The Melancholy of the Palaiologoi
By Photios Kontoglou
By Photios Kontoglou
When I was working in Mystras, it often happened that I found myself alone inside the Peribleptos Church. In the late afternoon the church would grow dark and forbidding. From above, on the scaffolding, I would hear footsteps.
“Some ghost must be walking about,” I would think to myself, and I would always turn my head toward the place where the soldiers and commanders were painted.
They stood in a circle, one after another, a little above the ground. Most of them had their eyes gouged out; their chests had been pierced. Many had been slashed to pieces by swords. On many faces only a single eye remained intact, but that one eye looked as though it were ten living eyes.
“Remember me, O Lord!”






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