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Chapter 18,” Medieval Travellers to Constantinople: Wonders and Wonder.” From its very beginnings, in the 330s, Constantinople attracted a steady flow of visitors from around the empire and the territories beyond its borders, travellers who arrived from the cardinal points to experience the city from various stations in life and in myriad ways. Their interactions with the city are the subject of this chapter, which offers an overview of the people who came to the city, their motives for travel, and their perceptions of the capital and the empire of which it was a hub.
From its foundation in the fourth century, to its fall to the Ottoman Turks in the fifteenth century, the name “Constantinople” not only identified a geographical location, but also summoned an idea. On the one hand, there was the fact of Constantinople, the city of brick, mortar, and marble that rose to preeminence as the capital of the Roman Empire on a hilly peninsula jutting into the waters at the confluence of the Sea of Marmora, the Golden Horn, and the Bosporos. On the other hand, there was the city of the imagination. To pronounce the name Constantinople conjured a vision of wealth and splendor unrivalled by any of the great medieval cities, east or west. The commanding geographical location together with the city’s status as an imperial capital, the correspondingly monumental scale of its built environment, the richness of its sacred spaces, and the power of the rituals that enlivened them drove this idea, as its urban fortunes waxed and waned in the course of its millennial history. The devastations of earthquakes, fire, plague, and pillage notwithstanding, the idea of Constantinopolitan greatness prevailed. If there was one thing about which the diverse and often quarrelsome populations of the Middle Ages could agree, it was on Constantinople’s status as the “Queen of Cities.”
Chapter 11, “Sacred Dimensions: Church Building and Ecclesiastical Practice,” examines the relationship between church building and ecclesiastical practice in Byzantine Constantinople. It outlines the ways in which architecture accommodates and responds to the exigencies of ritual both on a practical, and on a symbolic level to reveal how church buildings were understood symbolically as worship spaces, manifestations of piety, wealth, power, and prestige, and places of perpetual commemoration.
This article explores Triphiodorus’ use of Cassandra in his brief epic Sack of Troy. An examination of the placing of the prophetess within the poem's plot and a comparison with previous literary attestations demonstrate that Triphiodorus makes extended use of the previously supplementary character. The reader is particularly invited to read Cassandra against the Cassandras of Euripides’ Trojan Women and Quintus Smyrnaeus’ Posthomerica, thus identifying ties with both epic and tragedy. Cassandra's speech alludes to the proem of the epic. At the same time, Cassandra's prophecy constitutes the key for understanding the connection between imagery deployed prior and subsequent to her presence, thus ensuring the thematic congruity of the poem. Triphiodorus’ Cassandra constitutes a doublet of the poet, depicted as imitating his poetic voice and effectively summarizing the entire epic in her speech; entwined in Triphiodorus’ poetic agenda, she also becomes its intradiegetic mouthpiece.
This article argues that the word ψυχαγωγία and its cognates which are found in the writings of Philodemus retain a semantic connection to the domain of magic and are best translated in terms of ‘enchantment’ rather than the more generic sense of ‘entertainment’.
The Telchines, magical craftsmen and wizards, are best known for their criticism of Callimachus’ poetry in the prologue to the Aetia. The other two appearances of the Telchines are also in programmatic passages in Callimachus’ extant works. In the Hymn to Delos (30–3), the narrator asks an aporetic question about the theme of his song. There, the Telchines are the makers of the trident used to form every island but Delos, highlighting her singular status as uniquely created without force (30–3). In Aet. fr. 75, the Telchines appear in Xenomedes’ history of Ceos. There, Callimachus explicitly names one source for his material, but omits direct citation of equally important sources, namely Pindar and Bacchylides, while still alluding to their songs. This article examines verbal and thematic parallels among these three passages and argues that Callimachus uses the Telchines not only to link the passages but also to comment on his authorial process, his use of sources and his poetic programme.