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Ottoman textiles and Greek clerical vestments: prolegomena on a neglected aspect of ecclesiastical material culture

Published online by Cambridge University Press:  13 March 2018

Nikolaos Vryzidis
Nikolaos Vryzidis*
Affiliation:
British School at Athensnikolaos.vryzidis@bsa.ac.uk
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Abstract

This article discusses a neglected aspect of Greek ecclesiastical material culture: the wide use of Ottoman textiles after the conquest of Constantinople. My discussion will touch upon Greek archival sources before analysing three different types of textiles: aniconic silks and velvets; Ottoman figural production for the Christian market; and embroidery of the Byzantine tradition featuring Ottoman motifs. These categories represent three different points of contact between Ottoman aesthetic and Greek ecclesiastical material culture. If the use of aniconic textiles expresses the employment of court aesthetic, then the figural silks represent the weaving industry's response to a Christian demand for such products. Finally, the Byzantine-tradition embroideries discussed constitute evidence of artistic confluence.

Keywords

Greek vestmentsmaterial culture of religionsyncretismsemioticsaniconicity
Type
Articles
Information
Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies , Volume 42 , Issue 1 , April 2018 , pp. 92 - 114
Copyright
Copyright © Centre for Byzantine, Ottoman and Modern Greek Studies, University of Birmingham, 2018 

Greek ecclesiastical dress has only recently been brought into the art historical spotlight, with a definite focus on the refined artistry of embroidery.Footnote 1 However, this exclusive focus on embroidery falls short of giving us an overall assessment of the period's aesthetic. The almost monothematic treatment of the subject actually prevents us from understanding that Greek ecclesiastical dress in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was composite, employing various juxtaposed features. In this article I will attempt to illuminate an obscure corner of ecclesiastical material culture: the wide use of Ottoman woven textiles and its meaning within the specific context during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Dress is undoubtedly one of the most immediate, non-verbal modes of communicating one's status. This point of view can be particularly useful in the specific case study, which focuses on the Greek Church's participation in Ottoman elite culture. The importance of the argument lies in the fact that it helps us to understand that ecclesiastical dress was constructed upon the interplay or confluence between the inherited Byzantine tradition and the Ottoman component, which has hitherto been neglected by scholarship.

My discussion will begin with an analysis of Greek textile terminology, which originates from the Ottoman, as a preparation for the analysis of objects. These terms, unlike their Byzantine counterparts, have hardly been discussed. The contextualization of these Ottoman loanwords will increase our understanding of the relevant vestments that survive in Greek sacristies today. This discussion does not need to be exhaustive, as its focus will be on the three main types of luxury textiles found in ecclesiastical inventories and sacristies: lampas, cloth of gold/silver and velvet.Footnote 2 The textiles to be analysed were worn by clerics either inside a church or in processions, which means they were visible to the wider society as well. In the second part I will open the discussion with some examples of luxurious aniconic textiles used by the Church. I will then continue by touching upon the figural production for the Ottoman Christian market. Finally, I will discuss the transfer of Ottoman motifs to the embroidery production of Greek workshops, as another aspect in this multi-faceted phenomenon.

Introduction: Greek textile terminology of Ottoman origin

Kamouchas, the Greek term for the Ottoman kemha, or higher-quality lampas silk, appears in ecclesiastical inventories even before the conquest of Constantinople.Footnote 3 In the 1396 Patriarchal inventory there are references to chamouchas (‘χαμουχᾶς’) in relation to a yellow-red tunic, a two-colour podea and two chalice covers (‘ποτηροκαλύμματα’).Footnote 4 This reads like an antiquated version of the Greek term kamouchas, which is the one usually found in Ottoman-period ecclesiastical inventories.Footnote 5 Although Greek linguists generally agree that this term derives from kemha, it might be the case that it did not always indicate Ottoman lampas.Footnote 6 Especially in comparison with the late Byzantine period, it is quite probable that a shift in the meaning of certain words took place. For example, the Byzantine courtier Theodore Hyrtakenos, who lived in Constantinople during the reign of Andronikos Palaiologos (r. 1282–1328), requested a cloth named kamkha, ‘in the language of the Persians’, from a Trapezuntine official. This type of luxurious silk produced in the Middle East and China during the late medieval period had reached Italy as well, and was called camoca in Italian.Footnote 7 Chamouchas was probably the Greek rendering of the Persian kamkha, the linguistic origin of kemha. This leaves space for interpretation as to whether the word kamouchas or chamouchas was used during this early period for silk brocades of Islamic or ‘Oriental’ origin in general, and not just Ottoman brocades.Footnote 8 In Ducas’ Historia byzantina there is a clearer reference in relation to Ottoman clothing: one of the writer's criticisms of the clergy on the eve of the fall of Constantinople was their habit of wearing the ‘barbarians’ vestments’ (‘. . .ἄμφια τῶν βαρβάρων τῷ σώματι περιφέρουσαν. . .’).Footnote 9 However, one cannot expect detachment and objectivity from a historical source of this nature, embellished with personal commentaries and views. There is also the well-known document prepared for the Council of Basel (1431-8), based on a report by European emissaries, which mentions that in many parts of Eastern Anatolia the clergy, bishops and archbishops wore the ‘clothes of the infidels’, most probably meaning the Turks.Footnote 10 This provides Ducas’ criticism with some credibility, pointing out that early Ottoman brocades had been used by the Church in the Byzantine capital before its conquest by Mehmed II. Certainly, the honorific exchange of textiles is nothing new within the context of the Eastern Mediterranean, including between Byzantines and Ottomans; some of these recorded acts mention kamouchas.Footnote 11 However, the Church's practices during the Palaiologan period need to be clarified, especially as to whether the antiquated term chamouchas denoted Ottoman or just Oriental brocades in general.

While more light should be shed upon textile consumption during the late Byzantine period, the archival sources matched with the remaining vestments confirm that the Greek Church widely used Ottoman textiles after the conquest of Constantinople. Kamouchas is one of the most popular types of textiles, as is attested to by the evidence of ecclesiastical inventories. The earliest reference I have managed to trace is in a monastic archive, dating to 1486.Footnote 12 By this time, kamouchas probably denoted silks of Ottoman manufacture, as is attested to by the presence of Ottoman kemhas in Greek sacristies. In Martin Crusius’ 1584 Turcograecia, it is mentioned that the Patriarch-elect received a head-dress made of kemha (‘μὲ τὸν καμουχὰν’) from the Byzantine emperor, a custom that Mehmed II was advised to continue by the Greek bishops immediately after the conquest of Constantinople.Footnote 13 The Patriarch's investiture ceremony was probably one of the main ways through which Ottoman brocades found their way into Greek sacristies. This also explains the number of vestments which appear to have been reused.Footnote 14 From the available Ottoman-period archival evidence it seems that by the sixteenth century kamouchas became a term which was far from generic, with the different qualities of silk being noted and understood by the clerics. For example, in the inventory list of Vatopediou Monastery, dating to 1596–8, there are at least five different terms related to silk:Footnote 15 ατλάζη, which probably derives from the Ottoman/Arabic atlas, for sleek satin, used in relation to two objects;Footnote 16 καμουχένιον in relation to more than twenty objects; μετaξοτὰ in relation to six objects;Footnote 17 βλατίου, only in relation to a red cover for a relic of Saint Niphon, Patriarch of Constantinople (in office 1486–8 and 1497–8);Footnote 18 and finally ταυτάς (taffeta), the plain, smooth, silk weave. Therefore, it is evident that the monks’ most preferred quality textile at that time was the kamouchas. As the inventory took place in the last decade of the sixteenth century, this sampling provides a clear view of the consumption practices up to that point.

It is indicative that kamouchas started to appear in eponymous ecclesiastical oblations. In 1574 the Patriarch of Constantinople, Jeremiah II (c. 1530–5), donated vestments to ‘his church’, probably meaning the church that served as the Patriarchate's seat at that time. Kamouchenia is mentioned in relation to two sticharia (tunic-shaped vestments) and five polystavria (dalmatic or chasuble-shaped vestments patterned with crosses).Footnote 19 The latter probably indicates patterned silks for the Christian market, many of which featured a blend of Ottoman motifs and crosses.Footnote 20 In a 1609 letter from the Patriarch of Jerusalem, Sophronius IV of Karkala (in office 1579–1608), accompanying his donation of vestments to the Archbishop of Dimitsana, kamouchas is again mentioned in relation to a sticharion. Sophronius donated the vestments in the hope that his family's name would be listed among the benefactors of the diocese of his origin.Footnote 21 This indicates that the kamouchas was understood to be of acceptable quality for functions including prestigious oblations, and for that reason it was duly noted in the letter.Footnote 22 Overall, the archival evidence matches the many remnants of kemha in Greek sacristies.Footnote 23 A question which naturally arises from the available archival evidence is why the epithet ‘Turkish’ does not appear in relation to kamouchas as often as one would expect, or even at all. This is particularly telling, especially given the popularity of Ottoman silks, as is attested to by their presence in Greek sacristies. My preliminary conclusion is that because these textiles were of a standard quality, they did not have to be noted. On the contrary, if kamouchas had a more generic use as well, provenance was noted – for example, when it was European.Footnote 24

The precious Ottoman cloth of gold, serâser, appears less frequently in ecclesiastical inventories but was certainly not a rarity. From Serres to Mount Athos and its dependencies in Romania, and from Sinai to Thessaly, serâser appears in relation to various vestments and ecclesiastical veils.Footnote 25 Some of the archival evidence is impressive and gives us a clear understanding of the wealth that Greek sacristies used to hoard in precious textiles. In the 1752 inventory list of the Church of the Virgin of the Visitation (Παναγία της Επισκέψεως) in Trikala there is a reference to two serâser sticharia and twelve phelonia made of golden serâser (‘φελόνια σε:/ρασέρια χρυσᾶ 12.’).Footnote 26 The areas of Trikala and Thessaly were prosperous during the Ottoman period but the number of listed vestments made of this extremely costly fabric is still impressive. In the sixteenth-century Ἱστορία τοῦ Ἀγίου Ὄρους Σινᾶ by Paisios, Bishop of Rhodes, there is also a mention of a festive serâser hanging adorned with a star motif in the middle.Footnote 27 Such serâser silks, patterned with large-scale motifs, were usually destined to be used for for ceremonial caftans.Footnote 28 Moreover, the relative popularity of the fabric probably explains how the word ‘σερασερτζής’ (serâserci), as a term used specifically for the seller of these textiles, entered the Greek lexicon at that time.Footnote 29 Serâser is related to the Ottoman sultans in Greek texts written by clerics. In the Ἐπιτομή της Ἱεροκοσμικῆς Ἱστορίας by the Patriarch of Jerusalem Nektarios the Cretan (1677), among the prestigious presents he mentions that Selim I received were serâser silks (‘σερασέρια’).Footnote 30 Wearing serâser as an honorific gesture for the reception of exalted guests was also noted in the narrative poem by Ioakeim Kyprios, which is another indication of the significance of this textile in Greek culture.Footnote 31

In relation to velvet, the two most frequently used terms are βελούδο(ν), from the Venetian veludo, and, more often, κατηφές/καντηφές, from the Turkish kadife.Footnote 32 It is unclear whether the linguistic origin of these terms always corresponded to the described object's provenance. For example, in the inventory of the sacristy at Vatopediou Monastery there is a reference to a phelonion and sticharia made of βελούδο(ν) but no Italian velvet survives.Footnote 33 Surprisingly, and despite its significant presence in Greek sacristies, çatma does not appear in inventory lists. The difference between kadife and çatma was quite important, the latter being rich in metallic threads and therefore more precious.Footnote 34 It seems that the Greek-language derivatives of kadife were generic terms for velvet, whether it was Ottoman or not. Overall, it can be concluded that while many Greek terms for textiles derived from Ottoman, their use in textual descriptions did not always denote an Ottoman provenance. However, the many Ottoman remnants in Greek sacristies potentially imply that these terms became generic precisely because of the popularity of these specific types of Ottoman textiles.

Aniconic silks and velvets: passive acceptance or active employment of Ottoman aesthetic?

Beyond the archival evidence, the many relevant, surviving remnants of aniconic Ottoman silks and velvets confirm that one of the most important changes in ecclesiastical material culture after the fall of Constantinople was their widespread use. This first point of close contact between the Ottoman aesthetic and Greek clerical costume raises the question as to whether this consumption practice constituted an acceptance of the period's aesthetic or an employment of elements from the government's public image. As historical background, the gradual integration of the Greek Church into the Ottoman bureaucracy, a slow process completed only in the eighteenth century, is certainly relevant.Footnote 35 Apart from official documents, art history can provide a supplementary insight into this process. Clerical vestments made of Ottoman textiles should be examined in light of the social symbolism they conveyed. For example, if holy figures are represented wearing garments made of Ottoman textiles in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century icons and church murals, one should reflect on the meaning of these representations.Footnote 36 Byzantinists have pointed out how the representation of angels wearing Byzantine imperial garments had a meaning related to political and religious metaphor.Footnote 37 Greek religious painting respected this convention by updating it: the dress of the Ottoman Christian elite became the new model, and Byzantine features were replaced by Ottoman ones in the depiction of the holy figures.Footnote 38 Within this framework, I would suggest that the Church's use of aniconic Ottoman textiles leaned more towards employment and less towards passive acceptance. The shape of the vestments sufficed to give them a ‘Christian’ appearance, while the social message conveyed by the Ottoman silk functioned on a different and more secular level. In this way, the figural narrative communicated by Christian iconography and shapes is complemented by a narrative of aniconic motifs. The aniconic visual language of the Ottoman classical style, as formed in the sixteenth century, was devoid of an immediate message that might infringe the dogma.Footnote 39 Nevertheless, it conveyed the social message of an alignment with the Ottoman court aesthetic.

Turning now to discussing vestments, floral patterns, which exemplify the aniconicity desired by the Ottoman aesthetic, were among the most popular motifs.Footnote 40 At Iveron Monastery there is a sticharion, the main body of which is made of sixteenth-century green silver-thread kemha (Fig. 1).Footnote 41 In an unpublished note dating to 1595 (codex 240, f. 4r), I was able to identify a previously unknown but directly relevant donation: a cantor named Manuel donated a sticharion made of green kamoucha.Footnote 42 The style of the kemha is patterned with a central ogee, dominated by a sizeable lotus bud and triple cypresses above it, while the interstices are filled with graceful chains of smaller lotus buds (Fig. 2).Footnote 43 This style, based on floral and vegetal arabesque of ultimately Chinese origin, was known in Ottoman Turkish as hatayi and appears in Greek sacristy inventories as χεταΐ and χαταΐ.Footnote 44 This serves as proof, among much other evidence, that the Greek Church could distinguish not only between the quality of the textiles but also between the different motifs and styles. Relevant to the popularity of the hatayi motifs is a sakkos, which according to oral tradition is associated with the tenth-century Byzantine emperor Ioannis I Tzimiskes (c. 925–6). It is made of Italian velvet spolia and decorated with what might be embroidery, crafted by the monks themselves. The embroidered chains of floral motifs on the upper part of the garment are closely reminiscent of the lotus buds on the sticharion depicted in Figure 2, indicating how the dynamic of transfer functioned in relation to embroidery, an issue analysed later in this article.Footnote 45 The sleeves of the sticharion are made of a probably contemporary kemha silk, decorated with a wavy grid, densely filled with rosebuds, leaves and other floral motifs (Fig. 3). Using one textile as the primary constituent of the main body of the vestment, and another for the sleeves, was by no means exceptional; on the contrary, it was standard practice for the Greek Church.Footnote 46 This tailoring practice significantly contrasts with the way Ottoman court caftans were cut and tailored. To conclude the analysis of this piece, it is worth discussing its dominant colour: green. The fact that quite a few sixteenth- and seventeenth-century vestments were made of luxurious green silks, in theory related to notions of Islamic piety and supposedly forbidden for Christians, clearly puts this rule into question; at the very least it reveals its limitations.Footnote 47

Fig. 1. Sticharion. Main body, sixteenth century or later, silver-thread kemha; sleeves, sixteenth century or later, silver-thread kemha. © Iveron Monastery (inv. no. 197; photograph: Thanos Kartsoglou). Unpublished.

Fig. 2. Detail of Fig. 1. © Iveron Monastery (inv. no. 197; photograph: Thanos Kartsoglou).

Fig. 3. Detail of Fig. 1. © Iveron Monastery (inv. no. 197; photograph: Thanos Kartsoglou).

In the same monastery there is another vestment where green is again the dominant colour: a velvet epitrachelion, heavily embroidered with silver and gilded wire (Fig. 4).Footnote 48 The green velvet is a simple kadife, not çatma, which is rich in metallic threads. It is the heavy embroidery that increases its luxuriousness, making it a prestigious object. The large-scale, triple-spot motif is paired with crescents of a smaller scale than those usually found on kemha and serâser.Footnote 49 It can be safely stated that the triple-spot became one of the most celebrated motifs in Greek vestments and ecclesiastical fabrics after the fall of Constantinople.Footnote 50 Crescents, on the other hand, were not absent from the repertoire of Ottoman motifs employed by the Greek Church, but instead, from the published or known examples, it seems that they certainly did not surpass the triple-spots in popularity.Footnote 51 The simplicity of the embroidery's technique, without any indicative stitches or knots, does not provide much information regarding the workshop. It was probably preferred for its motif, which was such a central part of the Ottoman aesthetic of that period. This is especially true as the value of the triple-spots, with an almost ‘heraldic’ meaning for a dynasty that did not have blazons, was readily understood by all the echelons of Ottoman society.Footnote 52

Fig. 4. Epitrachelion. Sixteenth century or later kadife velvet, heavily embroidered with silver and gilded wire. © Iveron Monastery (inv. no. 36; photograph: Thanos Kartsoglou). Unpublished.

Ottoman silks for the Christian market: Byzantine iconographic prototypes and Ottoman execution

Another point of contact is Ottoman production for the Christian market.Footnote 53 The range of textile qualities, from simple satins to costly serâser, and the amount of relevant remnants in sacristies betrays the success of the production and its penetration into the Greek cultural realm, apart from the Armenian and Eastern European spheres.Footnote 54 The best-known silks are kemha patterned with Christ as the High Priest within roundels. This flat motif has been rightly associated with the corresponding iconographic type that rose to prominence during the Palaiologan era, the time when Byzantium as a political entity was declining and the Patriarch of Constantinopole became an ecumenical symbol of Orthodox unity. This was most probably the meaning intended by representing the crowned Christ in Patriarchal attire on Ottoman patterned silks.Footnote 55 Undoubtedly, the need for Christian iconography was fulfilled in a very different way from that of the Byzantine system of symbolism, which favoured the uniqueness of holy figures and clear theological meaning via a very complex network of cross-references between a vestment's iconography and church interiors.Footnote 56 While the popularity of the High Priest motif is explained by the rise to prominence of the figure of the Patriarch, a question remains as to the way Christian iconography was reproduced when compared to embroidery of the Byzantine tradition.

The RISD Museum sakkos may clarify our discussion (Fig. 5).Footnote 57 Its Ottoman silk is patterned with a representation of the enthroned Christ, flanked by symbols of the four evangelists, against a background of rich floral decoration. Not many sakkoi survive from the Byzantine period and this makes it difficult to trace their evolution during the Ottoman period.Footnote 58 However, there are references in Byzantine ecclesiastical inventories which can give us a view of this evolution – incomplete, yet sufficient for my analytical overview. In the aforementioned inventory of the Constantinopolitan Patriarchate, there is a reference to a sakkos decorated with ivy leaves and twelve figures of saints.Footnote 59 This description of a blend of floral motifs and Christian iconography calls to mind, to a certain extent, the silk of the Rhode Island sakkos, which could be interpreted as an evolution or updated version of the described composition.Footnote 60 The Ottoman floral motifs replace the ivy leaves in the role of the decorative background or frame, but the most fundamental change appears in the way that the iconographic prototype of the enthroned Christ, framed by symbols of the four evangelists, unfolds: as a repeating, medium-scale motif.Footnote 61 This practice recalls the way in which narrative evolved in other Middle Eastern figural productions, for instance in Persian examples.Footnote 62 We see that while the source of these patterns is Byzantine, a certain degree of liberation is achieved from the standard way iconography was reproduced on Christian vestments during the late Byzantine era. The result is reduced iconicity, thanks to the motif's repetition and the lack of framing around it. Beyond the religious symbolism that each and every Byzantine iconographic type of Ottoman production probably conveyed, their reduction to repeating motifs indicates their quality as markers of Christian identity. Just like the Ottomans, who did not have a blazon, but were associated with a distinctive visual language, the Greek clergy accepted designs which may have leaned upon Byzantine iconography, and simplified the process of communicating religious meaning. This was probably not the outcome of a conscious bypassing of traditional theology but instead the practical result of the Church's affiliation with Ottoman weaving workshops.

Fig. 5. Sakkos. Sixteenth century or later kemha. © Rhode Island Museum of Art (inv. no. 28.008).

Ottoman motifs in ecclesiastical embroidery produced by Greek workshops

The final point of contact analysed here is the presence of Ottoman motifs in the works of Greek embroidery workshops. Ecclesiastical embroidery was a Byzantine craft which continued to flourish after the fall of Constantinople. Its receptivity allowed creative reworking of elements from other artistic traditions and the transfer or adaptation of motifs and iconography from both Western and Eastern sources. In the case of Ottoman motifs, it should be made clear that it is not a question of foreign loans but instead of an update to local fashions of the period under study. During the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the compositions continued to present a Byzantine aesthetic;Footnote 63 loans from Italian and other European iconography are more apparent from the second half of the seventeenth century onwards.Footnote 64 By contrast, the incorporation of aniconic decoration with Ottoman motifs had already become common from the earlier period. The first point of artistic contact was that embroidered figural vestments were worn together with the woven silks analysed above. For example, an orarion should be imagined as being worn together with a sticharion made of a woven silk.Footnote 65 Many stole-like vestments, such as the orarion or the epitrachelion, were embroidered with figural representations of saints that followed a Byzantine system of symbolism. Generally speaking, in stole-like vestments Ottoman motifs appear in the lower part and as a frame around the holy figures. In an orarion in the Boston Museum of Arts, the dominant Ottoman motif is that of the triple-spot (Fig. 6).Footnote 66 The triple-spots appear prominently again above Christ on an epigonation, depicting the Last Supper, now in the Paul and Alexandra Kanellopoulos Museum in Athens (Fig. 7).Footnote 67

Fig. 6. Epitrachelion. Sixteenth century, embroidery on red silk. © Boston Museum of Arts (inv. no. 43.337).

Fig. 7. Epigonation. Sixteenth century, embroidery. © Kanellopoulos Museum (inv. no. ΔΑ2614; image courtesy of the Ephorate of Antiquities of Athens).

Apart from the creative aspect of the transfer of motifs, and their re-employment as a frame for holy figures, one should return to the representation of saints and angels dressed in silks that feature these motifs. Embroidery seems to replicate this mechanism of cross-references between the visual landscape (icons, frescos and so forth) and clerical vestments. Thus, in the Ottoman period, there are two distinct narratives that blend and/or intertwine: one of figural iconography, and another of aniconic motifs, which mainly stem from the Ottoman aesthetic. It seems that in certain cases embroidery largely copied designs from silks in the same environment, for example the sakkos of Tzimiskes in Iveron monastery.Footnote 68 In other cases, embroidery followed the same creative rendering of Ottoman designs, just as in religious painting. An epitrachelion from Vatopediou Monastery is indicative: floral motifs, such as the rosebud and Chinese ribbons, appear in a dense reinterpretation of compositions in silks. As such, it conveys a clear message that an Ottoman style is intended, despite the reworking of motifs (Figs. 8 and 9).Footnote 69

Fig. 8. Epitrachelion. Sixteenth century or later, metal thread embroidery. © Vatopediou Monastery (inv. no. 203; photograph: Thanos Kartsogou).

Fig. 9. Detail of Fig. 8. © Vatopediou Monastery (inv. no. 203; photograph: Thanos Kartsoglou).

Conclusion

In this article we have seen that Ottoman-derived terminology associated with Greek textiles may not always denote Ottoman provenance; the meanings were certainly not as fixed in Greek as they were in Ottoman. However, these loanwords certainly betray how widespread the use of these textiles was. Kamouchas probably stood for all metallic-thread silk brocades, with the remnants in Greek sacristies clarifying the Church's consumption practices. Moreover, the preference for Ottoman textiles points to an employment of the aniconic aesthetic associated with the court. In this way, another narrative is created, that of motifs, which were used for framing Christian iconography and melding with the Byzantine tradition. Whether it was Ottoman aniconic silks used for a vestment or Ottoman motifs appearing in Byzantine-style embroidery, the social message that these motifs communicated was always present. The figural silks, on the other hand, present a very interesting innovation: the way that religious meaning was conveyed became simpler, especially when compared with Byzantine embroidery. These three points of contact occurred at the heart of the cultural ferments that took place after the Ottoman conquest of Constantinople and for that reason they are very important. Essentially, their analysis reveals how multi-layered cultural interaction between a religious minority and its heterodox government can be, illuminating the subtleties and bidirectional dynamic of their symbiosis.

References

1 The author follows the spelling and accents as they appear in the sources quoted.

2 Luxury textiles could be divided into two main categories: simple weaves and compound, more complex, weaves. The Ottoman textiles that will occupy us in this article fall into the category of compound weaves: 1) lampas: silks with a satin ground and twill pattern, 2) cloth of gold/silver: silks completely covered by supplementary wefts of gold and/or silver, and 3) velvet: a compound weave with a ground fabric and an extra set of threads woven into it, creating different effects. These are the three favoured weaves in Ottoman textiles as well. See Atasoy, N. et al., İpek: Imperial Ottoman Silks and Velvets (London 2001) 217–25Google Scholar.

3 Shukurov, R., The Byzantine Turks 1204–1461 (Leiden and Boston 2016) 313–14Google Scholar.

4 These are the three references in the Patriarchal inventory: ‘ἱμάτιον χαμουχᾶς δίχρους κιτρινοκόκκινος’; ‘ἔτι προσετέθησαν καὶ ἕτεραι δύο ποδέαι. . .ἡ δὲ ἄλλη χαμουχᾶς δίχρους μετὰ περιφερίου πρασίνου χαμουχᾶ’; and ‘καὶ ποτηροκαλύμματα δύο, καὶ αὐτᾶ ὀξὺν βασιλικὸν συρματέινον μετὰ περιφερίων χαμουχενίων’. See Miklosich, F. and Müller, J., Acta et diplomata graeca medii aevi sacra et profana II (Vienna 1862) 569–70Google Scholar. In the will of Demetrios Tzamblakon (1366/7) there is another reference to a piece of female clothing made of kamouchas: ‘ἐνέχυρον γυναικεῖον ῥοῦχον καμουχὰς εἰς ὑπέρπυρα ὀκτώ’: see Theocharides, G. I., ‘Eine Vermächtnisurkunde des Groß-Stradopedarchen Demetrios Tzamblakon,’ in Wirth, P. (ed.), Polychronion. Festschrift Franz Dölger zum 75.Geburstag (Heidelberg 1966) 486–95Google Scholar, esp. 489. Podea was a decorative cloth, sometimes embroidered, used as an adornment of icons. See Frolov, A., ‘La «Podea»: un tissu décoratif de l'Eglise byzantine’, Byzantion 13, Fasc. 2 (1938) 461–504 Google Scholar; Johnstone, P., Byzantine Tradition in Church Embroidery (London 1967) 22–3Google Scholar.

5 In a poem by the Rhodian Emmanuel Georgillas (ca. 1450-1500) with the Greek title ‘Ἱστορικὴ ἐξήγησις περὶ Βελισαρίου ’, this older version (‘χαμουχάδες’) appears again in relation to precious silk that could be walked upon, an equivalent of the red carpet: ‘. . .ὥρισε πεύκια καὶ χαμουχάδες νὰ τὰ ξαπλώσουν εἰς τὴν γῆν καὶ πάνω νὰ πατήσῃ. . .’. It seems therefore that this version of the term continued to live on in Modern Greek for some time after the fall of Constantinople. See Wagner, W. (ed.), Carmina Graeca Medii Aevi (Leipzig 1874) 334 Google Scholar.

6 Kriaras, E. (ed.), Λεξικό της μεσαιωνικής δημώδους γραμματείας, 1100–1669, VI (Thessaloniki 1980) 320 Google Scholar.

7 Jacoby, D., ‘Late Byzantium between the Mediterranean and Asia: Trade and material culture’, in Brooks, S. T. (ed.), Byzantium: Faith and Power (1261–1557): Perspectives on Late Byzantine Art and Culture (New York, New Haven and London 2006) 20–41 Google Scholar. On the impact of Persian and Central Asian silks on Italy, and the terminology used, including camoca, see Jacoby, D., ‘Oriental silks go west: A declining trade in the later Middle Ages’, in Arcangeli, C. Smidt and Wolf, G. (eds), Islamic Artefacts in the Mediterranean World: Trade, Gift Exchange and Artistic Transfer (Venice 2010) 71–99 Google Scholar; Monnas, L., ‘The impact of Oriental silks on Italian silk weaving in the fourteenth century’, in Saurma-Jeltsch, L. E. and Eisenbeiß, A. (eds), The Power of Things and the Flow of Cultural Transformations (Berlin 2010) 65–89 Google Scholar; Rosati, M. L., ‘Nasicci, baldacchini e camocati: il viaggio della seta da Oriente a Occidente’, in Norell, M. et al. (eds), Sulla Via della Seta: Antichi sentieri tra Oriente e Occidente (Turin 2011) 234–70Google Scholar.

8 In Greek sacristies there are many Persian remnants as well, mainly Safavid and Qajar silks. An interesting observation is that the Persian provenance, which was noted quite often in Byzantine inventories, does not appear in Ottoman-period monastic archives. Textiles of Italian or Russian provenance are noted, which raises the question as to their naming in Ottoman-period Greek. This is a matter that can be clarified after a more meticulous study of the archives has been undertaken.

9 As Ducas (c. 1400-after 1462) used the phrase ‘amphia of the barbarians’, it is highly probable that he saw clerical costume made of early Ottoman textiles in pre-1453 Constantinople. The word amphia is quite specific in Greek, meaning ecclesiastical vestments. See Ducas, M., Corpus Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae (Bonn 1834) 257 Google Scholar.

10 Clogg, R., ‘A millet within a millet: the Karamanlides’, in Gondicas, D. and Issawi, C. (eds), Ottoman Greeks in the Age of Nationalism (Princeton 1999) 115–42Google Scholar, esp. 118.

11 For example, the Cretan Leonardo Dellaporta (before 1330-1419/20) recounts in one of his poems his contacts with an Emir. He mentions that his Frankish outfit was taken by the Emir's courtiers and he was given ‘Turkish’ clothes to wear. In their description, the term kamouchas is again mentioned: ‘. . .ἐγδύνου μετὰ ροῦχα μου τὰ φράγκικα τὰ ἐφόρουν, καὶ ἀνάλλαξέν με οͨ ἀμιράς τούρκικη φορεσίαν, πιρνοκοκκᾶτον καμουχᾶν καὶ ἀπάνω γερανέον, χρυσοβουλλᾶτον ἔντυμαν καὶ μαντηλίτσια τρία μεταξοχρυσοκέντητα καὶ ταλαγάνι ὡραῖον,. . .’. See Μanousakas, Μ. Ι., Λεονάδρου Ντελλαπόρτα Ποιήματα (1403-1411) (Athens 1995) 257 Google Scholar; see also Zachariadou, E., ‘The presents of the Emirs’, in Droulia, L. (ed.) Cultural and Commercial Exchanges between the Orient and the Greek World (Athens 1991) 79–84 Google Scholar.

12 Pavlikianov, C., The Athonite Monastery of Vatopedi from 1462 to 1707 (Sofia 2008) 144 Google Scholar.

13 Crusius, M., Turcograeciae Libri Octo (Modena 1972) 108 Google Scholar.

14 N. Vryzidis, ‘Towards a history of the Greek hil‘at: an interweaving of Byzantine and Ottoman traditions’, Convivium-Exchanges and Interactions in the Arts of Medieval Europe, Byzantium and the Mediterranean 4.2 (2017) 176-91; N. Vryzidis, ‘Textiles and ceremonial of the Greek Church under the Ottomans’, Paper presented at the Gennadius Work-in-progress Seminar, The Mandilas Rare Book Reading Room, 16 March 2017; N. Vryzidis and E. Papastavrou, ‘Sacred patchwork: patterns of textile reuse in Greek churches during the Ottoman period’, Paper presented at ‘Spolia reincarnated: second life of spaces, materials, objects in Anatolia from antiquity to the Ottoman period’, 10th RCAC Annual Symposium, Koç University Research Center for Anatolian Civilizations, Istanbul, 6 December 2015.

15 Pavlikianov, The Athonite Monastery, 173–5.

16 For a concise overview of the different types of Ottoman textiles, among them the less luxurious qualities such as atlas, see Gürsu, N., The Art of Turkish Weaving: Designs Through the Ages (Istanbul 1988) 22 Google Scholar.

17 As a textile term, metaxa usually denoted raw silk during the Byzantine era. One cannot be certain of the meaning during the Ottoman period but it was probably either a generic term for silk or simple silk weaves. See Galliker, J., ‘Terminology associated with silk in the middle Byzantine period (AD 843-1204)’, in Nosch, M. L., Michel, C. and Gaspa, S. (eds), Textile Terminologies from the Orient to the Mediterranean and Europe 1000 BC-AD 1000 (Oxford, forthcoming) 1–47 Google Scholar, esp. 6.

18 This is a Byzantine term which stood for porphyry red silk, and later became generic for silk. The fact that the specific term was used in the inventory list for the cloth covering the holy relic is an indication that it might have been a Byzantine remnant. On the term, see Kazhdan, A. P. (ed.), The Oxford Dictionary to Byzantium (New York and Oxford 1991) 296 Google Scholar; Kriaras, E., Λεξικό της μεσαιωνικής δημώδους γραμματείας, IV (Thessaloniki 1975) 130 Google Scholar.

19 Paizi-Apostolopoulou, M. and Apostolopoulos, D. G., Ἀφιερώματα καὶ δωρεὲς τὸν 16ο αἰῶνα στὴ Μ. Εκκλησία: Θεσμικὲς ὄψεις τῆς εὐσεβείας (Athens 2002) 153–5Google Scholar.

20 In the collection of the Byzantine and Christian Museum there is a sixteenth/seventeenth-century fragment from the Monastery of the Transfiguration, Meteora, patterned with crosses and tulips. See Konstantios, D. (ed.), The World of the Byzantine Museum (Athens 2004)Google Scholar cat. 338. The main body of the omophorion of the Archbishop of New Justinianopolis and all Cyprus, Sylvester, is made of exactly the same design. According to the embroidered inscription, this stole dates to 1720, but the silk under discussion is from earlier. See Papanikola-Bakirtzis, D. and Iacovou, M. (eds), Byzantine Medieval Cyprus (Nicosia 1998)Google Scholar cat. 165.

21 T. Gritsopoulos, ‘Η αρχιεπισκοπή Δημητσάνης και Αργυροκάστρου’, Επετηρίς Εταιρίας Βυζαντινών Σπουδών 20 (1950) 209–56, esp. 222–5.

22 Almost a century later, but still relevant, is Alexandros Mavrokordatos’ (1636-1709) oblation to the Patriarchate of Constantinople. In its codex of oblations it is noted that in the year 1705 he donated fourteen phelonia of white kemha (‘καμουχὰ ἄσπρο’) to the Great Church. See Gedeon, M., ‘Κῶδιξ ἀφιερωμάτων καὶ δωρεῶν εἰς τὸν πατριαρχικὸν ναὸν’, Εκκλησιαστική Αλήθεια Κωνσταντινουπόλεως 38 (1884) 568–71Google Scholar, esp. 568. Kemha is also mentioned in relation to the textile oblations that a Valide Sultana presented during her pilgrimage to Mecca in Tzanes’ The Cretan War: ‘. . .Μέγα καράβι ἐφόρτωσε, οὗλο προσκυνητάδες, φορέματα ὁλόχρυσα, βελοῦδα καμοκάδες, ν’ ἀφήσει στό προσκύνημα καὶ ἄλλα νά χαρίσει εἰς ε̉φτωχούς ὁπού ’τον κεῖ κι’ ὄνομα ν’ ἀποχτήσει. . .’ (Nenedakis, A. Ν., Μαρίνος Τζάνες Μπουνιαλής: Ο Κρητικός Πόλεμος (1645-1669) (Athens 1979) 211)Google Scholar. It would be correct to state that in the Greek world the pertinence of kemha as an official present was universally understood, and was also understood in relation to the customs of the Ottoman court.

23 N. Vryzidis, ‘A study on Ottoman Christian aesthetic: Greek-Orthodox vestments and ecclesiastical fabrics, 16th-18th centuries’, unpublished PhD thesis, SOAS-University of London, 2015, 206-74.

24 In Κόποι και Διατριβή, by Archbishop Arsenius, the English provenance of a kamouha is noted: ‘. . .καὶ Ἐγκλητέρας καμπουχὰν μὲ εὔμορφα κλαδία. . .’. See Zampelios, S., ‘Κόποι και Διατριβή του ταπεινού Αρχιεπισκόπου Αρσενίου’, Πανδώρα 10 (1859-60) 414–18Google Scholar, 390-5, 370-5, esp. 414. Similarly, in Limenitis’ The Plague of Rhodes, first published in the early sixteenth century, the Pisan provenance of a kamouchas is duly noted: ‘. . .Και πασαένα φόρεμα που να ’ναι τιμημένον χρεια ’ναι ’πουκάτω στην ποδιάν τριγύρα να ’ν’ ραμμένο βελούσιν ή και τσατουνίν ή καμουχά αφ’ την Πίζαν. . .’ (Henrich, G. S., Εμμανουήλ/Μανόλης Λιμενίτης: Το Θανατικόν της Ρόδoυ (Thessaloniki 2015) 68)Google Scholar.

25 See Kalousios, D. G.,‘Ο κώδικας της Τρίκκης: 1688-1857 (ΕΒΕ 1471)’, Θεσσαλικό Ημερολόγιο 48 (2005) 3–64 Google Scholar, esp. 22, 25, 27 and 45; Karydis, C., The Orthodox Christian Sakkos: Ecclesiastical Garments Dating from the 15th to the 20th Centuries from the Holy Mountain of Athos. Collection Survey, Scientific Analysis and Preventive Conservation (Oxford 2010) 258 Google Scholar; Odorico, P., Le Codex B du Monastère Saint-Jean-Prodrome Serrès XVe-XIXe siècles (Paris 1998) 95 Google Scholar, 149.

26 Kalousios, D. G., ‘Ο κώδικας της Τρίκκης: 1688-1857 (ΕΒΕ 1471)’, Θεσσαλικό Ημερολόγιο 49 (2006) 65–128 Google Scholar, esp. 75.

27 ‘. . . Ἐστὶ καὶ ἕτερον χρυσοῦν, ὡραῖον σερασέρι, ὅπερ κρεμοὺν τὰς ἑορτὰς κὶ ἔχει ἒν μεσαστέρι’. See Paisios, Bishop of Rhodes, Ἱστορία τοῦ Ἀγίου Ὄρους Σινᾶ καὶ τῶν περιχώρων αὐτοῦ: Ἔμμετρον σύγγραμμα συνταχθὲν μεταξὺ τῶν ἐτῶν 1577-1592 (St Petersburg 1891) 613. In the Ottoman collection of the Benaki Museum there is a textile with the mentioned motif (‘μεσαστέρι’) that could have been used as a hanging (ΓΕ3777).

28 For large-scale motifs in serâser and faux-serâser, a term art historians used for kemha silks which imitate the costly cloth of gold, see Atasoy et al., İpek, figs. 168-74, 179, 180, 185, 187, 188; Mackie, L. W., Symbols of Power: Luxury Textiles from Islamic Lands, 7th-21st Century (New Haven and London 2015)Google Scholar 8.7, 8.24, 8.41. One of the largest star motifs, representing the mythological seal of Solomon, can be found in a kemha caftan at the Topkapı Palace (TSM13/21). A later velvet cushion cover, adorned with a central eight-pointed star, is to be found in the Royal Armoury of Sweden, Stockholm; see Atasoy et al., İpek, cat. 74. While star motifs appear quite often in kemha silks within the Greek ecclesiastical context (for example: BXM 20857 and BXM 20844 in the collection of the Byzantine and Christian Museum of Athens), no serâser drapery, such as the one described by Bishop Paisios, has yet been published or discovered within a sacristy.

29 Kazazis, I. (ed.), Λεξικό της μεσαιωνικής δημώδους γραμματείας του Εμμανουήλ Κριαρά, XVII (Thessaloniki 2014) 471–2Google Scholar. Another reference reinforces this point regarding the textile's popularity, at least for the eighteenth century: in a 1759 official motion of the community of Mytilene, women are encouraged to adopt a more modest attire and avoid serâser, among other sumptuous textiles, because of their incompatibility with a pious appearance. See Spanos, A., Κώδιξ Α΄ Ιεράς Μητροπόλεως Μυτιλήνης (18ος αι.) (Mytilene 2006) 222 Google Scholar.

30 Patriarch of Jerusalem, Nektarios the Cretan, Ἐπιτομή τῆς Ἱεροκοσμικῆς Ἱστορίας (Venice 1739) 330.

31 ‘. . .Με σερασέρια όλοι τως ήτανε στολισμένοι, μπεήτηδες και οι λοιποί οπού ’σαν ’πεσταλμένοι, να τους τιμήσουν περισσά αυτούνους τους ελτζήδες. . .’. See Kaplanis, T., Ioakeim Kyprios’ Struggle: A Narrative Poem on the ‘Cretan War’ of 1645-1669 (Nicosia 2012) 130 Google Scholar.

32 ‘Κατιφένιον’ and ‘κατουφέ’ are both terms which derive from kadife and appear in the 1673 and 1796 inventory lists of Simonopetra monastery (Mount Athos). See Karydis, The Orthodox Christian Sakkos, 263 and 265.

33 See Pavlikianov, The Athonite Monastery of Vatopedi, 174. In this collection there is a phelonion made of a sixteenth-century Italian silk brocade, but it is not velvet (inv. no. 128).

34 Atasoy et al., İpek, 222-4.

35 See E. Bayraktar-Tellan, ‘The Patriarch and the Sultan: The struggle for authority and the quest for order in the eighteenth-century Ottoman empire’, unpublished PhD thesis, Bilkent University, 2011, 80-168.

36 The abundance of Ottoman motifs on the clothing of holy figures in Greek icons and mural paintings during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries is only relatively well-documented. See the relevant article by Merantzas, C., ‘Le tissu de soie comme représentation culturelle: le cas de la peinture monumentale post-byzantine dans la Grèce du Nord-Ouest’, Bulletin du CIETA 83 (2006) 6–21 Google Scholar. Also for relevant examples in the mural paintings of southern Greece, see Proestaki, X., ‘The wall paintings of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries at Stemnitsa in the Peloponnese, Greece’, Zograf 38 (2014) 165–201 CrossRefGoogle Scholar, esp. figs. 8,30,40,42; X. Proestaki,‘Ο Ναός του Αγίου Αθανασίου στο Στεφάνι Κορινθίας’, in Proceedings of the 2nd Conference of Corinthian Studies: Historical Corinthian Monasteries, Corinth 7-9 October 2011 (Corinth, 2014) 21-58, fig. 8; Proestaki, X., ‘Western influences on 17th-century post-Byzantine wall paintings in the Peloponnese: Roots in the 16th century’, Byzantinoslavica 68 (2010) 291–352 Google Scholar, esp. figs. 27-8, 33. Research on the subject remains insufficient.

37 There certainly was a blending of heavenly and earthly worlds at the core of Byzantine ceremonial symbolism, especially during the late Palaiologan era. The representation of angels in frescoes wearing imperial garments was an artistic expression of this point. This has been correctly understood by Byzantinists as being a political metaphor for the protection of the Faith by both God and Emperor. See Maguire, H., ‘The heavenly court’, in Maguire, H. (ed.), Byzantine Court Culture from 829 to 1204 (Washington, D.C. 1997) 247–58;Google Scholar Nelson, R. S., ‘Heavenly allies at the Chora’, Gesta 43.1 (2004) 31–40 CrossRefGoogle Scholar; Tirnanić, G., ‘Divine images and earthly authority at the Chora parekklesion in Constantinople’, in Walker, A. and Luyster, A. (eds), Negotiating Secular and Sacred in Medieval Art (Farnham 2009) 75–101 Google Scholar.

38 See Vryzidis, ‘A study on Ottoman Christian aesthetic’, 121-2; C. Merantzas,‘Ottoman textiles within an ecclesiastical context: Cultural osmoses in mainland Greece in the 17th and 18th centuries’, paper presented at ‘The mercantile effect: on art and exchange in the Islamicate world during the 17th and 18th centuries’, Berlin, 18 November 2016.

39 On the Ottoman classical style see Necipoğlu, G., ‘A kânûn for the State, a canon for the arts: Conceptualizing the classical synthesis of Ottoman art and architecture’, in Veinstein, G. (ed.), Soliman le magnifique et son temps: Actes du Colloque de Paris, Galeries Nationales du Grand Palais 7-10 Mars 1990 (Paris 1992) 195–216 Google Scholar.

40 On the emergence of the Ottoman floral style, read Denny, W. and Belger Krody, S., The Sultan's Garden: The Blossoming of Ottoman Art (Washington D.C. 2012)Google Scholar. The Greek Church's use of metallic-thread brocades with floral motifs has been noted in travelers’ accounts. For example, Jacob Elser noted textiles with a red ground and golden flowers (‘mit goldenen Blumen auf einem rohten Grund’) in Greek vestments, a description which recalls Ottoman floral kemhas with a red ground. See Elser, J., Neueste Beschreibung derer griechischen Christen in der Türckey: aus glaubwürdiger Erzehlung Herrn Athanasius Dorostamus (Berlin 1737) 63–4Google Scholar.

41 Sticharion is the tunic-shaped vestment worn by deacons, priests and bishops. It evolved from late antique tunics and was generally plainly decorated until the Ottoman period. The bishop's sticharion was distinguished by its richer decoration, called potamoi. Woodfin, W., The Embodied Icon: Liturgical Vestments and Sacramental Power in Byzantium (Oxford and New York 2012) 5–6 CrossRefGoogle Scholar, 8-10, 13-15.

42 ‘+ ἐπροσήλωσ(εν) ὁ κυ(ριος) μανουὴλ ὁ ψάλτ(ης) ἓν στιχάριον πράσινον καμοχὰ ἀσπρ(ῶν) β· καὶ ἐγράφει εἰς τὴν πρόθ(εσιν) καὶ μνημονεύεται καὶ παῤῥησίᾳ·.’ The word ‘ἀσπρ(ῶν)’ is the genitive plural of the noun ‘asper’ (akçe) and it probably indicates the monetary value of the kemha: 2000 aspers. The note may refer to the pictured vestment, which is a contemporary sticharion made of green kamoucha. I am indebted to Father Theologos, the monastery's archivist, for transcribing and kindly providing me with this unpublished note. The complete text of the folio, together with the other Ottoman-period documents from the Iveron archive, will be published by Kriton Chrisochoidis of the Greek National Foundation for Research. In a description of the 1674 Maundy Thursday service, Dr John Covel mentions a green taffeta sticharion, worn by the Patriarch: ‘. . .Then, the Patriarch vested himself in his robes, στοιχάριον, with a hole on top like a surplice with sleeves, body to the ankles; Sallow green (or yellow green) tuffetay. . .’ (Bent, J. T. (ed.), Early Voyages and Travels in the Levant (London 1893) 157)Google Scholar.

43 There are references to green floral silks in ecclesiastical codices. In a folio from a codex of the diocese of Trikke (f.10a) there is a reference to a green phelonion with floral motifs (‘πράσινον μέ λολούδια’) in the collection of St. Stephen, Trikala. Although the exact year of the folio is not known, it probably dates to the late seventeenth century or later. See Kalousios,‘Ο κώδικας της Τρίκκης’, 22.

44 In the 1710 inventory list of the Monastery of Meteora there is a reference to an epitrachelion hetayi (‘χεταΐ’) (f. 142b). See D. G. Kalousios, ‘Ο κώδικας της Τρίκκης: 1688-1857 (ΕΒΕ 1471)’, Θεσσαλικό Ημερολόγιο 51 (2007) 193-257, esp. 244. Then, in the 1761 inventory list of St. Stephen, Trikala, there is a reference to a Chios hatayi dress (‘φόρεμα Χιώτικον χαταΐ’). See Kalousios, ‘The codex of Trikke, 51. Although these inventories date to the eighteenth century, they list all the objects which entered the sacristy until they were compiled. The aforementioned hatayi garments were most probably earlier. The term χαταΐ is also mentioned in the 1796 inventory of the sacristy of Simonopetra monastery (Mount Athos). See Karydis, The Orthodox Christian Sakkos, 266. For a reference in an official document related to women's dress, see Spanos, Κώδιξ, 221-2. However, the earliest mention of the hatayi motif I managed to trace in relation to vestments comes from the seventeenth century inventory list in the codex of Saint George of Argyroupolis (Gümüşhane) (Συλλογή ταμείου ανταλλαξίμων/Musée Benaki Echangeables; codex ΤΑ 324, f. 4). On the evolution of hatayi motifs of Far Eastern origin, reinvented and Ottomanized by the sixteenth century, read Gürsu, The Art of Turkish Weaving, 64-7.

45 On the Iveron sakkos associated with Emperor Ioannis I Tzimiskes (c. 925-76) see Kousoulou, T., ‘Conserving the legend: conservation and research of a sixteenth-century sakkos from Mount Athos’, Journal of the Institute of Conservation 36.1 (2013) 18–34 CrossRefGoogle Scholar.

46 In the same folio there is a reference to a vestment with sleeves made of Ottoman velvet (kadife): ‘ταχτικὸν με μανι(κια) κατηφένια’ (the unpublished Iveron codex 240, f. 4r). For a discussion of this practice, see Vryzidis and Papastavrou, ‘Sacred Patchwork’.

47 According to Suraiya Faroqhi, green was avoided by most Ottoman Muslims as well because it was a colour reserved for the descendants of the Prophet Muhammad. See Faroqhi, S., ‘Introduction, or why and how one might want to study Ottoman clothes’, in Faroqhi, S. and Neumann, C. K. (eds), Ottoman Costumes: From Textile to Identity (Istanbul 2004) 15–48 Google Scholar, esp. 22. As many relevant textile remnants I initially had at my disposal came from Cyclades, where there was no significant Muslim settlement, I thought that this was a localized phenomenon. However, the ecclesiastical inventories and the objects themselves show that green was far from forbidden for the Church and could be worn by clerics even in the Ottoman capital. For example, there is reference to a green sticharion even in the Patriarchal codex. See Paizi-Apostolopoulou and Apostolopoulos, Ἀφιερώματα καὶ δωρεὲς, 153. Whether they could be worn in processions outside the churches is an intriguing question. It is worth mentioning that the tunic-shaped sticharia were not destined solely for the high clergy, bishops and archbishops. This undermines any notions about green being affordable only by the Greek clerical elite. It was a liturgical colour that could be worn by clerics regardless of their office.

48 Epitrachelion is a stole worn about the neck, underneath the phelonion, by the priest and the bishop. See Woodfin, The Embodied Icon, 10-11, 15. In the vestment analysed above, the large-scale triple-spot design was visible as only the epitrachelion’s upper part was covered by the phelonion.

49 For triple-spots in Ottoman court caftans and other textiles, see Rogers, M. J., Tezcan, H. and Delibaş, S., The Topkapı Sarayi Museum: Costumes, Embroideries and Other Textiles (Boston 1986)Google Scholar cats. 2, 8, 10, 22, 26, 44, 53, 87, 92, 95, 100; Roxburgh, D. J. (ed.), Turks: A Journey of a Thousand Years, 600-1600 (London 2005)Google Scholar cats. 263, 267, 313, 315, 366. For crescents, see Rogers, Tezcan and Delibaş, The Topkapı Sarayi, cats. 21, 25, 32, 51.

50 Atasoy et al., İpek, fig. 191; Vryzidis, ‘A Study on Ottoman Christian aesthetic’, figs. 6.2, 6.3, 6.33, 6.34a, 6.34b, 6.35, 6.41. The triple-spot motif was certainly not an Ottoman discovery. We find small-scale triple-spots on the representation of garments in Byzantine art as well. However, the large-scale version is quite characteristic of the Ottoman court aesthetic.

51 Vryzidis, ‘A study on Ottoman Christian aesthetic’, fig. 42. There is another relevant piece at the Byzantine and Christian Museum (BXM20842).

52 On the triple-spots, very often accompanied by the wavy stripes motif, see Atasoy et al., İpek, 264-5; Gürsu, The Art of Turkish Weaving, 57-9.

53 My findings so far point to a religiously mixed workforce for this production. Silks with Christian iconography can have Greek, Armenian and Ottoman inscriptions. Then, there is the fetva issued in Bursa in 1004 Hegira (c. 1595 CE), forbidding Muslim weavers to serve under a non-Muslim master, which indicates that Muslims and Christians were often collaborating despite the local Mufti's displeasure. See Dalsar, F., Türk Sanayi ve Ticaret Tarihinde Bursa'da İpekçlik (Istanbul 1960) 321 Google Scholar.

54 For Ottoman figural silks in Eastern Europe, mainly in Russia, see Atasoy et al., İpek, pls. 10, 51, 53, 55 and cats. 20, 21, 29, 40-1. For an Armenian piece, see Savigny, M.-A. P. (ed.), Ors et Trésors d'Arménie (Lyon 2007)Google Scholar cat. 56.

55 See Woodfin, W., ‘Orthodox liturgical textiles and clerical self-referentiality’, in Dimitrova, K. and Goehring, M. (eds), Dressing the Part: Textiles as Propaganda in the Middle Ages (Turnhout 2014) 31–51 Google Scholar.

56 Warren Woodfin's seminal monograph has clarified this. Woodfin, The Embodied Icon, 47-129.

57 One of the most official clerical vestments of the Byzantine and Ottoman periods is the sakkos. This Greek equivalent of the dalmatic is worn by the high clergy – in Byzantine times, only by the Patriarch – and probably evolved from its secular, courtly counterpart. According to Symeon of Thessalonica, it symbolized the purple robe that Christ wore when mocked by the Romans. It was used for important dominical feasts like Easter and Christmas, and probably also other special processions. See Woodfin, The Embodied Icon, 25-8.

58 All three published Byzantine-period sakkoi feature clear iconographic programmes, as analysed by Elisabeth Piltz in her monograph. See Piltz, E., Trois sakkoi byzantins: analyse iconographique (Uppsala 1976)Google Scholar. One cannot be certain that more comparable pieces will not be discovered in the future, especially as cataloguing and recognition efforts continue in Greek monasteries. However, the general scholarly consensus is that chances of a significant discovery are slim.

59 ‘ἕτερος (σάκος) καὶ αὐτὸς ὀξὺς κλαπωτός, ἔχων κισσόφυλλα ἀργυροδιάχρυσα τριάκοντα καὶ φάκτα μετὰ ὑελίων δώδεκα καὶ ἁγίων εἰκόνας ἓξ μετὰ φεγκίων καὶ μαργάρων.’ See Miklosich and Müller, Acta et diplomata graeca, 568. The ivy leaf is a motif we find in surviving examples of Byzantine embroidery, such as on an epitaphios in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London. See Johnstone, Byzantine Tradition, figs. 99-100.

60 From the directors’ correspondence in the Rhode Island School of Art archives, it appears that the Museum bought an ensemble of Greek Orthodox vestments made of Ottoman textiles from Elizabeth Titzel and Rudolf Riefstahl in 1928. Having toured Turkey and the Middle East many times before, the couple resided in Constantinople between 1927 and 1929. As their purchases took place in 1928, just before Titzel and Riefstahl sailed back to Turkey, one might assume that they acquired these pieces there. See Guzman, D., ‘Elizabeth Titzel Riefstahl’, in Joukowsky, M. S. and Lesko, S. B. (eds), Breaking Ground: Women in World Architecture (Online 2004)Google Scholar. Available at http://www.brown.edu/Research/Breaking_Ground/bios/Riefstahl_Elizabeth%20Titzel.pdf [accessed 28 November 2016]. This makes it probable that the Rhode Island sakkos came from a church or monastery which belonged to the jurisdiction of the Ecumenical Patriarchate.

61 This motif can be found in various forms in the following collections: the Kremlin Museums (oxr13052); the Benaki Museum (ΓΕ3862, ΓΕ3908); the Harvard Museums of Art (1975.41.27); the National Museum in Warsaw (sz52); and the National Historical Museum of Armenia (E-1930). See Privat-Savigny and Berthod (eds), Ors et trésors d'Arménie, cat. 56.

62 For example, Safavid silk patterns were inspired by Persian popular stories. In these patterns, the representations of one or two familiar protagonists from these narratives was deemed sufficient, instead of having multifaceted visual cycles. See Mackie, Symbols of Power, 346-55. In this respect, the Ottoman figural production is closer to the Persian than the Byzantine, which favoured more complex iconographic programmes.

63 On the topic, read Papastavrou, E. and Filiou, D., ‘On the beginnings of the Constantinopolitan school of embroidery’, Zograf 39 (2015) 161–76CrossRefGoogle Scholar, esp. 161-70.

64 For examples of Italian and other Western European elements in post-seventeenth century embroidery, see Ballian, A. (ed.), Relics of the Past: Treasures of the Greek Orthodox Church and the Population Exchange: The Benaki Museum Collections (Milan 2011)Google Scholar cats. 43-5; E. Papastavrou and D. Filiou, ‘On the beginnings’, 172-4; Papastavrou, E. and Filiou, D., ‘Church embroidery in Constantinople during the 19th century: Putting a veil by Kokona of Rologa in context’, in Stoufi-Poulimenou, I. (ed.), Γ' Επιστημονικό Συμπόσιο Νεοελληνικής Εκκλησιαστικής Τέχνης: Πρακτικά (Athens 2015) 543–55Google Scholar; E. Papastavrou and D. Filiou, in I. Stoufi-Poulimenou and S. Mamaloukos (eds), ‘Χρυσοκέντητο Πέτασμα Ωραίας Πύλης της Κοκόνας Ρολογά από τη συλλογή του Βυζαντινού και Χριστιανικού Μουσείου (αρ. 21055)’, Β΄ Επιστημονικό Συμπόσιο Νεοελληνικής Εκκλησιαστικής Τέχνης: Πρακτικά (Athens 2012) 301-14.

65 Orarion is a narrow stole worn by the deacon. See Woodfin, The Embodied Icon, 6-7.

66 Among other pieces, the triple-spots adorn a 1608/9 Epitaphios veil from the Varlaam monastery (Meteora). See Vlachopoulou-Karabina, E., Εκκλησιαστικά χρυσοκέντητα άμφια βυζαντινού τύπου στον ελλαδικό χώρο (16ος -19ος αι.): Το εργαστήριο της Μονής Βαρλαάμ (Trikala 2009) 341–2Google Scholar. Epitaphios is a processional veil used on Good Friday.

67 A comparable epigonation from Dousikou monastery again depicts the Last Supper with the triple-spot motif appearing over Christ. See Vlachopoulou-Karabina, Εκκλησιαστικά χρυσοκέντητα άμφια, 361. The epigonation has been published in Skambavias, C. and Chatzidaki, N. (eds), Βυζαντινή και Μεταβυζαντινή Τέχνη (Athens 2007)Google Scholar cat. 200.

68 The same creative reworking and adaptation of Ottoman floral designs and motifs can be seen in many other Ottoman-period Greek embroideries. See Ballian, A. (ed.), Relics of the Past: Treasures of the Greek Orthodox Church and the Population Exchange: The Benaki Museum Collections (Milan 2011)Google Scholar cat. 11; Johnstone, Byzantine Tradition, figs. 22-23; Kakavas, G. (ed.), Post-Byzantium: The Greek Renaissance, 15th-18th Century Treasuries from the Byzantine and Christian Museum (Athens 2002)Google Scholar cats. 47 and 49; Vlachopoulou-Karabina, E., Holy Monastery of Iveron: Gold Embroideries (Mount Athos 1998)Google Scholar figs. 8, 12-13, 40b, 61; Vlachopoulou-Karabina, Εκκλησιαστικά χρυσοκέντητα άμφια, 351, 354-5, 362, 374-8, 380; Karakatsanis, A. (ed.), Treasures of Mount Athos (Thessaloniki 1997)Google Scholar cats. 11.11 and 11.25.

69 See Theochari, M., ‘Χρυσοκέντηκα άμφια’, in Vatopediou, I. M. M., Ιερά Μεγίστη Μονή Βατοπεδίου: Παράδοση-Ιστορία-Τέχνη (Mount Athos 1990) 420–56Google Scholar, esp. cat. 15.

Figure 0

Fig. 1. Sticharion. Main body, sixteenth century or later, silver-thread kemha; sleeves, sixteenth century or later, silver-thread kemha. © Iveron Monastery (inv. no. 197; photograph: Thanos Kartsoglou). Unpublished.

Figure 1

Fig. 2. Detail of Fig. 1. © Iveron Monastery (inv. no. 197; photograph: Thanos Kartsoglou).

Figure 2

Fig. 3. Detail of Fig. 1. © Iveron Monastery (inv. no. 197; photograph: Thanos Kartsoglou).

Figure 3

Fig. 4. Epitrachelion. Sixteenth century or later kadife velvet, heavily embroidered with silver and gilded wire. © Iveron Monastery (inv. no. 36; photograph: Thanos Kartsoglou). Unpublished.

Figure 4

Fig. 5. Sakkos. Sixteenth century or later kemha. © Rhode Island Museum of Art (inv. no. 28.008).

Figure 5

Fig. 6. Epitrachelion. Sixteenth century, embroidery on red silk. © Boston Museum of Arts (inv. no. 43.337).

Figure 6

Fig. 7. Epigonation. Sixteenth century, embroidery. © Kanellopoulos Museum (inv. no. ΔΑ2614; image courtesy of the Ephorate of Antiquities of Athens).

Figure 7

Fig. 8. Epitrachelion. Sixteenth century or later, metal thread embroidery. © Vatopediou Monastery (inv. no. 203; photograph: Thanos Kartsogou).

Figure 8

Fig. 9. Detail of Fig. 8. © Vatopediou Monastery (inv. no. 203; photograph: Thanos Kartsoglou).