On my last visit to England, I stayed for almost a year in Southampton. I grew up just across the water on the Isle of Wight, so even though I knew little of the city or its immediate surroundings, its environment was familiar. I have noticed that people who live in the places where they grew up, due to their intimate familiarity with their surroundings, may be more or less oblivious to the natural or cultural riches around them. The same was accurate for me until I started traveling as a teenager, with my curiosity developing over the years I have lived as a foreigner in Türkiye. I then used it in and around Southampton, where there is much to reward it. One of my favorite sights was the ruined abbey at Netley, reachable from the city by a pleasant walk of about an hour.
The place significantly moved me. I felt a sense of regard for the monks who, in my mind, spent their lives in this lovely spot devoting themselves to God. It is the perfect place for a spiritual retreat. But then I caught myself and realized that I knew nothing about the real lives in this place. While it is possible that some or all of the monks lived devoted lives of a kind that I had just imagined, it was equally likely that they were just as worldly as the monks so coarsely portrayed by Nikos Kazantzakis, who had direct knowledge of monastic life, in "Zorba the Greek."
Because we generally know less about people who live far off in time and space, we can fill in the missing details in a way that familiarity would forbid. This often leads to an idealization or vilification of these people but rarely does it produce an accurate portrait. For today's Britain, where a report from last year shows more people identify as non-religious than Christian, the distance from the medieval to the modern is long, and thus very much open to illusory thinking.
The 10th traveler in this series of "Famous Travellers to Türkiye," Liudprand of Cremona is a valuable antidote to potential medieval fantasizing. His life indeed predates the foundation of Netley Abbey by three centuries and he is a bishop rather than a monk, but in a broad sense, he does belong to the same world. From his accounts of his diplomatic missions to the Byzantine capital of Constantinople, it is clear he was a devout believer. Still, there is little humility, patience or a "love thy neighbor" attitude about him. Instead, he is greedy, touchy, proud, and prejudiced and seeks support from God for the worldly aims of his master and expects divine retribution to be visited on those who are also Christian, who cross him.
Indeed, he has penned, as the historian John Julius Norwich puts it, "incontestably the most enjoyable – as well as the most malicious – account ever written of a diplomatic mission to the court of Byzantium," by which Norwich means, of course, that the enjoyment is to be taken from its malice. I am indebted to Norwich for introducing me to this work, which is fun to read. In this piece, I have tried to leave Liudprand to speak in his own words so that the reader may get a taste of his delightful malice for themselves, although it will not be apparent until his second diplomatic visit.
Liudprand has a family connection to Constantinople. His father and stepfather had both been ambassadors of the Italian King Hugh there. Liudprand had spent his childhood in Hugh's court, singing for the king, who adored music. He entered the Church and became the chief minister of the ambitious Prince Berengar of Ivea. In this role, he was sent on his first diplomatic mission to Constantinople in 949.
The opportunistic and tight-fisted Berengar gets Luidprand's stepfather to pay for his diplomatic mission by promoting it as a chance for Liudprand to be educated in Greek and provides Liudprand with no gifts for the Byzantine emperor, so Liudprand is left to present his skills as if they came from his master. This emperor is Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus. In addition to being emperor of Byzantium, he is, as Norwich notes, "a writer, scholar, compiler, collector, bibliophile, painter and patron" of the arts as well as a just and compassionate ruler who was known for "his constant good humor" and his perfect manners. That such a figure would impact the impressionable young Liudprand is unsurprising.
Liudprand's account of his first embassy to Constantinople is full of admiration for the wonders he witnessed in the city, from the imperial palace "of remarkable size and beauty" to the emperor's throne, in front of which "stood a tree, made of bronze gilded over, whose branches were filled with birds, also made of gilded bronze, which uttered different cries, each according to its varying species." These are the objects made by "Grecian goldsmiths" that are "set upon a golden bough to sing" in W. B. Yeats' phenomenal poem on aging and immortality, "Sailing to Byzantium." As for Liudprand, he is impressed by these and other mechanical wonders. However, he is also amazed to watch a performance that would not seem out of place on talent shows in which a man balances on his head an eight-meter-long pole with a crossbar near the top and upon which two boys climb and do acrobatic tricks.
Liudprand is invited to a ceremony at the lavish court in which the emperor personally pays gold coins to the leading officials of his empire, graded according to their rank. Liudprand, perhaps still sore at having had to use his own gifts in the name of Berengar, relates that having been asked what he thought of the proceedings: "'It would please me,' I replied, 'if it did me any good. When Dives was in torment, the rest that he saw Lazarus enjoying would have pleased him if it had come his way. As it did not, how, pray, could it have pleased him?'"
Although couched in Biblical references, Liudprand's impudent intention is clear. It seems to have momentarily unsettled the emperor, but the urbane Constantine quickly regains his composure and then "presented me with a large cloak and a pound of gold coins," more than adequate reimbursing him for his cringe-worthy act of beggary.
On his second mission in 968, Liudprand is now the Bishop of Cremona, and his new master was the Latin emperor, Otto the Great. In Constantinople for the second time, Liudprand refers to "Emperor Constantine, of blessed memory" in the presence of the Byzantines. However, this is not to flatter his hosts. Instead, he highlights the contrast between the former and the present Byzantine emperor.
The Byzantine emperor is now Nicephorus II Phocas. Norwich describes him as having a "narrow and suspicious mind" and "absolutely no social graces." Liudprand dislikes him, and his account of his mission is littered with insults directed against him. For instance, Liudprand says of him: "The king of the Greeks has long hair and wears a tunic with long sleeves and a bonnet; he is lying, crafty, merciless, foxy, proud, falsely humble, miserly and greedy; he eats garlic, onions, and leeks, and he drinks bath water."
And in one particularly inventive passage, Liudprand describes Nicephorus: "(A) miserable burnt-out coal; old woman in your walk, wood-devil in your look; clodhopper, haunter of bryers, goat-footed, horned, double-limbed; bristly, wild, rough, barbarian, harsh, hairy, a rebel, a Cappadocian!"
Most of these insults are pretty straightforward, yet with over a millennium, I can unfortunately not see what is wrong with being a Cappadocian. But my favorite insult of Liudprand on Nicephorus is the short and simple "the old corpse."
As for specific accusations, Liudprand makes against the emperor, they include him reaching the throne "by perjury and adultery" and extorting corn at a low price from the farmers of his empire and then selling it at a double profit, causing famine. He also accuses the emperor of perjury for promising under oath to ensure Liudprand's speedy return and then reneging on the promise.
Liudprand is motivated to dislike Nicephorus, whom he even prays against, from the outset. Consequently, he feels deliberately insulted when he arrives in the city. Not only are he and his entourage made to wait outside the walls in the pouring rain, but when they are finally granted entry, they are forbidden from riding in on horseback but have to enter on foot humiliatingly.
Regarding accommodation, they were effectively held prisoner in what Liudprand calls a "detestable dwelling place," which "neither kept out the cold nor afforded shelter from the heat." Furthermore, "the house had no water, and we could not even buy any to quench our thirst." As for the wine, he finds it revolting due to its admixture "of pitch resin and plaster" and also avers that significant obstacles are placed in the way of his supplying his household with food. Liudprand's particular ire is directed at the Byzantine official responsible for his effective imprisonment. However, he is no less sparing of him than Nicephorus himself. He tells Otto, "If you were to seek another like him, you certainly would not find him on earth," but that "you might perhaps be in hell."
Liudprand faces continual slights, including being made for walking the long distance to the palace when he attends banquets held by the emperor, where he is then seated in places of dishonor. The stress takes its toll on Liudprand's health. He avers that "my boundless depression so brought on illness after illness that I should have died" but for divine intervention.
Liudprand has gifts that he had purchased for Otto confiscated from him. He regards this as a "final insult." Yet, there is a further one to come. When Liudprand finally departs after his four-month stay, he and his suite are provided with horses to ride for the return journey, but not ones to carry baggage, so he has to pay for those himself.
Of course, as always, there is another side to the tale. The Byzantines feel aggrieved at Otto, which explains their treatment of Liudprand. They are angered that Otto claims to be an emperor – for to the Byzantines, there was only one emperor – and that Otto is occupying some of what they regard as their own territory. Liudprand asserts that "lasting peace" between them could be achieved if a Byzantine princess were to be married to Otto's son. Indeed, it was to obtain such a bride that Liuprand had come to Constantinople. Nicephorus, however, is uninterested and so offers blatantly unacceptable terms as the price for such a marriage.
Yet, it is not only politics but religious matters that are argued over. Liudprand tells the emperor that "all the heresies have emanated from you and among you have flourished." In contrast, Nicephorus insults the people of Otto's homeland for not having deep Christian roots. Liudprand applies a positive spin to this, asserting that a "young" faith is genuine and adding that the long tradition of Christianity in Byzantium resembles "a worn-out garment."
As for culture, the Byzantines refer to Otto's homeland as a "poverty-stricken country where the people dress in skins," seeing them effectively as savages. Luidprand, for his part, condemns the Greeks for being "senseless." He also denounces "how fond of ... windy talk, how apt at flattery, and how greedy" they are, in addition to seeing them as duplicitous. He also finds their food "disgusting," one pungent example being a dinner "which smelt strongly of garlic and onions and was filthy with oil and fish sauce."
This encounter reflects the increasing rift in Christendom. It is sometimes thought that the only aperture in the medieval world is between north and south, Christianity and Islam. The truth, however, was that the Christian world also became increasingly divided between East and West regarding culture and religion. Indeed, less than a century after Liudprand's mission, the churches went into a formal schism.
Due to these manifest humiliations, when he is ready to leave, Liudprand scrawls a poem on the house's walls he had hated so much. It opens with: "Trust not the Greeks; they live but to betray; Nor heed their promises, whatever they say. If lies will serve them, any oath they swear, And when it's time to break it, feel no fear."
There are clear echoes here of Virgil's immortal lines from the "Aeneid," "I fear the Greeks, even when they bring gifts." The rest of Liudprand's poem goes on to complain again about his accommodation, praise his master, deprecate Nicephorus and assert that if war comes between the emperor and his master, the fault will lie squarely on the former.
Although most of his return journey through Byzantine domains falls outside what is now Türkiye, the reader may be interested to know that petty tyrannies continued to be inflicted upon Liudprand. He tells Otto that were it not for his "desire to see you again," he believes he would not have survived the trip.
Whether or not Liudprand's cursings had any effect in the real world, it is the case that Nicephorus himself came to a tragic end, being overthrown and murdered by one of his former friends, John Tzimisces. Upon becoming emperor, the usurper invited the Latins back to Constantinople in 971. The archbishop of Cologne led the new diplomatic mission, with Norwich noting that the "old Liudprand" may have also taken part in it.
This mission was a success, and it returned with the Byzantine Princess Theophano as a bride for Otto's son. As Norwich notes: "The marriage proved a surprisingly happy one; she was treated with kindness and consideration and allowed to maintain all her Byzantine customs and ways of life – to the point that her son, the future Otto III, was to grow up far more of a Greek than a Saxon. And she could congratulate herself on the transformation of the relations between the two Empires, brought about not just by her marriage but also by her own intelligence and hard work."
Although Liudprand would not have lived to see this fully play out, it represented the proper fulfillment of what he had striven for.
