O Palaiologos

 Ὁ Παλαιολόγος + ··

Partial signature of John VIII Palaiologos, 1439

In mid-June I had a letter from Daniel Moss, a London dealer in historical letters and manuscripts, asking for my help in confirming this partial signature of John Palaiologos. I say "partial" because the full signature is below:

 This is from the Laurentian copy of the Act of Union.   Ὁ Παλαιολόγος with the cross and two dots comes in the second line.  

+ Ἰωάννης ἐν Χριστῷ τῷ θεῷ πιστὸς βασιλεὺς καὶ αὐτωκράτωρ ῥωμαίων 

ὁ Παλαιολόγος+··

+ John Palaiologos, faithful ruler in Christ our God, emperor of the Romans +·· 

Here in the Venetian copy held in the Vatican, the signature line is broken in the middle of auto - krator.

I sent Moss the signature pictures I had, reading references, and a link to my blog on the Florence signing. We discussed the signature a little more, and the conversation seemed to have come to a natural end. Then four days later I received an e-mail from him in which he asked me if I would like to have it. Two weeks after Daniel Moss had first written me, I was holding John's signature in my hands.   

It is a large signature, 9 cm long, written with a quill pen. The ink is still red, red edging toward brown, but very red where it collected in the loops and down-strokes. 

At the bottom left of the paper is part of a watermark, an eagle with sun? a sphere on a rod?

At some point, the paper with the signature (16.8cm x 7.7cm) was glued at six places to a slightly larger, darker, stiffer paper.  Someone made a note on it that says:  The signature of the emperor Palaiologos to the Condordat / between Eugenius IV & the Emperor, made St. Maria / Novella in Florence 1439. In the Laurentian Library.

The signing was not done at S. Maria Novella: that is the Dominican convent where most of the Greek delegation was staying. Fra Angelico was working there at the time, and his assistant was the young Benozzo Gozzoli who later painted the Greeks into his frescos for the Medici chapel.  

The Act of Union should have been signed on July 2, but an error was found in the text and the whole thing -- in Latin and Greek -- had to be recopied, the Latin text on the left side, the Greek on the right.  The Greeks signed in the early afternoon of 5 July, a Sunday.  They signed at the Palazzo Peruzzi where John was staying, a palazzo where the Florentine government put important visitors, on the main route from the piazza to S. Croce, and quite a long way from the rest of the Greeks.  They signed in order of precedence, witnessed by three Latin bishops.  Then John sent the document with ten clerics and four court officials over to Pope Eugenius.  John said that Bessarion would make a speech when they got there.  Bessarion did, a long one, and after the speech everyone went into another room where the Pope signed Eugenius catholice ecclesie episcopus ita diffiniens subscripsi, followed by the Latins in order of precedence.  The next day, Monday July 6, was the formal day of Union.  A high mass was said at the Duomo.  Somehow, arrangements could not quite be worked out for an Orthodox liturgy. 

Later in the month, four or five more official copies were signed -- this was at the Pope's request.  John said, "Why five?  Two are enough -- we take one and you take the other" -- and then still more copies, with varying numbers of signatures, depending on who showed up, or who had left town. The cost of the gold for the Emperor's seals would have made seals for twenty-nine of them, looking at the footnote in Gill: seals for four, looking at the footnote in Syropoulos.

* * * * * *

On the back of the paper for my signature is written, very small (2.8 cm):  .

* * * * * *

Thank you, Daniel Moss

Thanks to Walter Andrews for his help.

The Winter Voyage: Going Over

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter. 

T.S.E.

This is the account Sylvestros Syropoulos gave of the Greeks' journey to Italy for the Council of Union which began on this day in 1437, 25 November.  It was probably the worst journey anyone ever had to endure:

It was a Monday. John VIII embarked on a Venetian galley from the Kynegos shore close to the Blachernae palace.  The Patriarch, Joseph, had embarked the day before from the main harbor, the Eugeniou, and sailed up to wait for the Emperor.  The Venetians had provided three galleys.  John's brother, Demetrios, had the third.  All three galleys were crowded with delegates to the Council, servants, hangers-on, and people wanting a free trip to Italy, not to mention the extra ropes and oars, and the cages of animals on deck for food. 

Ordinarily, none of these people would have dreamed of sailing the Aegean in winter, but accumulated pressures, including a general shortage of funds and the expense of the chartered galleys, made it necessary for them to leave.  One should bear in mind that the Patriarch was quite elderly and had heart trouble, and that John suffered a great deal from gout and various psychosomatic ailments.  Neither would have been a good sailing companion at the best of times. Neither wanted to go on this trip and neither expected any good out of the results.  Many were grieving, but it was a last desperate attempt to get aid for the tiny empire. 

As soon as they were all on board, there was an earthquake.  This was taken as a bad omen, but the trumpets sounded, the people on shore shouted "Cronia polla!" and the ships sailed around the horn. Then they anchored for a couple of days, so the 600 or so passengers could get accustomed to the crowding and the spaces of galleys designed for freight and not for passengers.  

It was not until the 27th that the ships, accompanied by another galley belonging to John, three freight galleys, and a Florentine ship, actually left Constantinople.  There was a calm and the oarsmen made little progress.  That night there was a storm "and darkness became tangible."  They were afraid of shipwreck on one of the Marmara islands, but when daylight came, they saw they had been blown past the islands.

When they reached Gallipoli, the Turks shot arrows at the ships and hurled stones with a catapult.  Stopping just beyond, at Madytos on the right-hand shore, there was another earthquake.  The Patriarch sent word to the Emperor that he wanted off, but John told him to wait.  Then while the sailors were off refilling the water jars, they were attacked by a band of Turks.  The sailors dropped their jars and ran back to the ship.  John sent an emissary to the local subassi and asked permission to get water, which was granted.  They spent the night anchored there, or tried to, except that Turkish troops encircled the small harbor, lit fires, and ululated all night.  Then when they tried to sail, the Turks refused to let the Patriarch's galley release the mooring ropes.  The sailors had started chopping at the ropes with axes, before they were finally allowed to sail.

It was that kind of trip, the whole way, except for the two-day stop at Lemnos, where Demetrios Palaiologos had been governor, so the galley crews could loot the island.  [There is nothing about Demetrios' role in this, no comment that John protested this abuse of his subjects.]

It took a week to sail from Lemnos to Negroponte, which they reached on Saturday morning, 7 December.  Venetian officials welcomed them warmly and invited them in to rest.  The Patriarch was anxious to get off the ship and into a real bed, but John said it was unsuitable.  So he had a tent pitched on the shore and rested there for two days, while the island residents brought him gifts of fruit, wine, and food.  John stayed on his galley.
The ships set sail for the Morea on Monday, helped by good winds.  On the second day, the winds turned violent, the ships became separated, and the Patriarch's ship ended up at Sykea, on the coast of Lakonia.  After two more days, when the Emperor's ship failed to appear, they sent a boat up to Kenchreai, at the Isthmus, to see if there were any information.  There was: the Emperor's ship had stopped at Gaidouronessos -- Donkey's Island, near Piraeus, to wait out the storm, and then gone to Kenchreai.

But Donkey's Island could not be taken for granted, either.  There were two Catalan boats and two other boats also waiting out the storm on the island. The Catalans, discovering what was being delivered into their hands, decided to capture the Emperor, but cooler heads prevailed and this was thought unwise. Nearly a year and a half later, in Florence, a man from Rhodes who had been a prisoner of the Catalans and escaped, showed up and told the Emperor's attendants what had nearly happened.

They sailed from Kenchreai to Methone without too much excitement. [This was the Patriarch's galley, and the other galleys, but John and Demetrios and their suites had got off at Kenchreai and rode down the full length of the Morea.  John hated sea travel and you can understand why.] 

When the galleys docked at Methone, Venetian officials, and the Latin and Greek church officials all came out to greet them.  The Latins wanted to bring the Patriarch into the city in procession, holding him on either side according to their custom.  The Patriarch was upset at having to process with Latins, but several of the court officials told him it would be simpler to go along with it.  He was led by the Bishops of Corone and Portugal [I have no idea at all what the Bishop of Portugal was doing there], the Greek clergy carried their icons, and it was all very fine until they processed the Patriarch to a very old house which belonged to the Latin church.  Pigs lived on the ground floor.  There was a bed for the Patriarch upstairs, with a filthy pillow.  He was given an inedible meal.  It was the pigs grunting during the night that particularly disturbed him.

The Bishop of Corone went to the house of the Venetian governor -- Giovanni Cornaro -- and asked him to invited the Patriarch there.  Cornaro did, and the Patriarch stayed for 13 days.  They celebrated Christmas together, and things went fairly well.

The question of leaving became an issue.  Quite a few people were refusing to go further because of the crowding and discomfort on the ships.  There were suggestions of hiring another ship from Nauplion, and objections about the delay that would cause.  Then someone suggested that the galleys off-load the slaves they were carrying -- this is the first we have heard of the slaves -- which would give more room.  After slaves were loaded onto another boat for Venice,, plague broke out among them: all died and were buried at sea.  None of the Greeks or Latins was affected.

They galleys sailed from Methone up to Navarino-Pylos to meet John and Demetrios who arrived with a large suite of people from Mistra, including Plethon, Scholarios, and Bessarion.  This made for nearly 700 Greeks [at papal and Venetian expense] in the three galleys. They set sail, and then the sails on two of the galleys ripped.  By the eve of Theophany -- 5 January -- they had reached Kefphalonia and stopped in at the harbor of Pitzkardo.  There was much protest at this, because the winds were so perfect for sailing, but with the exception of one galley that went on to Corfu they all stayed.

That was when the bora started blowing, five days and nights, with such intensity that they were not even able to get out to fill the water jugs.  At the first opportunity, they set out again, and sailed into another storm. The rigging that supported the yardarm tore, it was swinging back and forth, they were sailing in total darkness in winds and waves so hard that most of the sailors could not walk on the deck.  Then the wind swung around and the waves were stronger.  They were pushed back to Pitzkardo where they anchored for three days while the storm continued.  Everyone on the ship was flat out, exhausted and sick.

They were finally able to start out again on a night with a clear moon.  The Patriarch's galley had not cleared the harbor before a gust of wind drove another boat into its side, shattering the oars like reeds.  But they managed to get to Corfu the next day where they stayed for eleven days.
In the gulf of Ragusa there was another storm that scattered the ships, but they all managed to regroup at Corsola.  Here the Emperor and the Patriarch disembarked and had a private conversation, as they had not seen each other since they left Constantinople two months earlier.

They sailed for two days, then the Emperor was so ill that they had to stop at a deserted island.  It snowed. The Emperor was carried ashore to a tent, and nearly everyone was freezing.  They sailed to Zara where they rested for three days.  Setting out again, they ran into another storm and the yardarm snapped.  They repaired the yardarm at Ruvini.  When they got to Parenzo a storm kept them in port for three days.

The rest of the way to Venice was fine, but that was only a day's sail.  A later post will report the winter trip back to Constantinople, two years later.

  Both images are of panels from the doors of St. Peter's in Rome made by Filarete.  Notice the double-headed eagle.

A Second-Hand Hat

Continuing a little longer with the topic of John VIII's headgear.

This is Manuel Laskaris Chatzikis who died in 1445 and was buried in the Pantanassa monastery at Mistra. The inscription on the fresco identifies him as "servant of the Despot, Constantine."

That is all we know about Manuel Laskaris Chatzikis, except that this image shows him wearing a style of hat that is otherwise only seen in portraits of John VIII, his brother Thomas, and their father, Manuel II. The hat is generally called a skiadion, but that is the wrong name and the right name is eminently forgettable.* Call it the Palaiologos hat, or the melon hat. Chatzikis also appears to be wearing a robe very like the one John wears in his portrait, although we can't be perfectly positive about the sleeves.

There was another Laskaris in John's ambit, about whom we also know nothing, except that John sent him to Italy to help make arrangements for the Council of Ferrara-Florence.

There were more Laskarids than just those two. They were a huge family, intermarried with all the other huge families, and you couldn't swing a cat in the Morea, or Constantinople either, without taking out half a dozen. But we are limiting attention just now to the coincidence of these two.

The Palaiologoi were accustomed to reward individuals who gave significant service with significant contributions to their wardrobe. Sphrantzes reports that Manuel II once gave him a dark-colored robe lined with fur and a chest that had belonged to his father, while John's wife, Sophia, gave him one of her green robes for his future wife.
.
On another occasion -- this when Sphrantzes was released nearly dead from imprisonment at Patras in a tower with mice and weevils -- Constantine gave him a double green tunic lined with fine green linen from Lucca, a red cap decorated with gold and a silken lining from Thessalonike, a heavy gold-colored caftan from Brusa, a green coat, and a finely worked sword. One might think green was the Palaiologos' special color.

When John was visiting Venice in conjunction with Ferrara-Florence, he presented someone there with one of his hats. Western artists were enthralled by John's hats, and his wardrobe generally. (He also wore a green robe one day in Florence.)

We need more evidence for this, but it may not be too much to think that in this portrait of Manuel Laskaris Chatzikis we are seeing the emissary for Ferrara-Florence, and that he is wearing John's hat and robe, a signal to the cognoscenti that he was a person of high significance, not only to Constantine who ruled at Mistra, but also to the Emperor in Constantinople.

Late addition: The fact that Chatzikis had himself painted wearing this hat and robe does not mean that he actually wore them, but he might have been buried in them.


* For the sake of conscience, the name of this style of hat is kamelaukion.To my knowledge, this is not only the only non-imperial person shown wearing this hat, this is the only Greek fresco of this hat.  All other images I know of this hat were painted in the West. I would be grateful for more information here.

** Go here for more information on the kamelaukion.

Toupha, Toufa

When Cyriaco of Ancona was in Constantinople, he sketched as best he could the great bronze statue of Justinian (527-565). The statue was made of gilded bronze, and stood on a column 50m. high. The most remarkable thing about the statue itself -- otherwise your basic equestrian statue -- was the headdress, called a toupha, which an earlier traveller drew in great detail in 1340 (right) and you can see that this drawing and Cyriaco's are pretty much in agreement.
[Late correction: I now believe this drawing has been erroneously attributed to Cyriaco.]

.A number of different headdresses have been called the toupha, or toufa as you prefer, but we are currently concerned with the one on the statue, and will describe it a diadem with a lot of peacock feathers. It probably came from the East, perhaps Persia, which is an all-purpose explanation for various Byzantine appurtenances not otherwise explicable.

The toupha had been in use for quite a while before Justinian -- coins of Constantius II (337-361) like the gold here show him wearing one -- and notice the little thing in front that looks like the tuft on a hawk's hood.

When Justinian came along, 200 years later, it was apparently well- established as part of the emperor outfit, regardless of how silly it must have looked, and was worn when an emperor rode in procession to celebrate a triumph.

A hundred and seventy years ago, an extraordinary piece of fabric was discovered in Bamburg, Germany, in the tomb of Gunther, Bishop from 1057 to 1065, a fabric he had obtained in Constantinople. Splendidly colored, it showed a tyche -- a representation of a city, here Constantinople -- presenting presenting a toupha to the emperor John I Tzmiskes (971-976), unless it was to Basil II (976-1025) for defeating the Bulgarians, but either way it was already an antique when Gunther acquired it on pilgrimage. Gunther died on that pilgrimage, and his cloth was buried with him. The tyche seems to be dressed as a bride so this fabric is emphasizing that the Emperor is married to the City, much as Elizabeth II was given a ring as part of her coronation ceremony

John VIII Palaiologos who gave so much pleasure to artists with his dramatic hats went to the Council of Ferrara-Florence in late 1437. Now, Cyriaco who drew the first toupha pictured above, and who was a friend of John, was at the Council when it moved to Florence in early 1439. And the young painter Benozzo Gozzoli (1421-1497), being a Florentine, was there, too.

John didn't wear a toupha in Florence. Florence was a humiliation, not a triumph, and if he had worn a toupha, there would be twice as many pictures of him wearing it as there are of him wearing the melon hat. But one can imagine a variety of ways in which a young painter might have met up with Cyriaco who had recently been in Constantinople, and might have looked at his travel notes and diaries. And might have seen that image of a mounted emperor wearing a toupha.

Or young Benozzo talked to other people who had been in Constantinople and or saw other drawing. He may have made his own copies of them. He may have thought that it was a silly headdress, too, and that he could improve on it. Or he may have only understood that it was a crown with feathers. So that when he came to paint his amazing frescos for the Capello dei Magi in the Palazzo Medici twenty years later, he included the emperor John, wearing carefully curled hair, exotic Eastern robes, imperial red buskins, and a toupha -- a crown bejewelled with the rubies and pearls which John is known to have worn in Florence, and with red, white, and green feathers. 

[An explanation for Benozzo Gozzoli's particular feathers is here.]