Byzantine and Neohellenic Studies

Eugenia Russell
Byzantine and Neohellenic Studies

St Demetrius of Thessalonica
Cult and Devotion in the Middle Ages

Peter Lang
The cult of St Demetrius is of considerable age but it peaked with
the emergence of his city, Thessalonica, as a prominent political and
cultural centre in late Byzantium. This book examines the intensi-
fication of his popularity and veneration in the late Middle Ages
and his impact on contemporary thought and ritual. The encomia
written in the saint’s honour are significant historical and literary
monuments and in their suggestiveness and beauty they are on a
level with many better-known works in medieval Greek. Indeed, the
encomia have added historical interest because of the prominence
of those who wrote them. The likes of Nicholas Kavasilas, Gregory
Palamas, Constantine Harmenopoulos and Symeon of Thessalonica
were the elite of late Byzantium in intellect and personal influence,
while Nikephoros Gregoras was perhaps the finest of Byzantine
minds. With their clear links to individual authors, the encomia on
St Demetrius present opportunities to the historian and the literary
critic, which are fully explored in this book, the first to give them
sustained scholarly attention.

Eugenia Russell gained a PhD in History from Royal Holloway,

University of London, with a thesis entitled ‘Encomia to St Demetrius
in Late Byzantine Thessalonica’. This book is a revised version of this
doctoral thesis. She is the editor of Spirituality in Late Byzantium
(2009).

www.peterlang.com
St Demetrius of Thessalonica
Byzantine and Neohellenic Studies
Vol. 6

Edited by
Andrew Louth and David Ricks

PETER LANG
Oxford • Bern • Berlin • Bruxelles • Frankfurt am Main • New York • Wien
 Eugenia Russell

St Demetrius of Thessalonica
Cult and Devotion in the Middle Ages

PETER LANG
Oxford • Bern • Berlin • Bruxelles • Frankfurt am Main • New York • Wien
Bibliographic information published by Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek
Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche National­biblio­
grafie; detailed bibliographic data is available on the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

Russell, Eugenia, 1976-

St. Demetrius of Thessalonica : cult and devotion in the Middle Ages /
Eugenia Russell.
p. cm. -- (Byzantine and Neohellenic studies ; vol 6)
Includes bibliographical references (p. ) and index.
ISBN 978-3-0343-0181-7 (alk. paper)
1. Demetrius, Saint, 4th cent. 2. Thessalonike (Greece)--Church
history. 3. Church history--Middle Ages, 600-1500. 4. Thessalonike
(Greece)--History. I. Title. II. Title: Saint Demetrius of
Thessalonica.
BR1720.D45R87 2010
272‘.1092--dc22
2010006570

ISSN 1661-1187
ISBN 978-3-0343-0181-7

© Peter Lang AG, International Academic Publishers, Bern 2010

Hochfeldstrasse 32, CH-3012 Bern, Switzerland
[email protected], www.peterlang.com, www.peterlang.net

All rights reserved.

All parts of this publication are protected by copyright.
Any utilisation outside the strict limits of the copyright law, without the
permission of the publisher, is forbidden and liable to prosecution.
This applies in particular to reproductions, translations, microfilming,
and storage and processing in electronic retrieval systems.

Printed in Germany
Contents

Abbreviations 7

Introduction Cult and Devotion in the City of Demetrius 9

Chapter One Intertextuality in the Encomia 29

Chapter Two Convention and Originality:

The Athlete of Christ 65

Chapter Three Internal Literary Evidence for the

Festival of the Saint 83

Chapter Four Signs of the Times:

Responses to Contemporary Life 111

Aftermath 129

Appendix Responses to the Fall of Thessalonica

in 1430 by John Anagnostes in his
Narration and Monody 133

Epilogue 147

Notes 149

Bibliography 181

Glossary 203

Index 207
Abbreviations

BZ = Byzantinische Zeitschrift (Leipzig, 1892–)

CFHB = Corpus Fontium Historiae Byzantinae

CSHB = Corpus Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae

CTPE = WqistiamijŸ Hessakom´jg PakaiokÁceior EpowŸ: Epi-

stglomijÁ SulpÁsio, PatqiaqwijÁm 'Idqula PateqijÖm
LeketÖm, Ieq‚ LomŸ Bkat‚dym (Thessalonica, 1989)

DOP = Dumbarton Oaks Papers (Washington DC, 1941–)

EEBS = ùEpetgqμr úEtaiqe´ar BufamtimØm SpoudØm (Athens,

1924–)

EMS = úEtaiqe´a LajedomijØm SpoudØm

M = Lajedomij‚ (Thessalonica, 1940–)

NE = M—or úEkkgmolmŸlym (Athens, 1904–27)

PG = J.-P. Migne, Patrologiae Cursus Completus, Series Graeco-Latina

(Paris, 1857–66), 161 vols

PLP = Prosopographisches Lexikon der Palaiologenzeit, ed. Erich

Trapp et al. 14 vols (Vienna, 1976–96)

PThS = Pqajtij‚ HeokocijoÉ Sumedq´ou îE²r tilm jaμ lmŸlgm

toË sovyt‚tou jaμ kociyt‚tou jaμ to¶r Åkoir ciyt‚tou Às´ou
patqÂr lØm Mijok‚ou Jab‚sika toË jaμ WalaetoËï
(Thessalonica, 1984)

7
Introduction
Cult and Devotion in the City of Demetrius*

Even within the shrunken Byzantine empire,

Constantinople ceased to hold a pre-eminent
position. Other Byzantine cities, particularly
Mistra and Thessalonica, had become rival
centres of commerce and government.

J ONATHAN HARRIS, Constantinople: Capital

of Byzantium (London and New York, 2007),
p. 181.

The cult of St Demetrius is of considerable age but it peaked with the

emergence of his city, Thessalonica, as a prominent political and
cultural centre in late Byzantium. This book examines the
intensification of his popularity and veneration in the late Middle
Ages and his impact on contemporary thought and ritual. The encomia
written in the saint’s honour are significant historical and literary
monuments and in their suggestiveness and beauty they are on a level
with many better-known works in medieval Greek. Indeed, the
encomia are of added historical interest because of the prominence of
those who wrote them. The likes of Nicholas Kavasilas, Gregory
Palamas, Constantine Harmenopoulos and Symeon of Thessalonica
are the elite of late Byzantium in intellect and personal influence,
while Nikephoros Gregoras is probably the finest Byzantine mind
known to us to date. By contrast many of the finest other works of late
medieval Greek literature are anonymous. This would include the

*
AUTHOR’S ACKNOWLEDGEMENT : I hereby acknowledge my debt to
my supervisor, Jonathan Harris. Any infelicities in this work, however,
are my responsibility, not his.

9
Chronicle of Tocco, the Chronicle of the Morea, Basil Digenes Akrites
and the lesser known but beautiful Achilleid. With their strong
authorship, the encomia present additional opportunities to the
historian and the literary critic. Yet the encomia to St Demetrius have
not received focused scholarly attention until now: here they are
examined in their entirety for the first time.

The adoration of St Demetrius in late Byzantine Thessalonica was, as

I said, a reflection of the increased confidence and autonomy of the
city. The prominence of the cult of the saint was a manifestation of a
strong civic feeling, and its intensity increased as Thessalonica
became more autonomous. This introducton puts the cult in its
historical context. It flags up the importance of Thessalonica and the
city’s relationship with the imperial family of the Palaiologoi, the last
dynasty of Byzantium, and introduces the reader to the legend of St
Demetrius. Chapter One and Chapter Two are almost mirror images of
one another. They analyse the multiple layers of the literary works of
praise, otherwise called laudes or encomia, which the saint enjoyed in
abundance in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Both chapters are
concerned with subtexts, one of classical and the other of Biblical
works. The third chapter looks at the details about the festival of St
Demetrius found in the corpus of the encomia. The stunning
descriptions of the rituals and the lively language will delight the
reader. The last chapter views the encomia as mines of information for
contemporary issues in civic life. There is great variation in how
outspoken authors were prepared to be in their critique of
contemporary life through the encomia; these degrees in
circumspection will concern us mainly in the fourth chapter. A
stylistic treatment of two works of lamentation for the fall of
Thessalonica is appended. The different ways in which the author of
the lamentations expresses himself in the contrasting genres are
explored using the same methodological approaches that have been
employed in the study of the encomia.
There are more Greek encomia to St Demetrius than to any
other saint and most of them were written in the period we examine.
There are some stunning descriptions of St Demetrius in the sources.
St Demetrius is young, strong, brave; he is beautiful. He leads and

10
inspires. He saves with his purity. He redeems, he mediates. He is a
true icon for his people. St Demetrius was an extremely popular
military saint in the Byzantine period from the seventh century
onwards, both within the Byzantine empire and amongst the Slavs.1
His significance and popularity were such that throughout the
Byzantine Empire there was no need to refer to him by name. In
Byzantine writings, both religious and secular, he was often talked
about as the Myrovlytos or Myrovlytes, which means the myrrh giver.
This refers to the miraculous myrrh that was supposed to exude from
his tomb. He was also called athlophoros, prize-bearer or
Megalomartys, the Great Martyr. In the same way, Thessalonica was
often simply referred to as the city of Demetrius, and, in some ways, it
still is.
As regards the historical St Demetrius, almost nothing can be
known for sure. He is said to have been martyred in Thessalonica
under the Emperor Maximian, but even that simple fact is
controversial: there were two emperors with that name in the late third
and early fourth centuries. Marcus Aurelius Valerius Maximianus
Herculius (c.250–310), usually known as Maximian, was co-emperor
with the Roman Emperor Gaius Aurelius Valerius Diocletianus
(284–305) known as Diocletian. Maximian was first made Caesar
(285) and shortly after Augustus (286) of Diocletian. The other
Maximian, Gaius Galerius Valerius Maximianus (c.250–311) was
Caesar alongside Constantius Chlorus (c.250–306) under the two co-
emperors just mentioned. Diocletian created those two Caesars in 293,
further delegating his powers. Diocletian is therefore credited with the
creation of the first Tetrarchy in the Roman Empire. To make the
institution work, the two Augusti retired simultaneously in 305,
allowing the two Caesars to take their place and appoint new Caesars.2
It is likely that it was the second Maximian, usually known as
Galerius, who was the persecutor of St Demetrius. Both as Caesar and
as Augustus, he spent much of his time in Thessalonica. His legacy to
the city is two illustrious monuments, his Triumphal Arch, celebrating
one of his victories, and the Rotunda, the latter being intended either
as his tomb or as a temple to a god. In any case Galerius was never
buried there. The Rotunda’s origins are often forgotten because, in its
capacity as a church dedicated to St George, it is one of the earliest

11
preserved Christian churches. Although it is often described as a
basilica, it has a cylindrical architectural plan, akin to the Pantheon in
Rome. A third monument, which was built on a grand scale, the
palace of Galerius, does not survive but its remains have been
revealed by archaeologists near the two other monuments. Galerius
was known for his persecution of Christians, which he initiated while
still a Caesar, and this, along with his presence in Thessalonica, makes
him the most likely candidate.
In the encomia the two Maximians are often confused and
merged. Certainly Maximian is the only name that appears for the
emperor figure and not Galerius. Therefore in this study the name
Maximian is preserved in keeping with the encomia. There are some
instances where the confusion in the Byzantine authors becomes
apparent when a variant of one of the names is used. Such an example
can be found in Nicholas Kavasilas’s third encomium where he calls
the emperor ‘Herculius’, one of the names of the elder Maximian, who
liked to call himself after Hercules.3 Whether Kavasilas used this form
of the name for metrical reasons or whether he simply liked to allude
to the name of Hercules, he signifies the general confusion
surrounding the two emperors. Gregory Palamas, as well, calls the
emperor by the name of Hercules, ‘Maximian Herculius’ in his case.4
Whichever emperor was responsible, it seems clear that St
Demetrius was martyred sometime in the late third century. His cult
was based on legends that emerged later and can be detected in
Thessalonica from at least the sixth century. In the centuries that
followed, legends, passions (passiones), vitae, miracle stories and
panegyric speeches were produced about him. Of these, the most
influential text in formulating popular conceptions of Demetrius’s life
were the Miracula, produced during the seventh century.5 There also
survive three biographies, all dating from the ninth century onwards.
These three works are by Photios, patriarch of Constantinople
(858–867, 867–886), by the tenth-century scholar Symeon
Metaphrastes and by an anonymous author. That by Metaphrastes is
the longest and perhaps the most famous.6
It is from these works that the popular version of Demetrius’s
life was derived. According to this, Demetrius was a soldier in the
Roman army who converted to Christianity and then started preaching

12
his new faith amongst the ranks. Maximian found out about this
activity and summoned Demetrius into his presence. When Demetrius
refused to recant, he was thrown into prison. Meanwhile, Nestor, a
young soldier who had been converted by Demetrius, asked for his
blessing in a forthcoming gladiatorial bout with Maximian’s favourite,
a man of exceptional strength called Lyaeus. Nestor is often called ‘a
second David’ for taking on that unequal battle. Nestor won the
ensuing fight and killed Lyaeus, in the name of Christ. In fury,
Maximian ordered the execution of both Demetrius and Nestor. Some
variants mention St Loupos, the servant of St Demetrius, who after his
master’s death performed healing miracles with Demetrius’s ring and
robe before being martyred himself. In iconography, sometimes
Nestor and Loupos appear together7, although that is not the case in
the literary versions.
It was in his persona of a soldier that Demetrius had become
so popular by the tenth century, along with other military saints such
as St George, St Theodore Tyron and St Theodore Stratelates. The
opening of the first ballad of Digenes Akrites refers to these military
saints, singling Demetrius out for praise:

(...) ™wym sumeqcoËsam te HeoË tm w‚qim,

jaμ HeotÁjou t¡r jatalawŸtou,
jaμ tØm cc—kym ‡la jaμ qwacc—kym,
tØm hkovÁqym jaμ lec‚kym laqtÉqym,
HeodÖqym te tØm pamemdonot‚tym,
toË stqatgk‚tou jaμ toË t´qymor ‡la,
toË poku‚hkou cemma´ou Ceyqc´ou,
jaμ haulatouqcoË jaμ l‚qtuqor tØm laqtÉqym
•mdonot‚tou Dglgtq´ou, pqost‚tou
toË Basike´ou jaμ jaÉwgla jaμ jk—or
toË mijopoioË •m to¶r Èpemamt´oir8
[with aid of the grace of God
and of the unconquerable Mother of God,
together with the angels and archangels,
and the great victorious martyrs,
the all glorious Theodores
both the general and the recruit,
the noble George of many labours,
and the wonder-working martyr of martyrs,
the most glorious Dimitrios, protector

13
 of Basil and boast and fame
of him who achieved victory over the opposing (…)].9

The reader will have noticed how St Demetrius is singled out in this
passage as the protector of the legendary Basil Digenes Akrites, and
he is more lavishly praised than the other saints.
As a soldier, Demetrius was the perfect patron saint for
Thessalonica in the difficult times that the city faced from the late
sixth century on.10 He was credited with saving the city from the
Avars and Slavs who overran the rest of the Balkans during the early
seventh century, terrifying the attackers with his unexpected
appearance.11 When the Emperor Justinian II (685–695, 705–711)
fought his way through to Thessalonica in 688 and made a triumphant
entry to the city, one of his first actions was to grant the revenues of a
salt lake to the church of St Demetrius in gratitude to the saint for his
aid.12 The saint was credited with the victory of Basil II over the rebel
Bardas Phokas at Abydos in 989 and with raising the siege of
Thessalonica during the revolt of Peter Deljan in around 1040.13
Alexios I Komnenos (1081–1118) allegedly dreamt that an icon of St
Demetrius promised him victory over the Norman Bohemond at
Larissa in 1083.14 In the autumn of 1207 the Czar of the Bulgarians,
Kalojan (1170–1207) was reputedly stopped from taking the city
through being slain by St Demetrius, even though it may well have
been the leader of the Cumans, Manastras, who assassinated him.15
The saint also had the function of bringing cohesion. Jonathan Harris
has suggested that a measure of the success of Michael VIII
Palaiologos was that at his death in 1282 he was succeeded without
bloodshed. His legacy of peace was further confirmed by the fact that
his old rival to the throne, John Laskaris, was eventually buried at the
monastery of St Demetrius in Constantinople. This was the favourite
monastery of the Palaiologos family, who had adopted him as their
patron saint.16 Not that the saint was always successful. Thessalonica
was captured and sacked by the Arabs in 904 and by the Sicilian
Normans in 1185. In these cases, the withdrawal of his protection was
attributed to the sins of the Thessalonians and was the subject of
anguished laments.17

14
 Given St Demetrius’s role as protector, it is hardly surprising
that his veneration was given primary importance in Thessalonica in
Byzantine times. His cult was centred on the great fifth-century
basilica that was dedicated to him, which a Byzantine writer claimed
was ‘built over the spot where he accomplished his heroic feats in the
contest for Heaven and received the prize of victory’.18 It housed his
tomb, a separate silver-covered structure that stood in the centre of the
transept, with lamps burning constantly.19 A sweet-smelling myrrh
somehow supposedly came out of the tomb and was credited with
miraculous healings.20 This continued without interruption until the
Ottoman occupation, attracting a constant flow of pilgrims seeking to
be healed. The myrrh was thought to have apotropaic as well as
healing properties and its nature intrigued the faithful, becoming a
theological question. Charalambos Bakirtzis has explained that, to the
Byzantine mind, ‘myron was myron, just as water was water and oil
was oil’. In other words, although myron can be understood as a
substance similar to oil, it was perceived as a clearly distinct essence.
‘The oil from the lamp of St Demetrius’ seems to have ‘had
therapeutic properties before the myron appeared’.21 The localisation
of the saint has also been pointed out by Ruth Macrides and Paul
Magdalino. 22 Macrides sees ‘separatist tendencies’ in the cult of St
Demetrius. This she depicts boldly as ‘the latent tug of war between
Thessalonica and Constantinople’. She also calls Thessalonica ‘the
only other city in a position to compete with it’. In ecclesiastical
terms, she points out how ‘it can be seen that St Demetrios’ ability to
produce a substance by the same name as the sacramental oil of
unction could be used as a challenge to patriarchal monopoly’.23
The veneration was at its most intense during Demetrius’s
feast period in October. Demetrius’s feast day fell on 26 October and
that of St Nestor the day after, but most of the month was given over
to celebrations in Demetrius’s honour.24 New encomia were written
every year to be used at the festival. The custom was that the first of
two encomia would be delivered by a layman in the church of the
Acheiropoietos, dedicated to the Virgin Mary and St Demetrius, on
the eve of the saint’s day. The name Panagia Acheiropoietos (i.e. Our
Lady who is not made by hands) comes from a miraculous icon of the
Virgin Mary. Another encomium was pronounced by the archbishop

15
in the church of St Demetrius on the feast day itself.25 A litany and a
re-enactment of the saint’s martyrdom used to take place on the same
day. This festival was combined with the commercial fair of
Demetria, which may have been named after St Demetrius, although
the name of the ancient goddess Demeter, an agricultural deity, is also
very close to the root of the word, and a legitimate contender. This
event attracted merchants from all over the empire and beyond and is
described in the twelfth-century satirical work, T i m a r i o n.26
The presence of merchants in Timarion has the ring of truth, as it has
been established that Thessalonica was a centre for the production of
silk and metalwork in Byzantium.27
The festival was such an integral part of city life that it kept
going even under foreign rule. In 1425, during the period when the
Venetians were holding Thessalonica, the citizens asked the Venetian
officials to give two hundred hyperpyra in time of peace and one
hundred in time of war towards the festival of St Demetrius in keeping
with an old custom. This is in keeping with the Venetian practice of,
at least in theory, respecting and promoting the continuation of local
life and customs under their administration.28
Demetrius’s cult suffered some setback when Thessalonica
was sacked by the Sicilian Normans back in 1185. His tomb was
looted and the silver ornamentation was stripped off. The miraculous
myrrh was allegedly gathered in pots and used for cooking and one of
the feet was removed from the saint’s body, until order was restored
and the Norman commander forbade further looting. It was even
claimed by the Bulgars that St Demetrius had abandoned his home
and moved north to Trnovo, the capital of the newly created second
Bulgarian empire. 29 During the period of Latin rule in Thessalonica
(1204–1224), some of the relics of St Demetrius were divided up and
taken to the West.30 Nevertheless, by the late fourteenth and early
fifteenth centuries, the period covered in this book, the cult of St
Demetrius was as strong as ever in Thessalonica, if not stronger. So
strong was it that John XIV Kalekas, patriarch of Constantinople
(1334–1347), complained in 1337–8 that worshippers would run past
the church of Christ to crowd into that dedicated to St Demetrius.31
There were a number of reasons for this. One of them was
undoubtedly the fact that the city achieved a quasi-independence

16
during the fourteenth century. The trend in late Byzantium was for
different parts of the shrinking empire to be ruled separately by a
member of the imperial family as an appanage. In his History,
Nikephoros Gregoras tells us how the founder of the Palaiologan
dynasty, Michael VIII Palaiologos (1259–1282), had in mind the
separation of Thessalonica and its hinterland from the rest of the
empire, in favour of his son Constantine (1261–1306). What
prevented the fruition of the plan was his death on a campaign in
Thrace in 1282, as well as the bitter rivalry between Constantine and
his brother, the new emperor Andronikos II (1282–1328). The
intention for complete autonomy seems to be clear:

•boÉketo cƒq jaμ lek—tgm e»we to¶r spk‚cwmoir •lvykeÉousam •j

pokkoË t peqμ Hessakom´jgm te jaμ Lajedom´am l—qor t¡r Åkgr
celom´ar úQyla´ym potel×m ²d´am qwŸm, tima peqipoiŸsashai
toÉtß jaμ bas´keiom aÇtojqatoq´am. jaμ e² l vh‚sar À h‚mator
aÇtÂm •n mhqÖpym pepo´gje, t‚wù †m jaμ ¥kior e²r ™qcom pqob‚mta
tƒ t¡r lek—tgr •cmÖqifemû kkù oÇj jaμ heâ pqÂr boukŸseyr, Õr
™oijem, •r p—qar •jewyqŸjei t pq‚cla dustuw´ar lestÁm.32 [because
he wanted and he had intent in his heart lurking there from a long time back, to
cut from his own dominion and the sovereignty of the Romans the part around
Thessalonica and the whole of Macedonia, in order to make that part a reigning
kingdom. And were it not for death catching up with him, he would have made
his plan happen, and it is as if the sun himself knew what was his intention; but
it was not the will of God, as became apparent, for the matter to go ahead, and
it was an affair brimming with sorrow].

In spite of this, for much of the fourteenth century, Thessalonica was

ruled separately from Constantinople. In 1303 the empress Eirene
(Yolanda of Montferrat), wife of Andronikos II, had taken up
residence in Thessalonica and established her own court there.33 In
1351, another empress, Anna (Johanna of Savoy), widow of
Andronikos III Palaiologos (1328–1341) and mother of John V
Palaiologos (1354–1391), took up residence in the city and stayed
until her death in 1365.34 She adopted the title despoina and her reign
provided a much-needed period of stability to the troubled city and
was well-remembered. She was praised by prominent figures of
Thessalonica like Nicholas Kavasilas and Philotheos Kokkinos for her
patronage, her good government and her steadfastness in her adopted

17
Orthodox faith. Kavasilas calls her lec´stg basik´r, greatest queen,
and greets her as ‘the saviour of his native city’ after the ‘storm’ of the
Zealot regime. Kokkinos calls her haulast jaμ vikÁwqistor
basik´r, wondrous and Christ-loving queen.35 Anna is also mentioned
in the Synodikon, alongside other Byzantine emperors. 3 6 An
inscription with her name, as Anna Palaiologina, survives to this day
in the old walls of the Byzantine part of the city. That was done to
commemorate the construction of that part of the wall at her time.37
The presence of a separate court at Thessalonica meant that there was
a separate source of patronage; this helped bring about an intellectual
flowering in the city, ensuring that it was no longer under
Constantinople’s shadow.38
The trend for Thessalonica’s quasi independence was
accelerated when, some time in the 1360s, Adrianople fell to the
Turks.39 Henceforth Thessalonica was cut off from Constantinople by
land and the link between the two cities could only be maintained by
sea. The members of the imperial family who ruled there with the title
of despotes (a Greek word meaning master, but not with the
associations of the English word despot) were therefore able to follow
a very independent policy. The most striking example is that of
Manuel, second son of John V Palaiologos and the future Manuel II
(1391–1425). In the winter of 1371–2, John V issued a chrysobull in
favour of Manuel, giving him Thessalonica, together with Macedonia
and, as an incentive, whatever else Manuel could grab from the Serbs
and the Turks, as his appanage. On 25 September 1373, John went
further and the Despot Manuel became co-emperor, despite being a
younger son, at the age of 23.40 In 1381, however, things took a new
turn when Andronikos, John V’s elder son, was reinstated as an heir to
the throne. We do not have precise information about Manuel’s
reaction to this news but it would seem that in 1382, he decided to act
on his own incentive and to form in Thessalonica what became
disparagingly known amongst John V’s circle in Constantinople as
‘the new empire’. 41
During his five-year rule there, Manuel carried out a policy of
firm resistance to the Turkish pressure that was in contrast to the
lukewarm stance of his father in Constantinople, who had accepted
vassal status to the Ottoman sultan, Murad II (1362–1389). In the

18
words of John Barker, ‘a more robust separatism’ meant also a
separate policy. Manuel had some military success as soon as he
established himself in Thessalonica. That perhaps gave his supporters
inflated hopes. In 1382, the important Eastern Macedonian city of
Serres was back in Byzantine hands. The news of his bold resistance
brought a stream of volunteers to Thessalonica to fight by his side.
There is at least one more naval and one combined land and sea
victory over the Turks reported in the sources. After that there were a
series of defeats. Public opinion was split, and Manuel’s resistance
policy did not seem so popular. Manuel felt unwanted and left
Thessalonica. He subsequently sought refuge under the Gattilusi of
Lesvos. This decision seemed sensible, as the two families had
marriage ties, and Manuel II was a brother-in-law to Francesco II
Gattilusio.42
In spite of this retreat, Manuel’s rule had brought some
advantages to Thessalonica. The city enjoyed some tax privileges and
exemptions and some special commercial rights. This allowed and
encouraged a certain amount of autonomy and self-government within
the city, and strengthened the aristocracy. 43 In later years, other
despots of Thessalonica enjoyed similar independence. His nephew,
John VII, who ruled Thessalonica between 1403 and 1408, was not
known as despotes but as ‘Emperor of All Thessaly’.44 Manuel’s son
Andronikos, who ruled between 1408 and 1423, issued his own
decrees, ÀqisloÉr, and ruled as an independent, western-style,
medieval king. 45 Andronikos was very young when he was first
nominated Despot of Thessalonica by his father in 1408, and until
1416 the ruler of Thessalonica was effectively Manuel’s right hand
man, Demetrius Laskaris Leontaris.46 The scheme of regency, often
used for the imperial throne, and often having caused much anguish to
Byzantium, was now transferred to a periphery that was made
conscious of its own independence, but still liked to continue styling
itself after the prototype of its iconic capital. In this light, it was only
to be expected that the prestige of St Demetrius was to be enhanced as
the patron not just of a provincial city but of a centre of government in
its own right.
A second factor that enhanced the standing of St Demetrius in
the later Byzantine period was the fact that his cult was no longer

19
restricted to Thessalonica. Pilgrims could now, for example, venerate
a phial of his myrrh in the monastery of St John Stoudios in
Constantinople. 47 This extension of the cult was no doubt partly
because it so happened that Demetrius was also the patron saint of the
Palaiologos family, who ruled in Constantinople between 1261 and
1453. This point was made clear by the founder of the dynasty,
Michael VIII, when he issued a typikon for the refounded monastery
of St Demetrius in Constantinople in 1282 and described the
Myrovlytes as the ancestral protector of his family.48 Other members
of the family have left evidence for their link with the saint. There
survives an enkolpion or pendant belonging to Demetrius Palaiologos,
Despot of Thessalonica (1322–c.1340) and son of Andronikos II and
Eirene. It is inscribed with the words of the poet Manuel Philes
(1294–1334) which read:

Tâ despÁt¨ tƒ st—qma, HettakØm pÁkirû

DglŸtqiom cƒq e²r wqusoËm v—qei t‚vom
FygvÁqom bkÉfomta luq´pmoum wÉsim.
úOlÖmulor dù oÐm •sti PakaiokÁcor.49
[The Despot’s bosom is the city of the Thessalians,
because it bears Demetrius there in a golden tomb.
The tomb exudes life-giving myron.
And this Palaiologos is a name-sake (of the martyr)].

The Palaiologoi were not the only Constantinopolitan family to look

to St Demetrius as their patron. Another was the Apokaukoi. Alexios
Apokaukos held the office of Megas Dux in the mid-fourteenth
century. He was a close friend of Anna of Savoy, and had been a
powerful opponent of John Kantakouzenos during the civil war of
1341–7. He also played an important role in Thessalonica during the
Zealot uprising and his son John was governor of the city. Both men
were murdered in 1345 but their family appears to have commissioned
an icon of St Demetrius, which is now in the church of St Athanasios
in Kastoria. The inscription describes the saint as both Demetrius and
Apokaukos suggesting a very close link between the clan and their
protector. 50 Demetrius also began to have a much higher profile
throughout the empire. When a new cathedral, the church of the
Mitropolis, was constructed in Mistra in the Peloponnese in 1291/2 it

20
too was dedicated to St Demetrius.51 His image started to appear on
Byzantine coins from the early twelfth century and by the late
fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries he often was depicted on
horseback, particularly coins issued by Manuel II and John VII. 52
Finally and perhaps most important of all, the cult of St
Demetrius was enhanced by the turbulent and threatening events that
unfolded between 1350 and 1430. Not that the city was new to
trouble. It had been regularly besieged by Slavs and Bulgars before
being captured and sacked by the Arabs in 904 and again by the
Normans in 1185. In the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries,
however, Thessalonica faced not only an external threat in the shape
of the Ottoman Turks, but internal disunity caused by class tensions,
dynastic strife and the theological controversy over hesychasm. Each
of these factors and its impact on the cult needs to be examined in
turn.

The most significant danger facing late Byzantine Thessalonica was

the advance of the Ottoman Turks. They had first gained a foothold in
Europe when they took Gallipoli in 1354 and their capture of
Adrianople, as seen above, cut Thessalonica off from Constantinople
and provided them with their first capital in Europe. In the decades
that followed, Thessalonica’s hinterland came increasingly under
Ottoman control and during Manuel Palaiologos’s rule in the city in
1382–7, Thessalonica came under direct siege. After Manuel’s
departure, the citizens opened the city gates to Murad I on 9 April
1387.53 After some fifteen years of Turkish occupation, following the
Ottoman defeat at the battle of Ankara, Thessalonica was restored to
Byzantine administration in 1403 and for some years enjoyed a
peaceful existence. Before long, however, Ottoman pressure resumed
and Thessalonica was once more besieged in 1416. A new blockade
by sultan Murad II (1421–1451) in 1422 pushed the city into despair.
We read in the diary of a clerk who worked in the Cathedral in
Thessalonica, written between 1419–38, that in June 1422:

‘Àqislâ toË duseboËr ùAlouq‚tg toË aÇh—mtou tØm ToÉqjym

pejke´shg  Hessakom´jg diƒ toË Lpaq‚jou toË Bqam—yr jaμ
a²wlakyt´shg jaμ ‡pasa  Jakalaqi‚’54 [by order of the impious Murad

21
 the ruler of the Turks, Thessalonica was blockaded by Bürak, son of Evren, and
the whole of Kalamaria was captured].

A short chronicle even implies that the death of Manuel II on 21 July

1425 was the result of the tribulations of his beloved city:

t d˜ toËto lah×m jËq Lamouk À basikeÊr tƒ t¡r Hessakom´jgr

keipohulŸsar p—hame.55 [and so, Lord Manuel the Basileus, learning this
(news) relevant to Thessalonica, having fainted he died].

Increasingly it was felt that the Byzantines could not hold the city, so
after much deliberation, it was transferred to Venetian administration.
On 14 September 1423, the Venetians received an exhausted and
demoralised city.56 They were unsuccessful in defending it. In the
spring of 1430, the Ottoman Sultan, Murad II, laid siege to
Thessalonica once more. Weakened and largely depopulated,
Thessalonica was unable to resist the assault and it fell to the Turks on
29 March 1430.57
Turning now to the internal tensions, the period that saw
Thessalonica’s increasing independence also saw a sharp widening of
class division. These were made plain in the Zealot uprising of 1342
when the people of the city had attacked the property of the wealthy
and set up their own government.58 With the end of the Zealot regime
in 1350, it seemed in a superficial way that the first threat to the
stability of Thessalonica was extinguished, but this was not
necessarily the case. The causes of the disruption that had led to the
Zealot regime, namely inequality in the distribution of wealth,
poverty, human suffering, usury, lack of co-ordination and a
breakdown of civic communication and of any feeling of belonging,
combined with a hard-hearted and unbending aristocracy, were still
present in the city. Good government since the days of Anna of Savoy
and continuing commercial activity had managed to soften the blow,
but the underlying tensions were apparent, when the other two threats,
the external enemy and the religious debate, put unity to the test.59
The strong support the Zealot uprising found in the general
public was an expression of the feeling amongst the citizens that there
was a need for social justice and for transparency in public affairs.60
Long after the revolution of the Zealots had failed, the opinion that

22
there was a need for social reform lingered within Thessalonica.
Manuel Palaiologos himself had felt the need to take steps towards it,
and there is evidence of such ideas in the writings of Kavasilas,
Palamas, and the three last metropolitans. Kavasilas is especially
strong in the language he uses, and very concerned to denounce the
practice of usury, as he believed that money lending led to corruption,
social imbalance and exploitation of the poor.61 As part of his
programme for change, Manuel appropriated church property for the
defence of the city in 1369 and 1371 and then later in 1390. In 1371,
for instance, he gave temporarily half the monastic property of Mount
Athos and the monasteries around Thessalonica to soldiers.62
Thessalonica witnessed division among its citizens but also
among its rulers. The disharmony is exemplified by the relationship
between Manuel II and his nephew John VII, who ruled in
Thessalonica between 1403 and 1408. In April 1390, when Manuel’s
father John V was still emperor, John had seized Constantinople and had
held the capital until September when Manuel had arrived with a fleet to
evict him.63 John had then fled to the Ottoman sultan but had later been
reconciled to Manuel to the extent that Manuel had left John in charge of
Constantinople in 1399. That was the time when Manuel departed for
Italy to seek help for the besieged capital.64 The chronicler Doukas,
admittedly a late and unreliable source, praises Manuel for his wisdom
and conciliatory spirit in a time that the presence of Bayezid outside the
gates of Constantinople posed a grave danger for the empire. By making
peace with John VII he took away Bayezid’s diplomatic weapon.
Doukas calls him ‘sÉmmour’ and ‘paide´ar lestÁr’ in admiration
for his actions. He says that the emperor came to a very good decision:
‘boukm boukeÉetai sovyt‚tgm jaμ l‚ka sumetijŸm’6 5 [he
comes to a wise decision, and most accommodating]. He describes
Manuel as a man filled with pity at the poverty of his people and
worried about the sustainability of the empire in a time of such
extreme need:

À d˜ basikeÊr WqistiamijÖtator Úm jaμ lelmgl—mor tƒ he¶a jaμ •m

vqomŸsei lestÁr, ÀqØm t ÈpŸjoom ‡pam takaipyqoÉlemom ÈpÂ
•mde´arû lÁdior cƒq s´tou Èp˜q tƒ e·josi mol´slataû jaμ poË
mÁlisla; o·mou te Àlo´yr jaμ …kkym macja´ym tqovØm ke¶xir. •n

23
 m‚cjgr À joimÂr kaÂr e²r pist´am jaμ pqodos´am patq´dor –Öqa,
jaμ aÇtÂr •nolokoce¶to jahù –j‚stgm Ûqam te jaμ l—qam tâ heâ,
k—cym îlŸ loi c—moito Wqist˜ basikeË, lgd˜ joushŸty •m to¶r
pe´qoir ™hmesi tØm WqistiamØm Åti •m l—qair Lamouk toË
basik—yr paqedÁhg  pÁkir jaμ tƒ •m aÇt« ‡cia jaμ t´lia sjeÉg to¶r
seb—si jaμ wqistol‚woirï66 [and the Basileus being most Christian and
remembering divine things, and being filled with good sense, he saw his people
all being tormented by poverty; one modius of wheat was about twenty coins;
and where were there coins to be found? And there was a similar dearth of wine
and other necessary foods. From dire need the common people were at the point
of possible disloyalty and betrayal, and he (i.e. Manuel) confessed to God every
hour and day, by saying: ‘do not let it be done to me, Christ the King, nor to be
heard amongst all the nations of the Christians that in the days of Manuel the
basileus the City was surrendered and also the holy and solemn objects that are
in it, to the unholy people and foes of Christ’].

This is how he made the decision to go to the West in search of funds.

He first went to the Peloponnese where he left ‘tm d—spoimam sÊm
to¶r t—jmoir •je¶û e»we cƒq tÂm ùIy‚mmgm bq—vor jaμ tÂm
HeÁdyqom mŸpiom’67 [his lady with the children there; for he had John
who was only a child and Theodore an infant]. His son John mentioned
here is later to be the Emperor John VIII. Unfortunately, Manuel’s trust
in his nephew was betrayed. John VII took advantage of his absence
abroad to enter into negotiations both with the king of France and the
Ottoman sultan to hand over Constantinople.68 In the event, the defeat of
Bayezid at Ankara in July 1402 removed the threat to Constantinople
and allowed Manuel to return in June 1403. One of his first actions,
according to Doukas, was to exile John to the island of Lemnos. 69
The exile proved to be a short one. After Bayezid’s defeat, one
of his sons, Suleyman, had made his way to Adrianople and taken
control of the Ottoman territories in the Balkans. Eager to cement his
precarious position, Suleyman made contact with John VII, who was at
that time still ruling in Constantinople, and offered advantageous terms.
In a treaty concluded in early 1403, Suleyman returned to the Byzantines
the city of Thessalonica, which had been in Turkish hands since 1387. 70
Once he was back in Constantinople, Manuel II had to decide who was
to govern Thessalonica, which was still isolated from the capital by
territory under Ottoman control. None of his sons was old enough to
take on the task and his brother Theodore was despot of the Morea. He

24
therefore, probably reluctantly, appointed John VII as ruler of
Thessalonica.
Despite the tension between them, Manuel and John must have
been bound by a written contract of peace. Symeon of Thessalonica
mentions certain sumh¡jai (agreements) that were drawn up between
Manuel and John. Such formal articles of agreement binding the two
men must have been recorded back in 1399, but do not survive. Still, a
document of September 1405 issued by Manuel makes reference to
some of the clauses of the original document.71 There must have been
some formal procedure by which Manuel adopted John as his son, that
would have been reflected in that document. Symeon of Thessalonica
refers to such a relationship between them in more general terms. As part
of this he mentions Manuel’s warning to John not to be cut off in
Selymvria where he would be helpless in the hands of Bayezid: ‘TÁte
to´mum À vikeusebr Lamouk tÂm dekvidoËm ùIy‚mmgm eÇseb¡
basik—a (...) jaμ peikƒr dewÁlemom, •cmyj×r Õr t« Sgkubq´‹
jaμ aÇtÂm •mapojkeish¡mai l—kkomta £ dÁkß diavhaq¡mai,
dialgmÉei Õr patq oÑtor tâ u³â’ 72 [And then moreover the pious
Manuel (warned) his nephew John the pious Basileus (…) and as he
(John) was receiving threats, and as Manuel knew that he might either be
isolated in Selymvria or be destroyed by deception, he sent word to him
as a father would to a son]. The understanding that they managed to
come to, is portrayed by Symeon in Christian terms as the peace of the
Lord. Nevertheless there is a clear reference to their old fierceness
(l¡mim) that they had in their hearts:

‘(...) WqistoË sumeqcoËmtor, t¡r kghoËr jaμ lÁmgr Ãmtyr e²qŸmgr

sp—mdomtai pqÂr kkŸkour, Õr jakÂm ¦m, jaμ tƒ Èp˜q –autØm jaμ tØm
Èp we´qa pistØm vqomoËsiû jaμ cimÖsjousim o³ t¡r e²qŸmgr lahgtaμ jaμ
doËkoi toË e²qgmijoË ùIgsoË jaμ KÁcou HeoË, o¼om t t¡r e²qŸmgr
jakÂm, jaμ pakaiƒm l˜m p‚sam pob‚kkomtai l¡mim, œm d˜ c´momtai •m
Wqistâ, jaμ Õr ¦sam tâ c—mei te jaμ t« p´stei, patq jaμ u³Âr
pode´jmumtai’73 [(…) With the contribution of Christ, they stipulate the true and
only peace towards one another, as is good, and they have in mind their own
interests and these of those under them; and they gained knowledge these students
of peace and attendants of the peaceful Jesus and Word of God as to which is the
good of peace; and they rid themselves of any of their old fierceness towards each
other, and so they become one in Christ, and as they were by blood, they prove
now to be by faith: father and son].

25
The verb sp—mdomtai here may actually refer to a formal treaty as well
as informal cordiality.
The next five years saw a distinct tension between public
concord and private antagonism. In theory, John VII enjoyed Manuel’s
entire confidence. In a letter to his friend Constantine Ivankos, written
during this time, Manuel described John as ‘an excellent charioteer who
knows how to drive a chariot and a pilot seated at the tiller whose nod all
obey’. In private on the other hand, Manuel retained deep feelings of
resentment against his nephew and what he regarded as his treachery in
the past. In a passage from another work that he later deleted, Manuel
launched into a bitter attack on his nephew accusing him of plotting to
destroy the empire.74 The tension was only relieved in September 1408
when John VII prematurely died.75
The final cause of internal disunity was the theological
controversy over hesychasm. The nature of hesychasm is discussed
and debated by scholars to our day, and is studied with interest for its
spiritual merit and its far-reaching implications. Hesychasm or
hesychia is a term that had been used before the time we are
examining in order to denote a devotion to the eremitic life. John
Klimakos (c. 579–c. 649) had illustrated in great detail the value of
such a path and the fruits of the spiritual labour. But in the period we
are studying the term became specifically related to a group of monks
who professed to be able to experience the Uncreated Light of the
Transfiguration of the Lord on Mount Tabor, through a combination
of bodily techniques and a method of intense prayer. This raised the
question of the orthodoxy of the said hesychasm amongst the wider
ecclesiastical community. Although these practices were not new, they
came under scrutiny during the 1330s when Barlaam of Calabria made
an outspoken attack on them and Gregory Palamas wrote in their
defence. This had to be resolved in a painful way through lengthy
ecclesiastical councils, and the process tormented the empire for many
years. 76
One aspect of the controversy was the rift over attitudes
towards classical education. Though many of the hesychast leaders
were highly educated, there was suspicion surrounding classical
knowledge as a valid discipline for a Christian mind. They drew a
sharp distinction between the inner, spiritual (™syhem) and outer,

26
classical (™nyhem) learning, with pronounced favour for the former.
Even when the latter was tolerated, certainly the inferiority of classics
to patristic works was asserted. 77 Palamas denounced Barlaam
because: ‘•paime¶r toÊr õEkkgmar jaμ haulas´our pojake¶r’78
[you praise the Hellenes (i.e. the ancient Greeks) and call them
excellent]. By contrast, the anti-hesychast Nikephoros Gregoras was
contemptuous of Palamas’s rejection of classical learning. 79

The nature of Byzantine society meant that a theological controversy

of that scale could not leave the empire unaffected. Thessalonica was
at the heart of the storm. As many of the hesychast leaders were based
in Thessalonica, or had links there, the impact of this on the city was
very much felt.80 They had close links to the monasteries of Mount
Athos, the centres from which hesychast ideas were disseminated. The
links and the exchange of ideas between the monastic centres and
Thessalonica are also reflected in the art and decoration of the
churches.81 Thessalonica’s later metropolitans were heavily influenced
by the Athonite tradition, and many had served in Mount Athos first.
They were all hesychasts, and politically some of them, though in
varying degrees, took a defeatist position. For those who did, their
main concern was the maintenance of the rights of the clergy, the
smooth operation of the Church, and the Orthodox celebration of the
Christian rite. That made it easier for them to collude with the pro-
Ottoman faction within the walls that lobbied for a dignified
resignation to what they saw as an inevitable future. More so, some of
them felt that the Ottomans would act as protectors of Orthodoxy
against the Catholic Venetians. This was not the case with the fiery
Metropolitan Symeon, who managed to be both pro-Venetian and
anti-Catholic, but also anti-Ottoman.
How did these pressures effect the cult of St Demetrius? The
citizens of Thessalonica had always put their hopes in him. But during
the last years of the Byzantine Empire, when the faith of the people in
the political and military might of Byzantium was fading, the hope
that St Demetrius was going to somehow rescue his city from
misfortune once again led to even more desperate and intensified
praise. This was not just the desperate practice of humble peasants
acting in isolation. During his stay in Thessalonica during the 1380s,

27
Manuel II Palaiologos joined his people in expressing their hope that
the saint might intervene and save the day. Metropolitan Symeon was
convinced that Demetrius had struck down Sultan Mehmed I in 1421
and that he had miraculously supplied the city with food.82
In that light it is not surprising that the image of St Demetrius
was often used as that of the perfect leader, the need for one being
accentuated by the political instability and uncertainty. The military
saints Michael (the Archangel), George, Mercurius and Theodore
enjoyed similar veneration for their comparable qualities. It is
indicative that Gregoras wrote an encomium jointly dedicated to the
praise of saints Theodore, George and Demetrius. The fame of these
saints was by no means confined to Thessalonica or even to the
Byzantine empire. They were also revered in the Catholic world and
were credited with the stunning victory of the First Crusade at Antioch
in June 1098 when they were allegedly seen taking part in the battle.83
The deliverance of the body (from one’s enemies) and of the
soul (from transgression) were perceived as one and the same thing.84
Military virtue was therefore accentuated, as it resembled a virtuous
soul. Some emperors themselves during the fourteenth century were
using the allusion in their favour, as they were given the title of
Christomimetes, or Mimetes Christou, i.e. Imitator of Christ.85 They
were portrayed as imitating Christ in delivering the soul from evil,
while they were supposed to be demonstrating that by being victorious
over their enemies. In the encomia, St Demetrius is often referred to as
an imitator of Christ, his virtuous life likened to Christ’s, and his
martyrdom likened to the Passion. His imitation of Christ is in fact a
major theme to be found again and again in the encomia and also in
hymnography.

28
Chapter One
Intertextuality in the Encomia

The Spartan, borne upon his shield,

Was not more free. (BYRON)

This chapter falls into two parts. In the first, the twenty-six encomia
under consideration and their authors will be examined briefly in turn.
Their structure and authorship will be examined to determine their
individual qualities. Then another issue will be addressed that affects
all these works, that of genre and the influence of classical models.
Turning first to structure and authorship, it seems logical to
examine the encomia in chronological order and to begin with that by
Theodore Metochites (1270–1332). Metochites was an important
figure who played a central role in both the political and cultural life
of his time. He was a prominent statesman who became L—car
Kocoh—tgr or Grand Logothete to the emperor Andronikos II
Palaiologos (1282–1328). He was also an art patron who sponsored
the refurbishment and redecoration of the monastery of St Saviour in
Chora in Constantinople, and one of the foremost intellectuals of the
so-called Palaiologan Renaissance.1 The encomium to St Demetrius,
however, was written when Metochites was a young man long before
he achieved his eminent position and when his Greek style had yet to
achieve its later renowned polish. It was written in gratitude to the
saint whom Metochites believed had cured him of an illness which he
had contracted abroad, perhaps on a diplomatic trip, and is one of the
longest of the late Byzantine encomia.2 This is very much the
production of a Constantinopolitan intellectual. Metochites gives his
audience a retelling of the saint’s life and death but does so in Attic
Greek. His intellectual interests are reflected in the content, especially
a dialogue that he includes between Demetrius and the Emperor
Maximian on the nature of time.

29
 Nikephoros Gregoras (c.1293–c.1361) was a pupil of
Metochites and was also a major figure of the Palaiologan intellectual
revival. His interests were extraordinarily wide-ranging and included
astronomy, mathematics, philosophy, music and theology. He was
also the author of a History, which covered the years 1204 to about
1360. He played an important role in the Hesychast controversy of the
1340s, becoming the foremost critic and opponent of Palamite
theology.3 His encomium is also a production of youth, probably
dating from before 1330 and long before his attack on Hesychasm. It
was written, he said, at the behest of the citizens of Thessalonica and
he may have been invited to read it in public in Thessalonica, long
after its composition.4 Like that of Metochites, it reflects its author’s
intellectual interests, but in a different way. Gregoras brings numerous
figures from the classical and Hellenistic past into his encomium,
some more central to the work than others. The most prominent of
them is Alexander the Great, who is employed in various ways,
mainly to be compared unfavourably with St Demetrius.
Like Gregoras, Gregory Palamas (1296–1359) was also a
pupil of Metochites. Unlike the laymen Metochites and Gregoras,
however, Palamas became a monk of Mount Athos at the age of
twenty and was on the opposing side in the theological controversies
of the 1340s. His Triads in Defence of the Holy Hesychasts sought to
champion hesychast practices against the criticisms of Gregoras and
others.5 His encomium to St Demetrius was written when he was
Metropolitan of Thessalonica (1347–59) and was given as a sermon
on 27 October, the feast of St Nestor.6 Although Palamas had the same
educational background as Gregoras, his encomium is very different.
The main foil to St Demetrius is not Alexander the Great but King
David, reflecting Palamas’s rejection of worldly education. As a
metropolitan of Thessalonica, rather than a Constantinopolitan
intellectual, his encomium reflected the local topography as part of St
Demetrius’s cult.
Constantine Harmenopoulos (fl.1345–1359) is no lesser figure
than Metochites, Gregoras or Palamas. It is sometimes forgotten that
the law of the new Modern Greek State was based on his Hexabiblos
(see below). A layman and a lawyer, he worked as a judge and
Nomophylax in Thessalonica during the mid-fourteenth century. He

30
was an anti-hesychast alongside Gregoras and he is the author of a
relatively unknown tome against Gregory Palamas, anonymously
edited in the seventeenth century by Leon Allatius of Chios.7 In his
career he had to deal with some legal aspects of the hesychast
controversy in which Nikos Veis praises him for his great sense of
justice.8 He is best known for having compiled a corpus of secular law
in 1345, the Hexabiblos or Procheiron Nomôn, and a compilation of
canon law, the Epitome Kanonon (1346).9 He was, however, the
author of a number of non-legal works such as two Lexicons on
Syntax, treatises on heresy and fasting, and two respective catalogues
on the offices held in the palace and in the church. His encomium to
St Demetrius is amongst his most beautiful works. There is no clue as
to when or why Harmenopoulos wrote it. This is a very localised
encomium, for it focuses on one church in Thessalonica, the
Acheiropoietos, and on the type of veneration that St Demetrius
enjoyed there.
Philotheos Kokkinos (c.1300–c.1378) was a pupil and disciple
of Gregory Palamas. As patriarch of Constantinople (1354–5,
1364–76) he was responsible for bringing about Palamas’s
canonisation in 1368 and for persecuting the remaining opponents of
Palamite theology.1 0 He was a prolific writer of homilies and
hagiography as well as of hymns. His encomium was written between
1367 and 1372, that is to say during the very period when he was
ensuring that Palamas’s teaching became central to Orthodoxy.11 The
focal point for this very lengthy encomium is John 15.17: ‘These
things I command you, that ye love one another’; Kokkinos expounds
on how Demetrius brought this commandment to life in his
martyrdom.
Nicholas Kavasilas Chamaëtos (c.1322–c.1390) was a native
of Thessalonica and a member of one of the most distinguished
families of the city both on his father’s and mother’s sides. About
Nicholas’s father we know only from extant letters.12 The main
influence on his formative years was his maternal uncle Neilos,
metropolitan of Thessalonica (1361–1363), patriarch of
Constantinople (1380–1388), who paid for his education and from
whom he took his surname of Kavasilas, in preference to
Chamaëtos.13 He was a layman and probably a lawyer,14 and a prolific

31
author. His best known work is his Commentary on the Divine Liturgy
but he also wrote a devotional manual, The Life in Christ, as well as
sermons, philosophical works and writings on social justice, including
usury.15
Kavasilas wrote three encomia to St Demetrius. The first was
a very precocious composition, written when he was a student in
Constantinople in the early 1340s and the second soon after, the latter
being a reworking of the former. These first two are enthusiastic
works of praise, with emphasis on Demetrius’s desire for martyrdom
and love of Christ.16 It is not known when the third was composed, but
it probably appeared much later than the first two, to judge by the
more mature style.17 It is quite conventional in content but remarkable
for its style. It is distinguished by being the only one of the encomia
studied here that is in verse (dactylic hexameter) and is Homeric in
idiom. Demetrius is praised as if he were a war hero. The third
encomium is the most painstaking and technically demanding because
of its structure but at the same time by its very nature perhaps the least
spontaneous.
Isidore Glavas was Metropolitan of Thessalonica (1380–1384
and 1386–1396), his period of office coinciding with Manuel
Palaiologos’s defence of the city against the Turks in 1382–7.
Although Isidore urged the citizens to support Manuel, he himself left
the beleaguered city in 1384 and resided for a time in Constantinople.
After the city’s fall to the Turks in 1387, Isidore travelled to Asia
Minor to negotiate with the sultan (on the behalf of the citizens) and
by 1393 he had returned to Thessalonica.18 He wrote no fewer than
five encomia to St Demetrius, the last two of which can be dated by
the indictions which Isidore gave in the title to 1393.19 They all
connect the saint with various pastoral themes, such as the monastic
vocation, ingratitude to God and the duty of rulers. Demetrius is
elevated as the perfect example to be followed in all these cases.
The monk Makarios Choumnos (fl. c.1360–1382) was the
founder and first abbot of the monastery of Nea Moni in Thessalonica,
which became an important spiritual centre in the late fourteenth and
early fifteenth centuries.20 He wrote only one encomium, the date of
whose composition is not known, but which was clearly designed to
be read out for the edification of the monks of Nea Moni on St

32
Demetrius’s feast day. A very short work, it constitutes the last part of
a larger oration on peace.21 Its main theme is the poor conduct of the
monks and Choumnos’s appeal to the saint for help. Not many of
Choumnos’s writings survive but Vitalien Laurent has edited some
more of his works, which puts his encomium in context. From them it
is apparent that he addressed the brethren on a number of occasions
and took his role of leadership seriously.22
Gabriel of Thessalonica was a monk of Nea Moni and a
disciple of Makarios Choumnos. Moving to Constantinople, he
became abbot of St Saviour in Chora, then Metropolitan of Chalcedon
(1389–1397). He was then appointed Metropolitan of Thessalonica in
succession to Isidore Glavas, a post which he held until either 1416 or
1419.23 He wrote seven encomia which, like those of Isidore, link the
saint to various moral themes. For example, in one of them, entitled
‘úOlik´a peqμ c‚pgr jaμ •m tâ t—kei e²r tÂm lecakol‚qtuqa
jaμ haulatouqcÂm DglŸtqiom’ [Homily on love and towards the
end on the great martyr and miracle-worker Demetrius],24 the theme of
Christian love is prominent. Stylistically, however, Gabriel’s encomia
are far simpler and certainly much shorter. For example, themes
include despair and overdue concern with everyday matters, neither of
which, as one might expect, St Demetrius was ever guilty of.25
Demetrius Chrysoloras (c.1380–c.1420) was a member of a
prominent Constantinopolitan literary family that also produced the
scholar and diplomat Manuel Chrysoloras (d. 1415). He was a personal
friend of Manuel II Palaiologos and a member of the emperor’s literary
circle. He was the recipient of several letters from the emperor and the
author of a laudatory work of rhetoric comparing Manuel to former
emperors. He seems also to have shared Manuel II’s theological views
and to have had little sympathy with those who advocated union with the
western Church. As well as his encomium, he also wrote a thanksgiving
speech in classical language in honour of the Virgin, protector of
Constantinople, celebrating the defeat of Bayezid, at Ankara in 1402.26
He was a literary figure of the time and a well-respected statesman. He
must have been a charismatic speaker, and it is recorded that when in
August 1409 he spoke on the subject of peace within the church, his
words would have ‘softened a stone’27. The respect that he enjoyed
amongst his contemporaries is also evident in the two letters addressed

33
to him by John Chortasmenos, where also the classical knowledge and
shared interest can be sensed. Mentions of Demosthenes, Euclid,
Ptolemy, Homer, and Socrates give a flavour of the kind of
conversations that would have taken place between them.28
The encomium by Demetrius Chrysoloras was probably
written when he was living in Thessalonica between 1403 and 1408 as
the mesazon or first minister of John VII Palaiologos. The work opens
with conventional praises for the saint and concludes with equally
conventional remarks on the myrrh that exuded from the tomb. The
distinguishing feature of this encomium, however, is the long dialogue
between Demetrius and the Emperor Maximian on the nature of the
deity, which owes a great deal to Lucian.29
Symeon of Thessalonica was archbishop of the city from
either 1416 or 1419, in succession to Gabriel, until 1429, the year of
his death. He was not only an eyewitness to the last days before the
Ottoman conquest of Thessalonica but also an influential leader who
was able, to a degree, to sway opinion and policy. The chronicler John
Anagnostes had great admiration for him and interpreted his death as a
sign from God, who wished to spare the archbishop from the horrors
that the rest of the population was shortly to experience.30 Symeon
wrote two encomia to St Demetrius. The first is quite short and
conventional in content but highly laudatory and poetic in nature.31
The second, which was written most likely between 1427 and 1428, is
quite different.32 Entitled KÁcor úIstoqijÁr (Historical Speech), it
recounts recent events in the history of Thessalonica from the first
Turkish capture of the city in 1387 to the Venetian takeover and
administration (1423–8). St Demetrius is credited with various
miracles that took place during this time from supplying food in times
of dearth to striking down a Turkish leader. Symeon, like Kokkinos,
was also a prolific writer of hymns.33
The final author under consideration is George Kourtesis
Scholarios (c.1400–c.1472). He was a prominent intellectual and
judge in Constantinople during the 1430s and 1440s. A great admirer
of Latin theology and especially the works of St Augustine, Scholarios
attended the Council of Florence in 1438–9 where the Union of the
Churches was agreed. Later, however, Scholarios became a passionate
opponent of the Union of Florence and in about 1450 became a monk

34
with the name Gennadios. After the fall of Constantinople in 1453,
Sultan Mehmed II appointed him Patriarch Gennadios II of
Constantinople, an office that he held on three occasions (1454–9,
1463 and 1464–5) before spending his last years in the Monastery of
Timios Prodromos at Serres.34 His encomium to St Demetrius survives
only in a fragment, albeit an autograph. Theodore Zeses suggests that
it might have been written after 1453, perhaps in October 1456.35 This
dark encomium berates the sinfulness of Christians, their lack of piety,
their drunkenness, their reluctance to go to church, and their
worldliness. Demetrius is the antithesis of these vices, and the
torments of Hell that await those who do not follow his example are
described in graphic detail.

This summary of the authors and their work has shown how great a
variety there is among the encomia. Perhaps the most obvious division
among these authors is the extent to which they used classical Greek
style and analogies in their work. Some did not do so at all. Symeon of
Thessalonica, for instance, composed his encomia in engagingly
transparent Greek, without classical allusions or rhetorical devices.36
This absence may reflect either lack of classical education or
deliberate choice. Philotheos Kokkinos, Isidore Glavas and George
Scholarios were all educated men, but they appear to have chosen not
to bring in many classical references. A few rare examples occur in
Kokkinos’s work. He cites a passage from Plutarch’s Life
of Alexander, where Alexander complains to his peers that his father
is so successful in war that he will leave nothing for him to achieve
when he gains power. Kokkinos uses the passage to compare the
desire for glory that Alexander showed to the desire of supernatural
glory that St Demetrius achieved. Curiously, the same passage is cited
by Nikephoros Gregoras, though in a different context.37 No such
classical references appear in the encomia of Makarios Choumnos and
Gabriel of Thessalonica, who may not have received any higher
education at all.
It is, however, not with Choumnos and Gabriel that the rest of
this chapter is concerned but with those that did allow ancient Greek
language and models to influence their work, namely, Theodore
Metochites, Nikephoros Gregoras, Gregory Palamas, Constantine

35
Harmenopoulos, Nicholas Kavasilas and Demetrius Chrysoloras. In
order to appreciate their encomia as a literary form and the historical
information they contain, one must first understand the genre in which
they were written. These authors, like the authors of most Byzantine
literature, were the product of an educational system based on the
literature of ancient Greece and which instilled into students the need
to write in the style of antiquity. What the Byzantines admired in the
works of those authors the most, was the language. The many didactic,
pedagogical works, often humorous, often in verse, that can be found
within the large and varied body of Byzantine literature, and can be
said to be minor in literary significance or impact, are due to this
strong admiration for the polished and unblemished language of the
classics. Byzantine authors had formed a canon of classical works that
they studied with great persistence. When it came to their own
writings they desired to follow classical prototypes to the letter. They
imitated their vocabulary and syntax and even imported entire
sentences into their own work with undiminished enthusiasm. It is
amazing that with Byzantine values being so remote from those of the
authors of classical and Hellenistic times, and indeed from the
mythical material of Homer, Hesiod or Pindar, Byzantine intellectuals
assimilated the entire body of classical literature with such great
success and sought throughout the intellectual history of Byzantium to
mould it into their own world view.38
Still, as a result of its classicizing language, Byzantine
literature has more than occasionally been accused of artificiality and
of being simply a slavish imitation of the writers of the past. The most
celebrated exponent of this point of view is Cyril Mango. Mango sees
in the engagement of the Byzantines with the past nothing but an ‘antique
mask’. He takes pleasure in quoting a statement of Romilly Jenkins (a
statement that he does not dispute) that Byzantine literature ‘(…)
produced hardly any educated writing which can be read with pleasure
for its literary merit alone’. Mango not only views ‘Byzantine literature as
a distorting mirror’ but also adds the word ‘dim’ to the distorting mirror
of his title echoing St Paul.39 His opinion of Byzantine literature is
perhaps the most famous and far-reaching, and the views of non-
specialists on the matter are certainly affected by it in a major way. It is

36
only very recently that there has been some evidence of a reversal of this
belief, most notably in a recent volume edited by Elizabeth Jeffreys.40
The main charge levelled against Byzantine literature by its
critics is that it slavishly imitates classical models, even occasionally
lifting entire passages and repeating them word for word. An oft-cited
example is the way that descriptions of outbreaks of plague in
Byzantine writings are taken directly from Thucydides.41 Here, it will
be argued that classical language, ideas, themes and personalities are
not simply mimicked in the encomia but are used creatively in a
distinctive blend of classical and Christian themes. The longest and
most complex amongst those examples will be examined last: this
chapter ends with one of the most impressive passages in the entire
collection, in which the statesman and philosopher Demetrius
Chrysoloras recreates a work by Lucian. It will be used to show how
Chrysoloras reworks the themes of the Lucianic dialogue to deal with
contemporary Christian ideas of worship and sacrifice. Myth and
classical allusion is used by him creatively, and the same high degree
of inspiration and skill can be found in many of the authors under
examination.

To start with, it is worth stating which classical authors were most

influential on the authors of the encomia. One important model was
the classical tradition of rhetorical speeches, particularly those by the
celebrated Isocrates (436–338 BC), one of the ten Attic Orators, and
the later Hermogenes of Tarsus (AD c.160–225), a contemporary of
Marcus Aurelius. The link has been analysed by George Kustas, who
outlines the Hermogenian principles, summarized in seven qualities of
style. These are: a) savŸmeia (clarity), b) n´yla kÁcou (loftiness),
c) j‚kkor (beauty), d) coqcÁtgr (conciseness), e) ¦hor (ethos), f)
kŸheia (truth), and g) deimÁtgr (force). He also draws attention to
the devices of ™jvqasir (description), diŸcgla (narrative), and
h—sir (statement of general interest in the form of a question).42 Other
genres and authors were influential, particularly the philosophers,
notably Plato and Aristotle, the historians Herodotus and Thucydides
and the playwrights, Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides.43
Perhaps the most important model of all was Homer, and
especially the Iliad. Homer’s works were intensely studied and read

37
throughout the Byzantine period. Robert Browning has given a
survey of work done on the relationship between the Homeric epics
and Byzantine literature.44 Most studies that explore the influence of
Homer are engaged with earlier Byzantine literature, as is that by
Agne Vasilikopoulou-Ioannidou, on the twelfth century.45 The many
commentaries written on Homer by the Byzantines must not surprise
us, as the Homeric epics served as manuals for the instruction
of Byzantine schoolboys. In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries
notable figures such as John Pediasimos Pothos and Manuel
Moschopoulos composed such commentaries.46 Yet it is from a work
of vernacular Greek that Browning selects his most moving example
of Homeric allusion. In the late Byzantine poem Achilleid, the heroine
Polyxena, whose eventual death is central to the plot, says to Achilles:
‘Pat—qar jaμ lgt—qa lou  aÇhemt´a sou e»mai/ jaμ dekvoμ
jaμ dekvaμ jaμ vØr lou jaμ fyŸ lou’ [Your lordship is my
father and my mother, and my brothers and my sisters, and my light
and life]. This cannot but bring to mind Andromache’s evocative
appeal to Hector in Book Six of the Iliad, at their last meeting:
‘õEjtoq, tƒq sÉ lo´ •ssi patq jaμ pÁtmia lŸtgq/ d˜
jas´cmgtor, sÊ d— loi hakeqÂr paqajo´tgr’ [Hector, yet, you
are my father and my revered mother and my sibling, and my youthful
companion in bed].47 In Andromache’s case this statement a short
while prior to Hector’s death on the field of battle represents not only
her emotional commitment but also the fact that her family were all
killed in the wars with the Greeks. This is an instance in Homer that
has been often highlighted in support of the view that there is an anti-
war theme underlining the Iliad. So the author of the Achilleid
makes reference to a very powerful passage, which discusses
interdependence, duty, valour and sacrifice. This beautiful poem is not
a retelling of the life of the Homeric Achilles but a Byzantine
romance. Yet instances like this reflect its author’s knowledge of the
Homeric epics and his ability to adapt passages of dramatic intensity
to suit his narrative. Passages with a similar strength of association
will concern us later in the discussion of the encomia.

Having established the type of models that Byzantine authors used, we

can now turn to examine how our classicising encomiasts employed

38
them. The first example will be of a minimalist classiciser, Gregory
Palamas. Like Nikephoros Gregoras, Palamas had pursued his
classical education to the highest level and was therefore as deeply
imbued with ancient Greek literature as any of the others discussed
here. Philotheos Kokkinos in the encomium he wrote for Palamas not
only praises him for his high education in all subjects but also records
the praise of Metochites for him in the presence of the Emperor
Andronikos II. Metochites apparently said that Aristotle himself
would have offered the young Palamas praise. The incident, which
happened in 1313, was found by Kokkinos in Palamas’s work Against
Gregoras and repeated in his encomium.48
Although classical models are not as prominent a feature of
Palamas’s work as they are of those of Metochites or Chrysoloras,
perhaps because Palamas wished to avoid the charge of pandering to
worldly wisdom, nevertheless, they are still there. One example relates
to the customary way to start an encomium. An ancient Greek topos
when praising a personality was the expression of humility in view of
the formidable task of praise. This is particularly clear in Xenophon’s
life of the Spartan King Agesilaus II, who reigned in the period of
Spartan supremacy after the end of the Peloponnesian War. The virtue
of Agesilaus is highlighted by Xenophon as something that makes it
difficult to write fitting praise: ‘O»da l—m, Åti t¡r ùAcgsik‚ou
qet¡r te jaμ dÁngr oÇ ðŒdiom …niom ™paimom cq‚xai, Ålyr
dù •cweiqgt—omû oÇ cƒq …m jakØr ™woi, e² Åti tek—yr mq
cahÂr •c—meto, diƒ toËto oÇd˜ leiÁmym tucw‚moi •pa´mym.’49
[I know that to write a eulogy of the virtue and glory of Agesilaus is
not easy but it must be attempted; for it is not right that a perfect man
who has become so good should receive less praise for that very
reason]. This is a template that is followed in many of the encomia to
St Demetrius, where the same apprehension before the daunting task
ahead is indicated. Gregory Palamas is one of the authors who use this
template. He says that despite his weakness in his ability to give
adequate praise, he is moved by his love for the saint to speak up: ‘úO
l—m toi pÁhor •pa´qei k—ceim pqÂr dÉmalim jaμ À jaiqÂr
•pifgte¶ tÂm ja´qiom kÁcom’50 [Verily, my desire lifts me to speak
to the best of my ability and the moment asks for the vital words].

39
 Palamas’s classical background blends into other parts of his
speech too. Two of the most striking of those instances will be
examined here. The Greek concept of aristeia, a word to describe the
exploits of a hero, which is dominant in ancient literature, is employed
by him to denote the excellence of St Demetrius by using it to refer to
his accomplishments: ‘tƒr qiste´ar’.51 To show the depth of the
word aristeia, some examples of its use in ancient literature will
follow. In Sophocles’s play Ajax, the eponymous hero refers to the
jq‚tor qiste´ar [a supremacy of bravery] for which the weapons
of Achilles should have been awarded to him: ‘ja´toi tosoËtÁm cù
•nep´stashai dojØû/ e² fØm ùAwikkeÊr tØm Åpkym tØm Þm
p—qi/ jq´meim ™lekke jq‚tor qiste´ar tim´, oÇj …m tir aÌtù
™laqxem …kkor mtù •loË’5 2 [and I know as much as this: if
Achilles were alive and was to award these weapons for supremacy in
bravery, no one would have seized them before me]. Instead, the
weapons were given to Odysseus, an event that led to feelings of
being devalued and eventually to the suicide of Ajax. The Alexandrian
philologists who are thought to be responsible for the division of the
Iliad and the Odyssey in twenty-four books, marked by the twenty-
four letters of the Ionic alphabet, have given the name of qiste´a to
three of the books of the Iliad, those numbered five, sixteen and
twenty-one. These refer to the qiste´a (the display of excellence in
battle) of Diomedes, Patroclus and Achilles respectively. The bravery
of Diomedes is already called aristeia by Herodotus in his discussion
of the travels of the Trojan prince, Paris (called by him by his
alternative name, Alexander): ‘•pil—lmgtai d˜ aÇtoË •m
DiolŸdeor qiste´gû k—cei d˜ tƒ ™pea Þde.’ [and this is
mentioned in the aristeia of Diomedes; and the lines go as follows].53
Much more dispassionately, in Plato’s Laws, in the context of the
discussion of military training there is reference to tƒr qiste´ar
tƒr jatƒ pÁkelom [excellence in the battlefield]54, in the pursuit of
which instruction in dancing is recommended. In the historian Appian
of Alexandria there is such mention in many instances from which I
will highlight an example from his Foreign Wars where there is a
description of a procession in which those honoured for bravery take
part; this is in the context of Scipio’s triumph against the

40
Carthaginians: ‘o³ d˜ qiste¶r jaμ tƒ qiste¶a •p´jeimtai’55 [and
those who had excelled and their spoils had prime position].
The other example of classical knowledge to be detected in
Palamas’s encomium that we will look at is of a very different nature.
It is also centred on a particular word, this time it is ¿viÁdgjtor.
Palamas refers to a particular cure called HgqiajŸ, which was an
antidote used for the treatment of those who had been bitten by
snakes. This cure was first devised by the physician of the Emperor
Nero, Andromachus of Crete, and is known to us through the
prominent Greek physician Galen of Pergamon, who refers to it in his
book Peqμ ùAmtidÁtym.56 Palamas refers to this cure to liken it to the
cure made for souls that have fallen to sickness and need to be cured
from their poisoned inner life.57

Unlike Palamas, who is sparing in his use of classical associations and

does not flaunt his learning, Theodore Metochites actively draws
attention to his classical references. He uses a phrase like Æ vgsμm 
cqavŸ [as the scripture says] to make that clear.58 For example he
does so when he introduces a phrase from Plato’s Euthydemus, k´mom
k´mß sum‚pteir [you are attaching linen to thread].59 In the Platonic
dialogue, the eponymous character Euthydemus is arguing that if an
entity has a certain characteristic at any given time, it does so always.
Ctesippus responds to say that, in his argument Euthydemus mixes
things that are dissimilar (k´mom k´mß sum‚pteir), a process which
leads to peculiar conclusions. Metochites uses this phrase to allude to
the fact that the matters of the material world are not to be confused
with the Christian life.
To accentuate the fame that St Demetrius gained because of
his virtue, Metochites chooses a phrase that points to the epic poet
Hesiod. Hesiod in his poem Works and Days, a moral epic with a
strong agricultural theme, advises against indulging in chatter, for
‘deimm d˜ bqotØm ÈpakeÉeo vŸlgm. vŸlg c‚q te jaj
p—ketai, joÉvg l˜m e¶qai ðe¶a l‚kù, qcak—g d˜ v—qeim,
wakep dù poh—shai. vŸlg d' oÌtir p‚lpam pÁkkutai, ¤m
tima pokkoμ kaoμ vgl´nysiû heÂr mÉ t´r •sti jaμ aÇtŸ’60 [it is
hard for mortals to avoid talk. Talk behaves badly, is easily raised up
in the air, is easy to bring about and grievous to get rid of. In fact, talk

41
cannot be erased altogether, as many people use her. In many ways,
therefore, talk is a god]. In adapting this idea to the case of St
Demetrius, Metochites remarks that joÉvoir  vŸlg pteqo¶r
[speech has nimble wings]6 1 commenting in this way on the
widespread fame that the saint enjoyed. The negative connotation of
rumour that we have seen in Hesiod becomes a positive one in
Metochites. It is also noticeable that Metochites often does not leave a
quotation from a classical text intact but he feels free to paraphrase.
In the dialogue between Maximian and St Demetrius about
the true religion, Metochites has Maximian paraphrase something
from Xenophon’s Cyropaideia that shows the passing of time: wh˜r
jaμ pq tq´tgr62 [yesterday and before the day before]. In the case
of Xenophon the discussion evolves around the preparation of an army
for battle ‘mËm dù, ™vg À JËqor, t´ poioËsim; •jt‚ttomtai,
™vasamû jaμ •wh˜r d˜ jaμ tq´tgm l—qam t aÇt toËto
™pqattom’63 [Now, said Cyrus, what are they doing? They take their
positions, they said; and they have been doing this yesterday, and the
day before]. In the case of the encomium, the passing of time is used
by Maximian as an argument in favour of the old gods, who have been
worshipped since a long way back.
Later in Metochites’s encomium, Maximian tries to deter
Nestor from engaging the gladiator Lyaeus in a duel by referring to a
moment from the Iliad. In the Fifth Book of the Iliad, the one where
Diomedes achieves his aristeia, after having shot him with an arrow
that did not kill him, the Trojan archer Pandarus describes Diomedes
thus to his fellow-warrior, Aeneas: heÁr mu t´r •sti jotŸeir64 [you
would think that he is an angry god]. Ending with the same phrase
Metochites has Maximian say of Lyaeus: tÁmdù •qehif—lem …mdqa
da´lym mÉ tir •stμ jotŸeir65 [you would think that the man whom
you provoke is some angry demon].
Further along in the story of St Demetrius’s martyrdom, his
servant Loupos is shown to perform miracles by using objects that
belonged to the martyr. In this he is said to have reversed the ancient
saying of the tragic poet Sophocles from his play Antigone. In the
relevant passage the sage Tiresias says to Creon that there is no glory
in killing the dead: ‘kkù e»je tØ hamÁmti lgd' ¿kykÁta j—mteiû
tμr kjŸ tÂm hamÁmtù •pijtame¶m;’66 [but submit to the dead and do

42
not incite the fallen; what is the bravery in killing the dead?] In
reversal of this, St Demetrius is glorified by healing and by bringing
the dead to life, and killing no one but the servant of darkness
(Satan).67

As one would expect, and like his teacher, Metochites, Nikephoros

Gregoras makes extensive use of classical themes in his encomium.
Not only classical influences are overwhelmingly apparent in it but
also he gives more time to his classical allusions than most of the
other authors. There are two kinds of links that he makes in that
respect. The first and more obvious is the personalities from the
ancient past who figure in his encomium. The second is the many
words or phrases that he has picked from ancient Greek literature and
has re-presented in his encomium with a twist to suit his topic.
From the personalities found in Gregoras’s text, Alexander
the Great is the most dominant. More space is dedicated to him than to
any of the others and his role in the encomium is complex. He serves
various purposes in different parts of Gregoras’s argument and the
comparison between Alexander and St Demetrius is quite an elaborate
theme. For example, in discussing how pilgrims came from far afield
to Thessalonica, Gregoras says that it is possible to have an affinity
for something from outside one’s own locality, just as Alexander who
was from Macedonia had great admiration for the wisdom of the cynic
philosopher, Diogenes who was from Sinope.68 Gregoras even likened
himself to Alexander, saying that as Alexander was worried at the
achievements of Philip because he would take all the glory, Gregoras
could have been overwhelmed at the skill of the previous encomiasts
but he is not, because St Demetrius provides him with constant
triggers for renewed praise:

ùAkkƒ jaμ ùAken‚mdqou l˜m ¦m •je´mou toË LajedÁmor •pμ to¶r

Vik´ppou toË patqÂr jatoqhÖlasim …wheshai jaμ dedi—mai lŸ, p‚mta
•je´mou jatyqhyjÁtor, lgd˜m e²r vikotil´ar aÇtâ jatak´poito
™mdeinim, •l˜ d˜ to¶r pqμm e²qgjÁsim oÇj …m potù …wheshai c—moito,
‡te pqoeikgvÁsi tƒ p‚mta, lgd˜m peqμ Þm k—nomter ¤jolem
jatakipoËsim …qqgtomû vhom´a cƒq Èpoh—seym •mtauho¶ pqoje´setai
è pqÂr boukŸseyr †m e·g jaμ pqohul´ar pamt´, •m lgdemμ jaμ lgdal«
tØm jatƒ dÉmal´m pyr leke¶m. 69 [And also that certain Alexander of

43
 Macedonia was burdened by the successes of his father, Philip, and he feared
that, with him achieving everything, there will be no chance left to him to show
his love of honour, as for me, those who have spoken before me will not be a
weight upon myself, as if they have anticipated everything without leaving
anything unsaid about our subject. For there is a plethora of topics here for
anyone who has every will and eagerness, and in no way neglects to do his
best].

In the end of the encomium, Gregoras admits his failure to praise the
saint sufficiently.70 Modesty on the part of the encomiast is a common
trait.
Other personalities that he mentions cover a wide range: the
Roman general Crassus, the Cynic philosopher Diogenes, King
Xerxes of Persia, King Philip II of Macedon, Queen Semiramis of
Babylon, the Euripidian characters Orestes and Pylades, as well as the
two Roman generals called Scipio: Scipio Africanus, the conqueror of
Hannibal, and his adopted grandson Scipio Aemilianus Africanus.
Gregoras in another instance compares Demetrius to Diogenes,71 and
also to Job: ‘jaμ ùI×b l—m •je¶mom tÂm p‚mu, oÑ tm jaqteq´am À
p„r a²×m •je¶hem Èlme¶, ™tesim À pok—lior •l‚stifem Åkoir
–ptƒ jaμ •m Èpa´hqß stad´ß’72 [and even the illustrious Job,
whose patience every age exalts, the enemy (i.e. the devil) tortured for
seven years, and out in the open air].
These personalities adorn the encomium of Gregoras with
mythical glamour and make it stand out amongst the encomia in the
rich echoes of the past that they evoke. Yet, as has been mentioned,
this is not the only way in which Gregoras’s interest in the classical
world is demonstrated in this text. Even more so, it can be felt in the
way he chooses his classical vocabulary. We will now turn to a
detailed examination of specific classical references in Gregoras’s
encomium.
The word vikotil´a (philotimia) normally means the love of
honour or distinction, thus having connotations of ambition. This is its
use in the characterization of Themistocles by Plutarch ‘jaμ cƒq ¦m
t« vÉsei vikotilÁtator, e² de¶ tejl—qeshai diƒ tØm
polmglomeuol‚tym’73 [and his was most ambitious in nature, as it
is evident from the things said about him]. The story that Plutarch
gives to show the extent of his ambition is that when Themistocles

44
was made admiral, he left all the tasks that had to be done and all the
meetings till the day of his sailing, in order for his fellow citizens to
see this and assume that he is a person of great importance. In
Iphigenia in Aulis, Menelaus remarks that the prophet Calchas is
motivated by his love of honour: ‘vikotil´‹ l˜m •m—wetai, deimâ
jajâ’ 74 [for his is held by his love of honour, a terrible evil]. That
makes the two brothers, Menelaus and Agamemnon, fear him more.
Philotimia is extensively mentioned by Aristotle in many of his works
and most notably in his Nicomachean Ethics. On one of those
instances he draws attention to the fact that most people, exactly
because of philotimia, their love of honour, prefer to be loved than to
love: o³ pokkoμ d˜ dojoËsi diƒ vikotil´am boÉkeshai vike¶shai
l„kkom ¢ vike¶m75 [most people reckon that for love of honour they
would rather be loved than love]. In the context of the civic life of
Athens the word also took the meaning of one’s willingness to pay for
a public service, as can be seen in the oration of the Athenian
rhetorician Demosthenes Against Meidias: ‘oÇd˜ tm vikotil´am •j
toÉtym jq´meim, e· tir o²jodole¶ kalpqØr ¢ heqapa´mar
j—jtgtai pokkƒr ¢ sjeÉg jak‚’76 [nor should one judge (his)
public spirit from these things, whether he builds handsome houses, or
whether he possesses many female helpers, or beautiful objects].
Plutarch uses the word with a similar meaning in the life of Crassus,
who showed philotimia towards his guests.77 Yet in some instances
the word has another meaning, notably as in another work
of Demosthenes, On the Crown, where it means excessive
luxury: ‘lgdeli„r vikotil´ar lŸtù ²d´ar lŸte dglos´ar
poke´peshai’78 [not foregoing any indulgence, neither private nor
public]. It is in this latter sense that Gregoras uses it in his encomium.
He argues that his contribution to the praise of St Demetrius, that is to
say his encomium, is a worthwhile thing that should not be considered
as superfluous, as an unnecessary luxury, that is, it should not be
considered a philotimia.79
Another classical model that influenced the way in which
Gregoras praised St Demetrius was ancient Greek words for religious
festivals, pagan in their original sense. A word that stands out for
referring to the month of St Demetrius’s festival, which also appears
in Harmenopoulos’s encomium, is ³eqolgm´a [holy month] (of which

45
more details will appear later ). This is a word the ancient Greeks used
to refer to periods of truce during holy months in which their sacred
festivals took place. Pindar, for example, in one of his Nemean Odes
in honour of Aristoclides from Aegina, winner in the contest of
Pancratium in the Nemean Games, refers to the holy month of Nemea:
‘•m ³eqolgm´‹ Mele‚di’ 8 0 [in the holy month of Nemea].
Thucydides in his History refers to hieromenia twice. First in Book
Three, he narrates in the form of speeches by both parties how the
Thebans attacked the Plataeans in time of spomda¶r jaμ ³eqolgm´ai
[libations and holy treaty of peace] and then in Book Five he reveals
the differing attitudes between the Spartans and the Argives in relation
to the attack of Epidaurus in view of the approach of the month of
Carneus, a holy month for the Dorians.81 The word finds frequent use
in the work of Demosthenes and, furthermore, it can be found in
Appian, The Civil Wars, Book 5, where Octavian accepts an ovation
and a yearly celebration (hieromenia) of his victories.82
In relation to the whole month of October leading to the
saint’s name day, Gregoras uses one more word, resonant of the myth
of the sacrifice of Iphigenia. The word pqot—keia (proteleia), which
means the preliminary rites and sacrifices before an important
ceremony, is used darkly in the tragic play Agamemnon to signify the
sacrifice of the daughter of the eponymous hero, Iphigenia, at the
outset of the departure of the Greek ships for Troy ‘pqot—keia
maØm’83 [a preliminary sacrifice before the ships]. The word also
denotes a bathing ritual before marriage as described by Plutarch in
his Moralia. 84 A reference to such preliminary rituals can also be
found in Plato’s Laws.85 The bathing theme takes a darker dimension
in the ritual murder of Agamemnon in Aeschylus’s Agamemnon by his
wife in his bath, mirroring the sacrifice of Iphigenia. Euripides also
deals with Iphigenia’s sacrifice in his play Iphigenia in Aulis. In the
play Clytemnestra enquires about the preliminary libations (proteleia)
to take place before the alleged wedding between Iphigenia and
Achilles, for it is on that pretext that the young girl was led to Aulis.86
The association of proteleia with marriage is obvious in the fact that it
was also called pqoc‚leia [rituals before the wedding]. In Gregoras
the word refers to the personal preparations and spiritual ablutions that
were customary for the citizens of Thessalonica in order for their souls

46
to be ready for St Demetrius’s day, as if they were coming to a
spiritual wedding.
As Gregoras likens the festival of St Demetrius with the
seasons of nature, and especially with spring and summer (see later
chapter), to enhance his metaphor he chooses two images from
Aristotle’s disciple and his successor in the Peripatetic school, the
natural and moral philosopher Theophrastus. Theophrastus’s botanical
works Enquiry into Plants and On the Causes of Plants were very
influential in the development of medieval science. In his book On the
Causes of Plants he discusses how plants should be best grown and
managed. Their nurture seems to offer here a metaphor for the
Christian soul. The relevant passages come from the section where he
discusses the growth of the vine. The first reference relates to the
growth of new fruit (m—yta): ‘t« cƒq lp—kß tÁte sulba´mei
pqÂr aÌngsim Àql„m tØm te paqÁmtym jaqpØm, jaμ tØm
bkastØm •m o¼r …qwetai comeÉeim tÂm e²r m—yta jaqpÁm. •ƒm
oÐm À jaqpÂr l paqeh«, jakØr comeÉsei’ 8 7 [and then it
happens to the vine to have the urge to grow the existing fruit and the
shoots on which it starts to grow the new fruit. And if the fruit is not
neglected, it will grow well]. The newness of the fruit Gregoras turns
into the new hope people feel every spring in relation to agricultural
pursuits. The second example refers to the best maintenance of the
vine in order for its fruit to be at its optimum (jaqpoË voq‚m): ‘t¡r
cƒq lp—kou telmol—mgr •n ·sou pqÂr te tm ›nim –aut¡r jaμ
pqÂr tm toË jaqpoË voq‚m, pokuwqÁmiom ™seshai jaμ
cahm diƒ t—kour’88 [and the vine which is equally pruned with
regard to its condition and to its fruit-bearing, will have a long life and
will be good to the end]. So here the word phora does not mean
direction but bearing. This bearing of fruit in Gregoras refers to the
collection of fruit that rewards in the summer those who have worked
hard all year, and by extension rewards the Christians who have been
preparing themselves in anticipation for the saint’s festival.
Gregoras describes a very popular festival in which multitudes
gather eagerly waiting to participate. To emphasize this he uses the
word suqq—y [to flow together],89 a word that should normally be
used for liquids but which already had been used metaphorically by
ancient authors to relate to the gathering of crowds. The word finds

47
such a use in many ancient authors, amongst which are Herodotus,
Plato and Isocrates.90
When talking about the myrrh of St Demetrius, Gregoras
could not resist reference to the story told by Plutarch in his biography
of Phocion. In the story, Phocion’s rival, the Athenian orator
Demades, states that rumours of the death of Alexander the Great
must be wrong, because if the man had died the whole world would
smell of his corpse: ‘PqÖtou d˜ ùAhgma´oir ùAsjkgpi‚dou toË
úIpp‚qwou tehm‚mai pqosacce´kamtor ùAk—namdqom, À l˜m
Dgl‚dgr •j—keue l pqos—weimû p‚kai cƒq †m Åkgm Ãfeim
mejqoË tm o²joul—mgm’9 1 [And when first of the Athenians
Asclepiades, son of Hipparchus, announced that Alexander had died,
Demades was urging people not to pay attention; for had he died, the
whole world would be smelling of the corpse]. In a reversal of this
idea of bad smell, Gregoras says that the world smells of the fragrance
of St Demetrius’s myrrh forever.92
In describing the contest of the body and soul of St Demetrius
while in captivity, Gregoras uses a word from Arrian, lv´stolor
[double-mouthed],93 which describes the way a phalanx may be laid
for battle, having two fronts as opposed to one. In such a way St
Demetrius is shown to fight for Christ, keeping up the battle on two
fronts, both physically and spiritually.94 In Homer an equivalent
expression is used but in its literal sense, that of a double-edged sword
(v‚scamom …lvgjer). In Book Ten of the Iliad, Thrasymedes lends
Diomedes his double-edged sword, because his was left at his tent.
The episode takes place in the context of helping him to prepare for
raiding the Trojan camp during the night, while accompanied by
Odysseus.95
In portraying the bloodthirstiness of Maximian, Gregoras has
him throwing the body of St Demetrius in the legendary well (of
which more in another chapter) as opposed to burying it on the
ground, thus leaving it prey to the birds.96 The passage has a ring of
classical imagery as both the opening of the Iliad and of Antigone are
marked by a similar image of bleakness. The first seven, and probably
most famous, lines of the Iliad establish the theme of the epic, which
is the wrath of Achilles. This wrath is portrayed as a destructive force
which led the souls of many heroes to Hades and their bodies prey to

48
the dogs and vultures.97 A similar image emerges in Sophocles where
Antigone discusses with her sister Ismene how King Creon has given
their one brother, Eteocles, all the honours of burial, while the other,
Polyneikes, has been left unburied, shamed, and defenceless prey to
the birds, so that he can be eaten.98
Gregoras uses another significant moment from Antigone
when he paraphrases Antigone’s sister, Ismene, who states meekly
that it is pointless to try and do something beyond one’s power: ‘tÂ
cƒq peqissƒ pq‚sseim oÇj ™wei moËm oÇd—ma’99 [for doing more
than one can, makes no sense at all]. This is a point of decision
making in the tragedy. Antigone is going to disobey the authorities
and bury her brother, despite the death punishment attached to such
action, while Ismene will be obedient and take no part in the burial.
Gregoras uses Ismene’s phrase to show how the fame of St Demetrius
is overwhelming. The person said to do more than is in his capacity in
the encomium is Maximian, who cannot stop the glory of St
Demetrius from being known to the world.100
Coming to the end of his encomium, Gregoras apologizes for
not being competent enough in his praise of St Demetrius. He likens
himself to an leqodqÁlor [day-runner].101 In antiquity this term
described somebody who had to run all day in order to deliver an
important message. Such messengers are mentioned in Herodotus,
Plato’s Protagoras, the geographer Pausanias’s Description of
Greece, and Diodorus of Sicily.102 The himerodromos mentioned by
Herodotus is the Athenian Pheidippides who ran from Marathon to
Athens to report the victory over the Persians and then allegedly
dropped dead. In antiquity himerodromoi did not participate in athletic
contests. The three categories of runners in the ancient games were the
stadiodromoi, diaulodromoi and dolichodromoi. The diaulos, one of
the measures used by the ancient Greeks for their games, is referred to
by Gregoras in his encomium as a metaphor for the commitment with
which the citizens of Thessalonica worshipped St Demetrius, as if
participating in an athletic contest.103 Gregoras also draws attention to
the fact that he wrote the encomium after being asked, which means
that the blame for failure is not his. He uses the metaphor of
divqgkas´a (diphrêlasia), an ancient Greek form of charioteering to
support his point. It will become apparent how, after seeing how

49
divqgkas´a was referred to in the classics. The contest with chariots
is said by the lyric poet Pindar to have been given to men by one of
the most imposing Greek heroes, Hercules, upon his ascension to
Olympus. This tale can be found in the poet’s Third Olympian Ode to
Theron of Acragas, winner of the chariot race. Charioteering played
an important part in ancient games, and Pindar refers to more
charioteers, namely Amphytrion, the father of Hercules, in his Ninth
Pythian Ode in honour of Telesicrates of Cyrene, winner of the hoplite
race. Pindar calls Castor and Iolaus the strongest charioteers in his
First Isthmian Ode.104 A very dramatic scene in which a charioteer
is described to fall from the chariot to his death is described
in Sophocles’s Electra where a made-up story of Orestes dying in this
way serves the purposes of the plot.105 This passage shows how
dramatic and how fatal the failure of the charioteer can be. Gregoras
says that for the failure of a charioteer one must blame not him but
those who put him on the chariot.106

The lawyer Constantine Harmenopoulos is a user of the classics in a

different manner from Metochites and Gregoras. He uses his classical
echoes and references with a light touch, not dwelling on them
but weaving them into his encomium seamlessly, as his oration
is anchored in the festival and his surroundings.
One example is the way he talks about the Colossus of
Rhodes, the great statue that used to stand astride the island’s main
harbour and one of the Seven Wonders of the World. According to the
chronicler Theophanes Confessor, the statue had finally been
destroyed 1,360 years after its erection in 652/3 by the Arab general
Mauias.107 Harmenopoulos was well aware of that for he contrasts the
transitory nature of the Colossus with the eternal appeal of the church
of the Acheiropoietos in Thessalonica.108 Curiously, a similar use of
the Colossus can be found not in a Greek but in a Latin writer. The
Roman Stoic philosopher, dramatist, and adviser of Nero, Seneca the
Younger, referred to it in his moral essay De Consolatione
ad Polybium, in order to underline the transitory nature of the
(overrated) achievements of the ancient world.109 It is extremely
unlikely, of course, that Harmenopoulos would have been aware of
this passage.

50
 There are other examples of Harmenopoulos’s ‘background’
classicism. In the process of discussing the architectural merit of the
church of the Acheiropoietos, for example, he juxtaposes the
knowledge possessed by specialists to the opinions of the general
public in a way reminiscent of the teachings of Socrates: ‘tØm cƒq
pokkØm •m to¶r Èp˜q toÊr pokkoÊr ¤jista lelm¡shai de¶’110
[for it is deserving to remember those who are above hoi polloi]. The
distinction between the many and the few is made here in terms of the
latter group’s knowledge. This is the subject of an entire Platonic
dialogue, Charmides, where the nature of knowledge is examined.111
The dialogue is mostly remembered for its discussion of the Delphic
inscription ‘Know thyself’ but it is its discussion of expert knowledge
that is of interest here.
He brings another juxtaposition to his oration, the one
referring to perceptions of the state of the soul in afterlife in Christian
and in pagan thought. Christians, he says, believe that the soul is fed
by the word of God, while pagans that it eats ambrosia and drinks
nectar, the food and drink respectively of the Olympian gods: ‘jaμ
he´ß ðŸlati tehqall—mom, è xuwƒr l‚kista heovike¶r mtù
lbqos´ar pisteÉolem …myhem jaμ m—jtaqor •sti„shai’112
[and fed with the word of God, with which we believe that in heaven
the souls that desire God are fed by, as opposed to ambrosia and
nectar]. Location-specific references like this can be very effective,
although Harmenopoulos does not specifically name Olympus in this
example. Mount Olympus is named in another passage, when
Harmenopoulos describes the hymns sung in the Acheiropoietos: ‘oÇj
•j c¡r kkù •n ùOkÉlpou dojoÉmtym deshai’113 [seeming as if
being sung not from the earth but from Olympus].
There is another instance where he identifies an ancient Greek
institution with a very strong resonance. The institution in question is
the prytaneion, the council of executive officers in the cities of ancient
Greece. The most famous amongst them is the Prytaneion of Athens,
not least because it is remembered for the bitterly sarcastic line in
Plato’s Apology where Socrates during his trial requests to be fed
there at the state’s expense, a high honour reserved for the most
distinguished citizens.114 The word is used metaphorically in the
Platonic dialogue Protagoras for Athens to denote a seat of wisdom

51
and Nikephoros Gregoras uses it for Constantinople in his History.115
For Harmenopoulos, the Virgin Mary was ‘t tØm he´ym te jaμ
tØm mhqyp´mym waq´tym pqutame¶om’, the prytaneion of the
divine and human graces.116 Another example of Harmenopoulos
relating classical themes directly to his subject is when he describes
the ceremonies in the Acheiropoietos church that surround them. In
doing ´r oÐm to¶r •mtaÉha l—kesi tm di‚moiam oÇj
•jpkŸttetai;’117 [Who does not feel amazed by the intellect of the
melodies here?]. He also likens the hymns to St Demetrius to the
beauty of the mythical song of the Sirens in the Odyssey.118

These references to Mount Olympus, the prytaneion and the sirens

show that Harmenopoulos was acquainted with classical history and
vocabulary. He also brings in echoes of ancient language, drawn from
a sound acquaintance with the classics. For example, he links St
Demetrius directly to his Saviour via a classical turn of phrase. He
calls St Demetrius a heq‚pym (therapon) of Christ, an epithet
famously used in Homer to describe Patroclus’s relationship to
Achilles: ‘tâ cemma´ß toÉtou heq‚pomti’119 [of this brave servant
of His]. This also intimates a closeness of relationship between the
saint and Christ similar to that between the two Homeric heroes. He
also refers to St Demetrius as hero: ‘he¶om •m l‚qtusim ¤qy’120 [the
divine hero amongst the martyrs].
The most striking example of all is an echo of Plutarch.
Harmenopoulos says that St Demetrius had to hide from his
persecutors in a place called Kataphyge: ‘tÁpom d˜ t« ¿qc« - jatƒ
t cecqall—mom - didÁmta’121 [giving place to anger, as it was
written]. Harmenopoulos’s phrase tÁpom d´dyli t« ¿qc« is also
found in Plutarch’s Ethics:

oÎtyr oÌte c‚lor oÌte vik´a letù ¿qc¡r mejtÁmû kkƒ wyqμr ¿qc¡r
jaμ l—hg joËvÁm •stim. À cƒq toË heoË m‚qhgn ³jamÂr jokast¡r toË
lehÉomtor, †m l pqoscemÁlemor À hulÁr Ôlgstm jaμ laimÁkgm mtμ
kua´ou jaμ woqe´ou poiŸs¨ tÂm …jqatom. (...) De¶ d˜ lŸte pa´fomtar
aÇt« didÁmai tÁpom, ™whqam cƒq •p‚cei t« vikovqosÉm¨û lŸte
joimokocoÉlemour, vikomeij´am cƒq •j vikokoc´ar peqc‚fetai122
[Thus, neither marriage nor friendship is bearable with rage; but without rage,
even drunkenness is light to bear. For the reed of the god is an able avenger of

52
 the drunken, if the oncoming anger does not make the excessive drinker an
eater of raw meat and a frenzied man, as opposed to (only) a Dionysian savage
and a dancer… So do not give place (to anger) even in jest, for it makes
friendliness into hatred; nor when discussing matters of common interest, for it
contrives strife from philology].

The passage in Plutarch is fascinating for its portrayal of anger and its
dangers. Indeed the phrase tÁpom d´dyli t« ¿qc« is also used by St
Paul in his Epistle to the Romans: ‘Dearly beloved, avenge not
yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written,
Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’123 In this context,
however, Plutarch’s words are even more appropriate, in that he uses
the epithet lyaeus, another name for the ancient god of wine Dionysus.
Literally, the word means a savage and was the given name of the
champion gladiator who fought St Nestor in the legend of St
Demetrius’s martyrdom. It is highly likely that Harmenopoulos was
drawn to the above passage precisely because of this epithet even
though he himself does not use the word lyaeus in his encomium. It is
extremely unlikely that the audience would have identified such a
remote allusion and one suspects that this passage has been inserted
for Harmenopoulos’s own benefit rather than that of his hearers.

Nicholas Kavasilas makes abundant use of classical language.

Classical figures, like Plato, Aristotle, Euripides, and the mythical
Orpheus appear in Kavasilas’s first encomium, as does Socrates.124 In
his second encomium he described St Demetrius in the guise of a
Homeric warrior.125 In his third encomium in particular he used
numerous Homeric epithets for St Demetrius.126 His fellow Byzantines
are called Achaeans rather than Hellenes, a word used by Homer to
denote all of the Greek army: ‘sÉlpamter ùAwaiØm’127 [all of the
Achaioi, i.e. Greeks]. Even Christ Himself is awarded a Homeric
epithet by being called Olympian: ‘WqistÂr ¿kÉlpior’.128 In another
example, Kavasilas refers not to St Nestor but another of Demetrius’s
acolytes and fellow martyrs, St Loupos, reflecting a variant in the
legends. St Loupos is the ‘heq‚pym’ [i.e. squire] of St Demetrius
(which is reminiscent of the relationship between Patroclus and
Achilles). To have both St Loupos and St Nestor present would

53
perhaps compromise the ideal of the Homeric metaphor, hence the
absence of the latter.129
It is intriguing to note that Biblical references are completely
absent from Kavasilas’s third encomium. The imagery is all drawn
from Greek mythology. In his second encomium, there is not much
more than one mention of King Solomon.130 In the light of this, it
seems that we should classify Kavasilas’s encomia as heavily
classicist. But things are not quite that simple. Kavasilas’s thought
eludes classification and needs further study to be fully appreciated.

This brings us to the last author to be discussed in the context of classical

influence, Demetrius Chrysoloras, who could be characterised as the
most effective in using ancient models creatively. This last section will
concentrate on one particular passage from his encomium, the lengthy,
intense and theatrical discussion between St Demetrius and the Roman
emperor Maximian who ordered his martyrdom. This passage is
slighted by Laourdas precisely because of its debt to classical
models.131 That judgement will be disputed here.
The oration begins conventionally, for Chrysoloras was wise
enough to intersperse his encomium with a number of core Byzantine
values. An example is the transcendental objective of gaining the next
life and not this one, which can be found in the description of St
Demetrius as a young man, where Chrysoloras lists his many virtues.
Above all he praises the saint because ‘jate¶we cƒq aÇtÂm oÇ
pkoËtor, oÇ dÁna, oÇ succ—meia, oÇd˜m ›teqom o¼r pokkoμ
peqμ tÂm b´om •ngpatŸhgsam’ 132 [(because) he was neither
possessed of wealth, nor glory, nor kinship, nor any of the other things
by which many were deceived in relation to living]. The freedom of
the saint from the things of this world is stressed throughout
Chrysoloras’s encomium. The saint’s uncompromising purity is linked
to his power to save. The implication is, that with such a stainless
patron, it is no wonder that his home town, Thessalonica, achieved
victory on several occasions. This is said to have been: ‘tâ toË
l‚qtuqor jq‚tei’133 [due to the strength (kratos) of the martyr].
Similarly, there are some remarks about Demetrius as the
protector of Thessalonica. The salvation of the city of Thessalonica is
linked by Chrysoloras with the healing of both the souls and the

54
bodies of the faithful. The notion behind this metaphor is that the
c—mor will be saved only if it is whole physically and spiritually. St
Demetrius, a healing as well as a military saint, is portrayed here as
the ²atqÂr …qistor (iatros aristos, perfect physician) for the soul
and the body:

sÊ pokk‚jir tm paqoËsam pÁkim •j tØm weiqØm •qqÉsy tØm

kkovÉkym jaμ pamto´ym •c—mou tØm mosgl‚tym ²atqÂr …qistor jaμ
t c—mor lØm k—gsarû di soË deÁleha ™ti jaμ mËm, m‚stgsom
aÇt je´lemom jaμ boghe´ar deÁlemom •keuh—qysom jaμ boŸhgsom
shemoËmti, weilafÁlemom •m jul‚mtß kil—mi st¡som, pgcmÉlemom
™ti puqμ baqb‚qym, di‚kusom eÇjqas´‹ sou, jaμ hulâ jaiÁlemom
aÇtØm, heql« sou dqÁsß heq‚peusom, jaμ p‚mta po´gsom •m
heqape´‹ xuwØm ‡la jaμ syl‚tym lØm (...)134 [you have delivered the
present city from the hands of the people of other tribes many times, and you
have become an excellent physician for all kinds of ailments and you have
taken pity on our own people. Therefore we plead to you then and now,
resurrect the country of our people that is laid (here) and is in need of help, free
it and help it in its weakness, set it to pass the winter in a wave-free harbour,
and as it has been hardened by the fire of the savages, reconcile (it) by your
agreeable temperament, and what has been burning as a result of their rage,
attend with your warm coolness, and do everything in attendance of our souls
and jointly of our bodies (…)].

The ‘wave-free harbour’ and the dangers of the sea in general were
common metaphors in Byzantine literature, frequently for indicating –
according to the context – the perilous nature of physical danger,
heresy, or sin.135
Finally, Chrysoloras gave his audience a fairly standard
account of Demetrius’s martyrdom. As the saint is taken off to prison,
Chrysoloras says that he was not only ready to die but even rather
disappointed that in the first instance he was sent to a dungeon and not
to meet his death straight away:

Jaμ Ûspeq •pμ pastÂm ¢ceto, •dusw—qaime d˜ lÁmom Åti l t‚wiom

¢hkgse jaμ a²ti„to k´am aÈtÂm •nekhÁmta stad´ou p—qar
stev‚mytom ™womta. OÎtyr ¦m kcgdÁmym ‡la jaμ ham‚tou
jatavqomØm jaμ e²jÁtyrû o³ cƒq keitouqcoμ HeoË jaμ cmŸsioi tm
di‚moiam •pilekØr jÁmtai oÇ lijqÂm t paqalijqÂm Èp˜q toË HeoË
ce mol´fomterû kkù Ålyr o²jomol´‹ wq¡tai j…m toÉtß WqistÁr, ¹ma
jaμ …kkour diù autoË pqosk‚b¨ toÊr l‚qtuqarû Æ pqoeid×r jaμ À

55
 l‚qtur sÉwafem eÇwaqistØm tÂm HeÂm. 136 [And he went there as if to a
bridal chamber. He was only dissatisfied that he did not excel in martyrdom
sooner, and he wondered quite a lot about having exited the stadium without the
garland of sacrifice. That is how much he despised the various sufferings and
the prospect of death, and naturally so. For the agents of God and those who are
true in spirit go to great lengths to acknowledge their faith in God in every
opportunity but Christ makes use of his divine economy, so that he may bring
other martyrs through him. Having foreseen this, the martyr was at peace and
was giving thanks to God].

These are all elements that are common to the encomia.

What distinguishes Chrysoloras’s encomium, however, is that
over half of it is given over to the confrontation between St Demetrius
and Maximian. It is written in the form of a dialogue, a genre that
evolved in the classical world and was used by authors such as Plato
and Xenophon. Yet Chrysoloras is not slavishly imitating the ancient
form here. Unlike his ancient models, Chrysoloras’s dialogue is not
conducted between close and cordial friends who treat each other as
equals in the spirit of exchanging opinions for edification and
pleasure. The dynamic in the encounter between Maximian and St
Demetrius is rather different. Although there is familiarity between
them, the saint is summoned before his emperor to justify his actions
and his life is on the line. The conversation is not in the context of
learning about the nature of things but part of the process of a formal
hearing. This lends intensity to the dialogue, which is successfully
captured by Chrysoloras.
Their dialogue centres on the nature of God and the
representation of gods and goddesses by ancient Greek sculptors and
poets, as opposed to the Christian God. It is stated that St Demetrius
was well-acquainted (cmÖqilor) with Maximian, who had made him
anthypatos or proconsul of Greece.137 This is useful for the audience
of the encomium, as the nature of what is to follow presupposes a
dialogue between people who have known each other. The scene starts
with Maximian’s disbelief at the news that St Demetrius did not
worship the Roman gods and his protest that Demetrius’s faith is pure
insanity: ‘Jaμ À tÉqammor î•l‚meirï138, k—cei, îDglŸtqie
(...)ï’139 [And the tyrant says: ‘You are filled with frenzy, Demetrius
(…)’]. One can feel the rage of the emperor coming through the pages

56
of the dialogue. Next the saint declares his Christian faith and his
fearlessness in the face of martyrdom, for he cares not for his body but
for his soul. For example, when Chrysoloras mentions that the
emperor heard that St Demetrius had become a Christian, he uses
appropriate phrasing to show the working of his mind: ‘oÑ
cemol—mou, À basikeÊr ¢qeto, e² l katqeÉoi tƒ e·dyka jaμ
heoÉr, kk‚ tima jaimÂm s—betai kecÁlemom heÁm’ 140 [that
having been done, the king asked if he did not worship the idols and
the gods, but instead he had reverence for some new so-called god]. In
his response, St Demetrius is described to be ‘cemma¶or jaμ kÁcß
jaμ bk—llati’141 [brave in both words and gaze]. This opening of the
scene is alive with the personalities of the two men. The disbelief of
Maximian at what he hears from his officer is portrayed skilfully, and
at the same time St Demetrius appears strong and confident in his
faith. The element of the battle of wills is introduced by the remark
about him quoted above, this of being bold both in words and in the
way his eyes meet those of Maximian.
This leads to the main part of the dialogue, the discussion of
the nature of deity. Chrysoloras places into the mouth of Maximian
the argument that the beauty of the statues of the pagan gods proves
their divinity in the following extraordinary passage:

t´ vr peqμ tØm lec‚kym heØm; oÇd˜m c« tÂm JqÁmom jaμ tÂm úEql¡m,
£ tÂm D´a jaμ tÂm ùApÁkkyma, £ tÂm ôAqea jaμ tÂm õGvaistom; jaμ e²
l toÉtour, a²d—shgti tƒr he‚r, a¼r haulastƒ l˜m ¿mÁlata, pokÊ d˜
haulastÁteqom  pokite´a. K—cy tm ôGqam, §r tm jÁlgm EÇvq‚myq
letù eÇkabe´ar •wqÖsato, tm Jas‚mdqam, §r toÊr Ãvquar À
PokÉcmytor, tm Qon‚mgm, §r tƒ we´kg letù •pileke´ar ùAet´ym
•po´ei, tm Paj‚tgm, §r t sØla p„m ùApekk¡r, tm ùAvqod´tgm, §r
l„kkom toË aÇtoË poiŸlator •pet—qpeto Pqanit—kgr, tm ùAhgm„m,
¥m Õr l—ca tØm aÇtoË pkasl‚tym ùAkjal—mgr ³stÁqgse, tm
Sys‚mdqam, •m ± J‚kalir •vqÁmei n—ma, tm Kglm´am, ± jaμ t ·diom
Ãmola Veid´ar •p—cqave, tm JakkiÁpgm, tm JkeiÖ, tm PokÉlmiam,
ˆr Kuj¶mor Èpeqb‚kkomtyr •t´lgse, tm Q—am, tm ôAqtelim jaμ
…kkar tØm heØm jaμ lih—ym pokk‚r, ˆr FeËnir jaμ Paq‚sior jaμ
Syjq‚tgr jaμ õOlgqor jaμ p‚mter …kkoi tØm poigtØm •paimoËsim
•jpkgttÁlemoi jaμ haul‚fousimû aÇtÂr d˜ pØr toklr p‚mtym
jatavqome¶m;142 [What do you say about the great gods? Do you not believe
in Cronos and Hermes or Zeus and Apollo or Ares and Hephaestus? If not in

57
 these, you should have reverence for the goddesses, whose names are
wondrous, but much more admirable is their life story. I am talking of Hera
whose hair Euphranor143 touched with colour with deference, Cassandra, whose
eyebrows Polygnotus [depicted],144 Roxana145 whose lips Aetion146 made with
carefulness, Pancaste147 whose entire body Apelles [painted],148 Aphrodite in
whom Praxiteles149 rather delighted as his own work, Athena whom
Alcamenes150 recounted as a great creation of his, Sosandra [Aphrodite] whom
Calamis151 regarded as a guest, Lemnian [Athena] whose own name Phidias152
inscribed upon her, Calliope, Clio, Polymnia, all of whom Lycinus153 honoured
with excelling zeal, Rea, Artemis, and many others from the goddesses and the
demi-goddesses, whom Zeuxis,154 and Parrhassius155 and Socrates and Homer
and all others amongst the poets praise in their amazement and admire. How do
you dare yourself to disdain all of these?]

The enumeration of so many ancient gods, artists and works of art in

this section is striking and it is clear that there is some classical model
here. What it is will be discussed shortly.
It follows that if St Demetrius did not agree with Maximian’s
position, he would have to face the emperor’s anger. The threat with
which Maximian menaces St Demetrius is intriguing too: ‘¹ma l
lÁmom pok—s¨r t f¡m, kkƒ jaμ sÊm to¶r da´losi jokash«r
jaμ wkeuash«r •pμ haulastâ basike¶ jaμ pamt´ ce
stqateÉlati’156 [so that not only will you lose your life, but also you
will be punished by means of the demons and you will be mocked by
the admirable emperor and all the army]. In response to Maximian’s
threat, Demetrius gives a similar speech showing an intimate
knowledge of the ancient gods, which of course is something one
would have expected of the historical-mythical person of St
Demetrius. He speaks eloquently of the association of deities with
natural powers and bodies, and he poses the question of what is the
nature of mortality in bringing up the concept of demi-gods. The
undertones of natural philosophy here, especially the reference to the
oneness of natural power, also point to Chrysoloras’s comprehensive
classical knowledge:

oÇ jakoËsi tm l˜m c¡m DŸlgtqam, jÁqgm, PkoÉtyma; tm d˜

h‚kassam, PoseidØma jaμ da´lomar •mak´our; oÇ tilØsim —qa l˜m
Õr tm ôGqam, t d˜ pËq Õr tÂm õGvaistom; jaμ tÂm l˜m ¤kiom Õr
ùApÁkkyma, tm d˜ sekŸmgm Õr ôAqtelim, jaμ tÂm l˜m úEysvÁqom Õr
ùAvqod´tgm, Õr úEql¡m d˜ tÂm st´kbomta; oÇ taËta p‚mta tØm

58
 xÉwym jaμ mest´ym jaμ toË fØmtor WqistoË lou poiŸlata, oÇ to¶r
l˜m Åka stoiwe¶a, to¶r d˜ t œm Õr heÂm •seb‚shgsam; t´ d˜ tƒ tØm
lih—ym; pØr o³ aÇtoμ hmgtoμ te jaμ h‚matoi ‡la; Jaμ t´ k—cy
taËta; Åpou nÉka jaμ k´hour, wqusÂm te jaμ …qcuqom jaμ tƒr
paqapkgs´our Îkar loqvÖsamter katqeÉousim Õr heoÊr, oº jaμ
fycqav´am til„m •h—kousim Õr heÂm, §r pkastij jaμ dgliouqc´a
weiqØm mhqÖpoir t •pitŸdeula;157 [Do they not call the Earth Demeter,
[her] Daughter [Persephone] and Pluto? The Sea, Poseidon and deities of the
Sea? Do they not honour Air as Hera and Fire as Hephaestus? And the Sun as
Apollo and the Moon as Artemis, and the Bringer of Light as Aphrodite, and
the Shiny One as Hermes?158 Are they not all soulless and devoid of altars, and
creations of my own living Christ? Are they not all just particles and do they
not all respect the One as God? And what of the demi-gods? How can the same
persons be mortal and immortal at the same time? And what, I say, are these
things? Wherever they have made things of wood, stone, gold and silver, and
similar materials, they worship [them] as gods. Do those people want to honour
painting as a god who in turn is a plastic art and the creation and achievement
of human hands?].

In stating fearlessly that the gods and goddesses are toË fØmtor
WqistoË lou poiŸlata 159 [creations of my living Christ],
Demetrius uses the intimate lou next to the name of Christ, a clever
touch by Chrysoloras to portray St Demetrius’s intimate relationship
with his Saviour.
Following this impressive display, Chrysoloras has the saint
give a bold declaration of the Christian faith, which is also carried in
direct speech. With it the saint declares his dissassociation from pagan
beliefs and his willingness to die. His reference to the goodness of the
Christian God is made in juxtaposition to the volatile natures of the
ancient gods, and their quarrels:

ùAkkù l¶m ·shi to¶r wqistiamo¶r, e¼r heÂr À patŸq, •n oÑ peq À u³Âr
jaμ t pmeËla pkoËr jaμ cahÂr Åkor jaμ oÇd˜m aÇtâ pot˜
stasiØder £ Åloiomû aÇtÂr •po´gsem aÇtƒ vaimÁlema lÁmom, kkƒ
jaμ tƒ keitouqcijƒ pmeÉlataû •peμ d˜ jaμ c¡r p‚sgr cemol—mgr
laqt´ar m‚pkey oÇdeμr dÉmato st¡sai t p‚hor, aÇtÂr À toË
HeoË u³Âr •j t¡r c´ar paqh—mou s‚qja kab×m jaμ cemÁlemor
…mhqypor, pokkƒ pah×m m—stg jaμ tÂm …mhqypom ™sysemû aÇtÂm
•c× jaμ p‚mter katqeÉolem Õr wqistiamo´û aÇtÂm don‚fy jaμ
s—bolai, aÇtâ pisteÉy jaμ lÁmß jaμ Èp˜q aÇtoË l‚ka vikot´lyr
pohamoËlaiû heoÉr sou d˜ jaμ heƒr mahelat´fy jaμ pob‚kkolaiû

59
 po´ei to´mum ˆ …m soi va´mgtai d´jaia160 [But to us Christians there is one
God the Father, from whom the Son and the Spirit [come]. He is singular and
all-good and nothing in him is capricious or the like. He made these things and
they are only manifestations of him, and he also made the ministering spirits.
Because there was sin all over the earth and no one could stand the suffering,
the Son of God Himself taking flesh from the Holy Virgin and becoming man,
after having suffered many things, rose from the dead and delivered mankind. I
myself and all of us as Christians revere Him. It is Him I glorify and respect, in
Him alone I have my faith and for His sake I am very willing to die with love of
honour. Your gods and goddesses, I anathematize and throw off me and you
may act in any way that may seem just to you].

These words bring the exchange between the emperor and the saint to
an end. Maximian vows that Demetrius will experience his might and
Demetrius responds that he will overcome it by the might of Christ.161
There is no doubt that the dialogue between Maximian and
Demetrius stands out starkly from the rest of the encomium in terms
of style and content. There is a good reason for that. As Laourdas
pointed out, it is clearly modelled on one identifiable work of ancient
Greek literature: the Imagines or Essays in Portraiture of Lucian of
Samosata (c.120–180).162 The Imagines is a rare example of an
encomium in dialogue form. Probably written in Antioch between 162
and 166 AD, it praises the physical beauty and virtue of Panthea of
Smyrna, the mistress of Emperor Lucius Verus (130–169 AD), co-
emperor of Marcus Aurelius, and the adopted son of Emperor
Hadrian. The dialogue is in two parts, the first concerned with the
physical loveliness of Panthea and the second with her unsurpassed
goodness and humanity. The two characters of the dialogue are
Lycinus and Polystratus. In the first part Lycinus, who has caught
sight of her and wants to describe her loveliness to Polystratus, makes
a verbal portrait of her physical beauty. In the second part, Polystratus,
who appears to know Panthea, makes a similar portrait of her virtue.
To construct these portraits they employ many known works and
techniques from sculptors, painters, poets, and philosophers of the
ancient world. They use them to synthesize representations of
different parts of her body, endeavouring to find the most perfect
example for each. They do the same in listing her virtues.

60
 The influence of the Imagines on Chrysoloras’s encomium is
not difficult to discern. Maximian specifically alludes to Lycinus in
enumerating those who had depicted the gods, a direct, if
unacknowledged citation of Lucian.163 Secondly, Maximian’s list of
gods and artists so closely parallels Lucian’s that it cannot possibly be
a coincidence. As an example, take the following passage from the
Imagines, spoken by Lycinus:

ùAkkƒ jaμ tÂm lÉhom ¢jousar, Æm k—cousim o³ •piwÖqioi peqμ aÇt¡r,

Õr •qashe´g tir toË c‚klator jaμ kah×m Èpokeivheμr •m ³eqâ
succ—moito, Õr dumatÂm c‚klati. toËto l—mtoi …kkyr ³stoqe´shy.
sÊ d˜ - taÉtgm c‚q, Õr vŸr, e»der - ·hi loμ jaμ tÁde pÁjqimai, e² jaμ
tm •m jŸpoir ùAhŸmgsi tm ùAvqod´tgm ùAkjal—mour –Öqajar;164
[Well, have you also heard the story that the natives tell about it (Praxiteles’s
Aphrodite of Cnidus) – that someone fell in love with the statue, was left
behind unnoticed in the temple, and embraced it to the best of his endeavours?
But, no matter about that. Since you have seen her, as you say, tell me whether
you have also seen the Aphrodite in the Gardens, at Athens, by Alcamenes?]

Praxiteles and Alcamenes are both cited by Chrysoloras through the

words of Maximian and Lucian refers to other artists as well such as
Apelles, Zeuxis, Parrhesius and Phidias who appear in the encomium.
Indeed, the influence of Lucian would explain why Maximian
highlights the pagan goddesses with greater enthusiasm than the male
gods. It is precisely those mentioned in Lucian’s description of
physical beauty of Panthea, notably Athena of Lemnos, Hera,
Sosandra Aphrodite and Aphrodite of Cnidus, who also appear in the
work of Chrysoloras.
Yet the Byzantine author is not slavishly reproducing Lucian
here. At times, he exercises his own knowledge of ancient sculptors
and his personal taste when he chooses to give a different example of
an artist’s work to that picked by Lucian. Lucian in the text above
refers to Alcamenes of Lemnos’s Aphrodite of the Gardens.
Chrysoloras on the other hand cites another of Alcamenes’s statues,
the Athena which was wrought for the Temple of Hephaestus in
Athens.165 Clearly Chrysoloras was not dependent on Lucian alone for
his knowledge of ancient statues. He might have read Niketas
Choniates’s description of the statues in Constantinople before 1204

61
and his relative, Manuel Chrysoloras, had described those which were
still to be seen there in the early fifteenth century.166 Relatively few
Byzantines, however, took much interest in such things so that, as
with the example of Harmenopoulos above, the discussion of art in
Maximian’s speech would not have been done for the sake of the
audience but probably for Chrysoloras’s own satisfaction.
Another example of Lucian’s influence and of Chrysoloras’s
manipulation of it, comes from the second part of the Imagines. It is
mainly the first part of the dialogue that acts as a template for
Chrysoloras, though the second does play a minor role. A key moment
from it is evoked, where Lucian describes the emptiness of good looks
without a worthy soul. Lucian shows how some people worship the
exterior of a woman who may have an inferior personality, and to
make his thought clearer he likens her to a beautiful temple that is
dedicated to an animal, in the manner of the ancient Egyptians. In the
words given to Polystratus: ‘™mdom d˜ £m fgt«r tÂm heÂm, £
p´hgjÁr •stim £ »bir £ tq‚cor £ a·kouqor’ [but if you seek out
the god within, it is either a monkey or an ibis or a goat or a cat!].167
Chrysoloras takes the aspect of the worship of animals to give St
Demetrius the opportunity to convey the Christian message and
declare in front of Maximian that people worship different animals in
the place of the true God: ‘ôEti oÇ paq—suqam …koca fØa e²r
heØm tilƒr o³ pokko´;’168 [Have the majority not dragged irrational
animals to the honours of gods?]. An even longer list of animals than
that of Lucian’s is given in this case, with ibises and goats, as above,
included. Innovation in the treatment of the Lucianic dialogue should
be viewed not only in terms of intellectual content and the ideas
expressed in the respective works but also in terms of their emotional
and dramatic tension.

This chapter set out to explore how classical models were used by
some of the encomiasts in their efforts to praise their saint and how
they were used not slavishly but selectively. It is easy for the
intellectual community to accept collectively (especially if it seems to
be the received wisdom) that a highly stylized piece of writing has
sacrificed all freedom to the typified perfection of what it imitates. At
the same time the opposite is also true: that freedom in stylistic terms

62
can be the departure from something, and the framework of strict
discipline may provide a robust and helpful structure to be free from.
Anyone who has worked from a template will have experienced that,
as they would have experienced the release that comes with
conquering the material and making it their own. In Byzantine
literature it is common to have formal praise of emperors, of saints,
and of cities. Exclamations to emperors for example (such as upon
them entering the liturgy) were lavish in their praise whether the
emperors were deserving of it or not.
Fresh interpretations are now being brought to bear on the
work of other late Byzantine writers. A bold example of this is John
Davis’s reinterpretation of A Depiction of Spring in a Dyed, Woven
Hanging by Demetrius Chrysoloras’s contemporary and close friend,
the Emperor Manuel II Palaiologos. This text is about a work of
tapestry that Manuel saw during his visit to Paris between 1400–2,
while trying to raise funds for the empire. In analysing Manuel’s
ekphrasis, Davis points to the ‘liquid and labial consonants’ in the text
and its ‘heightened phonetic sensuousness’, absent in both the
rhetorician Libanius and the Church Father Gregory of Nazianzus who
have given us earlier similar treatments. The critical attention that this
comparatively lesser work of Manuel has demanded testifies to its
originality, and is in line with the discussion of the creative use of the
classical tradition in Byzantine literature that has concerned us in this
chapter.169 As this chapter has shown, the late Byzantine encomia
display a similar vitality in their mimesis.

63
Chapter Two
Convention and Originality: The Athlete of Christ

The previous chapter examined how classical models helped to define

the genre in which the encomia were written. It almost goes without
saying, however, that as these are works by Christians in praise of a
Christian saint, the greatest influence of all was the Bible and the
Church Fathers. Scholars like Demetrius Chrysoloras or Demetrius
Kydones who read classical authors like Lucian or Plato formed a tiny
minority even within the literate Byzantine population. For most
people, reading was limited to the Bible, commentaries on the Bible
and some of the more accessible Church Fathers. For example,
Eustathios Voilas who died in 1059, possessed several copies of the
Gospels and individual books of the Old Testament. He also had the
Hexameron and Antirrhetica of St Basil of Caesarea but the only
classical work which he possessed was Aesop’s Fables. A member of
the Xiphilinos family who flourished in the late thirteenth century,
owned a Homer but also several works of St Basil including his
commentary on Isaiah.1 Any appreciation of the encomia, whether as
literature or as expressions of religious devotion, demands an
investigation of these non-classical sources of inspiration. This
chapter will throw light on the biblical and patristic background of
these works in general before concentrating on one particular
metaphor, that of the ‘athlete of Christ’.
To start with, some obvious examples of use of the scriptures
will be given. The most favoured books were the Gospels, the Pauline
epistles, the Psalms and the Prophets. A clergyman like Isidore Glavas
was bound to quote scripture in his encomia. Amongst his citations are
two from St Paul’s First Epistle to the Thessalonians, making thus the
link between the Thessalonica of Paul and that of Demetrius.2 Isidore
also draws upon the message of Christian love in Luke: ‘But I say
unto you which hear, Love your enemies, do good to them which hate

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you’, and Matthew: ‘For if ye love them which love you, what reward
have ye? Do not even the publicans the same?’3 The passages
referring to Luke and Matthew were written in 1393, while
Thessalonica was under the first Turkish rule. Isidore is therefore
urging his fellow-citizens to suffer the Turkish occupation with
dignity and faith.
Similar in his choice of biblical citations is Isidore’s
successor, Gabriel of Thessalonica. His encomia differ from all the
others in that the passages from the Bible are not there to support his
main thread of thought but rather it is the citations that give the
structure to the speech. On some occasions there are as many as three
or four quotations per page in the published version of his encomia
and they are often given in an extended form that may take up several
lines. On occasions, he uses several citations from different books of
the Bible all in close proximity, which gives his encomia a thick
texture. They are so imbued in biblical references that they are almost
subservient to the citations they bring in. Therefore they form a
complex organism that almost defies isolated quotation. Yet to give
the reader a flavour of his method, an example is offered here.
In the first section of his third encomium, when he wants to
emphasise the importance of love in the Christian life, Gabriel makes
as many as nine direct quotations from the New Testament.4 He first
quotes the celebrated passage from the First Epistle to the Corinthians:
‘Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not
charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal’.5 Then,
rather than quoting the rest of the passage, he paraphrases it: ‘jaμ
p‚mta swedÂm tƒ pmeulatijƒ waq´slata jaμ tm d´stajtom
p´stim ¥ leh´stgsim Ãqg jaμ tm tØm ÈpaqwÁmtym pobokm
jaμ toÊr cØmar toÊr diƒ laqtuq´ou jaμ a¹lator, lgd˜m
Åkyr ÔvekoËmta taÉtgr …meu povaimÁlemor’6 [and he shows
forth that almost all the spiritual gifts and the unrelenting faith which
moves mountains and the riddance of possessions and the contests
through martyrdom and blood, without love are of no benefit at all].
Gabriel re-enforces this by drawing attention to the First Epistle of St
John and to the fact that John was very close to Christ: ‘tμ de¶ tƒ
pokkƒ k—ceim; îÀ heÂr c‚pg •st´mï, ùIy‚mmgr vgsμ À
•pistŸhior jaμ v´kor WqistoË, îjaμ À l—mym •m t« c‚p¨ •m

66
tß heâ, l—mei jaμ À heÂr •m aÇtâï’7 [what is the use of saying too
much? “God is love”, says John, the bosom friend and beloved of
Christ, “and he that dwelleth in the love dwelleth in God and God in
him”]. To elaborate his message further, Gabriel reminds his audience
of the new commandment given by Christ to the disciples, to love one
another, found in the Gospel of John and of the story of the lawyer
who asked Jesus what is the great commandment in the law, found in
the Gospel of Matthew.8 Gabriel continues the section in the same
way, with five more quotations from the Gospel of John.9

The very expressive author Symeon of Thessalonica stamps his own

personality on his use of the Bible and he does so differently in his
two encomia. His first uses those passages in a poetic way by means
of adding depth and beauty to the glorification of the martyr. The
second uses them to relate to contemporary events and to provide
inspiration and spiritual guidance to his audience.
In his first encomium, Symeon uses a metaphor from Isaiah
and the Psalmist David: ‘the whole earth is full of his glory’ and ‘the
earth is full of the goodness of the Lord’.10 He links this imagery of
fullness to St Demetrius by showing how the world is replete with his
myrrh and his love for his people. Further, Symeon brings in St Paul,
who in Romans says of Christ that ‘death hath no more dominion over
him’.11 Symeon relates the same to St Demetrius by saying that his
myrrh is proof that he is alive: ‘Åti f«’. 12 Symeon praises St
Demetrius for his martyrdom and for despising the rewards of this life.
He points out that also St Paul, in Philippians, and David, in Psalm
144, dismiss those rewards, as ‘dung’ and ‘shadow’ respectively.13
The Psalmist makes this point very poetically: ‘man is like to vanity:
his days are as a shadow that passeth away’. Indeed, St Demetrius is
shown to: ‘jataptÉei l˜m p‚mta t¡r c¡r Õr Ãmaq, Èpeqoq d˜
p‚mtym tØm t¡r jem¡r taÉtgr dÁngr’ [and he detests all the
things of the earth as illusions, and he ignores the empty glory of all
those things]. He thus becomes one with Christ: ‘jaμ –mÂr lÁmou
toË WqistoË Åkor c´metaiû jaμ •pihule¶ tØm toË WqistoË, jaμ
•pitucw‚mei tØm toË WqistoË, jaμ tØm pahgl‚tym aÇtoË
sÉlloqvor tâ pÁhß jaμ ™qcoir jah´statai, di jaμ t¡r
dÁngr jaμ kalpqÁtgtor WqistoË l—towor made´jmutai’14

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[and whole-heartedly becomes one with Christ; and he desires the
things of Christ, and he succeeds in the things of Christ, and he
conforms to His Passions both in his desire and in his deeds, through
which he is shown to be a partaker in the glory and brightness of
Christ].
In his second encomium, in order to establish the deep need
for loving St Demetrius, especially taking into account the feelings of
uncertainty in the city, Symeon draws attention to the First Epistle of
John, where St John explains that we love Christ because He first
loved us. By extension Symeon is saying that his flock must love St
Demetrius as he loved both the Lord and them, his people, for both of
whom he was martyred.15 In discussing the first Turkish occupation of
Thessalonica in 1387–1403, he cites St Paul: ‘jaμ ît´r d˜
sulvÖmgsir Wqistâ pqÂr Bek´aq;ï PaËkÁr vgsim.’16 [and
“What concord hath Christ with Belial”, says Paul] to emphasise the
incompatibility of Christians and ‘infidels’. He also makes a direct
reference to the Song of Moses from Exodus, by bringing out Moses
and Miriam as an example for the citizens in the whole-hearted
manner in which they praise God for their victories.17 The Song of
Moses was one of the Canticles extensively used in hymnography.
Symeon makes such references to Exodus repeatedly, for the
metaphor of Thessalonica as another Jerusalem was dominant in his
mind: ‘•pŸjousem aÇtÂr toË jejajyl—mou kaoË aÇtoË jahƒ
d jaμ ùIsqak •je´mou toË p‚kai’18 [(so) He heard the prayers of
his ill-treated people exactly as those of that Israel of old]. Later,
discussing the famine conditions that occurred in the city in 1427 due
to the Turkish blockade, he refers to a Psalm: ‘jaμ •m •sp—q‹ l˜m
¦lem •m jkauhlâ, •m cakki‚sei d˜ tâ pqy¾, jahƒ
c—cqaptai’19 [and in the evening we were in tears but in the morning
we were rejoicing, as it is written]. The reason for the rejoicing is the
intervention of St Demetrius, who provides the citizens with food. For
this deed, Symeon compares the saint to Joseph, who provided his
brothers with corn when they came to him in Egypt: ‘DglŸtqior,
Èp˜q tÂm ùIysv •je¶mom sitodÁtgr’20 [Demetrius, a provider of
wheat above that Joseph].

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Palamas makes extensive use of biblical references as well. A source
that stands out in his encomium for its rarity is the Acts of the
Apostles, which does not feature prominently in most other
encomiasts. For example, Demetrius is said to have been chosen by
God as St Paul was on the road to Damascus.21 Palamas liked to
expand on each allusion and to bring out every aspect of comparison
that it offered. Here is a passage in which he describes the young
Demetrius with beautiful passages from the Psalms:

ja´, ¹mù e·py tƒ t¡r Cqav¡r, jaμ vo¶min Õr •je¶mor mhØm ‡te
d´jaior, jaμ î•ka´a jat‚jaqpor •m tâ o·jß toË HeoËï, jaμ d—mdqom
paqƒ tƒr dienÁdour tØm Èd‚tym pevuteul—mom toË PmeÉlatorû pkm
Åti t l—m, jatƒ t xaklijÁm, îd´dysi tÂm jaqpÂm •m jaiqâ aÇtoËï,
À d˜ p‚mta jaiqÂm mhgvoq´ar ÀloË jaμ jaqpovoq´ar jaμ e»we jaμ
™weiû jaμ Ûspeq t •je´mou toË d—mdqou vÉkkom oÇj poqquŸseta´
pote jatƒ t cecqall—mom, oÎty toÉtou letƒ tØm vÉkkym jaμ tÂ
…mhor jaμ À jaqpÁr, mejke´ptyr to¶r pistØr pqospioËsi
letadidÁlema.22 [and in order to speak of the Scripture, he is a phoenix that
flourishes exactly like that just man, and ‘an olive tree full of fruit in the house
of God’, and a tree planted near the outlets of the waters of the Holy Spirit;
except that the one in the Psalm ‘gives fruit in its season’, but he always had
and has the season of bearing flowers and fruit; and exactly as the leaves of that
tree, as it is written, will not ever wither, in the same way with them the flowers
and the fruit (will remain) and will be communed without fail to those who
draw near faithfully].

He then extends the metaphor of the tree by presenting as a type for St

Demetrius the rod of Aaron, and Aaron himself as a type for Christ:

l„kkom d˜ WqistoË toË a²ym´ou qwieq—yr ð‚bdor jaμ sj¡ptqom

he¶om, e² d˜ boÉkei, jaμ Ãqpgn eihakr jaμ heoeidr À DglŸtqior, oÑ
WqistoË tÉpor ùAaq×m ¦m. Jaμ À l˜m WqistoË tÉpor, Dglgtq´ou d˜
toË tƒ p‚mta jakoË sjŸptqou WqistoË tekoËmtor ð‚bdor •je´mg
tÉpor, ÀloË te bkastŸsasa jaμ mhŸsasa jaμ toÊr jaqpoÊr
pqobakol—mg te ‡la jaμ tekesvoqŸsasa he´yr.23 [and even more,
Demetrius (is) the rod and divine sceptre of Christ, the eternal high priest, if we
want to put it that way, and an evergreen twig and godly in sight; and the type
of Christ is Aaron. He [Aaron] is the type of Christ, and that rod of Demetrius
the type of the good sceptre of Christ who fulfills everything, which both
flowers and bears fruit, and at once brings forth fruit and divinely ripens].

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Laymen, too, used the Bible in their encomia. In giving his own
healing as a reason for writing his encomium to St Demetrius,
Metochites recalls the pain caused by his ailment by referring to the
Prophet Jeremiah: ‘jaμ  pkgcŸ lou, t t¡r cqav¡r, kceimŸ’24
[and my wound, as in the scripture, is grievous]. To underline that the
martyr had his sights on the rewards of the soul and not on the rewards
of this world, Metochites brings in a quotation from Psalm 30: ‘t´r
Ôv—kei‹ tâ a¹lat´ lou •m tâ jataba´meim le e²r diavhoq‚m, Æ
vgsμm  cqavŸ’25 [what is the profit in my blood when I descend to
corruption, as the scripture says?]. It is typical of a scholar like him,
though, to follow this up closely with a line from Plato’s Euthydemus.
In the same way, after he likens the gladiator Lyaeus with Diomedes,
he couples this with a passage from Luke, to show the resolve of
Nestor to fight and that once he made up his mind to put himself in the
contest for Christ, there was no way back: ‘jaμ oÇj •pe´heto •pù
…qotqom bak×m tm we¶qa ™peita stq—veim Ãpishem’26 [and he
would not be persuaded once he had put his hand on the plough to
then turn backwards].
Nikephoros Gregoras is another layman who has passages
from the scriptures in his encomium. The most striking is one linking
the myrrh of St Demetrius with the nard (in the Greek called myrrh)
which the penitent woman poured on the head of Christ in the Gospels
of Matthew, Mark and Luke, and which Mary the sister of Martha
used to anoint His feet, according to John. The myrrh of St Demetrius
is said to purify the soul like nard purifies the body.27 Constantine
Harmenopoulos ties his biblical allusions to the physical surroundings
of the church of the Acheiropoietos. He chooses an architectural
passage from Proverbs, for instance, to show the magnificence of the
church: ‘Wisdom hath builded her house, she hath hewn out her seven
pillars’. Harmenopoulos describes the Acheiropoietos as being built
with seven pillars in the same manner, by the wisdom of God.2 8
Together with the description of the Acheiropoietos, prominent in
Harmenopoulos is the veneration of the Virgin Mary. A reference to
the Gospel of John reflects this, when Harmenopoulos marvels at the
mystery of the Word made flesh: ‘Æm cƒq •mupÁstatom toË HeoË
KÁcom •m to¶r –aut¡r •cj‚toir qqŸtyr aÎtg sume´kgve,
s‚qja diù l„r tÂm kÁcom toËtom cemÁlemom’29 [which true

70
Word of God she conceived in a mysterious way in her womb, this
Word for our sake become flesh].
There were, however, some encomiasts who seem not to have
used biblical references. Demetrius Chrysoloras did not quote
scripture at all. Nicholas Kavasilas, who adorns his first two encomia
with biblical references, makes no use of them whatever in his third
encomium which is entirely Homeric in flavour. More intriguing is the
fact that even monks like George Scholarios and Makarios Choumnos
made very sparse use of the scriptures. To sum up the question of the
use of biblical allusions in the encomia, therefore, it can be said that
there was no hard and fast rule. Each author had his own particular
approach.
Direct references to the Church Fathers are much rarer in the
encomia. Gabriel of Thessalonica, for example refers in passing to St
Basil and St John Chrysostom but these authors do not underpin his
work in the way that the biblical books do.30 In this respect one
encomium really stands out, that of Philotheos Kokkinos, which
encompasses with ease not only many Biblical passages but also a
wide range of Patristic literature. Gregory of Nazianzus, Clement of
Alexandria, Basil, John Damascene, Pseudo-Dionysus the Areopagite,
Gregory of Neocaesarea, Cyril of Alexandria, Athanasius the Great
and John Chrysostom all play a significant role in his encomium,
showing how much his thought processes differ to those of the other
authors who wrote encomia.31
The use of biblical and patristic examples in the encomia has
been briefly outlined. Yet their use is so embedded in these works that
to enumerate them all would be tedious. Instead, this chapter will now
concentrate on just one metaphor, that of the ‘athlete of Christ’ and
will show how its use in the encomia reflects its development in the
New Testament and the Greek Fathers.
The notion of a Christian martyr as an athlete of Christ was
not new in the fourteenth century. It follows a long theological
tradition and has its roots in Hebrew texts. As far as the Byzantine
authors are concerned though, their sources for the metaphor were St
Paul’s epistles and their reception by St John Chrysostom who was
Paul’s major interpreter. St Gregory of Nyssa, St John Klimakos, and
St Ephraem the Syrian, all contributed to the same notion of the

71
fighting Christian striving for perfection and martyrdom. In origin, the
idea owes something also to pre-Christian, Greco-Roman values that
were expressed in athletic competitions such as the Olympic and
Panhellenic games where the contestant took part solely for the glory
of winning. St Paul introduced contest as a metaphor for the Christian
life in his letters, perhaps influenced by witnessing the Isthmian
Games during his visit to Corinth, which of course were hosted there.
The Isthmian Games, held every two years in honour of Poseidon,
were one of the four Panhellenic Games of antiquity. Before
competing, the athletes took an oath to the sea-god Palaemon,
protector of sailors, not to try to obtain the prize of victory by
cheating.32 The same message appears in Paul’s second letter to
Timothy: ‘And if a man also strive for masteries, yet is he not
crowned, except he strive lawfully’.33
The athletic imagery resonates richly in many of the writings
of the Pauline tradition. For example, the Letter to the Hebrews, which
is attributed to him, says: ‘let us run with patience the race that is set
before us’.34 As well as the idea of a race, he brings in that of a prize
at the end of it: ‘I press toward the mark for the prize of the high
calling of God in Jesus Christ’ and ‘Know ye not that they which run
in a race run all, but one receiveth the prize? So run, that ye may
obtain.’35 In this way, Paul introduced into Christianity elements of
competition alongside its doctrines of tolerance and sacrifice which
ultimately made possible the idea of Christians fighting for a just
cause.36
The notion of contest that had been introduced by St Paul was
picked up and extended by the Greek Fathers of the Church. It is,
however, St John Chrysostom among them who does most to extend
Paul’s idea of contest. Chrysostom was particularly devoted to the
Apostle and wrote a commentary on all the Pauline Epistles. In his
Homily on the Second Letter to the Corinthians, Chrysostom
expresses how he feels about its author: ‘õApamtar l˜m vikØ toÊr
c´our, l‚kista d˜ tÂm laj‚qiom PaËkom’ [I love all the saints,
but most of all the blessed Paul]. Or: ‘ùEjja´olai cƒq e²r tÂm toË
mdqÂr pÁhom’ [For I am burning in the love for the man].
Consequently, Chrysostom became the main ambassador of Pauline
thought to future generations.37

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 It is only to be expected then that Chrysostom would reflect St
Paul’s ideas and metaphors in his own work, including the idea of
contest and prize. Paul’s soul, for example, is described by
Chrysostom as one that is the most prepared for combat: ‘oÇd˜m t¡r
PaÉkou xuw¡r cymistijÖteqom’ and ‘a soul arrayed against
death’, ‘xuw¡r pqÂr h‚matom paqatetacl—mgr’, which (i.e.
death) is the ultimate prize.38 Chrysostom, however, takes it further by
using the word ‘athlete’ to describe someone pursuing the Christian
life and applying it to St Paul himself. He calls him an ‘ùAhkgtm toË
WqistoË’ [athlete of Christ] and ‘jaμ jah‚peq tir hkgtr’
[exactly like someone who is an athlete].39 Chrysostom did not,
however, restrict the metaphor to St Paul. He applies it to all
Christians as here he talks about those who feel like quitting before
the contest is over: ‘Jah‚peq cƒq À pujteÉym •pe´cetai toË
stad´ou •nekhe¶m, ¹ma pakkac« tØm tqaul‚tymû jaμ À
hkgtr mast¡mai t h—atqom •pihule¶, ¹ma •keuheqyh« tØm
pÁmym (...)’40 [Exactly as the boxer feels the urgency to exit the
stadium, so that he can get rid of his wounds and the athlete desires to
rise from the theatre, so that he can become free of his pains (…)].
With the ideas of contest, race, prize and athlete established,
Christian writers could extend the metaphors in all kinds of ways.
John Chrysostom, for instance, builds on the idea of the Christian as
an athlete by linking it to a portrait of dignified manhood that has, at
first sight, little to do with specifically Christian morality:

Po´a cƒq joimym´a l—h¨ jaμ l‚w¨; castq´feshai jaμ mdq´feshai;

lÉqoir jaμ Åpkoir; pok—lß jaμ jÖloir; StqatiÖtgr e» toË WqistoË,
capgt˜, Àpk´fou, l jakkyp´fouû hkgtr e» cemma¶or, mdq´fou, l
Õqa¾fou.41 [What is the connection between drunkenness and battle? Between
indulging in food and being manly? Between war and hairstyles? You are a
soldier of Christ, beloved one, arm yourself, do not beautify yourself. You are a
brave athlete, be manly, don’t be made pretty].

The lead taken by John Chrysostom was followed by later writers. St

John Klimakos (of the Ladder, c. 570–649) in his work The Ladder of
Divine Ascent presents the spiritual path as a competition:

73
 O³ pqohÉlyr jaμ Àn—yr dqale¶m boukÁlemoi, moumewØr
•pisjexÖleha pØr À JÉqior p‚mtar toÊr •m jÁslß diatq´bomtar jaμ
fØmtar mejqoÊr jated´jasem, e²p×m pqÁr timaû …ver toÊr mejqoÊr
joslijoÉr, toÊr tâ sÖlati mejqoÊr h‚xai42 [If we really wish to enter
the contest of religious life, we should take careful heed to the sense in which
the Lord described those remaining in the world as living corpses. What he said
was, in effect, ‘Let the living dead who are in the world bury those dead in the
body’]. 43

He then extends the metaphor of contest to show the rewards and also
the challenges of the Christian life:

Cimysj—tysam p‚mter o³ tâ jakâ cØmi toÉtß tâ sjkgqâ jaμ

stemâ jaμ ekavqâ pqoseqwÁlemoi, Õr e²r pËq pqosekgkÉhasim
e²spgd¡sai, e·peq pËq …Òkom •m –auto¶r o²j¡sai •jd—womtaiû
dojilaf—ty d˜ ™jastor –autÂm, jaμ oÎtyr •j toË …qtou aÇt¡r toË
letƒ pijq´dym, jaμ •j toË potgq´ou aÇt¡r toË letƒ dajqÉym •shi—ty
jaμ pim—ty, ¹ma l e²r jq¶la –autâ stqateÉgtai44 [Let all those coming
up to this marvellous, tough, and painful – though also easy – contest leap, as it
were, into a fire, so that a non-material flame may take up residence within
them. But let each one test himself, draw food and drink from the bread of pain
and the cup of weeping, lest he march himself to judgement]. 45

It may sound a paradox to call something that is difficult and heavy

‘light’, but it is thought to be made light, for those who are deemed
worthy, by the mercy of God. As the gospel says: ‘Come unto me, all
ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’4 6
Similarly, the ninth-century abbot of Stoudios, Theodore of Stoudios,
praised his uncle Plato as an athlete and a confessor of Christ:

jaμ t—lmetai l˜m tm jevakm oÇdalØr, Åti lgd˜ boÉketo À Ja¶saq
l‚qtuqa tek—sai tÂm t« pqoaiq—sei hkŸsamta, Õr pqokab×m
pevh—cnato, Àlokocgtm WqistoË jaμ l boukÁlemor p—deinem
(...)47 [and he does not cut off his head, as he does not want, the Caesar, to
make a martyr of the voluntary athlete, as of the one who came first, when he
spoke up, but he proves him a confessor of Christ though not wanting to (…)].

A similar approach is taken by the twelfth-century Cypriot monk,

Neophytos the Recluse, in his encomium to St Demetrius. He
describes how an angel comes down from heaven while Demetrius is

74
in prison awaiting his martyrdom and says to him the following to
strengthen him during his ordeal: ‘e²qŸmg soi, toË WqistoË
hkgt‚, ·swue jaμ mdq´fou’48 [Peace be with you, athlete of
Christ, have strength and be manly]. One could produce many more
such examples both in Byzantine and Latin literature. As regards the
latter, the anonymous author of the Gesta Francorum describes the
crusader leader, Bohemond of Taranto (c.1058–1111) as an athlete of
Christ: ‘Christi Athleta’.49 The athlete had become a commonplace of
Christian panegyric.
It is clear, then, that the athlete metaphor had a long and
distinguished pedigree. It is therefore not surprising that it occurs
again and again in the late Byzantine encomia to St Demetrius.
Indeed, it was only natural for the metaphor to be attributed to him,
given his youth at the time of his death, his background as a military
saint and as a soldier in the Roman army and the elements of both
physical and spiritual struggle that were present in his martyrdom.
Thus while urging Christians to excel in their faith, the metropolitan
Gabriel also reminds them in his encomium to compete fairly:
îmol´lyr hk¡saiï, jatƒ tm toË PaÉkou vymŸm’, an echo of
the voice of St Paul.50 Gabriel presents God as the just judge of the
contest:

‘T´r oÎtyr …jqitor hkoh—tgr, Õr tØm ·sym niØsai stev‚mym tÂm

mijgtm jaμ tÂm lgd˜m cymisl—mom; t´r stqatgcÂr e²r tm leq´dam
tØm sjÉkym •n ·sou pot˜ to¶r memijgjÁsi toÊr lgd˜ vam—mtar •pμ t¡r
l‚wgr •j‚kesem; ùAcahÂr À heÂr, kkƒ jaμ d´jaiorû51 [What ill-judged
umpire would award the same garlands to the champion and to he who did not
take part in the contest? What general has ever called equally to the spoils of
war the victors and those who did not show up for battle? The Lord is good but
he is also righteous].

Makarios Choumnos, on the other hand, addresses St Demetrius as

‘the greatest athlete of Christ’ in the hope that he will strengthen him
in the specific task of being abbot and dealing with the brothers in his
monastery.52 Nicholas Kavasilas tells the saint: ‘jaμ tØm he´ym
pqacl‚tym hkgtr Èp˜q p‚mtar mev‚mgr toÊr …kkour’53
[and in the divine things you proved yourself an athlete above all
others]. Incidentally, this figure of speech when the author addresses

75
the hero in the second person is called apostrophê, it is an indication
of intimacy and affection and it stems from Homer. In the Iliad,
typically the poet’s most favoured characters like Patroclus or
Menelaus are addressed in this way. Constantine Harmenopoulos calls
Demetrius: ‘À tØm hkgtØm toË WqistoË l—cistor’ [the greatest
of the athletes of Christ], and ‘kghr jaμ wqistol´lgtor Ãmtyr
hkgtr’ [a true athlete who certainly imitated Christ].54 George
Scholarios praises the saint for his ‘athletic patience’ (t¡r hkgtij¡r
jaqteq´ar toË l‚qtuqor). 55 Scholarios also refers to the spear
which pierced the side of Demetrius, which was ‘tâ hkgtijâ
pevoimicl—mg a¹lati’56 [reddened by the athletic blood]. We also
find the extension of the idea into struggle and fighting. Thus
Theodore Metochites describes how the victory of Nestor against the
champion gladiator Lyaeus was achieved through the efforts of the
one who had been a ‘p‚mtù …qistor Àpk´tgr WqistoË’57 [always
an excellent armed fighter of Christ], that is to say, Demetrius himself.
It could be said that in using this metaphor, these authors were
simply blindly following a trend. After all, in late Byzantine literature
the quality of the athlete as a great Christian was being applied even to
the most unathletic of people, such elderly clergymen and bishops. In
his encomium to St Gregory Palamas, his pupil Philotheos Kokkinos,
who was responsible for his canonisation, praises him as an athlete
despite the fact he did not have to shed his blood for his faith:

heokÁcym jaμ pat—qym jaμ didasj‚kym jakkÖpisla, tØm

postÁkym À sumacymistŸr, À tØm ÀlokocgtØm jaμ laqtÉqym
ma´lajtor fgkytr jaμ stevam´tgr jaμ kÁcoir jaμ pq‚clasi, jaμ
t¡r eÇsebe´ar hkgtr jaμ stqatgcÂr jaμ Èp—qlawor 5 8 [an
embellishment of theologians, fathers, and teachers, the fellow-combatant of
the apostles, the bloodless zealot and wreath-wearer of the confessors of the
faith and the martyrs through his words and actions, and the athlete of piety and
a general and a fighter].

The patriarch of Constantinople and fervent Palamite, Isidore I

Boucheiras (1347–50) is described in similar terms by Kokkinos:
‘ma´lajtor l‚qtur jaμ stevam´tgr kalpqÂr jaμ Ÿttgtor’
[a bloodless martyr and a wreath-wearer who is brilliant (with light)
and unbeaten]. The hesychast saint Romylos was labelled a ‘spiritual

76
athlete’ by his hagiographer.59 The metaphor of combat is further
extended by Kokkinos when he refers to Palamas as ‘our wrestler’: ‘À
•lÂr pakaistr’.60 Even the citizens of Thessalonica were awarded
this accolade. Nikephoros Gregoras claimed that they had partaken in
the struggles of St Demetrius and therefore shared in his victory: ‘to¶r
cØsi toË l‚qtuqor sumahke¶m’ [and they (i.e. the citizens) are
fellow-athletes of the martyr in his trials].61 In Harmenopoulos’s
encomium, Demetrius rewards the citizens (‘bqabeÉym’), by his
attention to their prayers. In the city they perform such rites ‘o¼r À
tØm hkgtØm toË WqistoË jÁslor paqƒ tØm mhqÖpym
c‚kketai’62 [by which (i.e. by the material expressions of the
rituals) the world of the athletes of Christ is gratified amongst men].
A touching twist to the theme of an athlete is the letter of
Symeon of Thessalonica to Manuel’s third son, the Despot of
Thessalonica Andronikos. In the letter Symeon attributes the strengths
of a spiritual athlete to the young despot when he was at his weakest,
at the point of leaving office and handing over the city to the
Venetians. Of interest here is how Symeon pays tribute to him for his
choice of monasticism. He not only points out the demands of the
spiritual path by bringing in the athletic metaphor, he also links the
upcoming spiritual achievements of the despot with those of Christ.
Symeon projects a vision of the despot in his future monastic career
where he is following the contest of Christ, tÂm …hkom, showing him
to be in that way Christ’s imitator: ‘SÊ toË ùIgsoË lilgtr toË diƒ
s˜ tapeimoË. (...) OÇj—ti cŸ½mor e», kkƒ pok´tgr tØm …my,
l„kkom d˜ toË tØm …my despÁtou sulbasikeÉr te jaμ
sÉmahkor’6 3 [For you are not earthly, but a citizen of above, and
rather a joint king and fellow athlete of the master of heaven].
Common though the athlete metaphor was, however, the use
made of it in the encomia to St Demetrius went much further than
merely repeating a hackneyed formula. The fact was that the formula
had always been modified according to the needs of each period and
society. In the later Byzantine period a number of influences caused
the metaphor to be used in different ways that are reflected in the
encomia. Two of these will now be considered: the development of
Hesychast spirituality and the revived study of the Classics.

77
 Hesychasm is one of the most obvious influences that
changed the way in which the metaphor was used. Hesychast leaders
such Gregory Palamas and Philotheos Kokkinos seem to have seen the
athlete metaphor in terms of the athlete of the spirit fighting a mystical
battle. Gregory Palamas credits St Demetrius with completing the race
of martyrdom, ‘tÂm cƒq dqÁlom tek—sar’ [having finished the
race], in very standard terms. He goes further, however, and dwells on
the idea of struggle with Demetrius ‘•mstƒr l—wqi a¹lator’ [having
resisted to the (end of his) blood]. Palamas makes clear what
Demetrius is struggling against: ‘jaμ l—wqir a¹lator e²r t—kor
mtijat—stg pqÂr tm jaj´am cymifÁlemor’ [and he resisted to
the blood and death, battling against evil]. He was ‘t« mtih—tß
pqospaka´ym jaj´‹’ [fighting with his foe, depravity]. Unlike
Nestor, who fought a physical enemy, Demetrius fights a spiritual one,
evil itself, a subtle difference which Palamas can hardly have been
unaware.64
Similarly, in Philotheos Kokkinos’s encomium, St Demetrius
is said to have ‘¿n—yr ™dqale dqÁlom’6 5 [run the race sharply].
Indeed, Kokkinos seems to have been directly influenced here by St
Paul’s notion of contest. As he puts it in another passage: ‘e²siÁmta
pqohÉlyr tÂm …hkom’ [having taken up the contest willingly],
‘lgd˜ t •autoË fgte¶m, îkkƒ jaμ t tØm pokkØm, Åpyr
syhØsiï jatƒ tÂm haulastÂm PaËkom’ [and not seeking for
himself, “but for the many, so that they may be saved” according to
the admirable Paul], he died for the love of Christ.66 Like Palamas,
Kokkinos lays emphasis on the spiritual struggle. He addresses
Demetrius as ‘cymistØm WqistoË jaμ hkgtØm …qiste’67 [of the
combatants and athletes of Christ the most excellent]. He shows
Nestor to have credited Demetrius for inspiring him in his physical
victory against Lyaeus: ‘t¡r ÈpeqvuoËr jaμ haulast¡r m´jgr
•je´mgr qwgcÂm se jaμ dgliouqcÂm, Åpeq ¦m, kocis‚lemor’68
[(Nestor) thinking of you exactly as the leader and creator of that
supernatural and admirable victory]. Nestor, Demetrius’s companion
in the martyrdom, embodies the more physical part of the battle, by
being the one who fights with and humiliates the champion gladiator
strengthened by St Demetrius’s prayers. The alleged scorpion that St
Demetrius is said to have dispatched in his cell, can be interpreted as a

78
manifestation of an inner struggle, similar to the one faced by monks
in their personal journeys.
The notion of an athletic Demetrius involved in a spiritual
struggle was not confined to militant hesychasts. Constantine
Harmenopoulos, who wrote an attack on Palamas’s teaching, uses
mystical terminology in his encomium when he says, after St John of
Klimakos: ‘mabaslo¶r ... pmeulatijo¶r, •n qet¡r e²r qetm
... l—wqir †m e²r aÇt vh‚seie t¡r kghoËr heocmys´ar tÂ
l—cistom di¡qer’69 [spiritual … levels, from virtue to virtue … until
he (St Demetrius) reached the finest vessel itself of the true
knowledge of God]. Here is the idea of an athletic spiritual contest as
the saint climbs the ladder of the spiritual life.

The revived study of the Classics during the Palaiologan renaissance

may well have changed the way in which the athlete metaphor was
used in the encomia. Developed by St Paul and the Church Fathers
from a Greco-Roman ethos of physical contest, it was now
reconnected by late Byzantine authors to its distant roots. Nikephoros
Gregoras uses the metaphor of dqÁlor, in the sense of a running
track, a fairly standard use of the athletic lexical set. However, he
takes it further than other authors by using it to make a comparison
between St Demetrius and Alexander the Great: ‘to¶r cƒq
molo´oir cØsi jaμ dqÁloir mÂloiom jaμ t p—qar m‚cjg
sume¶mai’7 0 [the different contests and running races have by
necessity a different end result]. Gregoras’s argument is that
Alexander had goals that were of this world, while St Demetrius had
goals that were of the other world. In that fact St Demetrius has
proved himself to be superior. Notions of contest and of struggle
towards one’s goals are dominant in Gregoras’s encomium, and the
classical ideal is incorporated with ease in his praise of the saint. He
expands on this idea with the image of St Demetrius struggling
towards distinct goals in his cell: ‘DglŸtqior, e¼r Úm jaμ
deslÖtgr, dipkoËm •poie¶to tÂm cØma t¡r paqat‚neyr •m
stemyt‚tß wyq´ß deslytgq´ou’7 1 [Demetrius, although alone
and a prisoner, was making twice the contest of an army-in-array
in the extremely narrow confines of his prison cell]. After the martyr’s

79
death, the same image seems to resonate in the entire world, through
the veneration, and in the minds of the faithful:

Jaμ mËm •stim Àq„m tm jejqull—mgm •je´mgm paq‚tanim toË

laqtuqijoË pok—lou tƒ p—qata peqigwoËsam t¡r c¡r, jaμ mijØmta
l˜m tÂm hkgtm pamtaw«, ttÖlemom d˜ LaniliamÂm jaμ Kua¶om jaμ
Åpkym •je´mym jaμ pakaisl‚tym t jq‚tor a²swumÁlemom diù a²Ømorû
oÎty pamtÂr ùAken‚mdqou peqivam—steqor À toË l‚qtuqor c—come
h‚matorû72 [And now one can see that hidden army-in-array of the war of
martyrdom resounding to the ends of the earth, and the athlete winning
everywhere, and Maximian and Lyaeus losing, and the might of their arms and
artifice being shamed through the ages; in such a manner the death of the
martyr became more prominent than every Alexander].

It is in the success of the goal that the merit of the effort is judged:
‘je¶hem t le¶fom jaμ §ttom toË te tÁmou jaμ t¡r t—wmgr
jq´metai’73 [and that is where (i.e. in achieving the target) the most
and the least of the tension and the skill is judged]. In short, Gregoras
has brought the Christian athlete metaphor back to its classical
origins.
Similarly, Demetrius Chrysoloras starts his encomium with an
address that betrays a sense of awe towards the great athlete:

DglŸtqior, t ckujÊ pq„cla, t haulastÂm Ãmola, t l—ca tØm

hkgtØm …jousla, tØm laqtÉqym  dÁna, tØm cymifol—mym 
joquvŸ, t n—mom •pμ t¡r c¡r h—ala, t oÇq‚miom …cakla, è pokÊr
l˜m c×m Èp˜q toË HeoË ... T´r ™paimor …nior, po¶om •cjÖliom
qjetÂm aÇtâ, t´r eÇvgl´a pq—pousa ... tosoËtom ™qcom  toË
l‚qtuqor …hkgsirû74 [Demetrius, the sweet thing, the wondrous name, the
great instruction of athletes, the glory of martyrs, the pinnacle of the ones who
strive, the rare sight on earth, the heavenly image, who strived greatly in favour
of God … Which laud (is) worthy, what encomium is enough for him, which
acclamation befitting? … so much of an accomplishment is the athletic feat of
the martyr].

The heroic spirit of the athlete who is willing to be martyred for Christ
is shown further by Chrysoloras to be the result of great self-discipline
over the natural impulses of youth, and therefore even more laudable:

(...) oÇj e·a leiqajiÖdg tm •pihul´am wak´mytom e»mai, kkƒ tâ l˜m
kocistijâ tm cmØsim, aÇt« d˜ tm eÇs—beiam •vaqlÁttei jaμ tØ l˜m

80
 hulâ tm mdqe´am, aÇt« d˜ sum—pkene t l—wqir a¹lator
cym´feshai.75 [… he did not leave his youthful desire unbridled but he
applied knowledge to rationality and to this the faith, and to temperament his
bravery, and this latter quality contributed to his fighting to the last drop of
blood].

In referring to Demetrius’s youth in this way, Chrysoloras is

emphasising his humanity and hinting at his physical desirability. Yet
he stops at a hint. It is other authors who take that strand even further.
Theodore Metochites refers to the ‘²swÊr sÖlator’ [firmness of the
body]76 of the saint. Curiously it is not only classicising laymen that
make such references but even clergymen with hesychast sympathies.
The Metropolitan of Thessalonica, Symeon, acknowledges the
physical attractiveness of St Demetrius by calling him the most
beautiful athlete: ‘À j‚kkistor hkgtŸr’.77 Philotheos Kokkinos
admired his ‘ðÖlg sÖlator’78 [strength of the body]. Thus we have
come full circle and are back once more in the classical world where
the games celebrated youth, strength and beauty.

To conclude this chapter, the way in which certain abstract values

were applied to persons is an important topic when concerned with the
construction of sainthood. Saints served as constructed examples that
conformed to projected ideals of Christian life, in that they could be
helpful to societies as images that provided social cohesion, and to the
church as figures to look upon for protection against heresies. The
notion of the athlete in Christian thought created prototypes for the
faithful to follow. Praise to a Christian congregation implies need of
imitation, and the values that are projected are pivotal for the
practicing Christian and for the Christian life. Nevertheless, although
we can see the encomia as fitting into these wider paradigms, their
frequent and intense use of the athlete and wreath metaphors and of
the hyperbolic comparisons were undoubtedly the products of the
times in which they were written.

81
Chapter Three
Internal Literary Evidence for the Festival
of the Saint

Previous chapters have examined aspects of genre and style. In this

chapter and the next, the discussion will turn to content. The late
Byzantine encomia to St Demetrius are rich in information about the
absorbed and impassioned veneration that he enjoyed. They are also in
themselves instruments in that veneration, as they were used during
worship, or, in some cases, privately, and inspired feelings of devotion
in the listeners. During the festival, or the saint’s panegyris, they were
an important centrepiece and they prompted the public to participate
in worship fully.1 One of the ways in which the encomia inspired
devotion was to point at other elements of the festival that did so, as
well as referring to the encomium in progress, and to other encomia
delivered in the past. They also described the experience of the
speaker, and the difficulty involved in the preparation of their piece.
Such descriptions, although somewhat formulaic and often repetitive,
or not that original in their content, increased in the audience a sense
of the active participation of the encomiast in the saint’s praise. They
also gave a sense of warmth and intimacy to the speech.
Apart from the fact that by their style and feel the encomia
give us valuable insights into how St Demetrius was thought of by the
Byzantines, there is also specific information recorded in them about
the formalities of the cult and the beliefs that were at their root. Things
that to us seem contentious doctrinal points, for instance, may appear
in the encomia as theological commonplaces. Such instances show us
where the lines were drawn. Associations that are made show us the
cultural context in which the veneration took place, and the nature of
the community likely to have been involved in it.
One of the encomiasts, Constantine Harmenopoulos, claims
that the festival to St Demetrius plainly excels over all the secular

83
festivals that could be compared with it: ‘p‚sar •cjosl´our
tewmØr Èpeqa´qei’ [it plainly outdoes all of the secular ones]. This
is in keeping with the excellence of the martyr, whom Harmenopoulos
says to be the bravest amongst the excellent (athletes) of Christ: ‘tØm
qist—ym toË WqistoË cemmaiÁtatom o»da’.2
While studying the festival of St Demetrius one is struck by
its air of universality as well as its large base of local devotion. The
native inhabitants were seemingly joined for the festivities by many
other worshippers, certainly Christian, and most probably in their
majority Byzantine, if we judge from the inter-textual references made
and the cultural values expounded in the encomia. One encomium that
throws light on who participated in the festival is that of Nikephoros
Gregoras. He says that people came for the festival from all over the
world, moved by their longing for their beloved saint. The longing for
devotion to the saint is a recurrent theme in the encomia and goes
hand in hand with the longing for martyrdom of which the saint is a
shining example:

ToicaqoËm jaμ sumeqqÉgjeû pohoËsi l˜m cƒq aÇtÂm ‡pamter Åsoi tƒ

jahù l„r pqesbeÉousi mÁlila, jaμ t¡r o²joul—mgr pamtaw«
tejlŸqia peqivam¡ toË toioÉtou pqÁjeimtai pÁhou3 [Accordingly they
come together like currents; because all those who honour our customs have a
longing for him, and there are distinct proofs of that longing everywhere in the
world].

The phrase ‡pamter Åsoi tƒ jahù l„r pqesbeÉousi mÁlila can

be an indication as to the cultural boundaries to which the pilgrims to
St Demetrius may have conformed. Egypt, Libya, the Arabic lands,
Caucasus, and the straits of Gibraltar are some of the places that
Gregoras mentions for their firm dedication to the memory of the saint
and for following the fasts and preparations for his festival. Of those
the latter is clearly a rhetorical commonplace, in keeping with his
fondness for mythical citation but the others seem realistic. He also
suggests that churches and icons dedicated to him were found in those
parts.4
The places that Gregoras quotes are all south of Thessalonica
or east, which makes one think that he refers to pilgrims who were
steeped in the Orthodox tradition, and had an intimate knowledge of

84
the life of the saint. Many monasteries kept the flame of Orthodoxy
alive in those parts after they were lost to the Byzantine Empire. There
is no reference to westerners present in the festival for pilgrimage,
although the twelfth century Timarion does mention that they were
present at the commercial fair at least.5 There may have been
occasional pilgrims who combined mercantile activities with worship.
The ethos of the cult would not have encouraged haphazard veneration
though, as what is applauded throughout the encomia is a passionate
and constant dedication to the saint.
There is a sense of great familiarity and intimacy between St
Demetrius and his worshippers that is evident in Gregoras’s account.
He describes how they revel in the saint’s spiritual presence during
proceedings:

kkù e²r Åti pke¶stom aÇtâ sumgsh¡mai jaμ o¼om e²pe¶m sumeuywgh¡mai
jaμ pqoskak¡sai jaμ sulpopeËsai t« dÁn¨ taÉt¨ jaμ eÇceme´‹ jaμ
oÈtys´ pyr toË vk—comtor pÁhou t pËq mapaËsai, tekeÖteqom £
jatƒ p„sam dqØmter úEkk‚da jaμ p‚mtar õEkkgmar6 [but to the greatest
extent possible to be united with him and so to speak to feast with him and to
converse with him and to accompany this glory (meaning the saint) and
nobility, and in this way to bring to some repose the fire of their burning desire
(for him), much more perfectly than those acting in the whole of Greece and all
the Greeks].

This intimacy between the faithful and the saint also has implications
for the achievement of their goal as Christians: ‘to¶r cØsi toË
l‚qtuqor sumahke¶m jaμ pqÂr tƒr cahƒr •kp´dar –to´lour
–autoÊr paqasjeu‚feim e´’7 [to be a fellow-athlete to the contests
of the martyr, and towards the good hopes (i.e. of salvation) to be
constantly making themselves ready]. The metaphor of the athlete of
the Christian life occurs here again. The preparation period before the
feast is said to be like a sacrifice: ‘toËtù aÇto¶r t¡r –oqt¡r
qwol—mou lgmÂr eÇhÊr o²omeμ pqot—keia l—wqi jaμ pqÂr
aÇtŸm •sti tm pamŸcuqim’8 [as soon as the month of the festival
begins, to them it is like a sacrificial offering, until the day of the
celebration]. This preparation period mirrors Advent and Lent, in
keeping with the mirroring of the life of St Demetrius to the life of
Christ.

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 Gregoras, who was not from Thessalonica,9 describes the love
of the inhabitants for St Demetrius as a motivation for himself. His
description paints a picture of worshippers who had prayer in their
hearts constantly, and they were meditating upon the saint’s
martyrdom round the clock. Such rigorous practices of prayer in
Thessalonica sound very likely, considering the strong monastic
influence there:

•l˜ dù À tØm o²jgtÁqym f¡kor jaμ pÁhor ¿tqÉmei haul‚feim, Æm •m

to¶r t¡r jaqd´ar mÉjtyq jaμ lehù l—qam eμ peqih‚kpomter10 [but as
for me, the passion and longing of the inhabitants urges me to show my
admiration for him whom they keep with warmth within their hearts night and
day]

Gregoras writes his encomium with great conviction and he likens his
offering of a speech to St Demetrius to a garland of flowers: ‘Ûspeq
e· tir ceyqcÂr meovam—si jaqpo¶r peqigmhgsl—mom jol´fei
st—vamom’11 [exactly as a labourer of the land brings a garland
adorned with fresh fruit]. This is another way of linking the festival to
springtime, by associating the blossoming of flowers with feelings of
joy.12
In defining the desirable worshippers, the primary criterion
for Gregoras seems to be simply the Christian faith. Further in the text
Gregoras declares that people are allowed, and in fact it is their
‘unwritten right’, moloh—tgtom d´jaiom,13 to venerate Demetrius
wherever they are. ‘In the fields and the cities, and in every place on
earth’: •m cqo¶r jaμ pÁkesi jaμ pamtawoË t¡r c¡r.14 They do
not have to be in Demetrius’s city to do so.
Despite its ring of universality, this seems quite a perplexing
remark. The fact that permission is even discussed in the text may
seem curious to us at first. It could illuminate Gregoras’s train of
thought to add that in making this statement he compares the worship
of St Demetrius in Thessalonica with that of God in Jerusalem.
Gregoras seems familiar with the Jewish laws of worship that were
location-specific. Songs of praise were not allowed in exile. In any
case, this is another comparison of St Demetrius to God, while
Thessalonica is complimented by comparison to the holy city.

86
Comparisons of Thessalonica to the most celebrated urban centres of
the world can be found in abundance in Gregoras and in other
encomiasts. They show what was the perception of the city amongst
its inhabitants and amongst Byzantines in general. There was no lack
of pride surrounding the city of Thessalonica. Indeed, the fervency of
the link between local patriotism and the cult of the saint closely
parallels the situation in contemporary Italian cities. An obvious
example is the cult of St Ambrose in Milan.15
The perception of the city as an entity brings me to my next
point. There is another echo in the phrase •m cqo¶r jaμ pÁkesi,
apart from the one of the universality of prayer. The set up of a
classical city-state is recalled here. This was schematized in ancient
Greek tragedy, 16 with one entrance on the theatre stage being for
actors coming to stage from the town, and the other for actors coming
from the fields. Thessalonica with its hinterland can be compared to a
classical city by this association. This is also an indirect comparison to
the glory of classical Athens. We should not be surprised that this
occurs in the encomia. It is characteristic of the make up of a
Byzantine mind to combine classical and theological concepts in this
way.
Such parallels went a lot further than just between cities.
Demetrius’s cult often mirrored that of Christ himself. The core of the
festival was modelled on Holy Week and was celebrated over three
all-night vigils, as is the custom in the East when paying the last
respects to the dead. The imagery of mourning for the dead St
Demetrius therefore parallels that for the crucified Christ and blends
perfectly with the Christo-centric approach that is at its most
prominent in the writings of Nicholas Kavasilas. The celebration of
the saint’s victory is also a comparison to Christ’s resurrection and
triumph.
A similar approach is found in the encomium of Constantine
Harmenopoulos. He calls St Demetrius’s passion ‘wqistol´lgtom
p‚hor’, a passion that imitates Christ.17 This is in keeping with the
term Christomimetes, which was used for emperors. Harmenopoulos
is quite specific in his encomium and he goes into physical detail.
Moving from the general to the specific, the metaphysical ideal of
martyrdom is here expressed in the physical piercing of St

87
Demetrius’s side, which was compared to that of Jesus. The passage is
direct and very physical indeed. It has an immediate impact on the
reader as it underlines the repetitive action of piercing many times the
side of the martyr, as well as his willingness to be slain. St Demetrius
is shown here, as he is in other encomia, to have in his mind’s eye the
death of the Saviour, and that seems to be a major motivating factor in
his desire for martyrdom and for imitating His passion willingly
(‘–j×m’):

Åti wqistolilŸtyr tm pkeuqƒm jaμ oÑtor –j×m •mÉcg, toÉtß lÁmom
•mtaËha toË Syt¡qor e·hù ÈsteqŸsar e·te pkeomejtŸsar, oÇj ™wy
v‚mai, tâ luqiÁtqytom taÉtgm swe¶m18 [because he had his side pierced
willingly in imitation of Christ; but here I cannot really say whether he came
short or gained some advantage over the Saviour, by having his side pierced
many times].

The suggestion here that St Demetrius might even have excelled

Christ in his manner of death is extraordinary. Yet, Harmenopoulos
was bearing witness to a distinct trend. As Patriarch John XIV
Kalekas complained, in Thessalonica ‘St Demetrius was more revered
than Christ’. He went on to protest that:

Åti tÂm doÉkom pk—om toË despÁtou tilÖsi, jaμ sumahqo´fomtai l˜m
palpkgheμ e²r tÂm maÂm toË c´ou lecakol‚qtuqor jaμ luqobkÉtou
Dglgtq´ou, tÂm d˜ maÂm toË despÁtou syt¡qor WqistoË
paqatq—wousim, e»pem aÇtâ d¡hem À waqtovÉkan, Åti pk—om tilØsim
o³ Hessakomije¶r tÂm l‚qtuqa toË WqistoË19 [that they honour the slave
more than the master, and they gather in great multitude in the church of the
holy and great martyr and Myrovlytes Demetrius, and, on the other hand, they
run past the church of the Lord and Saviour Christ, and so the chartophylax is
alleged to have said of them that they, the Thessalonians, honour more the
martyr than Christ].

The frustration of the patriarch in this passage shows the strength of

the saint’s following. Furthermore, what is brought to mind here is the
town plan of Thessalonica, with the multitudes of the faithful rushing
to attend a given akolouthia. The church mentioned as being dedicated
to the Lord and Saviour Christ must be the Church of the
Transfiguration of the Saviour, estimated as having been built in the

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fourteenth century. The Church of the Transfiguration is relatively
close or certainly at a walking distance to St Demetrius’s basilica.20
The same spirit of enthusiastic celebration and hyperbolic
praise appears in the encomium of Gregory Palamas. He claims that
King David foresaw the splendour of St Demetrius and praised him
from the depths of the past in the First Psalm: ‘ToËtom À Dabμd
pqo½d×m •laj‚qise jaμ mÉlmgse îlaj‚qiorï, k—cym,
îmŸq, Ær oÇj •poqeÉhg •m bouk« sebØm jaμ •m Àdâ
laqtykØm oÇj ™stgï.’ 21 [David having foreseen him in the
future, he called him (Demetrius) blessed and exalted him, saying,
‘Blessed is the man who has not walked in the will of the impious nor
stood in the road of the sinful’]. This amounts to a claim that the
Psalm was dedicated by King David to St Demetrius. The passage is
remarkable not only for the association between the saint and King
David but also because it resembles references from the Old
Testament to Christ. Of course, Palamas’s Orthodoxy was questioned
at times, but this will not concern us here.
It seems that all encomiasts were creative in their
interpretations. Imaginative associations and new ways of expressing
the Christian message are definite features in the encomia. Another
example of this comes, again, from Gregoras. He likens the story of St
Demetrius to passages from the Gospels in a fascinating and elaborate
fashion that also involves the cult of the myrrh. St Demetrius’s myrrh
was very important to the pilgrims in hope of recovering their health,
and its mention would have had a great appeal to them. Here the
myrrh of the saint is matched with the myrrh that the penitent woman
offered the Lord, and the figure of the woman is matched in turn to the
sinful souls of those who go to the saint in order to be healed:

to¶r l—mtoi toË syt¡qor posμ tqiajos´ym dŸpou dgmaq´ym lÉqom

joÉolem pÁqmgm p‚kai pqosemecjoËsam, kkù oÐm •je´mg b‚sjamom
¿vhaklÂm •jtŸsato heatm tÂm ùIoÉdam (...)û •mtaËha dù oÌte
dgmaq´ym Ùmiom tqiajos´ym ™sti t haËla toË l‚qtuqor, oÌte
letqgtÂm Åkyr oÌtù ¦m oÌtù ™stai pot—, kkù ™oije hakatt´oir
pek‚cesim, mtkoul—moir l˜m eμ, jemoËshai dù oudal¡ dumal—moir
oÇd—poteû jaμ pÁqmg l˜m •je¶mo cum t lÉqom •jÁlife, toËto d˜
pÁqmai jaμ loiwak´der jol´fomtai xuwa´, jaμ basik—ym joquvaμ letƒ
pokk¡r ÈpojÉptousai t¡r a²doËr mat´hemtai, mosgl‚tym

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 pamtodapØm to¶r p„sim Äm jahaqtŸqiom v‚qlajom22 [we hear indeed of
the prostitute who of old brought to the feet of the Saviour myrrh to the value of
300 denarii, but obtained the jealous eye of the observing Judas (…); but here
the miracle of the martyr is not to be bought with 300 denarii, and it has not
been estimated in value, nor will it ever be, but it is like the high sea, always
drawn upon, but it can never be feasibly emptied; and the prostitute woman
brought that myrrh, but this (myrrh) is conveyed by prostitutes and adulterous
souls, and the heads of kings accept it with much respect having bowed down,
it (the myrrh) being a cleansing medicine for all against all kinds of diseases]

The meanings and layerings displayed in the speeches are complex

and demanding. The pilgrims would have had a great deal being asked
of them, having to cope with the physical aspect of attending such a
large and long festival, and with assimilating the theological concepts
behind it, while fully participating in it emotionally.
The mirroring of St Demetrius’s festival in the Passion does
not end here. There is a parallel to Easter also in terms of the length of
the festivities. There is, in addition, some mention of fasting to
prepare for St Demetrius’s big day. Harmenopoulos links fasting with
purity, giving us some more information about how people prepared
ahead of the festival. He thus establishes the mental link between
these preparations through atonement and those that are customary
during the Holy Week:

•peid jaμ mgste´‹ tÂm pokioËwom taÉtgr  pÁkir •pete´ß selmÉmei,

tƒr xuwƒr –autØm •mteËhem cm´fomter jaμ tƒ sÖlata23 [because also
with fasting the city honours its patron saint, therefore purifying their souls and
their bodies]

As in every aspect of the life of the Eastern Church, practice and

theory go hand in hand in the cult of St Demetrius.
While we have seen the experiential side of the veneration
through fasting being mentioned in the work of Harmenopoulos,
Philotheos Kokkinos is much more abstract in approach and, although
he was also a son of Thessalonica, he had a rather remote way of
praising the saint.24 Kokkinos does not emphasize in his encomium the
locality and the personal experience of worship and of the cult but
holds up St Demetrius as a universal and therefore abstract symbol of
Christian love. In fact, Kokkinos’s encomium only partly refers

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directly to St Demetrius and his glory and the other part is a reflection
on the Lord’s command ‘cap„te kkŸkour’ [love one another]
that can be found in John’s Gospel.25 Kokkinos elaborates on the
theological meaning of St Demetrius’s death. He points out how St
Demetrius died ‘the death for Christ’: ‘tÂm Èp˜q WqistoË
h‚matom’, 26 and how he was deemed worthy of the ‘blessed and
supernatural’ end for Christ: ‘toË lajaq´ou jaμ ÈpeqvuoËr diƒ
WqistÂm n´ytai t—kour’, 2 7 and also: ‘toË lajaq´ou diƒ
WqistÂm ™tuwe t—kour’28 [he gained the fortunate end for Christ].
This life on earth was seen as an uninterrupted battle and as a contest,
the theological concept and development of which was discussed
earlier. The prized death is the natural end of this contest and the
intense character of it is described closely by Kokkinos, with echoes
of the writings of St Paul: ‘tÂm mogtÁm vgli jaμ Áqatom
pÁkelom jaμ tm l‚wgm, l mujt´, l Îpmß, l tqov«, l
tØm macja´ym (...) diajoptol—mgm’2 9 [and I say that this
perceived and invisible war and battle, is not interrupted by night, or
by sleep, or by food, or by any necessities]. The theme of the
continuity of the Christian experience comes up here once again. For
this uninterrupted war and battle, St Demetrius is acclaimed as a
martyr of the sufferings of Christ, îl‚qtur tØm pahgl‚tymï
a Ç t o Ë , after St Peter. For all this he calls him ‘jaμ WqistoË
lahgtm, jaμ fgkytm, jaμ lilgtm’30 [and a pupil of Christ, and
zealot, and imitator].
It would be no exaggeration to say that in the city of
Thessalonica the entire year was dedicated to St Demetrius but this
votive feeling was intensified with events and personal devotion
during the month of October. For the whole month there were
celebrations throughout the city, and structured ceremonies every
week. The encomia were written to the saint for use during the
festival. Gregoras describes the form of the rituals. He shows great
admiration for the customs surrounding the festival of the saint. In
deference he calls the month of October holy: ‘À ³eqÁr lŸm’ [the holy
month], and says that the whole of the month should be called
³eqolgm´a31 (sacred month) as certain sacred months were called by
the ancient Greeks. In fact he uses the term ‘o²jeiÁteqom’ as he felt it
was much more suitable to call it hieromenia than it was in the case of

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the ancients. That is because he claims that they were motivated by
their antagonism towards one another and not by the object of their
devotion. He extends his train of thought to make a proposition
regarding the nature of spiritual freedom:

jaμ pokkâ dŸpou o²jeiÁteqÁm •sti ³eqolgm´am Åkom aÇto¶r jejk¡shai

toutomμ tÂm l¡ma £ to¶r p‚kai õEkkgsim Åstir •k—ceto, kkŸkoir
mtivikotiloul—moir jaμ lilŸseir •n kkŸkym •qamifol—moirû oÇ cƒq
Õr e²r qw—tupa tƒ p‚kai bk—pomter Èpode´clata pqÂr t oÎty
vikÁtilom •m‚cousim oÑtoi jah‚peq celÁma t¡r –autØm qet¡r tƒ
tØm …kkym hesp´slata dqØmterû douko¶ c‚q pyr t …vetom t¡r
xuw¡r  t¡r lilŸseyr m‚cjg32 [and it is much more suitable for them to
have called the whole of this month holy than the ancient Greeks who called it
such, who were antagonistic to one another and imitated each other. For these
(i.e. the citizens of Thessalonica) are not driven to such ambition by using as
archetypes the old examples, as if they make the master of their own virtue the
oracles of others. Because the need for imitation subdues to a certain extent the
freedom of the soul].

He is impressed by the love that the people of Thessalonica showed

for St Demetrius, which is expressed with ever greater intensity during
the festival. This is because in spite of the fact that the Byzantines
were extremely devout people, the phenomenon of the cult of St
Demetrius in Thessalonica, with its splendour, scale and intensity, was
indeed unprecedented. The well-travelled and worldly Gregoras was
impressed with what he was seeing:

…À tØm pokitØm f¡kor jaμ pÁhor, Æm pqÂr tÂm l—cam •mde´jmumtai

t¡r kghe´ar l‚qtuqa jaμ paqù Åkom l—mtoi tÂm wqÁmom, l‚kista d˜
paqù Æm À ³eqÁr •sti lŸm33 [… the passion and longing of the citizens, which
they show to the great martyr of the truth indeed for the whole year, but
especially when the holy month is here]

The qualities of f¡kor and pÁhor must have been the desired
characteristics of a follower of the saint. Here he is called a martyr of
the truth, an expression that draws upon the original meaning of the
word martyr, as one who witnesses something. The word truth here is
synonymous to the Christian faith.

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 Even so, it is noticeable that the element of pride that can be
detected in some of the indigenous encomiasts, such as Kavasilas and
Harmenopoulos, is not found in the Constantinopolitans Gregoras or
Metochites. That is because the citizens of Thessalonica truly felt a
closeness to the saint and thought of him as their own. When authors
from Thessalonica write about St Demetrius, these links give a
different tone to their work. To take one example, Gregoras pays
tribute to St Demetrius’s month of October, calling it a feast of feasts
and festival of festivals: ‘–oqtm –oqtØm jaμ pamŸcuqim
pamgcÉqeym’. He does so in the midst of using classical parallels, as
for example when he wants to show that he admires Demetrius as
Alexander the Great admired Diogenes.34 Harmenopoulos uses the
same figure of speech as Gregoras when he calls St Demetrius the
saint of saints: ‘jaμ aÇtoË, vgl´, toË tØm c´ym c´ou’35 [and of
him, I mean, the saint of saints]. Instead of relating the festival to a
mythological past, however, Harmenopoulos discusses its actual
events and rituals. The participation in these rituals meant a lot to
Harmenopoulos, as is clear throughout his encomium. Filled with the
excitement of the moment, he called the events of the festival most
excellent amongst the most excellent: ‘peqivam¡3 6 cƒq to¶r
peqivam—si jaμ tƒ cimÁlema’37 [the things that take place are most
excellent amongst the most excellent].
The myrrh which exuded from Demetrius’s tomb was also
extensively discussed by the encomiasts. Obviously believers would
have wanted to be satisfied as to how the myrrh came into existence.
The belief that the saint’s body was cast into a well, ‘•m jatyt‚toir
vq—ator puhl—si’38 [in the lowest foundation of the well], from
which thereafter myron flowed, is first encountered in Gregoras’s
encomium, written in about 1330.39 In this passage, quoted below,
Homeric undertones of the bodies of the unfortunate enemy given to
animals as food strike the reader. This makes an indirect link between
St Demetrius and the youthful fighting heroes of the great epics that
Byzantines knew and studied avidly. In this passage there is also a
more abstract allusion, with the glory of St Demetrius being likened to
overwhelming sunlight that could not be extinguished:

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 paqemhŸjg ¦m aÇtoË t¡r jaj´ar oÇj ¿qm—oir bqØla jaμ jusμ tÂ
laqtuqijÂm •je´mo sØla poie¶shai, kkù •m jatyt‚toir vq—ator
puhl—si ðipte¶m, ¹ma l savr tØm •je´mou lgwamgl‚tym ™kecwor °
to¶r ÀqØsim, Åloia t« tØm mevØm josl´‹ dqØm jaμ aÇtÁr, •peidƒm
mh´stashai jaμ mtipakal„shai pqÂr tm pkous´am •je´mgm
poqqom toË pacjosl´ou peiqØmtai vytÁr40 [an addition to his (i.e.
Maximian’s) wickedness was the fact that he did not make this body, that was
tortured to death for Christ, food for the birds of prey and the dogs, but threw it
in the bottom of the deepest well, so that reproach of his ways would not be
clear to the spectators. He acted very much like the unruliness of clouds when
they try to resist and work against this rich flow of the universal light (i.e.
sunlight)]

This ties in with the way other Byzantine writers expressed

themselves. For example, allusions to the divine light are frequent in
the writings of Symeon. He praises the monks Maximos and Kallistos
Xanthopoulos for the spiritual fruits they have received through their
monastic path; those become a pledge (qqabÖm) of the divine light
that belongs to the celestial life.41 The same pledge comes into his
interpretation of the imperial office: ‘ôEmha d jaμ pkgs´om
¹statai tØm ³eq—ym eÇwol—mym Èp˜q aÇtoË, tuwe¶m t¡r
basike´ar WqistoË. Letƒ lijqÂm d˜ jaμ tm basike´am aÇtm
•m ÿðabØmi kalb‚mei’42 [So there he stands close to the clerics
who are praying in his favour, to gain the kingdom of Christ. As a
small token it is that he receives this kingdom, in betrothal]. As for the
image of the open heavens, it is also prominent in the discussion of the
consecration of the temple: ‘Åti tÂm WqistÂm tupoËsim o³
l‚qtuqer, jaμ aÇtÂr À qwieqeÉrû À d˜ maÂr tÂm oÇqamÂm’43
[that the martyrs typify Christ, and the archbishop himself (does); the
temple on the other hand (typifies) heaven]. This visionary image is
persistent throughout Symeon’s writings.

Referring back to Gregoras, we must mention for the record that the
relics of the saint were not in the well. They had been divided up, and
some had been taken to the West between 1204 and 1224.44 The battle
for saints’ relics was quite common in medieval times, and
Constantinople had often bid for relics of St Demetrius before they
were lost to the West.

94
 Gregoras’s remark about the well is repeated in other sources,
amongst which are two encomia to St Demetrius by Metropolitans
Isidore and Symeon. The introduction of this new belief was
connected to the constitution of the myron. The mixing of it with
water from the well raised questions about its authenticity amongst the
faithful. In the opinion of Charalambos Bakirtzis, the encomium of
Demetrius Chrysoloras at the beginning of the fifteenth century had
the purpose of reassuring the public about the nature of the myrrh.45
This opinion is easily arrived at by the fact that the myrrh of St
Demetrius is included in the title of the encomium, it being as follows:
‘ToË kociyt‚tou juqoË Dglgtq´ou toË Wqusokyq„, KÁcor
e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom jaμ e²r tƒ lÉqa’ [Of the most
intellectual master Demetrius Chrysoloras, Discourse on the great
Demetrius and on the myrrh].46 It is argued here, however, that this
encomium conceals much deeper issues that go much beyond the
myrrh of its title and an appraisal of it is given in the next chapter.
Going back to the discussion of the myrrh, John Stavrakios had
already expressed his doubts about the whole subject of the myron in
the second half of the thirteenth century.47 In any case, the myron was
about healing and healing was a major part of St Demetrius’s cult.
Apparently ‘a hospital was set up in the late sixth and early seventh
centuries somewhere in the north part of the basilica, perhaps in the
north wing of the transept of the basilica’ that was dedicated to St
Demetrius in Thessalonica.48

Not only has Gregoras left us the charming legend of the well but his
text is also a main source for our understanding of the saint’s festival
in his time. The rituals must have been complex enough to require
being reinforced in the minds of the participants through descriptions
in the encomia every year. In their encomia Gregoras, Isidore and
Harmenopoulos explain the structure of the celebrations. Gregoras in
characteristic classicising manner likens the four focal points of the
festivities to the passage of four years between two ancient Olympics,
and therefore indirectly compares St Demetrius to Zeus:

•je´moi cƒq tetqaetgq´dym s—bomter peqiÁdour, •m t—ttaqsim ™tesi

l´am •t—koum pamŸcuqim tâ Di¾, tm tØm ùOkulp´ymû oÑtoi d˜ jahù ›ma

95
 tÂm •miautÂm t—ttaqar eμ tekoËsi pamgcÉqeir tâ pokkâ Dglgtq´â49
[because they (i.e. the ancient Greeks), observing periods of four years,
celebrated one public festival in honour of Zeus, that of the Olympics; but these
(i.e. the people of Thessalonica) within each year they hold four festivals for the
mighty Demetrius]

He makes a parallel with the four-way division of the tetrachordon

[four-stringed instrument], a reminder that he also had a keen interest
in musical theory:

Ûspeq cƒq –mÁr timor sÖlator Ãmtor toË ™tour jat‚ timar kÁcour
tØm tetqawÁqdym qlomijoÊr tetqaw« diaiqoËsim o³ waqi—steqoi tØm
sovØm, oÎty jaμ aÇto¶r t t¡r ³eq„r tautgsμ teket¡r tetqaw«
diaiqe¶tai lustŸqiom50 [exactly as the year being one body is divided four
ways by the most graceful of the philosophers according to the harmonic laws
of the musical tetrachords, in the same way the mystery of this sacred rite is
divided by them in four parts]

That is because although the memory of St Demetrius is now

celebrated on the 26 October, in Byzantine times there were three
other feasts to his honour in the year.51 Also, the festival itself was
divided into four parts. Gregoras relates the four feasts to the four
seasons:

Õr makoce¶m tm l˜m basikijŸm te jaμ pqÖtgm pamŸcuqim t« toË

™tour qw« jahù l„r, tŸm ce lm deut—qam jaμ tq´tgm, ˆr d
poil—mer ³eqoμ jaμ lomadijØm mdqØm tekoËsi sumt‚clata, Ûspeq •j
diadow¡r jaimot—qam eμ dgliouqcoËmter –auto¶r domm jaμ w‚qim
kkattÁlemoi w‚qitor tâ weilØmi jaμ tâ ¦qi, dù o³ t¡r pÁkeyr
taÉtgr ²d´yr o²jŸtoqer •jken‚lemoi jaμ lehù l—qam …comter ¿jt×
pqÂr tÂm pÁhom vosioËmtai toË l‚qtuqor, Ûspeq •n •pamakŸxeyr
tm laqtuqijm •je´mgm aÐhir majakoÉlemoi hulgd´am, tâ jqat´stß
toË ™tour e²j‚feshai l—qei, tâ h—qei52 [so the first celebration, when the
basileus is present, corresponds to our beginning of the year. The second and
third, which the holy shepherds and the regiments of monks run, exactly so that
through succession they always create new pleasure for themselves exchanging
grace for grace, corresponds to winter and spring. And this one which the
inhabitants of this city have chosen, they lead for eight days after the Day (i.e.
26 October) by dedicating themselves to the love of the Martyr, as if they
summon once again that spiritual pleasure, corresponds to the best time of the
year, the summer]

96
The way Gregoras describes the spiritual pleasures of the monks is in
agreement with their own quest, and in exchanging ‘grace for grace’
one can read the constant pursuit of spiritual refinement. Also, from
the above excerpt we can see that the main festival, the one that was
held in October and was in some passages classified as a spiritual
spring, and here as a summer, had an eight day feast period after the
day of the saint’s memory.53

When examining the encomia as sources for how the festival was
celebrated, that written by Constantine Harmenopoulos occupies a
special place. It was not only that it was written by a layman for use as
a sermon rather than as a literary piece, as Gregoras’s was. It is the
only text that supplies us with information on that part of the festival
that was celebrated in the church of the Acheiropoietos. Its first
words, which also serve as a title, claim that the encomium was
actually delivered in the Acheiropoietos during the proeortia, that is to
say the ceremonies leading to the main celebrations on the saint’s day:

ToË pamseb‚stou molovÉkajor jaμ jqitoË Hessakom´jgr

Jymstamt´mou toË úAqlemopoÉkou, KÁcor e²r tm pqoeÁqtiom –oqtm
toË lec‚kou Dglgtq´ou toË LuqobkÉtou, ¤tir •m tâ maâ t¡r
Èpeqac´ar HeotÁjou t¡r ùAweiqopoiŸtou teke¶tai. 54 [Of the most
honourable law-protector and judge of Thessalonica, Constantine
Harmenopoulos, Speech on the pre-celebration of the feast of the great
Demetrius the Myrovlytes, which takes place in the church of the most holy
Mother of God, not made by Human Hands]

Nevertheless, Papadopoulos believes that Harmenopoulos delivered

his speech earlier in the month, and not on the eve of the festival.55
Reading Harmenopoulos’s encomium, one gets the impression
that the role of the Acheiropoietos in the festival may have been of
relatively recent date. Indeed the name itself might only recently have
been attached to the building. At one point, Harmenopoulos suggests
that the church should be called Acheiropoietos, which would imply
that this was not the name that the church had at the time: ‘j a μ
taÉtgr aÇtÂm t¡r ùAweiqopoiŸtou pqosqŸseyr, nioËm •p©ei
tokl¡sai’ [and for this I would dare to make the request of the title
of the Acheiropoietos for it]. Xyngopoulos believes that the church

97
was called Panagia Hodegetria when the encomium was delivered and
that there was an icon of the Virgin Mary Hodegetria, as opposed to
the Virgin in prayer, which is how Harmenopoulos describes the
Acheiropoietos icon: ‘oÎtyr Ãqhior, ³j—sior •swgl‚tistai’ [thus
it was formed into one who was standing in prayer].56
Whatever the truth of that, by the late fourteenth century the
Acheiropoietos church was playing a central role in the festival. In his
encomium, Harmenopoulos explains why, namely that the site of the
building had played a part in the saint’s martyrdom. He describes a
secret place of early Christian gathering, called Kataphyge: ‘•j t¡r
oÎty kecol—mgr Jatavuc¡r’57 [from the so-called Kataphyge],
where Demetrius is supposed to have taught. This place is identified
with the Acheiropoietos. The Kataphyge is also mentioned in
Palamas’s encomium.58 Palamas also makes a mention of the litany
and representation of martyrdom that took place during the festival, as
if to an audience that is very familiar with the procedure:

TaËhù le¶r e²jom´fomter jatù ™tor e²jÁtyr, •je¶ l˜m t¡r pamgcÉqeyr
poioÉleha tm qwŸm, Þde d˜ tm teke´ysim. ùEpeμ jaμ À l‚qtur
oÎtyr e»wem –kjÁlemor e²r svacm tgmijaËta diƒ WqistÁm, Õr e²r
–oqtm jaμ hulgd´am tm lec´stgm jakoÉlemor 59 [Of course we,
depicting those things every year, make the beginning of the festival there, and
here we make the finish. Because also the martyr was thus led to the slaughter
for Christ, as if being invited to a celebration, and to the greatest enjoyment].

This gives a cyclic theme to the festival’s structure. The word

Kataphyge means ‘refuge’, and accordingly doubles as a symbol of
Christian faith and hope. This corresponds with the explanation
Palamas gives, as to the origin of the name:

T¡r oÐm sebe´ar •pijqatoÉsgr, •peμ tƒ t¡r eÇsebe´ar paqqgs´ar

wÖqam oÇj e»wem, •lvikowyqØm À l‚qtur to¶r Èpoce´oir •je´moir,
leted´dou to¶r pqosioËsi t¡r oÇqam´ou didasjak´ar jaμ to¶r p t¡r
sebe´ar, o²ome´ timor pokujul‚mtou jkÉdymor, •pù aÇtÂm
jataveÉcousi tÂm Ãmtyr eÌdiom kil—ma t¡r eÇsebe´ar letù de´ar tƒ
WqistiamØm Èpet´heto jaμ •t—keiû jaμ oÎty jatavuc l˜m À heiÁtator
Èp¡qwe tgmijaËta l‚qtur p‚mtym tØm eÇseubØm a³qoul—mym,
Jatavuc d˜ jaμ À tÁpor •mteËhem •jkŸhg.60 [When impiety was
dominant and there was no freedom of speech about piety, the martyr

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 frequented with pleasure this underground place and he communicated the
heavenly teaching to those who drew near, and to those who came to him for
refuge from impiety, as from a turbulent tempest, he who was the real calm
harbour of faith with freedom set before them matter Christian and initiated
them; and thus he was the most divine one, the refuge of all those who elected
piety, and thereupon they named that place Kataphyge]

The word paqqgs´a [freedom of speech] has rich theological

connotations. In this context it refers to the boldness with which
Demetrius declared his faith though it could also refer to the ability of
holy men to speak directly to God and thus intercede for the rest of
humanity.61 In its first sense, the word ties in with the Christian ideal
of the martyr-athlete, which has been explored in a previous chapter.
St Stephen, to whom St Demetrius was likened by being attributed the
epithet stephanitis, was admired greatly for his paqqgs´a.
Going back to Harmenopoulos and the church of the
Acheiropoietos, from his encomium it transpires that Acheiropoietos
must have been used as a major part of the October festivities every
year, with an encomiastic speech planned at a fixed time before the
twenty-sixth. The church was dedicated to St Demetrius alongside the
Virgin Mary and provided a setting for joint veneration of the Virgin
and St Demetrius.62 According to Harmenopoulos, there was a much-
venerated icon of St Demetrius there. A celebration in honour of the
saint took place there every Friday.63 There was also a special
celebration on the Friday before the saint’s name day:

ToËto de¶m poie¶m •p—cmy jaμ jatƒ tm pq t¡r toË lec‚kou toÉtou
juq´ar teket¡r ›jtgm t¡r –bdol‚dor sulp´ptousam (...) t«
HeolŸtoqi toÉtou sulpqoeoqt‚fousa64 [And it was known that this had
to be done, on the day that falls on the sixth day of the week (i.e. Friday) before
the main celebration of this great one … pre-celebrating the Mother of God
together with him]

Friday was traditionally a day of veneration of the Virgin in the Greek

Church and is the day on which the famous akolouthia of Chairetismoi
is celebrated during Lent.65
As with the sections of praise for the city of Thessalonica that
can be found in many of the encomia to St Demetrius, Harmenopoulos
provides a section where he displays the many reasons why the church

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of the Acheiropoietos is so widely admired.66 So his encomium
contains not an ekphrasis of the whole city but instead one of the
particular church. This must have been especially effective, as his
speech was delivered in the church talked about, on a day that it must
have looked particularly splendid, having been prepared to do so for
the festival. Harmenopoulos precisely talks about the beauty of the
church. He gives an evocative description of the columns of the
church that apparently held the roof in such a way that it made people
think that the whole building was in heaven. This made
Harmenopoulos suggest that not only the eponymous icon not-made-
by-human-hands but the whole church of the Acheiropoietos, too, was
miraculous work.
Harmenopoulos was very successful in his encomium in
expressing his complete amazement in the presence of either physical
or supernatural beauty. Still, it was not only the architectural beauty of
the Acheiropoietos that had made it an attractive venue for the
festival. Its location in the heart of the town made it an ideal interim
destination, as it was half way between the churches of St Sophia and
St Demetrius, and at a suitable distance for a litany.67 We are fortunate
to have such accounts of the festival that are so location-specific. The
heady mixture of psalmody, incense, evocative prayer, and the
spectacular light that are present in those descriptions corresponds to
working churches in the city today.
Harmenopoulos expressed in his encomium the exuberance of
lavish celebrations that took place in the fourteenth century but in later
years when things were not going so well for the Byzantine empire it
appears that the economic limitations eventually caught up with the
organisers of the festival. Therefore during the later years, the external
pressures on the social and liturgical life in Thessalonica made clerics
feel they had to consolidate the rituals involved in the itinerary. That
was necessary both as a way of defining the procedures in order to
protect the faith and to make them more economical to run, at a time
when resources were not as readily available as they might have been.
The Metropolitan Symeon, or somebody working in his close
environment while he was archbishop, gives a detailed account of the
processes of the ritual in his ‘precise order’, ‘Di‚tanim jqibŸ t¡r
–oqt¡r toË úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou’. This involves descriptions of the

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services, the litany, and the ceremonies in and out of the church.68 The
Di‚tanir was written between the years 1419 and 1429, and it is
thought that Symeon may have had to simplify the pattern of the
celebrations because of the difficult political situation. The stop at the
church of the Acheiropoietos, from where the famous encomium by
Harmenopoulos would have been delivered, was in the later years
probably omitted from the itinerary.69
Some other aspects important in the veneration of St
Demetrius that are rather neglected in the work of the more spiritual
and philosophical writers of the time are expounded by
Harmenopoulos. He does refer to theological matters, especially when
he links the veneration of the Virgin and of St Demetrius, which is the
main theme of his encomium but he also relates to the physical
elements of the rituals, giving a testimony as if from the point of view
of an ordinary spectator who would have participated at the festival
and allowed himself to be carried along by its splendid display. A
layman’s view in that respect is valuable, because it brings out
elements that would have appealed to the great numbers of pilgrims
who were present.
His descriptions give the impression of celebrations of great
brilliance, in terms both of the light and the music present in the
church. His description of the building of the church of the
Acheiropoietos, where his speech took place, is both detailed and
enthusiastic. The theological link made between this life and the other
is clear, liturgical splendour symbolizing supernatural glory. Such
basic theological concepts were part of the shared ground of
Byzantine intellectuals and commonly appear in the works of lay
writers. Lay writers display considerable knowledge of theology in
their work, which shows how deeply it permeated Byzantine society.
In his encomium Harmenopoulos is observing the progress of the day,
leading his audience with his words. He is enjoying during the
ceremony ‘tm •maqlÁmiom jaμ lousijyt‚tgm •llek¡
xaklßd´am’70 [the harmonious and most musical melodic psalmody].
The litany arrives at the church with odes and divine choral songs of
triumph (paeans): ‘letù zd¡r (...) jaμ he´ou paiØmor’. 7 1 It is
interesting here that the ancient musical terms of the ode and the
paean are used, as opposed to Byzantine forms for a hymn like the

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Canon, the Kontakion or the Troparion. Both the ode and the paean
have celebratory overtones, and maybe that is the reason why the use
of those classical and pagan terms here is deemed appropriate. The
ode is a song of praise, and the paean a song of triumph. In reality
such forms would have not been used as part of any Christian rite. The
use of those terms is metaphorical.
The spectacle must have been a unique experience, as the
light during the celebrations must have been magnificent: ‘j a μ
vytowus´ar Åti pokk¡r, Õr jaμ p‚sar vytμ tƒr cuiƒr
jatastq‚pteshai’ [and there was a great stream of light, and all the
streets were brilliant with light]. The church of the Acheiropoietos
‘tØm jakk´stym e»mai jaμ peqijakkest‚tym •pμ c¡r
heal‚tym jaμ haul‚tym’ [is amongst the loveliest and most
beautiful spectacles and wonders on earth].72
The sense of wonder that must have overtaken the speaker is
encapsulated very well in a dilemma he admits for himself early in his
speech, whether to praise first the object of the ceremony, St
Demetrius, or the manner of the praise itself:

ùAkkƒ t´ pqØtom •mtaËhù •qØ; T´ma d˜ pqØtom, jaμ sh—mor Åsom ™sti
loi kocijÁm eÇvglŸsy; PÁteqom, tÂm eÇvgloÉlemom, £ tm eÇvgl´am
aÇtŸm; 73 [But what shall I say first here? What shall I praise first, and with all
the ability of speech that I possess? Which one, the praised (i.e. St Demetrius),
or the praise itself?]

He elaborates the dichotomy of his thought further when he says:

jaμ À peqμ dqi‚mtor •qØm jaμ tm oÑ À mdqiƒr •stμ jaμ Èvù oÑ
c—come, toË l—m, lecakouqc´am, toË dù eÇvu¾am •neipe¶m macj‚fetai74
[and he who talks about a statue, is compelled to talk both of the greatness of
him whose the statue is and of the cleverness of him who created it]

To apply the paradigm to our case, the statue is St Demetrius and the
maker is the city. This is an interesting way of conceptualizing the cult
because it recognizes the importance that the human factor has to play
even in divine things. In other words, there would be no great saint
without great followers. This is high praise to the participants, and
also quite pragmatic in its approach. The cleverness of this remark has

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to be the way it is concealed in pretty language. Being orally
delivered, the passage would have just left the listener with the
impression of some interesting parallel, but without giving them the
time to take it to its logical conclusion. It would be interesting to know
what the great theological minds of the time would have made of this
statement, had they scrutinized it.
In the way that it is written, Harmenopoulos’s encomium
emerges much more as a part of the seasonal festival than some of the
other encomia, which have a feel of isolation and autonomy and of
theological or philological treatises in their own right. This is true not
only of the flashy literary exercises but also of some of the encomia
that were intended and indeed delivered as sermons.
Harmenopoulos does neither escape nor avoid the trappings of
the form within which he is composing. He writes in a classicizing
style, as it would be expected of him, but despite that, the piece retains
a freshness and flexibility. Some ecclesiastical and poetical language
filters through the encomium, as are glimpses of an emotional
response. There is a spoken feel in Harmenopoulos’s piece and the
tendency to address his audience directly and refer to their experience
of the moment, of which he feels a part. He addresses his audience
with excitement, calling them lovers of God and lovers of ceremonies;
the latter especially must have been a particularly Byzantine virtue: ‘Ý
vikÁheoi jaμ vik—oqtoi’.75 He gives his personal impression: ‘ùEc×
d—, oÎty taËhù ÀqØm, t—hgpa jaμ •jp—pkgclai76 [When I see
these things thus, am amazed and surprised]. A little later he says:
‘•jp—pkgclai to´mum, Õr ™vgm, Èpeq‚cala´ te jaμ jataimØ’77
[I am surprised, therefore, as I said, and overjoyed, and I give my
endorsement]. The repetitiveness of his speech conveys the emotion
and the enthusiasm that he felt and also the importance of charismatic
delivery for an oral piece like this. The immediacy makes this a
valuable document and gives the modern reader some insight into how
it actually felt being at the festival.
This technique of direct reference to one’s audience is very
effective and Gregory Palamas in his encomium has a similar moment
of spontaneity, when he says to his congregation:

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 Pohe¶te p‚mter, eÐ o»da, jaμ tÂm tqÁpom t¡r jatasw—seyr Åp¨(...)78
[All of you want, I know it well (to learn) what exactly (was) the manner of his
arrest…]

There are certain moments in a speech where the speaker has allowed
for some flexibility and is able to respond to the way the audience is
reacting to what they are being exposed to. It is very satisfying in a
text to come across such moments of audience interaction. In terms of
the discussion of the alleged rigidity of Byzantine literature and its
failure to be spontaneous, such instances feed into the debate and
support the view that these texts are written with warmth and passion.
It is in fact quite difficult to be formal and uncommunicative when
addressing an audience in direct speech, especially an audience so
passionate about their worship and their dedication to the saint.
This view is supported by what is said in the sources. In his
speech, Harmenopoulos praises the citizens of Thessalonica for their
devotion to St Demetrius, their fervent participation in the celebrations
and their piety. We have seen similar examples of praise in Gregoras.
Thessalonica and its inhabitants feature extensively in the encomia in
general and the praise of the city is seen by most encomiasts as part of
the praise of its special saint.

Returning to the information provided by the encomia on the festival,

they also bear witness to the role played in the festival by monks and
monasteries. In a deeply hesychast city, it is hardly a surprise that the
monks should play a major role in the most important religious
festival of the year. Metropolitan Isidore’s homily to St Demetrius
compares the monks of Thessalonica to the saint in terms of their
asceticism.79 Symeon tells us that the brethren were heavily involved
in the processions in St Demetrius’s honour. The third day of the
festival was in fact given over to the monastic community.80 A word
of recognition for the contribution of the monastic orders to the
festival can be found in the passage of the four seasons by Gregoras,
quoted above. Gregoras was a known anti-hesychast but not anti-
monk. In any case, his praise given to the largely hesychast brethren
has even greater value and demonstrates how St Demetrius was a
force for unity in a divisive time for Thessalonica. He describes the

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monks as ‘holy shepherds’ and stresses their integral role in the
festival as they ‘always create new pleasure for themselves,
exchanging grace for grace’.81
An insight into the importance of St Demetrius to the
monastic life in Thessalonica but in a totally different way can be
found in another encomium, that of the founder and abbot of the Nea
Moni in Thessalonica, Makarios Choumnos.82 Although Laourdas
does not rate this encomium very highly, he recognises one element of
originality in it.83 This is the fact that this encomium is a rare example
in the extant corpus which is written for the benefit of the brethren
alone and is not addressed to a large audience of worshippers as a
panegyric speech in the festival of the saint. Two encomia are
exceptions to this. One is the encomium of Isidore to the monks of
Thessalonica in the context of the festival of St Demetrius,84 the other
is that by Choumnos under consideration here.
Choumnos’s encomium was not written for public
consumption but in the context of trying to improve the devotional life
of the brothers in his monastery from his position as an abbot and as a
spiritual leader. This meant that he could be intriguingly direct in what
he says. His exasperation and despair at the poor performance of the
brethren is evident in his outspoken account. There is a sense of
personal failure in his text, as he sees the failings of the brethren as
partly his responsibility. His urgent appeal to St Demetrius for help
comes with his own resignation to not being strong enough to cope
alone. It also has the merit of being quite unguarded and voices the
author’s anger and frustration.
Choumnos’s encomium also contrast with those that were a
purely literary form, designed to display the knowledge and skill of
their author and in no way intended to be used as a speech, such as
those of Theodore Metochites and Nicholas Kavasilas. 85 These
productions were circulated amongst the educated classes of
Constantinople and Thessalonica and were a display of their authors’
intellectual range. Learned Byzantines enjoyed writing them because
their skill, classical and biblical knowledge, virtuosity, and
compositional ability were openly exhibited in such pieces.
Turning now to the content of Choumnos’s encomium, not
surprisingly he refers to St Demetrius in the context of coping with the

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inner life of the monastery. In doing so, he is as fervent as the other
encomiasts, those who praise the participants for the beauty of the
celebrations. His encomium is written from a different perspective and
provides a contrast to these works for being a prayer not of
thanksgiving but of exasperation and impatience. Furthermore he uses
direct and abrupt phrasing and strong images to express his unrest,
including the metaphor of the sea. In his encomium he extends a
prayer for the guidance of his monks by Christ and St Demetrius, and
by acknowledging his need for help he invites the saint to accept his
prayer and to lead his brothers:

Èp˜q te tØm sulpatqiytØm jaμ Èp˜q §r pqo¾stalai po´lmgr

sulpqesbeutm pqoskalb‚my, n´ysÁm le t¡r dyqe„r Þm •v´elai,
Èp˜q Þm pqesbeÉy, jaμ tq—xom loi tm Èp˜q aÇtØm •paimetm kÉpgm
e²r waq‚m, ¹ma l •m •loμ lÁmom, kkƒ jaμ •m toÉtoir ™w¨r jaÉwgla86
[and in favour of my fellow countrymen and of this flock of which I am the
head, I employ you as my joint ambassador. Make me worthy of the gift for
which I long and for which I intercede, and turn the praiseworthy sorrow inside
myself that I have for them into gladness, so that not only in myself, but also in
them you may have pride].

This prayer seems to be unusual and untypical, not only for its
boldness and resolute attitude but also for its apparent lack of
lowliness and submissiveness to the will of the saint and of God.
Boldness in prayer is not unknown within the Christian tradition and
the example of the wrestling Jacob has made it into a Christian virtue.
Therefore it does not appear to be a derivative or routinely written
piece, as Laourdas suggested, but an individualistic prayer, worthy of
our attention. Passages of wishing for greater discipline in following
the monastic path and of being critical of slack behaviour are to be
expected normally in a t y p i k o n and not in an encomium:
‘kusitekoËsim oÑtoi tØm m—seym l„kkom’87 [they rather take
advantage of the luxuries]. The abbot is not only strong in his appeal
to the saint, but he does not hesitate to show clear signs of
exasperation: ‘ùEc× cƒq p toË mËm ²kicc´asa, peqμ toÉtou
pqotqepÁlemor toÉtour jaμ paqajakØm jaμ l
paqadewÁlemor’88 [And myself, I have become from now on dizzy
with effort, urging them towards that direction and pleading, and not

106
receiving]. It really feels as if he is alone in prayer, and it is amazing
that he used this speech in front of his brethren and in memory of the
saint. They would have made a fascinating audience. The tone of the
encomium in parts gets heavier and progressively more and more
weary, and even unintentionally humorous.
In using the form of an encomium to St Demetrius to criticise
his wayward flock, Choumnos employs the striking and popular
Byzantine metaphor of the sea to show how much human affairs are in
divine hands:

diù –mÂr tØm doÉkym sou (...) À tm kluqƒm jaμ …potom tØm Èd‚tym
vÉsim e²r ckujut‚tgm jaμ pÁtilom letasjeu‚sar, À hak‚ssam
laimol—mgm diƒ toË e²pe¶m îsiÖpaï, îpev´lysoï e²r bahut‚tgm
cakŸmgm letapoiŸsar (...) À t« sheme¶ vÉsei tØm mhqÖpym diƒ tÂ
t¡r pqoaiq—seyr sahqÂm jaμ •n´tgkom dÉmalim tosaÉtgm paqaswÖm89
[through one of your servants … the One who transformed the salty and
undrinkable nature of the waters into one that is most sweet and drinkable, the
One who transformed the raging sea to the deepest calm by saying ‘Peace, be
still’ … the One who has provided the weak nature of men because of the
unsound and evanescent character of their will with so much strength].

St Demetrius is another servant through whom the Lord is said to

perform all great things. Choumnos makes this clear by referring
immediately afterwards to the abundance of the myrrh: ‘e´qoa
m‚lata pkous´yr pgc‚feim paqasjeu‚sar’90 [You continuously
make ever-flowing streams to outpour richly]. Of course, unlike the
work of Harmenopoulos, Choumnos’s encomium would never have
been heard publicly but only by the monks of his monastery. Strictly
speaking, therefore, it played no part in the festival. It is, however, a
good example of the way that the genre could be adapted to a
particular purpose.

Finally, a few points will be made on two other encomia, those of

George Scholarios and Isidore Glavas. If the exasperated tone of his
prayer was the most surprising element in the encomium by
Choumnos, Scholarios has an even more peculiar approach in urging
his flock to the Christian life. He embarks on a detailed and gruesome
inventory of the instruments and means of torture to be found in Hell,

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which guide one’s imagination to strong visual images, comparable to
those of siege and battle. He uses this lengthy description as the first
part of a comparison between the endless torments of hell-fire and the
like, and the painless and easy exit of this life by the way of Christian
martyrdom: ‘tol n´vour lÁmom pqÂr tm Èpenacycm toË
paqÁmtor ¢qjese b´ou’.91 [the edge of a sword is all it took for the
retirement from the present life]. Reading his piece, it really feels as if
death by sword is so desirable and easy! So persuasive is he. It is not
surprising, then, that St Demetrius in this work is praised primarily for
his ardent desire to die. Of course if that is seen as part of his attempt
to make sense of the Ottoman occupation, his eagerness to stress that
nothing can stop one from loving Christ is very straightforward to
understand.
In Scholarios’s encomium, which is dominated by the wish to
die for the love of Christ, the death of St Demetrius is described as
being brought about not by six soldiers, as in the text by Chrysoloras,
but by thousands. This in the way of thinking of Scholarios means that
St Demetrius died multiple times for the sake of Christ, and his death
has therefore greater value: ‘jaμ oÇw ‡pan koipÂm À toË WqistoË
l‚qtur DglŸtqior Èpeqap—hame t¡r toË WqistoË capŸseyr,
kkƒ luqi‚jir, e· ce luq´am  stqatiytij pŸmeia tm
kÁcwgm ™hine jatù aÇtoË’92 [and so the martyr of Christ, Demetrius,
died for the love of Christ not once but a myriad times, exactly as the
military harshness struck the lance against him].
Before Scholarios, Metropolitan Isidore Glavas paid tribute to
the saint with an equally startling overstatement. He used about St
Demetrius the evocative and stylish quotation: ‘îoÇj ™stim À
jÁslor mt‚nior li„r xuw¡rï’93 [the whole world is not equal to
the worth of one soul]. To show visually the need with which the
faithful long for him, he gave this very lively metaphor from Psalm
42: ‘dixgtijØr Õr ™kavoi pqÂr pgcƒr h—omter Þde e²r jÁqom
tØm lÉqym letakalb‚mousi’94 [with great thirst like deer that look
towards the sources of water, exactly in that way they commune of the
myrrh to satiety]. It is remarkable that he uses the word
l e t a k a l b ‚ m o u s i here, the same word that is used for the
communion of the Sacrament. Animals are not employed frequently in
theological treatises to portray emotions, and such an occurrence was

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even more unexpected in view of the disposition of the writer under
consideration.
In another instance, and to express the mortal danger that
Thessalonica escaped – thanks to St Demetrius – Isidore used a
particularly impressive version of the sea metaphor that we have come
across before:

tqÁpaia (...) diù Þm o³ tŸmde tm c¡m o²joËmter cakŸmgr pŸkausam

Èpeqgd´stgr •j hamatouqcoË weilØmor jaμ jkÉdymor diasyh—mter
peikoËmtor t sj‚vor toutμ, vglμ d˜ tm Hessakom´jgm, aÌtamdqom
Õr e²pe¶m e²r buhÂm a¹lator jatadËsai95 [trophies … through which those
who inhabit this land have enjoyed the most pleasurable repose, having been
saved from deathly winter and tempest that was threatening this ship, I mean of
course Thessalonica, so to speak from sinking in an abyss of blood with all
hands].

It is in that context of mortal jeopardy that the myrrh of St Demetrius

is said by him to expel suffering: ‘tm ¿dÉmgm •nyhe¶’. 96 In that
aspect it reminds one of the Homeric pharmakon nepenthes (potion of
oblivion) that was drunk to suspend the sorrow of heroes. What is
fascinating about Isidore is that he uses his classical background as
part of his narrating palette, without the need for direct reference, or
for spelling out the web of those literary relationships, but instead he
is using this way of making associations as part of the rich fabric of
his writing.

In conclusion, the evidence that the encomia provide for the festival of
St Demetrius has been surveyed and a number of insights have been
offered. The information given is sometimes a straight description but
often it is rather more subtle than that. By reading an encomium that
was designed to hold the attention of a large and excited crowd in a
church, their understanding of the event comes to life as the speaker
sought both to direct and harness their enthusiasm. Even those
speeches that were not designed for public consumption, such as those
of Gregoras and Choumnos, betray in their concerns, metaphors, and
portrayals what it was that the festival meant to the author and his
more restricted audience. They are therefore an indispensable guide to
the late Byzantine mind.

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Chapter Four
Signs of the Times:
Responses to Contemporary Life

So far we have looked at the encomia from different perspectives. We

have seen how literary and theological models influenced their
composition as well as how stylistic traits played their part. We have
also seen that the festival itself was recorded in the encomia to St
Demetrius in all its glory, giving us an insight to the life of late
Byzantium. Yet the encomia were capable not only of recording
contemporary life but also of responding to it. How authors reacted to
events that took place and issues that concerned them will be the
subject of this chapter which looks at the encomia as commentaries on
contemporary events and problems. The rigid and stylized genre, far
from excluding such subject matter, provided a form through which it
could be publicly discussed. It also had the advantage of providing a
way in which the orator could make a controversial point without
giving offence or endangering his career.
To take one example, contemporary events are discussed in
detail in the encomia of Gabriel of Thessalonica. One of them, entitled
‘úOlik´a ðghe¶sa Åte dievh‚qgsam o³ ToËqjoi paqƒ tØm
SjuhØm’1 [A speech delivered when the Turks were destroyed by the
Scythians] is still a work in praise of the saint. In it, Gabriel breathed a
sigh of relief in response to the news of the victory of Timur
(Tamerlane) over the Ottoman Turks at the battle of Ankara in July
1402. His speech is filled with examples from the Old Testament
where God extinguished his enemies and made arrogant peoples
perish. This defeat, that made it possible for Thessalonica to return to
Byzantine administration, was greeted with jubilation by Gabriel:

T´r kakŸsei tƒr dumaste´ar sou, Wqist—, £ t´r •naqihlŸsei tƒ sƒ

haul‚sia; Ãmtyr, dekvo´, meneqeÉmgta tƒ jq´lata aÇtoË jaμ
meniwm´astoi a³ Àdoμ aÇtoËû haÉlata cƒq c—come pokk‚jir, he´‹

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 dum‚lei teqatouqcgl—maû kkƒ jaμ t mËm cecomÂr •vù l¶m tØm
lec‚kym •je´mym jaμ haulas´ym teqatouqcgl‚tym paqapkŸsiÁm •sti
ja´, e² toklgqÂm e²pe¶m, ™wei ti jaμ pk—omû2 [Who can express your
sovereignty, O Christ, or who can number your wonders? Indeed, brothers, his
judgements are unexplored and unexamined are his ways; for he performed
miracles many times, made by divine power; but the current event near
ourselves is close to those great and wondrous marvels and, I dare say, it
somehow has the edge].

In the same encomium Gabriel expresses some elementary political

theory. People are, he claimed, ruled by the rulers that they deserve. In
this he includes secular and religious rulers, as well as subjugation to
enemies. We may read into this remark a comment on the current
situation. In support of his argument he paraphrases Jeremiah, saying
that:

îdÖsy Èl¶m …qwomta jatƒ tƒr jaqd´ar ÈlØmï, d¡kÁm •stim •mteËhem
Åti o³ l˜m qwÁmtym jaμ basik—ym, Õr …nioi t¡r toiaÉtgr til¡r,
pqoweiq´fomtai Èp heoË, ™mha •stμm eÇmol´ar …nior À kaÁr, o³ d˜
p‚kim m‚nioi √mter pqÂr tÂm …niom kaÂm t¡r aÇtØm maniÁtgtor
jatƒ heoË sucwÖqgsim pqoweiq´fomtai3 [‘I will give you an archon
according to your hearts’. This declares that those among the archons and kings
who are worthy of such an honour, are put forward by God, because the people
are worthy of good order. Those rulers who are unworthy, on the other hand,
are given to those peoples who deserve their unworthiness by the will of God].

He also talks about the occupation of Thessalonica by the Turks

between 1387 and 1403, draws attention to the care that St Demetrius
took of his city while it was under the Turks and to his role in the
city’s liberation. Once again under Christian rule, Thessalonica itself
is likened to a jubilant Jerusalem that rejoices and dances:

EÇvqa´mou •m Juq´ß pÁkir Hessakom´jg, toioËtom pkoutoËsa

vqouqÂm jaμ vÉkaja jaμ les´tgm pqÂr WqistÂm jata´swumtomû
c‚kkou jaμ wÁqeue •m jÁkpoir toËtom jat—wousa Õr hgsauqÂmû
pÁkaue t¡r cka¾ar tØm qqŸtym haul‚tym tm pkghÊm jahoqØsa
jaμ bk—pe jataq‚ssomta tØm baqb‚qym tƒ hq‚sg jaμ eÇwaq´styr
tâ Syt¡qi m‚jqanom (...)4 [Rejoice in the Lord city Thessalonica, in having
such riches in your guardian and protector and mediator with Christ, who
cannot be put to shame; be glad and dance to have in your bosom such a
treasure; enjoy the splendour of the ineffable miracles, behold [their] multitude,

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 and look at how the haughtiness of the barbarians be crushed, and gladly cry
out to the Saviour (…)].

In another encomium, entitled ‘úOlik´a peqμ toË l pqos—weim

to¶r biotijo¶r pq‚clasi jaμ e²r tÂm lecakol‚qtuqa
DglŸtqiom’ [A speech on not paying attention to daily cares and to
the great martyr Demetrius], Gabriel also speaks of the … m y
úIeqousakŸl5 (Jerusalem on high6): ‘PÁkir lØm •sti jaμ patqμr
 …my úIeqousakŸl’ [Our City and homeland is the higher
Jerusalem]. The idea of Jerusalem being our home above is a
recognisable Christian theme and at the time that Gabriel expressed it,
with the political situation being acutely severe, it was even more
poignant.
Gabriel was, of course, being entirely uncontroversial in
praising St Demetrius’s role in the events leading up to the Ottoman
defeat and its aftermath. It is highly unlikely that anyone in
Thessalonica would have disagreed with him. Other encomiasts,
however, sometimes make reference to internal, Byzantine politics
and this was a very different matter because it was not something in
which they could automatically expect the agreement of their
audience. Take for example the reference in Palamas’s encomium to
the happy situation that he and other hesychast supporters found
themselves after the victory of John Kantakouzenos in 1347:

P‚mta k—kutai tƒ deim‚, p‚mta pqosec—meto tƒ wqgst‚, Dglgtq´ou

t¡r eÇsebe´ar pqojimdimeÉsamtor. Jaμ maoμ l˜m eÇlec—heir jaμ
peqijakke¶r jaμ lÁm¨ t« h—‹ p‚mtar pqÂr –autoÊr •pistq—vomter •pμ
tØm jatadÉseym •je´mym –stŸjasi, basike¶r d˜ t« eÇsebe´‹ l„kkom
£ t« basike´‹ josloÉlemoi sulpaqist„sim l¶m jaμ sumepijqotoËsim
eÇvgloËmter tƒr qiste´ar toË l‚qtuqorû p„sa d˜  pÁkir
paqqgsiafÁleha tm eÇs—beiam •pμ tâ laqtuq´y toË lec‚kou
Dglgtq´ou jauwÖlemoi7 [All the misfortunes have passed, all the good
things have happened, because Demetrius endangered himself from the
beginning. Spacious and attractive temples have been erected in the place of
those underground, ones that attract everybody’s attention purely by their
spectacle; emperors that are decorated more by piety than by their office are
supportive of us and join us in our praise, exalting the brave deeds of the
martyr; and the whole of the city speak daringly of the piety of the great
Demetrius and are proud of his martyrdom].

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Palamas was treading carefully here because he must have realized
that many of his hearers in Thessalonica would still have cherished
deep animosity towards Kantakouzenos on both theological and
political grounds given the city’s bitter opposition to him during the
civil war of 1341–7.
The remainder of this chapter will investigate other such
contentious matters that are explored in the encomia. Two authors in
particular will be discussed, Demetrius Chrysoloras and Symeon of
Thessalonica along with their response to two pressing problems in
the history of Thessalonica: the period under the rule of John VII
(1403–8) and the threat of Turkish conquest during the 1420s.

Turning first to Chrysoloras, the early years of the fifteenth century

found him in a delicate political situation. He had close ties of
friendship with the Emperor Manuel II but at the same time he seems
to have maintained very cordial relations with Manuel’s nephew, and
rival for the throne, John VII Palaiologos. Chrysoloras was well
placed to appreciate the tense situation because between 1403 and
1408 he was resident in Thessalonica and serving as Mesazon or first
minister of John VII during the latter’s rule of the city. He describes
himself as holding this post in the title of his satirical work Encomium
to a flea: ‘Dglgtq´ou toË Wqusokyq„ toË les‚fomtor xÉkkgr
•cjÖliom’.8 That inevitably placed him in a difficult position if he
was to keep the favour of both uncle and nephew, as is made clear in
an anecdote told by the historian Sylvester Syropoulos. In around
1407 he was sent by John VII to Constantinople on unspecified
business. At dinner with the emperor Manuel, which is also an
indication of the familiarity between them, Chrysoloras was at pains
to point out that he regarded Manuel’s son John, later Emperor John
VIII (1425–1448) as much his lord as his did Manuel’s nephew, John
VII.9
The tension can also be traced in an oration that was written
by Chrysoloras at some point between 1403 and 1408 in praise of St
Demetrius and the myrrh that exuded from his tomb. We have come
across this encomium previously but now it will be examined from a
different angle.10 At first sight, this encomium looks very unpromising
as a reflection of contemporary reality. Previous analyses of it have

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completely ignored the possibility of its being so. Charalambos
Bakirtzis focussed on the evidence it gives about the myrrh of the
saint, its production, and its distribution to the faithful.11 Laourdas,
too, mentions how the archaeological evidence from work in the
basilica of St Demetrius in Thessalonica coincides with the remarks
made by Demetrius Chrysoloras in his work. Laourdas also compares
the oration with pictorial evidence to match the detail that St
Demetrius was killed by six soldiers in his cell. These scholars
mention no reflection of contemporary events in late Byzantium. On
the contrary, unflattering remarks have been passed on the literary
merits of Chrysoloras’s writing, both by Laourdas and Gautier who
have called his work neither very abundant nor very important.12
Incidentally, Demetrius Chrysoloras was a talented and prolific writer
and his works deserve scholarly attention.
Chrysoloras’s encomium reveals the climate in Thessalonica
in the time he was writing and his classical mimesis and metaphor
occasionally obscures a frank statement of his views. That is
suggested by the following verbose but intriguing passage. Speaking
about the restoration of Thessalonica to Byzantine rule in 1403, he
declares St Demetrius to be the city’s liberator and protector:

•keuheqytr l˜m a²wlakÖtym pe´qym •nec—meto vameqØr, tØm l˜m

e²r ¢peiqom jÁmtym •j t¡r pe´qou, tØm d˜ jaμ diƒ hak‚ssgr
•khÁmtym, jaμ tØm l˜m •m aÇt« ce jimdumeuÁmtym, …kkym d˜ jaμ
jataxgvifol—mym e²r h‚matom jaμ cmÖstyr diasyh—mtym, jaμ
…kkym …kkyr …kk¨ peqijeil—mym ¿dÉm¨ jaμ sytgq´ar •pituwÁmtym
lÁmom •pijakoul—mym p´stei tÂm ‡ciomû ™ti pamto´ym ²atqÂr
mosgl‚tym, oÇ tØm •m sÖlati lÁmom, kkƒ jaμ tØm peqμ xuwm
Ãmtym jaμ swedÂm mi‚tymû vqouqÂr lÁmor jqibr t« pÁkei c—come
taÉtg jaμ vÉkan …Òpmor À aÇtÂr jaμ pokk‚jir aÇtm •qqÉsato,
lÁkir d˜ ta¶r laqt´air lØm aÇtm •k—shai toÊr kkovÉkour
paqawyqe¶û pkm •pμ bqawÊ toËto, e»ta jqeittÁmyr aÇtm •pam‚cei,
l„kkom £ pqÁteqom, •m pqoshŸj¨ l lÁmom mhqÖpym jaμ tØm
wqgl‚tym, kkƒ jaμ cemma´ym jtisl‚tym jaμ Åte p„m t c—mor
diapevÖmgje jaμ tgqe¶ p‚kim aÇtm Õr jaμ pqÁteqom.13 [He became
manifestly the liberator of innumerable captives, whether on land, for those
who arrived from the land, or (at sea) for those who came by sea; of those who
endangered their lives (in the sea), of others who were given up for dead and
were saved mysteriously, and of others who suffered in some other way. They
achieved safety only by proclaiming faith to the saint; thus he was the physician

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 of many ailments, not only of the body, but also of those that weigh upon the
soul and are almost incurable; he has become a lone and perfect guardian to this
city and the sole sleepless guard. He delivered the city many times but for our
wrongdoings he reluctantly chose to grant it to the foreigners; but only for a
short time, and then mightily he brought it back, stronger than before, with the
addition not only of men and of money, but also of lofty buildings and
everything that our own country articulates as essential and he preserves the
city again as before].

It is striking that the latter part of the passage suggests that after its
restoration to Byzantine rule, Thessalonica was even stronger than it
had been before. The praise for these positive developments after
1403 is ostensibly being given to St Demetrius. However, it must have
been some more earthly individual who was responsible for the new
buildings and the money that Chrysoloras mentions. That individual
can only have been John VII who, as ruler of the city immediately
after its restoration would have had the task of putting it in order. By
contrast, Manuel II’s rule in Thessalonica in the 1380s had ended in
his humiliating withdrawal. In short, Chrysoloras was subliminally
praising John but giving the glory to the saint. It was a sensible way of
praising John without giving offence to Manuel in Constantinople.
Chrysoloras was by no means the only one to give John credit
for his administration of Thessalonica and others were not so
circumspect in their praise. The Synodikon of Thessalonica gives an
account that commemorates the significance of St Demetrius in the
city’s deliverance and also openly praises John VII for coming to
dwell amongst the citizens and for seeing to their every need. Its entry
for John is longer than that for Manuel II.14 John VII was noted
for good works on Mount Athos during his reign in Thessalonica
that he performed out of piety and for the benefit of his soul.15
A later chronicle goes even further and attributes to John VII the
characteristics of a saint:

ôEswe d˜ À aÇtÂr ùAmdqÁmijor u³Âm ¿mÁlati ùIy‚mmgm, Æm jaμ

jatake´xar •m t« PÁkei vuk‚tteim aÇtm À basikeÊr À he¶or aÇtoË,
aÇtÂr •poqeÉhg •m t« ùItak´‹, Åpyr dÖsysim aÇtÂm dÉmalim jatƒ
tØm sebØm jaμ ·dysi jaμ peqμ •mÖseyr tØm •jjkgsiØm. ÷Gm d˜ À
mexiÂr aÇtoË •m p„sim •pitgdeiÁtator jaμ eÇkabr, Åm jaμ letƒ tÂ
•pamekhe¶m tÂm basik—a •n ùItak´ar ™dyjem aÇtÂm tm Hessakom´jgmû

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 ¦m cƒq …jqor tm qetm Õr jaμ À t‚vor aÇtoË mËm ²„tai sheme´ar
pamto´ar.16 [And this Andronikos [IV] had a son called John, whom having
left in the City to guard it, the emperor, his uncle went to Italy, in order for
them to give him strength against the impious and to see about the union of the
Churches. And his nephew was very skilled in everything, and god-fearing, so
that after the homecoming of the emperor from Italy, he gave him Thessalonica.
And he was extremely virtuous, so much that his tomb now therefore heals
every kind of illness].

Chrysoloras could never have gone as far as that but in his very
circumspection, he is eloquent on the divided loyalties that so many
courtiers must have felt.

The second main author under consideration in this chapter is Symeon

of Thessalonica. His second encomium touches on some of the events
relating to John VII and his reign in Thessalonica but is much more
informative for the later years especially the period of Venetian rule.
That is because Symeon played an important role in the crucial events
of the 1420s, giving his work an eyewitness quality. In 1417, a year
after Symeon became metropolitan, the young Despot Andronikos, the
third son of Manuel II, ceased to be under the tutelage of Demetrius
Laskaris Leontaris and started to rule in Thessalonica in his own right.
The fragile and ailing prince clearly found the burden of his office a
heavy one, however, and as a result Symeon became more closely
involved in developing a policy to defend the city than previous
metropolitans had been. In 1422, he took it upon himself to set out for
Constantinople to present Thessalonica’s plight to the Emperor
Manuel. He seems to have been strongly opposed to the Venetian
takeover in 1423 but once they were installed, the Venetians
attempted to cultivate the Metropolitan since they were clearly well
aware of his influence.17 Once the Venetians were in charge, Symeon
advised obedience to them, as is recorded by John Anagnostes,18 but
the hand-over had anguished him greatly, and he had been
passionately opposed to it, as can be seen from his account.
At the same time, Symeon seems to have been a conscientious
pastor who did not lose sight of his spiritual duty in the midst of the
crisis. He wrote a sympathetic and consoling letter to the despot when
Andronikos withdrew from power and became a monk on the

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submission of the city to the Venetians in 1423. In it, Symeon praised
the young prince’s choice to follow the monastic life:

Wa¶qe, vikÁwqiste tâ Ãmti jaμ eÇseb—state d—spota. OÇd˜ cƒq wq

pqÂr tØm p t¡r kÉpgr p‚qweshai •m to¶r so¶r tm cƒq tØm
cc—kym cakk´asim •pepÁhgsar. (...) SÊ toË ùIgsoË lilgtr toË diƒ
s˜ tapeimoË. (...) OÇj—ti cŸimor e», kkƒ pok´tgr tØm …my, l„kkom d˜
toË tØm …my despÁtou sulbasikeÉr te jaμ sÉmahkor. Jaμ tÂm …hkom
cƒq toÉtou lil« jatƒ dÉmalim, t l˜m tƒ tØm peiqaslØm Èpov—qym,
t d˜ jaμ ta¶r toË sÖlator kcgdÁsi jaμ tair ¿dÉmair tØm lekØm
sulp‚swym aÇtâ19 [Hail, lover of Christ, truly, and most pious master. It is
not needed to commence from a position of sorrow in yourself; for you have
desired the joy of the angels. (…) You (are) an imitator of Jesus, for being
humble. (…) For you are not earthly, but a citizen of above, and rather a joint
king and fellow athlete of the master of heaven. And do imitate his achievement
to the end of your capability, on the one hand by enduring the temptations that
he suffered, and on the other hand by suffering with him in the pains of the
body and the afflictions of all of the body’s members].

This advisory letter to Andronikos shows the closeness between the

two men. Despite recognising that Andronikos had very little choice
other than surrender the city, Symeon was very displeased with the
situation. The Venetian years found Symeon all the more determined
to promote the interests of Orthodoxy. It must be noted here that he
did not see submission to the Ottomans as serving such interests: he
advised resistance to death. The debate about the future of the city was
a passionate one and Symeon expressed his resolute and unwavering
position through his many ecclesiastical works. The second encomium
to St Demetrius is central in the context of this debate.
Unlike the case of Demetrius Chrysoloras, reflection of the
contemporary situation in Symeon’s two encomia is in no way hidden
or subliminal. The theme of the ever-growing threat to Thessalonica
runs throughout them both. Symeon is, however, extremely creative in
the way that he discusses that theme. For example, he links
Thessalonica to Constantinople in an unexpected way. The link is
their transgressions. He sees the bad state of morality in both cities as
being punishable by God: ‘To¶r toioÉtoir oÐm jaμ  pÁkir aÎtg
sum—paswem Õr joimymoËsa t« pqÖt¨ to¶r n´oir tØm
peiqaslØm’20 [And in these things this city has been suffering

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together with the first city, having partaken in its fair share of
temptations]. The presence of the Venetians was seen as a result of
such transgressions.
Symeon also injects a personal element into his work, one that
is not found to a similar degree in the other encomia. In a dejected
tone he calls himself an unfortunate shepherd, ‘…hkiom poil—ma’21,
and he contrasts his life in previous years, which he led uneventfully
and peacefully, ‘pqaclÁmyr jaμ e²qgmijØr’,2 2 with the time
when ‘Èp˜q dÉmal´m te swedÂm peiqÖlemom jatast—kkeim tƒr
taqawƒr jaμ tƒ paqƒ kÁcom cimÁlema jaμ lgdalØr
•niswÉomta’23 [almost above my strength I attempted to subdue the
agitations and the irrational things that were taking place but hardly
succeeding at all]. He regards his sufferings as so great that they made
him like a corpse: ‘oÇd˜m diav—qym ¢lgm mejqoË, t« jk´mg
pqosgkyl—mor Õr pacoqeÉsar24 t« kÉp¨ jaμ t« sumewe´‹
tØm hk´xeym’25 [not being different to someone who is dead,
bedridden, having fallen short through sorrow and the continuity of
afflictions]. His worry was such that despite his frailty and through
many physical dangers, he attempted a trip to see the emperor: ‘Ûste
e² dumghe´gm, pq„na´ ti tØm Èp˜q aÇt¡r, e²r tÂm basik—a tÂm
l—cam Lamouk poqeuhe´r’26 [so that if I am able, I may perform a
deed in favour of the city, I went to the emperor, the great Manuel].
The display of such self-pity shows the extent of his despair. Indeed,
when instructing their congregation, it would be normally more likely
for a pastoral leader to conceal rather than accentuate their own
despondency and this sense of being broken and crushed by the
violent force of circumstances. Symeon is not at all hesitant to reveal
his state of being to his people.
Helplessness is another recurring theme in Symeon’s speech
and he indicates that he was not the only one who felt that way. It is
made clear that the Despot Andronikos was also left to deal with the
enormous problems in Thessalonica on his own and without much
help from anyone, the emperors Manuel II and his son John VIII
included: ‘Jaμ À l˜m tm pÁkim jqatØm eÇsebr despÁtgr
•jkome¶to p‚mtohem jaμ p‚swym paqù oÇdemÂr e»we tÂ
boghe¶shai, t l˜m tØm basik—ym, toË patqÂr jaμ toË
dekvoË, ²d´am •wÁmtym tm Èp˜q t¡r basik´dor l—qilmam’27

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[And the pious despot who held the city was shaken from every side,
and during his suffering he had no-one to help him, while the
emperors, the father and the brother, had their own concern regarding
the reigning city]. Andronikos was forced to write to his father to ask
for help, and Symeon wrote in his support:

ùApost—kkei l˜m pq—sbeir e²r tÂm pat—qa jaμ basik—a À jqatØm t¡r
pÁkeyr taÉtgr despÁtgr, jc× d˜ diƒ tØm let—qym timÂr
cq‚llasim macc—kky tƒ peqμ t¡r pÁkeyr, jaμ Õr •m wqâ jimdÉmou
le¶r jaμ Õr, e² l •jp—lxei pqÂr te vukajm jaμ pq„nim qlod´our
jaμ t« peqious´‹ ²swÉomtar boghe¶m, e²r pqovam¡ j´mdumom tƒ t¡r
pÁkeyr. Jaμ toËto oÇ tÁte lÁmom, kkƒ pokk‚jir paqù •loË
c—comem.28 [And he, the holder of the city and its despot, sends ambassadors to
his father and emperor, and I also declare through my own letters the matters
relevant to the city, and that by necessity we were at risk, and that if he does not
send for our guard and business people who are authorised and strong in
property and who can help with money, the affairs of the city are in obvious
danger. Not only on this occasion but many times was this kind of thing done
by me].

The picture painted here for Thessalonica is one of stark

abandonment, with the resources of the empire clearly not being made
available for its defence. If Constantinople and Thessalonica were so
tied in the same fate, why did the Emperor and his heir, John VIII,
abandon Andronikos to his fate? Further, Symeon mentions a
Byzantine general who came to Thessalonica with the suggestion that
the city should be defended through a common fund, drawn by a
public collection of money. This general entered into negotiations
with the enemy on his own initiative, which caused further agitation
and disquiet in the city. This is the point when it all got too much for
Andronikos and he started contemplating taking his leave: ‘öO jaμ
tÂm despÁtgm paq—peise pk—om •nekhe¶m jaμ •t—qoir
paqadoËmai tm pÁkimû oÇd˜ cƒq haqqe¶m e»we tØm Åkym tim´’29
[And that forced the despot to be persuaded to depart and to surrender
the city to others; for he had no trust in any of them]. Here then, an
encomium was being used to make frank criticism of the emperors,
Manuel II and his son John VIII.
It was not sovereignty alone that concerned the archbishop of
Thessalonica. Indeed, he was committed to the emperor. But at the

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same time, it was the integrity of the Church that was almost more
important. When the Venetians gained power, the preservation of
Orthodoxy was his goal. So Symeon looked on in horror when the
Venetians asked to be commemorated in the Orthodox liturgy: ‘Tƒ
pqoeiqgl—ma o·date p‚mter, peqμ te vŸlgr jaμ lmglosÉmou
fgtŸseyr jaμ maØm jaμ toË •m to¶r let—qoir toÊr •je´mym
•h—keim ³eqouqce¶m’30 [You all know what I just said, and also
regarding their request to be proclaimed and commemorated (in the
liturgy) and their request for churches, and that they want to celebrate
Mass in our churches]. Symeon refers to the ecclesiastical situation in
the islands and in Cyprus, which were also under Latin rule, as
something deplorable and to be avoided at all costs.31 The thought of
allowing the Catholic priests to participate in the rites in any way or to
be commemorated appears to him to be a major compromise on the
doctrine and Orthodox life of the Byzantine Church. The fact that such
examples were to be found in other parts of the Greek lands made
such a possibility more likely in his eyes and filled him with anxiety
and horror.
Looking at the same topic more broadly, Symeon was
pessimistic about the survival of the Church without the protection of
the Byzantine Empire. In another work he paints a bleak picture of
any chances of survival of the Church under the Turks, which is the
reason he gives for fighting to the very end. In support of his rationale
he draws attention to what happened to other churches that were then
not in Byzantine hands any more. The ancient Christian cities of
Alexandria, Jerusalem and Antioch become part of his analysis:

OÇ tƒ t¡r •jjkgs´ar •tapeimoËto, Õr jaμ •m t« A²cÉptß jaμ

úIeqosokÉloir jaμ ùAmtiowe´‹ jaμ tÁpoir …kkoir; PÁsoi mËm •je¶se
wqistiamo´, pÁsoi tØm qwieq—ym jaμ ³eq—ym jaμ lomafÁmtym; OÇj
¿kicostoμ k´am jaμ tilafÁlemoi paqƒ tØm h—ym; ôIdylem d˜ jaμ tƒr
t¡r matok¡r p‚sar pÁkeir, o¼ai cecÁmasi dievhaql—mai jaμ paqƒ
wqistiamØm a³ pke´our o´jgtoiû jaμ Åpou tim˜r wqistiamo´,
lujtgqifÁlemoi, peqivqomoÉlemoi te jahù l—qam jaμ ¿kicostoμ
cimÁlemoi. 32 [And have not the concerns of the Church been humiliated, as
also in Egypt, and Jerusalem, and Antioch, and other places? How many are the
Christians there, and how many of the archbishops, the priests, and the ones
who lead the monastic life? Are they not very few indeed, and dishonoured by

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 the atheists? And we have seen all the cities of the East, how they have become
corrupt and mostly devoid of Christian inhabitants; and wherever in them there
are some Christians, they are mocked, and ignored every day, and become
fewer in numbers].

Late Byzantine chroniclers confirm Symeon’s fears when recording

some of the things that happened to the city of Thessalonica after the
fall. Doukas mentions laconically and sorrowfully how after the fall of
the city churches were abandoned: •qglÖhgsam mao´ [temples were
relinquished]. 33 In more detail, and in theological language that is
reminiscent of Symeon, Anagnostes accounts how the communion
tables in the churches were treated by the conquering army:

jaμ tƒr he´ar tqap—far, •vù a¼r  he´a lustij jaμ fØsa jaμ systij
pamtÂr •peteke¶to toË jÁslou hus´a, t« tØm wqgl‚tym •pihul´‹
jatƒ spoudm matq—peim jaμ jatap‚tgla veË to¶r boukol—moir
tih—mai.34 [and the holy tables, on which the holy, mystical, and living, and all-
saving sacrifice of the world took place, for the desire of money with haste they
overturn, and alas they trample all over anyone].

What is more, Anagnostes shows not only how the physical remains
faded, and the clergy left, but also how things were slowly eradicated
from the collective memory: ‘jaμ lomouwμ tØm cgqaiot—qym
™nestim joÉeim mdqØm Õr Þde l˜m ¦m À me×r À de¶ma •je¶ d˜
À deima, jaμ Åsa pqos¡m –j‚stß jaμ j‚kkg jaμ w‚qiter’.35
[and only from the older men it was possible to hear (saying) that here
was this church, and there was that church, and all the beauties and
graces that were attached to each].
In the mind of Anagnostes, as in the mind of Symeon, the
freedom to celebrate the religious festivals and to talk about the faith
is indistinguishable from civic freedom:

Ú pØr À t¡r eÇgleq´ar l¶m jaiqÂr •pih—seyr jaμ jatadqol¡r

c—come, jaμ jatakeivh—mter a²swÉmg jaμ Ãmeidor cecemŸleha. o·womtai
pamgcÉqeir, o·womtai he´ym •jtupyl‚tym kalpqÁtgter. pÁkyke
paqqgs´a. t tØm lomawØm pekŸkatai t‚cla, jaμ pokiaμ
pqesbut—qym jaμ diajÁmym selmÁtgr •m to¶r t´loir koc´fomtai.36 [O
how the time of prosperity has become one of attack and raid, and we who are
left have become a shame and a reproach. Absent are the festivals, absent are
the displays of divine figures. Lost is the courage of speech (about the faith).

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 The order of the monks has been lost, and the guards of the priests and
solemnity of the deacons are regarded as things dishonourable].

In his frank expression of his ecclesiastical and political agenda,

Symeon was most unlike Nicholas Kavasilas, even though both
authors were prepared to be open in the articulation of their deep
feelings. Kavasilas’s work was for him a personal journey and his
opinions matured, developed, and wavered throughout his life, as he
agonisingly tried different paths and lines of argument in order to give
his thought expression in a manner that would satisfy his inquiring
spirit. Symeon by contrast seems to have considered consistency and
steadfastness in what he saw as the core beliefs of the Church as a
most important and necessary attribute. Therefore Symeon was
adamantly opposed to any compromise in ecclesiastical life, even if it
would bring material benefits and could increase the level of comfort
experienced in the city. Such efforts for improving things in
Thessalonica were made anyway and the wish for compromises within
the Church does not appear to have been a condition but only a
separate aspect of the time of the Venetians there. Although Symeon
recognises the Venetians’ efforts to make peace and their material
contributions of ships and food, however, Thessalonica still suffered
conditions of hunger. He intimates that many of its inhabitants
abandoned their homes and surrendered themselves to the enemy or
lived in other people’s lands, or became captive. As for the ones who
remained, they were so afflicted by hunger that ‘tÂm toË ham‚tou
vÁbom pq ¿vhaklØm jejtgl—mym ™syh—m te jaμ ™nyhem’37
[they had the fear of death before their eyes, from within and outside].
More citizens were therefore forced to give themselves over to the
enemy: ‘–autoÊr to¶r seb—sim aÇtolÁkour paqe¶wom, jaμ tƒ
t¡r m‚cjgr lØm cmystƒ c—come to¶r •whqo¶r’38 [they gave
themselves over to the impious by their own accord, and they made
the nature of our needs known to the enemies]. The fact that the Turks
knew the extent of the suffering within the walls acted as a
psychological boost for them and a blow for the besieged Byzantines.
Yet Symeon did not trust the Venetians to be benevolent
towards the Church in the long term. He took a very uncompromising
stance on this matter, expressing animosity against both the Latins and

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the Turks but possibly reserving the stronger antipathy for the West,
most probably the Venetians for their involvement in Thessalonica:

Jaμ tƒr •m t« dÉsei d˜ bk—polem jatƒ lijqÂm vamifol—mar pÁkeir.

DiyclÂr cƒq Èp‚qwei, jaμ t seb˜r toËto ™hmor pqÁdqolom kghØr
toË mtiwq´stou •stμ jaμ tÂm Ãvim •je¶mom •jlile¶tai tÂm ùAdƒl
•napatŸsamta. Vik´am l˜m Èpojq´metai jaμ tquvm •pacc—ketai jaμ
•keuheq´am xeudØrû jatadouko¶ d—, hamato¶ jaμ pamtekØr diavhe´qei
jaμ t—kor e²r HeÂm poie¶ bkasvgle¶m.39 [And we see the cities in the West,
how they are reduced to exhaustion. For there is persecution, and this impious
nation, is truly the forerunner of the Antichrist, and it imitates that snake who
deceived Adam. It pretends friendship and promises luxury and freedom
falsely; for it enslaves, it kills and corrupts totally, and moreover, it brings
about blasphemy to God].

How would he have taken the Venetians’ intention as recorded by

Doukas, to rework Thessalonica into their own image: ‘e²r deut—qam
Bemet´am letaswglat´sai’ [to transform into a second Venice]!40
In his plea to the citizens to stand firm for the sake of Christ,
Symeon expresses a soundly established view in late Byzantium that
the city of Thessalonica, with its increased autonomy, prominence and
distinction, was a vital counterpart of Constantinople for the custody
and preservation of the faith.

Diƒ toËto stØlem cemma´yr Èp˜q toË WqistoË. úG pÁkir aÎtg

jev‚kaiom t¡r eÇsebe´ar pù qw¡r •sti letƒ tm pqÖtgm jaμ
basik´da41 [For this let us stand bravely in favour of Christ. For this city has
been a centre of piety from the beginning, together with the first city and
capital].

Or even more strongly expressed by him elsewhere:

Pkm ™ti diƒ t ¿qhÂm t¡r Àlokoc´ar lÁmom lØm sum—wei l„r À
JÉqior jaμ qwieqysÉmgr w‚qim l¶m sumtgqe¶ jaμ basike´am eÇseb¡,
t¡r ¿qh¡r ›meja lÁmgr p´steyr •n lØm ™ti •jdewÁlemor ja´ tima
jaqpÁm. OÇ cƒq lÁmg  p´stir sàfei, Õr paqƒ toË Head—kvou
lamh‚molem k—comtor, Åti î p´stir wyqμr tØm ™qcym mejq‚ •stiï.
õOhem jaμ o³ dÉo •na´qetoi pÁkeir aÑtai letƒ lijqØm –t—qym, 
Jymstamt´mou vglμ jaμ Hessakom´jg, •mapeke´vhgsam l¶m e²r
vukajm eÇsebe´ar jaμ …wqi toË paqÁmtor w‚qiti HeoË
sumtgqoËmtai.42 [And apart from everything else, it is only for the correctness

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 of the confession of the faith that the Lord sustains us, and for the sake of the
archbishopric he keeps us and our pious kingship, accepting from us the correct
and only faith and its fruit. But faith alone does not save, as we learn from the
Brother of the Lord (James), who said that ‘the faith without works is dead’.
From that cause it is that both of those excellent cities with some other small
ones, the one of Constantine, I say, and Thessalonica, have been left to us in
custody of piety and up to this present have been protected by the grace of
God].

Doukas echoes this view in his account, when talking about the fall of
Thessalonica in 1430, as he marks it as the sign of a doomed future for
the Byzantine capital: ‘paqw jaj jaμ pa´sior tØm
lekkÁmtym jajØm •m t« basikeuoÉs¨.’ [a poor first-fruit and
ominous of future evils in the Queen of Cities].43
Symeon links the fates of Thessalonica and Constantinople as
if they both form part of the same greater scheme of things. This
greater scheme is Christianity. He identifies as the reason for their
salvation the faith, and as the reason for their previous temporary loss
the lack of pious works, and the lack of desire for the Christian life. In
lamenting the lack of such a desire, Symeon crystallizes the two main
Christian ideals, namely peace and love:

Åtipeq •n lØm tØm eÇsebØm jaμ wqistiamØm jakoul—mym •n—kipe p„m

wqgstÂm jaμ l„kkom  e²qŸmg jaμ t t¡r c‚pgr jakÁm jaμ pk—om ™ti
À Èp˜q toË WqistoË f¡kor jaμ tØm aÇtoË44 [that exactly from us who are
in name pious and Christian, there has been lacking everything good and
especially the peace and the quality of love and furthermore zeal for Christ and
the things that spring from it].

He notes that in his day within the body of Christ, which is the
Church, no one is willing to endure the many sorrows of the first
Christians: ‘oÇdù Èpole¶mai jajop‚heiam £ hk¶xim saqjÁr tima
Õr o³ •n qw¡r kghe¶r jaμ Ãmtyr wqistiamo´’45 [and we would
not endure discomfort or sorrow of the body, as did the first and true,
and truly Christian]. But even more than their failure to excel like
these, Symeon deplores how a life indifferent to religion appeals to
them:

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 Jaμ t we´qistom, Õr diƒ taÉtgm tm toË kuol—mou sÖlator jaμ
hm©sjomtor …mesim, Îbqim d˜ l„kkom e²pe¶m jaμ vhoq‚m, toÊr
•hmijoÉr, toÊr h—our, toÊr liaqoÉr, Ú t¡r pomo´ar, pke¶stoi
mÁgtoi lajaq´fousi jaμ •qastaμ toÉtym e²sμ t¡r jah‚qtou fy¡r.46
[And the worst thing is that for this comfort of the dissolving and mortal body,
they would rather commit hubris and decay. The great fools – O the
heartlessness! – praise the pagans, the atheists, the defiled and are lovers of
their unclean life].

No wonder, then, that such troubles befell his people: ‘Diƒ toËto
ÔkicÖhglem paqƒ p‚mtar jaμ •sl˜m o³ hkiÖteqoi sŸleqom
•pμ t¡r c¡r diƒ tƒr h—slour lØm pq‚neir jaμ laqt´ar
taÉtar jaμ tƒ koipƒ pkgllekŸlata’47 [For this (reason) we have
been reduced by everyone and we are the most deplorable, today, on
earth for our lawless actions and for these sins and for our other
wrongdoings]. At this point he lays bare the core of his argument. This
resumes his previous points and puts them more strongly. Firstly that
it is only by the confession of the faith that Byzantium survived so far.
And secondly that salvation does not come by faith alone, but
accompanying deeds are necessary if the empire is to be preserved by
God. Temporary loss of freedom is portrayed as an instruction for the
lukewarm Christians. In the deliverance of his people, St Demetrius is
therefore likened to Moses. In being described as all powerful, at this
point St Demetrius is likened to the Virgin Mary in the way he
protects his city:

Jaμ  l˜m Åkyr to¶r •whqo¶r toË WqistoË oÇw Èp—juxe, peqisßfoÉsgr
aÇtm t¡r p‚mtym basik´dor eipaqh—mou t¡r HeolŸtoqorû  d˜ pqÂr
¿k´com Èpawhe¶sa douke´‹ pqÂr paide´am ‡la jaμ dojilm ™jtis´m te,
Þmpeq l‚qtolem, p‚kim heqla¶r ³jes´air toË lec‚kou vÉkajor
aÇt¡r Dglgtq´ou tm douke´am p—qqixe, jaμ tƒr we¶qar •jvucoËsa
tØm tuqqamoÉmtym, •keÉheqom vØr e»de jaμ tm eÇs—beiam
•paqqgsi‚sato. Jaμ haËla •pμ toÉtß c—come l—cistom. úYr cƒq pqμm
toÊr ùIsqagk´tar diƒ LyÒs—yr HeÁr jaμ diƒ Dglgtq´ou tm pÁkim
taÉtgm •qqÉsato.48 [And, on the one hand, she did not wholly give into the
enemies of Christ, being saved by the Queen of all, the ever-virginal Mother of
God; while on the other, having for a little while been subjected to slavery for
(our) discipline and testing, and getting through it, for it was we who sinned,
again with the warm pleading of its great guardian Demetrius, she rejected
slavery, and with the hands escaping the tyrants, she saw the light of freedom

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 and she spoke freely about the faith. And on this respect a most remarkable
miracle took place. Exactly as before God led the Israelites with Moses, he
delivered this city through Demetrius].

There were troubled discussions amongst the citizens about what to do

regarding the defence or surrender of Thessalonica. That is apparent
from the talks of sending messengers to Murad, alluded to in
documents of the Venetian Senate.49 Symeon asks for self-sacrifice
and for fighting the attacker to death: ‘õApamter oÐm Èle¶r •m t«
aÇt« l—mete cmÖl¨ jaμ •to´lyr ™wete, paqajakØ, jaiqoË
jakoËmtor, e² dumatÁm, •jw—ai jaμ t a¼la Èp˜q t¡r lØm
eÇsebe´ar jaμ toË l jatadoukyh¡mai to¶r seb—sim
•whqo¶r’50 [All of you, please remain of the same opinion and be
ready, as the circumstance may be calling for it, if possible to let your
blood run for our faith and not to be enslaved by our irreligious
enemies].
It was a prevalent opinion in Byzantium that calamity was
symptomatic of sin, and Symeon expresses this view in another aspect
of public life, the relationship between the Church and the emperor.
This had also deteriorated, Symeon warned, and that was displeasing
to God. He expands on this in two paragraphs about ecclesiastical
affairs entitled ‘õOti oÇ til„tai mËm  qwieqysÉmg paqƒ tØm
basik—ym Õr pqÁteqomû diƒ toËto ¿qc´fetai HeÁr’ [That the
position of the archbishop is not honoured by the kings as before; and
for that God is angered] and ‘õOti t sp‚feshai qwieqe¶r tm
toË basik—yr we¶qa paqƒ tm jamomijm t‚nimû jaμ tÂ
letah—seir •pisjÁpym jaμ coul—mym poie¶m tÂm basik—a’51
[That for the archbishops to kiss the hand of the king is beyond the
proper order; and to have the king move posts of bishops and abbots].
In those passages Symeon expands with passion and anger on the
humiliations of the archbishop and shows how the new shift in the
relationship between the archbishop and the emperor is degrading for
the Church.

The agony that Symeon felt and the climate in the city urged him to be
expansive in his second encomium on the conditions within the walls
and the low morale amongst his people. But the great volume of

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material on the events in Thessalonica to be found in this encomium
must not let us forget that this was a speech dedicated to St Demetrius.
This is no dilution of the purpose of the speech. On the contrary, the
fact that he does this shows how the encomia to St Demetrius acted as
a platform for the pressing issues of the time to be addressed. Not that
the saint was ever absent from the action. His heroic profile would not
have allowed that. Indeed, he features prominently, and the blockade
of 1426, for example, is described by Symeon in the framework of the
saint’s divine intervention.52 He is also credited with emergency food
supplies and rescuing the citizens from difficult situations. Moreover,
he is put forward as an example for all to follow, having died for his
faith. In those times of confusion and crisis, this is ultimately what
Symeon asked of his flock.53 Chrysoloras and Symeon thus provide
strongly contrasting examples of how a strict genre could be adapted
to contemporary conditions. The message could be inserted obliquely
or made central to the encomium. In both cases, this literary form is at
the very heart of events and of the contemporary reaction to them.

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Aftermath

Following the second Ottoman conquest of Thessalonica in March

1430, the cult of St Demetrius was inevitably disrupted. According to
Anagnostes, the victorious Turkish soldiers looted the saint’s tomb.
They took the gold, silver, precious stones and pearls that adorned it
and tried to stem the flow of the miraculous myrrh.1 After a few
days, however, Sultan Murad II restored order and it would seem that
the basilica of St Demetrius was left in the hands of the Christians
for the time being. When the Italian humanist Cyriac of Ancona
visited the following year, he found that it was still functioning as the
centre of Demetrius’s cult.2 Only in 1492 was the basilica converted
into a mosque. This event has been linked by scholars to the fall of
Granada.3
In other respects, however, Christian worship in Thessalonica
suffered from the change of ruler. The Acheiropoietos church was not
as fortunate as the basilica and was immediately turned into a mosque.
This did, however, ensure that the building benefited from a repair
organised by the Ottoman governor of the city and costing 30,000
silver coins.4 The Acheiropoietos was the landmark in the centre of
the city that Murad chose to state his victory and that explains its
immediate turn into a mosque. There is an inscription in the
Acheiropoietos, which survives today, relating to the fall of
Thessalonica. Translated into English it would read: ‘The Sultan
Murad Khan conquered the city of Thessalonica in 833 (=1430)’.5 The
Burgundian knight, Bertrandon de la Broquière noted when he visited
the region in the 1430s that many Christians in Thessalonica had
converted to Islam.6
With the two main churches of the Demetrius cult lost to
Christian worship, Thessalonica inevitably lost its position as a centre
of pilgrimage. The miraculous myrrh that had been so central to the
cult is no longer attested after the fifteenth century.7 Instead,
Thessalonica became a Turkish and a cosmopolitan city. The

129
seventeenth century Turkish historian Hadji Khalfa called it ‘a little
piece of Istanbul’. Machiel Kiel’s study sees Thessalonica as a city
that, after undergoing a difficult re-birth, had become prominent in
being ‘a focus of Turkish-Islamic culture and Jewish spiritual life’. 8
Yet, Christian life continued in the city. Although there was no
Metropolitan at the time of the Ottoman conquest, due to the death of
Symeon, Gregorios was appointed in about 1432 and during the first
half of 1439 a Metropolitan called Methodios appeared on the scene.
He was probably Metropolitan until 1467.9 The festival seems to have
continued although its focus was increasingly commercial and a useful
source of tax revenue for the Ottoman authorities.10 Certainly, in
December 1453, the Metropolitan of Thessalonica wrote to Nicholas
Isidoros, a Greek judge in Ottoman service, to reassure him that even
though the Festival of St Demetrius had been celebrated on the day
after 26 October, it was done so with all due solemnity.11 This is
another indication that the cult of St Demetrius continued under
Ottoman rule for the time being. The letter itself is part of a small
collection of letters written soon after the end of Byzantium and is of
considerable linguistic and cultural interest.
Just as the cult of St Demetrius waned in Thessalonica, so did
the literary culture that had produced the encomia. Many educated
Byzantines left the city after 1430. It is well-known that the
Thessalonian Theodore Gazes (c.1400–1475/6) had a successful
career in Italy after he left his home town while his lesser-known
associate Andronikos Kallistos (c.1400–1476) went to Italy initially
and then moved on to Paris and London.12 This was the next
generation that would have written the encomia for their own times.
Some intellectuals did remain in Thessalonica. We know that the
Constantinopolitan Luke Spandounes (d. 1481) taught Greek there and
some time before 1494 the Greek Thessalonians asked for the pupil of
George Gemistos Plethon, John Moschos, to be sent to them from
Corfu to teach. The presence of the scholars Matthew Laskaris,
Manuel Laskaris and Demetrius Sgouropoulos is recorded in the city,
in the context of selling Greek manuscripts to Janus Laskaris
(1445–1535). Janus took two trips in the Greek lands between
1489–92 to find more Greek works to assist with his studies and his
career in Italy.13 In spite of this, however, the milieu in which

130
Palamas, Harmenopoulos and Metropolitan Symeon had produced
their encomia was gone.
Thessalonica remained under Ottoman rule until 1912, when
it was taken by the Greeks a few days after a victorious battle at
Yiannitsa during the Balkan Wars, which notably coincided with the
feast day of St Demetrius, 26 October. As a result the cult of the saint
enjoyed something of a revival. St Demetrius is today a major saint in
the Eastern Church and once more the patron saint of the modern city
of Thessaloniki. He still plays a role in the life of the city. A
commercial fair still bears his name and, combined with that, every
October the Greek prime minister goes up to Thessaloniki to give a
speech of high political importance about the annual budget. St
Demetrius appears extensively in the official literature of the
municipality of Thessaloniki and he features in a mosaic in the main
hall of the University, alongside Alexander the Great.
Nevertheless, the fervency and intensity of the cult as it was in
late Byzantine times can never be recaptured. Thus to conclude, it
would seem that the late Byzantine encomia to St Demetrius were the
product of a moment in time. They encapsulated certain distinct
ingredients. Some were centuries old: Thessalonian devotion to St
Demetrius, the classical tradition, the Bible and the Greek Church
Fathers, the values and ideology of the Byzantine state. Others, such
as hesychasm and the anxieties provoked by the Ottoman threat, were
more recent. This work has attempted therefore to demonstrate that
the encomia were not simply stilted regurgitations of classical or
religious models but a distinct voice of the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries.

In discussing the cult of St Demetrius, this book is also inevitably a

history of Thessalonica. Many readers may already have read Mark
Mazower’s celebrated account, Salonica, City of Ghosts (London,
2004). Mark Mazower starts his book where I finish (1430).

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Appendix
Responses to the Fall of Thessalonica in 1430 by
John Anagnostes in his Narration and Monody

This essay will examine through juxtaposition and comparison the two
texts by John Anagnostes that refer to the siege and fall of
Thessalonica. Both pieces are highly personal in their resonance and
insights, and have the warmth and intensity of an eye-witness
chronicle. The first text, his Narration, is more descriptive and linear,
with some structure around the events that led to the devastation of his
home town, but interspersed with powerful allusions to the climate of
fear and despair in the city. The second, his Monody, is a poetical
rendering of the fall by way of a lament, in which personal sentiment
and the inner state of the author and the people around him take the
lead.
The events described by Anagnostes took place during the last
years of the Byzantine Empire. Thessalonica was the empire’s second
city but by about 1420 it was isolated in territory that had been
conquered by the Ottoman Turkish Sultan, Murad II. In a desperate
bid to save themselves, the people of the city handed it over to the
Italian maritime republic of Venice, in the hope that the Venetian
naval power would keep the Turks at bay. It was to no avail and on 29
March 1430 Murad II attacked and captured Thessalonica.

The emotional closeness and intimacy in the writing of Anagnostes

will become apparent when compared to the tone of the other sources.
The important event of the fall of Byzantine Thessalonica to the
Ottomans in 1430 is recorded fairly briefly in the Histories of
Laonikos Chalkokondyles, Doukas, and Sphrantzes.1 These authors
give accounts that are, in comparison, emotionally distant from the
event they are describing, and they retain an air of clarity and
neutrality in their portrayal. In all authors, including Anagnostes, there
is reference to the Venetians and their role in the events, and some

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estimation of their impact to the fall. A mention in Doukas is
particularly striking, as he recounts that the Venetians when they took
over Thessalonica undertook ‘e²r deut—qam Bemet´am
letaswglat´sai’2 [to transform into a second Venice]. Such a
possibility, and the expression of such ambition, underlines the
strategic and privileged location that Thessalonica enjoyed, and its
potential as a major centre in the eastern Mediterranean. This makes
the depopulation and depression in the city that resulted from the fall
all the more sobering a sight.
Sinan Pasha, Vizier of Murad II, in a letter 3 to the
metropolitan of Ioannina and the nobles asks them to surrender on the
evidence of what happened to Thessalonica for resisting. This also
gives us an insight into the major role the Italians played in Greece at
the time. In the letter they are portrayed as responsible for the fall of
Thessalonica: ‘Diƒ toËto cq‚vy sar jaμ k—cy, Åti mƒ
pqorjumŸsete l˜ t jakÂm jaμ lgd˜m pkamgh¡te e²r tØm
Vq‚cjym tƒ kÁcia, Åti t´pote d˜m sar h—koum ÔvekŸsei,
pkm h—koum sar wak‚sei, jah×r •w‚kasam jaμ toÊr
Hessakomija´our’4 [For this I write to you and say, to prostrate
yourselves (meaning surrender) willingly, and not to be lured into the
promises of the Franks, because they will benefit you in nothing,
except they will destroy you, as they destroyed the Thessalonians].
The letter gives us a good idea of what took place after defeating a
city, as it uses examples of previous devastations as threats. It also
shows how important the ecclesiastical rights were to a community,
and that a religious leader of a subjugated people also resolved
disputes in the community, so acting as a judge:

(...) Åti mƒ lgd˜m ™wete jam—mam vÁbom, lŸte a²wlakytislÂm, lŸte

piaslÂm paid´ym, lŸte •jjkgs´ar mƒ wak‚sylem, lŸte lasc´di mƒ
poiŸsylem, kkƒ jaμ a³ •jjkgs´air sar mƒ sgla´moum, jah×r ™woum
sumŸheiam. úO lgtqopok´tgr mƒ ™w¨ tm jq´sim tou tm ðyla½jm jaμ
Åka tou tƒ •jjkgsiastijƒ dijaiÖlata. O³ …qwomter Åsoi ™woum
til‚qia p‚kim mƒ tƒ ™wousiû tƒ comij‚ tour, tƒ Èpostatij‚ tour jaμ
tƒ pq‚clat‚ tour Åka mƒ tƒ ™woum wyqμr timÂr kÁcou. Jaμ …kka e· ti
fgtŸlata h—kete fgtŸsei mƒ s„r tƒ dÖsylem. E² d˜ jaμ stah¡te
peislatijoμ jaμ d˜m pqorjumŸsete l˜ t jakÂm, mƒ neÉqete, Åti,
Ûrpeq •diacoul´salem tm Hessakom´jgm jaμ •wak‚salem ta¶r

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 •jjkgs´air, jaμ •qglÖsalem jaμ vam´salem tƒ p‚mta, oÎtyr
h—kolem wak‚sei jaμ •s„r jaμ tƒ pq‚clat‚ sar, jaμ t jq¶la mƒ tÂ
cuq—x¨ À heÂr pù •s„r.5 [that neither to have any fear, nor captivity, nor
bondage of children, nor will we destroy churches, nor will we make mosques,
but also your churches will ring their bells as they do by custom. The
metropolitan to have his Roman judgment and all his ecclesiastical rights. The
archons, those who have timaria, to still have them; their inheritance, their
serfs, and all their things to have without a word. And if you want to ask about
any other matters, we are willing to make provisions to you. But if you are to
stand resolute and not give in amiably, let this be known to you that, exactly as
we plundered Thessalonica and we destroyed the churches, and we deserted and
ruined everything, in the same way we will destroy both yourselves and your
things, and the (reason) for the wrong-doing may god seek from yourselves].

It is time now to turn our attention to how the news of the fall of
Thessalonica is broken to the reader. Sphrantzes is quite brief with
regard to this. In his edition Maisano offers two possibilities of the
same passage. The first is fairly flegmatic: ‘ùEm è d laqt´ß lgmμ
jaμ lgq„r À Louq‚tlpe½r tm Hessakom´jgm •p¡qem pÂ
toÊr Bemet´jour pok—lß’6 [So in the month of March, Murad-bei
took Thessalonica from the Venetians by war]. The second is coloured
with the word heÁqcistoi (= those who anger god): ‘Åti e²r 1430
e»wam •p‚qgm o³ heÁqcistoi o³ toËqjoi tm hessakom´jgm pÂ
tƒr we¶qar tØm bemet´jym’7 [that in 1430 they had taken, the god-
angering Turks, Thessalonica from the hands of the Venetians].
In Chalkokondyles we read similarly that ‘e¼k— te jatƒ
jq‚tor tm pÁkim jaμ mdqapod´sato’8 [and he subdued the city
by compulsion and made it captive]. He also says that ‘•c—meto l˜m
oÐm aÎtg lec´stg d to¶r õEkkgsi sulvoq‚, jaμ oÇdeli„r tØm
pqÁshem cemol—mym aÇto¶r sulvoqØm keipol—mg.’ [and this
became the biggest calamity to the Greeks, and it did not fall behind
any of the other calamities that came before it]; and that ‘ l—mtoi
pÁkir aÎtg úEkkgmμr lec‚kg te oÐsa jaμ eÇda´lym –‚ky ÈpÂ
ùAlouq‚tey. tm l—mtoi pÁkim •p—tqepe to¶r aÇtoË taÉt¨ tØm
peqio´jym •moij¡sai.’ [and indeed this Greek city which was great
and fortunate was taken by Murad. Indeed he allowed the city to be
inhabited by his own people who were dwelling in the hinterland].9
To be addressed as úEkkgmμr by the Athenian Chalkokondyles
is a high complement to the city, alluding to a classical past. In his

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fondness of the literary heritage, in fact, he calls Thessalonica by its
ancient name, H — q l g (Therme): ‘tm l—mtoi H—qlgm t¡r
Lajedom´ar p—domto úEmeto¶r, dÉmata e»mai mol´fomter
sv´si paqadoËmai tm pÁkim •r tÂm peqiÁmta tÁte
ùAlouq‚tey.’ 10 [and however they gave over Therme of Macedonia
to the Venetians, believing that it is impossible to them to consign the
city to the then hovering Murad]. Therme was already in existence
while, under Philip II of Macedonia, Pella was the capital of the
Macedonian lands. Therme was situated pretty much in the location
where later Thessalonica was founded. Today it is a suburb of the
modern city.
Doukas in a relatively extensive passage brands the events
that took place as ‘paqw jaj jaμ pa´sior tØm lekkÁmtym
jajØm •m t« basikeuoÉs¨.’11 [a start (that is) bad and ominous of
the future defilements in the vasileuousa (= Constantinople)]. In that
he relates the event to the future, and not to the past, which is what
Chalkokondyles did in the above passage. In horror, he also likens the
Turkish soldiers to a swarm of bees: ‘jaμ mo´namter l´am pÉkgm,
Õr sl¡mor lekissØm ‡par À stqatÂr •mtÂr e²s©ei’12 [and after
they opened one gate, like a swarm of bees the entire army entered
inside]. The sense of panic is even more intensely shown by the fact
that the Venetians were taken with fear: ‘o³ Bemetijoμ ste´kamter
pojqisaq´our •po´gsam e²qŸmgm, voboÉlemoi lŸ pyr
¿k—sysi jaμ tm EÌboiam’13 [the Venetians, sending messengers,
made peace, fearing that they may also lose Euvoia].

There is a hint of an emotional charge in Doukas in the description of

the scenes of the fallen city: ‘•culmÖhgsam o»joi, •qglÖhgsam
mao´, •jjkgsiØm eÇpq—peiai, jeilŸkia ³eqƒ •m weqsμm liaqØm,
paqh—moi selmaμ •m cj‚ker sÖtym, cuma¶jer eÇceme¶r •m
weqsμm cemØm, jaμ tƒ p‚mta jaj‚.’14 [Homes were bared,
temples were relinquished, the comeliness of the churches, the sacred
heirlooms in the hands of the polluted, modest virgins in the arms of
the profligate, noble women in the hands of the brutes, and all the
calamities]. Yet his description is mute in comparison with John
Anagnostes, who wrote an eyewitness account. Anagnostes says that:

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 oÇ cƒq •dÉmamto jaμ toÉtour ›kjeim lajqƒm peqwÁlemoi jaμ pqÂr
pÁkelom ›teqom. e»der †m oÐm toÊr dustuwe¶r toÊr l˜m •pμ tƒ t¡r
–àar toÊr dù •pμ tƒ t¡r –sp—qar l—qg diaspaq—mtarû o³ l˜m cƒq toÊr
tejÁmtar o³ d˜ tƒ t—jma jaμ œteqoi tƒr cuma¶jar •k‚lbamom, jaμ oÏr
 vÉsir ¤mysem,  sulvoqƒ diel—qisem.15 [and they were not able to both
carry those coming from far, and going towards another war. And you saw the
infelicitous, some at dawn and some at dusk to be thrown asunder; and these
were taking the forbears, and those the children, and others the women, and
those whom nature united, the misadventure tore apart (italic type mine for
emphasis)].

In wonderment he observes how the larnax of St Demetrius is treated:

‘T´ dù †m e·poir peqμ t¡r luqodÁwou til´ar k‚qmajor toË
ledapoË tqopaioÉwou jaμ l‚qtuqor;’16 [And what can one say
about the honoured larnax of our native-born trophy winner and
martyr?]. The graves were not left alone either: ‘jaμ jatab—bkgto
lmŸlata jaμ tƒ toÉtoir •mapoje´lema ke´xama jatƒ c¡r
peqq´vgsam’17 [and they slew the graves, and the remnants that
were placed there upon the earth, they despised].
Anagnostes reports jealousy on the part of the Turkish
soldiers regarding the healing myrrh of St Demetrius. This jealousy
seems to motivate their ravaging behaviour. Having taken their
freedom, they also want to take away their last source of consolation,
the miraculous healing myrrh of the saint. The reputation of St
Demetrius as a healing saint is here pronounced by the fact that the
Turks are also aware of the healing cult:

•mtaËha d˜ duo¶m e¹meja, toË te peqμ aÇtm oÇj ¿k´cou wqusâ jaμ
qcÉqß jaμ k´hoir til´oir jaμ laqc‚qoir jatesjeuasl—mou jÁslou,
jaμ tØm Èce´ar paqejtijØm he´ym lÉqym. o³ l˜m cƒq toË jÁslou
lÁmom aÇtm pecÉlmysam, o³ d˜ basjŸmamter o¼om l¶m t¡r
vhom´ar tØm lÉqym jaμ t¡r •j toÉtym ²‚seyr v¨qgj—mai jaμ
taËhù l„r boukŸhgsam, Õr lgd˜m ™weim toË koipoË toÉtym
pokaÉeim, Às‚jir †m ›jastor d—oito. di jaμ jatabebkgjÁter tƒr
•pù aÇt« laql‚qour tØm lÉqym ™speudom aÇtm •jjemØsai jaμ tÂ
³eqÂm jaμ he¶om ke´xamom toË l‚qtuqor •jbake¶mû coËmto cƒq toË
sjopoË toÉtou jatatuwe¶m jaμ l„r tØm jemÖtym lÉqym
jatakipe¶m •mdee¶r18 [here there were two types, in respect of the decoration,
which was made with not a small amount of gold and silver and precious stones
and pearls, and the health-containing divine myrrh fluids. Some only have

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 stripped (the larnax) from the decorations, but some through exactly being
jealous of our abundance of the myrrh and of our healing from it, they wished
to take (the myrrh) away from us, so that we could not have the opportunity to
enjoy it in the future, however much each (of us) implored for it. Therefore,
having overthrown the marbles that were laid on it, they were hurrying to empty
it (= the larnax) and to cast out the holy and divine remnant of the martyr; for
they were thinking that they will obtain that objective and they would leave us
destitute of the myrrh that cannot be emptied].

It seems important for Anagnostes to point out in relation to their

attitude to the myrrh, that the laws of man are inferior to the laws of
God, and the myrrh therefore cannot be extinguished. This is also a
symbol of identity for the subjugated people, who find satisfaction and
a sense of unity in the continuation of their religious traditions:

jaμ to¶r l˜m Ür ti ceko¶om •dÁjeiû o¼r d˜ moËr Èp˜q toÊr …kkour Èp¡m,
toÉtoir ¦m •pilek˜r pqÂr tm –autØm toËto letajol´feim jaμ letù
a²doËr …pteshai jaμ seb‚slatorû jgjÁeisam cƒq pqÂr tØm
pepeiqal—mym Õr ²atqijØm vaql‚jym •stμm •meqc—steqom, e²r o¼om …m
tir wqŸsaito p‚hor. pkm kkù oÇj •dÉmamto tm tØm lÉqym pgcm
ngqƒm jaμ …mijlom pov¡mai, ja´peq pokÊm Èp˜q toÉtou poioÉlemoi
tÂm cØma. jaμ e²jÁtyrû oÇ cƒq ·sa to¶r mhqyp´moir tƒ pqÂr heoË
to¶r n´oir jewaqisl—ma, •peidŸpeq lgd˜ to¶r aÇto¶r ÈpÁjeimtai
Åqoir.1 9 [and to the first the matter seemed laughable; but the others had a
mind superior to those, and they moved it towards their own (dwelling) and
they handled it with modesty and respect; because they heard from those who
were experienced that it is most active as a medical drug, if one uses it for
whatever manner of suffering. Except that they could not make the source of
the myrrh to be proven dry and unmoistured, despite the fact that precisely they
made great effort towards that goal. And fairly; because the human things are
not equal to those given to the worthy ones by god, because they are not subject
to the same rules with these].

The plundering and defilement hurts Anagnostes’s theological

sensibilities and religious feeling: jaμ tƒr he´ar tqap—far, •vù a¼r
 he´a lustij jaμ fØsa jaμ systij pamtÂr •peteke¶to toË
jÁslou hus´a, t« tØm wqgl‚tym •pihul´‹ jatƒ spoudm
matq—peim jaμ jatap‚tgla veË to¶r boukol—moir tih—mai20
[and the holy tables, on which the holy, mystical, and living, and all-
saving sacrifice of the world took place, for the desire of money with

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haste they reverse, and alas they trample all over anyone (italics
mine)]. Note how the holy communion is called holy and mystical,
and living, and saving: this is very much in tune with the highly
charged theological climate of Thessalonica in the late years, and the
intensification of devotion in the face of adversity. In agreement to
this all-pervasive climate, Anagnostes recalls how the night before the
fall p‚sgr te swedÂm kij´ar oÌsgr •m •cqgcÁqsei, deŸseir
•jteme¶r heâ jaμ tâ luqobkÉt¨ l‚qtuqi jahù Åkgm •je´mgm
pqosacÁmtym tm mÉjta21 [almost every age was in alert, making
extensive entreaties in holy procession to god and to the myrovlyte
martyr22 throughout that night]. The unquestionable dominance of St
Demetrius in the city and in the minds of its inhabitants is manifested
in the way they look to him for comfort in their hour of extreme
danger.

But what happened straight after the fall of Thessalonica? As it is

stated starkly in Doukas: ‘•m li oÐm l—q‹ jemyhe¶sa 
tosaÉtg pÁkir ™leimem ™qglor.’2 3 [in one day having been
emptied, this so great a city was left forsaken]. So the repopulation of
Thessalonica was for Murad II to consider, who acted accordingly.24
Anagnostes praises Murad II for his forward-thinking vision.25 Still, in
Anagnostes’s writing it becomes alive for what reason ‘ pÁkir
Ûspeq timƒ pemhŸqg witØma tm josl´am peqieb‚keto’26 [the
city exactly like a mournful tunic was wearing unruliness]. Beauty is
important to the city for its pride and sense of identity, so its loss
brings grief. To a large extent it is about how the new situation has
changed the citizens in themselves and in the way they interact with
their environment. The churches that Doukas mentioned in passing,
here are lamented not only for their physical deterioration, but also for
the way in which they desert our memory: ‘jaμ lomouwμ tØm
cgqaiot—qym ™nestim joÉeim mdqØm Õr Þde l˜m ¦m À me×r À
de¶ma •je¶ d˜ À deima, jaμ Åsa pqos¡m –j‚stß jaμ j‚kkg jaμ
w‚qiter’27 [and only from the older men it was possible to hear
(saying) that here was this church, and there was that church, and all
the beauties and graces that were attached to each].
The old men in the above passage cause sorrow, not only for
their descriptions of past glories, but also for the destruction in their

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lives that is apparent in their present demeanour. And there are more
direct references to the triggers of grief and tears that the symbols of
former beauty and devotion of the city have become:

lomaμ dù, ‡r pqÁteqom vh‚sar À kÁcor •dŸkysem, voql to¶r

ÀqØsim ¹stamtai p—mhour, l Åti ce lomawØm ™qgloi jatast„sai
jajØr •nekah—mtym jaμ pqÂr –t—qar pÁkeir letoijgs‚mtym, kkƒ
jaμ pqosav¨qgl—mai tm diƒ p‚mtym kalpqÁtgtaû a¹ te cƒq
l‚qlaqoi toÉtym •nidav´shgsam, ¤ tù …kkg ‡pasa Îkg  pqÂr
paqtislÂm aÇtØm qw¡hem sumteheil—mg jaμ j‚kkor e²r diaqpacm
to¶r boukol—moir me¶to, jaμ mËm …joslÁm ti h—ala p„sim ÀqØmtai
jaμ tƒr p‚mtym xuwƒr jimoËsi pqÂr d‚jqua28 [and the monasteries, as
the discourse mentioned before by arriving to that point, stand as a pretext to
the observers for grief, not only because they are desolate of monks who were
driven out of them badly and went to live in other towns, but also because they
have been stripped from their long-standing glory; and their marbles were
demolished, and every other material that was composed together for their
erection from the start, and every beauty was returned for plundering to
whoever wanted to, and now they are an uncomely sight to be seen by all, and
they move everyone’s souls to tears (again, the italic type is added by myself for
emphasis)].

In these few examples it is already distinguishable how Anagnostes

much more than any of the other writers we have discussed exposes
his emotional world to the reader. But how does his Monody differ to
his Narration? Or are the two texts virtually interchangeable? The
answer is to be sought not in the emotional intensity, but in the nature
of the two pieces and their form. In the Monody there is much less
about what happened and much more about how it has changed him
internally. It is written in the form of funeral laments, as the
personification of a city as a woman, although not explicit here, may
be thought to be present and is a part of the Greek literary tradition.
His Monody is punctuated by dramatic exclamations that
provide the text with its literary structure, and are the facilitator for his
expression of deep and tormented sorrow.29 Its very opening is a
proclamation of pain and disbelief. His first words are:

T´r †m e²d×r p‚hesi hqŸmour •nisoËm tm Hessakomij—ym n´yr pÁkim

ÔdÉqeto; pÁkir cƒq aÎtg tƒr …kkar Åsom •m eÇtuw´‹ pokkâ tâ l—tqß
paqŸmecje, pamtawÁhem aÎtgm kalpqƒm jaμ poheimm deijmËsa,

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 tosoËto mËm tuw—stata p—pqace jaμ hqgmßd´ar p‚sgr ÈpÁhesir
pqÁjeitai.30 [Which person who has seen its sufferings can lament with
elegies the city of the Thessalonians to equivalent measure (to its misfortune)?
As much as this city exceeded the others in blessedness in ample measure, to
the same extent it has been brought into an unfortunate state, so that (now) the
foundation for every threnody lies before us].

The stark polarity is described in more detail in another passage. Note

how the freedom to participate in the rituals and the religious life of
the city are rated highly amongst his yearning memories of prosperity.
In fact the whole paragraph is a description of the splendour of
religious practice:

Ú pØr À t¡r eÇgleq´ar l¶m jaiqÂr •pih—seyr jaμ jatadqol¡r

c—come, jaμ jatakeivh—mter a²swÉmg jaμ Ãmeidor cecemŸleha. o·womtai
pamgcÉqeir, o·womtai he´ym •jtupyl‚tym kalpqÁtgter. pÁkyke
paqqgs´a. t tØm lomawØm pekŸkatai t‚cla, jaμ pokiaμ
pqesbut—qym jaμ diajÁmym selmÁtgr •m to¶r t´loir koc´fomtai.31 [o,
how the time of prosperity has become one of attack and raid, and having been
taken, we have amounted to shame and reproach. Absent are the festivals,
absent are the displays of divine figures. Lost is the courage of speech (about
the faith). The body of the monks has been lost, and the guards of the priests
and solemnity of the deacons are regarded amongst unhonoured things].

Because the Monody is released from the obligation to relate to the

sequence of disasters, which is done in the Narration, Anagnostes has
more freedom to display the same mournful sentiments and thoughts
but in a more penetrating way. The happiness of the past is more
reason for lamenting the present misfortune. He remembers how the
city was an attraction to all to come and live in it. In a very visual
passage he demonstrates what an imposing metropolis Thessalonica
really was. He likens the city to a compass, and the people all over the
world to metal particles that are being attracted to it. So strongly they
feel compelled to come and build their lives there: ‘Ú pØr
lacmŸtidor tqÁpom e²r –autm ‡pamtar e¼kjem’ [o, how like a
compass (the city) attracted everyone to itself].32 And the people who
came in got on brilliantly with the locals, because the city deslo¶r tù
kÉtoir vik´ar sum—dei33 [with bonds of unbroken friendship (the
city) used to link (the citizens who came to it with the locals)].

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 He wonders in his mind about the value of human life and its
supposed superiority to death, which he argues is in certain cases
reversed: ‘‰qù oÇj b´ytor À b´or lØm •st´, jaμ §ttom toË
f¡m t hame¶m •stμ pijqa¶r oÎty bakkol—moir jahù –j‚stgm
¿dÉmair; ¢pou ce p‚mter …m loi sulvh—cnaimto oº p‚sweim •m
to¶r toioÉtoir pevÉjesam.’34 [indeed, isn’t our life unlivable, and
isn’t dying lesser (in bitterness) than living in the bitter misfortunes
that are thrown on us with every sadness? Perhaps at any rate all have
been jointly guilty with me, those who suffer in such (misfortunes)
that have appeared]. Here life and death are both presented as
sufferings, of which death is the lesser. In another visually stimulating
passage, this of an imaginary physical disaster, he expresses his
preference to such an event than to subjugation, which is a painful and
unbearable reality that hurts the souls of the citizens with painful
bites:

Ý heoË mow, pØr toioÉtym m—swou; b—ktiom †m ¦m tm c¡m

diaswoËsam jakÉxai £ toËtom taËta letasjeuash¡mai tÂm tqÁpom.
jqe∂ttom †m ¦m –mμ t¡r c¡r matimaclâ tautμ jatapeptyj—mai jaμ
lgd˜ ke´xama coËm •mapokeke∂vhai tâ tÁpfl˚ tÁte cƒq oÇ tosoËto
tƒr tØm ÀqÖmtym xuwƒr ™dajmem †m t p‚hor.35 [o forbearance of god,
how did you tolerate such things? Because it would be better to cover the earth
after splitting it, than to transfigure those things in such a manner. (Because) it
would be superior, besides, to fall to the ground by explosion, and for no
remnants to be left to the place; then such strong suffering would not be biting
the souls of the beholders.]

His philosophical outlook extends to an appraisal of the nature of

time: jakØr se, pqÂr t pak´mtqopom pidÁmter, tqowÂm tÂ
tØm sovØm Ômol‚jasi c—morû p‚mta cƒq …my jaμ j‚ty
letat´hgr jaμ peqiv—qeir.36 [aptly, for turning backwards and
forwards, the philosophers have named you a wheel; because you
move and turn everything upside down].
He shows his personal suffering to us clearly, which is
expressed physically: ²k´ccou pkgqoËlai3 7 [I am filled with
giddiness]; and also: ‘•c× l˜m oÐm jaμ sÉmdajqur soË
lelmgl—mor jah´stalai, jaμ t pqovgtijÂm e²pe¶m, sjÁtor
keptÁm le jakÉptei, jaμ paqaluh´am fgtØm taÇt‚ loi

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p‚sweim jaμ toÊr …kkour eÈq´sjy.’ 3 8 [and I stand tearful
remembering you (= the city), and the prophet’s, so to speak, thin
darkness covers me39, and in looking for consolation I find that these
things are suffered by me and by others (italics mine)]. The expression
of his pain here is powerful. This picture of the author emerges,
walking in the city feeling dizzy, and in disconsolate bewilderment.
This is a very modern passage, where individual suffering is
manifested in an open and undiluted manner, and without any attempt
to smooth out the deeply felt sense of loss at a personal level.
His suffering pierces him through. He finds it unworkable to
speak of Thessalonica without bursting to tears: ‘k—ceim oÇd˜m
™peisim …kko taÉtgr ce p—qi £ xuwm Åsapeq •r hul´am
•lb‚kkei pgc‚r te dajqÉym •n ¿ll‚tym pqowe¶shai
paqasjeu‚fei. pokkƒr l˜m cƒq j‚kkei jaμ h—sei, pokkƒr d˜
lec—hei jaμ t« tØm jakØm vhom´‹ lgdù Åsom e²pe¶m
Èpeq—bake pÁkeir.’40 [And (one) can say no other words about the
city without the soul rushing into despondency and producing springs
of tears to stream forth from the eyes. Many cities it surpassed in
delights and situation, and many in (its) size and in the abundance of
goods, more than one can relate]. His fellow-citizens share his
despondency, as by his description ‘jaμ sjgptoμ oÇqamÁhem oÇ
jatav—qomtai.’41 [and cast down, they do not carry their gaze
towards heaven]. Faithful to the literary tradition, where the poet (e.g.
Homer) speaks directly to his heroes, he turns to Thessalonica to say
that oº c‚q se tqovÂm o·dasi jaμ lgt—qa42 [and they (the citizens)
know you as a nurse and a mother]. In sorrow, he calls the city
foveqƒm43 [gloomy].
He finds it so hard to come to terms with the new situation
that he calls it a strange situation: Ú pq‚clator n—mou. ™mha pÁmoi
t¡r sjgtij¡r toË pamtÂr •tilØmto paka´stqar, mumμ
heostuc¡ diapq‚ttetai.44 [o thing that we are unacquainted with.
Where the labours of the ascetic arena were always honoured before
now, at present, deeds hated by god are carried out]. In referring to the
acts of the enemy against sacred things, he contrasts them to the
citizens’ own deeply-held respect: ‘l¶m l˜m jaμ t e²si—mai ™mdom
toË husiastgq´ou vobeqÂm e»mai •dÁjei, jaμ lÁmoir ¦m
e²sitgtÂm to¶r tetacl—moir •m toÉtß, xuwm jaμ sØla

143
pqÁteqom sv´si jahgqal—moirû’45 [indeed we believe that entering
within the altar is frightful (meaning terrible or awesome), and that it
is admissible only to the ones instructed to it, who have first atoned
both their soul and body]. It therefore pains him that the places of
worship may be mocked by the intruders: ‘Ú tÁpym heâ
vysiyl—mym! ¥m •pkoute¶te he´am v©qgshe w‚qim, jaμ to¶r
toklgta¶r paqƒ vaËkom koc´feshe.’46 [o places dedicated to god!
you have been deprived from the divine grace in which you were rich,
and, by bold men, you are not regarded anything but worthless].
When disaster strikes, it is natural to ask oneself why it may
be so. In his mind Anagnostes searched agonizingly for an answer as
to why such a turn of events may have been permissible by God:
‘pÁqgsa oÐm pokk‚jir jatù •lautÂm mhù Åtou taËta, jaμ
pØr e²r tosoËtom ¤jolem jajopqac´ar o³ pepomhÁter. jaμ
eÑqom kÉomt‚ loi tÂm he¶om kÁcom tm poq´am, î™staiï
k—comta î c¡ ÈlØm ™qglor jaμ a³ •paÉkeir ÈlØm ™qgloi, Åti
Èle¶r •poqeÉhgte pqÂr •l˜ pk‚cioi, jc× poqeÉsolai pqÂr
Èl„r •m hulâ pkac´ß.ï’47 [I was much perplexed in myself against
these things, and how we have come to such ill condition (us,) the
sufferers. And I found the holy word resolving my inquiry, ‘be’,
saying, ‘your land barren and your courtyards barren, because you
carried yourselves towards me in an oblique way, and I will convey
myself towards you with an oblique anger.’]. This seems to be a
welcome discovery for Anagnostes, as it explains the misfortune in
metaphysical terms, and gives him comparative solace.48 It may be
pointed out here that laymen as well as clerics were thinking along the
lines of seeking a theological explanation to the realities of their time
as can be seen throughout Byzantine literature. It shows that the
notion of trusting themselves to the Lord and, in the case of
Thessalonica, also to St Demetrius, rather than to the emperor, had an
appeal throughout the local population. Anagnostes himself was
probably a lower cleric or layman with church duties, as his name,
Reader, suggests.

To conclude, Anagnostes provides us with two fine examples of vivid

and emotionally rich Byzantine literature. While in agreement with the
other writers of the fall of Thessalonica about the framework of events

144
that took place, he gives us a much greater insight into the psychology
of the city and into city life under the new regime. His work is a
valuable source not only for the events during the last years of the
empire, but also for gaining some understanding regarding the way in
which the Byzantines perceived themselves and sought consolation
and a sense of direction and identity in the face of their world
crumbling before their eyes.
He closes his Monody in gentle style, perhaps echoing the
lamenting Jeremiah, when he urges his fellow citizens to join him in
song: ‘Õr †m •mteËhem sylem waqi—stata.’4 9 [for which
henceforth let us sing very gracefully].

145
Epilogue

In the pages of this book I have tried to capture the overwhelming

power of the cult of St Demetrius. Here as an epilogue I will simply
use a metaphor from modern literature to show the extent of that
adoration.
In literature there are instances where a whole work is a
metaphor for a time or for a people. There are also instances where a
central character is a metaphor for Christ Himself. Such a work may
be the novella Billy Budd, Sailor by Herman Melville. Billy, ‘the
handsome sailor’, is in Melville’s Christian typology the
Estauromenos, the Crucified Christ. In his redemptive death he saves
his executor (Captain Vere). In his youthful beauty he is adored by his
peers. Many interpretations have been offered of this complex
masterpiece as of Melville’s work as a whole. To examine one alone,
Benjamin Britten has expressed his very subtly by shifting the
emphasis from Billy to Captain Vere in his music. We know this
because Peter Pears had always sung the leading role in Britten’s
operas and in the opera Billy Budd, Billy is the baritone (first
performance by Theodor Uppman, 1 December 1951) and Captain
Vere the tenor (first performance by Peter Pears). The libretto,
authored by E.M. Foster and Eric Crozier, daringly changed the
dramatic shift of the novella. Melville’s Billy Budd, Sailor is
unfinished, as it was cut short by the author’s death in 1891. Britten
with his librettists have finished off the plot with an ending that shows
an old Captain Vere reflecting on the redemptive power of Billy and
finding peace in it. So the high point in the opera is not Billy’s death
but Vere’s realisation.

What Britten has done in his Billy Budd, my Byzantine authors have
done with the image of St Demetrius. Their interpretations are wide-
ranging and they thrill the reader with their unexpected twists. In their
allusions to the figure of Christ as a model for the hero’s life they are

147
equally explicit. St Demetrius is praised as Christ’s imitator, as Christ-
like; he is even said to be equal to Christ in his martyrdom. The
citizens of Thessalonica turned to St Demetrius, in prayer, in their
hour of need as their Protector, rather than turning to God. He is
thought of as the finest among the saints and superior to Alexander the
Great, who conquered the world but did not achieve supernatural
glory. He is, in turn, compared to the Psalmist David for the beauty of
his soul. His martyrdom is described in several texts in great detail, to
show how all the elements in it make Demetrius a type of Christ.
Among them, the lance that pierced the Lord’s side compared with the
piercings of the side of Demetrius play a central part. It is striking how
Demetrius is repeatedly described as unafraid and willing to be slain
in the sources. In both his fearlessness and readiness for death he is
the Billy Budd of the Middle Ages. The extraordinary personal beauty
accentuates those two qualities in both men. In the memory of the
people Billy Budd enjoyed the same affection as Demetrius did.
Herman Melville has at least one ballad written in his honour and
speaks of the chips from the piece of wood from where he was
suspended being venerated like the True Cross.

On another note, between 1886–1891 when the composition of Billy

Budd, Sailor took place, the argument against capital punishment was
raging in the State of New York. It was natural for the New York-born
Melville to have responded to it. The history of the debate is too
involved to be presented here. Melville’s novella, however, was one
of the works of literature that stirred consciences round the world. In
England it was read alongside Oscar Wilde’s Ballad of Reading Gaol,
published in 1898. The two works were amongst those that
contributed to the swing of public opinion, until in 1965 the death
penalty for murder in the UK was finally abolished. The connection
between Billy Budd, Sailor and its context has been obscured by the
fact that the novella was long lost amongst the author’s papers at his
death and not published until 1924, while the correct text of the work
was established only in 1962.
The moral, social, religious and political issues that concerned
the authors of the encomia discussed in this study were as fiercely
debated.

148
Notes

Introduction

1. On the cult of St Demetrius among the Slavs, see Dimitri Obolensky, ‘The cult
of St Demetrius of Thessaloniki in the history of Byzantine-Slav relations’, in
Dimitri Obolensky, Byzantium and the Slavs (Crestwood NY, 1994), pp.
280–300; V. Tapkova-Zaimova, ‘Le culte de saint Démétrius à Byzance et aux
Balkans’, Miscellanea Bulgarica 5 (1987), 139–46.
2. Timothy D. Barnes, The New Empire of Diocletian and Constantine (Cambridge
MA, 1962), pp. 32–5, 37–8; A.H.M. Jones, J.R. Martindale, J. Morris, The
Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire, AD 260–640, 3 vols (Cambridge,
1971–90), i. 253–4, 573–4.
3. Nicholas Kavasilas, ‘E²r tÂm pam‚ciom DglŸtqiom jaμ tƒ aÈtoË haÉlata’
in Mijok‚ou Jab‚sika, Ept‚ Am—jdotoi KÁcoi to pqÖtom mum
ejdidÁlemoi, ed. Vassileios Pseutongás (Thessalonica, 1976), pp. 135–42, at
138.
4. Gregory Palamas, ‘ToË aÇtoË Àlik´a e²r tÂm •m c´oir lecakol‚qtuqa
jaμ haulatouqcÂm jaμ luqobkÉtgm DglŸtqiom’, Gregorii Thessalonicensis
Orationes X, ed. Christian Friedrich Matthaei (Moscow, 1776), pp. 44–60, at 53.
5. Paul Lemerle, Les plus anciens recueils des miracles de Saint Démétrius et de la
pénétration des Slaves dans les Balkans, 2 vols (Paris, 1979).
6 . Symeon Metaphrastes, ‘St Demetrii Martyris Acta’, PG 116. 1081–1426;
Photios, Bibliothèque, ed. René Henry, 9 vols (Paris, 1974), vii. 213–5;
Anonymous Life in Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. Gr. 821; Andreas
Xyngopoulos, ‘BufamtimÂm jibyt´diom letƒ paqast‚seym •j toË b´ou
toË c´ou Dglgtq´ou’, Archaeologike Ephimeris (1936–7), 101–36, at 104,
135. A catalogue of texts relating to St Demetrius, edited and unedited, with
cross-references, can be found in François Halkin, Bibliotheca Hagiographica
Graeca (Brussels, 1957).
7 . Teodora Burnand, ‘Donors and Iconography: The Case of the Church “St.
Virgin” in Dolna Kamenitsa (XIV c.)’, in Spirituality in late Byzantium; Essays
Presenting New Research by International Scholars, ed. Eugenia Russell
(Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 2009), pp. 99–105, at p. 102.
8 . Digenes Akritis: the Grottaferrata and Escorial Versions, ed. and transl.
Elizabeth Jeffreys (Cambridge, 1998), pp. 2–5.
9. The translation is that of Elizabeth Jeffreys (above).
10. For the origins of the cult, see Michael J. Vickers, ‘Sirmium or Thessaloniki? A
critical examination of the St. Demetrius legend’, BZ 67 (1974), 337–50; J.C.

149
 Skedros, Saint Demetrios of Thessaloniki: Civic Patron and Divine Protector
4th–7th Centuries CE (Harrisburg PA, 1999); Woods, ‘Thessalonica’s patron’,
221–34. For St Demetrius as protector of Thessalonica, see Walter,
‘Myroblytos’, 157–78; Robin Cormack, Writing in Gold: Byzantine Society and
its Icons (London, 1985), pp. 50–94.
11. Paul Lemerle, Les plus anciens recueils des miracles de Saint Démétrius et de la
pénétration des Slaves dans les Balkans, 2 vols (Paris, 1979), pp. 195, 216–7.
12. A.A. Vasiliev, ‘An edict of the Emperor Justinian II, September 688’, Speculum
18 (1943), 1–13, at 3; idem, ‘The historical significance of the mosaic of St
Demetrius at Sassoferrato’, DOP 5 (1950), 31–9, at 36–7.
13. John Skylitzes, Synopsis Historiarum, ed. J. Thurn, CFHB 5 (Berlin and New
York, 1973), pp. 339, 413.
14. Anna Comnena, Alexiade, ed. B. Leib, 3 vols (Paris, 1937–45), ii. 25. English
translation E.R.A. Sewter, The Alexiad of Anna Comnena (Harmondsworth,
1969), p. 169.
15. Robert of Clari, The Conquest of Constantinople, trans. E.H. McNeal (Toronto,
1996), p. 127; Obolensky, ‘Cult of St Demetrius’, 295–6; Robert Browning,
‘Byzantine Thessalonike: a unique city?’, Dialogos 2 (1995), 91–104, at 95.
16. Jonathan Harris, Constantinople: Capital of Byzantium (London and New York,
2007), p. 174.
17. John Kaminiates, The Capture of Thessaloniki, ed. and trans. David Frendo and
Athanasios Fotiou, Byzantina Australiensia 12 (Perth, 2000), pp. 38–41;
Eustathios of Thessalonica, The Capture of Thessaloniki, ed. and trans. John R.
Melville-Jones, Byzantina Australiensia 8 (Canberra, 1988), pp. 140–1; Frendo,
‘The miracles of St. Demetrius’, 205–24.
18. Kaminiates, Capture of Thessaloniki, pp. 20–1. In general, see George and Mary
Soteriou, úG BasikijŸ toË úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou Hessakom´jgr (Athens,
1952); Raymond Janin, Les églises et les monastères des grands centres
byzantins (Bithynie, Hellespont, Latros, Galèsios, Trébizonde, Athènes,
Thessalonique), (Paris, 1975), pp. 365–72; Paul Hetherington, Byzantine and
Medieval Greece: Churches, Castles and Art (London, 1991), pp. 205–7.
19. Charalambos Bakirtzis, ‘The urban continuity and size of late Byzantine
Thessalonike’, D O P 57 (2003), 35–64, at 49–50; idem, ‘Pilgrimage to
Thessalonike: the tomb of St. Demetrios’, DOP 56 (2002), 175–92.
20. Comnena, Alexiade, i. 89; trans. Sewter, p. 93.
21. Bakirtzis, ‘Pilgrimage to Thessalonike’, 179.
22. Ruth J. Macrides, ‘Subversion and loyalty in the cult of St. Demetrios’,
Byzantinoslavica 51 (1990), 189–97; Paul Magdalino, ‘Saint Demetrios and Leo
VI’, Byzantinoslavica 51 (1990), 198–201, at 198.
23. Macrides, ‘Subversion and loyalty’, 193, 195, 197.
24. For a discussion of the panegyris see Speros Vryonis, ‘The panegyris of the
Byzantine saint’, in The Byzantine Saint, ed. Sergei Hackel (New York, 2001),

150
 196–228; Sharon Gerstel, ‘Civic and monastic influences on church decoration in
late Byzantine Thessalonike’, DOP 57 (2003), 225–39, at 229.
25. On this church, see Janin, Églises et les monastères, pp. 375–80; Hetherington,
Byzantine and Medieval Greece, pp. 204–5; Bakirtzis, ‘Urban continuity’, 50.
26. Pseudo-Lucian, Timarion, ed. R. Romano, Byzantina et neo-hellenica
neapolitana 2 (Naples, 1974), pp. 49–92, reprinted in La satira bizantina dei
secoli 11–15 : ‘Il patriota’, ‘Caridemo’, ‘Timarione’, Cristoforo di Mitilene,
Michele Psello, Teodoro Prodromo, ‘Carmi ptocoprodromici’, Michele
Haplucheir, Giovanni Catrara, ‘Mazaris’, ‘La messa del glabro’, ‘Sinassario del
venerabile asino’, ed. Roberto Romano (Turin, 1999). The similarity in style is
so strong, that the work had been believed to be by the second-century prose
writer Lucian, hence the attribution ‘Pseudo-Lucian’. In general on the festival,
see Vassileios Laourdas, ‘ùEcjÖlia e²r tÂm õAciom DglŸtqiom jatƒ tÂm
d—jatom t—taqtom a²Øma’, EEBS 24 (1954), 275–90, at 276–7; Vryonis,
‘Panegyris of the Byzantine saint’, pp. 202–4.
27. Jonathan Harris, Byzantium and the Crusades (London and New York, 2003),
p. 2.
28. John R. Melville-Jones, Venice and Thessalonica 1423–1430: The Venetian
Documents, Archivio del Litorale Adriatico 7 (Padua, 2002), p. 120; K. Mertzios,
Lmgle¶a Lajedomij¡r ³stoq´ar (Thessalonica, 1947), p. 57; Xyngopoulos,
‘Jatavuc-ùAweiqopo´gtor’, 447, note 5.
29. Eustathios of Thessalonica, Capture of Thessaloniki, pp. 116–17; Niketas
Choniates, Historia, ed. J.-L. Van Dieten, CFHB 11, 2 vols (Berlin and New York,
1975), i. 305–6, 371; Obolensky, ‘Cult of St Demetrius’, pp. 294–6; G. Prinzing,
‘Demetrios-Kirche und Aseniden-Aufstand. Zur chronologischen Präzisierung der
Frühphase des Aseniden-Aufstandes’, Zbornik radova vizantoloskog instituta 38
(1999–2000), 257–65; Michael Angold, The Byzantine Empire, 1025–1204: A
Political History (2nd edn, Harlow, 1997), pp. 304–5.
30. Bakirtzis, ‘Pilgrimage to Thessalonike’, 185, 192.
31. F. Miklosich and W. Müller, Acta et Diplomata Graeca Medii Aevi Sacra et
Profana, 6 vols (Vienna, 1860–90), i.175.
32. Nikephoros Gregoras, Byzantina Historia, ed. L. Schopen, CSHB, 2 vols (Bonn,
1829–30), i. 187.
33. Donald M. Nicol, The Byzantine Lady: Ten Portraits, 1250–1500 (Cambridge,
1994), pp. 52–8; John W. Barker, ‘The problem of appanages in Byzantium
during the Palaiologan period’, Byzantina 3 (1971), 103–22.
34. Simon Harris suggests a much later date on the evidence of an imperial
acclamation (Athens, National Library, 2622).
35. Philotheos Kokkinos, ‘Encomium Gregorii Palamae’, in úAciokocijƒ ôEqca,
A' Hessakomije¶r õAcioi, ed. D. Tsames (Thessalonica, 1985), pp. 425–591,
at 514; Nicholas Kavasilas, ‘Le traité inédit “Sur L’usure” de Nicolas Cabasilas’,
ed. Rodolphe Guilland, in E²r LmŸlgm Spuq´dymor K‚lpqou (Athens,
1935), 269–77, at 274; Nicol, Byzantine Lady, pp. 92–5; John W. Barker, ‘Late

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 Byzantine Thessalonike: a second city's challenges and responses’, DOP 57
(2003), 5–33, at 22.
36. J. Gouillard, ‘Le synodikon de l’ Orthodoxie, édition et commentaire’, Travaux
et Mémoires 2 (1967), 1–316, at 100–3, lines 869–73.
37. Bakirtzis, ‘Urban continuity’, 41.
38. For the importance of Thessalonica as a cultural centre in the Balkans see
Apostolos E. Vakalopoulos, Origins of the Greek Nation: The Byzantine Period,
1204–1461, trans. Ian Moles (New Brunswick NJ, 1970), pp. 49–54; idem,
‘CemijŸ heÖqgsg t¡r pakaiokoce´ou •pow¡r stŸm Hessakom´jg’, CTPE,
pp. 45–51, at 46; Konstantinos Kalokyris, ‘úG heokoc´a toË vytÁr ja´ 
pakaiokÁceior fycqavijŸ’, CTPE, pp. 343–54, at 354; Franz Tinnefeld,
‘Intellectuals in late Byzantine Thessalonike’, DOP 57 (2003), 153–72; Donald
M. Nicol, ‘Thessalonica as a cultural centre in the fourteenth century’, G
Hessakom´jg letanÉ AmatokŸr jai DÉseyr (Thessalonica, 1982), pp.
121–31, reprinted in Nicol, Studies in Late Byzantine History and
Prosopography (London, 1986), no. X.
39. Various dates have been suggested regarding the fall of Adrianople, 1361, 1369
and 1380. For more details see: I. Beldiceanu-Steinherr, ‘La conquête
d’Andrinople par les Turcs: la pénétration turque en Thrace et la valeur des
chroniques ottomanes’, Travaux et Mémoires 1 (1965), 439–61; Elizabeth A.
Zachariadou, ‘The conquest of Adrianople by the Turks’, Studi Veneziani 12
(1970), 211–17, and reprinted in Elizabeth A. Zachariadou, Romania and the
Turks (London, 1985), No. XII; Halil Inalcık, ‘The conquest of Edirne (1361)’,
Archivum Ottomanicum 3 (1971), 185–210; Donald M. Nicol, The Last
Centuries of Byzantium, 1261–1453 (2nd edn, Cambridge, 1993), p. 274;
Jonathan Harris, ‘Constantinople as City State, c. 1360–1453’, in Between
Byzantines and Turks: Understanding the Late Medieval Mediterranean World,
ed. Catherine Holmes, Jonathan Harris and Eugenia Russell (Oxford, 2010,
forthcoming).
40. John W. Barker, Manuel II Palaeologus (1391–1425), A Study in Late Byzantine
Statesmanship (New Brunswick, NJ, 1969), pp. 14, 23 and note 53.
41. Demetrius Kydones, Correspondance, ed. R.-J. Loenertz, 2 vols (Vatican City,
1956–60), i. 175.
42. Barker, ‘Late Byzantine Thessalonike’, 22. In general on Manuel in
Thessalonica, see: George T. Dennis, The Reign of Manuel Palaeologus in
Thessalonica, 1382–1387, Orientalia Christiana Analecta 159 (Rome, 1960;
Barker, Manuel II, pp. 43–65; Apostolos E. Vakalopoulos, Istoq´a tgr
Hessakom´jgr (316–1983) (Thessalonica, 1997), pp. 163–4.
43. Nevra Necipoglu, ‘The aristocracy in late Byzantine Thessalonike: a case study
of the city’s archontes (late 14th and early 15th centuries)’, DOP 57 (2003),
133–51, at 133–4. Maksimovic refers to the ‘collective rights’ that were given to
the citizens of Thessalonica, Veroia, and Rentina, in Ljubomir Maksimovic, ‘G
Lajedom´a letanÉ tgr KatimijŸr jai SeqbijŸr jatajtŸseyr. To

152
 pqÁbkgla tgr sum—weiar tou bufamtimoÉ dioijgtijoÉ sustŸlator’,
Vyzantine Makedonia (Thessalonica, 1995), pp. 195–207, at 205.
44. Barker, Manuel II, pp. 242–5.
45. Vakalopoulos, Istoq´a tgr Hessakom´jgr, p. 172; Aris Papazoglou, ‘G
pokioqj´a tgr Hessakom´jgr tou 1416 jai g sumhŸjg eiqŸmgr letanÉ
tou Iy‚mmg G' PakaiokÁcou jai tou Ly‚leh A'’, Thessaloniki 3 (1992),
45–57, at 50.
46. Barker, Manuel II, 322, 326, note 14.
47. George P. Majeska, Russian Travelers to Constantinople in the Fourteenth and
Fifteenth Centuries (Washington DC, 1984), pp. 190, 287.
48. J.P. Thomas and A.C. Hero, Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents: a
Complete Translation of the Surviving Founders’ Typika and Testaments, 5 vols
(Washington DC, 2000), iii. 1237–53 and iv. 1505–11. On the monastery of St
Demetrius, see Raymond Janin, La géographie ecclésiastique de l’empire
byzantin: première partie: le siège de Constantinople et le patriarchat
oecumenique. Tome III: les églises et les monastères (2nd edn, Paris, 1969), pp.
92–4. On the worship of St Demetrius in Constantinople in general see ibid. pp.
92–9.
49. Manuel Philes, Carmina, ed. E. Miller, 2 vols (Paris, 1855–7), i. 133–7; Andreas
Xyngopoulos, úO e²jomocqavijÂr jÉjkor t¡r fy¡r toË úAc´ou
Dglgtq´ou (Thessalonica, 1970), pp. 47–9, 58–60; A. Frolow, ‘Un nouveau
reliquaire byzantin’, Revue des Études Grecques 66 (1953), 100–10; André
Grabar, ‘Un nouveau reliquaire de St Demetrios’, DOP 8 (1954), 305–13;
Walter, ‘Myroblytos’, 164, with a much freer translation.
50. Walter, ‘Myroblytos’, at 168–9. See PLP, 1178–1195, entries for the Apokaukos
family.
51. Hetherington, Byzantine and Medieval Greece, pp. 161–3.
52. David R. Sear, Byzantine Coins and their Values (2nd edn, London, 1987), p.
384; S. Bendall and P.J. Donald, The Later Palaeologan Coinage (London,
1979), pp. 153, 169.
53. Nicol, Last Centuries, p. 288.
54. S. Kugeas, ‘Notizbuch eines beamten der Metropolis in Thessalonike’, BZ 23
(1914–20), 143–63, at 148; Papazoglou, ‘G pokioqj´a tgr Hessakom´jgr’,
56, note 38a.
55. Peter Schreiner, Die byzantinischen Kleinchroniken, CFHB 12, 3 vols (Vienna,
1975–7), i. 186.
56. Papazoglou, ‘G pokioqj´a tgr Hessakom´jgr’, 57; Melville-Jones, Venice
and Thessalonica: The Venetian Documents, pp. 59–111; Giannis Tsiaras, ‘G
Hessakom´jg apÁ tour BufamtimoÉr stour Bemetsi‚mour (1423–1430)’,
M 17 (1977), 85–123.
57. Nicol, Last Centuries, pp. 347–50; Vakalopoulos, Istoq´a tgr
H e s s a k o m ´ j g r , p. 185; Speros Vryonis, ‘The Ottoman conquest of
Thessaloniki in 1430’, in Continuity and Change in Late Byzantine and Early

153
 Ottoman Society, ed. Anthony Bryer and Heath Lowry (Birmingham, 1986), pp.
281–321.
58. On the Zealot revolt see: Nicol, Last Centuries, pp. 194–5; Klaus-Peter
Matschke, Fortschritt und Reaktion in Byzanz im 14. Jahrhundert (Berlin, 1971),
pp. 175–86; Daphne Papadatou, ‘Political associations in the late Byzantine
period: the Zealots and sailors of Thessalonica’, Balkan Studies 28 (1987), 3–23.
59. Nevra Necipoglu, Byzantium between the Ottomans and the Latins: A Study of
Political Attitudes in the Late Palaiologan Period, 1370–1460 (Ann Arbor MI,
1990), pp. 64–70; Alan Harvey, ‘Economic conditions in Thessaloniki between
the two Ottoman occupations’, in Mediterranean Urban Culture, 1400–1700, ed.
Alexander Cowan (Exeter, 2000), pp. 115–24, at 123–4.
60. George Hoffman calls the Zealots ‘the Democratic Party’, giving a more
temperate view on those slightly unknown radicals who are often presented as
villains. As what we know about them comes from sources all hostile to them,
such a picture is easy to be painted, so this remark reveals a more dispassionate
view. George Hoffman, ‘Thessaloniki: the impact of a changing hinterland’, East
European Quarterly 2 (1968), 1–27, at 15.
61. For more on this see Angeliki E. Laiou, ‘Economic concerns and attitudes of the
intellectuals of Thessalonike’, DOP 57 (2003), 205–223.
62. George T. Dennis, ‘The late Byzantine metropolitans of Thessalonike’, DOP 57
(2003), 255–64, at 258; Vakalopoulos, Istoq´a tgr Hessakom´jgr, pp.
159–60.
63. Nicol, Last Centuries, pp. 292–3; Barker, Manuel II, pp. xxiii, 71–4. Georgios
Kolias, ‘G amtaqs´a Iy‚mmou F' emamt´om Iy‚mmou E' PakaiokÁcou
(1390)’, Hellenika 12 (1952), 34–64.
64. Barker, Manuel II, p. 200.
65. Doukas, Historia Byzantina, ed. I. Bekker, CSHB (Bonn 1834), p. 54.
66. Doukas, Historia Byzantina, p. 55.
67. Doukas, Historia Byzantina, p. 56.
68. Nicol, Last Centuries, pp. 312–13, Barker, Manuel II, pp. 164, 215–18.
69. Doukas, Historia Byzantina, p. 78: ‘jaμ À mexiÂr aÇtoË paqawyqe¶ tØm
o²‚jym t¡r basike´ar, jaμ aÇtÂr •m t« mŸsß KŸlmß p—lpetai, jaμ À
Lamouk lÁmor basikeÊr paqƒ toË pakat´ou jaμ toË dŸlou
eÇvgl´fetai’ [and his nephew submits the handgrips of the helm of kingship,
and he himself is sent to the island of Lemnos, and Manuel is cheered as the only
basileus by the palace and by the people].
70. George T. Dennis, ‘The Byzantine Turkish treaty of 1403’, Orientalia Christiana
Periodica 33 (1967), 72–88, at 77 and reprinted in George T. Dennis, Byzantium
and the Franks (London, 1982), No. VI.
71. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘KÁcor ³stoqijÁr (haÉlata úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou)’,
Politico-Historical Works, ed. David Balfour (Vienna, 1979), pp. 39–69, at 48;
Nicolas Oikonomides, ‘John VII Palaeologus and the ivory pyxis at Dumbarton
Oaks’, DOP 31 (1977), 329–37, at 335.

154
72. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘KÁcor ³stoqijÁr (haÉlata úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou)’,
p. 45. According to Doukas, Historia Byzantina, p. 119, Manuel II refers to a
similar adoption of Sultan Mehmed I in a letter: î•c× l—m, Õr o»dar
jqibØr, Èpesw—hgm toË e»ma´ le patq e²r s—, sÊ d˜ u³Âr e²r •l—. jaμ
e² l˜m lvÁteqoi vuk‚nolem tƒ Èposweh—mta, ²doÊ jaμ vÁbor heoË jaμ
tŸqgsir •mtokØmû e² d˜ paqejbØlem aÇt‚, ²doÊ À patq Õr pqodÁtgr
u³oË vame¶tai jaμ À u³Âr Õr patqÂr vomeÊr jkghŸsetai. (...)ï [and I, as
you know full well, I have pledged to be a father to you, and yourself a son to
me. And if we both keep what has been promised, there will be fear of God and
the observance of the commandments; but if we trespass these, here the father
will appear as the betrayer of the son, and the son will be called the murderer of
the father (…)].
73. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘KÁcor ³stoqijÁr (haÉlata úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou)’,
p. 45.
74. Manuel II Palaiologos, Letters, ed. George T. Dennis, CFHB (Washington DC,
1977), pp. 130–1; idem, Dialogue with the Empress-Mother on Marriage, ed.
and trans. Athanasios Angelou (Vienna, 1991), pp. 98–100.
75. Schreiner, Byzantinischen Kleinchroniken, i. 98: 1408/6917 (Ind. 2) Sept 22 (…)
•joilŸhg basikeÊr ùIy‚mmgr e²r tm Hessakom´jgm, juqoË ùAmdqom´jou
u³Ár, swglatisteμr ùIy‚sav. [… (…) the basileus John passed away in
Thessalonica, the son of kyr Andronikos, having been named monk Joseph].
76. For a very clear discussion of these complicated ecclesiastical matters see:
Norman Russell, ‘Theosis and Gregory Palamas: continuity or doctrinal change?’
St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 50 (2006), 357–79; idem, The Doctrine of
Deification in the Greek Patristic Tradition (Oxford, 2004), pp. 304–11.
77. Nicol, ‘Thessalonica as a cultural centre’, p. 131; Tinnefeld, ‘Intellectuals’,
154–5.
78. Vassileios Laourdas, ‘G jkassijŸ vikokoc´a eir tgm Hessakom´jgm jat‚
tom d—jatom t—taqtom aiÖma’, EMS 37 (1947), 5–23, 11.
79. Laourdas, ‘G jkassijŸ vikokoc´a eir tgm Hessakom´jgm’, 11; Donald M.
Nicol, ‘The Byzantine Church and Hellenic learning in the fourteenth century’, in
Donald M. Nicol, Byzantium: its Ecclesiastical History and Relations with the
Western World, (London, 1972), No. XII; Norman Russell, ‘Palamism and the
circle of Demetrius Cydones’, Porphyrogenita, Essays in Honour of Julian
Chrysostomides, ed. C. Dendrinos, J. Harris, E. Harvalia-Crook, J. Herrin
(Aldershot, 2003), pp. 153–74, at 154.
80. For some mapping out of the hesychast and anti-hesychast camps, the reader may
refer to John Meyendorff, A Study of Gregory Palamas, trans. George Lawrence
(Crestwood NY, 1998), pp. 42–62.
81. Gerstel, ‘Civic and monastic influences’, 229.
82. Manuel II, Letters, pp. 18–19; Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘KÁcor ³stoqijÁr
(haÉlata úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou)’, pp. 138–9, 180–1.

155
83. Gesta Francorum et aliorum Hierosolimitanorum, trans. Rosalind Hill (Oxford,
1962), p. 69.
84. Antonios Papadopoulos, O ‚cior DglŸtqior eir tgm EkkgmijŸm jai
BoukcaqijŸm paq‚dosim, (Thessalonica, 1971), p. 90.
85. Papadopoulos, O ‚cior DglŸtqior, p. 99.

Chapter One

1. Hans-Georg Beck, Theodoros Metochites: die Krise des byzantinischen

Weltbildes im 14. Jahrhundert (Munich, 1952), pp. 1–25; Steven Runciman, The
Last Byzantine Renaissance (Cambridge, 1970), pp. 62–6; Ihor Sevcenko,
‘Theodore Metochites, the Chora, and the intellectual trends of his time’, in The
Kariye Djami, ed. Paul A. Underwood, 4 vols (Princeton NJ, 1968–75), iv.
19–91; idem, ‘The Palaeologan Renaissance’, in Renaissances before the
Renaissance: Cultural Revivals of Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, ed.
Warren Treadgold (Stanford CA, 1984), pp. 144–71, at 148–9; N.G. Wilson,
Scholars of Byzantium (2nd edn, London, 1996), pp. 256–64; PLP 17982.
2. Theodore Metochites, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia e²r tÂm
õAciom DglŸtqiom’, ed. Vassileios Laourdas, M 4 (1955–60), 56–82, at 57,
126, 131.
3. R. Guilland, Essai sur Nicéphore Grégoras: l’homme et l’oeuvre (Paris, 1926);
Theresa Hart, ‘Nicephorus Gregoras: historian of the Hesychast controversy’,
Journal of Ecclesiastical History 2 (1951), 169–79; Runciman, Last Byzantine
Renaissance, pp. 67–71; Demetrius Moschos, P k a t y m i s l Á r Ÿ
WqistiamislÁr: Oi vikosovij—r pqoÒpoh—seir tou AmtigsuwasloÉ tou
MijgvÁqou Cqgcoq‚ (Athens, 1998); PLP 4443.
4. Nikephoros Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia e²r tÂm
õAciom DglŸtqiom’, ed. Vassileios Laourdas, M 4 (1955–60), 83–96, at 135;
Vassilis Katsaros and Petros Vlachakos, 'Acior DglŸtqior, Ecjyliastijo´
KÁcoi EpivamÖm BufamtimÖm Koc´ym (Thessalonica, 2004), pp. 194–6.
5. Meyendorff, Study of Gregory Palamas, pp. 42–85; R.E. Sinkewicz, ‘Gregory
Palamas’, in La théologie byzantine et sa tradition (13–19 siècle), ed. C.G.
Conticello and V. Conticello (Turnhout, 2002), pp. 131–88; PLP 21546.
6. Katsaros, and Vlachakos, 'Acior DglŸtqior, Ecjyliastijo´ KÁcoi, p. 309.
7. Constantine Harmenopoulos, ‘Tomus Contra Gregorium Palamam’, in Graecia
Orthodoxa, ed. Leon Allatius, 2 vols (Rome, 1652), i. 780–5.
8. Nikos Veis, ‘úAqlemopoukij‚ ùAm‚kejta’, in TÁlor Jymstamt´mou
úAqlemÁpoukou. ùEp´ t« úEnajosietgq´di t¡r úEnab´bkou AÇtoË

156
 (1345–1945) (Thessalonica, 1952), 345–528, at 364. On Harmenopoulos’s
involvement in the hesychast controversy in general, see ibid, 361–4.
9. Konstantinos Vavouskos, ‘To Elpq‚clatom D´jaiom eir tgm En‚bibkom
tou AqlemÁpoukou’, CTPE, pp. 237–58; PLP 1347. Asterios Argyriou,
Macaire Makrès et la polémique contre l’Islam, Studi e Testi 314 (Vatican City,
1986), pp. 3, 38 suggests that Harmenopoulos may later have become a monk
and been the spiritual father of the abbot of Pantokrator, Makarios Makris. This
is, however, unconvincing because it would require Harmenopoulos still to have
been alive in about 1410.
10. Norman Russell, ‘Prochoros Cydones and the fourteenth-century understanding
of Orthodoxy’, in Byzantine Orthodoxies, ed. Andrew Louth and Augustine
Casiday (Aldershot, 2006), pp. 75–91; PLP 11917.
11. Laourdas in Kokkinos, ‘Vikoh—ou, Patqi‚qwou JymstamtimoupÁkeyr’,
581.
12. P. Enepekides, ‘Der Briefwechsel des Mystikers Nikolaos Kabasilas’, BZ 46
(1953), 29–45. For the lack of biographical information on Kavasilas see
Athanasios Angelopoulos, ‘MijÁkaor Jab‚sikar o WalaetÁr.
Biocqavij‚ pqobkŸlata’, PThS, pp. 29–66.
13. For details on Kavasilas and the family of Chamaëtos see Athanasios
Angelopoulos, MijÁkaor Jab‚sikar WalaetÁr jai to —qco autoÉ
(Thessalonica, 1970); Athanasios Angelopoulos, ‘TÂ cemeakocijÂm d—mdqom
t¡r o²joceme´ar tØm JabasikØm’, M 17 (1977), 367–95; Myrrha Lot-
Borodine, Un maître de la spiritualité byzantine au XIVe siècle: Nicolas
Cabasilas (Paris, 1958); Manuel II, Letters, pp. xxx–xxxiv; Runciman, Last
Byzantine Renaissance, pp. 20–1, 71–3; C.N. Tsirpanlis, ‘The career and
writings of Nicolas Cabasilas’, Byzantion 49 (1979), 414–27; PLP 10102. For an
extensive bibliography on Kavasilas, see Paul Chr. Mantovanis, ‘The Eucharistic
theology of Nicolas Cabasilas’, University of Oxford, DPhil (1984).
14. There is a debate amongst Greek theologians on whether Kavasilas was a layman
or not. See Theodoros N. Zeses, ‘To heokocijÁm —qcom tou Hessakomij—yr
AqwiepisjÁpou Hessakom´jgr Me´kou Jab‚sika’, CTPE, pp. 89–109, at
104. It appears that the world name of Neilos was also Nicholas, and Zeses is
keen to feed that fact into the argument as well. See Zeses, ‘To heokocijÁm
—qcom tou Me´kou Jab‚sika’, where he claims that early works of Neilos
may have been attributed to Nicholas, thus enhancing the latter’s reputation.
15. On Kavasilas’s works, see Explication de la Divine Liturgie, introduction and ed.
Sévérien Salaville, Sources Chrétiennes 4 (Paris, 1967); De Vita in Christo, PG
150. 493–726; ‘Le traité inédit “Sur L’usure” de Nicolas Cabasilas’, ed.
Rodolphe Guilland, in E²r LmŸlgm Spuq´dymor K‚lpqou (Athens, 1935),
pp. 269–77; George T. Dennis, ‘Nicholas Cabasilas Chamaëtos and his discourse
on abuses committed by authorities against sacred things’, Byzantine
Studies/Études Byzantines 5 (1978), 80–7 and reprinted in George T. Dennis,

157
 Byzantium and the Franks 1350–1420 (London, 1982), no. XI; as well as
Mantovanis mentioned above.
16. Nicholas Kavasilas, ‘PqosvÖmgla e²r tÂm ™mdonom toË WqistoË
lecakol‚qtuqa DglŸtqiom tÂm LuqobkÉtgm’, Mnemeia hagiologika, ed.
Theophilos Joannou (Venice, 1884), pp. 67–114; Nicholas Kavasilas,
‘Mijok‚ou Jab‚sika, PqosvÖmgla jaμ úEpicq‚llata e²r õAciom
DglŸtqiom’, ed. Vassileios Laourdas, EEBS 22 (1952), 97–109, at 108.
17. Nicholas Kavasilas, ‘E²r tÂm pam‚ciom DglŸtqiom jaμ tƒ aÈtoË haÉlata’
in Mijok‚ou Jab‚sika, Ept‚ Am—jdotoi KÁcoi to pqÖtom mum
ejdidÁlemoi, ed. Vassileios Pseutongás (Thessalonica, 1976), pp. 135–42.
18. R.-J. Loenertz, ‘Isidore Glabas, métropolite de Thessalonique (1380–1396)’,
REB 6 (1948), 181–90; George T. Dennis, ‘The late Byzantine metropolitans of
Thessalonike’, DOP 57 (2003), 254–64, at 257–9; Apostolos E. Vakalopoulos,
‘Oi Dglosieul—mer Olik´er tou AqwiepisjÁpou Hessakom´jgr
IsidÖqou yr IstoqijŸ PgcŸ cia tg CmÖsg tgr PqÖtgr Touqjojqat´ar
stg Hessakom´jg (1387–1403)’, M 4 (1955–60), 20–34; PLP 4223.
19. Laourdas in Isidore Glavas, ‘ùIsidÖqou qwiesjÁpou Hessakom´jgr
Àlik´ai e²r tƒr –oqtƒr toË c´ou Dglgtq´ou’, ed. Vassileios Laourdas,
Hellenika Supplement 5 (1954), 19–65, at 55, 60.
20. V. Laurent, ‘Écrits spirituels inédits de Macaire Choumnos (c. 1382), fondateur
de la “Néa Moni” à Thessalonique’, Hellenika 14 (1955), 40–86; two items from
which are translated in Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents, vol. 4, pp.
1433–54; for Makarios Choumnos see also PLP 30956.
21. Makarios Choumnos, ‘ùEcjÖliom e²r tÂm ‡ciom DglŸtqiom’, ed. Vassileios
Laourdas, Gregorios Palamas 38 (1955), 347–9, at 347.
22. These are three speeches and one letter which accompanied the second speech.
They are entitled: I. ‘úUpotÉpysir ¥m jat—kipe t« dekvÁtgti Åte pqØtom
m¡khem e²r tm JymstamtimoÉpokim pokkƒ jaμ Èp pokkØm biashe´r’;
II. ‘ùEpistok cqave¶sa p t¡r pÁkeyr jaμ stake¶sa to¶r dekvo¶r
letƒ t¡r Èpotetacl—mgr lomßd´ar’; III. ‘Lomßd´a •pμ Cqgcoq´ß jaμ
ùAjaj´ß •jdglŸsasim, Åte t pqØtom e²r tm tØm pÁkeym pedŸlgse
basikeÉousam’; IV. ‘<ùEpitekeÉtior Àlik´a>’. See Laurent, ‘Écrits spirituels
inédits de Macaire Choumnos’, 76–85.
23. V. Laurent, ‘Le métropolite Gabriel (1397–1416/19) et le couvent de la Nea
Moni’, Hellenika 13 (1954), 241–55, at 242–52; Dennis, ‘Late Byzantine
metropolitans’, 259–60; PLP 3416.
24. See Gabriel of Thessalonica, ‘úOlik´ai’, ed. Vassileios Laourdas, Athina 57
(1953), 142–73, at 150–5.
25. Gabriel of Thessalonica, ‘úOlik´ai’, 142–9.
26. Demetrius Chrysoloras, ‘Comparatio Veterum Imperatorum et nunc Imperatoris
Manuelis Palaeologi’, in Spyridon P. Lambros, PakaiokÁceia jaμ
Pekopommgsiaj‚, 4 vols (Athens 1912–30), iii. 222–45; idem, ‘Action de grâces
de Démétrius Chrysoloras à la Théotokos pour l’anniversaire de la bataille

158
 d’Ankara (28 Juillet 1403)’, ed. Paul Gautier, REB 19 (1961), 348–56; Manuel,
Letters, pp. xxxiv–xxxv.
27. See Vitalien Laurent, ‘Le trisépiscopat du patriarche Matthieu Ier, 1397–1410.
Un grand procès canonique à Byzance au début du XVe siècle’, REB 30 (1972),
5–166, at 134: Demetrius Chrysoloras is mentioned as being present at 136: ‘À
peqipÁhgtor he¶or toË basik—yr jËq HeÁdyqor PakaiokÁcor À
JamtajoufgmÁr’ [the beloved uncle of the basileus kyr Theodore Palaiologos
Kantakouzenos] gives a speech, and then Demetrius Chrysoloras speaks up in his
support: ‘Sumßdƒ toÉtß jaμ À o²je¶or tâ heiot‚tß lØm aÇh—mtg jaμ
basike¶ jËq DglŸtqior À Wqusokyq„r peqμ e²qŸmgr aÇtØm jaμ
jatakkac¡r digk—whg pqÂr peihØ sume´qar tosaËta, ˆ jaμ k´hom
•l‚kanam …m’ [And with him sung along also the intimate friend of our most
divine master and basileus, kyr Demetrius Chrysoloras, and he spoke to them
with the purpose of persuasion, of peace and of reconciliation, bringing together
such things that would even soften a stone]. George T. Dennis in Manuel II,
Letters, p. xxxv, translates these words as ‘would make a stone shed tears’.
28. John Chortasmenos, Johannes Chortasmenos. Briefe, Gedichte, kleine Schriften,
ed. Herbert Hunger, Wiener Byzantinistische Studien 7 (Vienna, 1969), pp.
171–3, 225.
29. Demetrius Chrysoloras, ‘ToË kociyt‚tou juqoË Dglgtq´ou toË
Wqusokyq„, KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom jaμ e²r tƒ lÉqa’, ed.
Vassileios Laourdas, Gregorios Palamas 40 (1957), 342–53.
30. See John Anagnostes, De Extremo Thessalonicensi Excidio Narratio, ed.
Barthold Georg Niebuhr, CHSB (Bonn, 1838), pp. 487–9; Balfour in Symeon of
Thessalonica, Politico-Historical Works, pp. 158–9; Dennis, ‘Late Byzantine
metropolitans’, 260–1; PLP 27057.
31. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘Homilia Festalis in Sanctum Demetrium’, in Symeon
Archbishop of Thessalonica, ôEqca Heokocijƒ, ed. David Balfour, Analekta
Vlatadon (Thessalonica, 1981), pp. 185–94.
32. Balfour, in Symeon of Thessalonica, Politico-Historical Works, p. 101.
33. See Symeon of Thessalonica, Ta Keitouqcij‚ Succq‚llata, ed. Ioannis
Phountoules (Thessalonica, 1968).
34. Joseph Gill, ‘George Scholarius’, in Joseph Gill, Personalities of the Council of
Florence and other Essays (Oxford, 1964), pp. 79–94; C.J.G. Turner, ‘The career
of Georgios Gennadios Scholarios’, Byzantion 39 (1969), 420–55; Livanos, Greek
Tradition and Latin Influence, pp. 1–2; Theodoros N. Zeses, Cemm‚dior
B'Swok‚qior. B´or-Succq‚llata-Didasjak´a (Thessalonica, 1980); PLP
27304.
35. Oeuvres complétes de Georges Scholarios, Louis Petit, X.A. Siderides and
Martin Jugie, 8 vols (Paris, 1928–35), i., p. xlvii; Zeses, Cemm‚dior
B'Swok‚qior, p. 347. On Scholarios see also: Marie-Hélène Blanchet, Georges-
Gennadios Scholarios (vers 1400–vers 1472): un intellectuel face à la

159
 disparition de l'empire byzantin, Institut Français d'Etudes Byzantines (Paris,
2008).
36. Balfour calls Symeon’s style limpid. Balfour, in Symeon of Thessalonica,
Politico-Historical Works, p. 163.
37. Philotheos Kokkinos, ‘Vikoh—ou, Patqi‚qwou JymstamtimoupÁkeyr,
•cjÖliom e²r tÂm ‡ciom DglŸtqiom’, ed. Vassileios Laourdas, M 2
(1941–52), 556–82, at 33–4; Plutarch, Alexander 5. Cf. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚
jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 84–5. On Kokkinos’s education, see Nicol,
‘Thessalonica as a Cultural Centre’, p. 126.
38. A.R. Littlewood, ‘Literature’, in Palgrave Advances: Byzantine History, ed.
Jonathan Harris (New York, 2005), pp. 133–46; C.N. Constantinides, Higher
Education in Byzantium in the Thirteenth and Early Fourteenth Centuries
(1204–ca.1310) (Nicosia, 1982), pp. 1–2.
39. See for example the fairly disparaging comments in the well-known article by
Cyril Mango, ‘Byzantine literature as a distorting mirror’ (Inaugural lecture,
University of Oxford, May 1974) in Cyril Mango, Byzantium and its image (London,
1984), No. II, pp. 3–18; Romilly Jenkins, ‘The Hellenistic origins of Byzantine
education’, DOP 17 (1963), 39–52.
40. Rhetoric in Byzantium. Papers from the Thirty-Fifth Spring Symposium of
Byzantine Studies, Exeter College, University of Oxford, March 2001, ed. E.M.
Jeffreys (Aldershot, 2003).
41. Averil M. Cameron, Procopius and the Sixth Century (London, 1985), pp. 40–3;
Timothy Miller, ‘The plague in John VI Cantacuzenus and Thucydides’, Greek,
Roman and Byzantine Studies 17 (1976), 385–95.
42. George Kustas, ‘The function and evolution of Byzantine rhetoric’, Viator 1
(1970), 55–73, at 58, 65.
43. See, for example, K. Oehler, ‘Aristotle in Byzantium’, Greek, Roman and
Byzantine Studies 5 (1964), 133–46; Roger Scott, ‘The classical tradition in
Byzantine historiography’, Byzantium and the Classical Tradition, ed. Margaret
Mullett and Roger Scott (Birmingham, 1981), pp. 61–74; P.E. E a ster lin g ,
‘S o p h o cles an d th e B y z an ti n e s tu d e n t’, in Porphyrogenita: Essays on
Byzantine History and Culture and the Latin East Presented to Julian
Chrysostomides, ed. Charalambos Dendrinos, Jonathan Harris, Eirene Harvalia-
Crook and Judith Herrin (Aldershot, 2003), pp. 319–34.
44. Robert Browning, ‘Homer in Byzantium’, Viator 6 (1975), 15–33; idem, ‘The
Byzantines and Homer’, in Homer’s Ancient Readers: the Hermeneutics of Greek
Epic's Earliest Exegetes, ed. Robert Lamberton and John J. Keaney (Princeton NJ,
1992), pp. 134–48.
45. Agne Vasilikopoulou-Ioannidou, úG mac—mmgsir tØm cqall‚tym jatƒ tÂm
ib' a²Øma e²r t Buf‚mtiom jaμ À õOlgqor (Athens, 1971–2).
46. Browning, ‘Homer in Byzantium’, 29; Constantinides, Higher Education in
Byzantium, pp. 103–8, 116–28.

160
47. L’Achilléide byzantine, ed. D.C. Hesseling (Amsterdam, 1919), pp. 75–6; also
see The Oxford Version of the Achilleid, ed. Ole L. Smith (Copenhagen, 1990);
Homer, Iliad, 6. 429–30, Browning, ‘Homer in Byzantium’, 30.
48. Kokkinos, ‘Encomium Gregorii Palamae’, pp. 437–8.
49. Xenophon, Scripta Minora, ed. G.W. Bowersock, 7 vols (Cambridge MA and
London, 1984), vii.60.
50. Palamas, ‘úOlik´a e²r tÂm •m c´oir lecakol‚qtuqa’, p. 45.
51. Ibid., p. 56.
52. Sophocles, Ajax, 443.
53. Herodotus 2.116.3. One of the three quotations that Herodotus chooses to
support his point (that Homer knew the legend of Helen and Proteus) comes from
Book Six of the Iliad, and a little earlier than the episode we discussed above.
Hector’s mother Hecuba has just left him at the walls and went indoors to choose
a robe as an offering to goddess Athena. This robe was chosen from those that
Paris brought back from the same trip when he found Helen. Homer, Iliad 6. 289
onwards.
54. Plato, Laws, 942d.
55. Appian, The Foreign Wars, 9. 66.
56. Claudius Galen, Opera Omnia, ed. C.G. Kühn, 20 vols (Hildesheim, 1965), xiv,
containing De antidotis lib.II, De theriaca ad Pison, De theriaca ad Pamphil., all
of which refer to the same subject.
57. Palamas, ‘úOlik´a e²r tÂm •m c´oir lecakol‚qtuqa’, p. 59.
58. Metochites, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, p. 60.
59. Plato, Euthydemus, 298c.
60. Hesiod, Works and Days, 760.
61. Metochites, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖliaÕ, 61.
62. Ibid., 66.
63. Xenophon, Cyropaideia, 6.3.11.
64. Homer, Iliad, 5. 191.
65. Metochites, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 72.
66. Sophocles, Antigone, 1030.
67. Metochites, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 78.
68. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 84.
69. Ibid., 84–5.
70. Ibid., 95–6.
71. Ibid., 84.
72. Ibid., 91–2.
73. Plutarch, Themistocles, 18. 1.
74. Euripides, Iphigenia in Aulis, 527.
75. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 1159a.
76. Demosthenes, Against Meidias, 21. 159.
77. Plutarch, Crassus, 3.
78. Demosthenes, On the Crown, 18. 257.

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79. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 84.
80. Pindar, Nemean Odes, 3. 2.
81. Thucydides, 3.56.2 , 3.65.1 and 5.54.
82. Appian, The Civil Wars, 5.13.130
83. Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 226.
84. Plutarch, Amatoriae Narrationes, 771.
85. Plato, Laws, 6. 774.
86. Euripides, Iphigenia in Aulis, 719.
87. Theophrastus, De Causis Plantarum, 3.16.2.
88. Theophrastus, De Causis Plantarum, 3.14.5.
89. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 89.
90. Herodotus, 5. 101; Plato, Laws, 708d; Isocrates, 8. 44.
91. Plutarch, Phocion, 22. 3–4.
92. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 91.
93. Arrian, 5.17.1.
94. Gregoras. ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 91.
95. Homer, Iliad, 10. 256.
96. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 92.
97. Homer, Iliad, 1. 1–7.
98. Sophocles, Antigone, 27.
99. Sophocles, Antigone, 67–8.
100. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 92.
101. Ibid., 95.
102. Herodotus, 9. 12; Plato, Protagoras, 335e; Pausanias, Description of Greece,
6.16.5; Diodorus of Sicily, Library 15.82.6.
103. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 90.
104. Pindar, Olympian Odes, 3. 38; Pythian Odes, 9. 80; Isthmian Odes, 1. 17.
105. Sophocles, Electra, 731–760.
106. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 96.
107. The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor: Byzantine and Near Eastern History,
AD 284–813, trans. Cyril Mango and Roger Scott (Oxford, 1997), p. 481.
108. Constantine Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou
AqlemÁpoukou eir tgm PqoeÁqtiom EoqtŸm tou Ac´ou Dglgtq´ou’, ed.
Demetrius Gines, EEBS 21 (1951), 145–62, at 151.
109. Seneca, Ad Polybium de Consolatione, 1.
110. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’,
151–2.
111. Plato, Charmides, 3. 77.
112. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 154.
113. Ibid., 153.
114. Plato, Apology, 36d.
115. Plato, Protagoras, 337d; Gregoras, Byzantina Historia, ii. 678.
116. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 161.

162
117. Ibid., 153.
118. Ibid., 153.
119. Ibid., 153.
120. Ibid., 158.
121. Ibid., 160.
122. Plutarch, Ethics, 462b.
123. Romans, 12. 19
124. Kavasilas, ‘PqosvÖmgla e²r tÂm ™mdonom toË WqistoË lecakol‚qtuqa’,
68, 93.
125. Kavasilas, ‘PqosvÖmgla jaμ úEpicq‚llata e²r õAciom DglŸtqiom’, 100.
126. Kavasilas, ‘E²r tÂm pam‚ciom DglŸtqiom jaμ tƒ aÈtoË haÉlata’, e.g. pp.
135, 136, 137.
127. Ibid., p. 138.
128. Ibid., pp. 135–6.
129. Kavasilas refers to St Nestor in his earlier two encomia and not to St Loupos:
Kavasilas, ‘PqosvÖmgla jaμ úEpicq‚llata e²r õAciom DglŸtqiom’, 104.
130. Ibid., 100.
131. Laourdas, in Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 351, 354.
132. Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 344.
133. Ibid., 343.
134. Ibid., 350–1.
135. On the sea metaphor, see George T. Dennis, ‘The perils of the deep’, Novum
Millennium: Studies on Byzantine History and Culture Dedicated to Paul Speck,
ed. Claudia Sode and Sarolta Takács (Aldershot, 2001), pp. 81–88.
136. Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 348.
137. Ibid., 344.
138. St Demetrius uses the same word in his reply: cmystÂm ™sty soi Õr o³ heo´
sou jaμ a³ hea´, oÏr mËm eÇvgloul—mour •ne¶par, jaμ aÇtoμ jaμ 
toÉtym c—mmgsir jaμ pokite´a jaμ t…kka p‚mta, c—kyr jaμ lam´a
savr jaμ o³ pisteÉomter aÇto¶r Ãmtyr la´momtaiû pØr cƒq dÉmatai
pk¡hor tosoËtom heØm sum´stashai jaμ taËta peqμ qw¡r jaμ
pqyte´ym jaμ ™qytor jaμ …kkym tÁpym …kkor …kkß lawÁlemor; [Let
this be made known to you, that your gods and goddesses, whom you picked out
as being exalted, both they themselves and their birth and history and all the
other things to do with them, are laughable, and a clear frenzy, and those who
believe in them really are out of their heads; how, in any case, can a plethora of
such gods be in existence and how can these other things hold, about authority,
and priority in hierarchy, and love, and all the other absurd things, like one of the
gods fighting another?]; oÇ lamiÖdgr  toÉtym …pasa dÁna; oÇj •quhqir
aÇto¶r selmumÁlemor; [Isn’t the entire doctrine of them a form of frantic
madness? Do you not become red with shame for worshipping them?],
Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 347.
139. Ibid., 346.

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140. Ibid., 345.
141. Ibid., 345. Further down the same expression is repeated more elaborately as: ‘úO
d˜ l—car jaμ jakÂr hkgtr cemma´ß jaμ kÁcß jaμ bk—llati jaμ mo¾’
[And the great and good athlete being brave in word, and gaze, and mind],
Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 346.
142. Ibid., 346.
143. Euphranor of Corinth (fl. 336 BC) was one of the few ancient artists who was
celebrated for his ability both as a sculptor and as a painter. He is also the author
of treatises on proportion and colour.
144. Polygnotus (fl. 463–431 BC) was famous for his painting of the Taking of Troy
on the walls of the Stoa Poikile in Athens.
145. Roxana (d. 311 BC), daughter of Oxyartes the Bactrian, was the wife of
Alexander the Great and mother of his son, Alexander Aegus.
146. Aetion (fl. 250 BC) was the author of the painting representing the marriage of
Roxana and Alexander. The work was exhibited at the Olympic Games.
147. Pancaste of Larissa was the first mistress of Alexander the Great.
148. Apelles (c.370–c.310 BC) was a favourite painter of Alexander the Great.
149. The sculptor Praxiteles (fl. 360 BC) was the creator of the marble statue known
as the Cnidian Aphrodite.
150. Alcamenes of Lemnos (fl. c.450 BC) was a younger contemporary of Phidias.
151. Calamis (fl. c. 450 BC) made the sculpture of Aphrodite Sosandra (savour of
men) for the Acropolis in Athens.
152. Phidias (fl. c. 450 BC), the celebrated Athenian sculptor, one of whose works
was the bronze Lemnian Athena which was commissioned by Athenians living
on Lemnos for the Acropolis of Athens.
153. Lycinus is a protagonist in Lucian’s Imagines and is discussed more fully below.
154. Zeuxis of Heraclea (fl. 424–400 BC), a famous painter.
155. Parrhasius of Ephesus (fl. 424–400 BC) was a younger contemporary and rival of
Zeuxis.
156. Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 346.
157. Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 347.
158. i.e. the planets Venus and Mercury.
159. Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 347.
160. Ibid., 347–8.
161. Ibid., 348.
162. Lucian of Samosata, Essays in Portraiture, in Lucian, Volume IV, ed. and trans.
A.M. Harmon, (London and Cambridge MA, 1925), pp. 255–95.
163. Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 346.
164. Lucian, Essays in Portraiture, pp. 262–3.
165. Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 346.
166. Choniates, Historia, pp. 648–55; Manuel Chrysoloras, ‘Epistola ad Joannem
Imperatorem’, PG 156, cols. 23–54, at 45–54; Cyril Mango, ‘Antique statuary and
the Byzantine beholder’, DOP 17 (1963), 55–75, at 68, 70.

164
167. Lucian, Essays in Portraiture, pp. 276–7.
168. Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 347.
169. John Davis, ‘Manuel II Palaeologus’ A Depiction of Spring in a Dyed, Woven
Hanging’, in Porphyrogenita: Essays on Byzantine History and Culture and the
Latin East Presented to Julian Chrysostomides, ed. Charalambos Dendrinos,
Jonathan Harris, Eirene Harvalia-Crook and Judith Herrin (Aldershot, 2003), pp.
411–21, at 418.

Chapter Two

1. Speros Vryonis, ‘The will of a provincial magnate, Eustathius Boilas’, DOP 11

(1957), 263–77, at 269–70; Constantinides, Higher Education in Byzantium, pp.
138–9.
2. Isidore Glavas, ‘úOlik´ai e²r tƒr –oqtƒr toË c´ou Dglgtq´ou’, 30. Cf. I
Thessalonians, 3. 8 and 4. 4.
3. Isidore Glavas, ‘úOlik´ai e²r tƒr –oqtƒr toË c´ou Dglgtq´ou’, 59 and 63;
cf. Luke, 6. 27 and Matthew 5. 46.
4. Gabriel of Thessalonica, ‘úOlik´ai’, 150–1.
5. I Corinthians 13. 1.
6. Gabriel of Thessalonica, ‘úOlik´ai’, 150.
7. Ibid.; cf. I John 4. 16.
8. John 13. 34; Matthew 22. 36–8.
9. Gabriel of Thessalonica, ‘úOlik´ai’, 151. Cf. John 13.34, 13.36, 14.15, 14.21,
15.10.
10. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘Homilia Festalis in Sanctum Demetrium’, p. 188;
Isaiah 6. 3; Psalms 33. 5.
11. Romans, 6. 9.
12. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘Homilia Festalis in Sanctum Demetrium’, p. 189.
13. Ibid., p. 190; Philippians 3. 8; Psalms 144. 4.
14. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘Homilia Festalis in Sanctum Demetrium’, p. 190.
15. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘KÁcor ³stoqijÁr (haÉlata úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou)’,
p. 40; cf. I John 4. 19.
16. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘KÁcor ³stoqijÁr (haÉlata úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou)’,
p. 43; cf. II Corinthians 6. 15.
17. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘KÁcor ³stoqijÁr (haÉlata úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou)’,
p. 52; Song of Moses: Exodus 15. 1–19; Miriam’s song: Exodus 15. 20–1.
18. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘KÁcor ³stoqijÁr (haÉlata úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou)’,
p. 46; see also pp. 44, 56.

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19. Ibid., p. 64; cf. Psalms 29. 5: ‘For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favour
is life: weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning’.
20. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘KÁcor ³stoqijÁr (haÉlata úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou)’,
p. 64; cf. Genesis, 42.19.
21. Palamas, ‘úOlik´a e²r tÂm •m c´oir lecakol‚qtuqa’, p. 48; Acts 9.15. Yet
the same metaphor can be found in the first encomium of Symeon of
Thessalonica, Homilia Festalis in Sanctum Demetrium’, p. 187.
22. Palamas, ‘úOlik´a e²r tÂm •m c´oir lecakol‚qtuqa’, p. 46; Greek Psalter
91. 13, 51. 10; Psalms 1. 3.
23. Palamas, ‘úOlik´a e²r tÂm •m c´oir lecakol‚qtuqa’, pp. 46–7.
24. Metochites, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 57; cf. Jeremiah 10.
19: ‘Woe is me for my hurt! My wound is grievous: but I said, Truly this is a
grief, and I must bear it’.
25. Metochites, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 60; cf. Psalms 30. 9:
‘What profit is there in my blood, when I go down the pit? Shall the dust praise
thee? Shall it declare thy truth?’.
26. Metochites, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 72; cf. Luke 9. 62:
‘And Jesus said unto him, No man having put his hand to the plough and looking
back, is fit for the kingdom of God’.
27. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 93; cf. Matthew 26.
7–13; Mark 14. 3–9; Luke 7. 37–50; John 12. 3–8.
28. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 152;
Proverbs 9. 1.
29. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 155;
cf. John 1. 14: ‘And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us’.
30. Gabriel of Thessalonica, ‘úOlik´ai’, 144, 166, 167.
31. Philotheos Kokkinos, ‘EcjÖliom eir 'Aciom Lecakol‚qtuqa DglŸtqiom
tom LuqobkŸtgm’, in úAciokocijƒ ôEqca, A' Hessakomije¶r õAcioi, ed.
Demetrius Tsames (Thessalonica, 1985), pp. 33–60, e.g. at 37, 41, 48, 49, 50, 51,
52, 53, 54, 55, 58.
32. Oscar Broneer, ‘The Apostle Paul and the Isthmian Games’, The Biblical
Archaeologist 25 (1962), 2–31, at 29.
33. II Timothy 2. 5.
34. Hebrews 12. 1.
35. Philippians 3. 14; I Corinthians 9. 24.
36. On the early Church’s move away from pacifism, see Despina Iosif, ‘Caesar the
warrior versus Jesus the peacemaker’, Eulimene 9 (2003), 167–80.
37. John Chrysostom, ‘In hoc Apostoli Dictum, Utinam Sustineretis Modicum quid
Insipientiae Meae (2 Cor. 11.1)’, P G 51. 301–10, at 301; idem, ‘Sermo
Admonitorius sub Initum Sanctae Quadragesimae, Homilia XI’, PG 53. 90–8,
PG 53. 90–8, at 95. In general, see Symeon Metaphrastes, ‘Vita S. Joannis
Chrysostomi’, P G 114. 1045–1210, at 1101; Margaret M. Mitchell, ‘The

166
 Archetypal Image: John Chrysostom’s Portraits of Paul’, The Journal of Religion
75 (1995), 15–43.
38. John Chrysostom, ‘Argumentum Epistolae Primae ad Corinthios, Homilia VI’,
P G 61. 47–54, at 47; idem, ‘In Acta Apostolorum Homil. XXXI’, PG 60.
227–34, at 230.
39. John Chrysostom, ‘Commentarius in Acta Apostolorum Homilia XXXI’, PG 60.
675–82, at 678; idem, ‘In Secundam ad Corinthios Epistolam Commentarius,
Homilia XXVI’, PG 61. 569–610, at 573.
40. John Chrysostom, ‘Ad Populum Antiochenum Habitae, Homilia III’, PG 49.
47–60, at 51.
41. John Chrysostom, ‘Laudatio Sancti Martyris Barlaam’, PG 50. 675–82, at 682.
42. John Klimakos, Jk¶lan, ed. Archimandrite Ignatios (Oropos, Attica, 2002), pp.
52 (2.7). Cf. Matthew 8. 22.
43. The translation is that of Colm Luibheid and Norman Russell, John Climacus:
The Ladder of Divine Ascent (London, 1982), p. 82.
44. Klimakos, Jk¶lan, pp. 41–2 (1.18). The divine fire that the monks are seeking
here must have rung true to the followers of Palamas, and pursuers of the
uncreated light.
45. Translation by Colm Luibheid and Norman Russell, p. 76.
46. Matthew 11. 28
47. Theodore of Studios, ‘Laudatio S. Platonis Hegumeni’, PG 99. 803–50, at 832.
48. Neophytos the Recluse, ‘ùEcjÖliom e²r tÂm ‡ciom jaμ ™mdonom
lecakol‚qtuqa WqistoË DglŸtqiom’, ed. V. Laourdas, ‘Bufamtimƒ jaμ
letabufamtimƒ •cjÖlia e²r tÂm ‡ciom DglŸtqiom’, M 4 (1955–60), 49–55,
at 52. Cf. John Chrysostom, ‘Laudatio Sancti Martyris Barlaam’, at 678: ‘Å pou
cƒq deslƒ toiaËta, •je¶ jaμ À WqistÂr p‚qestim’ [wherever there are
such restraints, there is also Christ being supportive].
49. Gesta Francorum, p. 29.
50. Gabriel of Thessalonica, ‘úOlik´ai’, 157. Cf. II Timothy 2. 5: ‘And if a man also
strive for masteries, yet is he not crowned, except he strive lawfully’.
51. Gabriel of Thessalonica, ‘úOlik´ai’, 157.
52. Makarios Choumnos, ‘ùEcjÖliom e²r tÂm ‡ciom DglŸtqiom’, 348, 349.
53. Kavasilas, ‘PqosvÖmgla jaμ úEpicq‚llata e²r õAciom DglŸtqiom’, 104.
54. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 156,
159. Harmenopoulos also uses the expressions qisteÉr (excellent combatant)
and jakk´mijor (beautiful victor). See 150, 158–9, 159, 160, 161. See also ‘tâ
lec‚kß’ [of the great (St Demetrius)], in Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor
Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 156.
55. George Scholarios, ‘Fragmentum Panegyrici in Sanctum Demetrium’, in
Oeuvres complétes de Georges Scholarios, Louis Petit, X.A. Siderides and
Martin Jugie, 8 vols (Paris, 1928–35), i. 238–46, at 238.
56. Ibid., p. 244.
57. Metochites, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 71.

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58. Kokkinos, ‘Encomium Gregorii Palamae’, p. 590.
59. Philotheos Kokkinos, ‘Vita Isidori Patriarchae’, in úAciokocijƒ ôEqca, A'
Hessakomije¶r õAcioi, ed. D. Tsames (Thessalonica, 1985), pp. 327–423, at
373; Mark Bartusis, Khalifa Ben Nasser and Angeliki E. Laiou, ‘Days and deeds
of a hesychast saint: a translation of the Greek life of Saint Romylos’, Byzantine
Studies/Études Byzantines 9 (1982), 24–47, at 31.
60. Kokkinos, ‘Encomium Gregorii Palamae’, p. 551.
61. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 88.
62. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 157,
161.
63. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘Didasjak´a pqÂr tÂm eÇseb¡ despÁtgm juqÂm
ùAmdqÁmijom’, Politico-Historical Works, ed. David Balfour (Vienna, 1979), pp.
78–82, at 78.
64. Palamas, ‘úOlik´a e²r tÂm •m c´oir lecakol‚qtuqa’, pp. 50, 60.
65. Kokkinos, ‘EcjÖliom eir 'Aciom Lecakol‚qtuqa DglŸtqiom’, p. 36.
66. Ibid., pp. 37–8.
67. Ibid., p. 57.
68. Ibid., p. 57.
69. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 154.
70. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 91.
71. Ibid., 91.
72. Ibid., 91.
73. Ibid., 90.
74. Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 343.
75. Ibid., 344.
76. Metochites, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 59.
77. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘Homilia Festalis in Sanctum Demetrium’, p. 187.
78. Kokkinos, ‘EcjÖliom eir 'Aciom Lecakol‚qtuqa DglŸtqiom’, 35.

Chapter Three

1. For a discussion of the panegyris see Vryonis, ‘Panegyris of the Byzantine saint’,
196–228; Gerstel, ‘Civic and monastic influences’, 229.
2. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 150.
3. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 89.
4. Ibid., 89.
5. Pseudo-Lucian, Timarion, p. 116.
6. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 88.
7. Ibid., 88.

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8. Ibid., 88.
9. On his coming from another part of the world, Gregoras makes an extensive
comment, from which for the purposes of this chapter I will just record a short
excerpt: ‘tÂm sumŸhg (...) …kkyr (...) le dqÁlom ÀdeÉomta (...), lgd˜
jatƒ t¡r patq´ou pÁkeyr ¦hor toË l‚qtuqor, haul‚feim oÇ wqŸû ™sti
cƒq jaμ to¶r •cwyq´oir ¢hesi diƒ jÁqom •m´ote whol—mour, ¤diom to¶r
kkotq´oir jewq¡shai diƒ t sp‚miom, e² jaμ l pqÂr tm
qlÁttousam ·syr eÇdoj´lgsim p‚mu toi •pevÉjei’ [one need not marvel
at me taking a road different to the usual, not to the custom of the native city of
the martyr; because sometimes, for being tired of the local customs because of
over-use, it is agreeable to make use of the foreign (customs) for their rarity,
even if perhaps this does not lead to the appropriate success], in Gregoras,
‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 83–4. Such long passages with
explanations of his thinking and his methods are characteristic of Gregoras’s
encomium.
10. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 85.
11. Ibid., 85.
12. The Byzantines thought of time as a cyclic structure, with the seasons in
perpetual repetition rather than in linear progress.
13. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 90.
14. Ibid., 90.
15. J.K. Hyde, Society and Politics in Medieval Italy. The Evolution of the Civil Life,
1000–1350 (London, 1973), pp. 60–1; Daniel Waley, The Italian City-Republics
(3rd edn, Harlow, 1988), pp. 101–2. For a discussion of ekphraseis of cities in
general see Saradi, ‘Kallos of the Byzantine city’, 37–56.
16. Gregoras shows his knowledge of ancient tragedy in many passages; see for
example his reference to Orestes and Pylades, in Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ
Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 90, where he gives a beautiful and heightened
view of the value of friendship, bringing Orestes and Pylades at the forefront of
his thought.
17. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 160.
Also at 158, ‘tÂm wqistol´lgtom (...) l‚qtuqa’ [the martyr who imitates
Christ].
18. Ibid., 158.
19. Miklosich and Müller, Acta et Diplomata Graeca Medii Aevi Sacra et Profana,
i.175; Walter, Warrior Saints, pp. 81–2, n. 56.
20. Hetherington, Byzantine and Medieval Greece, p. 216.
21. Palamas, ‘úOlik´a e²r tÂm •m c´oir lecakol‚qtuqa’, p. 48. See Psalms,
1.1.
22. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 93. Cf. Matthew 26.
7–13; Mark 14. 3–9; Luke 7. 37–50; John 12. 3–8.
23. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 158.
24. Kokkinos, ‘EcjÖliom eir 'Aciom Lecakol‚qtuqa DglŸtqiom’, pp. 33–60.

169
25. John 15. 17–18.
26. Kokkinos, ‘EcjÖliom eir 'Aciom Lecakol‚qtuqa DglŸtqiom’, p. 35.
27. Ibid., p. 35.
28. Ibid., p. 36.
29. Ibid., p. 35. Cf. Ephesians 6. 12.
30. Ibid., p. 37. See I Peter 5. 1.
31. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 87–8.
32. Ibid., 87–8.
33. Ibid., 87.
34. Ibid., 84, 89.
35. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 161.
36. PeqivamŸr comes from the verb peqiva´molai, which means to be seen from
all sides. It indicates by association something superior enough to be worthy of
such exposure.
37. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 161.
38. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 92.
39. Bakirtzis, ‘Pilgrimage to Thessalonike’, 185.
40. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 92.
41. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘De Sacra Precatione’, PG 155. 535–670, at 544. Cf.
Matthew 17. l–2.
42. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘De Sacro Templo et ejus Consecratione’, PG 155.
305–62, at 356.
43. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘De Sacro Templo’, col. 321.
44. Bakirtzis, ‘Pilgrimage to Thessalonike’, 185, 192.
45. In Bakirtzis, ‘Pilgrimage to Thessalonike’, 185.
46. Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, p. 343.
47. John Stavrakios, ‘ùIy‚mmou Stauqaj´ou kÁcor e²r tƒ haÉlata toË c´ou
Dglgtq´ou’, ed. Ioakeim Iberites, M 1 (1940), 324–76, at 351.
48. Bakirtzis, ‘Pilgrimage to Thessalonike’, 185, 191.
49. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 88–9.
50. Ibid., 88–9.
51. One of these seems to have been attended by Emperor Alexios I Komnenos in
1106 or 1107: Comnena, Alexiade, iii. 66; trans. Sewter, p. 380.
52. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 89.
53. Stelios Pelekanides, Pakaiowqistiamij‚ Lmgle´a Hessakom´jgr.
Aweiqopo´gtor, LomŸ KatÁlou (Thessalonica, 1949), p. 12.
54. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 150.
55. Antonios Papadopoulos, ‘EcjÖlia stom 'Acio DglŸtqio jat‚ tgm
PakaiokÁceia EpowŸ jai o eoqtaslÁr tou ac´ou stg Hessakom´jg’,
CTPE, pp. 129–45.
56. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 152;
Xyngopoulos, ‘A³ peqμ toË maoË t¡r ùAweiqopoiŸtou Hessakom´jgr
e²dŸseir’, 11.

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57. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 160.
Also see Andreas Xyngopoulos, ‘Jatavuc-ùAweiqopo´gtor’, M 4 (1955–60),
441–8.
58. Palamas, ‘úOlik´a e²r tÂm •m c´oir lecakol‚qtuqa’, pp. 52–3.
59. Ibid., pp. 53–4.
60. Ibid., p. 53.
61. On this latter sense, see Peter Brown, ‘The rise and function of the holy man in
Late Antiquity’, in Peter Brown, Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity
(Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1982), pp. 103–52.
62. Pelekanides, Pakaiowqistiamij‚ Lmgle´a, p. 12.
63. Xyngopoulos, ‘Jatavuc-ùAweiqopo´gtor’, 441–8.
64. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 158.
65. Otherwise known as the Akathist (meaning standing) to the Theotokos, the
Greek name of Chairetismoi or Salutations refers to the opening word of every
phrase (‘wa¶qe’) of each line of the main part of each verse (chorus). The
akolouthia of Chairetismoi takes place the first four Fridays of Lent, and then the
whole hymn is repeated on the fifth Friday. For a detailed study of the Akathist
hymn see The Akathistos Hymn, ed. Egon Wellesz (Copenhagen, 1957).
66. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 151
onwards.
67. For details on the church and the Litany see Pelekanides, Pakaiowqistiamij‚
Lmgle´a, pp. 12, 35–41.
68. Symeon of Thessalonica (attributed), ‘ùAjqibŸr di‚tanir t¡r –oqt¡r toË
c´ou Dglgtq´ou’, ed. Vassileios Laourdas, Gregorios Palamas 39 (1956),
326–41. See Stelios Pelekanides, ‘PaqatgqŸseir tim—r eir SuleÖm
Hessakom´jgr “Di‚tanir jqibŸr t¡r –oqt¡r toË úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou”’,
M 4 (1955–60), 410–15, at 410.
69. Xyngopoulos, ‘Jatavuc-ùAweiqopo´gtor’, 446, 448.
70. Harmenopoulos, ‘KÁcor Am—jdotor Jymstamt´mou AqlemÁpoukou’, 151.
71. Ibid., 160.
72. Ibid., 151, 160.
73. Ibid., 150.
74. Ibid., 151.
75. Ibid., 151.
76. Ibid., 150.
77. Ibid., 151.
78. Palamas, ‘úOlik´a e²r tÂm •m c´oir lecakol‚qtuqa’, p. 52.
79. Isidore Glavas, ‘úOlik´ai e²r tƒr –oqtƒr toË c´ou Dglgtq´ou’, 32–43,
containing the second encomium of Isidore, which was dedicated to the monks of
Thessalonica and is entitled: ‘ToË aÇtoË, Àlik´a qghe¶sa e²r tq´tgm letƒ
tm lmŸlgm toË úAciou Dglgtq´ou, jahù ¥m •oqt‚fousim o³ lomawo´’ [Of
the same (author), speech said on the third (day) after the memory of Saint
Demetrius, on which the monks celebrate].

171
80. Symeon of Thessalonica (attributed), ‘ùAjqibŸr di‚tanir t¡r –oqt¡r toË
c´ou Dglgtq´ou’, 329.
81. Gregoras, ‘Bufamtim‚ jaμ Letabufamtim‚ ùEcjÖlia’, 89.
82. On Choumnos see PLP 30956. On the Nea Moni, see Janin, Églises et les
monastères, pp. 398–9; G.I. Theocharides, ‘G M—a LomŸ Hessakom´jgr’, M
3 (1953–5), 334–52; idem, ‘DÉo M—a 'Eccqava AvoqÖmta eir tgm M—am
LomŸm Hessakom´jgr’, M 4 (1955–60), 315–51.
83. Laourdas in Makarios Choumnos, ‘ùEcjÖliom e²r tÂm ‡ciom DglŸtqiom’,
350.
84. Isidore Glavas, ‘úOlik´ai e²r tƒr –oqtƒr toË c´ou Dglgtq´ou’, 32–43.
85. See the comment by Laourdas, ‘Bufamtimƒ jaμ letabufamtimƒ •cjÖlia’,
126.
86. Makarios Choumnos, ‘ùEcjÖliom e²r tÂm ‡ciom DglŸtqiom’, 347.
87. Ibid., 349.
88. Ibid., 349.
89. Ibid., 347. Cf. Mark 4. 39.
90. Makarios Choumnos, ‘ùEcjÖliom e²r tÂm ‡ciom DglŸtqiom’, 347.
91. Scholarios, ‘Fragmentum Panegyrici’, p. 238.
92. Ibid., p. 244.
93. Isidore Glavas, ‘úOlik´ai e²r tƒr –oqtƒr toË c´ou Dglgtq´ou’, 22.
94. Ibid., 19.
95. Ibid., 19.
96. Ibid., 21.

Chapter Four

1. Gabriel of Thessalonica, ‘úOlik´ai’, 142–73.

2. Ibid., 164.
3. Ibid., 165. Cf. Jeremiah 3. 15: ‘And I will give you pastors according to mine
heart, which shall feed you with knowledge and understanding’. Gabriel’s
speeches draw upon the scriptures heavily and they use them in a creative,
almost virtuosic, way to convey a Christian message with a relevance to
contemporary reality. His understated tone is an asset to his work, as it gives him
the ability to blend difficult concepts into a smooth, evenly paced speech.
4. Gabriel of Thessalonica, ‘úOlik´ai’, 168.
5. Ibid., 146.
6. Galatians 4. 26.
7. Palamas, ‘úOlik´a e²r tÂm •m c´oir lecakol‚qtuqa’, pp. 56–7.

172
8. Demetrius Chrysoloras, ‘Demetrio Crisoloras el Palaciego, Encomio de la
pulga’, ed. G. de Andrés, Helmantica 35 (1984), 51–69. On Chrysoloras as
mesazon, see Jean Verpeaux, ‘Contribution à l’étude de l’administration
byzantine: À les‚fym’, Byzantinoslavica 16 (1955), 270–96, at 286–7;
Chortasmenos, Briefe, p. 45; Manuel II, Letters, pp. 90–2. For the office of
mesazon in general, see Verpeaux as above and Hans-Georg Beck, ‘Der
byzantinische “Ministerpräsident”’, BZ 48 (1955), 309–38.
9. Sylvester Syropoulos, Mémoires, ed. and trans. V. Laurent, Concilium
Florentinum: Documenta et Scriptores 9 (Rome, 1971), pp. 172–4, 606.
10. Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 342–53.
11. Bakirtzis, ‘Pilgrimage to Thessalonike’, 185.
12. Laourdas in Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 348; Gautier in
Chrysoloras, ‘Action de grâces’, 340.
13. Chrysoloras, ‘KÁcor e²r tÂm l—cam DglŸtqiom’, 349.
14. Gouillard, ‘Synodicon de l’Orthodoxie’, 99; Oikonomides, ‘John VII
Palaeologus and the ivory pyxis’, 335–6; Balfour, in Symeon of Thessalonica,
Politico-Historical Works, p. 121.
15. Barker, Manuel II, p. 245; George T. Dennis, ‘John VII Palaiologos: “A holy and
just man”’, in Byzantium State and Society: In Memory of Nikos Oikonomides,
ed. Anna Avramea, Angeliki E. Laiou and Evangelos Chrysos (Athens, 2003),
pp. 205–17.
16. Ecthesis Chronica, ed. S. Lambros (London, 1902), pp. 1–2.
17. Balfour, in Symeon of Thessalonica, Politico-Historical Works, pp. 150–3;
Melville-Jones, Venice and Thessalonica: Venetian Documents, p. 206.
18. ‘L jatenam´stashai tØm qwÁmtym, kkƒ toÉtour Õr •j HeoË
pqobkgh—mter •d´dasje st—qceim.’ [Not to rise against the rulers but to
accept them as brought forward by God; so he was instructing]. Anagnostes,
Narratio, p. 8.
19. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘Didasjak´a pqÂr tÂm eÇseb¡ despÁtgm juqÂm
ùAmdqÁmijom’, p. 78.
20. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘KÁcor ³stoqijÁr (haÉlata úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou)’,
p. 53.
21. Ibid., p. 53. Anagnostes, Narratio, p. 487 also calls him a shepherd but not a
wretched one. He calls him a jakÂm poil—ma [good shepherd], who imitated
the first shepherd (pqØtom poil—ma), and who gave unsparingly and every time
his soul for the good of his flock. The notion of Symeon striving to imitate Christ
ties into Symeon’s own theological work, where he expands his ideas extensively
on topics such as the role of the clergy in the celebration of the liturgy and within
the life of the church in general, and on the way Christ is typified during the
Akolouthia by the celebrant priest.
22. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘KÁcor ³stoqijÁr (haÉlata úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou)’,
p. 53.
23. Ibid., p. 54.

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24. Interesting use of pacoqeÉy. The barrier here is not an external hindrance but
one’s own failing. Symeon’s personal struggle with old age, frail health,
ideological isolation, lack of support from Constantinople, and the desire for the
preservation of the Orthodox rite and for his personal redemption is fleshed out
in his writings and gives them the immediacy of the work that is written in
difficult times. His strife for personal redemption and his desire for the
redemption of every Christian is what ultimately drives his teaching and his
actions. This message is pronounced directly in his advisory letter to the young
Despot Andronikos.
25. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘KÁcor ³stoqijÁr (haÉlata úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou)’,
p. 54.
26. Ibid., p. 54.
27. Ibid., p. 56.
28. Ibid., p. 57.
29. Ibid., p. 57.
30. Ibid., p. 59.
31. Ibid., pp. 58–9.
32. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘Sulbouk´a Àlo´yr peqμ toË ¹stashai Èp˜q toË
WqistoË jaμ t¡r patq´dor jaμ jatƒ tØm vqomoÉmtym tƒ Èp˜q tØm
sebØm •pit´lgsir’, Politico-Historical Works, ed. David Balfour (Vienna,
1979), pp. 88–90, at 89.
33. Doukas, Historia Byzantina, p. 200.
34. Anagnostes, Narratio, p. 514.
35. Ibid., p. 525.
36. John Anagnostes, Pro Viribus Acta Monodia, ed. Barthold Georg Niebuhr,
CHSB (Bonn, 1838), p. 533.
37. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘KÁcor ³stoqijÁr (haÉlata úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou)’,
p. 59.
38. Ibid., p. 60.
39. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘Sulbouk´a Àlo´yr peqμ toË ¹stashai Èp˜q toË
WqistoË’, p. 89.
40. Doukas, Historia Byzantina, p. 197. In return the citizens of Thessalonica
undertook to be loyal to the Venetians: ‘jaμ aÇtoμ Hessakomija¶oi ™steqnam
toË e»mai pistoμ •m t« joimÁtgti tØm BemetijØm, Ûspeq aÇtoÊr toÊr •m
Bemet´‹ jaμ cemgh—mtar jaμ tqav—mtar’ [and the Thessalonians themselves
agreed to be loyal to the community of the Venetians, exactly as those who were
born and bred in Venice].
41. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘Sulbouk´a Àlo´yr peqμ toË ¹stashai Èp˜q toË
WqistoË’, p. 89.
42. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘Sulbouk´a jaμ eÇw to¶r ³stal—moir pistØr
Èp˜q t¡r patq´dor jaμ to¶r •mamt´yr ™wousim •pit´lgsir’, Politico-
Historical Works, ed. David Balfour (Vienna, 1979), pp. 83–7, at 85. Cf. James
2. 20.

174
43. Doukas, Historia Byzantina, p. 200.
44. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘Sulbouk´a jaμ eÇw to¶r ³stal—moir pistØr’,
p. 84.
45. Ibid., p. 84.
46. Ibid., p. 84.
47. Ibid., p. 85.
48. Ibid., p. 85.
49. Melville-Jones, Venice and Thessalonica: The Venetian Documents, pp. 147–53.
50. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘Sulbouk´a jaμ eÇw to¶r ³stal—moir pistØr’,
p. 85.
51. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘De Sacris Ordinationibus’, PG 155. 361–470, at 432.
52. Symeon of Thessalonica, ‘KÁcor ³stoqijÁr (haÉlata úAc´ou Dglgtq´ou)’,
pp. 60–3.
53. Ibid., pp. 68–9.

Aftermath

1. Anagnostes, Narratio, pp. 514–5.

2. Michael J. Vickers, ‘Cyriac of Ancona in Thessaloniki’, Byzantine and Modern
Greek Studies 2 (1976), 75–82, at 78.
3. Vickers, ‘Cyriac of Ancona in Thessaloniki’, 78;
4. Bakirtzis, ‘Urban continuity’, 50.
5 . Xyngopoulos, ‘A³ peqμ toË maoË t¡r ùAweiqopoiŸtou Hessakom´jgr
e²dŸseir’, 4.
6. Bertandon de la Broquière, The Voyage d’Outremer, trans. Galen R. Kline (New
York, 1988), p. 89.
7. Bakirtzis, ‘Pilgrimage to Thessalonike’, 192.
8 . Machiel Keil, ‘Notes on some Turkish monuments in Thessaloniki’, Balkan
Studies 11 (1970), 122–56, at 125.
9. Dennis, ‘Late Byzantine metropolitans’, 261.
10. Vryonis, ‘Panegyris of the Byzantine saint’, pp. 217–26.
11. J. Darrouzès, ‘Lettres de 1453’, REB 22 (1964), 72–127, at 96–9.
12. Deno J. Geanakoplos, ‘Theodore Gaza, a Byzantine scholar of the Palaeologan
“renaissance” in the Italian Renaissance’, in Deno J. Geanakoplos,
Constantinople and the West (Madison WI, 1989), pp. 68–90, at 69–72;
Giuseppe Cammelli, ‘Andronico Callisto’, La Rinascità 5 (1942), 104–21,
174–214; Gregorios D. Ziakas, ‘PmeulatijÁr b´or jai pokitislÁr tgr
Hessakom´jgr jat‚ tgm peq´odo tgr OhylamijŸr juqiaqw´ar’,
WqistiamijŸ Hessakom´jg, OhylamijŸ Peq´odor 1430–1912, B'

175
 (Thessalonica, 1994), pp. 90–165, at 113–17; Jonathan Harris, Greek Émigrés in
the West, 1400–1520 (Camberley, 1995), p. 17.
13. Ziakas, ‘PmeulatijÁr b´or jai pokitislÁr’, pp. 113–17; Graham Speake,
‘Janus Lascaris’ visit to Mount Athos in 1491’, Greek, Roman and Byzantine
Studies 34 (1993), 325–30.

Appendix

1. Laonikos Chalkokondyles, Historiarum Libri Decem, ed. I. Bekker, CSHB

(Bonn, 1843), p. 235; Doukas, Historia Byzantina, ed. I. Bekker, CHSB (Bonn,
1834), pp. 196–201; Georgius Sphrantzes, Chronicon, ed. Riccardo Maisano,
CFHB (Rome, 1990), p. 68; John Anagnostes, De extremo Thessalonicensi
excidio narratio, ed. Barthold Georg Niebuhr, CHSB (Bonn, 1838); John
Anagnostes, Pro viribus acta monodia, ed. Barthold Georg Niebuhr, CHSB
(Bonn, 1838).
2. Doukas, p. 197. In return the citizens of Thessalonica undertook to be loyal to the
Venetians: ‘jaμ aÇtoμ Hessakomija¶oi ™steqnam toË e»mai pistoμ •m t«
joimÁtgti tØm BemetijØm, Ûspeq aÇtoÊr toÊr •m Bemet´‹ jaμ
cemgh—mtar jaμ tqav—mtar’ [and the Thessalonians themselves agreed to be
loyal to the community of the Venetians, exactly as those who were born and
bred in Venice]. Ibid..
3. Lambros argues that the letter was written in Greek; for reference see note 4.
4. Spyros Lambros, ‘úG –kkgmij Õr •p´sglor ckØssa tØm soukt‚mym’,
Neos Ellinomnemon 5 (1908), 40–78, at 63–4.
5. Ibid., 64.
6. Sphrantzes, p. 68.
7. Ibid., p. 68.
8. Laonikos Chalkokondyles, pp. 235–6.
9. Ibid., p. 236.
10. Ibid., p. 235.
11. Doukas, p. 200.
12. Ibid., p. 200.
13. Ibid., p. 201.
14. Ibid., p. 200.
15. Anagnostes, Narratio, p. 518.
16. Ibid., pp. 514–15.
17. Ibid., p. 515.
18. Ibid., p. 515.
19. Ibid., pp. 515–16.

176
20. Ibid., p. 514.
21. Anagnostes, Narratio, p. 500.
22. St Demetrius figures prominently in the writings of Anagnostes. It is worth
mentioning here that the local saint Theodora, who was also known for her
myrrh, is also mentioned by him in his Narration: ‘TaÉtgm tm pomgqƒm
•pede´namto cmÖlgm jaμ peqμ t t¡r Às´ar jaμ luqobkŸtidor
HeodÖqar ³eqÖtatom ke´xamom, Æ jaμ Õr •pipok¡r je´lemom peqq´vg
te jatƒ c¡r, Ú tÁklgr jaμ liaqØm weiqØm, jaμ jatehqaÉshg e²r l—qg’
[They showed the same villanous mind also about the holy remnant of the
myrovlyte Theodora, which as it was lying at the top it was thrown on the earth,
o daring and polluted hands, and it got broken in places], in Anagnostes,
Narratio, p. 516. The Thessalonian mystic and statesman Nicholas Kavasilas has
written an encomium in honour of St Theodora: Nicholas Kavasilas, ‘ùEcjÖliom
e²r tm úOs´am Lgt—qa lØm jaμ LuqobkŸtida HeodÖqam’, ed. Migne,
J.P., Patrologiae Cursus Completus, Series Graeca 150 (Paris, 1865), pp. 727–50.
23. Doukas, p. 200.
24. Doukas and Anagnostes both refer to this: ‘À d˜ cel×m hqo´sar •j tØm
p—qin wyq´ym jaμ pÁkeym •cjato´jour ToÉqjour sÊm cumainμ jaμ
t—jmoir jat—stgsem, jekeÉsar, e· tir tØm Qyla´ym •nacoqashe´g jaμ
•keuheqyhe´g, •w—ty …deiam toË •khe¶m jaμ o²j¡sai p‚kim •m aÇt« t«
pÁkei.’ [and the commander, after he gathered and brought from the surrounding
villages and towns the Turkish inhabitants with their wives and children, he gave
orders that if any of the Romans were to be ransomed and freed, they had
permission to come and live again in this city], Doukas, pp. 200–1; ‘pqÁteqom
d˜ diƒ p‚sgr t¡r Èpù aÇtÂm jŸqujar •pepÁlvei, toÊr pq lajqØm
•tØm jaμ toË sucjkeisloË tm Hessakom´jgm pokipÁmtar jaμ
letoijŸsamtar kkawoË pqÂr aÇtm ¹mù •pamekhe¶m pokkâ tâ t‚wei
jatamacj‚sysi jaμ tƒ o²je¶a p‚kim Õr t pqÁteqom pok‚bysi.
sjopÂr cƒq aÇtÂm p‚mu ti jakÂr jaμ pokkØm …nior tØm •pa´mym
e²s©ei, tm pÁkim jaμ aÐhir to¶r o²jŸtoqsim podedyj—mai jaμ pkŸqg
jah‚peq jaμ t pqμm pojatast¡sai.’ [and first, he sent his messengers
everywhere, and those who had left Thessalonica before many long years and
during the siege and went to live elsewhere, he forced with great speed to come
back towards it, and to enjoy their homes again as before. His purpose was good
in every way and he came to be worthy of many commendations, giving back the
city to its inhabitants, and restoring everything to how it was before],
Anagnostes, Narratio, pp. 518–19.
25. Anagnostes, Narratio, pp. 518–19, as above.
26. Ibid., p. 525.
27. Ibid., p. 525.
28. Ibid., p. 526.
29. In Anagnostes, Monodia:

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 Ú pØr lacmŸtidor tqÁpom e²r –autm ‡pamtar e¼kjem [o, how like a
compass (the city) attracted everyone to itself], p. 530.
Ý wqÁme [o time], p. 530.
Ý pÁkir [o city], pp. 530–1.
Ú pØr sou tm pqμm eÇjosl´am v©qgsai [o how you lost your previous
gracefulness], p. 531.
Ý paqÁmter [o present listeners], p. 531.
Ú pq‚clator n—mou [o foreign incident], p. 532.
Ý heoË mow [o tolerance of god], p. 532.
Ú tÁpym heâ vysiyl—mym [o places dedicated to god], p. 533.
Ú pØr À t¡r eÇgleq´ar l¶m jaiqÂr •pih—seyr jaμ jatadqol¡r
c—come [o, how the time of prosperity has become one of attack and raid], 533.
30. Ibid., p. 529.
31. Ibid., p. 533.
32. Ibid., p. 530.
33. Ibid., p. 530.
34. Ibid., p. 533.
35. Ibid., p. 532.
36. Ibid., p. 530.
37. Ibid., p. 531.
38. Anagnostes, Monodia, p. 531.
39. For thin darkness: cf. Isaiah 42:16: ‘And I will bring the blind by a way that they
knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make
darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do
unto them, and not forsake them.’; cf. Isaiah 45:7: ‘I form the light, and create
darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things.’; cf. Amos
8:9: ‘And it shall come to pass in that day, saith the Lord God, that I will cause
the sun to go down at noon, and I will darken the earth in the clear day’; cf.
Zechariah 14:6: ‘And it shall come to pass in that day, that the light shall not be
clear, nor dark’.
40. Ibid., p. 530.
41. Ibid., p. 533.
42. Ibid., p. 531.
43. Ibid., p. 532.
44. Ibid.. Cf. the expression ‘n—mom t—qar’ [unfamiliar monster] in Doukas, p. 200.
45. Anagnostes, Monodia, p. 532.
46. Ibid., p. 533.
47. Ibid.. Cf. Leviticus 26.
48. Cf. also:‘t pk¡hor tØm let—qym svakl‚tym’ [the multitude of our own
errors], Anagnostes, Narratio, p. 521; ‘pokkƒ cƒq •lautâ sumecmyj×r
pta´slata, t¡r p tØm sØm kitØm d—olai boghe´ar e²r tm toÉtym
pÁmixim ’ [because I am aware of many faults in myself, and I pray for the help
of your entreaties in their cleansing], ibid., 528; ‘diƒ tƒr laqt´ar lØm’ [for
our own sins], Doukas, p. 200. There is a glimmer of hope in Anagnostes’s mind,

178
 when he writes that perhaps things may change for the better lesiteÉsamtor
toË ledapoË tqopaioÉwou jaμ l‚qtuqor [with the mediation of our
native-born trophy winner and martyr]. Anagnostes, Narratio, p. 527. This
window of optimism is a recognisable characteristic in Greek laments, when
those refer to the destruction or fall of a city. There is a vague hope expressed
that things will one day change, and return to their former state of happiness.
This underlying hope within grief is often reflected musically, even when there is
only fleeting reference to it in the text of a poem. Their equivalent pieces written
for lamenting the death of a person are totally immersed in anguish and torment,
and they offer no consolation whatsoever. An archetypal example of this is the
lamentation of Hector at the end of the Iliad, which the women take in turns.
49. Anagnostes, Monodia, p. 534.

179
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Glossary

acheiropoietos: ‘not made by human hands’.

ambrosia: what the gods ate.
apostrophê: a grammatical phenomenon which takes place when the
author talks to a character in a work directly in the second person.
It is a Homeric technique.
a p p a n a g e : a city-state with its hinterland being ruled as an
autonomous unit with only loose connections to its capital.
Argives: a collective name to describe the Greek army in the Iliad.
They are also called Acheans and Danaeans.
aristeia: excellence. A formal term, it was particularly used by the
Alexandrian philologists to denote specific sections showing
virtue in battle desplayed by Homeric heroes. Aristeus was a term
used for Christian martyrs.
athlete of Christ: the metaphor of physical excellence is extended to
the pursuit of the death for Christ.
athlophoros: prize-bearer; an epithet of the saint.
basileus: what the emperor was called in Byzantium.
basilica: initially a Roman building, later a Church of the same
architectural features. The Church of St Demetrius in
Thessalonica is a basilica.
‘Christi Athleta’: the Crusader wording for the ‘athlete of Christ’.
Christo-centric: the methodological approach which places the person
of Christ at the centre of all theology.
Daughter: in Greek, korê. It means maiden. It is often used today to
describe Cycladic idols but in the context of Byzantine literature
it normally refers to Persephone, daughter of the goddess of
agriculture, Demeter.
Demetria: the name of the festival of St Demetrius.
despoina: meaning lady. A title of an Augusta and also, as Despoina, a
name of the Virgin Mary.

203
despotes: meaning master. A title for a ruler and also, as Despotes, a
name for Jesus. In Modern Greek, also another word for a
Bishop.
diaulos: the middle ancient Greek measure for running athletes. The
order is: stadion, diaulos, dolichos.
Digenes Akrites: the hero of the eponymous Greek folk-epic about life
in the Borders of the empire.
diphrêlasia: an ancient Greek form of charioteering immortalised in
the Odes of Pindar.
double-edged sword (v‚scamom …lvgjer): a descriptive term in
Homer which takes a spiritual twist in the encomia.
fruit-bearing (jaqpoË voq‚): borrowed from a passage on a treatise
regarding plants by Theophrastus, the phrase is used in the
encomia with a spiritual dimension.
Hades: the underworld of the Ancient Greeks. The term is also used
by Christian writers.
hesychia: the monastic practice of contemplative prayer.
hieromenia: the ancient Greek word for the holy month. It is
encountered in Thucydides (also see holy month).
himerodromos: ‘day-runner’. A messanger who had to run all day to
deliver an important message. Pheidippides, to whose honour we
run marathons nowadays, was not an athlete but an
himerodromos.
Hodegetria: an epithet of the Virgin Mary (meaning Leader).
Glykophiloussa (the sweet-kissing One), Platytera Ouranon or
simply Platytera (the One who is wider than the Heavens),
Eleoussa (the all-Merciful), Perivleptos (the One who can be
observed from everywhere) are other popular epithets that adorn
her in literature and hymnography.
holy month: an ancient Greek term which denoted truce. In the context
of the cult of St Demetrius it is the month of October.
Holy Week of St Demetrius: the festival of the saint modelled on the
Holy Week.
iatros aristos: a perfect physician; refers to the powers of the saint to
heal. Apart from the medical saints (Anargyroi) such as St
Cosmas and Damian, St Panteleimon and St Tryphon, other
saints have been referred to in this way. Cf. St Anastasia

204
 Pharmakolytria (the one who makes poisonous bitterness
disappear; also see pharmakon nepenthes).
Kataphyge: meaning refuge; refers to a specific location of the saint’s
martyrdom, probably the Church of the Acheiropoietos.
kratos: strength.
lance: symbolic of the Passion of the Lord and important in St
Demetrius’s legend (also see spear).
Lemnian: an epithet of Athena, who had a strong cult in Lemnos.
lyaeus: descriptive adjective of a follower of the rituals of Dionysus.
Marathon: the site of the Battle of Marathon from which the running
event of the modern Olympic Games takes its name.
Megalomartys: the Great Martyr; an epithet of the saint.
myron: variously described as myrrh and nard.
nectar: what the gods drank.
pharmakon nepenthes: a medicine which takes away the sorrows. The
term describes a drink in the Odyssey shared by Telemachus,
Menelaus and Helen in the palace in Sparta, on the occasion of
Telemachus's visit in search of news of his father, Odysseus. The
term has been used in modern poetry by Baudelaire and
Karyotakis.
philotimia: love of honour, ambition. Other meanings of the word
include the undertaking of public service and indulgence in
superfluous luxuries.
proeortia: the eve of a feast day.
proteleia: preliminary rites and sacrifices; these can take place before
a wedding, in which case they are called pqoc‚leia.
spear: the piercing of the saint signifies that Demetrius is a type for
Christ.
Synodikon: a Church book that describes the rituals.
therapon: a Homeric word for an affectionate companion who serves a
hero.
usury: money-lending; it was frowned upon in the Middle Ages.
wrath of Achilles: the subject matter of the Iliad.

205
Index

In this index I have listed persons under the name by which they are referred
to the most in the text. In that I have chosen clarity over consistency.

26 October, the feast of St Demetrius Andromache, 38

15, 96, 130, 131 Andromachus of Crete, 41
27 October, the feast of St Nestor, 30 Andronikos II Palaiologos, 17, 20, 29,
39
Aaron, 69 Andronikos III Palaiologos, 17
Abydos, 14 Andronikos IV Palaiologos, 18, 117
Achaeans, 53 Andronikos, Despot of Thessalonica,
Acheiropoietos, Church of, 15, 31, 19, 77, 117, 118, 119, 120
50, 51, 52, 70, 97, 98, 99, 100, Andronikos Kallistos, 130
101, 102, 129 Ankara, 21, 24, 33, 111
Achilles, (the Homeric hero), 38, 40, Anna of Savoy 17, 20, 22
46, 52, 53 Anonymous author of vita, 12
Achilles, (the eponymous character of anthypatos, 56
The Achilleid), 38 Antigone, 42, 48, 49
Adrianople, 18, 21 Antioch, 28, 60, 121
Aegina, 46 Antirrhetica, 65
Aeneas, 42 Apelles, 61
Aeschylus, 37, 46 Aphrodite, 59, 61
Aesop, 65 Aphrodite in the Gardens, 61
Against Gregoras, 39 Aphrodite of Cnidus, 61
Against Meidias, 45 Apokaukoi, 20
Agamemnon, 45, 46 Apollo, 59
Agesilaus, 39 Apology of Socrates, The, 51
Air (four elements), 59 apostrophê, 76
Alcamenes, 58, 61 appanage, 17, 18
Alexander the Great, 30, 35, 43, 48, Appian, 40, 46
79, 80, 93, 131, 148 Arabic lands, the, 84
Alexander, son of Priam (Paris), 24 Arabs, 14, 21
Alexandrian philologists, 40 Ares, 57
Alexios I Komnenos, 14 Argives, 46
Alexios Apokaukos, 20 Aristoclides, 46
Ambrose of Milan, St, 87 aristocracy, 19, 22
ambrosia, 51 Aristotle, 37, 39, 45, 47, 53
Amphytrion, 50 Arrian, 48
ancient Greek tragedy, 87 Artemis, 59

207
Asclepiades, son of Hipparchus, 48 Clio, 58
Athanasius the Great, 71 coins, 21, 24, 129
Athena, 61 Colossus of Rhodes, 50
Athens, 7, 45, 49, 51, 61 Commentary on the Divine Liturgy,
athlete, 65, 71, 73, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 32
80, 81, 85 Constantine Palaiologos (1261–
athlete of Christ, 65, 71, 73, 75 1306), 17
athlophoros, 11 Constantine Ivankos, 26
Augustine, St, 34 Constantinople
autonomy, 10, 19, 103, 124 Monastery of St Demetrius, 14, 20
Avars, 14 Monastery of St John Stoudios, 20
Monastery of St Saviour in Chora,
Balkan Wars, 131 29
Bardas Phokas, 14 Constantius Chlorus, 11
Barlaam, 26 Corfu, 130
Basil II, 14 Council of Florence, 34
Basil, St, 65, 71 Crassus, 44, 45
Basil Digenes Akrites, 10, 13, 14 Creon, 42, 49
basileus, 24, 96 Cronos, 57
basilica, 12, 15, 95, 115, 129 Cumans, 14
Bayezid, 23, 24, 33 cyclic theme, 98
Bertrandon de la Broquière, 129 Cyprus, 121
betrothal, 94 Cyriac of Ancona, 129
Bohemond, 14, 75 Cyril of Alexandria, 71
Bringer of Light, 59 Cyropaideia, 42
Bulgars, 16, 21 Cyrus, 42
Bürak, son of Evren, 22
Daughter (i.e. Persephone), 59
Calchas, 45 David, Psalmist, the, 13, 30, 67, 148
Calliope, 58 De Consolatione ad Polybium, 50
Canon, 102 deer, 108
Carthaginians, 41 deities of the Sea, 59
Cassandra, 58 deity, 16, 34
Castor, 50 Demades, 48
Caucasus, 84 Demeter, 16, 59
Chalcedon, 33 Demetria, 16
Charmides, 51 Demetrius Chrysoloras, 33, 34, 36,
‘Christi Athleta’, 75 37, 54, 63, 65, 71, 80, 95, 114,
Christian life, the, 41, 66, 72, 73, 81, 115
85, 107, 125 Demetrius Palaiologos, Despot of
Christo-centric, 87 Thessalonica, 20
civil war, 20, 114 Demetrius Sgouropoulos, 130
Civil Wars, The, 46 demi-gods, 58, 59
class (tensions and divisions), 21, 22 Demosthenes, 34, 45, 46
classical Athens, 87 Depiction of Spring in a Dyed, Woven
Clement of Alexandria, 71 Hanging, 63

208
Description of Greece, 49 Gabriel of Thessalonica, 33, 35, 66,
despoina, 17 71, 111
despotes, 18, 19 Galen, 41
diaulos, 49 Galerius, 11, 12
Digenes Akrites, see Basil Digenes Gallipoli, 21
Akrites Gattilusi of Lesvos, 19
Diocletian, 11 George, St, 11, 13
Diodorus of Sicily, 49 Gesta Francorum, 75
Diogenes of Sinope, cynic Gibraltar, 84
philosopher, 43, 44, 93 government, 9, 17, 19, 22
Diomedes, son of Tydeus, 40, 42, 48, Granada, fall of, 129
70 Grand Logothete, 29
diphrêlasia, 49 Gregorios of Thessalonica,
distorting mirror (alas!), 36 Metropolitan, 130
Dorians, 46 Gregory of Nazianzus, 63, 71
double-edged sword, 48 Gregory of Neocaesarea, 71
Doukas, 23, 24, 122, 124, 125 Gregory of Nyssa, 71

Earth, 59 Hades, 48
Egypt, 68, 84, 121 Hadji Khalfa, 130
Eirene (Yolanda of Montferrat), 17 Hadrian, 60
Electra, 50 Hannibal, 44
Enquiry into Plants, 47 harmonic laws, 96
Ephraem the Syrian, 71 Hector, 38
Epidaurus, 46 Hephaestus, 59, 61
Epistle to the Romans, 53 Hera, 59, 61
Epitome Kanonon, 31 Hercules, 12, 50
Essays in Portraiture, 60 Herculius, 11, 12
Eteocles, 49 heresy, 31, 55
Ethics, 52 Hermes, 59
Euclid, 34 Hermogenes of Tarsus, 37
Euripides, 37, 46, 53 Herodotus, 37, 40, 48, 49
Europe, 21 Hesiod, 36, 41
Eustathios Voilas, 65 hesychasm, 21, 26, 131
Euthydemus, 41, 70 hesychia, 26
exemptions, 19 Hexabiblos or Procheiron Nomôn, 31
Hexameron, 65
fasting, 31, 90 hieromenia, 46
Fire, 59 himerodromos, 49
First Crusade, 28 History by Gregoras, 46, 52
four seasons, 96, 104 Hodegetria, 98
Francesco II Gattilusio, 19 Holy Week, 87, 90
fruit-bearing, 47 holy month of Nemea, the, 46
holy month, the, 46, 91, 92
Homer, 34, 36, 37, 38, 48, 52, 53, 65,
76

209
iatros aristos, 55 Ladder of Divine Ascent, The, 73
Iliad, 37, 38, 40, 42, 48, 76 lance, 108, 148
Imagines, 60, 62 Larissa, 14
Imitator of Christ, 28 Latin rule, 16, 121
independence, 16, 18, 19, 22 Laws, 40, 46
inner, 26, 41, 79, 106 Lemnian (epithet of Athena), 58
inner learning, 26 Lemnos, 24, 61
Iolaus, 50 Lent, 85, 99
Iphigenia, 45, 46 Leon Allatius of Chios, 31
Iphigenia in Aulis, 45, 46 Leontaris, Demetrius Laskaris, 19,
Isaiah, Prophet, 65, 67 117
Isidore Glavas, 32, 33, 35, 65, 107, 108 Lesvos, 19
Isidore I Boucheiras, 76 Libanius, 63
Ismene, 49 Libya, 84
Isocrates, 37, 48 Life in Christ, The, 32
Isthmian Games, 72 liturgy, 63, 121
Isthmian Ode, 50 London, 9, 130, 131
Italy, 23, 117, 130 Loupos, companion saint of
Demetrius, 13, 42, 53
Janus Laskaris, 130 love of Christ, 32, 78, 108
Jeremiah, Prophet, 70, 112 Lucian, 34, 37, 60, 61, 62, 65
Jerusalem, 68, 86, 112, 113, 121 Lucius Verus, 60
Job, 44 Luke Spandounes, 130
John Chortasmenos, 34 Lyaeus (gladiator), 13, 42, 70, 76, 78,
John Chrysostom, 71, 72, 73 80
John Damascene, 71 lyaeus (descriptive adjective), 53
John Klimakos, 26, 71, 73 Lycinus, 60
John Laskaris, 14
John Moschos, 130 Macedonia, 17, 18, 43, 44
John Pediasimos Pothos, 38 Makarios Choumnos, 32, 33, 35, 71,
John V Palaiologos, 17, 18 75, 105
John VII Palaiologos, 19, 21, 23, 34, Manastras, 14
114, 116, 117 Manuel Chrysoloras, 33, 61
John VIII Palaiologos, 114, 119, 120 Manuel Laskaris, 130
Joseph, in Egypt, 68 Manuel Moschopoulos, 38
Justinian II, 14 Manuel Philes, poet, 20
Marathon, 49
Kalekas, 16, 88 Marcus Aurelius, 11, 37, 60
Kalojan, 14 Matthew Laskaris, 130
Kastoria, Church of St Athanasios, 20 Mauias, 50
Kataphyge, 52, 98, 99 Maximian (in relation to the
Kavasilas, 12, 17, 23, 31, 32, 36, 53 martyrdom of Demetrius), 11, 12,
Kokkinos, 17, 31, 34, 35, 39, 71, 76, 13, 29, 34, 42, 48, 49, 54, 56, 58,
78, 81, 90 60, 61, 62, 80, 94
kratos, 54 Maximos and Kallistos
Kydones, Demetrius, 65 Xanthopoulos, 94

210
medieval king (Despot Andronikos Nomophylax, 30
as), 19 Normans, 21
Megalomartys, 11
Megas Dux, 20 Octavian, 46
Mehmed I, 28, 35 October (the saint’s month), 15, 35,
Menelaus, 45, 76 46, 91, 93, 97, 99, 131
Mercurius, 28 Odysseus, 40, 48
mesazon, 34 Odyssey, 40, 52
Methodios of Thessalonica, Olympian, 50, 51, 53
Metropolitan, 130 Olympus, 50, 51, 52
Metochites, Theodore, 29, 30, 35, 39, On the Causes of Plants, 47
41, 42, 43, 50, 70, 76, 81, 93, 105 On the Crown, 45
Michael (the Archangel), 28 on the nature of time, 29
Michael VIII Palaiologos, 14, 17 Orestes, 44, 50
Miracula, 12 Orpheus, 53
Miriam, 68 outer (learning), 26
Mistra, 9, 20
Church of the Mitropolis, 20
month of Carneus, the, 46 palace, 12, 31
Moon, 59 Palaiologan dynasty, 17
Moralia, 46 Palaiologan Renaissance, 29
Moses, 68, 126, 127 Panagia Acheiropoietos, also see
Mount Athos, 23, 27, 30, 116 Acheiropoietos Church of, 15
mourning, 87 Pandarus, 42
Murad I, 21 Panhellenic Games, 72
Murad II, 18, 21, 22, 127, 129 Panthea, 60, 61
‘my living Christ’, 59 Paris (son of Priam); also see
myrrh, 11, 15, 16, 20, 34, 48, 67, 70, Alexander, 40
89, 90, 93, 95, 107, 108, 109, 114, Paris (city), 63, 130
129 Passion, the, 28, 90
Patroclus, 40, 52, 53, 76
patron saint, 14, 20, 90, 131
Nea Moni (i.e. New Monastery), 32, Pausanias, 49
33, 105 Peloponnese, 20, 24
nectar, 51 Peripatetic school, 47
Nemean Games, 46 periphery, 19
Nemean Odes, 46 Persephone, 59
Neophytos the Recluse, 74 Peter Deljan, 14
nephew of Manuel II, see John VII pharmakon nepenthes, 109
Palaiologos Pheidippides, 49
Nero, 41, 50 Phidias, 61
Nestor, companion saint of Philip II, King of Macedonia, 43, 44
Demetrius, 13, 15, 42, 53, 70, 76, philotimia, 44
78 Phocion, 48
Nicholas Isidoros, 130 Photios, 12
Nicomachean Ethics, 45 Pindar, 36, 46, 50
Niketas Choniates, 61 Plataeans, 46

211
Plato, 37, 40, 41, 46, 48, 49, 51, 53, separatism, 19
56, 65, 70 Serres, 19, 35
Plato, uncle (of Theodore of Shiny One, 59
Stoudios), 74 Sicilian Normans, 14, 16
pledge, 94 Sinope, 43
Plethon, George Gemistos, 130 Sirens, 52
Plutarch, 35, 44, 46, 48, 52, 53 Slavs, 11, 14, 21
Pluto, 59 Smyrna, 60
Polygnotus, 58 Socrates, 34, 51, 53
Polymnia, 58 Sophocles, 37, 40, 42, 49, 50
Polyneikes, 49 Sosandra (epithet of Aphrodite), 61
Polystratus, 60, 62 Spartans, 46
Polyxena, 38 spear, 76
Poseidon, 59, 72 spring and summer, 47
Praxiteles, 61 stephanitis, 99
proeortia, 97 Stephen, St, 99
Protagoras, 49, 51 Suleyman, son of Bayezid I, 24
protector, 14, 15, 20, 33, 54, 72, 112, Sun, 59
115 Symeon Metaphrastes, 12
Prytaneion, 51 Synodikon, 18, 166
psalmody, 110, 101 syntax, 31
Psalms, 65, 69 Syropoulos, Sylvester, 114
Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, 71
Ptolemy, 34 tax, 19, 130
Pylades, 44 Telesicrates of Cyrene, 50
Pythian Ode, 50 ten Attic Orators, the, 37
theatre stage, 87
Rea, 58 Thebans, 46
regency, 19 Theodore I Palaiologos, despot of the
relics, 16, 94 Morea, 16
Romylos, St, 76 Theodore II Palaiologos, son of
Manuel II, 16
sailors, 72 Theodore Gazes, 130
Salonica, City of Ghosts, 131 Theodore of Stoudios, 74
Scholarios, George (Patriarch Genna- Theodore Stratelates, St, 13
dios II), 34, 35, 71, 76, 107, 108 Theodore Tyron, St, 13
Scipio, 40, 44 Theophanes Confessor, 50
Scipio Aemilianus Africanus, 44 Theophrastus, 47
Scipio Africanus, 44 therapon, 52
Scyths, 111 Thessaly, 19
sea, 18, 19, 55, 59, 90, 106, 107, 109, Thessalonica, Church of Christ
115 (of the Transfiguration of the
sea-god Palaemon, 72 Saviour), 16
seasons of nature, the, 47 Thrace, 17
Semiramis, Queen of Babylon, 44 Thrasymedes, 48
Seneca the Younger, 50 Thucydides, 37, 46

212
Timarion, 16, 85 Works and Days, 41
Tiresias, 42 wrath of Achilles, the, 48
tomb, 11, 15, 16, 20, 34, 93, 114, 117
Transfiguration, 26 Xenophon, 39, 42, 56
Triads in Defence of the Holy Xerxes, 44
Hesychasts, 30 Xiphilinos, 65
Trnovo, 16
Troy, 46
Yiannitsa, 131
Union of the Churches, 34
usury, 22, 23, 32 Zealot, 18, 20, 22
Zeus, 95, 96
Zeuxis, 61
vassal status, 18
Virgin in prayer, 98
Virgin Mary, 15, 52, 70, 98, 99, 126

213
Byzantine and Neohellenic Studies
Edited by
Andrew Louth, Professor of Patristic and Byzantine Studies,
University of Durham.
David Ricks, Professor of Modern Greek and Comparative Literature,
King’s College London.

This series encompasses the religion, culture, history, and literary

production of the Greek-speaking world and its neighbours from
the fourth century AD to the present. It aims to provide a forum for
original scholarly work in any of these fields, covering cultures as
diverse as Late Antiquity, the Byzantine empire, the Venetian empire,
the Christian communities under Ottoman rule, and the modern
nation states of Greece and Cyprus. Submissions in English are
welcomed in the form of monographs, annotated editions, or
collections of papers.

Volume 1 Anthony Hirst, God and the Poetic Ego:

The Appropriation of Biblical and Liturgical Language in the Poetry of
Palamas, Sikelianos and Elytis.
425 pages. 2004. ISBN 3-03910-327-X

Volume 2 Hieromonk Patapios and Archbishop Chrysostomos, Manna from Athos:

The Issue of Frequent Communion on the Holy Mountain in the Late
Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Centuries.
187 pages. 2006. ISBN 3-03910-722-4
Volume 3 Liana Giannakopoulou, The Power of Pygmalion:
Ancient Greek Sculpture in Modern Greek Poetry, 1860-1960.
340 pages. 2007. ISBN 978-3-03910-752-0

Volume 4 Irene Loulakaki-Moore, Seferis and Elytis as Translators.

392 pages. 2010. ISBN 978-3-03911-918-9

Volume 5 Forthcoming.

Volume 6 Eugenia Russell, St Demetrius of Thessalonica:

Cult and Devotion in the Middle Ages.
213 pages. 2010. ISBN 978-3-0343-0181-7