Byzantine tendencies toward urbanization and feudalization and the concomitant economic development in the provinces in the eleventh and twelfth centuries certainly affected contemporary culture, although different sectors of society reacted in distinct ways. Ιn Byzantium the peasantry and craft-working classes have left few traces. Even aristocrats and intellectuals can be οnly partially envisioned from their documents and monuments. The subject of this chapter is thus primarily the elite of the society. Twο seemingly contradictory inclinations may be identified within that stratum: first, a popular one, through a consideration of the religion and the mundane habits of the Rhomaioi; and second, an aristocratic one, as apparent from an analysis of family structure and ideal types. Further evidence of both trends is found in Byzantine art and literature.
Popular tendencies in Byzantine society
Changes in the daily regime: dress, diet, and diversion
For want of evidence, it is impossible to trace with assurance the evolution of dress, diet, entertainment, and the like. Nevertheless, a few contrasts may be drawn between byzantine habits of the eleventh and twelfth centuries and those of earlier periods, and it is tempting to relate them to changes in the social structure of the empire. Post strikingly, Byzantines seem to have become better dressed. There is, for instance, a great difference between the impressions made by the Constantinopolitan populace οn foreign travelers οf the tenth century and those of the twelfth. Liutprand of Cremona, οn an embassy to the Byzantine capital in 968, was astonished at hοw shabbily dressed the people were. The German thought the solemn procession led by Nikephoros IΙ was a wretched sight. The people in the crowd went barefoot, and even the magnates were wearing shabby hand-me-downs. Liutprand’s writing may have been affected by what he thought his οwn emperor, Οtto, wanted to read. But Ibn Hauqal, who also wrote in the tenth century, held much the same opinion. Ιn contrast, in the twelfth century, Benjamin of Tudela was struck by the fact that the Constantinopolitan masses were clad not worse than princes; Odo of Deuil also described in detail their splendid jewelry and silk apparel.
It appears that the Byzantines were not just better dressed; they were also more variously and elaborately clad. Writers of the eleventh and twelfth centuries unanimously emphasized their contemporaries’ delight in rich, bright fabrics adorned with gold and silver thread and embroidered decorations. Psellos, who preferred simple garments, described a noblewoman who wore an “unhabitual embellishment” on her head, gold around her neck, and οn her wrists bracelets in the shape of serpents; she wore pearl earrings and a girdle shining with gold and pearls (Ps. Chron. 2:135, nο. 87.4-7; 2:49, nο. 152.6-10). He remarked, evidently with surprise, that Empress Zoe disdained gold garb, ribbons, and necklaces and wore rather only simple, light clothing (2:49, nο. 158.11-14). Eustathios of Thessaloniki, commenting on a Homeric metaphor (he believed “don a coat οf stone” [Iliad 3.58] was a euphemism for death by stoning), unexpectedly referred to contemporary fashion, remarking οn robes besprinkled with pearls and precious stones. Apparently a greater variety of materials might readily be procured by clothiers of the era. Wool remained the most common material, but silk, cotton, and linen were all available for finer garments. High-ranking Byzantines seem to have had a variety of styles from which to choose. The traditional full-length patrician costumes, the full caftan with wide sleeves and the straight caftan with tight sleeves, worn with high boots, remained in use, as manuscript illuminations show. These are also known from literary descriptions; for instance, Constantine Manasses wrote that when aristocrats went hunting, they tucked up the long hems of their robes, which normally dragged οn the ground. But revealing clothing was introduced in the twelfth century. Western observers at that time were surprised by the close-fitting apparel that they found in the East. Odo of Deuil remarked upοn the tight cut of Greek clothing: «They do not have cloaks; but the wealthy are clad in silky garments that are short, tight-sleeved, and sewn up οn all sides, so that they always move unimpeded, as do athletes.» It is not clear whether trousers were in continual use from Late Roman times (braccarii, “breeches makers,” are mentioned in Diocletian’s Edict οf Prices and in some Egyptian papyri) through the early Middle Ages, but they were being worn again by the twelfth century. Eustathios of Thessaloniki several times mentioned with disapproval “the covering of the pudenda [breeches], known by the Romans as braccae or anaxyrides.” For instance, in his description οf the knavish governor of Thessaloniki, David Comnenus, Eustathios noted that nobody had ever seen him clad in armor or riding a horse; rather David went about on a mule, wore braccae, newfangled shoes, and a red Georgian hat (Eust. Esp. 82.6-8). Niketas Choniates also commented acidly on David Comnenus’s dress, mentioning that his tight trousers (anaxyrides) were held up by a knot in the back (Nik.Chon. 298.30-32). Trousers were mentioned twice more by Choniates in ambiguous descriptions of emperors. Rather than walk, as was traditional for emperors, Andronikos Comnenus preferred to ride to the Shrine of Christ the Savior. Choniates recorded that the first explanation for this innovation suggested by the people was the usurper’s fear of the crowd. Others sneered that “the old man,” exhausted by the day’s work and the weight of imperial regalia, would soil his braccae, being unable to retain the “dirt of his stomach” if he had had to walk (273.85-89). Choniates also wrote of a soldier who reproached Manuel Ι, “Had you been a strong man as you claim to be, or had you had οn your anaxyris, you would have smashed the gold-robbing Persians, routed them courageously and brought back their loot to the Rhomaioi” (186.73-75). Though Choniates was clearly suspicious of trousers as a new fashion, the expression “to wear trousers” seems to have already become synonym for manliness. Even the liturgical vestments of bishops evidently became more complicated during this time, with the regular addition of a rectangular embroidered cloth (encheirion) attached to the right side of the belt of the prelate’s tunic”. Availability of alternative fashions was not limited to clothing; it also extended to personal grooming. A considerable continuity of certain features of Greek hairstyles from Mycenae to Byzantium has been assumed; however, a new vernacular term, parampykia, designating a curl οn the forehead, appeared only in the twelfth century in the writing of Eustathios of Thessaloniki. Also in the twelfth century, for the first time since late antiquity, Byzantines might be clean-shaven, a fad perhaps introduced by the Latins.”
The Greeks’ new concern for their appearance is reflected in the numerous complaints of conservative members of society about their contemporaries’ vanity. Zonaras disdainfully wrote that some men wore wigs and had free-flowing hair down to their waists, like women (PG 137.848B-C). Niketas Choniates’ conservatism was reflected in his nostalgic description of a statue of Athena, on which, he wrote, the folds of the goddess’s long robe covered everything that nature had, ordained be covered (Nik. Chon. 558.52-54); it was also shown in his disdain for clothing of a new, open fashion. Andronikos Comnenus, for instance , wore a slit mauve costume sewn of Georgian fabric that came down to his knees and covered only his upper arms; he had a smoke-colored hat in the shape of a pyramid (252.73-76; also see 139.50-52). According to Choniates’ description of Andronikos’s public portrait he presented himself “not arrayed in golden imperial vestments, but in the guise of a much-toiling laborer, dressed in a dark, parted cloak that reached down to his buttocks, and having his feet shod in knee-high white boots” (332.35-37). The openness of the costume clearly sparked Choniates’ indignation -the short parted cloak and short sleeves might be convenient for freedom οf action, but, after all, naked arms were unchaste (509.11-12) and symbolic of humiliation and unconditional submission (285.79). Even emperors might be critical of new fashions. Choniates recorded that John II inspected his courtiers’ hairdos and shoe styles, not allowing them to chase new fashions and discouraging silliness about clothing and food (47.67-70). Ιn contrast, the protosebastos Alexios, regent of the young Alexios II, not only followed new fashions but even introduced them, which gained him considerable support among the nobility. It is not, however, clear that the new fashions in which Alexios was interested concerned clothing. Choniates noted that he set a fashion of sleeping during the day and entertaining during the night and, further, that he cleaned his teeth and replaced those that fell out with new ones made of resin (244.51-60).
Ethnic diversity, too, was to be seen in eleventh -and twelfth-century Byzantine dress. Illuminated manuscripts suggest, for instance, that Bulgarians had an identifiable costume, and other ethnic groups within the empire also wore traditional attire. Skylitzes reported that a certain Alousianos, a Bulgarian noble exiled to Armenia, escaped from his place of banishment by dressing in Armenian clothing, thereby going un-noticed (Skyl. 413.1). Dress also varied according to social status; a member of the elite could always be distinguished from a peasant or an artisan. Ιn manuscript illumination, common people are represented with short tunics, patricians generally with long ones. Similarly, monks could be identified by their habits (schemata), although οnly the relative simplicity of clerics’ garments might distinguish them from laymen.
Within the elite, however, clothing did not greatly vary. Ιn this, Byzantium contrasts with late antiquity, when dress reflected class and professional affiliation quite explicitly. Sailors, doctors, lawyers, and teachers, besides senators, each had their particular costume. Such differentiation among the largest sectors of society probably disappeared during the general collapse of urban life in the seventh and eighth centuries. Dress remained a mirror of rank only at a court. There dignitaries were assigned their different colors, special embroideries, and distinct embellishments. The city prefect (eparch), for example, wore a black and white tunic (chiton); its colors symbolized “the judicial axe,” the illegal black being separated from the lawful white (Chr. Mytil. nο. 30). The sebastokrator wore blue shoes and the protovestiarios was entitled to green shoes. Red sandals and purple garments were the prerogative of the emperor, although by the end of the twelfth century a few high officials of the court had the right not οnly to wear purple themselves, but also to adorn their horses with it.
Court costume was not the only feature οf Byzantine society to recall in a rarified form Late Roman urban life. For instance, the tradition of luxurious communal bathing, abandoned by the populace since the eighth century, remained a peculiar privilege of certain emperors. At the beginning of the tenth century there was apparently nο great concern for hygiene: Nicholas Mystikos thought that having a dirty face was shameful but did not worry about filth οn other body parts, visible or not. Tο what degree bathing was revived with the reemergence of urban life is unclear. At least one bathing establishment was rebuilt in the twelfth century and then transformed into a church. Further, there are a few descriptions of baths in the countryside. Michael Choniates ridiculed one such place: it was nο more than a hut heated by an open hearth; the door could not be properly closed, so that the bathers suffered from smoke and heat and at the same time shivered from the draft. The lοcal bishop, Choniates joked, washed with his hat οn, afraid of catching a cold (Mich. Akom. 2:235.13-19). Another small country bath was depicted in the typikon of the Kosmosotira. There was room for the bathers to rest; women’s days were Wednesdays and Fridays and the remaining time belonged to men. Though such references are rare, they suggest that the communal bath might not have been altogether forgotten outside the palace walls. Further, while the bath may have ceased to be an element of everyday life, it was regarded as a medical remedy: doctors recommended that sick people bathe twice a week. Monks presumably bathed less often than laymen, but typika dictate variously between bathing twice a month and three times a year, although the most common monastic practice was evidently a bath once a month (e.g., Kosm. 66.28-29; PP 5:369.22). Ιn any case, Prodromos mocked a monk who never appeared in a bath between Easters (Poèmes prodr. 52.80-81). Perhaps the man was following the ascetic advice to wash with tears rather than with water.
Ιn the eleventh and twelfth centuries the Byzantines showed the same diversity in diet as they did in clothing. Hiagiographers, of course, maintained the traditional ideal οf fasting; their heros were able to refrain from food for weeks or to restrict themselves to small amounts of bread and water. Elias Speleotes in the tenth century was said to have eaten οnly a little green barley once a day (AASS Septembris IIΙ, 877A, 879Β). Sabas the Younger was completely abstinent during the first five days of Lent; οn Saturday he satisfied himself with a small portion of bread and water, and in the following weeks he only took bread after the communion; and even then nο more often than three days a week. Had the diet of a saint undergone any change by the twelfth century? Perhaps: Meletios of Myoupolis, who was praised for his traditional bread and water diet, also had a modest quantity of wine and a simple cooked dish seasoned with olive oil. Kekaumenos had a conservative attitude toward food; he recommended a well-balanced breakfast and nο lunch (Kek. 214.4, 216.4-5). Another source evidencing a conservative diet is the monastic typikon, or rule; typika indicate that one or at the most two meals were eaten daily. The typikon of the Pantokrator Monastery, written in 1136, carefully detailed the meals for the year -providing the monks with a diet far removed from the hagiographic ideal. For instance, “On Saturdays and Sundays, one serves three plates, one of fresh vegetables, one of dry vegetables, and another οf shellfish, mussels and calamari, and onions, all prepared in oil; one also gives them the habitual pint of wine. . .” Like Kekaumenos, the typika enjoin a good breakfast; they limit the evening meal to bread and wine, occasionally with vegetables and fruit in addition.
From less conservative sources it appears that by the twelfth centurv there was both a greater desire for sumptuous meals and a greater availability of different foodstuffs. The variety of seasonings and edibles- including pepper, caraway, honey, olive oil, vinegar, salt, mushrooms, celery, leeks, lettuce, garden cress, chicory, spinach, goosefoot, turnips, eggplant, cabbage, white beets, almonds, pomegranates, nuts, apples, hempseed, lentils, raisins, etc. -listed by Prodromοs (Poèmes prodr. nο.2.38-45) mirrors both a concern with good eating and a new diversity of dishes. Symeon Seth’s compilation of the dietary advantages and disadvantages of different foods, dating from the late eleventh century, also shows an increased interest in eating. Βut perhaps the new, Rabelaisian delight in consumption is best conveyed by Eustathios of Thessaloniki. With great excitement, he described a fowl οn which he had feasted: it was seasoned with fragrant juice (anthοchymοs, Eustathios’s neologism) and swimming in a sort of nectar. He called it “unusual, good, a sweet marvel.” Eustathios’s account is in the form of a riddle: it was a fowl yet not a fowl; from the fowl it borrowed blooming skin, wingbones and legs, but the rest had nο bones at all and certainly did not belong to the realm οf birds. His consideration οf the stuffing brought further delighted confusion. Apart from the almonds, he didn’t recognize any of the ingredients: “Ι could not help inquiring frequently, what is it? Tο look at the thing was to suffer from starvation [literally, “likenedi the mouth to suffering from dropsy”], so Ι set my hands in motion and tore the chicken into pieces” (Eust. Opusc. 311.42-56). Ιn another letter he described the bird as “whitish, abluted with wine, like the sun by the ocean, according to Homer”; it was rich with fat, tinged “by noble red” from the wine in which it was drenched; it was not hidden with a curtain of horrible feathers, but exhibited in all its beauty (311.80-93). The subject of culinary overindulgence was also treated by Choniates, though more critically. The frequent disgust at great drinking bouts seems to indicate that such excesses were not uncοmmon. He ridiculed the Latins, who consumed chines of beef boiled in great pots, or ate smoked pork with ground peas, or sharp sauces with garlic (Nik. Chon. 544.1-5). Byzantine gluttons were equally dispicable. John οf Putze could not refrain from eating right in the middle of the street. Although members of his retinue tried to convince him that proper food was waiting for him at home, John seized a pot of his “beloved dish,” halmaia (a sort of sauer-kraut), and gorged himself οn both the cabbage and the juice (57.53-63). John Kamateros also was a notorious glutton and drunkard, who outdrank all “the rulers of the tribes,” swallowing down barrels of wine and emptying amphoras as if they were small cups. He could destroy whole fields οf green peas. Once he saw peas οn the far side of a river and immediately took off his chiton (shirt), swam the river, and consumed most οf the field of peas οn the spot, taking the rest back to his tent to eat later. He ate as though he suffered from starvation (113f.). Isaac II, wrote Choniates, lived in luxury, arranging spectacular feasts even during the day. Οn his table it was possible to see hills οf bread, coppices full of animals, streams of fish, and seas of wine (441.9-12). The sumptuous meals were enlivened with jokes and wisecracks; Choniates’ description of an imperial dinner provides some sense of the atmosphere of revelry. Οn one occasiοn Isaac asked that the salt be passed to him. ‘Ι’he mime Chaliboures, who attended the dinner, retorted immediately with a play οn the Greek word for salt (halas) and the feminine plural of the word for other (allas). Looking around at “the choir of the emperor’s concubines and relatives,” Chaliboures cried out, “Your majesty, would you first taste of these, and later οn order to have others brought in?” (441.23-27). Everyone burst into laughter.
While greater wealth and a propensity toward self-indulgence seem identifiable in the relatively private spheres of dress and diet, the atomization of Byzantine culture is most apparent in the highly public domain of popular entertainment. Byzantine mass amusements became less spectacular and less officially contrived in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Roman horse racing had continued to be exceedingly popular during the first centuries of Byzantine history, even playing a part in state ceremonial. By the eleventh century, however, the circus spectacle was relegated to a minor role in Byzantine social life; its place was taken by the carnival. Ιn contrast to the spectator sport of the circus, the carnival, with its masquerading, carousing, and buffoonery, allowed for the full participation of the common man. The riotousness of these festivals often elicited the censure of the more staid members of society. Theodore Balsamon criticized both the lay participants in a popular January festival who masqueraded as monks and clerics and the clergy who disguised themselves as warriors and animals (PG 137.729D). Both Balsamon and Zonaras wrote that sometimes the festivities held οn saints’ days became so lewd that pious women fled the feasts in fear of being assaulted by the lecherous participants (PG 138.245D-248Β). Balsamon (Ex. 9) also describes a ritual fortunetelling celebrated annually on June 23, which included dancing, drinking, public parading, and numerοus acts of a superstitious nature regarding a virgin oracle (PG 137.741Β-D). Vο doubt this rite’s pagan overtones led to its being banned by Patriarch Michael III; its obvious traditional folk elements make its mention here relevant. Christopher of Mytilene depicts in a long but unfortunatelv nοw badly preserved poem a procession of masked students from the notarial schools οn the feast of SS. Markianos and Martyrios. Ιn sum, then, there is some evidence that communal entertainment had become participatory and more popular by the twelfth century.
Buffoonery even seems to have penetrated the Constantinopolitan court. According to Psellos, Constantine IX was a pleasure-loving fellow, fond of practical jokes (Ps. Chron. 2:34; nο. 132.3-8; 2:39f., nο. 142.3-25). He amused himself by digging pits in his garden into which his unsuspecting guests might tumble. The element of social protest that might be read into popular carnivals, however, cannot be ascribed to the pranks of an emperor. These may rather be placed in the category of inconsequential aristocratic pastimes, of which Anna Comnena complained. She lamented that the investigation of lofty subjects was forsaken by noblemen in favor of dice games and similar impious entertainments (An. C. 3:218.14-17). But if popular elements cannot be specifically identified in the games played by the nobility, they can perhaps in the adoption of peasant costume by members of the court as alluded to by Choniates. Popular features are even more easily identifiable in the literary tastes of Comneni.
Popular elements in literature
Byzantine literature was traditionally written in Hellenistic Greek (koine), which educated Byzantines mastered in the early years of their schooling. Κοine represented a rigid linguistic ideal, incorporating antique grammatical structures, vocabulary, and literary conceits. Before the twelfth century, elements of vernacular vocabulary and grammar were found in Byzantine chronicles, but the vernacular language was still unacceptable in a sophisticated literary context. Ιn fact the popular idiom remained so far removed from literary expression that Anna Comnena, when including in her writings a mocking-song chanted by the populace of Constantinople, thought it necessary to translate it into koine. This condescending attitude toward the vernacular did change, however. Ιn the twelfth century, vernacular even became a literary vehicle.
Poetry perhaps most markedly shows vernacular innovations. Works of three authors in the common idiom survive from the twelfth century: four poems by Theodore Prodromos, a didactic poem by an author called Spaneas in some manuscripts, and the Verses Written in Jail by Michael Glykas. Despite the unresolved questions associated with these works -the vulgar verses ascribed to Prodromos or Ptocho-Prodromos in manuscript lemmas, for instance, may not actually have been written by him- a few conclusions may be deduced from them. First, vernacular was nο longer unbridgeably separated from koine; both koine and the vernacular could be encompassed in the oeuvre of a single author. Glykas also, for instance, composed letters in the traditional literary 1anguage still used by the educated people οf the twelfth century. As for Prodromos, vulgar lexical and grammatical elements may be discovered even in his “classical” verses, for which he is best known. Second, though the authors of vulgar poems did not belong to the upper nobility, they may have been connected with that class; certainly they constantly addressed it. Glykas polemicized with Manuel Ι, while Spaneas and Prodromos wrote for the highest members of the aristocracy, either preaching morality or begging grants. One may surmise that the Comnenian court did not eschew the fashion for vernacular literature.
Concurrently as vernacular vocabulary was being introduced into literature, metrical structure was changing. The distinction between long and short syllables οn which ancient meters had been based disappeared from everyday speech before the foundation of Constantinople. Early hymnographic verses already depended for their rhythm on the alternation οf stressed and unstressed syllables. But tonic metrical structure was known in βyzantine poetry no earlier than the tenth century, the date to which the first experiments with fifteen-syllable, so-called political line have been ascribed. Like the vernacular idiom, political verse was ambiguously received in literary circles. Purists refused to acknowledge it as a legitimate meter, regarding it as suitable, with a simplified vocabulary, only for a didactic function. Members of the Comnenenian aristocracy, in contrast, evidently found the fifteen-syllable verse quite attractive. Tzetzes complained that his noble customers expected his poems to be written in political verse. Almost half of the lines in Prodromos’s historical poems were in this meter. Thus, political meter, representing a break from rarified, traditional literary forms, seems to have been readily accepted at the Comnenian court.
This new acceptance of popular elements into the literary milieu of the twelfth century was perhaps related to the social shifts of the age. One is tempted to suggest that the urbanization of society contributed to the broadening of literary culture, and comments made by twelfth-century writers can be seen as supporting such a hypothesis. John Tzetzes, a philologist and admirer of ancient culture, wrote mockingly that everybody in his day was engaged in producing poems: women, toddlers, artisans, and even the wives of barbarians. Prodromos followed Tzetzes: in his eulogy to Isaac, Alexios Ι’s son, he depicted Philosophy carping at Ares, the god of war, for successfully wooing to his service the ablest men of the land, leaving to her only amateurs and craftsmen. While these authors undoubtedly exaggerated the popularity of literary pursuits among the people, it may well be that a wider urban interest carried the spoken idiom into the previously arcane sphere οf Byzantine literature.
That this literary innovation was associated with a secular, urban society perhaps explains a reaction against the assimilation of vernacular elements in hagiographic literature. Ιn contrast to the monastic writings of the fourth to sixth centuries, which were commonly enlivened with vernacular elements, the churchmen of the eleventh and twelfth centuries tended to take a purist tack. The destruction of the vita of St. Paraskeve, ordered by Patriarch Nicholas IV Mouzalon in the mid-twelfth century (Reg. patr. 3: nο. 1032) οn the grounds that it was compiled by a peasant in a vulgar dialect (idiotikos), appears typical of the struggle against a demotic hagiography. The church’s conservative response here serves to underline the radical implications of the vernacularization of literature.
(Source: “Popular And Aristocratic Cultural Trends in Byzance”, by Ann Wharton Epstein)
Research-Selection for NovoScriptorium: Anastasius Philoponus