Translated from french by Grok

The first to discover the main source of Kornaros’s *Erotokritos* was the Epirote scholar Philitas (1787–1867). It was Aggélou who brilliantly helped bring this long-forgotten fact to light in the history of scholarship. To pay tribute to this man, what better way than to present in French the information gathered by Aggélou? A compatriot of K. Assopiou from Gramméno in Epirus, he studied with him as a scholarship holder of Kaplanis in Ioannina under Psalidas. He then went to Corfu, and in 1812 continued his studies in Italy. In 1817 he earned his doctorate in medicine, worked for a time as a teacher at the school in Trieste, then went to Göttingen to pursue further studies, and finally reached England, sent by Wilford who intended him for a professorship at the Ionian Academy. He had already met Coray while passing through Paris, and when we find him again in Corfu in 1824 among the first professors of the Ionian Academy, he had abandoned medicine and was teaching ancient Greek and Latin. After Wilford’s death, he resigned from the Academy and was appointed director of schools in Zante. In 1838 we find him again as a professor at the Academy, a position he held until its dissolution. In August 1866, at the age of 79, he was appointed professor at the University of Athens, but he did not have time to teach, as exactly one year later death found him in Corfu.

In his unpublished study, Philitas points out the French medieval romance *Paris et Vienne* (dated 1432) and the similarities between it and *Erotokritos*. As Kohler notes in his 1935 thesis, the Romanian scholar Cartojan rediscovered this forgotten and unknown connection, linking *Erotokritos* to this French romance and its Italian translations, especially the versified version by Albani.

*Paris et Vienne* was adapted into prose around 1432 by the Marseillais Pierre de la Cypède from the original Provençal. First printed in French in 1487 in Antwerp, this romance had at least 11 French editions in the 16th century. But its fortune was most spectacular in Italian. Printed even before the first French edition in Treviso in 1482, it saw 22 editions in Italy up to 1698. The success of this prose version prompted two poets to produce versified adaptations. The first, by Teluccini titled *Paride e Vienna*, had only two editions (1571 and 1577). The second, published in Rome in 1621 under the title *Innamoramento di due fedelissimi amanti*, was by Albani. Albani’s version enjoyed immense success and was reissued until the end of the 19th century. For some Erotokritos scholars like Kohler, Albani’s version seems a direct source for *Erotokritos*, all the more plausible because Albani, like Kornaros, condenses and omits several episodes present in *Paris et Vienne* but absent in *Erotokritos*. For others like Alexiou, this version is too flawed in structure and meter to have been used by Kornaros. As for Embirikos, although at first glance it might seem likely that Kornaros knew Pierre de la Cypède’s *Paris et Vienne* in a Latin translation, he asserts that a careful comparison of the French, Italian, and Greek texts appears to prove that the Cretan poet drew even more from the original French than from the many printed translations from 1482 to 1622 in Venice, Milan, and Treviso, as well as the free adaptations from Venice and Rome.

Cartojan claimed that the Greek adapter pruned the material of the model with a real sense of composition: episodes that disrupted the unity of the novel’s conception were very judiciously left aside. Alexiou expressed it this way: Kornaros used part of the plot and this Western romance while organizing the structure better and reducing the number of characters. Embirikos says that the Cretan far surpasses his model through the splendor of his imagination. He likewise surpasses it through the maturity and accuracy of his psychology.

According to Kohler, it is certain that Kornaros had studied the works of Ariosto and Tasso. The similar examples are precise and abundant enough to allow us to assert that *Orlando Furioso* is indeed a source for *Erotokritos*. In fact, it is clear that for Kornaros, Ariosto is not merely a source of disjointed themes, resemblances, and images, but also a fundamental part of the plot.

The romance is divided into five parts, an arrangement whose attribution—whether to the author himself or to the early editors—is unknown, as Embirikos notes, but which perfectly matches the internal movement of the work. *Erotokritos* is conceived as a true drama, with each book or canto representing an act, and even the tournament in Canto B can be compared to the lyrical or choreographic entertainments that dramatists of that era inserted into their plays. It is interesting to connect this idea with Tonnet’s view that sees *Erotokritos* as a kind of opera composed of long monologues.

In this article we will focus particularly on Canto B, which, as Embirikos indicates, owes almost nothing to Pierre de la Cypède’s romance *Paris et Vienne*, where the tournament does not exceed the proportions of a brief incident. Indeed, these pages deserve study because they reveal another aspect of Kornaros’s immense talent. In this canto, he gives free rein to his unparalleled powers of invention and his gift for color and movement. If we move beyond the strictly aesthetic domain to the moral and political background of the work, Canto B takes on particular importance, as it is here above all that Kornaros’s national concerns are revealed. This tournament is a colorful carrousel where the various regions of Hellenism confront and join hands, however fragmented it may be under the dominations that have divided it. In this regard, it is unnecessary to highlight a remark by Embirikos that sets the tone for our study. Caramania was a Turkish principality founded in the southeast of Asia Minor on the ruins of the Seljuk Empire. It represents, in the author’s eyes, the Turkish nation. More precisely, geographically, it is a part of Phrygia, Galatia, and Cappadocia. This could imply that he does not recognize as legitimately belonging to the Ottomans the Greek territories they occupied in his lifetime, since he places Hellenic principalities everywhere and relegates the Osmanlis to the depths of Anatolia.

Thus, as Embirikos emphasizes, the universe of *Erotokritos* is the Greek world, so differentiated by history and geography. The poet, with no concern for chronology, gathers in a brilliant bundle the most illustrious and representative elements of the nation. His poem is already—or nearly—a repertoire of Hellenic irredentism. It is therefore no mere coincidence that Athens is the site of this pan-Hellenic gathering and that its sovereign presides over the festival. In the writer’s eyes, it is clear that Athens is the radiant center of Hellenism. This is evident from the very first verses of Canto A, where the author speaks of this city as a river of knowledge. Byzantium comes next, and the importance this second national center holds in the writer’s eyes is shown by the exceptional honors the king of Athens bestows on Pistophoros (literally “bearer of faith”), son of the powerful monarch who reigns on the shores of the Bosphorus. Moreover, Herakles, father of Aretousa, later proposes that she marry none other than Pistophoros. And it is always with the intention of marking the imperial primacy of Byzantium that Kornaros devotes an exceptionally extensive and brilliant description to the figure of Pistophoros and his splendid retinue, assigns this prince an excellent rank in the competition, and has the queen award him, to the applause of all the people of Athens, the prize for grace and elegance.

All this, moreover, recalls historical events that highlight the links between Byzantium and tournaments. In this regard, the book by Barber and Juliet is particularly useful. According to the authors, when Emperor Manuel I Komnenos went to Antioch in 1159 to meet his vassal Count Renaud, who had just submitted in the most humiliating manner, a tournament was organized as a sign of reconciliation on the emperor’s part. An accomplished horseman, he made a very good showing against the Western knights led by King Baldwin III of Jerusalem. Or another equally revealing example: in the 14th century, Emperor Andronikos III Palaiologos, who had married the daughter of Amadeus V of Savoy, developed a taste for the sport through contact with the Savoyard knights who had escorted the princess to Byzantium. The birth of the heir prince John in 1332 was thus celebrated with jousts. According to the emperor’s historiographer, Andronikos had already frequently fought in the lists, but on that day he jousted with uncommon ardor.

As for the Venetian-Cretan context of the composition of Kornaros’s work, it is equally interesting to examine the historical tournaments that took place in Venice itself. Thus Barber and Juliet note that in 1364 in Venice, the reconquest of Crete was celebrated with jousts and great equestrian displays. The director of the festivities was Tommaso Bombasio, who came from Ferrara for this purpose. The king of Cyprus participated in the jousts, which were won by a Venetian named Pasqualin Minotto. And the first prize was a golden crown, exactly as in *Erotokritos* where the hero Rotokritos receives it at the end of Canto B from Aretousa’s hands.

By studying the concept of the tournament more closely, we will see how the influence of the Western world reached Crete through the Venetian-Cretan world. At the beginning of their book, the authors explain another variant of the sport found in English and French chroniclers: the “hastiludium,” literally the game or combat of lances. How can one fail to notice that this expression is exactly the one used by Kornaros? It can be employed to describe all forms of mounted combat, individual or group. “Jousts” are more specifically single combats, although the jouster may belong to a side.

The impact of tournaments on the lives of men of that era is difficult to measure because, although they were extraordinarily popular spectacles, as Barber and Juliet emphasize, their frequency cannot be estimated with certainty, since history records only the great occasions. Thus before 1400 we have only two complete accounts of tournaments. Both were written in verse by heralds. And of course this versified aspect cannot fail to recall *Erotokritos*. In the 15th century we find both prose treatises on the organization of tournaments and richly illustrated registers reporting single combats.

As for the place of the tournament in the world of chivalry, we will see to what extent literature influenced the evolution of the tournament, with the chivalric romance remaining the obligatory reference. In some cases, reality truly matched fiction, and the theory of the tournament remained steeped in literary ideals, as can be seen in Kornaros’s work. Nevertheless, the following remark by Barber and Juliet is entirely apt. There is certainly in the history of tournaments, as in that of chivalry, a friction between the imaginary and reality: on one side the shimmering array of heraldic colors—gules, azure, or, and argent—glittering in the sun, the skill and prowess of valiant knights, the devotion of their gentle ladies—and on the other the dull succession of poor horsemen charging in the greatest disorder and without the slightest glory before a handful of bored spectators. And it is clear that Kornaros deliberately chose first the aesthetic aspect of the tournament, then the symbolic aspect, and finally the historical aspect.

The role of heralds and the evolution of personal blazons testify to the presence of a large and attentive public that had to be able to recognize the combatants. This is particularly evident throughout Canto B. One can also attribute to the presence of an audience the transformation of the tournament into a highly sought-after event on the social calendar. The rules for open combats in the 12th century were very simple: essentially, it was a matter of fighting. In contrast, the joust of the late 16th century was a pure formality: everything was played out in appearance, in displayed splendor. This is a very clear indication of Kornaros’s belonging to an era later than the 16th century.

Barber and Juliet rightly note that to thrill the spectator, these events were surrounded by all sorts of sumptuous pomp. In this way the entire event could be transformed into a vast theatrical performance in which knights and gentle ladies played roles drawn from chivalric romances. This tradition first appeared in Cyprus in 1223. It was to influence the entire evolution of tournament history and give birth to the “masques,” masked court ballets of the 17th century. Once again, how can one not think of the incredible theatrical effects of Drakomachos at the moment of his entry into the lists?

According to literary sources, ladies made their appearance in the stands in the middle of the 12th century, but it would take a century for historical sources to mention their presence. The ladies who, from the height of the stands, acclaimed the valiant knights were meant to be both inspirers and admirers for them. By the end of the Middle Ages, tournaments had become extremely costly spectacles, highly sought-after entertainments reserved exclusively for the aristocracy and generally associated with great celebrations of power. The tournament became a social phenomenon. The theatricalization of combats, which took place according to strict etiquette, gradually took precedence over the purely military aspect of the confrontation.

It is true that in principle only a knight could participate in a tournament and that participation could support a family’s claim to noble titles. The identification of the tournament with the rank of knight only increased, finally restricting participation to truly valiant knights. Shining in a tournament required great skill and presented many dangers. We know relatively little about the training in arms, but it seems that the participation of knights or squires under eighteen in a major tournament was exceptional. Rotokritos’s presence in the pan-Hellenic tournament is exceptional on at least two counts. Indeed, he has just reached the age limit (which indicates Kornaros’s knowledge of the subject), and he is not a knight, much less a prince like virtually all the other competitors in the tournament. He is only the son of Pezostratos, the king’s counselor. And yet Kornaros has him participate in the tournament—how can one not see in this, if not an intention on the author’s part, at least an indication of the Venetian-Cretan fusion of his era?

Nevertheless, to better appreciate this evolution in relations between the Venetian colonists and the native Cretans, it is necessary to study the Cretan context in its entirety. First, here is the list of dukes of Crete under the Venetian denomination around the time of Kornaros that we were able to find in the valuable book by Noiter: 1590 Jérôme Capello, 1592 Jean Dominique Ciconia, 1594 Marc-Antoine Venerio, 1596 Pèlerin Bragadeno, 1598 Pierre-Francois Maripetro, 1600 Jacques Pisaure, 1602 Jean Sagredo, 1604 Jean-Baptiste Michaele, 1606 Jean-Matthieu Girardo, 1608 Delphin Venerio, 1610 Augustin Michaelo, 1612 François Mauroceno, 1614 Bernard Venerio, 1616 Charles Belegno, 1617 Donat Mauroceno, 1619 François Zeno, 1621 Nicolas de Ponte, 1623 Marin Pisaure.

Next, let us look at some descriptions by Venetians of the character of the Cretans and the situation of the island during the 16th and 17th centuries, as found by Xanthoudis. The Venetian Boschini asserts that the Venetian yoke did not greatly change the excellent character of the Cretans. He praises their dexterity in archery, their warrior valor on land and sea, the care they take in cultivating vines, and their skill in managing their affairs. According to the Venetian Caballi (1572), the Cretans have absolutely no trust or constancy toward the Venetians. It is a species plunged into immorality. Their poverty and misery are due to their carelessness. Although they regard Saint Mark with respect, they have no faith in democracy, and proof of this is the insurrections that have taken place in the past. How can one not denounce this Venetian judgment, revealing of the mindset of the inspectors of the time? He adds that if the Cretans remain faithful, it is solely because they see how the Turks treat their own in the Morea. And he concludes that these peoples must not be allowed to enrich themselves, because they would use their wealth against the Venetians, nor have arms, because in times of crisis they inspire no confidence at all. How then can one not justify the revolts of the Cretans directed against the Venetians? But we will see that not everyone held this opinion.

For example, that of Lucas Micheli is very different. He is convinced that the Cretans of both dogmas (Orthodox and Catholic) will shed their blood under Christ’s banner. But the severity of the authorities makes them suspicious and exasperates them. For him, it is exactly the same for all peoples of the world when rulers and governors are not just. An excellent demonstration of these words is that he succeeded, through his diplomatic skill, in bringing the Sfakiotes back to faith in the homeland—they who had been banished by Caballi.

Micheli’s successor, a brilliant man named Foscarini, governs according to principles of justice and kindness. Foscarini proves to be, during his mission in Crete, an enlightened man, a philanthropist, and a far-sighted politician. Finally, he is among the enlightened minds of the era, as well as the pride and jewel of Venice.

Julius Garzoni, inspector of the East, sent to Crete in 1586, is Foscarini’s equal. And he is also the protector and savior of the unfortunate farmers of Crete, as well as the one who fought against the bad knights and castellans, instruments of Venetian power. Unfortunately, the philanthropic opinions and changes brought by these previous men of Venice did not really take hold. No essential and lasting improvement was made to the administration of the island of Crete. The fate of the Republic of Venice in the East was already set, because governmental corruption and the decline of Venetian strength were irreversible. In 1616, Fra Paolo Sarpi, a sly cleric and diplomat, expressed himself thus: Venice owes no trust to its Greek citizens, because they are only wild beasts seeking the opportune moment to use their teeth and claws. Their daily meal must be the stick. As for philanthropy, according to him, Venice should use it in other and better circumstances. In conclusion, Fra Paolo Sarpi thinks that the Venetian government must curb the hatred that exists between the Venetian lords and the Cretans. If the lords torture them, Venice must pretend to see nothing. Finally, it must beware of the Venetian colonists and sell very dearly all the advantages and men it grants them.

Considering the framework of tournaments and the Venetian-Cretan context as a whole, as well as their relations with Kornaros’s work *Erotokritos*, as we have done throughout this article, it is now easier to situate our author. It is clear that his work is influenced by Western culture; nevertheless, even if some researchers consider him, if not Venetian, at least of Venetian origin, Kornaros is not merely a man of letters skilled in handling the Cretan language, but above all a man rooted in Cretan society, who identifies with it and who, like a national poet, wishes to propose a unifying myth in glory of Hellenism.

Post to X