’, in Reading in the Byzantine Empire and Beyond, ed. Teresa Shawcross and Ida Toth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), pp. 215–34; Drpić, Art, Epigram, and Devotion, pp. 54–66. 115 Foteini Spingou, ‘Words and Artworks in the Twelfth Century and Beyond: The Thirteenth-Century Manuscript Marcianus gr. 524 and the Twelfth-Century Dedicatory Epigrams on Works of Art’ (Unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Oxford, 2012), pp. 159–77. 116 Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, IV, pp. 377–78, no. RO2. 117 Christopher Walter, ‘The Apotropaic Function of the Victorious Cross’, Revue des études byzantines, 55 (1997), pp. 193–220.

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fact, the kernel of the whole text type, the oldest part, which appeared first on grave texts in Late Antique Attica and on Crete. In origin, at least, this rhythmic saying was applied particularly to funerary contexts (or was adopted for that setting) and responds to the widespread ancient anxiety of a grave being re-opened and robbed/reused by someone not explicitly given permission by the founder of the tomb. This concern was particularly prevalent in Asia Minor, as indicated by epitaphs which either cursed those who would open the tomb or leveled a fine on them, to be paid to civic/imperial authorities.118 The rise of Christianity changed epitaphic habits, but did not altogether eliminate the grave curse formulae. This desire to protect the grave through malediction persevered even in Byzantine Cappadocia: the newly-published epitaph from Konya, which is related to the ‘μηδείς group’, ends in a metrical curse: ‘If anyone plunders the dust of my bones, let him be punished in the fearful and terrible resurrection’.119 The use of verse as a particularly effective means of performing magic is an old tradition (one with an oral background), as was the use of alliteration (e.g. tima ton topon).120 The rhythmic ΟΡΩΝ text on Theognostos’s tomb therefore not only reminded the viewer to revere the cross in a general sense, but also to respect the burial space in particular. The ΟΡΩΝ text’s emphasis on ‘seeing’ is paralleled in many epigrams which also use the word ‘ὁρῶν’ or other words with similar meaning. But who would have viewed Theognostos’s grave in the crypt of the Eğri Taş church? Like other Byzantines, the deceased would have received memorial rites after death, at an interval of three, nine, and forty days.121 The texts were written, not for God’s eyes only, but for human viewers as well. In contrast to some graves, in which the dialogue was limited to the deceased and God (given that some inscriptions were not left visible for the living to read after the tomb had been closed) the texts on this tomb were meant to be read, performed, contemplated.122 The Social Status of Theognostos The painted arcosolium of Theognostos at the Eğri Taş church in Cappadocia therefore draws on multiple strategies to project his ‘funereal self ’ and ensure that the grave was respected. It achieves these ends through very different means than the tombs of the highest elites in Constantinople or even in Cappadocia, which in some cases showed off custom-made epigrams and elevated materiality. ‘Materiality’ here encompasses both the physical materials used to construct these elite tombs, such as mosaic, carved marble, or expensive pigments, and the manipulation of these materials for aesthetic affect, such as 118 Louis Robert, ‘Malédictions funéraires grecques’, Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et BellesLettres, 122.2 (1978), pp. 241–89; J. H. M. Strubbe, Arai Epitymbioi: Imprecations Against Desecrators of the Grave in the Greek Epitaphs of Asia Minor: A Catalogue (Bonn: Habelt, 1997). 119 Translated by Lauxtermann and Thonemann, ‘A Byzantine Verse Inscription’, p. 341. 120 Christopher A. Faraone, ‘Stopping Evil, Pain, Anger, and Blood: The Ancient Greek Tradition of Protective Iambic Incantations’, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies, 49 (2009), pp. 227–55; Drpić, Art, Epigram, and Devotion, pp. 50–52. 121 Marinis, Death and the Afterlife, pp. 93–106. 122 For grave texts placed in non-visible locations and therefore intended only for heavenly viewers, see Antonio Enrico Felle, ‘Non-Exposed Funerary Inscriptions and the Cult of the Cross Between Italy and Byzantium, 6th–9th Centuries’, in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium, ed. Lauxtermann and Toth, pp. 122–43.

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the extremely ornamental script often used for epigrams.123 Epigrams at their best were an element of kosmos (‘beauty’); Theognostos’s texts may have aspired to, but do not really rise to, this level.124 The setting of the arcosolium too pegs Theognostos as lower on the social hierarchy than those who could afford to found/decorate an entire church or monastery to serve as their burial space and therefore claim the ‘best’ burials spaces (in the narthex or a special burial chapel); Theognostos’s is not even the most prominent grave within the crypt. Moreover, the texts adorning his tomb are not quite ‘learned’. Both the ΟΡΩΝ and ΜΗΔΙΣ texts are to some degree genre-bending; the ΟΡΩΝ jingle is difficult to categorize although it shows some similarities with proverbs, and I am not aware of other similar text/oral traditions. The ΜΗΔΙΣ text seems to mix verse and prose; it can be referred to (as I have done throughout) as gnomic, but even the epigram part hardly makes a good gnome, when compared with other examples of the genre. Genre is not always a useful heuristic when applied to Byzantine poetry; even so, the texts on the grave fall particularly far from any definite genre tradition.125 The metrical characteristics of the texts also indicate a less elevated origin for these inscriptions. Gnomic epigrams such as the ΜΗΔΙΣ text were, in fact, lowbrow literature: they were written in unprosodic dodecasyllable, which was rare prior to the year 1000, except in gnomic epigrams, aesopic fables, and a few other genres.126 The ‘best’ Byzantine poets worked out their prosody (the measuring of long and short syllables in ancient Greek) as if it were ‘some tedious homework on algebraic formulas’, in the words of Lauxtermann, despite the fact that Byzantine pronunciation did not distinguish between long and short vowels.127 Prosody was therefore a marker of elevated education (though one rejected by the likes of Kassia and Symeon the New Theologian), signaling an awareness of historical tradition and engagement with ancient literature: it is lacking at Theognostos’s grave. We have already discussed how the paired pentasyllables of the ΟΡΩΝ text may have had their origin in popular poetry; pentasyllables were rarely used among the Byzantine literati. The lack of prosody, the use of pentasyllables, the ‘wrong’ number of syllables in the gnomic dodecasyllable verses, and the lack of literary refinement in the rather ascetic message probably would have caused a well-trained Constantinopolitan poet to turn his nose up at these texts, but contemporary Cappadocian visitors may have not have registered these features as problems. Whatever their metrical tastes, the tenth century was a good time to be a Cappadocian: we have already seen how military successes in the east made this central Anatolian area safer, resulting in a substantial increase in both agriculture and painted cave churches in this century. This was also the period when prominent Cappadocian families gained a significant amount of power both regionally at the imperial court.128 Foremost among

123 Drpić, Art, Epigram, and Devotion, p. 188. 124 Drpić, Art, Epigram, and Devotion, pp. 125–30. 125 For the difficulties of Byzantine genres, see Margaret Mullett, ‘The Madness of Genre’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 46 (1992), pp. 233–43; Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, pp. 21–22; Krystina Kubina, ‘Manuel Philes – A Begging Poet? Requests, Letters and Problems of Genre Definition’, in Middle and Late Byzantine Poetry: Texts and Contexts, ed. Andreas Rhoby and Nikos Zagklas (Turnhout: Brepols, 2018), pp. 147–81 (pp. 148–56). 126 Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, p. 253; Byzantine Poetry, II, p. 290. 127 Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, I, p. 253. 128 J. Eric Cooper and Michael J. Decker, Life and Society in Byzantine Cappadocia (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), pp. 229–39.

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them was the Phokas clan, which reached its apex when the successful general Nikephoros Phokas seized the imperial throne after the unexpected death of Romanos II in 963. His rule may have been controversial in Constantinople, but Nikephoros was apparently quite the celebrity in Cappadocia: he and his family members were depicted, somewhat shockingly, in the north apse of the Pigeon House Church at Çavuşin — a spot normally reserved for saints or the Mother of God.129 Presumably no one was praying to the Phokas family as if they were saints, but their placement front and centre in the church side apse speaks volumes about their perceived power and perhaps the competition to form and strengthen bonds with them in their home region. The Phokades were only the most successful of many provincial elites in Cappadocia. The rocky landscape is dotted with numerous carved residences in the form of courtyard complexes (many formerly identified as monasteries), indicating a certain level of prosperity: elaborately carved and highly visible facades, large reception halls, and private chapels.130 Some of these residences can be associated with the administration of nearby military fortresses, while others are attached to large horse stables, which probably provided horses for the Byzantine military.131 Perhaps Theognostos was the owner of one such elite residence and had hitched his wagon to the fortunes of the militarily ascendant Christophoros. Cappadocia is also good for wine production, as seen in the many rock-cut grape pressing installations. Some of these agricultural installations may have been owned by elite landlords (the dynatoi) who competed for titles at court, but others may have belonged to smaller scale landowners who maintained a local profile.132 In the Byzantine documentary records and hagiographical sources we encounter a variety of sub-magnate level landowners, who sometimes lived in villages. St Philaretos, whose Life is set in eighth-century Paphlagonia, lived in a village and seems not to have participated in the imperial court, prior to his granddaughter Maria being chosen in a bride-show to marry Constantine VI.133 Whether or not his Life (written by his grandson) is completely accurate, the pious man was probably quite wealthy if his granddaughters were in the running to become augusta. Shortly before his death, Philaretos purchased for himself a tomb at an obscure monastery in Constantinople (we are not told how, or if, it was decorated). Perhaps Theognostos was similarly a prosperous local landlord with few connections in the capital (and without the good fortune of marrying into the imperial family). Finally, in the Life of Luke the Stylite, the saint (died c. 970) is said to be in the military prior to taking up residence on a column. But this was no average soldier: Luke drew on significant financial support from his family in order to acquire food and supplies, 129 Jerphanion, Une nouvelle province, I, 520–50; Jolivet-Lévy, Églises byzantines, pp. 15–22. 130 Robert Ousterhout, A Byzantine Settlement in Cappadocia (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Studies, 2005); Ousterhout, Visualizing Community, pp. 271–341; Kalas, ‘Byzantine Settlement’; Rainer Warland, ‘Die byzantinische Höhlensiedlung von Gökçe/Momoasson in Kappadokien. Gehöfte, Grabkapellen mit Wandmalerei und ein vermögender Salbölhändler’, Istanbuler Mitteilungen, 58 (2008), pp. 347–69; Cooper and Decker, Life and Society, pp. 199–208. 131 Gül Öztürk, ‘Açıksaray “Open Palace”: A Byzantine Rock-Cut Settlement in Cappadocia’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 107.2 (2014), pp. 785–810. 132 Nilüfer Peker, ‘Agricultural Production and Installations in Byzantine Cappadocia: A Case Study Focusing on Mavrucandere’, Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 44.1 (2020), pp. 40–61 (p. 79). 133 The Life of St Philaretos the Merciful Written by his Grandson Niketas, ed. and trans. by Lennart Rydén, Studia Byzantina Upsaliensia 8 (Uppsala: Uppsala University, 2002).

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unlike the other, poorer soldiers (with whom he shared his good fortune).134 There must have been many Lukes in the Byzantine military, who came from families with money but without significant social prestige. In short, we cannot draw any definite conclusions about Theognostos’s background, except to say that he apparently had a modicum of wealth (thus warning others of money-love), was probably literate (given the importance of the written word on his tomb), and projected the appropriate pious funerary persona. There is a good chance that he was a local Cappadocian engaged in agriculture or horse-breeding as a small-scale landowner, or that he was a lesser son of a prosperous and successful family. Whether we can designate him as an ‘elite’ or an ‘everyman’ is an intractable question: the Byzantine dichotomy of the powerful and the poor does not allow much room for those in the middle. Theognostos clearly fared better in death that the vast majority of the Byzantine populace, who were laid to rest in un-inscribed graves, but the really powerful in Constantinople or even more locally in Cappadocia (those like Christophoros who could commission an entire elaborate painted church program or have a custom funerary chapel carved out) were probably unimpressed with Theognostos’s basic, bland arcosolium tomb with its lowbrow poetry. But Theognostos would not have been perturbed: all flesh is naught but dust, clay, and earth. Better to focus on the hereafter. Conclusion It is no wonder the scholarly gaze has fixed primarily on elite inscribed objects and spaces — they were designed by master craftspeople and master poets precisely to demand attention, to stage a dialogue between depicted image and inscribed text, and to ensnare the viewer in this exchange. I quote again Niketas Eugeneianos, who claims that tombs inscribed with epigrams ‘were clothed in the golden words of […] learned poetry as if in a garment embroidered with gold’.135 How could we not stare? But as I hope to have shown, there is value in prying our gaze away from these dazzling elite spaces and considering more humble epigrammed contexts in terms of both text and materiality. I doubt anyone would have referred to Theognostos’s tomb at the Eğri Taş church in Cappadocia as ‘embroidered with gold’; the metrically-suspect, lowbrow texts inscribed there could hardly be described as ‘learned poetry’. Yet the arcosolium accomplishes its aims admirably: the replication of familiar texts embodying wisdom and right conduct casts Theognostos as pious, wise, and unpretentious. The reading of these texts aloud, including the metrical lines, marked the arcosolium as an epigrammed space: epigrams were valued in Byzantium for both their artistry and ability to make wisdom memorable. Theognostos’s ‘funereal self ’ therefore engages in a balancing act: he gains the benefits of epigrammatic display while still casting himself as a simple ‘salt of the earth’ type. The combination of the written elements with the cross painted in salmon and red maximized the ΟΡΩΝ text’s almost magical plea to respect the grave lest one run afoul of the divine: ‘great glory’ could quickly turn to ‘great 134 Michel Kaplan, ‘The Producing Population’, in A Social History of Byzantium, ed. Haldon, pp. 143–67 (p. 153). 135 Ἠγαλλόμην δὲ τοῖς τάφοις ὡς νυμφίοις / χιτῶνα χρυσόστικτον ἠμφιεσμένοις / τὴν χρυσεπῆ σου καὶ σοφὴν στιχουργίαν. Translated Drpić, ‘Chrysepes Stichourgia’, p. 55; see note 7 above.

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fear’. True, the inscriptions of Theognostos’s tomb are largely de-personalized: we learn little about the man (beyond his name and day of death), his activities, or family. Yet neither do custom elite epitaphs share much actual information about their subjects, with their focus on generic sinfulness, staged grief, and stereotyped good qualities. And how successful were the strategies of commemoration enacted at Theognostos’s tomb? We cannot know how the painted program was received by his contemporaries, but one element, at least, hints that the epigraphic memorialization of Theognostos was successful at keeping his memory alive: the texts painted in the salmon pigment (the ΟΡΩΝ text and the name of Leon) were re-activated at some point by being traced in part in a darker pigment. It is impossible to know when this took place, but it at least indicates continued interest in the texts of the arcosolium and in the maintenance of their legibility. Although there is no explicit request for perpetual prayers in these grave texts, visitors may have been moved to pray for Theognostos’s soul on the basis of these inscriptions, or even to read the texts as a part of a commemorative service.136 In sum, the tomb of Theognostos at the Eğri Taş Kilisesi in the Ihlara valley in Cappadocia offers a glimpse of a Byzantine ‘self ’ that was neither at the top of the social ladder nor at its bottom. His tomb may appear crude in comparison to the most elite burial spaces in Byzantium, but it still embodies a multi-step process of producing a specific funerary persona through the painting of texts that are metrical, semi-metrical, and prose. Theognostos may not have been an ‘everyman’, in that he was clearly privileged enough to have an inscribed arcosolium tomb in the crypt of a well-outfitted church. Yet his grave texts would have been accessible to the ‘everyman’ through their oral performance, memorable metrical/ rhythmic verses, and easily understandable moral sentiments: ‘every man’ must die.

136 Toth, ‘Eleventh-Century Byzantium’, p. 121.

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Fig. 1. Exterior of the Eğri Taş church complex (Ihlara valley, Cappadocia). Photo: Robert Ousterhout

Fig. 2. The arcosolium of Theognostos in the Eğri Taş crypt (Ihlara valley, Cappadocia). Photo: Anna M. Sitz

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Fig. 3. Elaborately painted cross in the burial annex, Eğri Taş Kilisesi (Ihlara valley, Cappadocia). Photo: Anna M. Sitz

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Fig. 4. Crypt, Eğri Taş complex (Ihlara valley, Cappadocia). Theognostos’s tomb is marked with an arrow. Note the carved recess where a wooden floor previously separated the church above from the crypt. Photo: Anna M. Sitz

Fig. 5. The ΟΡΩΝ text, painted in light salmon pink, with some later re-tracing in a blackish pigment. Rear wall of Theognostos’s arcosolium, upper portion. Eğri Taş complex (Ihlara valley, Cappadocia). Photo: Anna M. Sitz

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Fig. 6. The ΕΝΘΑ ΚΑΤΑΚΗΤΕ epitaph, painted in a blackish-grey pigment. Rear wall of Theognostos’s arcosolium, lower right. Note the name of Leon painted in salmon (re-traced in black) at bottom. Eğri Taş complex (Ihlara valley, Cappadocia). Photo: Anna M. Sitz

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Fig. 7. The ΜΗΔΙΣ ΤΥΦΟΥΣ[Θ]Ω gnomic text, painted in a blackish-grey pigment. Rear wall of Theognostos’s arcosolium, lower left. Eğri Taş complex (Ihlara valley, Cappadocia). Photo: Anna M. Sitz

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Fig. 8. Christ in Glory, apse of the Pancarlık Kilise (near Ürgüp, Cappadocia). The paired pentameter ‘great fear’ text is painted on the base of Christ’s throne. Sketch: Anna M. Sitz

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Christos S tavrakos – Dimitrios Liakos

Post-Byzantine Inscriptions, Traditions and Legends: Authentic or Fabricated?

Introduction Written sources on the southern Balkans, and on Greece in particular, are exceedingly rare in the one hundred fifty years from 1450 to 1600.1 Ottoman cadasters offer the most trustworthy information,2 but Ottoman documents pertaining to Christian populations during this era have not yet been utilized in research. In contrast, archaeological and historical studies carried out in recent decades on the decoration and inscriptions of monuments have provided a wealth of knowledge and allow us to form an impression regarding society during this period.3 In addition, it is also generally accepted that this period witnessed a particularly noteworthy development of artistic production in and around the Greek monastic centres (Mt Athos, Meteora) and in Epirus that exerted significant, lasting influence on the art of the Balkans.4 Patriographic accounts — also known as Patria — detailing the legendary origins of monasteries and other religious or non-religious buildings, miraculous icons, alleged historical events, and visits by Byzantine emperors and high-ranking aristocrats, are all connected with this phenomenon. According to current understanding, such patriographic traditions were originally oral. They were then first committed to writing in the sixteenth century. There are thirty-two unpublished manuscripts in the libraries of the Athonite Monasteries



1 See Christos Stavrakos, ‘Donors, Patrons and Benefactors in Medieval Epirus between the Great Empires: A society in Change or Continuity?’, in Eclecticism in Late Medieval Visual Culture at the Crossroads of the Latin, Greek, and Slavic Traditions, ed. Maria Alessia Rossi and Alice Isabella Sullivan (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2021), pp. 291–310. 2 Halil İnalcik, Hicrî 835 Tarihli Sûret-i defter-i Sancak-i Arvanid (Τürk Tarih Kurumu Yayınlarından XIV/1) (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi, 1954). See also the work of George Terezakes, which is based on the oldest Ottoman cadaster of Thessaly (1454–1455), and has interesting findings: George Terezakes, ‘Η Θεσσαλική κοινωνία, 12ος – 15ος αι. Ιστορικές παράμετροι της σύνθεσης και κατανομής πληθυσμού’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Ioannina, 2012). 3 See Christos Stavrakos, The Sixteenth Century Donor Inscriptions in the Monastery of the Dormition of the Virgin (Theotokos Molybdoskepastos). The Legend of the Emperor Constantine IV as Founder of Monasteries in Epirus (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz in Kommission, 2013) (henceforth: Stavrakos, Molybdoskepastos); Euthymios Tsigaridas, Μονή Κοιμήσεως Θεοτόκου στη Μολυβδοσκέπαστο στην Ήπειρο, in Αφιέρωμα στον Ακαδημαϊκό Παναγιώτη Λ. Βοκοτόπουλο, ed. Βasiles Katsaros – Ansatsia Tourta, (Athens: Εκδόσεις Καπόν, 2015), pp. 473–80. 4 Miltiades Garides, Μεταβυζαντινή ζωγραφική (1450–1600). Η εντοίχια ζωγραφική μετά την πτώση του Βυζαντίου στον ορθόδοξο κόσμο και στις χώρες υπό ξένη κυριαρχία, (Athens: Σπανός-Βιβλιοφιλία, 2007). See also the very recent: Fanie Lytari, Ο ναός της Κοιμήσεως Θεοτόκου στην Καλαμπάκα. Συμβολή στο έργο του ζωγράφου Νεόφυτου του Κρητός, (Trikala: Ιερά Μητρόπολις Σταγών και Μετεώρων, 2022). Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1, ed. by Andreas Rhoby and Ida Toth, SBE, 1 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 251–267. © FHG DOI 10.1484/M.SBE-EB.5.131807

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of Megiste Lavra, Vatopedi, Karakallou, St Panteleemon, Pantokrator, etc., dated to the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, which contain such patriographical texts.5 In the libraries of the Balkans there are also other manuscripts with similar content, such as the Χρονικὸν τῆς Πωγωνιανῆς, dated to the eighteenth century.6 These post-Byzantine Patria/patriographical writings have only begun to attract scholarly interest in recent years.7 As a result, there are still plenty of unanswered questions, central among which are why they were written, as well as the timeframe and place of their creation, and the purpose they served. They undoubtedly belong to a longstanding Byzantine tradition of foundation legends for monasteries and cities, creation legends of icons, etc.8 However, they are different in one salient aspect: these post-Byzantine legends refer to the “glorious” Byzantine past, from the perspective of in the Ottoman period. The Case of the Monastery of the Dormition of the Virgin Molybdoskepastos Information from current scholarship and knowledge of the descriptions of unpublished Athonite manuscripts show that the earliest reliable artistic and epigraphical answers can be found at the Monastery of the Dormition of the Virgin Molybdoskepastos in Epirus, close to the Greek-Albanian border9 (Fig. 1 and 2). The donor inscription (December 1521) in the interior of the katholikon (Fig. 3) and the donor portraits in the vault of the exterior eastern wall (May 1521) (Fig. 4), which can be dated with certainty thanks to their inscriptions, are the first known examples of a) the recording and b) the artistic depiction of a post-Byzantine patriographical tradition. This donor inscription is located on the lintel of the western wall of the main church: † Ἀνηγέρθη ἐκ βάθρον καὶ ἀνοικοδομήθη ὁ θεῖος κ(αὶ) πάνσεπτος νὰός (sic)// τῆς ὑπεραγίας Δεσπύνης ὑμῶν Θ(εοτό)κου διὰ συνδρομῆς κ(αὶ) ἐξόδου τοῦ εὐσεβεστά- // του βασιλέoς καὶ ἀυδίμου Κωνσταντίνου τοῦ Μπωγωνάτου · μετὰ δὲ χρόνου πο[λ]- // λοὺς ἐ[ρη]μόθην παντελός · κ(αὶ) ἀνεκένισεν αὐτὸν Ἀνδρόνικος ὁ Κομνηνός κ(αὶ) μέγας // Δούκας10 ὁ Παλαιολόγος · καὶ πάλην ἦλθεν εἰς ἔσχατον ἀφανεισμῶν καὶ ἀνε- // καίνισαν καὶ ἐζωγράφυσαν αὐτῶν οἱ τιμιότατοι Μπωγωνιανίται · // ἐν ἔτοι ζ·λ · (ἰνδικτιῶνος) ι Δεκευρίῳ · α · καὶ ὡρᾲ ὁ Θ(εὸ)ς τίνος ἐστίν ὁ κόπος.11 5 Spyridon Lampros, ‘Τὰ Πάτρια τοῦ Ἁγίου Ὄρους’, Νέος Ἑλληνομνήμων, 9 (1912), 116–61, 209–44 (henceforth: Lampros, Τα Πάτρια); Nikolaos Livanos, ‘Συμβολή στη μελέτη των αγιορειτικών πατριογραφικών παραδόσεων’, in Το Άγιον Όρος στον 15ο και 16ο αιώνα, Conference Proceedings (Thessaloniki: Mount Athos Center, 2012), pp. 141–54 (henceforth: Livanos, Συμβολή). 6 Chariton Karanasios, ‘Το Χρονικό της Πωγωνιανής’, Μεσαιωνικά και Νέα Ελληνικά, 9 (2008), pp. 119–42; Stavrakos, Molybdoskepastos, pp. 208–16. 7 Livanos, ‘Συμβολή’, pp. 141–54. 8 See Kriton Chrysochoides, Παραδόσεις καί πραγματικότητες στό Ἅγιον Ὄρος στά τέλη του ΙΕ’ καί στίς αρχές τοῦ ΙΣΤ’ αιῶνα. Ο Άθως στους 14ο-16ο αιώνες (Athens: Εθνικό Ίδρυμα Ερευνών, Αθωνικά Σύμμεικτα 4), 1997, pp. 99–147. 9 See footnote no. 3. 10 Andreas Rhoby regards megas Doukas not as an office but as a family name. We believe that it is an office because it does not bear the definitive article ὁ, as is the case with the other family names on the inscription, and as is usual for Byzantine seals and inscriptions. 11 Stavrakos, Molybdoskepastos, pp. 121–38.

post-byzantine inscriptions, traditions and legends: authentic or fabricated?

The holy and revered church of our most holy Lady, Mother of God, was built from the ground up with the donation and money of the very pious emperor Constantine (M)pogonatos. After many years it was completely deserted. It was renovated by Andronikos Komnenos Palaiologos, great duke. Again, it was completely abandoned and renovated and decorated by the very honest (M)pogonianites [= inhabitants of the region of (M)pogoni]. The year 1521, tenth indiction, December 1st. And God sees whose hard work it is. This donor inscription is the first recorded instance of the legend that the monastery was founded by the Byzantine emperor Constantine IV Pogonatos (668–685)12 and first renovated by the μέγας δοὺξ (megas doux) Andronikos Komnenos Palaiologos.13 The donor portraits of these two figures are depicted on the west wall of the katholikon and are dated, according to the inscription (which has now almost entirely disappeared), to 8 May 1521.14 This is also the first post-Byzantine donor portrait to exhibit patriographical evidence.15 According to our research, this Andronikos is the military governor and πρωτοβεστιάριος (1326–1328) Andronikos Palaiologos Angelos Komnenos Dukas. He is mentioned as bearing the title πρωτοσέβαστος in the year 1326. He was governor of Berat in 1327–1328. At the same time, he was also the owner of a large tract of land in Macedonia until 1328. In that year, his wife and children were arrested by Andronikos III Palaiologos (1328–1341), and his wealth was seized. He escaped to Serbia and died in Prilep later the same year.16 Older Epirote oral tradition offers ample information regarding patriographical traditions.17 The only case verified by inscriptional testimony, however, is that of emperor Constantine IV Pogonatos. Inscriptions in other monasteries throughout the Zagori region of Epirus also refer to him as their founder.18 Oral tradition states that he founded the monasteries while passing through Epirus on his return from his disputed Sicilian expedition.19 Typology of Patriographic Traditions More information, however, can be obtained from the inscriptions in the monasteries of Mt Athos. Among the rich epigraphic material there is a group of inscriptions related to

12 Regarding the emperor Constantine IV, see Maria Leontsine, Κωνσταντίνος Δ´ (668–85). Ο τελευταίος πρωτοβυζαντινός αυτοκράτορας (Athens: Εθνικό Ίδρυμα Ερευνών, 2006). 13 Regarding the identification of this Andronikos see Stavrakos, Molybdoskepastos, pp. 162 ff. 14 Stavrakos, Molybdoskepastos, pp. 151–55 (all that remains are traces of the names and the date). 15 Stavrakos, Molybdoskepastos, pp. 151–55; PLP 21345; Karin Kirchhainer, ‘Die Fresken der Marienkirche in Cerskë bei Leskovik (Südalbanien). Ein Beitrag zur spätbyzantinischen Monumentalmalerei im Nördlichen Epirus’, Deltion tes Christianikes Archailogikes Etaireias, 25 (2004), pp. 89–110. 16 PLP 21435; Stavrakos, Molybdoskepastos, pp. 134–35. 17 Stavrakos, Molybdoskepastos, pp. 179–216; Aphrodite Pasali, ‘Τό καθολικό τῆς Μονῆς Ζέρμας Κόνιτσας’, Deltion tes Christianikes Archailogikes Etaireias, 41 (2020), pp. 113–34. 18 Stavrakos, Molybdoskepastos, pp. 180–89 (the monastery of the Dormition of the Virgin Boutsas, 1680); Dimitrios Raios, Ιερά Μονή Βουτσάς. Παράδοση, ιστορία, ναοδομία, ιστόρηση, βιβλιοθήκη, κειμήλια (Ioannina: Carpe Diem, 2018). 19 Stavrakos, Molybdoskepastos, pp. 190–97. Oral tradition connects the emperor Constantine IV with the founding of the church of St Isidoros on the island of Chios (Stavrakos, Molybdoskepastos, p. 198).

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some of the most prominent post-Byzantine patriographic traditions. We provide here a typology of the inscriptions based on the available information (with indicative examples): 1) Legendary Imperial Foundations The first type concerns the legendary foundation of certain monasteries by Byzantine and even Roman emperors. According to one such tradition, Vatopedi was founded by Constantine the Great, demolished by Julian, and re-built by Arcadius as an expression of gratitude to the Virgin for the miraculous rescue of his son from bramble bushes (βάτοι). The monastery was named Vatopedi in commemoration of this alleged event (the name is a compound consisting of the words child (paidion) and brambles / batoi).20 Another monastery, Xeropotamou, was built by the empress Pulcheria and re-built by hosios Paulos, a supposed son of the emperor Michael Ι Rangabe.21 According to a further patriographic tradition,22 the monastery of Karakallou was founded even earlier, by the Roman emperor Caracalla. The absent head of the depicted emperor was added and inscribed in the early twentieth century in the narthex of the monastery’s funerary chapel. The legendary patron Arcadius, his father Theodosius, and his brother Honorius, are all depicted as donors of the monastery of Vatopedi on the south wall of the exo-narthex of the katholikon, painted in the nineteenth c.23 (Fig. 5). They are accompanied by an inscription as follows: οἱ κτίτορες / τῆς ἱερᾶς μον(ῆ)ς ταύτης / Θεοδόσιος οἱ υ(ἱο)ὶ τοῦ Θεοδοσίου / Ἀρκάδιος ὁ βασιλεὺς Ὁνόριος (Translation: The patrons / of the monastery / Theodosius, the sons of Theodosius / Arcadius the king Honorius). The tradition concerning the foundation of the monastery of Xeropotamou by Pulcheria and hosios Paulos is reflected in the dedicatory inscription of the katholikon, built in 1762–1764,24 and in another inscription in the belfry, built some years later (1779).25 Τhese were both erected during a comprehensive renovation program under the patronage of the scholar-monk Kaisarios Dapontes,26 who was a major contributor to the comprehensive reconstruction of the monastery in the second half of the eighteenth century, following a long period of decline27 The dedicatory inscription of the katholikon is written above the main entrance to the nave, where the empress Pulcheria is mentioned in the first line as the first patron of the monastery. She is also depicted with the other patrons in the katholikon.28 In Xeropotamou, this eighteenth c. revival of the tradition concerning the 20 21 22 23 24

Lampros, ‘Τα Πάτρια’, pp. 127–29. See below. Lampros, ‘Τα Πάτρια’, p. 241. Προσκυνητάριο Ιεράς Μεγίστης Μονής Βατοπεδίου, Μount Athos 1993, pp. 7–10. Gabriel Millet, Jules Pargoire, and Louis Petit, Recueil des inscriptions chrétiennes du Mont Athos, 1ère partie (Paris: 1904, repr. Thessaloniki : Mount Athos Center, 2004), p. 541 (henceforth: Millet / Pargoire / Petit, Recueil). 25 Millet / Pargoire / Petit, Recueil, p. 189, no. 558. 26 Dimitrios Liakos, ‘Λόγια πρόσωπα και λόγιο περιβάλλον στο Άγιον Όρος (14ος – 18ος αι.): η δυναμική τους στην τέχνη’, in Άγιον Όρος και λογιοσύνη, Conference Proceedings, (Thessaloniki: Mount Athos Center, 2014), pp. 263–64; Claudia Rapp, ‘Kaisarios Dapontes (1713–1784): Orthodoxy and Education between Mount Athos and the Danubian Prinicipalities’, Analele Putnei, 14 (2018), pp. 61–80. 27 Miltiades Polyviou, Το καθολικό της μονής Ξηροποτάμου. Σχεδιασμός και κατασκευή στη ναοδομία του 18ου αι. (Athens: Ταμείο Αρχαιολογικών Πόρων, 1999), pp. 34–36, 69, 102–14; Dimitrios Liakos, ‘Τα λιθανάγλυφα του Αγίου Όρους’ (unpublished doctoral dissertation, Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, 2000), p. 94. 28 Georgios Tsigaras, Οι ζωγράφοι Κωνσταντίνος και Αθανάσιος και το έργο τους στο Άγιον Όρος (1752–1783) (Athens: 2003), p. 184b.

post-byzantine inscriptions, traditions and legends: authentic or fabricated?

legendary ancient patrons may relate to Kaisarios Dapontes; that is to say, Kaisarios himself took care to promote the supposed patronage of Pulcheria and hosios Paulos. According to the written sources, it was he who composed the dedicatory inscription of the katholikon in which the contribution of Pulcheria is highlighted.29 Two partially preserved sculptures, believed to depict Pulcheria and hosios Paulos, are incorporated in the external south side (the most prominent position) of the belfry (1779).30 The inscription Ὁ ἅγιος Παῦλος ὁ Ξηροποταμι(νὸς) / τοῦ εὐσεβεστάτου Μιχαὴλ τοῦ Ραγκαβὲ υἱὸς (Hosios Paulos Xeropotamenos, son of the pious Michael Rangabe) is incised in the figure of hosios Paulos31 (Fig. 6). The other figure (of Pulcheria) bears no inscription32 (Fig. 7). An elaborate steatite panagiarion in the same monastery, dated to the fourteenth century, has been attributed to Pulcheria’s supposed dedicatory activities. This tradition was visualized by the eighteenth century inscription on the metallic revetment added to the steatite in this period:33 Δῶρον σεβαστὸν Πουλχερείας αὐγούστης / ποίμνῃ σεβαστῇ Τεσσαράκοντ’ ἁγίων (Translation: Respectful gift of Empress Poulcheria / for the venerable flock of the Forty Holy Saints). 2) Alleged Historical Events The second type of inscription discussed here concerns historical events said to have taken place on Mt Athos. One such event that is much debated is the conflict between the emperor Michael VIII Palaeologοs and the Athonite monks who opposed the emperor’s policy after the Council of Lyon (1272–4). According to this tradition, emperor Michael VIII attempted to impose his policy on Athos. As a result, conflicts broke out in the monasteries of Koutloumousiou and Zographou, and in Karyai,34 between the imperial army and the 29 Millet, Pargoire, and Petit, Recueil, pp. 182–83, no. 541. 30 The marble head impacted in the belfry (1779) and believed to represent Pulcheria is a part of a fourteenth c. monumental relief icon [for parallels see Reinhold Lange, Die byzantinische Reliefikone, (Recklinghausen: A. Bongers, 1964), p. 118, no. 45; Euthymios. Tsigaridas, ‘Ανάγλυφες εικόνες σε ξύλο από την Καστοριά και την περιοχή της’, Deltion tes Christianikes Archaeologikes Etaireias, 37 (2016), pp. 88–91]. The other marble head impacted in the belfry, which according to the later inscription depicts hosios Paulos Xeropotamenos (Millet, Pargoire, and Petit, Recueil, p. 189, no. 560a, b), is clearly of western provenance and should be dated to the fifteenth c. For parallels, see Norman Herz, Katherine Holbrow, and Shelley Sturman, ‘Marble Sculpture in the National Gallery of Art: a Provenance Study’, Asmosia, 12 (1999), pp. 101–10; Philippe. Malgouyres, ‘Adriano Fiorentino, un sculpteur errant à la fin du xve siècle’, L’Objet d’art (Avril 2019), pp. 56–63; Alessandro Merlo and Gaia Lavoratti, ‘Ghibertiana. Documentazione e valorizzazione dell’opera di Lorenzo Ghiberti / Ghibertiana. Documentation and valorisation of the work of Lorenzo Ghiberti’, in Riflessioni Reflections. L’arte del disegno/il disegno dell’arte. The art of drawing/the drawing of art, ed. Paolo Belardi (Roma: Gangemi Editore, 2019), p. 818; Vittorio Coonin, ‘Vittorio Ghiberti and the frame of the South Doors of the Baptistery, Florence’, Sculpture Journal, 18.1 (2009), p. 41. 31 Millet, Pargoire, and Petit, Recueil, p. 189, no. 560a, b. 32 We wish to express our thanks to abbot of Xeropotamou monastery, archimandrite Joseph, and the whole brotherhood, for granting us permission to use published photographs of the two impacted marble sculptures. 33 Millet, Pargoire, and Petit, Recueil, pp. 184–86, no. 546; Ioli Kalavrezou-Maxeiner, Byzantine Icons in Steatite (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1985), pp. 204–05; Θησαυροί του Αγίου Όρους, Exhibition Catalogue, ed. Κatia Loverdou-Tsigarida, (Thessaloniki: Holy Community of Mount Athos – Organization of the Cultural Capital of Europe Thessaloniki 1997, 1997²), pp. 324–25, no. 9.5. 34 Lampros, ‘Τα Πάτρια’, pp. 157–61. Ioannes Αnastasiou, ‘Ὁ θρυλούμενος διωγμὸς τῶν ἁγιορειτῶν ὑπὸ τοῦ Μιχαὴλ Η´ καὶ τοῦ Ἰωάννου Βέκκου’, in Αθωνική Πολιτεία επί τη χιλιετηρίδι του Αγίου Όρους, ed. Panagiotes Christou (Thessaloniki: Αριστοτέλειο Πανεπιστήμιο Θεσσαλονίκης, 1963), pp. 207–57; Jordan Ivanov, Bălgarski starini iz Makedonija (Sofia: 1970), pp. 437–40.

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monks, who refused to accept the emperor’s order, namely the Union of the Eastern and Western Churches. This tradition, which is wholly unsubstantiated, as has been proved by J. Koder35 and A. Rigo,36 is reflected epigraphically in Zographou.37 An impressive marble funeral monument (Fig. 8) was constructed in 1873 in the courtyard of the monastery, at a point where a tower had previously stood and where, according to tradition, twenty-six monks were murdered by the imperial army.38 This event is mentioned in Cyrillic inscriptions on three sides of the monument: Translation: Ι. Lord, as hosiomartyrs they were burnt for your name, they confessed their faith, they appeared in all their beauty, the twenty-six were sacrificed in the tower; ΙΙ. The names of the twenty-six martyrs who were sacrificed are abbot Thomas, Varsanuphius, Kyrillos, Michaias, Simon, Ilarion, Jacob, Iov, Kyprianos, Savvas, Iacov, Martynianos, Kosmas, Sergios, Menas, Joseph, Ioannikios, Paulos, Antonios, Efthymios, Dometianos, Parthenius, the other four names are unknown; ΙΙΙ. In this place, where a tower previously stood, the twenty-six martyrs of the monastery of Zographou were sacrificed. They were set on fire by the Latins, defending their orthodox faith. This was done in the days of the Bulgarian Tsar Kaloioanis who left the Eastern Orthodox church of the Greek emperor Michael Palaiologos and the Latin Patriarch Ioannis Vekkos in 1276, October 10th. It is worth noting that this widely disseminated tradition is reflected in the inscribed portable icons kept at the monastery.39 3) Legends concerning Manuel Panselenos The last case discussed here concerns the legendary painter of the Protaton Monastery of Mt Athos, the famous Manuel Panselenos of Thessaloniki.40 The Athonite monk and painter Dionysios of Phourna first mentioned this painter in his essay Ἑρμηνεία τῆς ζωγραφικῆς τέχνης (early eighteenth century), perpetuating a widespread Athonite oral tradition about Panselenos.41 The same tradition was also repeated by the Ukrainian Archimandrite and traveller Porphyrios Uspenskij, who took it one step further: Uspenskij, misunderstanding the remains of the liturgical inscription written in the prothesis of the 35 Johannes Koder, ‘Patres athonenses a latinophilis occisi sub Michaele VIII’, Jahrubh der Österreichischen Byzantinistik, 18 (1969), pp. 79–88. 36 Αntonio Rigo, ‘La Διήγησις sui monaci Athoniti martirizzati latinophroni (BHG 2333) e le tradizioni athonite successive: alcune osservazioni’, Studi Veneziani, 15 (1998), pp. 77–79. 37 Dimitrios Liakos and Nikolaos Mertzimekes, ‘Επιγραφικά μνημεία σε αθωνικά σλαβικά καθιδρύματα κατά τον 19ο αιώνα’, Deltion tes Christianikes Archaeologikes Etaireias, 26 (2005), pp. 403–05 (henceforth: Liakos / Mertzimekes, ‘Επιγραφικά μνημεία’). 38 Liakos and Mertzimekes, ‘Επιγραφικά μνημεία’, pp. 401–10. 39 Atanas Božkov and Asen Basiliev, Chudo žestvenoto nasledstvo na manastira Zograf (Sofia: 1981), pp. 352, 356, 366. 40 Εuthymios Ν. Tsigaridas, ‘Μανουήλ Πανσέληνος, o κορυφαίος ζωγράφος της εποχής των Παλαιολόγων’, in Μανουήλ Πανσέληνος, εκ του ιερού ναού του Πρωτάτου, ed. Εuthymios Ν. Tsigaridas (Thessaloniki: Mount Athos Center, 2003), pp. 17–65. 41 On Dionysios of Phourna see George Kakavas, Dionysios of Fourna. Artistic creation and Literary Description (Leiden: Alexandros Press, 2008) (henceforth: Kakavas, Dionysios); Maria Basilake, ‘Ακολουθώντας τα βήματα του Διονυσίου του εκ Φουρνά’, Deltion tes Christianikes Arcaeologikes Etaireias, 33 (2012), pp. 379–86 (henceforth: Basilake, ‘Ακολουθώντας τα βήματα’); Eadem, ‘Υπήρξε Μανουήλ Πανσέληνος;’, in Ο Μανουήλ Πανσέληνος και η εποχή του (Athens: Ινστιτούτο Βυζαντινών Ερευνών/Ε.Ι.Ε, 1999), pp. 39–55.

post-byzantine inscriptions, traditions and legends: authentic or fabricated?

Protaton, which G. Millet, J. Pargoire and L. Petit had already noted, believed that it mentioned the painter Panselenos;42 in other words, the connection with Panselenos is his creation. Almost all scholars up to the present have accepted this tradition regarding Panselenos, even though some serious objections have been raised by P. Milikovic-Pepek, A. Basilakeres and K. Bapheiades.43 In 2015, a surprising discovery was made during the final phase of the conservation works on the frescoes of Protaton, carried out by the Ephorate of Antiquities of Chalkidiki and Mt Athos. On the fresco painting of St Merkurios, the name Eutychios was partially revealed. This corresponds with the discovery of the first letters of the name Michael on the figure of St Eustathios, a discovery which had been made and subsequently published by G. Millet as early as 1927. The two names, Michael and Eutychios, can safely be connected with the famous Michael and Eutychios Astrapas,44 painters who are known to have also executed other fresco programmes in Serbian churches dated to the period between the late thirteenth and the early fourteenth century.45 The scholar-monk and skillful painter, Dionysios of Phourna, contributed to the perpetuation of the tradition regarding the legendary painter of the Protaton, Manuel Panselenos. It is known that Dionysios painted the church of his κελλίον in Karyes (1711), imitating the Protaton frescoes.46 His personal ambition is evident in his effort to link his paintings to those of the legendary Palaeologan painter, by documenting for the first time a name previously only known through the oral tradition. Moreover, in his account, he gave instructions on the proportions for painted human figures in accordance with the legendary Panselenos’ work in the Protaton.47 A century later, the Archimandrite and traveller Porphyrios Uspenskij, who knew both the tradition and Dionysios’ account, “constructed” an inscription [Ἱστορίθη ὁ θεῖος ναὸς κοιμήσεως τῆς θεοτόκου προϊστ]αμ[έ] ν[ου] τοῦ Μαν[ουήλ Πανσελήνου …] (Translation: The church of the Dormition of the Mother of God was painted by Manouel Panselenos …) and verbalized the previous

42 Millet, Pargoire, and Petit, Recueil, p. 2, no. 5. 43 Petar Miljković-Pepek, Deloto na zografite Mihailo i Eutihij (Skopje: Institut republicain pour la protection du patrimoine culturel, 1967); Anestis Basilakeres, ‘Οι τοιχογραφίες του Πρωτάτου και το πρόσωπο του Αυτοκράτορα’, Deltion tes Christianikes Archaeologikes Etaireias, 34 (2013), pp. 117–28; Konstantinos Bapheiades, Ύστερη Βυζαντινή Ζωγραφική. Χώρος και μορφή στην τέχνη της Κωνσταντινουπόλεως 1150–1450 (Athens, 2015), p. 164 (henceforth: Bapheiades, Ζωγραφική); Idem, ‘The Wall-Paintings of the Protaton Church Revisited’, Zograf, 43 (2019), pp. 113–28. 44 Stylianos Stephanides and Andromache Nastou, ‘To συνεργείο του Πρωτάτου και η πρόταση νέας χρονολόγησης’, in Πρωτάτο ΙΙ. Η συντήρηση των τοιχογραφιών (Thessaloniki: Holy Community of Mount Athos-Ministry of Culture and Sports, 2015), pp. 40–42 and fig. 20–21. 45 Inscriptiones Historicae in Pictures Muralibus, Tomus Primus, Saeculorum XII–XIII, ed. Gojko Subotić, Bojan Miljković, Irena Špadijer, and Ida Toth (Belgrade: 2015), pp. 84–88. Bapheiades, Ζωγραφική, pp. 164–73; Miodrag Marković, Sveti Nikita kod Skopja. Zadužbina kralja Milutina (Saint Niketas Near Skopje. A Foundation of King Milutin). Beograd 2015; Idem, ‘Michael Astrapas and the Wall Paintings of the King’s Church in Studenica’, in Studenica Monastery – 700 years of the King’s church, ed. Ljubomir Maksimović and Vladimir Vukašinović (Belgrade, 2016), pp. 173–84 (in Serbian with an English summary); Idem, ‘The Painter Eutychios – Father of Michael Astrapas and Protomaster of the Frescoes in the Church of the Virgin Peribleptos in Ohrid’, Zbornik radova Vizantološkog Instituta, 38 (2010), pp. 9–34. 46 See Kakavas, Dionysios. 47 Διονυσίου τοῦ ἐκ Φουρνὰ Ἑρμηνεία τῆς ζωγραφικῆς τέχνης καὶ αἱ κύριαι αυτῆς ἀνέκδοται πηγαί, ἐκδιδομένη μετὰ προλόγου νῦν το πρῶτον πλῆρες κατὰ τὸ πρωτότυπον αὐτῆς κείμενον ὑπὸ A. Παπαδοπούλου Κεραμέως (St Petersburg: 1905), pp. 6–7.

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widespread tradition. It is well attested in other cases that Uspenskij tended to repeat Athonite traditions without validating them.48 Panslavism and Patriography The further tradition concerning the alleged murder of twenty-six monks in the funerary monument of Zographou monastery has a distinctly different character from the legendary accounts discussed earlier in this essay. In our opinion, the monument’s inscription was intended to memorialize a dark side to the Byzantine past in a period in which the Panslavism instituted by Russia after the mid-nineteenth century was widespread among the Slavic brotherhoods of the monasteries of Zographou and St Panteleemon. Τhe revival of the tradition concerning such a horrific legendary event had the capacity to undermine the Byzantine past, which was the aim of the Slavic monks in Zographou during the second half of the nineteenth century. This intention, however, failed.49 Concluding Remarks Inscriptions are undoubtedly the most appropriate medium for promoting and perpetuating patriographic traditions. As has been demonstrated, they are completely unfounded from a strictly historical point of view but have always been expressed in ways designed to suggest credibility. Only in the case of Vatopedi does the relevant tradition regarding its founding in the early Christian era appear to have some form of genuine historical basis, although not necessarily precisely what the legend relates. The recent discovery of a section of an early Christian Basilica under the middle-Byzantine katholikon50 of the monastery could perhaps explain why its founding was linked to the early Christian emperors Constantine the Great and Theodosius I. In most cases, efforts have been made to make the traditions appear reliable and credible: real locations (rivers, baths, ports, etc.) are mentioned, or the name of the main character of the legend is connected with existing toponyms, even if slightly changed. 48 See for example the case of Protaton and its painters: Dimitrios Liakos, ‘A Unique 15th Century Donation to Vatopedi: A Pair of Wood-carved Lecterns’, in Byzantine and Post-Byzantine Art: Crossing Borders, ed. Emmanuel Moutafov and Ida Toth (Sofia: Institute of Art Studies, 2018), pp. 283–84; also Basilake, ‘Ακολουθώντας τα βήματα’, 382; Nikolaos Livanos, ‘Οι διηγήσεις με τίτλο Ἀνάμνησις μερικὴ περὶ τοῦ Ἄθω Ὄρους, Τὰ λεγόμενα Πάτρια (BHG 1054u) και η Πατριογραφία του Αγίου Όρους, 10ος-17ος αι.’ (unpublished doctoral dissertation: Volos, 2020) (without mentioning Stavrakos, Molybdoskepastos). 49 On Panslavism and the attempt to penetrate Mt Athos see Μeletios Metaxakes, Τὸ Ἅγιον Ὄρος καὶ ἡ ῥωσικὴ πολιτικὴ ἐν Ἀνατολῇ (Athens: Ιερά Μονή Βατοπαιδίου, 1913); Ioakeim Papangelos, ‘Η ρωσική πολιτική στο Άγιον Όρος κατά τον 19ο αι. και η δραστηριότης των αγιορειτών Ρώσων στην περιοχή της Καβάλας’, in Η Καβάλα και η περιοχή της, Πρακτικά Α´ Τοπικού Συμποσίου, (Thessaloniki: Ίδρυμα Μελετών Χερσονήσου του Αίμου, 1980), pp. 405–18; Idem, ‘Έκθεση του προξένου Γ. Δοκού περί του Αγίου Όρους (1887)’, Χρονικά της Χαλκιδικής, 40–41 (1985–1986), pp. 108–09; Photeini Asemakopoulou, Άθως και Πανσλαβισμός από το αρχείο Αλεξάνδρου Λυκούργου (Athens: Ακαδημία Αθηνών, Κέντρον Ερεύνης της Ιστορίας του Νεώτερου Ελληνισμού, 2021) (in print). 50 Ioakeim Papaggelos and Leonidas Plataniotes, ‘Η υπό το καθολικό της Μονής Βατοπεδίου καθολικό’, in Ήρως Κτίστης. Μνήμη Χαράλαμπου Μπούρα, ed. Manolis Korres, Stavros Mamaloukos, Kostas Zampas, and Fani Malouchou-Tufano, (Athens: Melissa, 2018), II, pp. 363–70.

post-byzantine inscriptions, traditions and legends: authentic or fabricated?

Patriographic accounts of the foundation of monasteries were formed in the period between the fourteenth and early sixteenth century. The first documented legends are attested in Christian monuments of Epirus, where some stories proved very successful. These stories already existed even in the first decades of Ottoman rule, but later they spread even more rapidly. These traditions connect the monasteries in most cases with people (laymen) from the centre: from Constantinople. On Athos, the above-mentioned inscriptions repeat older oral traditions first recorded in the sixteenth century. It is not by accident that the traditions were written in the early Ottoman era, a period characterized by a harsh Ottoman tax policy.51 In this period, the urgent need for a connection with the glorious Byzantine past, only recently lost, was imperative, and the corresponding traditions referring to the Byzantine emperors were the most appropriate medium.52 The majority of foundation legends associate the monasteries with Byzantine emperors (on Mt Athos also with Balkan rulers) or members of the imperial family. The emperors who appear most frequently are Theodosius I, Constantine I, Michael I, and Constantine IV. The presence of Michael VIII is unsurprising given his policy concerning the Union of the Churches and his bad reputation in monastic cycles. He is connected with later disasters in an attempt to reinforce his negative image.53 The legends as a whole/as a group were intended to demonstrate the importance or dominant role of the monastery in the wider region. Some of them were so successful that they were later recorded in the so-called “patriographical writings” attested in manuscripts from Mt Athos54 and from elsewhere in the Balkans, such as, for example, the above-mentioned Chronikon of Pogoniane, which was written down in the eighteenth century in Bucharest.

51 Εlias Kolovos, ‘Το Άγιον Όρος και η συγκρότηση της Οθωμανικής Αυτοκρατορίας’, in 1453. Η Άλωση της Κωνσταντινούπολης και η μετάβαση από τους μεσαιωνικούς στους νεότερους χρόνους, ed. Tonia Kiousopoulou, (Herakleion: Πανεπιστήμιο Κρήτης, Τμήμα Ιστορίας και Αρχαιολογίας, 2007), pp. 107–19, with further bibliography. 52 Dimitrios Liakos and Christos Stavrakos, ‘Alive Histories in Writing Matters: Recent Data and New Approaches in a Little-Known Material’, Paper given at the International Conference: Art Readings 2018. Marginalia, Sofia, March 23–25, 2018. The paper has not yet been published. 53 See Ionut-Alexandru Tudorie, Autoritatea imperială în criză: Mihail VIII Paleologul (12581282) și raporturile Statului bizantin cu Biserica (Imperial Authority in Crisis: Michael VIII Palaiologos [1258–1282] and the Relations between the Byzantine State and the Church) (Brăila: 2016) (see the review by Mihai-D. Grigore in Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik, 67 (2017), pp. 274–75). 54 See Nikolaos Livanos, ‘Οι διηγήσεις’; Kriton Chryssohoides, ‘Από την πατριογραφία στην ιστορία. Όταν οι αγιορείτες εξιστορούν την ιστορία τους (16ος – 19ος αι.)’, Chronika tes Chalkidikes, 65 (2020), pp. 159–69.

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Fig. 1. The Monastery of the Dormition of the Virgin Molybdoskepastos (Konitsa, Epirus), private photo archive of Christos Stavrakos

post-byzantine inscriptions, traditions and legends: authentic or fabricated?

Fig. 2. The katholikon of the Monastery of the Dormition of the Virgin Molybdoskepastos (Konitsa, Epirus), private photo archive of Christos Stavrakos

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Fig. 3. The donor inscription of the katholikon of the Monastery of the Dormition of the Virgin Molybdoskepastos (1521), private photo archive of Christos Stavrakos

post-byzantine inscriptions, traditions and legends: authentic or fabricated?

Fig. 4. The donor portraits at the katholikon of the Monastery of the Dormition of the Virgin Molybdoskepastos (1521), private photo archive of Christos Stavrakos

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Fig. 5. Vatopedi Monastery; katholikon; exo-narthex; the legendary patrons; wall-painting, nineteenth c., private photo archive of Dimitrios Liakos

post-byzantine inscriptions, traditions and legends: authentic or fabricated?

Fig. 6. Xeropotamou Monastery; belfry; marble sculpture; portrait of the legendary patron hosios Paul, private photo archive of Dimitrios Liakos

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Fig. 7. Xeropotamou Monastery; belfry; marble sculpture; portrait of the legendary patron Poulcheria, private photo archive of Dimitrios Liakos

post-byzantine inscriptions, traditions and legends: authentic or fabricated?

Fig. 8. Zographou Monastery; the marble funeral monument of the twenty-six monks, private photo archive of Dimitrios Liakos

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