السيرة الذاتية
للأستاذ الدكتور/ صبحي عبد المنعم محمد أبوزيد
صفحة علمية ببلوغرافية تهتم بنشر المصادر التاريخية والمراجع الحديثة والدوريات والرسائل العلمية (ماجستير - دكتوراه) الخاصة بتاريخ وآثار دولة المماليك في مصر والشام ، كما تهتم بنشر ما يتعلق بالتاريخ الإسلامى والحضارة الإسلامية عامة
السيرة الذاتية
للأستاذ الدكتور/ صبحي عبد المنعم محمد أبوزيد
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Download PDF | Norman Housley - Fighting for the Cross_ Crusading to the Holy Land-Yale University Press (2008).
392 Pages
PREFACE AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There are countless histories of the crusades to the Holy Land, but hardly any attempts have been made to describe what the practice of crusading meant for the men and women who engaged in it. This is astonishing because crusading generated a very large volume of eyewitness testimony. For generations the accounts that Geoffrey of Villehardouin and John of Joinville wrote about the Fourth and Seventh Crusades have been among the most widely read medieval texts.
They deserve their fame because they're exceptionally vivid and personal memoirs. But Villehardouin and Joinville are just the tip of the iceberg. Narratives, letters, poems, songs, sermons and treatises give us the means to reconstruct to a remarkable degree both the lived experience of crusading and the state of mind of participants. Wherever possible I ve allowed these sources to speak for themselves, using translations when they exist. The crusades have always been well served by translators and in recent years there's been a welcome growth in translations that are both accurate and accessible. The surviving texts are complemented by an unusually large quantity of striking visual evidence, as the illustrations reproduced here should demonstrate. Diacritical marks in oriental place and personal names present a constant issue for historians of crusading and Ive cut the Gordian knot by using none.
The people whose exploits and sufferings are described in this book all took the cross to fight for Jerusalem. Crusading was an extraordinarily diverse phenomenon and thousands took the cross to fight in areas of the medieval world that were far away from the Holy Land, against Muslims, pagans and heretics among others. But for various reasons their experience of crusading was different from that of the crusaders who fought in the East, so I ve made no attempt to bring them into this book. Exceptionally, I have included some of the fighting in Iberia, because it took place when crusaders were travelling to the Holy Land. I ve also been selective in my use of the evidence left by the settlers and military orders based in the East, because their experience and outlook were likely to be different from those of visiting crusaders. I'm grateful to Yale University Press for commissioning this book, to Heather McCallum for much helpful advice on it, and to the Press's readers for their detailed comments. The book is the fruit of three decades of reading, talking, teaching and writing about the crusades, and I can't begin to list the hundreds of colleagues and students who have shaped my thinking about the subject. To all of them I'm grateful.
But I want to single out for special thanks the series of PhD students supervised by Jonathan Riley-Smith whose theses I examined: Cassandra Chideock, Michael Lower, Christoph Maier, William Purkis, Rebecca Rist, Caroline Smith and Susanna Throop. Some of their theses have been published, and I hope that the others will soon join them. Between them these historians have made a fundamental contribution to how we should view the ideas and practices of crusading to the Holy Land. They've certainly taught me more than I can say.
Norman Housley University of Leicester
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Download PDF | Yaacov Lev - Saladin in Egypt (Medieval Mediterranean) (1999).
234 Pages
INTRODUCTION
a) Questions and the Sources
The main aim of this book is to discuss the waning of the Fatimid state and to examine Saladin's policies in Egypt, which created a new political and social order. At the beginning, it seemed a simple and straightforward matter, the sources abundant and freely avail- able. However, progress was hampered by problems with the source material. It became clear that most of our data on Saladin's ad- ministrative, fiscal, military and naval policies in Egypt are derived from a single source: the lost contemporary chronicle by Qadi al- Fadil. Only Saladin's religious policies are well attested to by a variety of the sources due to the rich late medieval biographical literature. Other sources contemporary with Saladin do provide information on his internal policies, but the data are beset by immense contradictions.
The difficulties with the sources are not a new problem. A number of scholars have devoted great effort in the attempt to understand and clarify these problems, and my own work relies much on their findings." The content of the book is shaped by the need to re-examine the sources and events that led to Saladin's rise to power in Egypt. It must be said that re-examination of the sources is frustrating and occasionally quite futile. Saladin is portrayed in diametrically opposed ways by his admirers and some of his critics, notably Ibn al-Athir. Our ability to penetrate beyond these contradictory ac- counts is seriously hampered by our limited understanding of the system of political and moral values that guided the men of the twelfth century.
Therefore, our ability to discern the hidden motives behind the conflicting presentations of Saladin is restricted. Chapter One reflects and deals with these difficulties. But the situation is not altogether hopeless. The obvious way out of such difficulties with conflicting and contradictory data is to employ sources which do not belong to the two opposing his torical traditions: of Saladin's admirers and his critics. Indeed, on some occasions, such independent fragments do exist and pro- vide an important corrective to sources biased one way or the other to Saladin. Most surprisingly some original documents cited in full in the literary sources remain neglected. A careful reading of them sheds much fresh light on the events under discussion.
These types of sources are utilized in Chapter Two. However, it is not only a question of sources but also of perspective. The second chapter is written from the point of view of Fatimid history. The years 1169-1171 constitute a chapter in Fatimid history as much as they offer a history of Saladin's rise to power. When the events of these years are also approached from the point of view of Fatimid realities a clearer picture of Saladin's intentions and policies emerges. The need to examine and re-examine the sources also looms large when Saladin's internal policies are examined (see Chapter Three). Frequently these policies are presented so as to accord with Saladin's image as a pious and just ruler and devoted war- rior of the Holy War. We must always be aware of the fact that Saladin's very real achievements-the victory at Hittin and the conquest of Jerusalem-had already been formed into a myth during his lifetime and this obliterated Saladin's personality and deeds. Only on rare occasions is the non-mythical Saladin dis cernable.
b) The Outlines of Political History, 1169-1174
The aim of this subsection is to provide a short account of the political history of the period 1169-1174 which will serve as an unifying term of reference for the whole book. The main events that took place in those years are referred to constantly in subse- quent chapters. During the 1060's Egypt became a battle ground between Fatimid military leaders, who fought with the help of foreign armies for the post of the vizier. Two regional powers became involved in the internal affairs of Egypt: Nur al-Din of Damascus and the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem.
From 1162, Fatimid politics were overshadowed by Shawar's bid for power. In that year, Shawar, the governor of Upper Egypt, established himself in Cairo and became the strong man behind the throne. But his triumph was short-lived; he was driven away from the capital by another con- tender for power, Dirgham. Shawar found refuge in Damascus at the court of Nur al-Din whom he persuaded to give military back- ing to his attempt to regain power in Egypt.
In April 1164, Shawar, supported by Nur al-Din's expeditionary force commanded by Shirkuh, moved to Egypt. Shawar's bid for power was crowned with success: with Shirkuh's help he re-established himself as vizier, however, he had no intention of keeping his promises to Nur al- Din. In order to oust Shirkuh from Egypt, Shawar enlisted the support of Amalric, the King of Jerusalem. Shawar's gamble proved to be correct beyond all expectations: the Franks and Shirkuh clashed indecisively on Egyptian soil and eventually both parties agreed to leave Egypt (October 1164). For a short period of time, Shawar could enjoy the success of his divisive policies. In 1167, Amalric and Shirkuh at the head of their forces were again in Egypt. This round of fighting was rich in event. On 19 March 1167, the Franks and Shirkuh fought a major but incon- clusive battle known as the Battle of Babayn. In its wake, Shirkuh left Saladin to defend Alexandria while he himself overran Up- per Egypt. For three months, Saladin was besieged in Alexandria by Shawar and the Franks. The siege brought great misery to the beleaguered town and its inhabitants, but Saladin's firm stand created a military stalemate which convinced the Franks and Shirkuh to agree to the withdrawal from Egypt of both the Cru- saders and Nur al-Din's forces (Spring 1167).
By 1168, the weakness of Egypt also attracted the attention of Byzantium. The two Christians powers of the Eastern Mediterra- nean-Byzantium and the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem- negotiated to combine forces in a joint military expedition against Egypt. It was an attractive alliance; Byzantium had an important asset to offer-her naval forces. Nonetheless, Amalric launched his new offensive against Egypt alone. In October 1168, Shawar alone, with no help from Damascus, was confronted by the third Frankish invasion of Egypt.
The Crusaders stormed and conquered the town of Bilbays, and moved against the capital which com- prised the two cities of Fustat and Cairo. On 12 November, Shawar set Fustat on fire and offered vast sums of money to buy off Amalric. Appeals for help from Shawar, or al-'Adid, the Fatimid Imam himself, reached Damascus. Nur al-Din watched the Frankish invasion of Egypt with great concern and prepared, on his own initiative, a large force to be dispatched to Egypt. Shirkuh and Saladin found themselves once again campaigning in Egypt.
Their very arrival to Egypt caused Amalric to retreat (January 1169. Following the departure of Amalric, Shawar found himself in a precarious position; he now had to face the victorious Syrian expeditionary force. This proved to be a task beyond his ability. On 18 January, he was killed by Shirkuh's men. The climination of Shawar paved the way for Shirkuh's appointment as the Fatimid vizier. However, his term of office was a very short one: he died on 23 March 1169.
Three days later, Shirkuh was succeeded in the post by his nephew, Saladin. From 26 March, 1169 till 11 September 1171, Saladin served as Fatimid vizier. He used his post to strengthen his position vis-à-vis al-'Adid. The most important event in the shift of power from al-'Adid to Saladin was the de- struction of the corps of black Fatimid infantry, which comprised the backbone of the army and served as the main buttress of the regime (August 1169). Nonetheless, the final overthrow of the Fatimid regime did not follow immediately. Wars with the Crusaders and the defence of the Egyptian Medi- terranean coast absorbed much of Saladin's time and energy. Eventually, the alliance between Byzantium and the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem took concrete form and the two powers launched a combined attack on Damietta, which was beaten off by Saladin's forces (25 October-13 December, 1169).
In Decem ber 1170, Saladin conducted a futile campaign in southern Pales- tine, but was more successful in Ayla (modern 'Aqaba), conquer- ing a Frankish fort on a tiny off-shore island. In 1170, Saladin's position in Egypt greatly improved following the pacification of Upper Egypt, and his sense of personal security strengthened with the arrival from Damascus of his extended family; father and brothers. During the period that Saladin served as Fatimid vizier, he pursued a policy which aimed at undermining the Isma'ili character of the Fatimid state.
In Muharram and Shaban 566/ September 1170 and May 1171, three madrasas, law colleges for teaching Sunni schools of law, were established in Fustat and Cairo, and a Sunni cadi was nominated in the capital. At the beginning of Muharram 567/September 1171, the name of al-Adid was omitted from the Friday sermons delivered at the congregational mosques in the capital. The omission of the name of the Fatimid ruler heralded a shift in political allegiance in favor of the Abbasids and the official return of Egypt to the Sunni fold.
On 10 Muharram/ 11 September, al-'Adid died and with him was extinguished the Fatimid state. Until the death of Nur al-Din in May 1174. Saladin's relations with his formal overlord were strained. In October 1171, a coor- dinated attack planned by Nur al-Din and Saladin on the Frank- ish forts of Karak and Shawbak came to naught due to Saladin's failure to meet Nur al-Din. A year later, Saladin's independent foray against these strongholds failed to restore trust to the rela- tions between the two leaders. But difficulties in the relations between Saladin and Nur al-Din did not prevent Saladin from ruling Egypt as he saw fit.
His position in Egypt was firmly secured. A plot discovered in 1174 was of minor significance, posing no real threat to his rule. From Egypt, Saladin conducted an expansion- istic policy in three directions: Nubia, the Mediterranean coast of North Africa and Yemen. Egypt itself was successfully defended against another Christian Mediterranean power-the Normans of Sicily. Their attack on Alexandria was repelled after much fight- ing (August 1174).
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Download PDF | Genoa and the Genoese, 958-1528, by Steven A. Epstein (Author), The University of North Carolina Press 2001.
416 Pages
Preface
Genoa is, to the English reading public, the least known major city in Italy. In America, Genoa’s principal claim to fame is that the city has given its name to a peculiar salami — this is a never-ending source of amusement to the Genoese, who readily admit that their region is noted for poor salami. Few Americans know that their favorite pair of jeans owes its name to Génes, the French word for the city. Blue cotton cloth, a noted Genoese product, was reexported from France in bales marked “Génes.” It is ironic and typical that a mispronounced French word for this city is unwittingly on the lips of millions of people.
Everyone knows that Columbus came from Genoa, but people are usually hard pressed to think of a reason for believing that is an important fact about him or Genoa. Students of the violin know that Niccolo Paganini came from Genoa, yet the city’s contribution to the arts has never earned it accolades. Fans of republican government know that Giuseppe Mazzini came from Genoa and that if the rest of Italy had listened to him, it would have been spared some terrible episodes in its twentiethcentury history. Since James Boswell brought the plight of the Corsicans, whom the Genoese ruled for more than five centuries, to international notice in 1768, Genoa has been reputed to be a decayed eighteenth century tyrant.’ Some outsiders wondered what sort of people would brutalize a place like Corsica for so long. Genoa is just a name for a place; the Genoese are an interesting people. Liguria is arguably the most isolated region of Italy, along with Sicily and Sardinia.
The Genoese tend to go their own way — in their view, ahead of their fellow Italians, to whom this simply confirms the reputation of the Genoese for being an arrogant and aloof people. When the Red Brigades arose in Genoa and elsewhere in the late 1970s and early 1980s, they continued this Genoese tradition of pointing the way to change, for better or worse. Genoa led in the rise of capitalism, slavery, and colonization in the Middle Ages, international public finance in the sixteenth century, poor relief in the seventeenth century, republicanism in the nineteenth century. In this century Genoa was a strong early center of fascism that became one of the western anchors of the Red Belt across northern Italy. Genoa marched to the proverbial beat of its own drummer; aristocratic partisans in the mountains fought fascists and had sons who became respectable communists or professors of economics. Still today the leading port of Italy, Genoa retains its cool indifference to outsiders, be they Asian or African seamen, Sicilians, or people from nearby Milan.
The history of this complex people must be approached gradually and simultaneously from as many sides as possible. The themes of my predecessors provide a good place to begin to look for perspectives on the Genoese. Patriotism and a nostalgia for the greatness of Genoa animated Michel-Giuseppe Canale, writing in the mid-nineteenth century.* Modern historians have contemporary biases. Teofilo De Negri, the author of the most comprehensive history of the Genoese, thought that their love of liberty, both personal and collective, was the enduring theme of their history.’ (De Negri also wrote of a Genoese peevishness and a love of secrecy, less attractive traits.)*
The poor in Genoa would have something to say about the meaning of personal liberty there, as would the many slaves who as items of commerce made so many Genoese fortunes. The Genoese republic survived in one way or another down to 1797; it became a restive and unhappy province of the kingdom of Sardinia and then Italy in the nineteenth century.
The Genoese republic was not widely admired, however, and the founding fathers of the American republic found nothing to emulate in this corrupt relic of a sinister age.° But in a Europe of monarchs and petty tyrants, the Genoese at least tried to govern themselves for nearly a thousand years, with some bouts of despair during which they consigned their state to foreigners. Robert S. Lopez was the most distinguished student of medieval and Renaissance Genoa in this century. A refugee from fascism and its political and racial policies, Lopez several times reminded me in emphatic terms that his family was from Milan, not Genoa. When I asked him why he had not written a history of Genoa, he gave me no answer and an impenetrable look, which I believe I now understand after fifteen years of work.
Lopez had four themes of Genoese history: (1) a strong religiosity that brooked no church interference in practical affairs, (2) “irrepressible individualism,” (3) “family clannishness,” and (4) “a propensity to coopt successful or promising newcomers.”® Yet what people claim a lack of piety or seem especially religious to outsiders? Still, Genoese religiosity, whether seen in acts of crusading or charity, merits close attention. In lists that associate Italian cities with the seven deadly sins, pride or vainglory — the parents of one style of individualism — usually defines Genoa. This spirit of individualism in Genoa manifested itself most clearly in the unwillingness of the Genoese to cooperate with one another. Just as the city frequently found itself without allies, individual Genoese, while loving their hometown, often expected to make their own way in the world. Clannishness is perhaps a judgment best made by someone like Lopez, who was raised there. But the saying usually applied to Florence, that a good Florentine is always at home, seems even more suited to the Genoese and their deserted evening streets. Some distinctive features of Genoese family life, and the marvelous records that illuminate them, will be one of the main themes here.
The Genoese were happy to co-opt successful outsiders and even in some cases to purchase them, ‘whether from nearby Sardinia early on or the Ukraine or sub-Saharan Africa later. There is a fine line here between welcoming a rich foreign merchant or a skilled artisan from elsewhere and locking up the poor or kicking the lepers and Jews out of town. The Genoese welcomed what benefited them and set their faces against the rest, proving that in this they were the same as everyone else. Gabriella Airaldi, the most recent student of the history of her town, is responsible for my overarching view that it is the Genoese, and not just Genoa, who provide the focus of my book, as they did hers.’ Airaldi found eleven other themes worthy of notice.
The Genoese constantly expanded their sphere of activity in this period, from the Ligurian and Tyrrhenian seas eventually throughout the Mediterranean and beyond to Peking and the Caribbean. Airaldi too thought that secrecy was a leitmotiv of Genoese history, and I have concluded that it played a distinctive role in the style of Genoese capitalism.® Being a traveling people, the Genoese were concerned about moving freely across land and sea — another rea son to love liberty. Like the wind, the Genoese were an inconstant people, and for better or worse we can compare this trait to the myth of their perpetual rivals, the serene Venetians.’
The diverse nature and structure of Genoa’s exotic Mediterranean Empire reflect this inconstancy. The Genoese tended, in Airaldi’s view, to monopolize opportunities — more clannishness here? There were never many Genoese, and their numerical inferiority with respect to the other great cities of Europe challenged the city’s political and economic status. The fifteenth-century experiment of the Casa di San Giorgio, a great public bank that held as its capital the funded debt of the republic, is a landmark in the fiscal history of Europe. Januensis ergo mercator (Genoese therefore a merchant), this medieval saying highlights Airaldi’s ninth theme that a mercantile culture permeated Genoa. Because Genoa was usually a republic, the balance of forces in the town, the roles played by clan, faction, and class, stand in sharp contrast to rural and monarchic Europe. Lastly, Airaldi saw the history of the Genoese as a major part of the history of the Mediterranean and all that entails in the world Fernand Braudel made.
The entire sea was a home to the Genoese, and in their most intrepid period they could be found everywhere from the Crimea to Cadiz. In relating the history of Genoa and the Genoese, I have kept the ideas of De Negri, Lopez, Airaldi, and many others in mind, with my own bias in favor of social and economic history clearly in the foreground. I have four questions to add to the mix. First, as a bow to Henri Pirenne, I increasingly think that without Mohammed, Genoa would have been inconceivable. Nothing much under the Romans and the chief city of a region blessed with few natural advantages, Genoa puzzles historical geographers as to why a major city should exist at one, admittedly the most northern, of several adequate harbors in the Gulf of the Lion. The rise of Islam was fundamental to Genoa’s own rise. Muslims served as victims of Genoese piracy and eventually as customers of its trade. The Crusades helped to make Genoa as the city sharpened its own piety and identity in centuries of religious warfare against the Muslims. Islam also provides the Mediterranean scope of Genoese history. My second question concerns a neglected way to understand the Genoese — their authors.
What sort of cultural milieu did early mercantile capitalism foster in this city so often in conflict with the Muslims and others? Genoa does not have the reputation of Florence or Rome for what it has contributed to Italian literature. But happily for our purposes, the practical Genoese concentrated on utilitarian works. The city historians, from Caffaro in the twelfth century to Jacopo da Voragine and Jacopo Doria in the thirteenth century, to the Stella brothers in the fifteenth century, provide an exemplary tradition of city chronicles for about four centuries, an unparalleled achievement. All historians of Genoa are grateful for this rich historiographic heritage.
Other writers produced important works that reveal Genoese values: Sinibaldo Fieschi (Pope Innocent IV) on the law; Giovanni Balbi, who compiled the greatest medieval Latin dictionary; Jacopo da Voragine (again) in his sermons and famous Golden Legend, a popular collection of saints’ lives; Saint Catherine of Genoa’s spiritual works; and many others. So I want to emphasize these literary sources in addition to the standard social and economic backbone of modern Genoese historiography.
My third question seeks to look more closely at the puzzle of slavery and wage labor and explore whether or not slaves altered free labor’s history in the city. Genoa was a major factor in Mediterranean slavery and a principal supplier to Muslim and Christian powers. Slavery helped to shape for the worse the moral character of Genoa. The work of ordinary Genoese men and women was forever challenged by slavery as well. My last question is paradoxically about the city itself, Genoa proper. Has the legitimate emphasis on the Genoese throughout the world obscured the equally important history of the Genoese in Genoa? Although I fully share the interests of my colleagues in the Genoese and their scattered settlements and colonies throughout the Mediterranean world and beyond, I increasingly think that the emphasis on trade, seafaring, and colonies, the staples of Genoese history, has minimized to some extent how Genoese political and cultural life made all the rest possible. This book cannot be a history of every place the Genoese traveled, lived, or even ruled.
Instead, I emphasize the strangely neglected people of Genoa. It is as if the historians of Genoa, having the perpetual challenge of interesting colleagues in medieval, Renaissance, and early modern history in their subject, have collectively decided that our best strategy is to take the unifying themes like capitalism and imperialism and show what the Genoese did to the rest of the world. No one should deny the Genoese their place on the world stage, or for that matter that Genoa was smaller than its rivals in part because it exported in every direction talented and ambitious people. But Genoa has a domestic history that is as rich and in some respects even better documented than Venice, Florence, and Rome. Not everyone living from Monaco to Portovenere, and from the watershed of the Ligurian mountains to the sea, was always happy to be called Genoese. But I will keep Genoa firmly in its region and insist that the false dichotomy between Genoa and Liguria obscures more than it reveals.
Nearly all Genoese, no matter how much they traveled as rich merchants, mercenary crossbowmen, or humble rowers, lived some part of their lives in Genoa or Liguria and were the products of whatever was going on there. Genoese women participated in everything in town, and as the city receives more attention, half of its population emerges from the obscurity to which generations of indifference have consigned them. I intend to bring the home of the Genoese back to the center of their history and encourage others to study this remarkable people and place. I have begun in 958 because what happened before is a tale briefly told. I conclude in 1528 because Genoa’s “forgotten centuries” require research I have not done or read and talents I do not possess.'° Nevertheless, I will not abandon the reader in that dreary year but will conclude with a look forward, as from a cliff, to the present day.
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Download PDF | (Crusade Texts in Translation) Georgios Chatzelis_ Jonathan Harris - Byzantine Sources for the Crusades, 1095-1204-Routledge (2024).
245 Pages
Byzantine Sources for the Crusades, 1095–1204
The Christian, Greek-speaking Byzantine empire was placed rather uneasily between western Christendom and the Islamic world during the Crusade era. Like all historical topics – particularly medieval – sources on the crusades give a variety of perspectives and accounts, but Byzantine writers provide a unique outlook on these crucial events. Byzantine Sources for the Crusades, 1095–1204 brings together important sources on the Crusades into one volume.
The texts translated here include established accounts, such as selections from Anna Komnene’s description of the passage of the First Crusade in 1096–8, John Kinnamos’ writings on the Second Crusade and Niketas Choniates’ studies on the Second and Third Crusades, particularly covering the passage of German emperor Frederick I Barbarossa during the latter. However, less well-known accounts are also translated and provided, such as Zonaras’ and the contemporary letters of the archbishop of Ohrid during the First Crusade, various poems and speeches recorded throughout the reigns of John II and Manuel I Komnenos and smaller accounts about crusaders passing through the Byzantine empire. This book covers up to the Fourth Crusade, in which Niketas Choniates was an eye-witness to the Siege of Constantinople in 1204 and later a refugee in Nicaea, writing a series of speeches about the capture of the Byzantine capital and rallying the Byzantines to recover the city from the newly created Latin empire.
This book will appeal to scholars and students alike studying the era of the Crusades in the East and the perspectives and accounts of Byzantine writers both at the time and after, as well as all those interested in the history of the Byzantine empire in the 11th, 12th and 13th centuries.
Georgios Chatzelis is currently a teaching fellow at Democritus University of Thrace and at Hellenic Open University. In the past, he held research and teaching positions at Royal Holloway University of London, Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, Centre for Advanced Study Sofia and New Europe College: Institute for Advanced Study. His recent publications include Byzantine Military Manuals as Literary Works and Practical Handbooks: The Case of the Tenth-Century Sylloge Tacticorum (2019) and, with Jonathan Harris, A Tenth-Century Byzantine Military Manual: The Sylloge Tacticorum (2017).
Jonathan Harris is Professor of the History of Byzantium at Royal Holloway, University of London. His recent publications include Byzantium and the Crusades, third edition (2022); Introduction to Byzantium (602–1453) (2020) and The Lost World of Byzantium (2015). His first novel, Theosis, appeared in 2023 and he is currently editing The New Oxford Illustrated History of the Crusades.
Preface
The task of translating the Greek texts in this book fell principally to Georgios Chatzelis, with Jonathan Harris providing suggestions and amendments to his versions. The division of labour was reversed with the small number of Latin texts that we included [3, 11 & 13]. The book introduction, text introductions, footnotes and index were likewise all initially compiled by Harris, with Chatzelis providing the suggestions and amendments. Our volume is by no means comprehensive. For example, the 1174 speech of Eustathios of Thessalonica, which includes an account of the Second Crusade, the speeches of Manganeios Prodromos about Manuel I’s expedition to Antioch and the funeral oration of Nicholas Mesarites for his brother John have not been included as they have recently been translated by Andrew Stone, Elizabeth and Michael Jeffreys and Michael Angold, respectively: details are included in the bibliography. Earlier translations of our texts into English and other languages may also be found listed there. We initially planned to omit Anna Komnene as well because her work is freely available in the translation by Sewter and Frankopan but it soon became apparent that the early sections of our book would not make much sense without her work.
We have therefore included selected passages from the Alexiad in the translation of Elizabeth Dawes (1864–1954), albeit with the spellings of personal names adapted to fit in with the rest of the volume. Throughout the book, square brackets in the text ([]) indicate where we have supplied words to bring out the sense of the passage or omitted sections for reasons of space. . . . We are grateful to Routledge for their permission to reproduce the Dawes translation of Anna Komnene. We would also like to record our appreciation to our editors at Routledge, Michael Greenwood and Louis Nicholson-Pallett, to Andreas Gkoutzioukostas, Martin Hall and Chrysa Zizopoulou for their advice on points of language and to Gilbert Rajkumar and his colleagues at Apex CoVantage for their careful and thorough copy editing of our text. Georgios Chatzelis and Jonathan Harris Thessaloniki and London, May 2024
Introduction This volume presents translated extracts from contemporary texts which throw light on the first four Crusades and the subsequent Latin presence in the east. All were written between 1095 and 1330 from within the Byzantine empire (also known as Byzantium). This Christian state could claim direct continuity with the eastern half of the Roman empire, which had survived after the western provinces had been lost to Germanic invaders during the fifth century CE. It had contracted over the years and had had to fight for survival against the expansion of Islam during the seventh and eighth centuries CE. By 1050, it was centred on Asia Minor and the Balkans, along with the islands of Crete and Cyprus and part of southern Italy.
The link with the empire of the Caesars remained an important part of its official ideology and, as readers will notice in the extracts, its inhabitants generally described themselves as Romans. Their predominant language, however, was not Latin but Greek. That is an important point to bear in mind when reading the extracts. Only three of them, connected to external relations [3, 11 & 13], were originally in Latin, a language which very few Byzantines understood. Most were in Greek but it has to be remembered there were varying forms of the language. That used by the mass of the people for everyday spoken communication was developing into the Demotic that prevails in Greece and Cyprus today.
The Church used something closer to Koine or Common Greek, the language of the New Testament and the liturgy. Monastic chronicles were often penned in this idiom.1 The court and administration preferred Classical Greek, especially the version known as Attic, which had developed in Athens in the fifth and fourth centuries BCE. The Greek texts translated in this book are mainly in Attic, with two in simpler language [45 & 47]. They were almost all authored by intellectuals employed in some capacity or other in the state administration and based at the palace of Blachernae in the capital city of Constantinople. Securing such a post was dependent on completing a course of higher education, which involved reading and internalising works of ancient authors such as Homer, Plato and Demosthenes. Students were required to write and even to speak in that Attic language and were expected to use it in the literary works that they produced in their subsequent careers.2
Those writings fall into a number of clearly defined genres. History was one of them, and most of the texts translated in this book are from historical works which were modelled on those of ancient historians such as Thucydides and Plutarch. But there were several other forms of writing produced at the Byzantine court that discussed the crusades and the Latin East. Members of the Byzantine political and literary elite often exchanged letters [4, 19 & 32]. There was ekphrasis, a description of a place, building or work of art [37 & 41], poetry [9, 20, 28, 31, 33, 38, 46 & 51] and the encomium or laudatory speech.
The last was the most public form of Byzantine writing. Encomia could take the form of a eulogy at a funeral [54] but most often they were in praise of a reigning emperor in whose presence they would be delivered on important feasts of the year, such as Epiphany on 6 January [24, 25, 43, 49 & 53]. However, all these works were intended to be read out loud at court, not just encomia. Even letters were often not so much private, intimate communications as exercises in literary skill, designed to be admired for their virtuosity in the ancient language, even if their subject was something as dry and practical as tax exemption.3 Byzantine writings present some challenges when they are approached as sources of historical information.
They can be difficult to read, even in translation, coming across as stilted and long winded. They were deliberately so because their authors considered it good style to use the most archaic and obscure vocabulary that they could muster. They also demonstrated their erudition by cramming in as many allusions to ancient mythology, history and literature as they possibly could so that the matter in hand can often be hard to discern.4 This deliberate archaism can also have the effect of making Byzantine writings appear remote from their own times.
To preserve the purity of the ancient language, authors preferred not to use contemporary names. So the Turks were called Persians and Western Europeans Celts and even their capital city of Constantinople was sometimes given its old name of Byzantion. Byzantine authors also mirrored the world view of their ancient models, replicating their sharp distinction drawn between ‘civilised’ peoples and others: those who did not speak Greek and who did not accept the authority of the emperor were labelled ‘barbarians’.5 Finally, it has to be remembered too that these works only represent the views of a tiny segment of the Byzantine population, albeit a very influential one.
They circulated only among the very small caste of palace administrators. Some of them, such as the history of John Kinnamos, survive in just one manuscript, suggesting that they were not widely read even within that group. Others, like those of Niketas Choniates, do survive in numerous manuscripts but these date from several centuries later. In any case, their language and style would have rendered them incomprehensible to the vast majority of Byzantines. These points should be borne in mind before using them as a guide to ‘the Byzantine view’ of the crusades. On the other hand, in spite of the obscure language, deliberate antiquarianism and the plethora of classical allusions, the extracts translated in this book can provide an intriguing glimpse into how the policy makers at the Byzantine court perceived the crusades and the Latin East.
They reflect not only the literary genre in which their authors were writing but also the way in which they used those conventions to present and construct the crusaders and the Latin states of Outre Mer and to defend and promote the policies pursued by their own rulers. Thus Anna Komnene, Michael Italikos and John Kinnamos championed the actions of Emperors Alexios I, John II and Manuel I, respectively [5, 6, 10, 15, 24, 34, 36 & 39]. Some provide eyewitness testimony: Constantine Manasses and John Phokas gave their impressions of the Latin East when in the area on official business [37 & 41] and Niketas Choniates recounted his own experiences during the Third and Fourth Crusades [42 & 50]. Joel and Ephraim of Ainos voiced the perspective of later generations looking back on these events, about which they were not always well informed [9, 20, 28 & 52].
There is even a set of advice left by an emperor for his son [21]. These viewpoints are, of course, highly partisan but that is only to be expected. What is even more intriguing, however, is the way that Byzantine authors could express real concerns and even criticism as a kind of subtext behind the formal façade. Two of the letters translated here, for example, leave the reader in no doubt about their authors’ uneasiness at the approach of western crusade armies and the intentions of their leaders [4 & 32]: they do not always display the blithe confidence in the emperor that fills the pages of Komnene and Kinnamos. Similarly, while the hyperbolic praise of the encomia reads like vapid sycophancy, skilful orators could subtly subvert the convention by weaving in ‘advice’ to the emperor which effectively amounted to criticism of a particular action or policy [43]. 6 Nikephoros Chrysoberges, for example, subtly expressed his doubts as to the wisdom of Alexios IV’s dealings with the leaders of the Fourth Crusade [49].
The same applies to histories. While Komnene and Kinnamos adhered closely to the convention to praise Emperors Alexios I and Manuel I [5, 6, 10, 34, 36 & 39], Niketas Choniates manipulated it to suggest criticism of Byzantine policy in the years leading up to the sack of Constantinople in April 1204 [42 & 48]. None of this was stated openly, merely hinted at: for the art of Byzantine writers was, as one contemporary put it, ‘to weave webs of phrases, and transform the written sense into riddles, saying one thing with their tongues, but hiding something in their minds
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