Johan Huizinga, whose studies have had a powerful impact on perceptions of the period, was talking not only of insecurity in face of constant calamities but also of the ‘proud or cruel publicity’ which surrounded almost all persons and events—the lepers with rattles, the beggars in churches, the public executions, the hellfire sermons, the processions, the dwarves and magicians, the pageantry, the stark colours of heraldry, the steeple bells and the street-criers, the stench and the perfume:
When the massacre of the Armagnacs was in full swing… [in 1418] the Parisians founded a brotherhood of Saint Andrew in the church of Saint Eustache: every one, priest or layman, wore a wreath of red roses, so that the church was perfumed … as if washed with rose-water.
3
Map 14.
Europe, c.1300
This ‘extreme excitability of the medieval soul’ may owe something to the Gothic enthusiasms of the later Romantics. But it is an essential element to be considered in the impossible task of recapturing the medieval past.
Yet the very brilliance of Huizinga’s thesis invites caution. Like most Western historians, he directed his researches to one corner of Western Europe, in his case to France and the Netherlands; and there must be some reluctance to apply the generalizations to Christendom as a whole. More importantly, in portraying the spirit of the declining Middle Ages so vividly, there must be some danger of underplaying the seeds of change and regeneration which were also present. Renaissance scholars have no difficulty in tracing the origins of their subject to the early fourteenth century (see Chapter VII). It stands to reason that there was a very long period when the old coexisted with the new. Historians stress the one or the other according to the burden of their tale. Huizinga suggested that humanist forms did make a late appearance, but without the ‘inspiration’ of the Renaissance. And he ended with that favourite metaphor of all historians struggling with the rhythms of change: ‘the tide is turning’.
4
In the circumstances, it may be wise to resist the metaphor of the waning medieval twilight. It might be more accurate to think of the period in terms of a prolonged crisis for which contemporaries had no solution. There was no awareness of a dawn to come. In more senses than one, late medieval Europeans were children of the plague.
The Byzantine Empire, as reconstituted after the expulsion of the Latin Emperors, was a mere shadow of a shadow. On the European shore it held little more than the city of Constantinople and the adjacent province of Roumelia. In Asia Minor it held a few towns on the Black Sea, and most of the Aegean coastline. Elsewhere, its former provinces were in the hands of the independent kingdoms of Bulgaria and Serbia; of assorted Frankish princes, displaced crusaders, and Venetian governors; and in Anatolia, of the Turkish sultans of Iconium, the so-called empire of Trebizond, and the kingdom of Lesser Armenia. From 1261 to its eventual destruction in 1453, it was ruled by the dynasty of the Palaeologi, descendants of Michael VIII Palaeologus (1258–82), who had engineered the recapture of Constantinople during the absence of the Venetian fleet. Of this Empire, in its dotage, it has been written:
The Greeks gloried in the name of Romans: they clung to the forms of imperial government without its military power; they retained the Roman code without the systematic administration of justice, and prided themselves on the orthodoxy of a Church in which the clergy … lived in a state of vassalage to the imperial Court. Such a society could only wither, though it might wither slowly.
5
The desperate Palaeologi sought aid from all and sundry. To hold off Venice, they turned to the Genoans who at various times possessed Amastris, Pera, and Smyrna and the islands of Lesbos, Chios, and Samos. They allied with Aragon;
and on several occasions they tempted the Papacy with the prospect of ending the Schism. In the Epoch of Civil Wars, 1321–54, they briefly restored their rule as far as Epirus. Until 1382 an anti-emperor maintained his court at Mistra in the Morea. By that time John V (1341–91) had become both a catholic and a vassal of the Turks. In 1399 his successor, Manuel II (1391–1425), set off on a vain journey to raise support in Rome, Paris, and London,
[
MOUSIKE
]
The most sensational development of the era was the appearance of a new Turkish warrior tribe that was destined to supplant the Byzantines. The Osmanlis or Ottomans moved into the void left by the Mongols’ defeat of the Seljuks. They took their name from Osman I (r. 1281–1326), son of their founder, Ertugrul, who had established an outpost in the Anatolian interior. From that base they raided far and wide, chipping away at the Byzantine frontier, launching fleets of pirates into the Aegean, and crossing over into the Balkans. They first entered Europe in 1308, when a band of Turkish mercenaries was imported by the Byzantines’ own mercenary force, the Catalan Grand Company, which had rebelled against its imperial employers. In that year they took Ephesus; in 1326, Bursa—which became their first capital; in 1329, Nicaea; in 1337, Nicomedia. Osman’s son, Orkhan (r. 1326–62), established a permanent bridgehead on the Dardanelles, and styled himself Sultan. His grandson, Murad I (r. 1362–89), having set up the second Ottoman capital in Adrianopolis (Edirne), dared to use the old Seljuk title ‘Sultan-i-Rum’ (Sultan of Rome). Sultan Bayezit (r. 1389–1403), though defeated by Tamerlane, conducted the main conquest of Asia Minor, overwhelming the Greek settlements with Muslim colonists, whilst attacking both the Peloponnese and Wallachia. On his death, Ottoman territory was forty times greater than a century earlier, and Constantinople was surrounded (see Appendix III, p. 1259).
During that century of conquest, the frontier between Christendom and Islam was remade. The Byzantines’ former subjects, in Greece, Bulgaria, Serbia, and Bosnia, enjoyed a brief interval of liberty and confusion, before they too were subjugated by the invincible Turk. The Ottomans led a supreme nation of
ghazis
, ‘warriors of Islam’—and they knew it. In the old mosque at Bursa, an inscription to Orkhan runs: ‘To the Sultan, son of the Sultan of the Ghazis, Ghazi son of Ghazi, Margrave of the horizons, hero of the world.’
6
Medieval Greece, in the interval between the Latin and the Ottoman conquests, was split into local principalities. The despotate of Epirus, the duchy of Athens, the southern principality of Achaea, and the island duchy of Naxos all passed a couple of centuries in the sun. Their commercial interests were controlled by the Italian cities; their rulers were Latins; the populace Orthodox.
[
ROMANY
]
Bulgaria, too, moved away from the Byzantine orbit. The second Bulgarian empire, which had emerged in the late twelfth century, was a dynamic, multinational realm. From his capital at Trnovo, Ivan Asen (r. 1186–1218), ‘Tsar of the Bulgars and Greeks’, spread his sway to Belgrade and Skopje. His successor, Ivan Asen II (r. 1218–41), took in Albania, Epirus, Macedonia, and Thrace. Two further dynasties were of Cuman origin. But on 28 June 1330 Tsar Michael Shishman was slain by the Serbians, who thereby established their hegemony. In the following
decade the Ottomans began to ravish the valley of the Maritsa. By 1366 the last Bulgarian Tsar, Ivan Shishman III, was obliged to send his sister to the Sultan’s harem and to declare himself an Ottoman vassal. Trnovo was razed. Bulgaria was starting its 500-year career as an Ottoman province.
ROMANY
I
N
1378 the Venetian governor of Nauplion in the Peloponnese confirmed privileges already granted to the local community of
atsingani
. It was the first documented record of Romany gypsies in Europe. In 1416 the city of Brasov (Kronstadt) in Transylvania made gifts of silver, grain, and poultry to one ‘Emaus of Egypt and his 120 companions’. In 1418 the same group reached Hamburg. In August 1427 a band of some 100 travellers, presenting themselves as victims of persecution in Lower Egypt, were refused entry to Paris and lodged instead at St Denis. The anonymous chronicler of the
Journal d’un bourgeois de Paris
described them as swarthy, poorly dressed, the women with knotted shawls, the children with earrings. They were moved on when the Church authorities protested against their palmistry and fortune-telling.
1
There is no doubt that the Romanies migrated to Europe from India, although their earlier movements can only be reconstructed from linguistic evidence. Romany is an Indo-European language akin to Hindi, and is spoken all along the trail through the Middle East to Europe. The fact that the European dialects of Romany contain a strong admixture of Slavonic and Greek words indicates a lengthy sojourn in the Balkans.
The long list of names given to Romanies reinforces popular confusion about their origins. The Greek
atsingani
, which gave rise to
gitans
(French),
zingari
(Italian),
gitanos
(Spanish),
zigeuner
(German), and
tsigan
(Russian), derives from the name of a medieval Manichean sect from Asia Minor, and is an obvious misattribution. ‘Bohemians’ and ‘Egyptians’—hence
gyfti
(Greek),
gypsy
(English), and
faraoni
(Hungarian)—are also common. ‘Romany’ probably derives from their medieval attachment to the Byzantine Empire, rather than to Romania. They call themselves
Rom
(singular) or
Roma
(plural).
Attempts to regulate the presence of nomadic gypsies by law created a wide variety of practices. An English statute of 1596 carefully distinguished between gypsies and common vagabonds,
[
PICARO
]
A band of gypsies had been apprehended in Yorkshire, and some of them executed for necromancy. But the statute permitted law-abiding gypsies to travel, to pursue their tinker’s trade, and to receive victuals in payment. Similar protection was extended in France in 1683. In Austria the statutes of 1761 sought to settle the gypsies in fixed abodes—but to no lasting effect. In Russia, Catherine II sought to protect gypsies by giving them the status of ‘Crown slaves’ which they had previously been assigned in Moldavia and Wallachia. But, like the Jews, they were forbidden to enter St Petersburg. In the Netherlands and several German states, a policy of total exclusion was pursued.
Throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, European Romanies have struggled to sustain their nomadic lifestyle, their specialized trades, their language, and their music
[
FLAMENCO
].
Their culture emphasizes the occult, their social organization the importance of extended families and tribes presided over by ‘kings’ and judges. Their communal activities are centred on annual gatherings which take place at regular venues. Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer in Camargue, for example, is the scene of a Romany festival and pilgrimage which heads every May to the tomb of their patroness, Sara. According to legend, Sara was a companion of Mary Magdalen who saved a party of Christ’s relatives and disciples from persecution, and brought them as refugees to Provence.
During the Romantic era, Romanies attracted great artistic and literary attention. Hugo, Mérimée, and Borrow all wrote books on gypsy themes. Henri Murger’s
Scènes de la vie de bohème
(1849) enjoyed huge popular success. Liszt wrote a learned treatise on Romany music, starting a vogue which influenced both the classical repertoire and café entertainment. Bizet’s
Carmen
(1875), based on a story by Mérimée, and Puccini’s
La Bohème
(1895), based on Murger’s
Scènes
, are among the most enduring of operas.
Romanies have always been subject to harassment and to periodic violence.
2
But the Nazis’ wholesale genocide of gypsies, which mirrored their extermination of Jews, had no precedent. Communist regimes were generally indifferent. The post-war democracies have attempted to combine regulation with humanitarian tolerance. But the stereotype of the rootless, alien gypsy constantly resurfaces, most recently in the ugly campaign in 1993 against asylum-seekers in Germany. It is perhaps inevitable that the conventionally settled population of Europe will always feel a mixture of phobia and fascination for a lifestyle which is so fundamentally different from their own:
Come, let me read the oft-told tale again:
The story of that Oxford scholar poor,
Of pregnant parts and quick inventive brain,
Who, tired of knocking at Preferment’s door,
One summer morn forsook
His friends, and went to learn the Gipsy-lore,
And roam’d the world with that wild brotherhood …
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