Kalaureia 1894: A Cultural History of the First Swedish Excavation in Greece

Ingrid Berg

The excavation of the Sanctuary of Poseidon at Kalaureia in 1894 marks the beginning of Swedish archaeological fieldwork in Greece. During a couple of hot summer months, two philologists from Uppsala University, Sam Wide (1861-1918) and Lennart Kjellberg (1857-1936), worked in the sanctuary together with the architect Sven Kristenson (1858-1937), the Greek foreman Pankalos and around twenty local workmen. In 1997, the Swedish Institute at Athens began new excavations at the sanctuary. This thesis examines the beginnings of Swedish fieldwork in Greece. Within the framework of a cultural history of archaeology, inspired by archaeological ethnography and the New Cultural History, it explores how archaeology functioned as a cultural practice in the late nineteenth century. A micro-historical methodology makes use of a wide array of different source material connected to the excavation of 1894, its prelude and aftermath. The thesis takes the theoretical position that the premises for archaeological knowledge production are outcomes of contemporary power structures and cultural politics. Through an analysis of how the archaeologists constructed their self-images through a set of idealized stereotypes of bourgeois masculinity, academic politics of belonging is highlighted. The politics of belonging existed also on a national level, where the Swedish archaeologists entered into a competition with other foreign actors to claim heritage sites in Greece. The idealization of classical Greece as a birthplace of Western values, in combination with contemporary colonial and racist cultural frameworks in Europe, created particular gazes through which the modern country was appropriated and judged. These factors all shaped the practices through which archaeological knowledge was created at Kalaureia. Some excavations tend to have extensive afterlives through the production of histories of archaeology. Therefore, this thesis also explores the representations of the 1894 excavation in the historiography of Swedish classical archaeology. It highlights the strategies by which the excavation at Kalaureia has served to legitimize further Swedish engagements in Greek archaeology, and explores the way in which historiography shapes our professional identities.

STOCKHOLM STUDIES IN ARCHAEOLOGY 69 Kalaureia 1894: A Cultural History of the First Swedish Excavation in Greece Ingrid Berg Kalaureia 1894 A Cultural History of the First Swedish Excavation in Greece Ingrid Berg ©Ingrid Berg, Stockholm University 2016 ISSN 0349-4128 ISBN 978-91-7649-467-7 Printed in Sweden by Holmbergs, Malmö 2016 Distributor: Dept. of Archaeology and Classical Studies Front cover: Lennart Kjellberg and Sam Wide in the Sanctuary of Poseidon on Kalaureia in 1894. Photo: Sven Kristenson’s archive, LUB. Till mamma och pappa Acknowledgements It is a surreal feeling when something that you have worked hard on materializes in your hand. This is not to say that I am suddenly a believer in the inherent agency of things, rather that the book before you is special to me because it represents a crucial phase of my life. Many people have contributed to making these years exciting and challenging. After all – as I continuously emphasize over the next 350 pages – archaeological knowledge production is a collective affair. My first heartfelt thanks go to my supervisor Anders Andrén whose profound knowledge of cultural history and excellent creative ability to connect the dots has guided me through this process. Thank you, Anders, for letting me explore and for showing me the path when I got lost. My next thanks go to my second supervisor Arto Penttinen who encouraged me to pursue a Ph.D. and who has graciously shared his knowledge and experiences from the winding roads of classical archaeology. Thank you, Arto, for believing in me and for critically reviewing my work. My sincere thank you goes to all the members of the Kalaureia Research Program for encouraging me along the way and sharing your knowledge about the Sanctuary of Poseidon. In particular, I would like to thank Yannis Hamilakis for encouraging me to pursue this topic at an initial stage and whose research has been an inspiration, and Aris Anagnostopoulos for generously sharing and translating archive material from Greece, for reading drafts, and for being a good friend. During the writing process, I stumbled, fell, and the amazing Anna Källén pulled me back up. I am deeply indebted to you, Anna, and I will never forget the lessons you taught me about myself and about academia. Elin Engström and I met on my very first day at Stockholm University, and she has been a critical voice and a continuous support and ally. Meeting you, Elin, is one of the best things that this book represents. A special thank you to Elisabeth Niklasson whose brilliant comments, exceptional dedication and creativity made this journey so much richer. During these years, I have belonged to several research collectives. The Graduate School for Studies in Cultural History (FoKult) has been my home, and I have had the immense privilege to get to know nineteen brilliant young researchers, and a generous and encouraging steering committee. Thank you all for commenting on drafts, for being great travel companions and for demonstrating that interdisciplinary research is not only the future but also a lot of fun. A special thank you to Emma Hagström Molin, Lisa Ehlin, Daniel Strand, and Adam Hjortén. Robin Böckerman and Niklas Haga, my favorite philologists and lovers of sauna, helped me with Latin and Greek. Thank you also to the staff at the Department of Archaeology and Classical Studies for providing archaeological grounding and an inspiring environment. Thank you to all of my fellow Ph.D. students for the support, the interest in my work, and for being great friends! Ylva Sjöstrand and Elin Fornander introduced me to the world of thesis writing and made my first years fun. A special thank you to Anna Sörman, Cecilia Ljung, Jenny Nyberg, Alison Klevnäs, Marte Spangen, Linda Qviström, Linn Eikje, Magnus Ljunge, Kerstin Odebäck Näversköld, Florent Audy, Anna Andréasson, Anna Röst, and Markus Fjellström whose spirit and emotional support have been crucial, and to Per Nilsson my partner-in-crime in teaching for having a great sense of humour and an awe-inspiring ability to stand an argument on its head. I want to thank the higher seminar at the section for Classical Archaeology and Ancient History at the department, and especially Arja Karivieri, for inviting me into their research environment, for insightful comments on my work, and for making me feel at home. Thank you to Julia Habetzeder and Patrik Klingborg for reviewing early drafts with critical sensitivity, and to Jenni Hjolman, Johannes Siapkas, Tess Paulson and Pedro Betancour for the support. Lena Sjögren read my final drafts and I am grateful for her insightful comments and revisions. Thank you Robin Rönnlund for being an awesome person, and for copying letters at GUB for me. Gullög Nordquist in Uppsala shares my interest in Wide and Kjellberg and generously provided me with information – thank you Gullög! Thank you to Anna Gustavsson, for being such a great colleague and sister-in-arms, and thank you to Ulf R. Hansson for chairing a session at EAA with me and Anna. Thank you to Alexander Svedberg for cheering me along and for introducing me to RuPaul’s Drag Race, a show that, in all seriousness, has a lot in common with academia and that has helped me manage these last few years. Working at the Royal Library in Stockholm, I have found a great network and new friends. Thank you to the “KB-gang” for mayo-lunches, cof- fees, and inspiring talks on life and research. You made this last year so much easier! A special thank you to Annika Berg and Fia Sundevall (and Kerstin) for reading drafts and tending to me. And finally, a warm and heartfelt thank you to Frederick Whitling for sharing your knowledge on the history of Swedish classical archaeology, for sympathizing with my love for various odd tidbits from archives, and for sharing source material as well as the ‘occasional’ inspirational cocktail. In 2013, I spent four months at the Swedish Institute at Athens, and I would like to thank the board and the staff for the generous grant and for the inspiring working environment. A special thank you to Monica Nilsson for friendship and support (and for taking me to the snake-infested Aphidna). Josefin Palmqvist transcribed letters for me which have been a great help. Thank you also to the Makrakomi Landscape Project for providing much needed breaks from writing, and to all my friends that I have met in Greece through the years. A special thank you to Christina Kolb for the photos of the National Museum and to Despina Catapoti for great conversations. Many archives were visited and I like to thank the staff at Carolina Rediviva and Museum Gustavianum in Uppsala, Lund University Library, Gothenburg University Library, Antikvarisk-topografiska arkivet, and the Royal Library in Stockholm. Thank you to Joachim Heiden at the German Archaeological Institute in Athens for swift assistance. Ann-Louise Schallin and Niki Eriksson helped me photograph Wide’s collection at the Museum of Antiquities in Gothenburg – thank you so much! Thank you also to Nektarios Sarantopoulos at the Poros Museum for all the help and assistance and to Marianthi Papadiamanti at the archive in Poros for giving me and Aris access to its collections. Thank you also to the Museum of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Antiquities in Stockholm, and especially to Fredrik Helander and Elisabet Schön. Charlotte Mulcare not only revised my English, but contributed with kind words when I needed it the most, and Moa Ekbom revised my final drafts. Thank you ladies! Any mistakes left are my own. Without friends, I would have been lost a long time ago. I would like to send my love to my Skåne-crew: Sofie, Johannes, Melissa, Andreas, Carro, Sara, Marcus, Emma, Niklas, Stella, Paul, David, Lovisa, and Elin H. Thank you Denizhan for being there for me and, even though life took a different turn, I am grateful for your continued friendship and support. To Karin, Carolin, Marie and their families: thank you for being there for me and I love you. This book was completed and published with generous grants from Stiftelsen Enboms donationsfond, Stiftelsen Olle Engkvist Byggmästare, Johan och Jakob Söderbergs stiftelse, Helge Ax:son Johnssons stiftelse, and Stiftelsen Oscar Montelii minnesfond. Finally, I could never have accomplished this without the loving support from my parents, Göran and Birgitta, who inspired an interest in history (mostly dad) and an interest in social relations (mostly mom). I dedicate this book to them. Tack mamma och pappa för att ni lärt mig att tro på mig själv och för allt stöd under dessa år. Den här boken är tillägnad er. Frescati, August 2016. Contents Acknowledgements ............................................................... vii Abbreviations ....................................................................... 15 Preface................................................................................ 17 Introduction ......................................................................... 19 Why Kalaureia? Purpose and research questions .................................. 21 Archaeology as cultural practice .................................................... 22 Historiographical representations................................................... 23 A cultural history of archaeology – theoretical premises and previous research ........................................................................................ 25 History of archaeology ................................................................. 26 Cultural history ........................................................................... 33 Archaeological ethnography .......................................................... 37 A cultural history of archaeology - a summary ................................. 38 Source material and method of analysis ............................................. 39 Part 1. Framing Kalaureia 1894 .............................................. 43 In the archive ...................................................................... 45 In the box ...................................................................................... 48 The conditioned archive ................................................................... 55 Before Kalaureia ................................................................... 57 Einar Löfstedt and archaeology on the rise .......................................... 59 To Germany ................................................................................... 61 Family matters ............................................................................... 64 To the Mediterranean....................................................................... 67 Athenian networks .......................................................................... 69 Travelling and studying in Greece ...................................................... 72 Making plans for a Swedish excavation ............................................... 73 The Sanctuary of Poseidon ..................................................... 79 Approaching the site ........................................................................ 82 Palatia ........................................................................................... 89 Excavations .................................................................................... 91 Aftermath ............................................................................ 99 Later careers ................................................................................. 104 Returning to Kalaureia .................................................................... 107 Part 2. Excavating Kalaureia 1894 ........................................ 109 Archaeological self-images: Wide and the politics of belonging . 111 Intersections and politics of belonging ............................................... 115 The professional scholar .................................................................. 118 His quiet study chamber ............................................................. 120 War in Academia ........................................................................ 122 The adventurer .............................................................................. 124 Cavalry maneuvers .................................................................... 125 Living a ‘portmanteau’s life’ ......................................................... 128 The entrepreneur ........................................................................... 131 Networking ............................................................................... 132 Fundraising ............................................................................... 136 Othering Kjellberg .......................................................................... 140 ‘He has an indescribable ability to kill time’ .................................... 142 ‘Où est la femme?’ ..................................................................... 144 ‘Kjellberg had bought a 1st class ticket’ .......................................... 148 ‘Was planning on going to Wolters, it did not happen due to the headache’ ................................................................................. 151 Closing academic doors ............................................................... 153 Concluding remarks: Sam Wide’s politics of belonging ......................... 155 Topographies of Greece ....................................................... 157 Creating topographies ..................................................................... 159 Greece in Sweden .......................................................................... 161 ‘May young Swedish philologists bring their help to the sailors at Piraei harbour’ – the colonial gaze ............................................................. 164 ‘But my classical rapture cooled down slightly, when I came to Piraeus’ harbour’ – the ethnographic gaze ..................................................... 170 ‘One look up there, and the impression disappears’ – the escapist gaze.. 185 Creating archaeological knowledge at Kalaureia ..................... 193 The agency of landowners ............................................................... 194 Hierarchies of fieldwork practices...................................................... 205 The absent presence – Wide’s politics of belonging in the field .......... 205 The workmen and superintendents – ‘hidden hands’ at Kalaureia ...... 210 Methods and aims – nineteenth century fieldwork practices in context ... 218 Chasing walls ............................................................................ 219 Moving earth ............................................................................. 228 On ne trouve rien – the small finds ............................................... 229 Entering the National Archaeological Museum ................................. 234 Preparing the publication ................................................................. 237 Communicating the excavation – Swedish and Greek press coverage ..... 242 ‘Cannot hope to wreathe their efforts with laurels’ – Greek newspapers write about Kalaureia.................................................................. 243 ‘With success and honour for the Patria’ – Swedish newspapers write about Kalaureia ......................................................................... 245 Part 3. Representing Kalaureia 1894 ..................................... 251 Representation and historiography – the afterlife of the excavation at Kalaureia ....................................................................... 253 Representing place ............................................................. 255 Representations of strategic importance ................................ 261 A cultural competition: Kalaureia 1894 and the establishment of Professorial chairs in Uppsala and Lund .............................................................. 262 Antaios touching ground: representations of Kalaureia at the Swedish Institute at Athens ......................................................................... 266 A Swedish site: strategic representations of the Kalaureia Research Program ....................................................................................... 275 Applying for funding ................................................................... 277 Cleaning operations .................................................................... 280 New appropriations? ................................................................... 284 Representations of academic identity .................................... 289 ‘Wide wanted to show the way’: the afterlife of Sam Wide’s politics of belonging ...................................................................................... 290 The archaeologist as national pioneer ................................................ 294 Archaeological self-imagery: familiarity and strangeness ...................... 299 Concluding remarks: the aftermath of Kalaureia 1894 ............. 305 Archaeology as cultural practice – views from Kalaureia .......... 307 Kalaureia 1894 – a short summary ................................................... 309 Archaeology as identity-creating practice ........................................... 311 Archaeology as national practice....................................................... 314 Archaeology as heritage-making practice ........................................... 316 Epilogue ............................................................................ 319 Sammanfattning – Kalaureia 1894. Kulturhistoriska perspektiv på den första svenska utgrävningen i Grekland ........................... 321 Syfte och teoretiska utgångspunkter ................................................. 321 Avhandlingens struktur ................................................................... 323 Arkeologi som identitetsskapande praktik .......................................... 326 Arkeologi som nationalistisk praktik .................................................. 329 Arkeologi som kulturarvsskapande praktik ......................................... 330 List of figures ..................................................................... 333 Bibliography ...................................................................... 337 Abbreviations ATA Antikvarisk-topografiska arkivet/Archive of the Swedish National Heritage Board DAI Deutsches Archäologisches Institut/ German Archaeological Institute GUB Gothenburg University Library LUB Lund University Library SIA Swedish Institute at Athens TAP Genika Archeia tou Kratous – Topiko Archeiou Porou/ General Archives of Greece – Poros Local Archive UUB Uppsala University Library 15 16 Preface In May 2008, I went to Greece for the first time as an archaeologist. During the spring semester, I attended a course at Stockholm University called ‘Fieldwork in the Mediterranean’ which included an internship at an excavation in either Greece or Italy. I was placed at Poros, an island off the Peloponnesian coast. Here, archaeologists under the auspices of the Swedish Institute at Athens were excavating in the Sanctuary of Poseidon on Kalaureia, one of the two island of Poros. My first season at Kalaureia would turn into several more; I worked as a field archaeologist for the Kalaureia Research Program from 2008 until 2011. I came to Greece with an interest in critical perspectives on heritage and archaeological practice. This interest arose from my years as an undergraduate student at universities in Sweden, the U.S. and Turkey, as well as my previous field experience from various parts of the world. The experience working on Poros gave me an insight into the complexity of Greek archaeology as a cultural practice and it has influenced the perspectives approached in this thesis. The presence of young aspiring archaeologists from several countries (Greece and Sweden predominantly), local workmen, and seasoned archaeologists from the Swedish Institute created a dynamic atmosphere, both on and off site. In addition, visitors from other archaeological ‘schools’ in Athens would come by to see the excavation. The program also had an ethnographic component with Greek scholars conducting archaeological ethnography on site. Yannis Hamilakis, Aris Anagnostopoulos and Fotis Ifantidis investigated how archaeology and material culture were perceived and appropriated by various groups on Poros, which also meant that my role on the project was being scrutinized. I learnt at Kalaureia that archaeology in Greece is a complex and intricate matter, where cultural politics, transnational interests and personal ambitions intersect. In 2009, the directors of the program approached me and asked if I was interested in pursuing a PhD in connection with the archaeology at Kalaureia. The choice of topic focused on the excavation conducted in the sanctuary in 1894, which is considered to be the first Swedish excavation in Greece. When in 2010, I was accepted into the Graduate School for Studies in Cultural History at Stockholm University, Arto Penttinen, who was codirecting the Kalaureia Research Program, became one of my supervisors. I 17 have written this critical history of the first Swedish excavation in Greece in close connection with the Kalaureia Research Program, but I have been encouraged to pursue my own research interests and ethics. The end result is this book. 18 Introduction Fig. 1. Piraeusχ harbour in the late nineteenth century. From Centerwall 1888:73. On 13 September 1893 the steamship Galathea set out from Trieste and sailed towards Piraeus, the harbour town of Athens. On board was the 32year-old aspiring archaeologist Sam Wide (1861-1918) from Sweden who held a PhD in Classical Languages from Uppsala University. This was to be his first visit to Greece. After a five-day quarantine for fear of cholera outbreaks in the harbours of Corfu, Cephalonia and Kalamata, the ship steamed into the Saronic Gulf on the morning of 21 September. Sam Wide had got up at 4 am to catch the sun rise. In a letter to his friend Alfred Westholm1, Wide wrote about his experience: Alfred Emanuel Westholm (1862-1945) was a close friend of Sam Wide’s from the student years in Uppsala. He worked as a teacher of modern languages in Falun. The correspondence between Wide and Westholm from Wide’s years in the Mediterranean form a large part of the source material for my thesis. His son, also named Alfred, took part in Swedish Cyprus Expedition and the excavations in Asine in the 1920s and 1930s. In his memoires, Alfred Westholm Jr. wrote 1 19 ‘Shortly after 5 o’clock, the sun rose behind the Hymettus and Penthelikon, shone upon the distant Acropolis, the Attic lands, the winding shores of Aegina and Salamis, it shone also on my hopes for the future. […] I think I thought of Löfstedt and of you and of the benches at Gustavianum, grand and delightful memories and thoughts intersected with the quiet recitation of banal things like my poem: May the wild cries of the mob at last die down, And Hellas rest in the bosom of Svea, And may young Swedish philologists bring, Their help to the sailors in Piraei harbour.’ 2 While in Greece, Sam Wide and his colleague and friend Lennart Kjellberg (1857-1936), who was older by four years, would initiate the first archaeological excavation conducted by Swedish scholars in Greece. During two months in the summer of 1894 they excavated at the Sanctuary of Poseidon on Kalaureia, one of the islands of Poros in the Saronic Gulf. They employed around twenty Greek workmen, a foreman named Pankalos (first namn unknown) and a Swedish architect from Rome, Sven Kristenson (1858-1937). The short excavation at Kalaureia has been regarded as an important event in the establishment of classical archaeology as a profession and as an academic topic in Sweden. In 1909, the first Professorial chairs in Classical Archaeology and Ancient History were founded at the universities of Lund and Uppsala. Sam Wide became the first Professor in Uppsala, and was succeeded by Lennart Kjellberg. This thesis is about the excavation at Kalaureia in 1894, its prelude and its aftermath. about his fathers close relationship with Wide: ‘Sam Wide was a close friend of my father’s and he had filled him with enthusiasm for classical antiquity. Father had transferred this passion onto me. […] I have often thought of my father’s joy and emotions when I told him that I had been offered to take part in the Asine-expedition.’ [‘Sam Wide var fars nära vän och hade entusiasmerat honom för antiken. Far hade överfört detta svärmeri till mig. […] Jag har ofta tänkt på fars glädje och känslor när jag talade om att jag fått erbjudande att ingå i Asineexpeditionen.’], Westholm 1994:31. 2 ’Något öfver 5 gick solen upp bakom Hymettos och Penthelikon, bestrålade det fjärran Akropolis, det attiska landet, Aigina och Salamis´ buktiga stränder, bestrålade äfven mitt framtidshopp. […] Jag tror att jag jag tänkte på Löfstedt och dig och bänkarne på Gustavianum, stora härliga minnen och tankar vexlade och med tyst recitation af banala saker sådana som min vers: ”Må hopens vilda skrän till sist förklinga, Och Hellas hvila invid Sveas famn, Och unge svenske filologer bringa, Sin hjälp åt sjömän i Piraei hamn!”, Wide to Westholm, 23 September 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 20 Why Kalaureia? Purpose and research questions Taking Sam Wide’s narrative above as a starting point, it is evident that his journey to Greece signified a special event, one that prompted him both to contemplate his future prospects and to reminisce about his past experiences. At Gustavianum, the building which housed the Department of Classical Languages at Uppsala University, Professor Einar Löfstedt (1831-1889) had taught Sam Wide how to study classical texts and had shared pictures from his own travels in Greece. 3 Löfstedt, who had passed away in 1889, had fought to include archaeology in the curriculum of Classical Languages in Sweden but had not succeeded in acquiring a Professorial chair for the subject. By going to Greece to work and study, Sam Wide hoped to continue Löfstedt’s legacy. What was so special about Greece? The country where Sam Wide disembarked from the Galathea in 1894 was an international centre of classical archaeology. The nineteenth century had seen the rise of European nation states where archaeology was constructed and implemented as an instrument for legitimizing a people’s right to a specific territory and which created narratives of the past which could serve to create a sense of belonging among various interest groups. The modern state of Greece, founded after a war that started in 1821 against the crumbling Ottoman Empire, also built its legitimacy on the ideas and ideals of indigenous heritage. But unlike many other national pasts, the Greek past was also perceived of as a Western entitlement. By 1894, four foreign countries had established archaeological institutes, or ‘schools’, in Athens: Great Britain, Germany, France and the United States. The Swedish archaeologists, lacking a national school of their own, allied with the German Archaeological Institute (Deutsches Archäologisches Institut [hereafter DAI]). The driving force behind this surge of archaeologists into the Mediterranean was the perception that the foundations of Western values, art and philosophy lay buried in the Mediterranean, in the ruins of ancient Greek city states and their former colonies and in the remains of the Roman Empire. Together with Greek archaeologists, the foreign schools conducted some of the large scale excavations of the late nineteenth century that led to the creation of culturally significant sites such as Olympia and Delphi. These excavations were realized through a complex cultural and political interplay between visitors (the schools) and Einar Löfstedt was Professor of Greek at Uppsala University from 1874. In 1869-1870, he studied in Germany and in 1876-77, he went to Italy and Greece on a travel stipend, see Callmer 1960. He is not to be confused with his son, also called Einar Löfstedt (1880-1955), who was a classical philologist and Professor at Lund University during the first half of the twentieth century. 3 21 host (Greece). The excavation at Kalaureia is situated in this culturally important and contested space and offers the possibility of studying Swedish engagements in the emerging field of classical archaeology. In addition, the excavations around the Mediterranean during the latter part of the nineteenth century took place at a time when the premise of archaeology as a profession was being negotiated, the excavations contributed to the standardization of certain ideals within the profession. The excavation at Kalaureia is thus situated temporally right in the centre of major developments in field archaeology and the professionalization of classical archaeology. The Swedish actors involved contributed in various ways to the establishment and definition of the subject of classical archaeology at Swedish universities. Studying the excavation at Kalaureia offers an excellent opportunity to consider a small excavation, with a limited number of actors, from the onset to the aftermath of one excavation season, during a formative time in the history of archaeology. Archaeology as cultural practice The source material as well as my own position as a Swedish archaeologist active in Greece has made me interested in the processes through which one becomes a classical archaeologist and in the socio-politics of performing archaeology in Greece. These concerns bring me to the first purpose of my thesis: to analyse how archaeology functioned as a cultural practice by examining the premises for archaeological knowledge production in the nineteenth century. Following Shawn Malley, writing archaeology as a cultural practice can be broadly defined as a study which ‘explores and theorizes controversial issues such as identity, agency, heritage, and ownership’.4 Three underlying research questions are tied to this first purpose. Returning again to Sam Wide’s narrative above, his poem raises interesting points of departure for investigating the mentality and mechanisms of archaeology as a cultural practice in Greece. First, how did the archaeologists view themselves and construct their professional identity? Who were those ‘young Swedish philologists’? Second, how did the encounter with modern Greece play out? What did it mean for Svea (the Swedish equivalent of Uncle Sam) to travel to Greece to ‘help the sailors at Piraei harbour’ and what type of discourse is behind such a statement? And third, how did these nineteenth century sensibilities create knowledge about the past through excavations at Kalaureia? Which methods were applied and what did the relationship between the different actors present on site look like in practice? An overarching premise for my work, inspired by discourse analysis and the New Cultural History, is that archaeology is a culturally situated form of 4 Malley 2012:5. 22 history production where various contemporary power claims are expressed. Hence, I will examine the practices of inclusion and exclusion at Kalaureia, i.e. the framework for the discourse of nineteenth century archaeology in Greece. Staying aware of the dangers of imposing an anachronistic model of explanation, this thesis ‘asks present-minded questions, but refuses to make present-minded answers.’5 In effect, this means that although my research questions are tied to contemporary debates and concerns, the aim is to situate the answers to those questions in nineteenth-century contexts. Historiographical representations The second purpose concerns the modes of, and reasons for, writing histories of archaeology. The production of historiography is a vital component of archaeology as a cultural practice, deeply embedded in the self-image of the profession. Returning to classical archaeology, the idea of Greek archaeology as an international entitlement has continued to be a foundational thought throughout the twentieth century. Gradually, more and more countries have added to the international scene of Greek archaeology, and at the turn of the new millennium, seventeen countries had archaeological schools in Athens. The Swedish Institute at Athens opened its doors in 1948. Through the schools, generations of young men, and eventually young women, have been trained as archaeologists. After the two initial Swedish excavations in 1894 (Kalaureia and Aphidna, the latter also excavated by Sam Wide), Swedish archaeologists returned to Greece in in the 1920s. Fig. 2 shows all the Swedish run excavations in Greece to date. Today, Greece has seventeen sites listed on the UNESCO World Heritage list, the majority of which were excavated during the nineteenth century, many by foreign archaeologists from the various schools in Athens.6 The Sanctuary of Poseidon at Kalaureia is not among the sites on the UNESCO list. Nevertheless, it has come to play a significant role for the local community on Poros as well as for Swedish archaeology in Greece. In 1997, the Swedish Institute at Athens initiated new excavations on Kalaureia; the Swedes ‘came back’ to the birthplace of their national endeavors, having been invited by representatives of the Greek government to ‘resume’ their excavations one hundred years after their original commencement. 5 6 Burke 1997a:2. whc.unesco.org/en/statesparties/gr. Accessed 10 April 2016. 23 Kalaureia 1894, 1997-2012, 2015-ongoing Aphidna 1894 Asine 1922, 1924, 1926, 1930, 1970-1974, 1976-1978, 1985, 1989-1990 Dendra 1926-1927, 1937, 1962-1963 Messenia 1927-1929, 1933-34, 1952, 2015-ongoing Berbati 1935-1938, 1953, 1959, 1988-1990, 1994-95, 1997, 1999 Asea 1936-38, 1994-1996, 1997, 2000 Midea 1939, 1963, 1983-ongoing Chania 1969- ongoing Paradeisos 1976 Makrakomi 2010-2015 Hermione 2015-ongoing Vlochos 2016-ongoing Fig. 2. Swedish field projects in Greece. Modified from Penttinen 2014a:103 and Scheffer 2000:200. For information on the projects, see the web site of the Swedish Institute at Athens, www.sia.gr. In 2006, the Kalaureia Research Program received a large grant from the Swedish Foundation of Humanities and Social Sciences (previously Bank of Sweden Tercentenary Foundation) for a six year program entitled The Sea, the City and the God which ended in 2012.7 This is a project of which I have been a part and which I discussed in the preface. Through continuous national claims, Greek archaeological sites have not only become culturally relevant as tangible remains from antiquity but in addition they have become iconic sites of institutional history. Through the production of histoIn addition to excavation reports and articles in various periodicals, a popular account of the results was published by Arto Penttinen, see Penttinen 2014b. For publications from the archaeological ethnography on Poros, see Hamilakis & Anagnostopoulos 2009a; Hamilakis, Anagnostopoulos & Ifantidis 2009; Anagnostopoulos 2014, and Hamilakis & Ifantidis 2016. 7 24 riography, archaeological excavations in Greece are given extensive afterlives as symbols of the allure of the craft of archaeology, as examples of the scientific excellence of the institutions, or as warning examples of past archaeology done wrong. Thus, past archaeological events are not entirely situated at a particular time, but are constructed and manipulated at different presents. This thesis is one example of the afterlife of the excavation in 1894. The Kalaureia Research Program, the Swedish Institute at Athens, and the departments of Classical Archaeology and Ancient History at Swedish universities have been the major producers of historiography around the excavation at Kalaureia since 1894. Accordingly, the second purpose of this thesis is to analyse how the excavation at Kalaureia has been represented throughout the twentieth century. Here my time span ranges from 1895 until roughly the end of The Sea, the City and the God around 2012. This second purpose will highlight inclusionary and exclusionary aspects of historiographical rhetoric in Swedish classical archaeology, using the excavation at Kalaureia as a case study. I am interested in which elements of the history have been emphasized and what purposes the representation has served. Three underlying research questions are tied to this second purpose. First, how were the scientific results of the excavation at Kalaureia narrated and appropriated? Second, what role has the excavation at Kalaureia served in representing professional identities? And third, how has the excavation at Kalaureia functioned as a tool for legitimizing a continued Swedish presence in Greek archaeology? A cultural history of archaeology – theoretical premises and previous research In order to analyse the excavation at Kalaureia as a series of situated cultural practices and representations, it is necessary to work within an interdisciplinary framework. I belong to the Graduate School for Studies in Cultural History (FoKult) at Stockholm University where I have been exposed to and encouraged to explore various cross-disciplinary approaches to historiography. My thesis is situated within and between three interrelated fields: cultural history, history of archaeology, and archaeological ethnography. I have borrowed theoretical tools and premises from these fields in order to construct a theoretical framework for analysis which I call a cultural history of archaeology. Each chapter in this thesis begins with a theoretical discussion relating to the theme and topic of the chapter. The following is therefore 25 meant to be an overview of the three fields across which my study is situated. Here, I position my work in relation to previous research and outline the theoretical premises which underline my thesis. History of archaeology History of archaeology involves research into the development of archaeology as a discipline, hence history of archaeology also belongs academically to the History of Science and Ideas.8 History of scientific reason and practice can trace its roots to the Renaissance, but gained importance as a critical academic profession from the 1950s onwards through an increasing appreciation of science as a cultural and social phenomenon.9 While most historians of science today are academically located outside of the discipline which they study, archaeologists have traditionally written their own disciplinary history.10 I belong to the group of historians of archaeology that have a background and training as a field archaeologist. This dual perspective can give rise to certain problems but it can also engender possibilities. My embodied knowledge of what archaeology means in a twenty-first century context and my experience of being a Swedish archaeologist working in Greece enables me to see parallels in nineteenth-century discourse with present day thinking and practice. On the downside, there is a danger that being positioned too closely to the object of study might obscure certain external forces that perhaps a historian of science and ideas would highlight. This history of archaeology should therefore be read as my situated history, written from an archaeologist’s perspective with archaeological concerns, but it is a history that attempts both to be relevant across disciplines and to make use of concepts and theories belonging to history of ideas, gender studies and history. History of archaeology has developed into an international sub-discipline within archaeology during the twentieth century. Importantly, the models and narratives of histories of archaeology have shifted due to the needs of the profession. During the first half of the twentieth century, published works on past archaeological research were mostly in the form of biographies or overviews emphasizing the successful evolution of the profession with individual actors as agents and great discoveries as their main target. As 8 See Eberhardt & Link 2015 for discussions on the relationship between histories of archaeology and History of Science and Ideas. 9 For an overview of the historiography of the History of Science, see Kragh 1987. For a short history of the development of the history of the disciplines, see Marchand 2014. For developments in Swedish History of Science, see Nordlund 2012. 10 With regards to classical archaeology, the work on German archaeology and classical scholarship by intellectual historian Suzanne Marchand is an exception. See Marchand 1996; 1997; 2002; 2007; 2009, and 2010. 26 for Greek archaeology, examples include Adolf Michaelis’ early history A Century of Archaeological Discoveries which was first published in German in 1906 and followed by Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff’s History of Classical Scholarship in 1921.11 Both of these works were informed by personal experiences in the field, and included observations about fellow students, teachers and collaborators. In classical archaeology, biographies of the founding fathers or the ‘great discoverers’ of the discipline followed in the mid-twentieth century with treatments of for example Wilhelm Dörpfeld12, Heinrich Schliemann13 and Arthur Evans.14 Importantly, the ‘Great Man’ narrative, in which the character of individual actors is considered to be responsible for progress and scientific discovery, was born out of these scientific perspectives and out of the autobiographical narratives of individual archaeologists. Starting in the 1960s, history of archaeology began to take shape as a serious study object within archaeology as a discipline.15 As archaeology entered its ‘linguistic turn’ in the 1980s and 1990s, a more critical and theoretically informed history of archaeology emerged. This was influenced by post-processual approaches emphasizing reflexivity in the production of archaeological knowledge.16 Since shortly before the turn of the millennium, histories of archaeology have moved beyond internalist approaches and have started to study external influences on archaeology, with a focus on the socio-politics of the discipline and the situatedness of archaeological thinking and practice.17 Michaelis 1908; Wilamowitz-Moellendorff 1982 [1921]. Dörpfeld (1853-1940) was a trained architect and director of the DAI in Athens between 1887 and 1912. He conducted excavations in Athens, Olympia, and Troy, among other places, see Goessler 1951. Dörpfeld would play an important role in the excavation at Kalaureia, as I will discuss in subsequent chapters. 13 Heinrich Schliemann’s (1822-1890) excavations in Troy and Mycenae have received almost mythological status. He has been one of the most researched and commented figures in the history of classical archaeology, see for example Meyer 1969; Burg 1987; Traill 1993; 1995; 2014, and Heuck Allen 1998. 14 Sir Arthur Evans (1851-1941) excavated at Knossos on Crete, see Evans 1943 (biography of Sir Arthur Evans written by his sister). See also MacGillivray 2000 and Gere 2009. 15 See for example Daniel 1962 and 1975; Klindt-Jensen 1975. 16 In 1989, Bruce Trigger’s A History of Archaeological Thought outlined the intellectual history of archaeological knowledge production, see Trigger 1989 with second edition in 2006. The same year Tracing Archaeologyχs Past edited by Andrew Christenson came out, see Christenson 1989. In The Discovery of the Past, first published in French in 1993, Alain Schnapp brought the history of archaeological practice and reasoning back into prehistory itself, see Schnapp 1996. The international journal Bulletin of the History of Archaeology started publishing in 1990. 17 See for example Kohl & Fawcett 1995; Andrén 1998; Meskell 1998; Díaz- Andreu 2007; Jensen 2012a, and Eberhardt & Link 2015. See also publications from AREA IV Archives of European Archaeology in Schlanger & Nordbladh 2008a. The Excellence Cluster TOPOI (The Formation and Transformation of Space and Knowledge in Ancient Civilizations) in Germany includes several research projects dealing with questions relating to the history of archaeology, see www.topoi.org. 11 12Wilhelm 27 Scandinavian archaeology at Swedish universities (i.e. research on material culture found in present-day Scandinavia, including Sweden) has contributed to the history of archaeology since the early twentieth century.18 Researching the history of Swedish ‘classical’ archaeology has not been a priority, although narratives of past archaeological activities in the Mediterranean have been represented in various ways within the profession. I will be analysing these accounts relating to the excavation at Kalaureia in Part 3 of this thesis. Recently there has been a growing interest in the history of classical archaeology19, as well as in reception studies in Sweden.20 My work is situated within this emerging field. This newly found interest goes hand in hand with a critique of the lack of critical perspectives and theoretical debate in Swedish classical archaeology as formulated by Johannes Siapkas.21 Histories of classical archaeology from the point of view of the foreign schools in Athens have also emerged in the past decade, providing new and valuable information on the development and politics of foreign archaeology in Greece. Some of these have taken a self-reflexive and critical stance, such as Michael Shanks’ 1996 book Classical Archaeology of Greece. Experiences of the discipline, but most have tended to be rather descriptive.22 Kalaureia 18 For early example see Mandelgren 1876; Ekholm 1935; Hildebrand 1937-38 and Nerman 1945. For later publications, see for example Klindt-Jensen 1975; Baudou 1997, 2004 and 2012; Gillberg 1999 and 2001; Jensen 1999; Arwill-Nordbladh 1998 and 2012; Nicklasson & Petersson 2012, and Engström 2015. 19 See Whitling 2010 and Whitling et al. 2015 on the history of the Swedish Institute in Rome. Frederick Whitling is currently working on a history of the Swedish Crown Prince and later King Gustaf VI Adolf as an archaeologist and cultural benefactor, see Whitling 2014 for a short overview of current research into classical archaeology and the Crown Prince. Anna Gustavsson is currently working on the connections between Swedish and Italian archaeologists during the nineteenth century, see Gustavsson 2014 and her forthcoming thesis. Other recent examples of histories of Swedish classical archaeology, see Landgren & Östenberg 1996; Wells & Penttinen 2005, and Hillbom & Rystedt 2009. Swedish scholars have also contributed to critical studies on the history of Minoan archaeology, see Sjögren 2006. For previous work on the 1894 excavation at Kalaureia, see Callmer 1953; Nordquist 2002 & 2014. 20 See for example Alroth & Scheffer 2011 and Leander Touati 2000. For critical perspectives from Swedish scholars on the reception of classics, see Siapkas & Sjögren 2014 and Hammar & Zander 2015. 21 Siapkas 2001; Siapkas & Iordanoglou 2011; Siapkas 2012a, and Siapkas 2015. See also Nordquist 2009 for critical reflections on the status of current research in Swedish classical archaeology. 22 Shanks 1996. For The American School of Classical Studies (ASCSA), see Lord 1947and Shoe Meritt 1984. For theoretical and critical perspectives on American archaeology in the Mediterranean, see Dyson 1998 and 2006; Sakka 2008 and 2013 (on the politics of the excavations in the Athenian Agora). In 2013, Hesperia, the Journal of the ASCSA, published a special issue on American politics of archaeological practice in Greece. For The French School at Athens, see École française d’Athène 1992 (on the social setting and the politics surrounding the excavations at Delphi) and Étienne & Étienne 1992. For The German Archaeological Institute, see Junker 1997 and Kyrieleis 2002. For The British School at Athens, see Waterhouse 1986 and Gill 2011. The 28 1894 contributes to the international project of discussing and debating the history of foreign engagements in Greek archaeology. In order to do so, my work takes inspiration from two kinds of critical histories of archaeology; firstly, those relating to gender politics in archaeology, and secondly those that debate archaeology as a tool for nationalistic and colonial heritage practices, and their resultant consequences. Anders Gustafsson distinguishes between two kinds of histories of archaeology.23 The first kind is primarily focused on using past archaeological results and practices for evaluating current research (‘history of archaeology as archaeology’). This kind of narrative often forms the basis of introductions to traditional archaeological studies of the past. The other kind analyses ‘history of archaeology as history’, i.e. it investigates past archaeology as an object of study in itself. My thesis belongs in the second category. The focus here is not on whether the scientific results from Kalaureia were ‘true’ or ‘scientifically valid’ based on the standards of today’s ideals (which would be the frame used in an ‘history of archaeology as archaeology’ approach) but instead on contextualizing past practice and practitioners to understand archaeology as a culturally situated phenomenon. Gendered histories of archaeology Despite being a woman working in archaeology and academia, gendered aspects of archaeological knowledge production and access to academic positions came surprisingly late into my sphere of thinking. I sat very comfortably in my academic setting: social skills, hard work and a privileged family background made it possible for me to travel and study. My undergraduate education never really discussed or problematized issues of academic politics, such as belonging and networking. It was not until I started to work on this thesis that I really came to understand the way in which past gendered experiences shapes our professional identities. The source material connected to the excavation at Kalaureia revealed a preoccupation with identity in relation to gender, specifically masculinity in the case of the men who excavated at Kalaureia. The source material also revealed a division of practice along gender, ethnic and class lines. While the socio-politics of performing archaeology look somewhat different today, the fact that archaeology developed as a profession in the late nineteenth century means that many of those aspects which we tend to look for in the ideal version of an academic subject, or in the ideal archaeologist, stem from that period. For the past decade, several scholars have probed the construction of archaeological self-images, both within the profession and as imagined in popular examples above are taken from the largest of the foreign schools. For an overview of the histories of all the foreign schools in Athens and further reading, see Korka 2005. 23 Gustafsson 2001. 29 culture.24 While some have argued that we should embrace and use the popular figure of the archaeologist as adventurer, soldier and mystic that we encounter in films, books and on the internet in order to spark interest in the discipline, my contrary standpoint is that it is necessary for us to be critically engaged with the gendered and class-based aspects of such an image.25 My analysis of the actors involved in the Kalaureia excavation contributes to that discussion. A theoretical premise for my work is that archaeology as a cultural practice cannot be understood without taking gender into consideration. Within the realm of post-processual deconstructions of archaeology’s grand narratives, archaeologists began debating and criticizing gender biases inherent in the ‘Great Man’ narratives, both in the production of archaeological knowledge and in the production of histories of archaeology. Early historians of archaeology tended to focus almost exclusively on male archaeologists, both in the scope of over-views of the development of the profession, and through biographies of singular archaeologists. As a reaction to this androcentric history-writing, feminist historians of archaeology during the 1990s began to produce work which would highlight women’s contributions to the history of archaeological practice and thought.26 These studies often specifically targeted the adversities faced by female archaeologists working within a male dominated system at the university, in museums and in fieldwork situations.27 In recent years, a number of important contributions have been made to the study of archaeological practice as gendered28 and also to the process through which archaeological self-images are constructed in relation to perceived gender dichotomy.29 While these studies have been crucial for illuminating female inclusion and exclusion in archaeological knowledge production, few studies have taken a critical focus on male experiences in the history of archaeology.30 24 Welinder 2000; Russell 2002; Clack and Brittain 2007; Holtorf 2007; Sandberg 2008; Snäll & Welinder 2008, and Marwick 2010. 25 Cf. Holtorf 2007:141ff. 26 Early works include Cros & Smith 1993; Claassen 1994 and Diaz-Andreu & Stig Sørensen 1998. An additional example is the journal K.A.N. Kvinner i arkeologi i Norge (transl. Women in Norwegian archaeology) that began its publication series in 1985. 27 See for example Díaz-Andreu & Stig Sørensen 1998 and Cohen & Joukowsky 2004. A recent biography on the early German archaeologist Johanna Mestorf (1828-1909) was published in 2015, see Unverhau 2015. 28 See for example the special edition of Journal of Archaeological Theory and Method on gender and archaeology with an introduction by Alison Wylie, see Wylie 2007. In particular Stephanie Moser’s contribution, see Moser 2007. Also Engström 2015 with references. For Greek archaeology, see Picazo 1998 and Kokkinidou & Nikolaidou 1999. 29 See for example Roberts 2012. 30 Elin Engström’s work on the excavations at Eketorp on Öland, Sweden is a recent exception, see Engström 2015. See also Evans 2014 on Augustus Pitt Rivers and militarism, and Berg 2014. 30 In this thesis, I will investigate the role of masculinity in the construction of archaeological self-images during the late nineteenth century, using the theoretical approaches of ‘intersectionality’ and ‘politics of belonging’. Intersectionality refers to gender in relation to other social categories, such as class and ethnicity, in the construction of identity. Politics of belonging refers to how an individual represents him- or herself in order to be accepted into a community or a group. These concepts will be discussed in greater detail in Archaeological self-images: Sam Wide and the politics of belonging in Part 2. Postcolonial histories of archaeology As a Swedish national working in Greece, the relationship between national and international structures in classical archaeology and its associated power hierarchies are at the core of my research focus. My experience as an archaeologist in Greece has made me interested in the perception of the continuity and ownership of archaeological sites. Why is Kalaureia ‘Swedish’, Olympia ‘German’ and Delphi ‘French’? Historians of archaeology and researchers of socio-political aspects of archaeology have, since the 1980s, debated the intersection of archaeology and nationalism.31 In addition to the critique of archaeology in the service of nation states, archaeologists have discussed the global implications of archaeology as an instrument of colonialism.32 As a consequence, research into European archaeologists working abroad has also sparked interest in recent years.33 In the early 2000s, Swedish archaeologists began debating aspects of how Swedish archaeologists conduct fieldwork outside their home country, including contribution of classical archaeology, which the majority of trained archaeologists working abroad have as their disciplinary home.34 Interestingly, classical archaeology as a discipline sits in the intersection of nationalistic and postcolonial debates. As I have discussed above, Greek archaeology took on a symbolic status during the nineteenth century and became a national concern for the Greek state and was subject to the interSee for example Trigger 1984; Kohl & Fawcett 1995; Champion & Díaz-Andreu 1995, and Meskell 1998. 32 See for example Liebmann & Rizvi 2008; Lydon & Rizvi 2010 and Andrén 1998:144ff. For examples of Swedish archaeology and its relationship with colonialism from both a historical and a historiographical perspective, see for example Naum & Nordin 2013. For critical histories of classical archaeology in Greece, the work on orientalism by Edward Said has been instrumental, see Said 1978. 33 See for example Linde et al. 2012 and Linde 2012. 34 In 2000, the Swedish Archaeological Society hosted a workshop on ethical aspects of archaeology abroad, see Ringstedt 2001. In 2001, Current Swedish Archaeology devoted a section to Swedish archaeology abroad, see Damm 2001; Källén 2001; Randsborg 2001 and Siapkas 2001. See also the recent work by Anna Källén and Johan Hegardt on the Swedish-born archaeologist Olov Janse and his cosmopolitan career, see Källén & Hegardt 2014 and Källén 2014. 31 31 national claim of other Western states. In Greek classical archaeology, a number of important works have, over the past decade, discussed the construction and appropriation of the classical past in modern Greece, discussions which include analyses of the politics in histories of archaeology.35 Historians of archaeology have also problematized the practices of foreign archaeologists in Greece in relation to world politics.36 I use the term ‘colonial’ in this context since the source material reveals that, through their use of colonial terminology and categorizations, Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg were acutely aware of their own situatedness within a colonial framework. Using the term ‘colonial’ to describe foreign archaeology in nineteenth-century Greece is a contested practice and it is important to devote some space to that debate here.37 The reason for the contention is that Greece was never formally colonized by military force and the Greek state actively took part in and promoted foreign archaeological campaigns. Ian Morris argues that Greek archaeology can be seen as falling outside the three categories of nationalist, colonialist and imperialist archaeologies as posited by Bruce Trigger.38 Morris prefers the term ‘continental’ when classifying Greek archaeology in the nineteenth century, when archaeology in Greece became more of a pan-European project rather than a national one.39 Margarita Díaz-Andreu deals with nineteenth-century archaeology in Greece, and especially the foreign schools, under the concept of ‘informal imperialism’, where ‘a powerful nation manages to establish dominant control in a territory over which it does not have sovereignty’.40 Michael Herzfeld proposes the term ‘crypto-colonialism’ when analysing this type of Greek and European co-dependence.41 The crypto-colonial situation is one where ‘certain countries […] were compelled to acquire their political independence at the expense of massive economic dependence, this relationship being articulated in the iconic guise of aggressively national culture fashioned to suit foreign models.’42 Yannis Hamilakis rightly points out that the Greek state and Greek archaeologists also played their part in setting up a system where archaeology served both colonial and nationalist 35 See for example Bernal 1987; Hamilakis & Yalouri 1996 and 1999; Yalouri 2001; Brown & Hamilakis 2003; Hamilakis & Momigliano 2006; Hamilakis 2007; Damaskos & Plantzos 2008, and Stroulia & Buck Sutton 2010. 36 See for example Marchand 1996; Díaz-Andreu 2007, and Hamilakis 2007. 37 Frederick Whitling uses the term ‘colonial’ when discussing the history of the foreign schools in Rome, see Whitling 2010:70ff. 38 Morris 1994b:11, also Trigger 1984. Trigger defines colonialist archaeology as ‘[…] practices by a colonizing population that had no historical ties with the peoples whose past they were studying’ and that they ‘[…] sought by emphasizing the primitiveness and lack of accomplishments of these peoples to justify their own poor treatment of them.’, see Trigger 1984:360. 39 Morris 1994b:11. 40 Díaz-Andreu 2007:99ff. 41 Herzfeld 2002. 42 Herzfeld 2002:900f. 32 purposes, and yet he uses the term ‘colonial’ when discussing the early foreign archaeology in Greece.43 I agree with Hamilakis’s view that while Greece was never formally colonized by military force, the intricacies of Greek state formation in symbiosis with European protective powers, especially when dealing with issues of cultural heritage, can be viewed as part of a colonial world-view.44 Following Stathis Gourgouris, I consider nineteenth-century archaeology in Greece as part of a ‘scoptic economy, wherein the colonialist relationship in itself is bound to a prescribed hierarchy in the exchange of glances.’45 While ‘crypto-colonization’ and ‘informal imperialism’ are useful terms when discussing the whole system, in the case of the individual actions and thoughts of the archaeologists in this thesis, their discourses will be described as colonial following the discourses seen in the source material. I will use two theoretical tools from postcolonial studies in order to analyse the colonial discourse in the narratives and practices around the excavation at Kalaureia in 1894. The first is ‘topography’ which relates to the creation and imagination of Greece as both a metaphorical and a geographical space. The second tool is ‘gaze’ which refers to the situated glance through which the topographies were created. These concepts will be explained in greater detail in Topographies of Greece in Part 2. Cultural history The classical archaeologist Ian Morris once famously stated that ‘archaeology is cultural history or it is nothing’.46 While I would not go so far as to say that history of archaeology is cultural history or it is nothing, I certainly believe that theoretical perspectives taken from cultural history can contribute to histories of archaeology. Embedding aspects of culture-historical viewpoints is a way to locate archaeology as a cultural practice by relating archaeology and the role of the archaeologist to contemporary structures in nineteenth-century society: as with all academic disciplines, archaeology is part of culture or it is nothing. The New Cultural History grew out of a concern in the social sciences and in the discipline of history during the 1980s for encouraging a shift in the scale and topics of analysis from political, economic and military history towards the history of everyday practices and towards groups that did not Hamilakis 2007:49f. Hamilakis 2007:20. Hamilakis also points to the similarities between nationalist territorial building and colonial projects in general, where the framing of geographical space and identity politics as controlled by an elite share the same mechanisms with colonialism. 45 Gourgouris 1996:129. 46 Morris 1994a:3. 43 44 33 belong to any elite.47 Using methods taken from anthropology, cultural historians investigated the expressions of culture and the diverse experiences of people situated at different positions in society. Contemporary with the so called ‘cultural turn’, the New Cultural History also corresponded to the post-modern critique of the objectivity claims made by historians by emphasizing deconstructions of grand narratives and offering critical perspectives on them.48 I have taken inspiration from the New Cultural History when formulating the central premise for this thesis: the emphasis on cultural practice.49 I define ‘cultural practice’ in the context of my work in three interrelated ways. First, that the archaeological community itself has, over the years, developed a culture of habits and practices which have an effect on the versions of the past presented and researched. Secondly, that these archaeological practices create places, artefacts and narratives which in turn are represented as meaningful cultural expressions in a variety of settings. And third, that archaeology is a situated cultural practice which has to be understood in relation to its surrounding societal environment.50 In order to investigate archaeology as a set of culturally situated practices, I have chosen an analytical scale that allows me to examine the details of the excavation at Kalaureia in 1894, the actors and the cultural impact of the excavation: microhistory. Microhistory Microhistory is closely related to cultural history and investigates in detail a clearly-defined and demarcated phenomenon, for example a person or a small group of people, an event, or a particular place.51 Rather than constructing overarching syntheses about foreign archaeology in Greece, my thesis aims to demonstrate the complexity of archaeological practice by 47 Hunt 1989; Burke 1997a and 2008, and Bonnell & Hunt 1999a. For archaeologists, the term ‘culture history’ is often associated with the culture-history paradigm of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century which used material culture to delineate between different peoples and cultures in prehistory. While the New Cultural History has roots in this paradigm, it corresponds today more to the post-processual critique in archaeological theory. 48 Källén & Sanner 2013. 49 Burke 2008:59ff. 50 These three definitions share common ground with much of the post-processual thinking on the nature of archaeological practice which emerged during the 1980s and 1990s. For some key reference works for post-processual archaeology, see Hodder 1986 and Shanks & Tilley 1992. See also Trigger 2006:386ff for a historical perspective on the paradigm shift from New Archaeology to post-processualism in Western academia. 51 For a recent introduction to microhistory, see Magnússon & Szijártó 2013. For key works, see Ginzburg 1980 and Zemon Davis 1983. In Sweden, microhistory has long been a dormant perspective, however there has recently been a renewed interest, see Götlind & Kåks 2004 and 2014, as well as the forthcoming issue of Historisk Tidskrift. 34 analysing in close detail the inner workings of practical liaisons and agents centred around one excavation season in 1894. Adhering to Victoria E. Bonnell and Lynn Hunt’s discussion of the pitfalls of social history, where quantitative analyses of large social categories tended to fall apart once individual examples were closely examined, I consider a micro-historical approach to be beneficial for investigating the complexity of a single archaeological event.52 Above, I outline the history of research on both the traditional legitimizing grand narratives in the history of classical archaeology as well as the more critical stances, i.e. gendered histories and post-colonial critique. A micro-historical perspective allows for a deconstruction and reconstruction of those narratives by investigating in detail the consistencies and inconsistencies of an individual case.53 Using a micro-historical approach means that I am able to place emphasis on everyday practices in accordance with cultural history. Rather than using political or institutional dimensions as its main analytical scale, my thesis examines the more mundane experiences of archaeological knowledge production; the shifting of dirt and recording of finds, the details of producing a publication, the experiences of travelling and surveying, as well as the social parties, friendships and animosities which bound people together (or separated them).54 This way of approaching history has its pitfalls; there is a danger of finding oneself lost in the details, in the anecdotal material. In an attempt to avoid a mere presentation of meticulous facts, I, to paraphrase Paul Steege et al., build out from my stories by putting them into an analytical context, recognizing that they are fragmented evidence of global processes.55 Microhistory in the context of this thesis is, then, about investigating ‘large questions in small places.’56 I use the excavation at Kalaureia as a prism through which I can analyse the way in which overarching nineteenth-century cultural discourses affected archaeological practice and vice versa. As amply put by Steege et al: ‘[…] even in seemingly grand-scale, abstract or impersonal systems of hegemony (capitalism, fascism, communism, patriarchy, imperialism etc.) we find human beings acting upon themselves and others: that is human beings imbricated in social relationships.’57 This quotation brings me to the question of agency. Here, I would like to stress that I agree with Paul Steege et al. that the micro-historian should emphasize ‘history as a human product, acknowledging human beings’ limiBonnell & Hunt 1999b:7. Gregory 1999:104; Götlind & Kåks 2014:22, and Magnússon 2016:190. 54 Cf Burke 2008:62; Steege et al. 2008. 55 Steege et al. 2008:367. 56 Charles Joyner in Götlind and Kåks 2014:22. Also quoted in Magnússon 2013:5. 57 Steege et al. 2008:371. 52 53 35 tation in but also their responsibility for making their own history’.58 This perspective should not prelude the recognition that those agents are, to a varying degree, bound by conventions and their scopes of action are limited. Cultural historians should then, according to Hannu Salmi ‘pay attention to the agents of history that spun their webs of significance and also changed them; to those social practices that connected and disconnected people of the past; and to that tangible, concrete, bodily world in which the people of the past lived and experienced their surroundings, both real and imagined.’59 As an inevitable outcome of such emphasis on the human agent, I take the stand with Donna Haraway and subsequent feminist scholars that the human being’s situated body and space of belonging in history has to be critically assessed.60 Practices and relations between people in this thesis are therefore regarded as ‘microphysics of power’ and an outcome of, and contributor to, the politics of archaeological thought and practice seen at the everyday level.61 I recognize that the possibility of interpreting agency is largely dependent on the materialization of practices in the source material which I discuss in detail in Part 1. Representations The second analytical component inspired by the New Cultural History is the focus on representations. Representation in this thesis broadly refers to the description or portrayal of someone or something in a particular way.62 In the case of this thesis, the object of representation is the excavation at Kalaureia and the people involved. A central premise for my interpretation of representations is that they are outcomes of power relations; who gets to represent and what is selected for representation depends on access to arenas, media and voice. In that way, to quote George Clement Bond and Angela Gilliam, representations ‘contain ideological and hegemonic properties that represent historical and sectional interest.’63 In my thesis, I use representations for two purposes. First, most of the source material around the excavation comes from self-representations of the actors involved in the Kalaureia excavation.64 Through letters, newspaper articles and photographs, Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg presented themselves and their practices to Steege et al. 2008: 362. Salmi, seminar at the Graduate School for Studies in Culture History, Stockholm University, 16 April 2010. Using the term ‘webs of significance’ to signify culture, Salmi paraphrases Clifford Geertz in his seminal paper ‘Thick Description. Toward an interpretive theory of culture’, see Geertz 1973:5. 60 Haraway 1988. 61 Steege et al 2008:361. 62 See for example Chartier 1988 for a discussion on representations and cultural history. 63 Bond & Gilliam 1994:1. 64 Burke 1997b:18. 58 59 36 various publics. The links between self-representations and the archive will be discussed in Part 1. The second way in which I use representations is to refer to the creation of historiographical accounts and imagery, i.e. the way in which the excavation at Kalaureia in 1894 has been represented as an historical event throughout the twentieth century. I show how a past event, in this case an archaeological excavation, can become embedded with meaning through practices of representation in newspapers, museum exhibitions, books, scientific publications and photographs. Although archaeology has been successful in debating the construction and representation of the past (as in the study object itself) over the past decades, the way in which archaeology has constructed and represented its own past (within the history of archaeology) has only recently come onto the agenda.65 The links between historiography and representation will be furthered explored in Part 3. Archaeological ethnography The third field within which this thesis is situated is archaeological ethnography. As I mention in the preface, the Kalaureia Research Program included an ethnographic project directed by Yannis Hamilakis. Hamilakis, together with Aris Anagnostopoulos and Fotis Ifantidis, researched the contemporary setting of archaeology as a cultural practice. This can be understood as the way in which archaeology today operates internally as well as the way in which archaeologists interact with other interest groups and the contemporary meaning of archaeological material culture for various audiences.66 The interest in Greek ethnographies of archaeology grew out of a concern with the separation between ‘modern’ and ‘ancient’ Greece, where archaeologists had created a tradition which separated the past from the present.67 Recognizing that archaeology is always entwined with contemporary concerns, archaeological ethnographies strive to research the social and political mechanisms inherent in archaeological practice; in the words of Hamilakis and Anagnostopoulos, to ‘dislodge the certainties of archaeology’ as the sole producer of historical narratives.68 This is done by analysing existing appropriations of Greek material culture outside the archaeological discipline as well as by encouraging new appropriations. As discussed above, a history of archaeology inspired by cultural history touches similar concerns from the historical perspective. What were the See for example Duesterberg 2015. Hamilakis & Anagnostopoulos 2009b:66. See also Stroulia & Buck Sutton 2010 for examples of Greek archaeological ethnographies. 67 Stroulia & Buck Sutton 2010:4. 68 Hamilakis & Anagnostopoulos 2009b:66. 65 66 37 mechanisms of archaeological identity politics? How did archaeologists in the past interact with each other and with other interest groups? How did different groups appropriate the material cultures which we today would classify as archaeological? A cultural history of archaeology inspired by archaeological ethnographies includes a variety of historical practices and discourses that concern things from the past, and is not limited to those that normally are considered important within the history of the discipline. By broadening the focus of the history of archaeology, one opens up a possibility for dialogue between different discourses involving things and places, where traditional archaeology is one of several archaeological practices operating in time and space. I want to argue that through this redefinition, research on the history of archaeology will be able to make use of culturehistorical methods in a more appropriate way. Where the disciplinary history usually focuses on the so-called ‘professional academic archaeology’, my thesis takes into account the interplay between traditional and alternative discourses. Although Kalaureia 1894 centres around two main agents, Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg, due to the location of the source material (I discuss this in detail in the chapter called In the archive), a variety of other actors are taken into account here. Archaeologists and workmen, field supervisors, guests and benefactors, local landowners, wives and children were tied together in relationships which defined the potential for archaeological knowledge production. The chapter Creating archaeological knowledge in Part 2 further explains how an ethnographic approach can be used to analyse field practices at Kalaureia. A cultural history of archaeology - a summary My take on a cultural history of archaeology uses a micro-historical approach to understand how archaeology functioned as a cultural practice through an analysis of one event, the excavation at the Sanctuary of Poseidon on Kalaureia in 1894. Inspired by the ethical stance of archaeological ethnography, a cultural history of archaeology takes into account a variety of actors and a variety of practices and appropriations traditionally regarded as lying outside the scope of archaeological knowledge production: for example the role of local landowners and workmen, the intersections of politics of belonging in academia, and the role of archaeological practice in contemporary society in the past. Inspired by New Cultural History, this thesis takes human agency as the prime mover for knowledge production, recognizing the power-relations inherent in access to arenas and voice, and considers the every-day practices performed in archaeology as reflections and manipulations of values and though-patterns in the surrounding society. 38 Source material and method of analysis When applying a micro-historical approach, a variety of materializations of the phenomenon under study should be taken into account. The source material for this thesis includes archaeological publications, letters, diaries, photographs, newspaper articles, funding applications, archaeological artefacts and news reels – all relating to the Kalaureia excavation itself, its prelude and its aftermath. The archives of Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg located at Uppsala University Library form the bulk of the source material for this thesis. The content and location of these archives will be analysed in the chapter entitled In the archive. Other archival institutions have material relating to the Kalaureia excavation. In Sweden, I have used archival material from Museum Gustavianum in Uppsala, Gothenburg University Library, Lund University Library, The Royal Library in Stockholm, The National Archives of Sweden, The Museum of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Antiquities, and Antikvarisk-topografiska arkivet in Stockholm. In Greece, I have utilized the topographical archive at the German Archaeological Institute in Athens where photographs from the excavation are kept. Aris Anagnostopoulos has been helpful in assisting me in the local archive at Poros (Topiko Archeiou Porou). He has also supplied me with translated documents from the Archive of the Greek Archaeological Service in Athens. Additionally, I have visited one institution in Italy (Museo di Scultura Antica Giovanni Barraco) where the archive of Ludwig Pollak is kept.69 Archival materials related to the later excavations at the Sanctuary of Poseidon through the Kalaureia Research Program are kept at the Swedish Institute at Athens. Newspaper articles related to the excavation at Kalaureia in 1894 have been located using the search engine at the Royal Library in Stockholm where the most influential Swedish daily newspapers have been digitized.70 Through the help of Aris Anagnostopoulos, newspapers from Greece have been obtained using a searchable collection of digitized newspapers from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries specifically reporting on archaeology at the Artistotle University of Thessaloniki.71 Material directly related to the time around the excavation, i.e. handwritten letters and diaries from 1893-95 were transcribed; other documents were photographed and archived by me. All translations from Greek to English have been made by Aris Anagnostopoulos. 69 Ludwig Pollak (1868-1943) was a classical archaeologist and antiquities dealer who spent time in Athens at the same time as Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg, see Merkel Guldan 1988. 70 Search engine of the digitalized collection of newspapers at the Royal Library in Stockholm: http://tidningar.kb.se/. Accessed 2 April 2016. 71 Psifiothiki digital collections: invenio.lib.auth.gr/collection. Accessed 2 April 2016. See Theodouri & Kotsakis 2012:332. 39 Since no comprehensive account of the excavation and its actors has been written, I first pieced together a timeline of the events before, during, and after the summer of 1894 in order to frame my analysis.72 This timeline is presented in Part 1. Framing Kalaureia 1894. In Part 2. Excavating Kalaureia 1894, the events in the framework are put into context. In microhistory, the analysis of the particular and its relationship with the general can be reached through a method of triangulation where the archival material is matched against and/or paired with contemporary sources and analytical theories in order to contextualize the phenomena materialized in the archive.73 Here, several different types of source materials, for example letters, photographs and newspaper articles, are combined and compared in order to create a rich descriptive answer to the analytical question posed. I have taken care to use comparative sources that are closely linked spatially and temporally with the excavation in 1894. As discussed by Sigurður Magnússon, the difficulty in oscillating between the micro (exemplified as the local level) and the macro (the national level) often results in the grand narratives taking pre-eminence in the explanation of a cultural phenomenon.74 While I recognize Magnússon’s concerns, in particular his resistance to the posing of ‘great historical questions’ which were historically only relevant for the very elite of a population, the macro level as the analytical back drop par excellence is less of a problematic issue in this thesis.75 Since I place focus on the power structures which shaped the practices at Kalaureia, and since I take my standpoint in the culturally situated historical subject, I regard cultural phenomena as political, hence they are representations of the macro. The feelings, (inter)actions, practices and language encountered in this thesis should be seen as related to the overarching systems of thought and convention, although not always in compliance with those systems. For example, the conflicts which arose between Lennart Kjellberg and Sam Wide, which I will be analysing in Part 2, cannot be understood without taking into consideration archaeological self-images and academic politics, which in turn were outcomes of the patriarchy as a macro phenomenon. In Part 3. Representing Kalaureia 1894, I analyse the historiography of the excavation at Kalaureia throughout the twentieth century. In each of the case studies presented in this part, I have taken into account the agency behind the representation, the way in which the representation was materialized and the temporal setting of the representation. As for the representations made in recent years, I have not interviewed the persons responsible. I recognize that this would have added depth to my analysis, but it would also have inflated my study and added new methodological considerations. Therefore I base my analysis Cf. Callmer 1953 and Nordquist 2002. Cf. Kaeser 2008:14. On triangulation, see Mogren et al. 2009:7 74 Magnússon 20016:183. 75 Magnússon 2016:201. 72 73 40 in Part 3 on archival documents, photographs and printed articles using the same method of triangulation as in Part 2. 41 42 Part 1. Framing Kalaureia 1894 43 44 In the archive Uppsala University Library sits on top of a hill overlooking the bustling university town (fig. 3). The majority of the archival material from the excavation at Kalaureia is kept here. Two of the excavators at Kalaureia, Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg, lived out their academic careers in Uppsala. Lennart Kjellberg was born in Uppsala in 1857 and spent his entire academic career at the university. His colleague Sam Wide, four years younger, moved to Uppsala in 1879 and after a short stint at Lund University, took the chair as the first Professor of Classical Archaeology at Uppsala in 1909. Kjellberg was promoted to Professor in 1913 and took over the chair in Classical Archaeology after Sam Wide’s death in 1918. It is the contents of their personal archives; letters, diaries, and notebooks, which form the basis of this thesis, together with other material relating to the excavation in archives in Lund and Athens. Historians of archaeology have approached archives in various ways. Early analyses of past excavations used to a large extent already published texts, but in the past thirty years or so archaeologists have begun to ‘excavate’ the archives for unpublished materials relating to past excavations and to the lives of archaeologists. This archival turn in the history of archaeology has had the benefit of producing more complex and varied historiographies, into which additional actors can be introduced (i.e. apart from those responsible for publication) and where sociological aspects of knowledge production can be taken into account.76 While I agree with the statement by the historian of archaeology Marc-Antoine Kaeser that archival research can offer the possibility of giving ‘a qualified vision of the objectives, ambitions, attitudes and acts of their authors’, I have to disagree with the casualness with which he approaches the archive.77 For Kaeser, as well as for many contemporary historians of archaeology, the archive remains undertheorized as an ‘objective’ information source about past circumstances from which the historian can benefit in order to prevent presentist bias.78 Several historians of archaeology have questioned uncritical use of the archive. The AREA (Archives of European Archaeology) network has since the late 1990s held conferences and seminars on the methodology of arJensen 2003:275f; Schlanger & Nordbladh: 2008b:3. Kaeser 2008:13. 78 Kaeser 2008:9. 76 77 45 chival work.79 In a publication from the 2001 Nordic TAG, Swedish historians of archaeology Åsa Gillberg, Ola W. Jensen and Per Cornell have all elaborated on the archive as a situated source of information that needs to be understood in a critical way.80 In 2002, a special section of Antiquity devoted to the ‘Ancestral Archives’ of archaeology was edited by Nathan Schlanger with an emphasis on the possibilities of and difficulties with archival studies.81 In what follows, I adopt a more critical understanding of the conditions of archives as temporally and spatially situated entities inspired by theories of the archive from critical archival studies and critical histories of archaeology. The main premise is that the archive should be regarded as historically conditioned and spatially and temporally situated. In this study, the archive is seen as an instrument of power, a material manifestation of power structures in the past and as a force that guides my own knowledge production.82 In the words of archivists Joan Schwartz and Terry Cook, archives are ‘about maintaining power, about the power to control what is, and what will be, known about the past, about the power of remembering over forgetting.’83 Let us return to the archives in Uppsala. The setting of these archives is important because histories of archaeology do not materialize just anywhere; their location matters. Where materials end up is no coincidence. Uppsala University Library is known as the Carolina Rediviva, ‘the resurrected Carolina’, referring to an earlier library and lecture hall, the Academia Carolina. The current building was inaugurated in 1841. From the library, there is an imposing view of Uppsala castle and cathedral. Behind the library are the buildings of various academic departments of Uppsala University. The urban planning in and around the Carolina Rediviva thus epitomizes the interplay of Church, King and State, the vital ingredients for the education and fostering in modernity of national subjects. Built in a neo-classical style, the architecture of the library can also be seen as the materialization of the perception of Sweden as a Western country imbued with the kinds of ideals taken from classical antiquity that were present in nineteenth-century discourse. This discourse was a primary motor for the excavation at Kalaureia. www.area-archives.org/index.html, accessed 17 December 2015. Gillberg 2003; Jensen 2003; Cornell 2003. 81 ‘Ancestral Archives: Explorations in the History of Archaeology’, Antiquity 2002. In the introduction, Schlanger emphasizes the need to critically evaluate the contents of archives, Schlanger 2002:130. 82 Several scholars have emphasized the links between archive, power and knowledge production, see for example Schwartz & Cook 2002. 83 Schwartz & Cook 2002:3 79 80 46 Fig. 3. Uppsala University Library ς the Carolina Rediviva. Photo: author. Other materials relating to the excavation at Kalaureia are found at Lund University Library, an impressive gothic building from the early years of the twentieth century, where the architect Sven Kristenson has a personal archive. The topographical archive at the neo-classical building of the German Archaeological Institute in Athens also has a number of glass plates with photographs taken during the excavation. These buildings resemble the Carolina Rediviva in terms of their significant architecture and demonstrative locations in their respective cities. The placing of archival materials in what Eric Ketelaar has described as ‘archival temples’84 - imposing buildings located in central positions in the city-scape - is an attestation of the cultural positions held by these institutions in the late nineteenth century and, by extension, of the personal artefacts preserved within. 84 Ketelaar 2002:233. As pointed put by Ketelaar, some of these ‘archival temples’ even resemble classical Greek temples in their neo-classical architecture. The National Archives in Washington D.C. is an excellent example of this point. 47 In the box Recognizing that the archive as an entity is situated by and an outcome of various power-relations also means that the documents preserved within need to be analysed through such a perspective. The archives of Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg consist of large brown boxes, six for Wide (fig. 4) and three for Kjellberg (fig. 5). At first glance, there does not seem to be any internal logic to these archives. They have not been sorted and organized by an archivist, so no inventories have been made. The task of determining their internal structure and content seems daunting. Letters and note-books lay in piles, mixed up with large brown envelopes containing lecture drafts and manuscripts. Bits of scrap paper with sometimes illegible handwriting mingle with diplomas of academic achievement. There is very little chronology. The letters are one-way communications, fragments of discussions. Fig. 4. Sam Wide's archive at Carolina Rediviva. Photo: author. 48 The first vital feature of the personal archive is that not everyone had the opportunity or the desire to have their papers preserved at an institution. Personal archives situated in the ‘archival temples’ consist of the archives of select individuals who for various reasons had aspects of their life preserved within. Intersections of gender and class are at play here.85 As archaeologists, Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg had played an important role in defining the Swedish nation. Archaeology played a vital part in the national education of citizens towards the latter half of the nineteenth century, in Sweden as well as in Greece. Hence, as archaeologists Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg had performed an important cultural task. Moreover, as university Professors, they had the power and the opportunity to preserve something of themselves for the future. Their letters and diaries were created through nineteenth-century sensibilities that placed emphasis on certain perspectives and certain actors. Hence, in the words of Ola W. Jensen, ‘[t]he social power of the archive is tremendous, and the power bestowed on the creator of an archive is huge.’86 Information on the social conditions on site – for instance - the relationship between the excavators and the workmen can only be read through the selection of information provided by the archaeologists which has an effect on the perspectives in this thesis. Sometimes such information is lacking in the source material altogether, creating gaps that can at times only be partially filled using other sources. The Greek archives have been important here, and I will return to these archives as we approach Kalaureia in Part 1. Despite an initial symmetry in terms of opportunity for preservation, a closer look into the archival boxes shows that the contents of Wide’s and Kjellberg’s archives vary considerably between each other. This brings me to the second important aspect of the personal archive: its unregulated genesis. The origin of a personal archive does not necessarily follow a strict code of conduct. From an archivist’s perspective, archives are ‘the documentary by-product of human activity maintained for their long-term value’.87 A personal archive is therefore the by-product of an individual’s activity during his or her life, a collection of artefacts selected for preservation at an institution. Many personal archives are the products of a relatively haphazard collecting of documents shortly before or after an individual’s death, while others were carefully planned over a long period of time. Each archive can be said to have its own unique life in which censorship and selection affected its composition.88 As pointed out by Åsa Gillberg and more recently by Elin Engström, in relation to the archives of Swedish histories of arCf. Gillberg 2003:293; Roberts 2012. Cornell 2003:287. 87 International Council on Archives: www.ica.org/125/about-records-archives-and-theprofession/discover-archives-and-our-profession.html. Accessed 10 April 2016. 88 Jensen 2003:276. 85 86 49 chaeology, it is therefore also important to take into consideration who sorted the archival material and how it was deposited in the archive.89 Let us begin by taking a closer look at Sam Wide’s archive. This is by far the most extensive archive used here. The contents of the boxes provide clues to the formation process of the collection; at least four different acquisitions can be traced through the library’s own catalogues and material clues inside the boxes. In 1925, seven years after Wide’s death, his wife Maria Wide donated to the library ‘[…] the main part of her late husband’s […] hand-written documents and papers, containing W:s manuscripts for his own scientific works and lectures in classical archaeology, history etc., material- and excerpts collections, notes from lectures by other scientists domestic and foreign, as well as a number of maps and a larger collection of photographs, mainly from archaeological excavations in Greece’.90 The photographs and maps were separated from the rest of the material and are today kept in the Section for Maps and Pictures, part from one collection of images; an envelope containing erotic vase motifs is still kept in one of the boxes. Parts of the archive remained inaccessible; a parcel of letters send to Wide by foreign scholars remained unopened at the request of Maria Wide until 1943.91 When Sam Wide hastily passed away from cancer in 1918, he was in the middle of his career. It is possible that Wide himself did not sort out the archive before his passing, and that his wife was in control of the archive. Correspondence between Wide and his wife, which I assume took place, is not in the archive and was probably sorted out. In 1967, Wide’s daughter Barbro Åberg donated letters from Sam Wide to his parents from the 1880s and onwards to the archive.92 She had found the letters, as well as other papers left behind by her father after a request by Christian Callmer who wanted to write a biography on Wide.93 These letters make up the bulk of the source material about Kalaureia. As I will show below, some of these letters contain evidence of how Wide outmanoeuvered Lennart Kjellberg in competition for positions at Uppsala University. It is not unlikely that Wide would have sorted such letters out before the deposition. Gillberg 2003:293; Engström 2015:121ff. ’ […] huvudparten av sin framl. makes, […] handskrifter och papper, innehållande W:s manuskript till egna vetenskapliga arbeten och föreläsningar i klassisk arkeologi, historia m.m., material- och excerptsamlingar, anteckningar från föreläsningar av andra vetenskapsmän in- och utrikes, ävensom ett antal kartor och en större samling fotografier, huvudsakligen från arkeologiska utgrävningar i Grekland.’, Uppsala universitetsbiblioteks årsberättelse 1925:16. 91 Cover letter to folder marked ‘Biografica rörande Sam Wide’, Box NC:549, Wide’s archive, UUB. Also in Uppsala universitetsbiblioteks årsberättelse 1925:16. 92 Åberg to Boëthius, 24 August 1967, Boëthius archive, H80:165, GUB. 93 Christian Callmer (1908-1985) was head librarian at Lund University Library and had a Ph.D. in classical archaeology. The biography was never written, but he did publish three articles on Wide, see Callmer 1953, Callmer 1969 and Callmer 1985. 89 90 50 A series of correspondence from Wide to Alfred Westholm was added to the archive after a donation by Christian Callmer in 1978. The documents specifically dealing with the 1894 excavation at Kalaureia are mainly in the form of letters from Wide to his parents and to Alfred Westholm. The majority of the latter were in Callmer’s possession. The library’s acquisition book from 1978 reveals that the donation was handed to the library on 12 May and contained 72 letters from Wide to Westholm spanning the years between 1881 and 1916.94 In a letter accompanying the donation, Callmer writes that he had received the letters from Alfred Westholm’s son, also called Alfred, who was a docent of Classical Archaeology and who took part in the Swedish Cyprus expedition in the 1920’s. Callmer further writes that he intended to write a biography on Wide and that he was in possession of additional letters that he intended to donate to the archive at a later stage.95 The biography was never written. After his death in 1985, Esbjörn Belfrag, a colleague of Callmer, donated a box of Wide papers to Carolina Rediviva.96 These papers had also been handed to Callmer by Westholm and Callmer probably intended to use them as source material for his biography. When analysing the content and formation of Lennart Kjellberg’s archive, the situation is very different. The collection consists of three boxes (fig. 5). The boxes are labelled ‘Prof. L. Kjellberg. Manuscripts, lectures, diaries, excerpts etc.’ It is an unorganized collection and the contents of the boxes do not vary in composition in the same way the Wide archive. It mainly consists of note-books and manuscripts for various lectures and publications. The excavation permits from Larisa in Turkey where Kjellberg excavated in 1902 and two travel authorizations issued by the Ottoman authorities in connection with Kjellberg’s travels in Asia Minor in 19001902 stand out. The most striking feature is the complete lack of correspondence, not a single letter from or to Kjellberg is preserved in the archive. The collection does include his field diary from the Kalaureia excavation as well as a personal diary covering November and December 1894. The field diary is a chronological day-to-day account of the finds, with each find numbered and described which is very useful for analysing the process of excavation. The field diary contains very few personal reflections. There are no photos by Lennart Kjellberg at Carolina Rediviva - except for a studio portrait of him and his wife (see fig. 9). Handskriftsavdelningens accessionsbok, vol. 1978, entry 15, UUB. Callmer to von Sydow, 10 May 1978, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549 , UUB. 96 Belfrage to von Sydow, 26 August 1985, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 94 95 51 Fig. 5. Lennart Kjellberg's archive at Carolina Rediviva. Photo: author. How did Kjellberg’s archive end up at Carolina Rediviva? The acquisition book reveals that the archive was handed to the library on 21 June 1936 and that it contains ‘manuscripts’.97 Kjellberg passed away on 7 May that same year, so the archive was most likely put together or at least planned before his passing. A closer look at the contents of the boxes tells us that Kjellberg’s son Ernst Kjellberg seems to have been responsible for assembling the documents. Since Kjellberg went blind during the final years of his life, it is likely that his son helped him to sort out the papers. There are material clues in the archive of Ernst Kjellberg’s presence. He has left signed notes in the margins of some of the note-books explaining their content, as well as a note on one of the documents from the summer of 1936, stating that he is donating the document to the library. It seems likely that the majority of the papers were assembled by Ernst, but there is a possibility that Lennart Kjellberg had a say in what went into the archive. It may be that Kjellberg himself requested not to have his personal correspondence donated to the library, something that has an impact on the possibility of assessing his role at the excavation in Kalaureia. 97 E-mail from Kia Hedell, 29 January 2014. 52 If we turn our attention to Sven Kristenson’s archive, the picture is quite different again. The collection is kept at Lund University Library and consists of four boxes and a couple of folders. The archive has been partially organized into three parts: photographs from various cities in the Mediterranean (mostly from Italy), architectural drawings, and portraits and amateur photographs. There are no letters or diaries from the time of the Kalaureia excavation preserved in the archive. The photographs make up the majority of the collection. Several hundred photographs can be found here, the majority of which depicts buildings and architectural features of interest to Kristenson. Fifteen of the photographs are from Kalaureia. Six of these are identical to photographs found in the topographical archive at the German Archaeological Institute in Athens (fig. 6 and 7). It is very difficult to know who took the photographs. The archive at the German Archaeological Institute states that Sam Wide took the photographs, while the archive in Lund does not specify that Kristenson took them. Lennart Kjellberg was not present on the island at the same time as Kristenson, although he appears in one of the photographs from Kristenson’s archive (fig, 41). This example goes to show that a close reading and critical analysis of a seemingly organized archive calls into question the stability of the information kept within. Fig. 6. A photograph of a corner of building D taken in 1894 from Sven Kristenson's archive at Lund University Library. Photo: Sven Kristenson, Kristenson's archive, LUB. 53 Fig. 7. Identical photograph as Fig. 6 from the topographical archive at the DAI in Athens. Photo: DAI, Athens. Most of the information about the excavation at Kalaureia comes from socalled egodocuments. The term ‘egodocument’ was coined by the Dutch historian Jacques Presser in the 1950s and egodocuments are defined as ‘those documents in which an ego intentionally or unintentionally discloses, or hides itself’,98 or more basically as ‘texts in which an author writes about his or her own acts, thoughts and feelings […]’.99 Examples of such documents include diaries, letters, memoirs and other pieces of writing that can be used to interpret aspects of a personality or of individual agency. I would also like to include in the term photographs, sketches and paintings since they are personal, non-textual ways of conveying the same type of information as traditional egodocuments. I find it fruitful to use the term in relation to personal archives because it puts emphasis on the situated nature of archival material since egodocuments are in fact a form of self-representation. Through the preservation of certain types of egodocuments that include certain facets of information, the archive holder can manipulate the memory of the self. But this manipulation is not always an intentional one. The way in which a person writes about him- or herself is guided by cultural conventions, meaning that the style of the egodocuments and even their very production de98 99 Presser 1969:286, quoted and translated in Dekker 2002:7. Dekker 2007:7. 54 pend on an intricate web of factors beyond the mere individual.100 Rather than viewing the letters and diaries as windows into actual feelings and thought-patterns, many of the expressions in the egodocuments should instead be regarded as directed mediations of identity. When Sam Wide wrote to his parents or to his colleagues about life in Greece, he wanted to create an image of himself and his circumstance and he did so using the sensibilities of his time. The conditioned archive What does our looking into the archival box tell us? Through this example of the archives at Carolina Rediviva, I want to make the point that the archives’ exterior as well as interior facets are not objective points of departure for history writing, but products of specific cultural formations. Rather than seeing the archive as an objective point of departure, I have analysed the archive as a situated collection of certain types of materials that form part of the materiality of this history of archaeology. This has an effect on my reading of the events at Kalaureia and it conditions the type of perspectives used in this thesis. As I have shown, the compositions of the three archives vary to a great extent, such that the collections’ selection processes are visible. Several different memory practices are at play here: one archive has been collected and organized after the death of the person (Wide), while the two other archives are potential products of Kjellberg’s and Kristenson’s final wills. The focus in the later archives is more on the scientific deed, less on the private person, although Kjellberg seems to have intentionally left his Athenian diary in the collection, the only diary preserved from his life. Perhaps he only kept a journal during those few months, perhaps he regarded the diary as part of his scientific career (the journal does contain information on how he worked with the publication of the Kalaureia excavation). Wide’s archive is, materially speaking, by far the most extensive of the three, followed by Kristenson and Kjellberg. When researching the biographies of the three scholars, Wide’s archive enables a much more in-depth and intimate portrait. The lack of correspondence and diaries in Kjellberg and Kristenson’s archives, makes it difficult to assess how they though and felt about partaking in the excavation. In addition, Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg become the main agents when analysing the social relations on Kalaureia although a myriad of different people were on site and participated in the excavation. Sven Kristenson fades into the background and the Greek workforce can only be 100 Burke 1997b:18. 55 analysed through the egodocuments created by the archaeologists. Importantly, my analysis of the situatedness of the archive also served to highlight power structures inherent in archaeological practice. As I discussed in the introduction, I wanted to look at the excavation at Kalaureia from an ethnographic perspective with a more inclusive vision on who should be considered as an actor in the practice of archaeology at the Sanctuary of Poseidon. Because of the situatedness of the archival documents in the Swedish archives, this perspective was very difficult to achieve, although I have found fragments of alternative histories in the gaps in the Swedish archives and in archives in Greece. Accepting the internal logic of the Swedish personal archives, however incomplete and problematic, I adhere to Ann Laura Stoler’s point that a critical history of colonial enterprises needs to read the archival sources ‘for its regularities, for its logic of recall, for its densities, and distributions, for its consistencies of misinformation, omission and mistake – along the archival grain’.101 In this first part of my thesis, I will begin by reading the archival material ‘along the grain’ in order to create a framework for understanding the excavation at Kalaureia. In part two, a closer reading of the archival material will be used in order to probe deeper into selected facets of the excavation. This time I will use a kind of triangulation, where the archive is matched against and/or paired with contemporary sources and analytical theories in order to contextualize the encounters materialized in the archive.102 101 102 56 Stoler 2002:100. Cf. Kaeser 2008:14. Before Kalaureia This particular history of Kalaureia starts in Uppsala. Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg’s paths would cross for the first time at Uppsala University, where they had both enrolled to study classical languages. They came from different backgrounds but shared a social position firmly within in the upper middle class of Swedish society. Lennart Kjellberg was the son of Nils Gustaf Kjellberg (1827-1893), Professor of Psychiatry at Uppsala University and one of the leading experts of the treatment of mental illness in children in Sweden. Gustaf Kjellberg was one of the initiators of Föreningen för sinnesslöa barns vård (Association for the Care of Mentally Weak Children) in 1869, and several members of the Kjellberg family were involved in the association, including Lennart’s mother Maria Ulrika Dorothea Lagerlöf.103 Lennart Kjellberg had a younger brother, Nils (1859-1927), who grew up to be a mining engineer. At the time of the 1880 clerical survey, the Kjellberg family resided in the centre of Uppsala with a house staff of four maids and a driver.104 Gustaf Kjellberg was also a financial benefactor to needy students. A friend of Kjellberg and Wide, Johan Bergman, to whom I will return to below, recalls in his memoires how he borrowed money from the Kjellberg family on several occasions.105 Sam Wide was born Samuel Karl Anders Pettersson on 17 October 1861 in the county of Dalarna, in central Sweden. His father, Carl Fredrik Pettersson (1830-1912, fig. 8), was a well-known and respected vicar and his mother Sofia Helena Katarina (1835-1907), née Törnblom, managed the household in the vicar’s residence at Sundborn. He had two younger siblings, Isak Mattias (b. 1868) and Elin Marta (b. 1874) who both passed away in the winter of 1877. At the time Sam was sixteen years old and attending school in the near-by city of Falun. Sam would remain an only child and in the 1880 clerical survey, the family consisted of the vicar, his wife and Sam, as See Røren 2007:127 for a discussion on Gustaf Kjellberg’s career. Clerical survey for the year 1880 in Heliga Trefaldighets congregation, the parish of Uppsala cathedral, see Swedish National Archive’s digital sources: sok.riksarkivet.se/bildvisning/Folk_803051-021. Accessed 10 April 2016. 105 Bergman 1943:89ff. 103 104 57 well as two maids and a farmhand.106 Carl Fredrik later became a politician and between 1892 and 1901 he served as a member of the First Chamber of the Swedish Parliament, where he worked as a member of the Committee on Justice and of the Committee on the Constitution.107 Sam Pettersson changed his name to Wide during his studies in Uppsala, probably because the name Wide was more internationally viable and sounded more exclusive than the common surname Pettersson. Fig. 8. The county of Dalarna where Wide grew up was home to a thriving cultural community and the Pettersson family frequented dinner parties and events at the home of Carl and Karin Larsson, two famous Swedish painters. In 1908, Carl Larsson made this etching of Carl Fredrik Pettersson. Photo: Swedish National Museum. 106 Clerical survey for the year 1880 in Sundborn congregation, the parish of Falun, see Swedish National Archive’s digital sources: sok.riksarkivet.se/bildvisning/Folk_820006-025. Accessed 10 April 2016. 107 In Swedish, första kammaren. The Swedish parliament was divided into two chambers between 1867 and 1970. The first chamber, where Wide’s father presided had a majority of bourgeois and upper-class members. 58 Einar Löfstedt and archaeology on the rise Lennart Kjellberg enrolled at Uppsala in 1877 and Sam Wide moved there two years later. The Department of Classical Languages was in the 1870s one of the biggest departments at the university. Since the inauguration of Uppsala University in 1477, Latin and Greek had been a central part of the educational system. Latin was a compulsory subject for anyone pursuing an academic degree. Classical archaeology did not exist as a separate degree at Swedish universities, but Wide and Kjellberg belonged to the first generation of students of Classical Languages who would be taught archaeology as part of the curriculum. The first professor to introduce archaeology into the Department of Classical Languages was the Professor of Greek Language Einar Löfstedt. Löfstedt believed that classical philology should encompass all aspects of the classical world, not only language and grammar.108 Inspired by his studies in Germany in the 1860s and his travels in the Mediterranean in the 1870s, he gave lectures on classical archaeology based on epigraphy and descriptions of sites found in classical literature.109 The 1880s, when Wide and Kjellberg were students at Uppsala, was a time when archaeology around the Mediterranean and the Middle East expanded rapidly. Large scale excavations run by scholars from France, Germany, Great Britain, the U.S. and Austria had produced a plethora of finds which enriched collections and created a buzz around the potential of archaeology as a method for exploring the past.110 Archaeology also became a matter of national prestige as countries competed for access to archaeological sites in the Mediterranean.111 As for Greece, the War of Independence from the Ottoman Empire in the 1820s and the subsequent establishment of the Greek nation state had increased the opportunities for foreign archaeologists to conduct excavations in the country. France established the first foreign archaeological institute in Athens in 1846 followed by Germany in 1874, the U.S. in 1881 and Great Britain in 1886. Hence, internationally, classical archaeology was a well-established academic field where students received their initial education at universities in their respective countries and then gained field experience in museums and on excavations abroad. Archaeology as an academic subject in Sweden was also on the rise. Scandinavian archaeologists were leading forces in the development of arFrängsmyr 2010b:143f. Callmer 1985:155f. 110 German classicist Adolf Michaelis produced one of the first overviews of archaeological fieldwork in the Mediterranean in 1906 (translated to English in 1908) which includes lists of excavations per year in the Mediterranean, see Michaelis 1908. See also Georges Radet’s early history of the French School at Athens, Radet 1901. 111 See Trigger 2006:63ff. for a general overview of the cultural and political importance of classical archaeology. 108 109 59 chaeological theory and method with the introduction of the three-agesystem (Stone, Bronze and Iron Age) and the development of the typological method.112 In 1874, Sweden hosted the second international congress for anthropology and archaeology. Hans Hildebrand (1842-1913) and Oscar Montelius (1843-1921) were the leading figures in European archaeology from the 1870s and onwards and they gave lectures on archaeological topics at Stockholm College (later Stockholm University) in the 1880s and 1890s.113 In particular Oscar Montelius would personally be very influential over the excavation at Kalaureia. Together with Hildebrand, Montelius had struggled to have archaeology included in the study of the subject of History at Uppsala University in the 1860s, a parallel to the efforts of Sam Wide’s and Lennart Kjellberg a decade later. These two factors, the international and national establishment of archaeology, were important prerequisites for the excavation at Kalaureia. But despite archaeology’s increasing status, upand coming archaeologists struggled in Sweden to establish archaeology as an academic discipline with its own Professorial chair. In 1883, Hans Hildebrandt tried to allocate funding from The Royal Swedish Academy of Letters, History and Antiquities to establish a chair in archaeology at Stockholm College. The proposal was turned down.114 The same thing was happening in classical archaeology. In 1875, Einar Löfstedt and the Faculty of Philosophy at Uppsala had tried to establish a Professorial chair in Classical Archaeology, but the motion had been turned down by the Department of Education. Latin as a mandatory examination subject for all faculties demanded too many resources, which meant that funds were too scarce for a third Professorial chair at the department.115 Despite the lack of a proper chair, Einar Löfstedt continued to teach archaeology. The first PhD. thesis with a direction towards classical archaeology was published by Nils Gustaf Westin in 1877.116 That same year, Lennart Kjellberg enrolled as a student. The first senior lecturer position in Classical Archaeology at Uppsala was established in 1882, when Hugo Bergstedt had the position for two years.117 This event is vital for what would come, since Sam Wide, who enrolled at Baudou 2004:179ff. Baudou 2010. Oscar Montelius (1843-1921) was Professor of Archaeology at The Royal Swedish Academy of Letters, History and Antiquities. Montelius was one of the most distinguished archaeologists of the late nineteenth century, with wide-spread connections among the archaeological circles in Europe and the rest of the world. He is most famous for this work on typology through diffusionism. For a recent biography on Montelius, see Baudou 2012. 114 Jonsson 2003:108f; Baudou 2010:35f. 115 Callmer 1985:155. 116 Westin’s Notes on the Greek Vases studied 43 vases kept at the National Museum in Stockholm, see Westin 1877. Westin was supervised by Löfstedt, see Nordquist 1985:10. 117 Hugo Bergstedt (1855-1926) had been a student of Löfstedt’s at Uppsala. He left the university in 1884 to become a teacher of classical languages at a school in Norrköping. Callmer 1985:155f; Nordquist 1985:10 112 113 60 Uppsala in 1879, would later base his academic career on trying to establish classical archaeology as a Professorial chair in Sweden. Einar Löfstedt had a great impact on the two young philologists. Sam Wide saw himself as a disciple of Löfstedt when he chose a more archaeological path into classical studies. After Wide had decided to excavate in Greece in 1894, he wrote a letter from Athens to Alfred Westholm where he wrote about Löfstedt’s influence on his career path: ‘When you have spoken of my ‘märchenhafte Erlebnisse’ [‘fabulous adventures’, my comm.], I must admit, that you may be right, and my thoughts then go to the old friend Löfstedt, who has guided my steps and showed me my goal. I love to picture how “Löfstedt’, looks down from his heaven onto my endeavours and approvingly nods his head and exclaims: ‘that’s right, that’s right, just like that, yes, that’s the way it is!’ I admit more than before, the influence which Löfstedt has had on my entire development and I am, to a certain degree, a full-blooded disciple of his, including his merits and demerits.’118 To Germany While in Greece in 1893-5, Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg were connected to the German Archaeological Institute. The excavation at Kalaureia could not have taken place without the support from the German archaeological community in Greece, a support that the two men had built up since they had been students. Both of them made trips to Germany to study archaeology. Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg both finished their Degree of Candidate of Philosophy119 at Uppsala in 1882, after which Sam Wide went straight to Germany, probably under the influence of Einar Löfstedt. He spent the academic year 1883-84 in Berlin where he studied classical archaeology.120 He returned to Germany in 1887 for a second study period.121 After his degree, Lennart Kjellberg took up a position as assistant at Carolina Rediviva, the university library, which he held until 1893 while studying ‘När du talat om mina ‘märchenhafte Erlebnisse’, medger jag, att du kan ha rätt, och tanken glider då till gamla vännen Löfstedt, som ledt mina steg och visat mitt mål. Jag älskar att föreställa mig, huru ”Löfstedt” från sin himmel blickar ned på mina sträfvanden och bifallsnickande utropar: ”icke sant, icke sant, just så, ja så är det!” Mera än förr erkänner jag det inflytande, som Löfstedt utöfvat på hela min utveckling; och jag är i visst hänseende en fullblodslärjeunge af honom med både hans fel och förtjänster.’, Wide to Westholm, 20/21 February 1894, Box NC:549, Wide’s archive, UUB. 119 In Swedish Filosofie kandidatexamen. It can be compared to a Bachelor of Arts. 120 For an outline of Wide’s life and career, see Nordquist 2002. 121 Frängsmyr 2010b:80. 118 61 for his doctorate. Kjellberg studied in Germany in 1888-1889, while finishing his PhD thesis.122 Due to the state of his archive, we know very little about Lennart Kjellberg’s experience in Germany. Sam Wide on the other hand wrote regularly to his parents about Berlin, his fellow students and the archaeological connections that he made. He was also a correspondent for several Swedish newspapers during his time in Germany. The German university system attracted Sam Wide who wrote several articles drawing attention to the benefits of the German way of organizing university studies.123 The German system favoured a greater independence, which Wide lacked at Uppsala, where the heavy obligatory reading lists before exams meant that there was less time for the student to explore various research interests. Through his attendance at the University of Berlin, Wide became acquainted with some of the leading German classical archaeologists of the time. He followed lectures by Ernst Curtius and attended Adolf Fürtwängler’s numismatic seminars.124 Ernst Curtius (1814-1896) had initiated the excavations at Olympia in the 1870s and had been a tutor to the German crown prince Friedrich Wilhelm. He had also published on the Poseidon sanctuary at Kalaureia.125 Einar Löfstedt had met Curtius in Olympia in 1877.126 Curtius combined German nationalism, philhellenism and Christianity into a passionate plea for Greek cultural supremacy. As discussed by Suzanne Marchand, Curtius saw analogies in the universality of Greek culture and Christianity respectively and believed that German scholars had the ability to bridge and unite the two poles.127 In Curtius, Wide encountered classical idealism in a very pure form, where the duty of an archaeologist was to uncover the sacred materialities of the past, to bring to light the values and morals of ancient Greece to benefit the modern nation state. ‘Olympia remains for us a holy place, and we ought to take up, in our world, illuminated by pure light, [Olympia’s] flights of inspiration, unselfish patriotism, devotion to art, and joyful energy that endures despite all life’s cares,’ Curtius explained.128 Curtius was also of the firm belief that the modern European nation state should contribute financially to and offer moral support for classical scholarship, if such scholarship could be conducted in a Nordquist 2002:17. Wide’s impressions of the German university system can be found in a series of articles in Post- och Inrikes Tidningar, see Wide, ‘Studentlifvet i Tyskland’, 25 July 1890; ‘Studentlifvet i Tyskland II’, 30 July 1890; Wide ‘Studentlifvet i Tyskland III’, 28 August 1890; Wide, ‘Studentlifvet i Tyskland IV’, 10 September 1890. Wide was also a correspondent for Vårt Land. 124 Frängsmyr 2010b:79. 125 Curtius 1852 and 1876. 126 Frängsmyr 2010b:77. 127 Marchand 1996:77. 128 The quote by Curtius is taken from Boetticher 1886:63 and translated in Marchand 1996:81. 122 123 62 selfless manner and with a disinterested disposition.129 The idea was that archaeological excavations, such as those in Olympia, were a peaceful way for the nation state to celebrate the advancement of successful nation building.130 Attending Curtius’s lectures, Wide became familiar with the rhetoric of classics and nationalism, something on which he would elaborate when venturing into field archaeology in Greece ten years later. Unlike Curtius, Adolf Fürtwängler (1853-1907) was a young man when Sam Wide attended his numismatic seminars. Fürtwängler was highly uninterested in classical literature and philology, a fact that had from the very beginning drawn him towards the study of art and antiquities.131 Fürtwängler has been called ‘The Linnaeus of Classical Archaeology’ due to his extensive work on the classification of materials from ancient Greece and Rome.132 He was driven by a desire to make classical studies more scientific by adopting an objective and systematic approach to the study of materials from the past. As Ulf Hansson puts it, Fürtwängler was perhaps the one of most characteristic exponents in scholarship of late nineteenth-century positivism.133 In Fürtwängler’s seminars, Wide was introduced to the methods and aims of studying classical materials, not only as supplementary to textual sources but as objects of study in their own right. At the time, Fürtwängler worked on classifying and organizing large museum collections in Berlin. If Curtius aspired to a nationalistic view on the benefits of classical archaeology, Fürtwängler showed Wide the benefits of archaeological approaches to the study of ancient Greece and Rome. Carl Robert (1850-1922) was another important figure in the early careers of Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg. He was a firm proponent of the aesthetic ideals of classical sculpture and art, so much so that in 1890 he resigned his position as Professor of Classical Archaeology in Berlin and transferred to Halle in protest at the ‘age of advancing bureaucratization and de-aestheticization’ of classical studies.134 Robert saw the rise of field archaeology as a threat to the old traditions of Bildung and feared that the professionalization of archaeology would create an overspecialization. He saw a need to differentiate between archaeologists working in the field and those who worked in libraries: ‘one should not confuse those who perform scholarly labour with the labourers on excavations in Asia Minor’, Robert is quoted as saying.135 Carl Robert encouraged Sam Wide to pursue a mythological and archaeological topic for his PhD thesis. In 1888, Wide earned his doctoral degree with a dissertation on religious cults in Troizen, Hermione Marchand 1996:84f. Marchand 1996:85. 131 Marchand 1996:145. 132 Hansson 2008:19. 133 Hansson 2008:19. 134 Marchand 1996:103. 135 Ibid. 129 130 63 and Epidauros: De sacris Troezeniorum, Hermionensium, Epidauriorum.136 The thesis marked the beginning of a life-long research interest in the history and development of Greek religious cults. In Lakonische Kulte, published in 1893, he elaborated on his method from his thesis of studying local cults through gathering information on Greek divinities from various source materials (epigraphy, literature, images and coins) and ascribing them to a geographical locale.137 The approach was influenced by Carl Robert and Wide dedicated Lakonische Kulte to him.138 Kalaureia is featured in both his thesis and in Lakonische Kulte as a sanctuary connected with the cult of Poseidon Kalauros.139 Lennart Kjellberg also studied under Carl Robert in 1888-89 and the latter influenced his interest in classical art. Unlike Wide, Kjellberg chose a more philological approach to classical material in his thesis, but would later turn towards classical art. His doctoral thesis, entitled De Cyclo Epico. Quaestiones Selectae, was defended in 1890.140 In 1888, Wide was promoted to Senior Lecturer in Greek Language and Literature at Uppsala University and spent a couple of years teaching Latin and Greek at a private school in Uppsala. But he did not lose touch with archaeology. In 1889, Sam Wide became acquainted with Oscar Montelius when Wide asked Montelius to lecture on Scandinavian antiquities for his students at the National Museum in Stockholm.141 The two men would end up having a life-long relationship. Wide had also by then become a member of Arkeologiska sällskapet i Uppsala (Uppsala Archaeological Society).142 He lectured regularly on archaeological topics. On 8 February 1889, a local newspaper in his home county of Dalarna reported that Wide was giving public open lectures in Uppsala on ‘the findings of Schliemann, as well as on how Greek vase paintings should be interpreted.’143 Family matters Germany was important for Lennart Kjellberg in other ways as well. In 1890, after defending his thesis, Lennart married Anna Thusnelda von Reden (1862-1923) who was born and raised in Germany (fig. 9). Their courtWide 1888. Wide 1893a. 138 Wide 1893a: preface. 139Wide 1888:9; Wide 1893:44. 140 Kjellberg 1890. 141 Wide to Montelius, 12 September 1889, Montelius’ archive, E1a: vol. 18, ATA. 142 Ibid. 143 [unsigned], ‘Arkeologiska föreläsningar’ in Dalpilen, 8 February 1889. 136 137 64 ship was very brief, which caused a shock in Kjellberg’s family. Anna’s family belonged to the nobility; her father was Baron Ernst von Reden zu Wendlinghausen, a fact that according to Sam Wide helped to calm down Professor Gustaf Kjellberg’s nerves.144 Anna Kjellberg von Reden would later come to play an important part in the Kalaureia excavation. Anna and Lennart’s first child Ernst145 was born in 1891 and a daughter, Ulrika (Ulla), in 1892.146 By the time Lennart Kjellberg left for Greece, he had a wife and two children at home. Sam Wide waited to get married, probably for financial reasons. He relied, like many other young academics of his generation, on financial support from his parents until he became Professor. In 1892, before travelling to Greece, Wide applied for a Professorship at Lund University. The photograph in fig. 10 was taken that same year. The application process would turn out to be very drawn out and for three years Wide waited for a decision, hovering between hope and despair. Until he was appointed Professor, the outlook for marriage was bleak. He did however attempt a proposal to a woman named Emma in 1892 but was rejected.147 Wide got the position in Lund in 1895, after his return from Greece, and married Maria Andersson in 1897. Insecurity around family matters and career opportunities during his time in the Mediterranean was something which would come seriously to affect his self-image and by extension his activity at Kalaureia which I will return to below. Wide to his parents, 27 January 1890, Box NC:549, Wide’s archive, UUB. Ernst Kjellberg (1891-1938) would later follow in his father’s footsteps and became an art historian specializing in classical art at Stockholm University. 146 According to the 1890 and 1900 clerical surveys, the couple lived in Uppsala and their children were all born there. See Swedish National Archive, sok.riksarkivet.se/bildvisning/Folk_903091084 and sok.riksarkivet.se/bildvisning/Folk_003088-253. Accessed 10 April 2016. 147 Wide to his parents, 2 December 1892, Box NC:549, Wide’s archive, UUB. 144 145 65 Fig. 9. Lennart Kjellberg and Anna von Reden commemorating their engagement in 1890. Photo: UUB. Fig. 10. Sam Wide in 1892. Photo: UUB. 66 To the Mediterranean In 1893, at the age of 32, Sam Wide was awarded a travel grant by Letterstedtska föreningen148 which enabled him to travel to the Mediterranean. He had planned to follow in Einar Löfstedt’s path for some time. In a letter to his parents he explained that ‘whether I become Professor or remain an Assistant Professor for a couple of years, this trip is essential for my development and my future endeavours.’149 After spending time in Germany and Switzerland, he arrived in Rome on 13 March 1893.150 His time in Italy would be very formative for his later career. In Rome, Wide connected with colleagues at the German Archaeological Institute151 and spent his days studying in the libraries and the museums. Through his correspondence with Oscar Montelius, we know that he assisted Montelius by sending him plans of archaeological sites and photographs of antiquities.152 In Rome, Wide became acquainted with his countryman Sven Kristenson (1858-1937, fig. 11), who would later serve as the architect at the Kalaureia excavation. Kristenson was also an avid photographer, and it is in his archive that several of the photographs taken on Kalaureia are found today, as I have discussed above. Kristenson served as secretary for Circolo Scandinavo, a cultural association of Scandinavian scholars and artists in Rome, a position which he would hold for more than forty years. He was an important, albeit eccentric character in Scandinavian circles in Rome. He was known for his thriftiness and his somewhat erratic social behaviour.153 EduLetterstedtska föreningen (The Letterstedt Association) was founded in 1875 after a private donation from Consul-General Jacob Letterstedt (1796-1862). The association awarded travel grants and promoted research among the Nordic countries. It published the periodical Nordisk Tidskrift, where Oscar Montelius was editor between 1880 and 1921 and in which Wide was a contributor. 149 Wide to his parents, 12 October 1892, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 150 Wide to Montelius, 22 March, 1893, Montelius’ archive, E1a:18, ATA. 151 The German Archaeological Institute (Deutsches Archäologisches Instituts or the DAI) in Rome is one of the oldest research institutions in Europe, founded in 1829. By 1871, The DAI was a public institution funded by the Preussian state. 152 See for example Wide to Montelius, 7 April 1983, Montelius archive, E1a:18, ATA. 153 Brage Engedahl, a Swedish author of children’s novels who had met Kristenson in Rome, wrote in his obituary over Kristenson that he ‘functioned according to one’s needs as a guide and a marriage witness, as a real estate agent and a lawyer, as a translator to and from Italian and as an unofficial diplomatic expert […].’ [Han fungerade allt efter behov som guide och bröllopsvittne, som hyresförmedlare och advokat, som översättare till och från italienska och som inofficiell diplomatisk expert […].]. As a node in Rome’s social circles, Kristenson became personally acquainted with some of the leading figures of the cultural elite of Scandinavia, and, according to Engedahl, he managed to save a rather substantial private fortune from the money he earned from offering services to them. According to Engedahl, Kristenson was notoriously known for being thrifty with money: ‘I remember that he saved on socks by wrapping black strands of cloth around his legs, and that he saved the orange peels left behind by visitors to the “Circolo’ – their 148 67 cated in Stockholm, Paris and Vienna, in 1885 Kristenson had moved to Rome where he supplemented his income from Circolo Scandinavo by making drawings for the German Archaeological Institute. Sam Wide hired Kristenson to make drawings of vases and Etruscan tombs in Italy for Montelius: ‘Kristenson is a decent man and should in addition make it [i.e. the drawing] cheaper than an Italian architect’, Wide wrote to Montelius.154 In addition, while in Rome Wide and Kristenson wrote an article on the Pantheon that was published in Nordisk Tidskrift in 1894.155 Fig. 11. Self-portrait by Sven Kristenson from 1925. Photo: LUB. nutritional value was good great to go to waste, he argued.’ [’Jag minns att han sparade strumpor genom att vira svarta band om benen och att han tog vara på apelsinskalen, som ‘Circolons’ besökare kastade bort – deras näringsvärde var för gott för att förfaras, ansåg han.’], Engedahl 1937:11f. In his will, Kristenson donated his fortune to Lund University, money that is today used for a travel stipend for students. 154 Wide to Montelius, 7 April 1893, Montelius’ archive, E1a:18, ATA. 155 Kristenson & Wide 1894. 68 Athenian networks Sam Wide would spend six months in Italy before moving on to Greece in September 1893. Once in Athens, Wide received news that the Germans had prepared a room for him at the DAI, a place which would become his home for the next year and a half. Wide was very happy with the accommodation and treatment he received from the Germans. In the first letter to his parents from Greece, on his first day in Athens, he wrote: ‘I have the beautiful library of the Institute next to me; I can study there whenever I want. Kind and decent archaeologists have taken care of me today, so that I from the very first moment, felt at home in this half-asian city with European pretensions.’156 At the time of Wide’s arrival, the director of the DAI was Wilhelm Dörpfeld (1853-1940). Dörpfeld, an architect by training, had been employed by the Olympia excavations since 1877, first as a pupil of Friedrich Adler157 and later as the chief architect. Dörpfeld had also excavated with Heinrich Schliemann in Troy and Tiryns in the 1880s and after Schliemann’s death in 1890, he continued his excavations in Troy. Dörpfeld also participated in excavations and investigations of several other sites around Greece and was highly regarded as a very important and imposing figure in classical archaeology. His methods of excavating, which combined a more detailed consideration of stratigraphy in combination with shard chronology, were to be adopted by later generations of both classically and prehistorically oriented archaeologists.158 His methods would also be partly adopted by Wide and Kjellberg at Kalaureia. Dörpfeld had married Anna, the daughter of Friedrich Adler, and they lived permanently in Athens with their three children. In 1893 and 1894, Dörpfeld was in charge of excavations both in Troy and in Athens. To the west of the Acropolis, German archaeologists and Greek workmen were excavating in the area of the Pnyx. Along-side Dörpfeld, as vice secretary of the DAI, was Paul Wolters (1858-1936). Wolters was also the editor for the Mitteilungen des Kaiserlich Deutschen Archaeologischen Instituts, Athenische Abtheilung (from now on Mitteilungen), the publication series of the DAI which on a yearly basis reported 156 ’Jag har institutets vackra bibliotek bredvid mig, kan där studera, när jag vill. Snälla och hyggliga arkeologer ha i dag tagit hand om mig, så att jag från första stund känt mig hemmastadd i denna halfasiatiska stad med europeiska ansatser.’, Wide to his parents, 21 September 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 157 The architect Freidrich Adler (1827-1908) had worked with Curtius in Olympia as part of the first generation of German archaeologists to excavate there, see ‘Freidrich Adler’ in Schiering & Lullies 1988:53ff. 158 Trigger 2006:291. 69 on the activities of the Institute.159 He was married to Auguste Engels and in 1893 they had two children, a three-year-old son named Wolfgang and an infant daughter called Titti.160 The Wolters family became Wide’s closest friends in Athens. Wide socialized regularly with both Dörpfeld and Wolters and made notes about their professional as well as their private lives. In December 1893 he wrote to his parents that Dörpfeld and Wolters: ‘[…] are very prominent men with Bildung both in the mind and in the soul. We are very fond of them. Both are married and have children. Mrs. Dörpfeld has several features which remind me of Frida Törnblom, 161 and I do not think that it is a happy marriage, although Dörpfeld is too noble to allow anyone to notice such matters. On the contrary, Wolters lives in a very happy marriage with his wife who is much cherished by us boys at the Institute. In addition they have a couple of most lovable little ones, a boy aged three and a girl aged one. Every afternoon at 5, we are welcome to drink tea at Wolters.’ 162 The DAI was a hub for German-speaking archaeologists working in Greece and Asia Minor and in 1893-94 there were a number of scholars present at the Institute. The German archaeologists met regularly for lectures. These lectures, which were on important new discoveries and current research at the Institute, were listed in the Mitteilungen for each year.163 Dörpfeld also gave lectures each Saturday at the Acropolis.164 More informal meetings took place in the home of the archaeologists who lived permanently in Athens, such as Dörpfeld and Wolters, whose wives hosted dinners and tea parties on a regular basis. The home of Heinrich Schliemann (1822-1890)165 was also a prominent place for dinner parties and balls. Schliemann himself ‘Paul Wolters’ in Schiering & Lullies 1988:124f. Callmer 1969:207. 161 A relative of Wide’s on his mother’s side. Wide’s mother’s maiden name was Törnblom. 162 ‘[…] bägge mycket framstående män med både hufvudets och hjärtats bildning. Vi hålla också af dem synnerligen mycket. Bägge äro gifta och ha barn. Fru Dörpfeld har åtskilligt, som erinrar om Frida Törnblom, och jag tror inte att det äktenskapet är så lyckligt, fastän Dörpfeld är för ädel att låta någon märka sådant. Däremot lefver Wolters i ett synnerligen lyckligt äktenskap med sin fru, som är mycket afhållen af oss, institutets pojkar. Därjämte ha de ett par särdeles älskliga småttingar, en pojke på 3 år och en flicka på 1 år. Hvarje eftermiddag kl. 5 äro vi välkomna att dricka en kopp te hos Wolters.’, Wide to his parents, 28 December 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 163 For a list of lectures given during late 1893-94, see Mitteilungen 1894:154-155, 536. 164 Wide to his parents, 28 December 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 165 Schliemann was one of the most famous archaeologists of his generation after his excavations at Troy and Mycenae. Swedish classicist and travel author Julius Centerwall, who met Schliemann in 1886, at one of his house parties in Athens writes that: ‘Schliemann has, for the entire population of Germany, become the representative for all archaeological endeavours, yes, classical archaeology personified.’ [‘Så har för hela tyska folket Schliemann blifvit representanten af alla arkeologiska sträfvanden, ja den klassiska arkeologin förkroppsligad.’], Centerwall 1888:163. 159 160 70 had passed away in 1890, but his wife, Sophia,166 kept up appearances in their home, the so called ‘Iliou Melathron’, ‘The Palace of Ilion’,167 located close to the Academy and the University in central Athens. Adolf Fürtwängler was present at the DAI during spring of 1894, as was the Professor of Classical Archaeology in Bonn, Georg Loeschke.168 The archaeologist Gerhard Lolling did not work at the DAI at the time, but had a position at the National Museum where he worked on assembling the collection of Greek inscriptions.169 When Lolling passed away in February of 1894, Wide attended the wake.170 The DAI also issued travel stipends to younger archaeologists. In 1894, Friedrich Noack171 and Heinrich Bulle172 were both present in Athens on scholarships. Apart from the German archaeologists, Wide spent a lot of time with two Swedes, Doktor Wennberg whom he had met in Rome, and Alarik Hallström, a friend from Uppsala.173 Carl Erik Wennberg was a 63-year old retired doctor of medicine who had taken up studying art and was spending a year in the Mediterranean.174 Hallström and Wennberg accompanied Wide on his travels around Greece and he dined with them frequently while in Athens. 166 Sophia Schliemann (1852-1932), née Engastromenos, was Heinrich Schliemann’s second wife and 30 years younger than him. They had two children, both named after classical persona, Agamemnon and Andromache. 167 ‘Ilion’ was the Ancient Greek name for Troy. Schliemann had adorned his house with wall paintings and quotes from the Illiad. The house is today a museum of numismatics. 168 Georg Loeschke (1852-1915) had been the first secretary of the DAI and was in 1894 Professor of classical archaeology at the University of Bonn, see Schiering & Lullies 1988:106f. 169 Gerhard Lolling (1848-1894) graduated from the University of Göttingen in 1871, before relocating to Athens. He worked as librarian at the DAI and as editor of Mitteilungen before becoming a curator at the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, see Schiering & Lullies 1988:92f. 170 Wide to his parents, 22 February 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 171 Friedrich Noack (1865-1931) had graduated from the University of Berlin and probably knew Wide and Kjellberg from their time as students. He later served as Professor at the University of Jena and at Kiel, see Schiering & Lullies 1988:162f. 172 Heinrich Bulle (1867-1945) had studied in Munich and Freiburg. After his time in Greece, he became lecturer and later Professor in Würzburg, see Sciering & Lullies 1988:168f. 173 Alarik Hallström (1849-1927) had studied classical languages in Uppsala and earned his PhD in 1880 after which he took up teaching at a high school in Karlstad, Sweden. Venturing into teaching was a common career path for classical philologists in Sweden at this time. See ‘Hallström, Alarik’ in Svenskt porträttgalleri 1895-1913. 174 Wide to his mother, 15 May 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. Wide never mentioned Wennberg by his first name, but according to Christian Callmer, Wide referred to a Carl Erik Wennberg (1830-1910), see Callmer 1953:214. 71 Travelling and studying in Greece While Wide spent his evenings socializing, he devoted his days to studying in the museums in Athens and in the library of the DAI, just as he had done in Rome. The two main depositories for antiquities were the Central Museum (which is today the National Archaeological Museum) on Patision Street and the Acropolis Museum on top of the rock just behind the Parthenon. The General Ephor of Antiquities, Panagiotis Kavvadias, was in charge of the Central Museum and its collections.175 Wide and Kavvadias became acquaintances during this time. In order to learn the language, Wide took regular lessons with a Greek student named Georgiadis.176 Wide spent a lot of time travelling to classical sites during his time in Athens and his knowledge of Greek enabled him to travel around without an interpreter. In October 1893, he went with Lolling to Deceleia and from there by himself to Delphi to see the French excavations, which had begun there the previous year.177 In November, he went with Hallström and Wennberg to Eleusis.178 Wide soon expressed what he considered to be the importance of the scholarly being-in-place, i.e. actually visiting the sites from the classical texts. After his visit to Deceleia, he wrote to his parents: ‘Yesterday I undertook , together with the German archaeologist Dr. Lolling and two younger German scholarship holders, an excursion to Deceleia, that notorious gorge in Parnes, where, during the Peloponnesian war, the Spartans entrenched themselves and caused enormous harm to the Athenians by cutting them off from the communication with Boeotia and Euboea. […] Of great interest to us was to gain a bird’s eye view of several sites, known from the Attic tales and history, whose geographical context gave us an important insight into their historical significance. I have already now found that one gains a surprisingly clear insight into the life and history of old Hellas from such topographical studies; and I cannot understand how, in our day in age, it is possible to treat the Greek past at universities without studying in the country itself.’179 Panagiotis Kavvadias (1850-1928) was the head of the Greek Archaeological Service and an important figure in Greek archaeology. Educated both in Athens and in Munich, he worked closely with the foreign schools and conducted numerous excavations around Greece, see Glotz 1928. 176 Wide to his parents, 16 October 1893 and 8 July 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 177 Wide to his parents, 9 October 1893 and 21 October 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 178 Wide to his parents, 12 November 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC;549, UUB. Wide later published an account of Eleusis in the Swedish magazine Ord och Bild, see Wide 1896b. 179 ‘I går företog jag tillsammans med den tyske arkeologen Dr. Lolling samt tvänne yngre tyska stipendiater en utfärd till Dekeleia, det där beryktade passet i Parnes, där Spartanerna under peloponnesiska kriget förskansade sig och tillfogade Athenarna en ofantlig skada genom att afskära dem från förbindelsen med Boeotien och Euboia. […] Af stort intresse för oss var att få ett fågelperspektiv af flere från den attiska sagan och historien bekanta ställen, hvilkas geografiska sammanhang gaf oss en riktig inblick i deras historiska betydelse. Jag har redan funnit, att man 175 72 Wolters gave Wide the task of collecting inscriptions for the Corpus Inscriptorum Atticorum.180 The collecting meant that he would travel around Attica to places known from antiquity and make drawings and squeezes of stones that carried texts. It is unclear whether or not Wide had any previous skill or experience in making casts of inscriptions or if he learned the technique from Wolters, but he later used his skills in investigations at Kalaureia. He also took lessons in field drawing from Dörpfeld during the winter of 1893.181 In February, Dörpfeld gave Wide the task to publish a newly found inscription on the Iobacchi cult from the area between the Pnyx and the Aeropagus.182 Making plans for a Swedish excavation In the beginning of 1894, plans for an excavation of his own had started to take shape. The first time Wide mentions a future excavation was on 28 January in a letter to Westholm: ‘News! I will be conducting a Swedish archaeological excavation on Hellas’ soil. Necessary capital is ensured, so that the operation is secured. However, I do not wish that this become known to other than to your closest friends. The collection is underway in Stockholm and Gothenburg.’183 According to Wide, the night when he received the positive news from Lund University regarding his application for the Professorship became the night when he decided to excavate in Greece. He wrote to Alfred Westholm a month later, in February: ‘God has directed my fortunes in peculiar ways thus far. I admit, I do not know for certain, how Lund will turn out, but I am pleased at the beautiful recognition vinner en öfverraskande klar insigt i det gamla Hellas lif och historia genom sådana topografiska studier, och jag kan icke förstå, huru det i våra dagar är möjligt att vid ett universitet behandla den grekiska forntiden utan studier i landet själft.’, Wide to his parents, 9 October 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 180 Wide to his parents, 25 November 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. Through the German Academy of Science in Berlin, Wolters had been put in charge of assembling materials for a collective work on inscriptions found in Attica, the so-called Corpus Inscriptorum Atticorum. 181 Wide to his parents, 25 November 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 182 Wide to Westholm, 15 February 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. The inscription was published in Mitteilungen in 1894, see Wide 1894. The Iobacchi cult was connected to the worship of Dionysos during late Antiquity, see Lane Fox 2005:85ff. 183 ‘En nyhet! Jag kommer att föranstalta en svensk arkeol. gräfning på Hellas’ jord. Erfoderligt kapital garanteradt; så att företaget är betryggadt. Dock vill jag ej att det ännu blir bekant för andra än dina närmaste vänner. Insamlingen pågår i Sthlm och Göteborg.’, Wide to Westholm, 28 January 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 73 from Lund. However, I have received from Our Lord the particular disposition to place another goal behind the achieved one. That night, when I received the notice of the definitive verdict in Lund [a couple of days before 11 January, my comm.], became, due to the emotional excitement, my first sleepless night on the whole journey. I walked around to get some air for an hour in the darkness of the night in the streets of Athens – heart beating violently – I was having strange thoughts. Went home, sat down to read until 2 am, when I went to bed, but could not sleep until 4 in the morning. During that night, it became clear to me that I was to conduct a Swedish excavation in Greece – and so it shall happen.’184 In the beginning, the funding for the excavation came from Wide himself and from Lennart Kjellberg. Wide was dependent on a loan from his father: ‘I have decided to conduct a Swedish archaeological excavation. Prof. Dörpfeld has ensured me, that with 5 000 francs, one can achieve quite a lot, and that the German Institute has never had such a large sum at their disposal for their excavations during the last couple of years. Lennart Kjellberg has signed on for 2 000 francs and hence guaranteed the operation, I myself have signed on for 1 000 francs, and the remaining 2 000 francs I hope to raise from some of the friends of classical antiquity in Stockholm, Uppsala and Gothenburg. Prof. Dörpfeld, the most distinguished authority in these matters, has promised his support as advisor and in practical matters. Now I ask dear father if I may borrow 1 000 francs until further notice (= around 700 crowns.).’185 Kjellberg had made plans to go to Athens already in August 1893, which means that he did not come down there solely for the excavation.186 Unlike ‘Underligt har Gud hittills styrt mina öden. Visserligen vet jag ej, huru det kan gå i Lund, men jag är dock glad åt det vackra erkännandet från lundensiskt håll. Emellertid har jag af Vår herre fått den egenheten att bakom hvarje mål sätta ett annat. Den natt, jag mottog underrättelsen om det definitiva utslaget i Lund, blef på grund af sinnesrörelsen min första sömnlösa natt på hela resan. Jag ströfvade för att få luft en timme omkring i nattens mörker på Athens gator – hjärtat klappade våldsamt – jag tänkte underliga tankar. Gick hem, satte mig att läsa till kl. 2, då jag lade mig, men fick ej somna förr än kl. 4 på morgonen. I den natten fick jag klart för mig att jag skulle anställa en svensk gräfning, och så skall ock ske.’, Wide to Westholm, 20/21 February 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. Wide also acknowledges the ‘sleepless night’ as the deciding moment in a letter to his parents, see Wide to his parents, 1 February 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 185 ‘Jag har beslutat mig att företaga en svensk arkeologisk gräfning. Prof. Dörpfeld har försäkrat, att med 5,000 francs kan man uträtta ganska mycket i den vägen, och att tyska institutet för sina gräfningar under de sista åren aldrig haft en så stor summa till sitt förfogande. Lennart Kjellberg har tecknat 2,000 franc och därjämte garanterat företagets betryggande, själf har jag anslagit 1,000 francs, och de öfriga 2,000 francs hoppas jag erhålla genom några af den klassiska forntidens vänner i Stockholm, Upsala och Göteborg. Prof. Dörpfeld, den förnämste auktoriteten på detta område, har lovat mig sitt understöd i råd och dåd. Nu beder jag käre far att tillsvidare få låna 1,000 francs (= omkr. 700 Kr.).’, Wide to his parents, 1 February 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 700 Swedish crowns or 1 000 francs in 1894 was equivalent to approx. 40 000 Swedish crowns in 2016, see www.historia.se/Jamforelsepris.htm. See also Edvinsson & Söderberg 2012. It amounts to approx. 4 300 Euro in 2016. 186 Wide to Paulson, 3 August 1893, Paulson’s archive, H127:15, GUB. 184 74 Wide, he seemed to have financed the journey with his own private funds. According to Wide’s letters to his parents, Kjellberg arrived in Athens by late February, after having spent a couple of weeks in Italy with his wife, Anna.187 In order to collect the remaining 2 000 francs, Wide wrote to his connections in Sweden. He wrote to Montelius on 30 January: ‘I have decided to conduct a Swedish excavation on Hellas’ soil. [He explains how much money Kjellberg and himself are putting into an excavation, my comm.]. The remaining 2,000 francs, I hope to gain from friends of classical antiquity in various parts of Sweden. This is why I am turning to you, in the hope that you would act on the matter. I consider it very admirable to speak on behalf of a Swedish or a Scandinavian school in Athens or Rome – but one does not reach far that way. First an individual must lead the way. This is an opportune moment, for Dörpfeld has promised to be my “general staff commander’ and assist me. In addition, neither D-ld [Dörpfeld, my comm.] nor I lack that feature that is called energy. […].188 I hope that you are willing to spare a penny for the cause, and in addition use your influence to gather a couple of other friends of antiquity for the operation. I think that one would be able to collect 1 000 crowns in Stockholm. At the moment, I am writing a letter to Lundstedt 189, and with the next post, I shall send a letter with a similar content to C.D. af Wirsén 190 and Gilljam191 (however, I write to him as a private person; for I do not wish to receive a single penny in Government subsidy). Lolling, Dörpfeld and Wolters send their regards.’192 Wide to his parents, 1 March 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. The almost exact same wording can be found in a letter from Wide to Centerwall from 25 January 1894, see Callmer 1953:215. 189 Bernhard Lundstedt (1846-1914) was a close friend of Wide’s. Lundstedt had studied in Uppsala and in 1894, he served as assistant librarian at the Royal Library in Stockholm. He is remembered for his catalogues of early newspapers in Sweden, as well as for his organization of research on Nordic material in the Vatican Libraries. He also spent some time in Italy. See ‘Lundstedt’ in Svenskt biografiskt handlexikon 1906. 190 Carl David af Wirsén (1842-1912) was a poet and literary reviewer who in 1894 held the post of Permanent Secretary at the Swedish Academy. See ‘af Wirsén, Carl David’ in Nordisk familjebok 1921. 191 Gustaf Fredrik Gilljam (1832-1908) earned his Ph.D. in Classical Philology from Uppsala in 1857. In the 1880s, he ventured into politics and served as Minister of Education for the Swedish Government in 1894. See ‘Gilljam, Gustaf Fredrik’ in Nordisk familjebok 1908. 192 ’Jag har beslutat att företaga en svensk gräfning på Hellas’ jord. […] De återstående 2,000 francs hoppas jag kunna bekomma genom vänner af klassisk fornkunskap i olika delar af Sverige. Därför vänder jag mig till dig med anhållan, att du ville verka för saken. Jag anser det visserligen vara mycket vackert att plädera för en svensk eller skandinavisk skola i Athen eller Rom – men man kommer ej långt på den vägen. Först måste den enskilde gå och visa vägen. Tillfället är gynsamt, ty Dörpfeld har lofvat att bli min ”generalstabschef” och stå mig bi i råd och dåd. Därtill kommer att hvarken D-ld eller jag lida någon brist på den varan, som kallas energi. […]Jag hoppas att du är lifvad att offra en slant för ändamålet samt använda ditt inflytande att vinna några andra klassiska vänner för företaget. Jag tycker, att man i Stockholm skulle kunna få ihop 1,000 kronor. Samtidigt skrifver jag ett bref till Lundstedt, och med nästa post afsänder jag bref af liknande innehåll till C.D. af Wirsén och Gilljam (dock till honom såsom enskild person; ty såsom 187 188 75 But where to excavate? From Wide’s letters, it becomes clear that Wide relied on German support when choosing a location. Wide wrote to Julius Centerwall193 on 25 January: ‘Dörpfeld suggests the old square in Athens (which, however, should meet with resistance from the Greek archaeological society), further the Temple of Poseidon at Kalaureia, the old Aphidnai, the old Midea in Argolis among others.’194 In a letter to Montelius five days later, Wide made it clear that the Athenian Agora was a first choice: ‘First we shall conduct a series of trial excavations for a couple of weeks at the location of the old square in Athens. If we could find it, it would be a great success – but we will also be satisfied with a negative result.’ 195 The Swedes never excavated in the Agora. The Archaeological Society at Athens had been excavating at the site since the 1860s, and it is quite possible that Wide and the DAI did not want to head into conflict with the Society over the right to excavate there as we saw in the quote above. The search for funding took time. ‘We have piped, but they will not dance’, Wide wrote to Julius Centerwall in late March; ‘If an excavation (Swedish) does not happen now, it will not happen in 50 years’ time.’196 In the end, Wide and Kjellberg received enough donations to be able to carry out an excavation. In April, Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg participated in Wilhelm Dörpfeld’s annual excursion. From Athens, they travelled to Sounion and Marathon and then by boat towards the Aegean islands, to Andros, Mykonos and Delos. From Delos, the party travelled to Kalaureia and Troizen, Epidauros and Aigina (fig. 12). At Kalaureia, the group visited the Sanctuary of statsunderstöd vill jag ej hafva ett öre). Lolling, Dörpfeld och Wolters helsa dig.’, Wide to Montelius, 30 January 1894, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. 193 Julius Centerwall (1844-1923) was a liberal politician, classical philologist and Member of Parliament. He was headmaster at an upper-secondary school in Söderhamn between 1874-1910. He travelled in Italy and Greece and the Middle East in 1886-87. See ‘Centerwall, Julius Ebbe’ in Nordisk familjebok 1905. For his travel memoirs, see Centerwall 1888. 194 ‘Dörpfeld föreslår gamla torget i Athen (som dock torde stöta på motstånd hos grek. arkeol. sällskapet), vidare Poseidontemplet på Kalaureia, det gamla Aphidnai, det gamla Midea i Argolis m. fl.’, Wide to Centerwall 25 January 1894. Original lost, quoted in Callmer 1953:215. Also in Nordquist 2002:18. See also Wide to Montelius, 30 January 1894, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. 195 ‘Först skola vi ett par veckor anställa försöksgräfningar på platsen för det gamla torget i Athen. Kunde vi få tag i detta, vore en stor framgång vunnen – men vi nöja oss också med ett negativt resultat.’, Wide to Montelius 30 January 1894, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. 196 ‘Sker nu ej en grävning (svensk), sker det ej på 50 år.’, Wide to Centerwall, 27 March 1894. Original lost, quoted in Callmer 1953:215. Also in Nordquist 2002:18. 76 Poseidon, one of Dörpfeld’s suggestions as a suitable location for a Swedish excavation. In Wide’s words, the decision to excavate there was made on site at this particular visit. He wrote to Westholm: ‘At the council of war which was held yesterday in the Sanctuary of Poseidon on Kalaureia, it was decided, with approval from the young but experienced generals Dörpfeld, Wolters, Loeschke, Furtwängler, that the Swedish excavation shall take place in this location.’197 197 ‘I krigsråd, som igår hölls i Poseidonhelgedomen på Kalaureia beslöts under bifall af de unge, men bepröfvade generalerna Dörpfeld, Wolters, Loeschcke, Furtwängler, att den svenska utgräfningen skall ega rum på denna plats.’, Wide to Westholm, 22 April 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 77 Fig. 12. An invitation to Dörpfeld's island excursion in 1894 has been preserved in Ludwig Pollak's archive at the Museo di Scultura Antica Giovanni Barraco in Rome. Pollak has changed the dates to correspond to the actual dates when the different islands were visited. Photo: author. 78 The Sanctuary of Poseidon The island of Poros is situated in the Saronic Gulf, close to the Peloponnesian coast. Today, it takes roughly one hour by boat from Piraeus to reach the island; in 1894 it took four times longer. Let us approach Poros with the popular guide book Murrayχs Handbook for Travellers in Greece from 1884: ‘After leaving Aegina, the steamer touches at Poros (anc. Sphaeria), pop. 7000. (N.B. – The steamer does not enter the harbour, but proceeds. to Hydra (see below in 2 ½ hrs.). Poros is separated from the mainland by a ferry, only a few hundred yards in breath, whence its modern name. The island consists of two parts, now united by a sand-bank, but formerly detached: Sphaeria (afterwards Hiera) and Calaureia [fig. 13.].’198 Fig. 13. Poros town on the island of Spheria seen from the Peloponnese mainland in 1894. The hills in the background belong to Kalaureia where the sanctuary is located. Photo: Sam Wide, DAI, Athens. 198 Murray 1884:465. 79 The town of Poros is located on the smaller of the two islands, Sphaeria. White-washed houses climb onto a rocky hillside. Small boats line the shore waiting to carry passengers over the straight to the Peloponnesian mainland with the neighbouring town of Galatas. U.S. ambassador George Horton (1859-1942), who lived on the island in 1898, described the town of Poros in the following way: ‘[…] Sitting on his [a friend of Horton’s] rickety balcony, one saw the tiled roofs descending to the sea like the steps in a giant stairway. The site of the town is like a sugar-loaf, and there is not a house in it but commands a stretch of glimmering water and the distant mountains.’199 Fig. 14. Poros town in 1894 with its houses climbing the hillside. View from Galatas on the Peloponnese mainland. Photo: Sam Wide, DAI, Athens. Poros had made a mark on history during the early years of the modern Greek state. During the War of Independence, Greek revolutionaries frequently held meetings on the island and Poros was even thought of as a capital for the future Greek state in the early stages of the war.200 In 1828, representatives of the protecting powers (Great Britain, France and Russia) met in Poros to draw the geographical outlines of the modern state. The same year, a Greek naval station was built on Spheria. Baedekerχs Greece 199 200 80 Horton 1902a: 91. Woodhouse 1998:148. Handbook for Travellers published in 1894 emphasized this modern history of Poros: ‘Poros was formerly the chief naval station of Greece, and contains an arsenal and fortifications erected under the direction of Bavarian officers. On Aug. 13 th, 1831, Admiral Miaulis, who had formed with Mavrokordatos and Kondourioties a sort of rival government against President Kapodistrias, set fire to part of the Greek fleet here, in order to prevent its delivery into the hands of the Russian admiral Rikord, which had been ordered by Kapodistrias.’ 201 Russian presence on Poros had been a defining part of island life since the Ottoman period. In 1774, following a peace treaty between Russia and the Ottoman Empire, a Russian military naval station was built on Kalaureia. Today, the station remains as a ruin (fig. 15) but in 1894, the naval station was still an active part of life on Poros. Greek and Russian ships adorned the coast line. Lennart Kjellberg reflected on the appearance of Poros from the seaside in a newspaper article in 1896: ‘After giving out a couple of blaring signals, [the ship] steamed out of the beautiful straight between the lofty Troizinian lands with its lush vegetation and the island of Poros, where the city by the same name rises like an amphitheatre with is dazzling white houses on the steep cliffs. Colossal Russian armoured ships, which have been stationed here all summer, in a spot where nature has fashioned a first class naval port, lay there dark and threatening like giant whales, while further into the bay, close to the naval station, the Greek armoured frigates of an older and more aesthetic type, reflected their slender shapes like white swans in the ultramarine blue water.’202 Baedeker 1894:248. ’Efter att ha uppgifvit några skrällande signaler ångade denna ut ur det vackra sundet mellan det höga troizenska landet med sin yppiga vegetation och ön Poros, der staden med samma namn amfiteatraliskt höjer sig med sina bländande hvita hus på några branta klippor. De ryska pansarkolosserna, som hela sommaren haft sin station på denna redd, hvilken af naturen särskildt danats till en första klassens örlogshamn, lågo der mörka och hotande likt väldiga hvalfiskar, medan längre in i viken i närheten af marinstationen de grekiska pansarfregatterna af en äldre och mera estetisk typ likt hvita svanar speglade sina smäckra former i det ultra marinblå vattnet.’, Kjellberg, ’Reseminnen från Grekland. En resa genom norra Peloponnesos I’, Svenska Dagbladet, 18 December 1896. 201 202 81 Fig. 15. The ruins of the Russian naval station on Kalaureia. Photo: author. Approaching the site In order to get to the Sanctuary of Poseidon, we leave Spheria and Poros town and traverse a small bridge over to the larger island of Kalaureia. Today, there is a road that conveniently takes us past the main gate of the Sanctuary. In 1894, however, you walked through a dense pine forest for about an hour to reach the saddle between the summits of Profitis Elias and Vigla where the sanctuary is located. Let us follow in the trail of Peter S. Gray, an American author who lived on Poros in the 1930s and who frequently visited the sanctuary: ‘[…] and we went on into another pine woods, up another slope, up, and up. The pines were stunted, bled of their resin, but they were tall and thick enough to shut off the sun and obscure the trail ahead, and so it was without warning to her, who had never been here before, that the woods stopped suddenly, and she saw that we had reached the summit of the mountain. I led the way past a small, isolated farm house and through grain fields, walled partly with stones from the temple, and on to a little clump of pines at the edge of a precipice, where we 82 looked down over a world of intense blue water, a miraculous blue and shining world. It was a god’s view of the sea.’203 Fig. 16. View of the sanctuary in 2007, taken from the south-west. The Temple of Poseidon is located in the pine grove on the summit of the hill. Photo: Berit Wells. The earliest archaeological remains on site are dated to the Bronze Age, approximately 1200 BC, and these attest to a small settlement on the island, probably unrelated to the cult of Poseidon.204 The earliest now extant remains from the Sanctuary of Poseidon, the place that Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg set out to excavate, are from the sixth century BC, but the cult at the site probably started already in the eighth century BC. The sanctuary was, and is, mostly famous as an asylum sanctuary, where political refugees could find shelter. The Sanctuary of Poseidon at Kalaureia is mentioned by Pausanias as the death place of Demosthenes, the Athenian orator who committed suicide in the sanctuary after fleeing from Macedonian troops in 322 BC. According to Pausanias, Demosthenes was buried in the Sanctuary and a monument was erected in his honour.205 Apart from its Gray 1942:89. See forthcoming publications on the Bronze Age remains at the Sanctuary of Poseidon by Michael Lindblom. 205 Paus. 2.33.5. I have used the translation in Pausanias [1918], see Bibliography. 203 204 83 function as a place of asylum, the Sanctuary of Poseidon on Kalaureia was, according to Strabo, the seat of an Amphictiony, a league of city states.206 Fig. 17 shows a site plan made by the Kalaureia Research Program after excavations ended in 2012. The Temple of Poseidon is shaded by large pine trees at the top of the summit. The remains of the temple are scarce, but the peribolos, the wall surrounding the temple area, is still visible on site. The entrance to the Sanctuary was the building marked E, a propylaea, which also could have served as a meeting hall.207 It faced a large open square flanked by four stoae, marked A, B, C and D on the plan. These were covered colonnade walkways which would protect the visitors from sun and rain. Inside the rooms of the southern extension of stoa D, archaeologists have found deposits of remains of feasting. Buildings E and D mark the temenos, the boundary of the sanctuary. Everything inside the temenos was sacred ground. Outside began the ancient city of Kalaureia, which extended to the south on sloping terrain. The area marked as I on the site plan is therefore located outside the sanctuary proper. Two additional buildings, F and G are located further to the south-west of building E.208 In 1894, when the archaeologists began excavations on site, there were few remains of the sanctuary visible in the landscape. Stones from the buildings had for centuries been used as building material for new structures. The first written account on the state of the Sanctuary comes from Richard Chandler who visited the site in 1765. 209 He came accompanied by the writings of Pausanias and Strabo and his account is coloured by the ancient authors. Chandler offered a description of what he saw up on the sanctuary: ‘The city of Calaurea has been long abandoned. Traces of building and of ancient walls appear, nearly level with the ground; and some stones, in their places, each with a seat and back, forming a little circle, once perhaps a bath [fig. 18]. The temple, which was of the Doric order, and not large, as may be inferred from the fragments, is reduced to an inconsiderable heap of ruins. The stone is of a dark colour.’ Chandler also remarked on how his contemporaries used the place: ‘Many pieces [of stone] lay ready, cut to the size which is a load for a mule, to be carried down to the shore and embarked Strabo writes the following on the Kalaureia Amphictiony: ‘[a]nd there was also a kind of Amphictyonic League connected with this temple, a league of seven cities which shared in the sacrifice; they were Hermion, Epidaurus, Aegina, Athens, Prasïeis, Nauplïeis, and Orchomenus Minyeius […]’, see Str. 8-6-13-14. I have used the translation in Strabo [1927], see Bibliography. The existence of such an amphictiony has since been debated, see Kelly 1966 with references. 207 See Paulson 2012. See also Pakkanen, forthcoming, on building D. 208 For an overview of the results from the excavations at the Sanctuary of Poseidon as well as the history of the site, see Penttinen 2014b with references. 209 The English antiquarian Richard Chandler (1737-1810) was sent out by the Society of Dilettanti in 1764 together with the architect Nicholas Revett (1720-1804) and the painter William Pars (1742-1782) to ‘collect informations, and to make observations, relative to the ancient state of those countries [i.e. the eastern parts of the Ottoman Empire], and to such monuments of antiquity as are still remaining.’, Chandler 1825:xix. 206 84 for the island of Hydre, where a monastery was then built. Our guide was a mason who had been long employed in destroying these remains of antiquity.’210 Fig. 17. Site plan of the buildings in the Sanctuary of Poseidon after excavations in 2012. Buildings F and G are located to the south-east of building E. Plan by Emanuel Savini, Kalaureia Research Program. From Penttinen 2014:21. 210 Chandler 1825:261-262. 85 Fig. 18. A round structure referred to by Chandler as a 'bath' is located close to building E. It is now interpreted by Arto Penttinen as a seating area constructed by masons who worked in the stone quarry in modern times, see Penttinen 2014:59. Photo: author. The legend of Demosthenes attracted foreign visitors to the site. Shortly before the Greek War of Independence, two other British travellers visited Kalaureia on two separate occasions. Edward Dodwell211 came to the Sanctuary in 1805 and William Martin Leake212 arrived there the following year. Dodwell remarked that very few remains could be seen: ‘Not a single column of this celebrated sanctuary is standing, nor is the smallest fragment of a column to be seen amongst the ruins. Some masses of the architecture are remaining, with the guttæ, which were under the triglyphs, which show that it was of Doric order. […] Several other remains are, no doubt, concealed by the impenetrable thickness of the lentiscus,213 which covers part of the ruins.’214 In 1806, William Leake attributed the discovery of the sanctuary to Edward Dodwell (1767-1832) was an Irish painter and antiquarian who travelled in Greece between 1801 and 1806, see ‘Dodwell, Edward’ in Grummond 1996. 212 William Martin Leake (1777-1860) was a British antiquarian and topographer as well as a military man. From 1799, he had been employed by the British government to train Ottoman soldiers against Napoleonic France. He was also an avid collector of artefacts from classical antiquity, see ‘Leake, William Martin’ in Grummond 1996. 213 Pistacia lentiscus is also known as mastic. Its resin is used for various culinary and medicinal purposes in the Mediterranean. 214 Dodwell 1819:276-278. 211 86 Chandler whom he had read, and remarked that ‘the vicinity of the populous modern towns of Ydhra, Petza, and Poro, has been detrimental to the preservation of these ruins, as well as those of Troezen, Hermione, and the other places on the neighbouring coasts.’215 In 1843, the French classicist Philippe le Bas (1794-1860) visited the site and ‘searched in vain for the traces of the temple of Neptune and of the monument which is called the tomb of Demosthenes.’ Le Bas noted that with excavations, the remains of the sanctuary could be uncovered but the archaeologists ‘must hurry’ otherwise ‘there will be nothing to see.’216 Although claiming to have searched in vain for the temple, Le Bas and his architect E. Landron did make a plan of the buildings in the sanctuary, which was published by archaeologist Salomon Reinach in 1888.217 On 27 May 1894 Wide applied for an excavation permit. A day later the Greek newspaper Acropolis reported on the plans to excavate on Poros: ‘Yesterday, the Swedish Professor of archaeology Mr. Witte [sic], temporarily staying in our town, sought, through a letter to the Ministry of Church Affairs the permission to conduct excavations in Poros as archaeological research. These excavations, funded by the Swedish Government, regard mostly the discovery of the temple of Poseidon. The Ministry of Church Affairs will soon grant the necessary permission, and thus we will have four foreign governments conducting archaeological research through their own funds.’218 The excavation permit from the Greek General Ephoria of Antiquities and Museums was sent to the Municipality of Trizina (Troizen), to which the island of Poros and Kalaureia belonged, in the beginning of June 1894. The permit was issued to Wide personally. A transcript of the content of the permit is kept at the Poros local archive: ‘Permission was granted to Prof. Sam Wide to conduct excavations in the Sanctuary of Poseidon on Poros and the supervision is appointed to the supervisor of antiquities, N. Grimanis.’219 Nicholaos Grimanis’s duty was to make a protocol of the antiquities found during the excavation, which he was to submit to the Municipality after the Leake 1830 [2010]:452-453. Le Bas 1844:103f. 217 Le Bas 1888: plate 15:2. 218 Acropolis, 16 May 1894. Translation from Greek by Anagnostopoulos. Greece used the Julian calendar (from now on I will refer to it as the ‘old calendar’) until 1923. There was a discrepancy of 12 days between the Julian and the Gregorian calendar (or ‘new calendar’) used in the rest of Europe. 16 May in the old calendar corresponds to 28 May in the new calendar. 219 Incoming letters to the Municipality of Trizina, protocol no. 759, letter no. 11119, May 27, 1894, TAP. Translation by Anagnostopoulos. May 27 in the old calendar when the excavation permit was issued, corresponds to June 8 in the new calendar. 215 216 87 season finished.220 He remained on site for the duration of the excavation. In addition, the Greek state was represented on site by a man named G. Sappaklis221 who was hired as agrofylakas or guard. His job was to keep order on site and to make sure that Greek law was enforced during the excavations. Grimanis later supervised the Swedish excavations at Asine in the 1920s (fig. 19).222 Fig. 19. Nikolaos Grimanis and the workforce in Asine during the Swedish excavation in 1922. From Wells 1998:23. Municipality of Trizina, Prot. No. 759, Letter no. 11119, 27 May 1894, TAP. (corresponds to 8 June in the new calendar) 221 The name Sappaklis is somewhat uncertain. Aris Anagnostopoulos and I had some difficulty in reading the handwriting on this specific name at the TAP. 222 Wells 1998a:23, 41 and 53. 220 88 Palatia The Sanctuary of Poseidon is known locally as Palatia. While the history of foreign appropriations of the sanctuary of Poseidon is well documented in the archives and in printed volumes, the historical use of the sanctuary by local people on Kalaureia is more difficult to uncover. With the help of Aris Anagnostopoulos who has worked with archaeological ethnography on Poros, I have been able to go through records of landownership at the local archive in Poros town (Topiko Archeiou Porou). The archive contains, besides records of landownership, also legal protocols and correspondence to and from the Municipality of Trizina to which Poros belonged in the 1890s. Additional information on landownership at Palatia is found in the Archive of the Archaeological Service in Athens.223 The name has a long history. When Richard Chandler visited Poros in 1765, he referred to the space as ‘Palatia’, ‘the Palaces.’224 In 1806, Edward Dodwell mentioned that the space where the ‘temple of Neptune’ once resided is ‘at present called palatial.’225 In the 1890s, Palatia probably referred to the remains of the temple while the outside of the sanctuary proper was called Samouíl. The name Samouíl would later in local lore be connected to the name of Sam Wide and according to local history on Poros, Wide erected a house for the workmen at the excavations in the area of Samouíl.226 In the archival material there is no such indication, and it is doubtful that the Swedish archaeologists would have had funds to cover such a construction. Besides, archival records on Poros show that the site was called Samouíl before Sam Wide arrived on the scene.227 In 1894, a number of families owned the land where the sanctuary was located in antiquity. The area of the temple was owned by a woman named Maria A. Nikolaou.228 The area known as Samouíl and possibly the land up to the peribolos of the temple was owned by the Makris family.229 Georgios Nerantzopoulos also owned land affected by the excavation but the extent I have not been able to visit the archive in person. The archival sources used from the Archive of the Greek Archaeological Service have been selected and translated by Aris Anagnostopoulos. 224 Chandler 1825:260. 225 Dodwell 1819:276. 226 Wells, Penttinen & Billot 2003:34. 227 The protocols of landownership, which today are kept at the local archive on Poros, refers to the space as Samouíl in 1890 which I will go into in more detail in Creating archaeological knowledge at Kalaureia. The name probably refers to the Archangel Samuel in Christian mythology. 228 Letter from Ministry of Religious Affairs and Education to the Ministry of Finance, 21 December 1894, Box 502, no. 24341, Archive of the Greek Archaeological Service (corresponds to 2 January 1895 in the new calendar). 229 Markis later owned land up to the peribolos, but it is unclear to which extent the family owned land in 1894, see further discussions in Creating archaeological knowledge at Kalaureia. 223 89 of his land claim is unknown.230 Giorgos Makris was a registered inhabitant of the village of Mylos on the neighboring island Angistri, and he had been using the land since 1884. A protocol from the Book of Mortgages from 1890 shows that he owned the land known as Samouíl together with his two sons, Yannis and Dimitris.231 They owned ‘one lemon grove with 130 lemon trees, several olive trees, a water spring to water them and a water tank, a house with its surrounding area, the whole thing laying in the position ‘Samouil’ of the island of Kalaureia, municipality of Trizina.’232 The primary occupation of the Makris family was collecting pine resin, a process which involved incising the outer layers of the tree to release the sap which was then collected in cans hung from the trunk. It is likely that Maria Nikolaou was also involved in the business of pine extraction. Remains in the temple of Poseidon, which was located on her land, show evidence of resin basins and the trees still bear marks of resin extraction (fig. 20). All three families were affected by the excavations at Kalaureia and I will return to this in Part 2. Fig. 20. Remains of a basin for resin collecting in the north-west corner of the Temple of Poseidon. Photo: author. Letter from the Ministry of Finance to the Ministry of Religious Affairs and Education, 20 February 1895, Box 502, no. 110439, Archive of the Greek Archaeological Service (corresponds to 4 March in the new calendar). 231 Book of Mortgages of the Municipality of Trizina, 1890, no. 73, TAP. 232 Book of Mortgages of the Municipality of Trizina, 1894, vol. 30, p. 197, no. 102. TAP. Translation from Greek by Anagnostopoulos. 230 90 Excavations On 11 June 1894, excavations began in the Sanctuary of Poseidon and they lasted until 13 August. In a series of letters to his parents, Sam Wide wrote about life on the excavation. On 18 June, after excavations had been underway for a week he wrote: ‘On Monday began the excavations in the Poseidon temple, which has been much damaged but whose foundations nevertheless remain. During the course of the week, the peribolos wall which surrounded the sanctuary has been exposed, and inside, one has encountered the foundation walls of the sanctuary temple itself. Several finds of bronze (statuettes, swords among other things) and terracotta have been found. We have a very skillful work foreman, and Lennart conducts himself as a solid man; whereby I am relatively unnecessary on site. The location is idyllic, the site is on all sides surrounded by the sea, and fresh ocean breezes cool the heat. At night, it is occasionally so cool, that we must put on our coats. The most delightful pine scent in combination with the ocean air makes the place a real sanatorium. Lennart cannot remember the time when he felt so well as during this week.’233 The archaeologists lived on site. Two tents were raised on the highest point on a ridge to the east of the Poseidon temple, overlooking the bay towards Aegina (Fig. 21). The tents were placed on a flat and circular surface, built by the user of the land as a threshing floor. A few of the stones that encircled the threshing floor can be seen in front of the tents in the photograph from 1894. A small shed was constructed downhill from the tent site, where food could be prepared. A photograph taken during excavations of the southeastern corner of the peribolos, shows the back of the shed, which was constructed with wooden planks (fig. 22). Wide and Kjellberg had employed a young man to deal with the food situation: ‘A Greek boy, who has been employed by the German Institute, cooks our food. Naturally, we have had to acquire some cooking vessels, whereby Mrs. Wolters has been helpful to 233 ‘I måndags började utgräfningarna i Poseidontemplet, som väl blifvit mycket förstördt, men hvars fundament dock kvarstå. Under veckans lopp har Peribolosmuren, som omgaf tempelhelgedomen, frilagts, hvarjämte man i det inre stött på grundmurarna af själva helgedomen templet. Åtskilliga fynd af brons (statuetter, svärd m. fl. saker) och terrakotta ha gjorts. Vi ha en mycket skicklig arbetsförman, och Lennart sköter sig som en hel karl; så att jag är temligen obehöflig på platsen. Läget är idylliskt, platsen är på alla sidor omgifven af hafvet, och friska hafsvindar dämpa hettan. Kvällarna ha vi så svalt ibland, att vi måste taga på oss våra kappor. Den härligaste barrluft i förening med hafsluften gör stället till ett riktigt sanatorium. Lennart mins ej den tid, då han mått så väl, som under denna vecka.’, Wide to his parents, 18 June 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. “To conduct oneself as a solid man’ or ‘Sköta sig som en hel karl’ is an expression in Swedish indicating that someone does a good job and takes charge of his work. 91 us’, Wide wrote to his parents.234 In Lennart Kjellberg’s excavation diary, we can follow how the work progressed from day to day until 22 July when Lennart Kjellberg fell ill and left the excavation to return to his family in Germany.235 While Kjellberg initially enjoyed life in the field, things soon took a turn for the worse. After an excursion to Nafplio in mid-July, Kjellberg fell ill and suffered from a high fever. His choice to leave the excavation would later have an impact on the relationship between Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg and ultimately on the different career paths of the two archaeologists, which I will return to in Part 2. The excavation can thus be divided into two periods, based on the available source materials in the archives. For the first period when Kjellberg was on site, his field journal gives a detailed day-to-day account of the excavation, with finds’ lists and locations of the trenches. For the second part of the excavation it gets more difficult. Sven Kristenson arrived on Kalaureia in the beginning of August to make drawings of the architecture on site.236 By that time, Lennart Kjellberg had left and neither Wide nor Kristenson have note books from Kalaureia preserved in their archives. For the second half of the excavations season, only Wide’s letters to his parents give any indication of what happened on site. Lennart Kjellberg was in charge of recording the small finds, while Sam Wide was in charge of the architecture. Together with the three Swedes, a number of people were involved in the excavation. Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg hired between seven and twenty-three workmen under the supervision of a man named Pankalos. Pankalos, who was born in Asia Minor, had worked for the German Archaeological Institute at Olympia in the 1870s and was an experienced field archaeologist. In an article in Svenska Dagbladet from 1896, Kjellberg described Pankalos as follows: ‘We had brought our foreman, the splendid Pankalos, who had served in that role in the grand excavations in Olympia by the German kingdom in the end of the 70s. He had since then tried various and often gruesome feats in the stuggle to survive. Recently he had, with little success, run a hotel business at the Stadium Street in Athens.’ 237 234 ‘En grekisk pojke, som varit i tyska institutets tjänst, lagar vår mat. Naturligtvis ha vi måst skaffa oss några kokkärl, och andra köksartiklar, hvarvid Fru Wolters varit oss behjälplig.’, Wide to his parents, 18 June 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 235 Kjellberg’s excavation diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 236 Wide to his parents, 5 August 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 237 ‘Vi hade medtagit vår arbetschef, den förträfflige Pankalos, hvilken i samma egenskap tjenstgjort vid tyska rikets storartade gräfningar i Olympia i slutet på 70-talet. Han hade sedan dess pröfvat vexlande och oftast vidriga öden i kampen för tillvaron. Senast hade han med föga framgång idkat hotellrörelse vid Stadiongatan i Atén.’, Kjellberg, ‘Reseminnen från Grekland. En resa genom norra Peloponnesos. I’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 18 December 1896. 92 The excavation started from visible wall fragments in the temple area and moved south-east towards the stoae. Towards the end of the season, they excavated building F and G, which are outside of the Sanctuary proper. The focus was on uncovering the architecture: when a fragment of a wall was found its outline was traced and objects found in association with the walls were used for dating the structure (fig. 23). I will return to the excavation techniques in Part 2. Fig. 21. The tent camp was set up on top of a threshing floor. Just in front of the tents, a row of upright stones forming the edge of the floor can be seen. To the right of the tents, there is man standing. Judging from his outfit it is most likely one of the archaeologists. Photo: DAI, Athens. 93 Fig. 22. The back of the shed used for cooking and storing supplies. View from inside the peribolos of the temple. Photo: DAI, Athens. Fig. 23. A corner of the peribolos of the Temple of Poseidon during excavations in 1894. Photo: DAI, Athens. 94 Wilhelm Dörpfeld, who had been vital for the initiation of the excavation, came to visit Kalaureia in August, together with the epigrapher Karl Buresch (1862-1896) who stayed over-night on Kalaureia: ‘On Thursday, the director of the German Institute, the splendid Dörpfeld, came here and gave me many rightful opinions on the results of the excavations. He brought Dr. Buresch from Athens, and they both stayed over-night in my tent’, Wide wrote to his parents.238 Paul Wolters also visited Kalaureia in August together with Auguste and a Ms. Otto. They were accompanied by Ferdinand Noack and Heinrich Bulle who were on a travel stipend at the DAI. φWe had a good time together’. Wide wrote, ‘although the arrangements were not grand. On my request, a pair of knives, forks and spoons had been brought by the guests themselves, as well as bed linen, since we cannot offer any of those things here on Kalaureia. Noack had even brought a tent bed. In any case, I, myself, and one of the guests had to spend the night on the ground. Mrs. Wolters had even brought 3 plates. Of course it was not a question of eating separate dishes on separate plates – so you find that it was an unsophisticated and simple event.’239 Other archaeologists who came to see the excavations included Botho Graef (1857-1917), a German classical archaeologist who at the time served as privatdocent at Friedrich-Wilhelms Universität in Berlin.240 Graef probably knew Wide and Kjellberg from Germany, where he had finished his PhD under the supervision of Carl Robert in 1886. During 1894, he was working on classifying and describing the vases found on the German excavations around the Acropolis in Athens.241 Other German visitors included Agamemnon Schliemann (1878-1954) the son of Heinrich Schliemann and at the time a young student.242 International visitors included Paul Perdrizet (1870-1938), a fellow of the French School at Athens.243 Rufus B. Richardson, Professor of Classical Archaeology and Director of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens came in company with George Horton (1859-1942), the United 238 ‘I torsdags kom tyska institutets chef, den präktige Dörpfeld, som meddelade mig många riktiga åsikter angående gräfningarnas resultat. Han hade med sig Dr. Buresch från Athen, och bägge lågo kvar öfver natten i mitt tält’, Wide to his parents, 5 August 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 239 ‘Vi hade trefligt tillsammans, ehuru anordningarna ej voro storartade. På min begäran hade ett par knifvar, gafflar och skedar medtagits af gästerna själfva, likaså sängkläder, enär vi ej ha att bjuda på mycket af den varan här på Kalaureia. Noack hade till och med fört med sig en tältsäng. Jag och en af gästerna måste i alla fall om natten ligga på bara marken. Äfven 3 tallrikar hade Fru Wolters medtagit. Naturligtvis kom ej i fråga att äta olika rätter på olika tallrikar – så att Ni finner, att det gick enkelt och okonstladt till.’, Wide to his parents, 30 July 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 240 Kjellberg’s excavation diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 241 ‘Botho Graef‘ in Schiering & Lullies 1988: 122f. 242 Wide to his parents, 20 August 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 243 Kjellberg’s excavation diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 95 States’ Consul in Athens.244 Horton was a regular visitor to Poros in the last years of the nineteenth century and in 1902 he published a book called In Argolis about his life on the island.245 Richardson rented a summer house on Kalaureia and frequently visited the Sanctuary.246 Apart from the two Greek supervisors, Grimanis and Sappaklis, official Greek archaeology was also represented through the visits of Panagiotis Kavvadias, who visited the excavations with his wife and two sons.247 Prof. Spyridon Phindiklis from the Achaeological Society at Athens also came to visit together with an aide-decamp from the Greek War Ministry.248 On 16 August, excavations ended. On Sunday 19 August, the equipment and the finds were taken down to Poros. Wide wrote to his parents: ‘Friday and Saturday, I was busy with the preparations for the departure as well as with finishing my notes on the excavations. I want you to know, that it is not easy to transport excavation material: first the finds (the smaller ones), which are packed in large cases and shipped to Athens, then wheel barrows, picks, household equipment, personal items etc. All of this could not fit onto a single boat (as you know, the steam boats do not anchor by the quay in the South, but one has to have a skipper to transport the things to and from the steam boats).’ 249 By Sunday night, all of the finds and the equipment had been loaded onto the steam boat Aegina. Early Monday morning, the boat sailed for Piraeus where the items were loaded onto a horse carriage. Wide wrote to his parents: ‘Kristenson took the train to Athens, but I walked after the carriage, to guard the things, 2 hours in the blazing hot sun, from 12-2. Once arrived at the German Institute, the off-loading began. Once that was done, and I had cleaned myself properly, at 3 o’clock I had some time to read the letters, which had been at the Institute for 1 week. […] At 5, I ate soup and a piece of cheese. I was so tired that I could hardly eat. But now, in the evening, I am feeling more alert and I am soon going to dinner with my friend Kristenson, whom I have already invited to have a glass of Kephallenia wine in honour of my name’s day. […] I am happy Kjellberg’s excavation diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. Horton 1902a. 246 Richardson mentioned in his travel journal from Greece that he visited the Swedish excavations, Richardson 1903:140. 247 Wide to his parents, 30 July 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 248 Wide to his parents, 5 August 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 249 ‘I fredags och lördags sysslade jag med förberedelserna för afresan samt afslutade mina anteckningar öfver gräfningarna. Igår, söndag, på eftermiddagen forslades sakerna ned till Poros och fördes ombord på ångaren Aigina. Jag har de sista dagarna haft mycket bestyr. Ni skall veta, att det ej är så lätt att transportera utgräfningsmaterial: först fynden (de smärre), som inpackas i lårar och sändes till Athen, så skottkärror, hackor, spadar, husgeråd, egna persedlar m.m. Allt detta fick ej rum i en enda båt (som bekant, lägga ångbåtarna i södern aldrig till vid kajen, utan man måste ha en båtförare, som forslar sakerna till och från ångbåtarne).’, Wide to his parents, 20 August 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 244 245 96 that the Swedish excavation is over and done with. We have, to our ability, honored the name of Sweden even in this previously neglected area.’250 Fig. 24. The harbour in Poros town in 1894. Photo: DAI, Athens. ‘Kristenson for med tåget till Athen, men jag vandrade efter lasset, för att bevaka sakerna, 2 timmar i det värsta solgasset, kl 12-2. Framkommen till Tyska Institutet börjades urlastningen. Sedan detta var gjort och jag tagit mig en grundlig afrifvning, kunde jag vid 3-tiden läsa de bref, som sedan 1 vecka legat i Institutet. […] Kl 5 åt jag en soppa och en bit ost. Jag var så trött, att jag knappt kunde äta. Men nu har jag piggat till mig på kvällen och går snart att äta tillsammans med vännen Kristenson, som jag sedan inbjudit på ett glas Kephalleniavin med anledning af min namnsdag […] Jag är glad att den svenska gräfningen är öfverstökad. Vi ha i vårt mått gjort det svenska namnet hedradt äfven på detta förut ej beaktade område.’, Wide to his parents, 20 August 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 250 97 98 Aftermath After the excavations in the Sanctuary of Poseidon finished towards the end of August 1894, Sam Wide and Sven Kristenson returned to Athens. Kjellberg was still in Germany with his family recovering from his illness. Wide resumed his work in the museums and in the library at the DAI. He also continued making trips to collect inscriptions for the Germany Academy of Science in Berlin. Once in Athens, Wide immediately started making plans for excavating Aphidna, a site which he had visited with Heinrich Bulle in the beginning of August (fig. 25). ‘For a long time, I have had my eyes set on this place, which seems to have not been visited by an archaeologist for decades. The part that Aphidna plays in the legend of Theseus and Helen led me to assume that it would be a very old, perhaps even Mycenaean ‘Aussiedlung’. I invited Dr. Bulle from the German Institute to come with me to check my investigation. We found very rightly, that Aphidna was a Mycenaean fortress, due to all the Mycenaean vase sherds found. I then told Bulle: “Now, one should also find ‘Kuppelgräben’. After walking for a while we came to a site where there were 3 graves, which judging from the form and location (on a gentle slope in the terrain, which lowers itself down towards a river, just like at Vaphio and Menidi), seem to have been ‘Kuppelgräben’. Next to them was a tumulus tomb with a stone circle around the base. I have already been granted permission by the Greek government to excavate these tombs and will probably go down there in 10-12 days. It would be a worthy finale to the Swedish research in Greece. Since I have found these old things, I would of course like to take care of the further investigation.’ 251 ‘Jag hade länge haft mina ögon riktade på denna plats, som på årtionden ej synes ha besökts af någon arkeolog. Den roll, som Aphinda spelar i Theseus och Helenasägnen, lät mig förmoda, att det skulle vara en mycket gammal, törhända mykenisk ‘Aussidlung’. Jag inbjöd dr. Bulle från tyska institutet att följa mig och kontrollera min undersökning. Vi funno därvid mycket riktigt, att Aphidna var en mykenisk borg, på grund af där anträffade mykeniska vasskärfvor. Jag sade då åt Bulle. ”Nu måste man också finna ‘Kuppelgräber”. Efter en stunds vandring kommo vi till en plats, där 3 grafvar funnos, hvilka till form och läge (vid en lindrig sluttning af terrängen, som sänker sig ned mot en flod, alldeles som i Vaphio och Menidi) synas ha varit ”kuppelgräben”. Bredvid låg en tumulusgraf med stensättning vid foten. Jag har redan erhållit grekiska regeringens tillstånd att undersöka dessa grafvar och går väl dit om en 10-12 dagar. Detta skulle vara en värdig afslutning på det svenska forskningsarbetet i Grekland. Då jag funnit dessa gamla saker, ville jag naturligtvis också gerna taga den närmare undersökningen om hand.’, Wide to Montelius, 30 August 1894, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. 251 99 Wide did not start excavations until the end of October. He had with him Pankalos and a man named Barba Georgi from the excavations at Kalaureia and in addition an unspecified number of workmen. The expedition lasted twenty days, during which they discovered ‘[…]13 pre-historical graves, containing a wealth of primitive pottery vessels and smaller objects of gold, silver and bronze. The finished investigations help to shed light upon the culture of Northern Attica during pre-historical times’, Wide wrote to his parents.252 Fig. 25. Aphidna in Attica in 2013. Photo: author. While Wide was in Aphidna, Lennart Kjellberg returned to Athens to work on the publication of the excavation at Kalaureia. On 12 November, he started writing a diary, which is today kept in his archive at Uppsala University Library. The finds from Kalaureia had ended up at the Central Museum. Kjellberg studied the finds and searched for comparisons in publications and in the collections at the museum. On 7 December, he wrote in his diary: 252 ‘[…] 13 prehistoriska grafvar, innehållande en mängd primitiva lerkärl samt smärre föremål af guld, silfver och brons. De gjorda undersökningarna bidraga att sprida ljus öfver Nordattikas kultur i förhistorisk tid.’, Wide to his parents, 11 November 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. The results from the excavations at Aphidna were published by Wide in Mitteilungen in 1896, see Wide 1896a. The material from the excavation at Aphidna has since been studied by Maria Hielte-Stavropoulou and Michael Wedde, see Hielte-Stavropoulou & Wedde 2002. 100 ‘Worked in the library in the morning. Spent the afternoon in the museum, finished the white-based lekythoi from Eretria. […] In the museum, I met the Russian Farmakowsky253 whom I showed the items from Poros. He alerted me to the fact that S. Reinach would have brought our Asclepios’ type back to Leochares in Chronique d’Orient.254 In the evening I drank a glass of Kephallenia with Wide.’255 Throughout the diary, Kjellberg oscillated between productive work in the library and the museums and isolating himself due to illness. He noted which letter he was currently writing to his wife, Anna, and if he had received any letters from her. Her opinions mattered to him. From a letter by Wide to his mother, we know that she was pregnant at the time.256 On 24 November, Kjellberg wrote the following in his diary: ‘Worked in the museum in the morning. Finished Thramer’s paper on the Asclepios’ type in Roscher with related literature.257 Received two letters, no 8 and 9, from Anna with good news and encouragements to do well before I leave. In the afternoon, Dörpfeld’s lecture on Parthenon. Danish sailors. Treated Ms. Otto 258 to cigarettes. Drank toddy with Wide at my place. In the evening, a glass of Kephallenia.’259 He dined with Sam Wide almost every day. Wide and Kjellberg had formed a ‘dinner club’ at the DAI260 with their German colleagues Ludwig Pallat,261 Boris Farmakowsky (1870-1928), was a Russian archaeologist who excavated the Greek colony at Olbia in the Ukraine. Towards the end of his life, he served as curator of antiquities at the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, see Heffner 1929:407. 254 Salomon Reinach (1858-1932) was a French archaeologist, philologist, art historian and historian of religion. His work Chroniques dχOrient came out in two editions, see Reinach 1891 and Reinach 1896. ‘Leochares’ refers to a sculptor from the third century B.C. to whom a number of sculptures are attributed. 255 ‘Arbetade på f.m. i biblioteket. Var på e.m. i museet, afslutade de hvitgrundiga lekytherna från Eretria. […] I museet träffade jag ryssen Farmakowsky som jag visade Porossakerna. Han gjorde mig uppmärksam på att S. Reinach skulle ha fört vår Askelpiostyp tillbaka på Leochares i Chronique d’Orient. Drack med Wide på kvällen ett glas Kephallenia.’, Kjellberg’s Athenian diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 256 Wide to his mother, 8 April 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. Anna Kjellberg von Reden gave birth to a boy named Nils Anders Adolf in 1895. 257 Refers to an entry in the Ausführliches Lexikon der griechischen und römischen Mythologie, see Roscher 1884-1937. 258 Probably the same Ms. Otto who visited the excavations at Kalaureia. 259 ‘Arbetade på f.m. i biblioteket. Afslutade Thramers uppsats öfver Asklepiostypen i Roscher med dithörande literatur. Fick två bref no 8 o 9 från Anna med goda underrättelser o uppmaning att göra ifrån mig innan jag kommer hem. På e.m. Dörpfelds föreläsning öfver Parthenon. Danska matroser. Bjöd fr. Otto cigaretter. Drack hemma hos mig med Wide en toddy. På kvällen ett glas Kephallenia.’, Kjellberg’s Athenian diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703,UUB. 260 Wide to his parents, 4 February 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 253 101 Hans Schrader262 and Theodore Wiegand.263 On 19 December, Wide held a lecture at the DAI on the excavations at Kalaureia after being approached by Dörpfeld.264 Kjellberg was in the audience265 but did not lecture himself, even though the two of them would write the publication together. The two spent Christmas together and on Christmas Eve, Kjellberg performed the hymn ‘Silent Night’ with the German choir in a church.266 Kjellberg did not continue writing in the diary after 7 January for unknown reasons. From Wide’s letters and Kjellberg’s diary, it is clear that the two men purchased photographs of archaeological sites and antiquities as well as artefacts in Athens. On 30 November, Kjellberg wrote in his diary: ‘Went with Wide and Hartwig267 to Kephissia along with a Greek, Mr. Pankalos, to look at a collection of antiquities. Purchased three vases, two Attic grave lekythoi with white bases and an alabastron.’ 268 Wide purchased photographs for the universities in Lund and Uppsala. On 7 January 1895, he wrote that ‘I have been very busy this last week with purchasing and organizing photographs for Lund and Uppsala Universities. Each university shall have around 500 photographs. One has to keep track of a lot of things to be able to make such purchases at various photogra- Ludwig Pallat (1867-1946) had studied classical philology and archaeology in Berlin, Munich and Leipzig and was on a scholarship at the DAI in 1894-95, see Amlung 2006:4. 262 Hans Schrader (1869-1948) had studied classical archaeology in Berlin and was during 1895 in Athens on a travel stipend from the DAI, see Schiering & Lullies 1988:170ff. 263 Theodore Wiegand (1864-1936) was a German archaeologist who excavated extensively in Greece, Turkey and Lebanon. He became acquainted with Wide and Kjellberg when he worked for Dörpfeld in his excavations on the Athenian Acropolis in 1894. In 1895, Wiegand had a travel stipend from the DAI together with Schrader, see Schiering & Lullies 1988:154f. 264 Wide to his parents, 17 December 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 265 Kjellberg’ Athenian diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 266 Kjellberg’s Athenian diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 267 Paul Hartwig (1859-1919) was a German archaeologist who in 1894 worked on the excavations at Acropolis, see Schiering & Lullies, 1988:130f. 268 ‘For med Wide o Hartwig till Kephissia jemte en grek, herr Pankalos, för att se på en antikvitetssamling. Köpte tre vaser, två attiska graflekyther med hvit grund och ett alabastron.’, Kjellberg’s Athenian diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. The next day, Kjellberg notes that he paid 300 francs for the vases. Kjellberg’s collection of antiquities is today kept in the Museum Gustavianum at Uppsala University. 261 102 phers.’269 Lund University had sent 600 francs for ‘photographs of Greek monuments, works of art etc.’ according to Wide.270 In January 1895, Wide went to Crete to study in the museums. He had at the time become interested in the geometrical style of pottery, and especially the Dipylon vases.271 Kjellberg was supposed to go with him but that did not happen.272 After returning to Athens on 11 February, he wrote to his mother that he had ‘purchased several items which he intended to bring home as souvenirs.’273 Some of the artefacts from Crete are today on display at the Museum of Antiquities at Gothenburg University, Sweden, after a donation by Maria Wide in 1925 (fig. 26).274 Other artefacts from Wide’s Greek collections are today kept at the Museum Gustavianum in Uppsala and at Lund University. Wide also donated artefacts to the National Museum in Stockholm. In March 1895, Wide was officially appointed Professor of Classical Languages at Lund University. The process had taken four years. Lennart Kjellberg also prepared to leave Greece around this time. He had on Wide’s advice sought employment at the National Museum in Stockholm as a research assistant. During the latter part of 1894, Kjellberg and Wide had made plans for going to Smyrna and Constantinople before returning home. For unknown reasons, Sam Wide would end up travelling alone. On 8 May he arrived in Smyrna. He visited Pergamon, ‘grand location and strange remains of antiquity’ and Ephesus ‘now a lousy farming village with sparse memories of its past glory.’275 He then travelled on to Constantinople before taking the train to Vienna. From there he travelled to Sweden through Munich and Berlin, where he met some of his German colleagues (among ‘Jag har under den sista veckan varit mycket upptagen med inköp och ordnande af fotografier för Lunds och Upsala Universitet. Hvarje universitet skall hafva ungefär 500 fotografier. Man måste alltså hålla reda på mycket för att göra sådana inköp hos flere fotografer.’, Wide to his parents, 7 January 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 270 ‘Lunds universitet har sändt mig 600 francs i okt. för uppköp af fotografier af grekiska monument, konstverk m.m.’, Wide to his parents, 20 November 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 271 ‘Dipylon’ refers to a cemetery in Athens where a number of Late Geometric (mid-seventh century BC) funerary vases had been uncovered by the Archaeological Society at Athens. The museum in Chania (or ‘Candia’) in Wide’s letters) on Crete held a number of vases in a similar style. See Wide to his parents, 7 January 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 272 Ibid. 273 ‘[…] och äfven köpt åtskilliga saker, hvilka jag vill föra hem såsom minnen.’, Wide to his mother, 11 February 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 274 Maria Wide to Axel Boëthius, 30 March 1925, Boëthius’ archive, H80:161, GUB. 275 ‘Jag har företagit en 4 dagars resa till Pergamon, som har ett storartadt läge och många märkliga fornlemningar. Därjämte företog jag igår en resa till det gamla Ephesos, fordom Mindre Asiens största stad, nu en usel bondby med sparsamma minnen af den forna glansen.’, Wide to his parents, 18 May 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 269 103 which were Fürtwängler and Bulle).276 In the beginning of July, he reached Sweden.277 Kjellberg was still in Athens in June 1895 and it is unclear when he returned to Sweden. The results of the excavation at Kalaureia were published in the Mitteilungen in 1895.278 Fig. 26. Part of Wide's collection at the Museum of Antiquities in Gothenburg. Photo: author. Later careers In the autumn of 1895, Wide began teaching in Lund and Kjellberg assumed his position as research assistant at the National Museum in Stockholm. Wide now had enough money and a secure enough position to start a family. He married Maria Andersson (1865-1958) in 1897.279 Over the years they had two children, Barbro (1899-1976, fig. 27) and Harald (1904276 Wide to his parents, 10 June 1895; 18 June 1895 and 26 June 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 277 Wide to his parents 2 July 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 278 Kjellberg & Wide 1895. 279 According to the 1900 census, Maria was born in Tärna parish in Västmanland, not far from Uppsala. It is unclear how the two met. 104 1938).280 In 1899, Wide transferred to Uppsala University where he became Professor of Classical Languages. Kjellberg became an Assistant Professor at Uppsala in 1896. By the turn of the century, the two men were both active at Uppsala University, at the Department of Classical Languages. Fig. 27. Barbro Wide poses in traditional Swedish folk-costume on a postcard her father sent to various colleagues and friends in 1904, this one from Albert Engströmχs archive. Photo: Royal Library. Kjellberg had three more children with Anna; a son named Ivar was born in 1896 but passed away three years later, Fritjof (1901-1980), and Estrid (1903-1991).281 During his time as Assistant Professor, he published a study on Aschlepios, Asklepios: Mythologisch-archäologische Studien282 and initiated a field project in Asia Minor, which was to become the first Swedish excavation on Turkish soil. In 1900, Kjellberg conducted a study trip together with a German colleague, Johannes Böhlau283 to Lesbos and the west coast of Barbro Wide later married a medical doctor and moved to Stockholm. Harald Wide became a writer and novelist. He passed away in Florence, Italy at the age of 34. 281 Estrid Kjellberg worked as a typist and later in life relocated to Malta. Fritjof Kjellberg became a pianist. 282 Kjellberg 1898a and 1898b. The work on the cult of Asclepios was an outcome of Kjellberg’s work in Athens during 1894-95. 283 Johannes Böhlau (1861-1941) had a Ph.D. in classical archaeology from the University in Rostock, Germany, and had excavated at Pergamon, Samos and in Germany, Schiering & Lullies 1988:146f. Kjellberg knew Böhlau from Athens, where they had spent time together during the winter of 1894-95. 280 105 Turkey where they searched for a suitable place to excavate. The trip was financed by the Swedish King Oscar II and private donors.284 The choice fell on Larisa, a site approximately 40 km north of Smyrna. In 1902, Kjellberg received additional funds from the King to travel to Asia Minor and excavate at Larisa. Together with Böhlau, Kjellberg excavated at Larisa for one season between January and May 1902, and then returned to Sweden. The Germans were to resume the excavations at Larisa in 1932. 285 Results from Kjellberg’s research on material from Larisa were published after his death.286 During his years as Professor of Classical Languages, Sam Wide never gave up on archaeology, however, he never directed another field project. He conducted a study trip to Greece in 1900-1901 where he participated in an excavation at Dimini in Thessaly for a couple of days.287 Afterwards, the director of excavations, Valerios Staïs288, donated a large number of sherds to Uppsala University. In 1905, he participated in the International Archaeological Congress in Athens as one of Sweden’s representatives together with Oscar Montelius. One of his students in Lund was Martin P:son Nilsson,289 whom Wide inspired to study in Germany and to travel to Italy and Greece. In 1909, the first Professorial chair in Classical Archaeology was established at Lund and Uppsala. Wide was very much a driving force behind its formation.290 Wide became the first Professor of Classical Archaeology in Uppsala, while Martin P:son Nilsson became Professor in Lund. I will return to the debates surrounding the establishment of classical archaeology in 1909 in later chapters. Wide published a couple of influencial studies on Geometric pottery from Greece; an area which was influenced by his excavation at Aphidna. In these he argued that the Geometric style should be regarded as a domestic development on Mycenean pottery rather than as a consequence of a Doric invasion.291 In 1913, Lennart Kjellberg was promoted to Professor of Classical Archaeology in Uppsala. He had then been a docent for 17 years, which can be Kjellberg 1900. For a summary of Kjellberg’s excavation at Larisa, see Hellström 2003 and Kjellberg 1904. 286 Åkerström & Kjellberg 1940. Lennart Kjellberg did publish a short paper on an Aeolian capital from Larisa, see Kjellberg 1932a. That same year, he also published a short paper on Klazomenian sarcophagi, see Kjellberg 1932b. 287 Nordquist 2002:15. 288 Valerios Stäis (1857-1923) had studied classical archaeology and medicine and was at the time the director at the National Archaeological Museum in Athens. 289 Martin P:son Nilsson (1874-1967) received his Ph.D. in 1900. He later became the first Professor of Classical Archaeology at Lund University in 1909. He wrote extensively on Greek cult and religion. 290 See Callmer 1985 for an extensive account of the debates surrounding the Professorship. 291 Wide 1897; 1899, and 1900. In an article on finds from Salamis, he coined the term Protogeometric, see Wide 1910. 284 285 106 compared to Wide’s career, in which the latter had been made a Professor after only seven years. Sam Wide passed away from cancer in 1918 at the age of 57. His death was fast and unexpected. Kjellberg took his place in the Professorial chair in Uppsala, but retired four years later in 1922. Kjellberg went blind towards the end of his life292 and he passed away in 1936 at the age of 79. Returning to Kalaureia After the archaeological team left the island in August of 1894, the local residents continued to work the land and harvest resin. At some point after 1894 but before the 1930s, the Makris family constructed a farmstead in the sanctuary. A house was built in the area of the structures that Wide and Kjellberg had referred to as Buildings F and E in their publication. Stables were built west of and partially on top of building D.293 In 1938, the German archaeologist Gabriel Welter294 arrived on site and made new measurements and drawings of the architecture.295 In 1978, Palatía was expropriated by the Greek state and fenced off and the local landowners were forced off the land with a monetary compensation. There was no further sanctioned archaeological work in the Sanctuary until the arrival of the Kalaureia Research Program in 1997. Åkerström 1975-77. The farmstead has today been demolished, a fact which I will return to below. The placement of the houses were noted by the Kalaureia Research Program before the destruction, see Wells, Penttinen & Billot 2003:35 & 79. 294 Gabriel Welter (1890-1954) worked for the DAI and excavated on Aegina and Naxos. He also excavated in Palestine, see Schiering & Lullies 1988:246f. 295 Welter 1941. 292 293 107 108 Part 2. Excavating Kalaureia 1894 109 110 Archaeological self-images: politics of belonging Wide and the ‘Löfstedt wants me to study classical archaeology and he will soon need an Assistant Professor in that subject […]. To be able to do such things, one has to either have a museum to study in, or else one must travel abroad every year. We Swedes are too poor for either of the two. […] I do not lack the will to study this kind of thing, which is so interesting, that it holds a Sirenian power to charm those who come within its reach. No, it is better to conduct a study using the classics [i.e. written sources] as a material, a study which can be nurtured, when one becomes a secondary-school teacher in a remote corner of the countryside.’296 In 1883-84, Sam Wide studied in Berlin on recommendation from Einar Löfstedt. At the age of twenty-two, this was the first time he was away from Sweden. After an initial period of loneliness and home-sickness, he entered student life in Berlin by joining one of the conservative student organizations. He frequented beer gardens, visited art museums and made house calls with his new friends. He followed lectures on classical philology, but also on archaeology where he took notes for Löfstedt. As the quote above suggests, Wide was hesitant about becoming an archaeologist in 1883. The study objects themselves, the artefacts, these interested him, but the future as an archaeologist seemed bleak to Wide. Without money to travel or a study collection at home, it seemed impossible. Hugo Bergstedt, the first PhD in classical archaeology in Sweden, left the university in 1884 and became a teacher in classical languages at a school in Norrköping.297 Perhaps it would be better to join his fellow student, specialize in classical philology, and aim for a position as a teacher? ‘Löfstedt vill, att jag skall studera klassisk arkeologi och han behöfver snart en docent däri. […] För att kunna göra det, måste man antingen ha ett museum att studera uti, eller också måste man resa utrikes hvarje år. För båda delarna är vi svenskar för fattiga. […] Vilja saknas mig ej för detta studium, som är så intressant, att det utöfvar en sirenisk tjuskraft på dem, som komma i dess närhet. Nej, bättre är att drifva ett studium med klassikerna som material, ett studium som äfven kan odlas, när man blir adjunkt i en undangömd landsortsvrå.’, Wide to his parents, 3 November 1883, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 297 Hugo Bergstedt (1855-1926) later taught classical languages at Norra latinläroverket in Stockholm and was appointed Professor in 1920. 296 111 Sam Wide changed his mind. When we meet him in Greece ten years later, he identifies himself as an archaeologist. When he returned to Uppsala from Berlin, he actively sought (in vain) to include archaeology in his thesis. After he came back to Uppsala in 1885, he wrote a request to the Humanities Section298 at the Faculty of Philosophy asking for their permission to include Classical Archaeology as a third subject (the other two subjects being Latin and Greek) for his Degree of Licentiate of Arts.299 The request was denied by the Section. They argued that, since Classical Archaeology did not formally belong to the approved subjects which could be examined at the university, and since the Section had for the past decade discussed the issue of including archaeology as a separate field in the curriculum without a final decision, Wide’s request could not be granted.300 As I have mentioned above, during the Professorship of Löfstedt, Greek philology had included the study of antiquities in the curriculum. Defining the study of classical antiquity in terms of archaeology and making it a separate field was deemed unnecessary. Einar Löfstedt and the Professor of History Sven Formhold Hammarstrand,301one of Wide’s teachers, made reservations against the decision.302 Wide’s desire to define his course of study as Classical Archaeology went beyond the boundaries of the discipline and it seems as though the term ‘archaeology’ caused some confusion in the Section. In his reservation, Löfstedt specified what Wide meant by Classical Archaeology and what he actually wanted to include in his thesis: ‘In the past, one defined [classical archaeology] as that which we call ‘klassisk fornkunskap’303or ‘antiquities’ (German ‘Alterthümes’), and this is certainly included, alongside history of literature and grammar, in the examination courses of the two classical languages, alongside something of a mythological and hermeneutic-critical interpretation of the literature […]; but none of the above does the applicant wish to “break out’ as an independent examination subject. Nowadays, one defines classical archaeology as the science of the classical peoples’ cultivated arts based on examinations of the sources, and it is in this sense that the applicant in his petition used the term. […]. As archaeology, both he [Wide] and In 1876, the Faculty of Philosophy at Uppsala University had been divided into two sections, one for the Natural Sciences and one for the Humanities, see Frängsmyr 2010a:11. 299 The Degree of Licentiate of Arts (in Swedish filosofie licentiatexamen) is a degree in between the M.A. and the Ph.D., usually requiring two years of studies and the composition of a thesis on a graduate level. 300 Frängsmyr 2010b:80; see Humanistiska sektionens protokoll 6 May 1885, UUB. 301 Sven Formhold Hammarstrand (1821-1889) was an expert on the Thirty Years’ War, but had also written papers on the Roman constitution, see ‘Hammarstrand, Sven Formhold’ in Nordisk familjebok 1909. 302 Frängsmyr 2010b:80. 303 The Swedish word “fornkunskap’ can be roughly translated using the German Altertumswissenschaft. 298 112 I count (and rightly so, I should think), epigraphy, numismatics, art and artmythology […].’304 The knowledge of the subjects above had become necessary for a classical philologist, Löfstedt argued. Since Wide could not include Classical Archaeology as a third subject, he chose History and earned his degree with a thesis on the Annals of Tacitus in 1886.305 Through the interaction with working archaeologists during his time in Berlin, especially during 1888-89, Wide made the decision to pursue archaeology despite resistance from the faculty. The underdog mentality that Wide developed during his early years at university would play an important role in the way in which Wide came to define himself as a scholar. The caricature in fig. 28, kept in in his archive, depicting Greek Philology as a small, barking dog could just as well have depicted Classical Archaeology – but then the dog would have been even smaller and perhaps angrier. In an obituary about Wide, written by his colleague Axel Boëthius a decade after Wide’s death, he is describe as a ‘versatile, almost anxiously independent Dalecarlian,306 who seeks to escape, wants to be his own man and to pursue his very own paths’.307 In order to fit in as a classical archaeologist in Swedish academia, he had to become even better at promoting himself and his standpoints if he was to belong to the archaeological community and to the university. But his fighting spirit would also result in excluding practices, in particular directed against Lennart Kjellberg whom Wide would come to regard as less fit for a career in archaeology. This chapter is about archaeological self-images in the late nineteenth century, and it is also about those who were excluded from the archaeological community. What did it take to become an archaeologist? How did Sam Wide describe himself in his letters? What characteristics were considered ‘Förr menade man dermed visserligen hvad man hos oss kallar ”klassisk fornkunskap” eller ”antiqviteter” (tyskans ”Alterthümes”) och dessa ingå visserligen, jemte Litteraturhistoria och Grammatik, i de två klassiska språkens examenskurser jemte något af mythologi och en hermeneutisk-kritisk tolkning af litteraturen […]; men ingenting häraf önskar sökanden ”utbryta” såsom särskilt examensämne. Numera menar man nemligen med klassisk arkeologi den på källstudium grundade vetenskapen om de klassiska folkens bildade konst, och det är i denna betydelse som sökanden i sin petition nyttjat denna term. […] Till arkeologin hafva han och jag räknat (och, såsom jag tror, men rätta) epigrafik, numismatik, konstlära och konstmythologi […].’, Löfstedt’s reservation, supplement to Wide’s petition, see Humanistiska sektionens protokoll, 6 May 1885, UUB. 305 The thesis was published six years later, see Wide 1892. 306 A person from the county of Dalarna in central Sweden. 307 ’[…] mångfrestande, nästa outhärdligt självständiga dalkarlen, som söker sig ut, vill vara karl för sig och gå alldeles egna vägar.’, Boëthius 1931:89. Axel Boëthius (1889-1969) took part in the British excavation at Mycenne in the early 1920s before becoming the first director of the Swedish Institute in Rome in 1925. From 1934, he served as Professor of Classical Archaeology and Ancient History in Gothenburg, see ‘Boethius, Axel’ in Vem är det? 1969. 304 113 desirable for an archaeologist? Who had the opportunity to become an archaeologist in the late nineteenth century? Fig. 28. A caricature in pencil from Wideχs archive depicting the relationship between Latin and Greek at the Department of Classical Languages in Uppsala. A large dog with the name φRomaχ on its collar sit placidly while a poodle with the name φGreeceχ written on its back barks at the seated giant. The head line reads: φActa Philologica Upsaliensia, sketched in a easy-going manner by Fabius Pictor.χ The text continues: φA depiction of the mutual relationship between the victorious Rome and the defeated Greece ς author Sam V.χ Wide sometimes spelled his name with a V instead of a W. The dialogue between the dogs is as follows: φR [Rome]: Why are you barking, puppy? Gr. [Greece]: I see a thief. R: Not an obstacle for the victors. Gr: Damn thief! Vo-o-ov! Vo-o-oh!χ The caricature forms part of a leaflet with four drawings depicting scenes from the Department of Classical Languages at Uppsala. It was probably drawn around 1890. Photo: UUB. 114 Intersections and politics of belonging ‘Have you heard my classification of the professional scholars? I present 3 types; that is 1) the professional scholar-poet, 2) the professional scholar-thinker (philosopher) and 3) the professional scholar- engineer.’308 In his inaugural address to the Swedish Academy in 1955, the Professor of Nordic Languages Ture Johannisson quoted a letter from Olof Adolf Danielsson (1852-1933) to Einar Löfstedt Jr. In the letter, Danielsson, who was Professor of Greek at Uppsala University and a colleaugue of Sam Wide’s and Lennart Kjellberg’s, identified three types of scholars as we can see above. There are also three themes running through Sam Wide’s representations of himself as an archaeologist that are very similar to those of Danielsson: the professional scholar, the adventurer and the entrepreneur. These three elements of his archaeological self-image contain several dimensions. In order to analyse the complex constitution of archaeological self-images, I will employ an intersectional approach to identity construction. Intersectional approaches take into account how different categories intersect, cross or intertwine to form an individual or a collective identity configuration. The most frequently studied categories are race, gender, class and sexual orientation, which are used to ‘locate individuals in the context of their “real lives’’ as well as to discuss the political and social powers or powerlessness stemming from that particular location.309 Following Nira Yuval-Davis, we can speak of an individual’s social location ‘when it is said that people belong to a particular sex, race, class or nation, that they belong to a particular age group, kinship group or a certain profession [my emphasis]’.310 Being an archaeologist involves occupying a certain social location. The archaeologist then forms a collective together with other individuals who occupy a similarly defined social location. The particularities of occupying a social location as an archaeologist became recognizable through the professionalization of archaeology during the late nineteenth century. When archaeological practices became standardized, that is, when the community sets up certain rules and regulations for what is considered to be ‘proper’ archaeological behaviour, they begin to identify themselves as archaeologists.311 Using an intersectional approach, we can study how people who belonged to the ar‘Har Du hört min klassificering af vetenskapsmannen? Jag uppställer 3 typer, nämligen 1) vetenskapsmannen-poeten, 2) vetenskapsmannen-tänkaren (filosofen) och 3) vetenskapsmanneningeniören.’ Letter from O.A Danielsson to Einar Löfstedt Jr. of unknown date. Quoted in Johannisson 1955:5. 309 Berger & Guidroz 2009:1. 310 Yuval-Davis 2011:12-13. 311 Jensen & Jensen 2012. 308 115 chaeological community, and who shared this particular social location in the late nineteenth century constructed common denominators that were considered favorable, or even crucial, for being allowed to function within the community. The practices and representations of inclusion and exclusion within a particular social location can be analysed using what Nira Yuval-Davis calls the politics of belonging. Yuval-Davis defines the politics of belonging as comprising of ‘specific political projects aimed at constructing belonging to particular collectivity/ies which are themselves being constructed in these projects in very specific ways and in very specific boundaries […].’312 According to Yuval-Davis, if we want to study the particular ways in which a group operates to create itself ‘we need to look at what is required from a specific person in order for him/her to be entitled to belong, to be considered as belonging, to the collectivity’.313 In this chapter, I will use Wide as a case study and discuss what was required of him in order that he could belong to the collective of archaeologists. As discussed by Julia Roberts, British archaeologists constructed a shared sense of identity though negotiating contemporary gender and class categories. The ideal archaeologist in the early twentieth century was constructed as a bourgeois man, and those belonging to other categories, such as women or men from the lower-classes were deemed unfit.314 The same two categories intersect in the case of Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg. Both of them were men born into the upper middle-classes and at first glance they both seem to fit the profile of a late nineteenth-century archaeologist. Towards the end of the 1880s, Uppsala University had 1,800 students, while only a total of 150 women were enrolled at Uppsala during the last three decades of the nineteenth century.315 In Scandinavia, women were also, for the most part, excluded from fieldwork practices within archaeology and related fields that were thought to be unsuitable for them.316 As Marja Engman points out in her study of early female academics in Finland, ethnology and folklore studies did not attract women at universities, even though women could formally enter universities, since these subjects included travel and collecting materials for their study.317 Between 1891 and 1940, only four women earned their PhDs in Classical Languages at Swedish universities; Yuval-Davis 2011:10. For a critical assessment of identity and belonging at the Swedish Institute in Rome, see Whitling 2010. 313 Yuval.-Davis 2011:20. 314 Roberts 2012. I have previously published a short article on archaeological self-imagery and bourgeois masculinity using Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg as case studies, see Berg 2014. 315 Frängsmyr 2010a:22f. 316 Roberts 2012. 317 Engman 1987:58. For a recent study of Swedish ethnology as male practice, see Gustavsson 2014. 312 116 the first was Ingrid Odelstierna in Uppsala in 1926.318 The first woman to defend her thesis in Classical Archaeology and Ancient History in Sweden was Birgitta Tamm at Stockholm University in 1963.319 It took half a century from the inauguration of the Professorial chairs in Uppsala and Lund in 1909 before the first woman gained entry to the upper levels of academia. Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg thus moved in an environment where those bodies who occupied similar social positions as themselves, as students, were men. While in Berlin in 1883, Wide’s mother even expressed concerns that he did not spend enough time with women and was in danger of losing his ability to have a conversation with a lady; Wide jokingly responded that he had never possessed such ability in the first place.320 Lennart Kjellberg expressed outright hostility towards the women’s liberation movement. In a letter to Johannes Paulson, Professor of Greek at Gothenburg University, Kjellberg reacted to a lecture given by Paulson on Cato and the emancipation of women. He wrote: ‘[…] I completely share Cato’s view: “in the same moment when they become your equals, they will be your masters’. One side of the matter is the lust for power which controls the modern development, the other side of the matter is the desire for pleasure. Make the woman equal to the man even in this sphere, i.e. give her access to all possibilities which lie open to the man, let her without restrictions and unconditionally taste the fruits of the tree of knowledge for good and for worse – and the modern culture shall be stuck in a swamp, yes without the powerful intervention of God, it will drown in a pool of mud, at which the thought shudders. I have seen the faces of female emancipation, the American women, up close, and I shuddered. If you ever need an Assistant Professor in the future, you can, after I have published some more, give me a push.’ 321 Since Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg both held sway over the education of the first generation of classical archaeologists in Uppsala, it is perhaps not surprising that it took so long for women to enter the scene. But as I will Lindberg 1987:251. Ingrid Odelstierna (1890-1982) later became a librarian at Uppsala University Library. 319 Tamm 1963. Also Scheffer 2000:202. 320 Wide to his parents, 31 October 1883, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 321 ’[…] delar jag fullkomligt Catos åsigt: ”i samma ögonblick de blifva edra likar, äro de era herrar”. Det är en sida af saken, magtbegäret, som beherskar hela den specifikt moderna utvecklingen, den andra sidan är njutningsbegäret. Gör kvinnan till mannens like äfven på detta område d.v.s. gif henne tillträde till alla möjligheter, som stå öppna för mannen, låt henne utan inskränkning och utan förbehåll smaka på kunskapens träd på godt och ondt – och den moderna kulturen skall fastna i ett träsk, ja utan Guds kraftiga mellankomst drunkna i en dypöl vid hvilken tanken ryser. Jag har sett kvinnoemancipationens ansigten, de amerikanska kvinnorna på nära håll, och jag ryste. Behöver du någon gång i framtiden en docent så kan du ju, när jag har fått dokumentera mig något mer, gifva mig en knuff.’, Kjellberg to Paulson, 17 March 1893, Paulson’s archive, H127:11, GUB. 318 117 demonstrate, other categories come into play in the politics of belonging to the archaeological community. Sam Wide frequently portrayed Lennart Kjellberg as the anti-thesis to himself, representing Kjellberg as being unfit to function as an archaeologist. By effectively turning Lennart Kjellberg into the Other, Wide could assert himself as competent and eliminate any possible threat to his position from Kjellberg. I will now turn to Sam Wide and his social location, with particular emphasis on his initial time in Greece around 1894. How did Wide describe his process of becoming entitled to belong to the community of archaeologists? I will answer this question by discussing the three aspects of Wide’s archaeological self-image: the scientific scholar, the adventurer and the entrepreneur as represented through the various practices and figures in Wide’s letters. I will also demonstrate how these correspond to stereotyped figures within nineteenth century society. Lastly, I will discuss how Wide described Lennart Kjellberg as unsuccessful in fulfilling the ideal version of the professional scholar, the adventurer and the entrepreneur. The professional scholar ‘The Swedes become learned men, the Germans are bred to become scientists – there is a great difference between these two types of people!’ 322 For Sam Wide, the Swedish university system did not encourage the students to critically analyse source material and did not inspire independent thoughts. He admired the German system which he had encountered in Berlin. The quote above is taken from a newspaper article in Post och Inrikes Tidningar written by Wide in 1890, where he discussed his experiences as a student in Germany. The Swedes, according to Wide, became learned men (‘lärde män’) while the Germans were bred as scientists. In Swedish the term for scientist is ‘vetenskapsman’ (comparable to the German ‘Wissenschaftler’) which can be translated to ‘a man of science’. It is difficult to translate into English. Unlike the English word ‘scientist’ it does not necessarily mean a person working within the Natural Sciences but can be used for a scholar working within the Humanities as well. That is why I have chosen to use the term ‘professional scholar’ when speaking of the nineteenth- century ‘vetenskapsman’ in this context. The term ‘vetenskapsman’ has gendered connotations where the identification of a professional scholar is connected to a 322 ‘Svenskarne blifva lärde män, tyskarne danas till vetenskapsmän – det är en stor skillnad mellan dessa båda slag af menniskor!’, Wide, ‘Studentlifvet i Tyskland III’ in Post- och Inrikes Tidningar, 28 August 1890. 118 male body. In Hvad skall man bli? (What should one become?), a handbook for young Swedes choosing a profession which was published in booklet form between 1882 and 1884, the starting premise is that a career in any of the civil professions was open to men only. Women had a limited choice of professions; these were gathered in a separate chapter at the end of the book and did not require a university degree.323 A second aspect which limited a person’s potential to pursue a career at university was access to funding. A good professional scholar could not choose his profession for financial gain according to Hvad skall man bli? since ‘the research of a professional scholar usually does not at first hand provide any income’. Instead the scientific practice often cost money, and a good professional scholar should have an income ‘either through salaries or through private fortune, so that bread winning does not need to disturb his insistent studies.’324 Wide’s parents supported him financially until he became a Professor in Lund at the age of 34.325 The noble pursuit of archaeology without financial gain is also emphasized by W. M. Flinders Petrie, the British archaeologist who excavated extensively in Egypt during the late nineteenth century. He wrote in Method and Aims, a handbook of archaeological field methods that ‘[t]here is a fundamental difference between those who work to live and those who live to work – the commercial, and the scientific or artistic aim […].’326 The ideal of science as a reward in itself effectively closed the door for aspiring professional scholars who did not come from the upper- and middle classes with access to either sponsorship or family fortunes. The majority of students who enrolled at Uppsala University to pursue studies in the Humanities did indeed, like Wide and Kjellberg, belong to the bourgeoisie, but they did not belong to upper elite of Swedish society. As pointed out by Bo Lindberg in his study of the history of classical philology in Sweden, classical philology and classical archaeology became a stepping stone into academia for many young men from the lower bourgeoisie during the nineteenth and early twentieth century. The majority were sons of priests (like Sam Wide) or of well-established farmers.327 Lennart Kjellberg is an exception here, since his father was a noted Professor in Hubendick 1882-1884. The different booklets were written by anonymous authors and Hubendick was the editor. 324 Hubendick 1882-1884, booklet IV, p. 4-5. 325 ‘Today is a very important day for me. It is the first day of my life, where I gain an ordinary salary. […] Until now I have been nurtured and kept by my dear parents. Thank you for all the affection and love during these years.’ [’Idag är det för mig en betydelsefull dag. Det är den första dagen i mitt lif, då jag räknar ordinarie lön. […] Hittills har jag blifvit närd och underhållen af mina kära föräldrar. Tack för all ömhet och kärlek under de många åren.’], Wide to his parents, 1 April 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 326 Flinders Petrie 1904:2. 327 Lindberg 1987:260-261. Lindberg’s study only takes into account those men who managed to reach the title of Professor in Latin, Greek, or Classical Archaeology. Lindberg notes that after the turn of the twentieth century, the recruitment base moved upwards on the social ladder. 323 119 Uppsala and the Kjellberg family belonged to the upper levels of the bourgeoisie. One of the consequences of such a relatively homogenous environment, was that the scientist’s identity as gender-based or class-based was never up for debate in Wide’s representations. Instead, he focused on other abilities. When Sam Wide wrote down his thoughts on how to become a good professional scholar, he focused on two aspects: the role of the lone diligent worker and the role of an academic fighter. Both, as I will demonstrate, were connected with ideals of bourgeois masculinity. His quiet study chamber While in Athens in March of 1895, Sam Wide finally received the notice that he had been appointed Professor at Lund University. His initial thoughts went to Uppsala and to his rented room in Linnégatan where he lived during his years as a student.328 He wrote an emotional letter to Alfred Westholm, which ends with a poem: ‘Holy are the quiet hours, Where, by the glow of the gleaming lamp, The days of eternity popple In the quiet scale of diligence! Listen, youth! Voices chime That subdue your young soul; God calls you, God summons you, As he has done with Samuel!’329 ‘In this quiet gable chamber’, he continued, ‘I have lived out the hardships and victories of my past life’.330 His room in Linnégatan no. 7 was the place he had returned to after his exams and where he had studied his books ‘in the glow of the midnight lamp.’331 The interplay with light and darkness in the poem, where the scientist strives in a dark present towards a future of enlightenment, echoes the image of nineteenth-century scientific idealism. Street in central Uppsala named after Carl Linnaeus (1707-1778), the Swedish botanist and explorer who has been labelled the father of modern taxonomy. 329 ‘Heliga de tysta timmar, Då vid lampans ljus som glimmar, Evighetens dager svallar, In i flitens tysta tjäll! Lyssna yngling! Röster klinga, Som din unga själ betvinga; Gud dig ropar, Gud dig kallar, Som han gjort med Samuel!’, Wide to Westholm, 16/18 March 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. The last stanza from the poem Dubbelqvartett by Carl David af Wirsén, see Wirsén 1890:187f. 330 Wide to Westholm, 16/18 March 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 331 ‘I denna stilla gafvelkammare har jag upplefvat mitt förflutna lifs mödor och segrar. Dit har jag hemkommit efter mina tentamina och examina, där har jag suttit vid mina böcker, belyst af midnattslampans sken […].’, Wide to Westholm, 16/18 March 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 328 120 In Hvad skall man bli? the author stresses that a good professional scholar must be ‘a lover of truth’ as well as a ‘seeker of truth’, and possess both diligence and patience. The metaphor of the quiet study chamber is also present in the book. The man of science, often working in the obscure, from ‘his quiet study chamber’ diligently researches his subject, fails and wins, until he ‘has reached a, what may appear to be insignificant, result.’332 For Sam Wide, the scientific persona, the diligent hard-working man, in the poem above is the outcome of a religious calling. God has summoned the man, in this case Wide, to take up a scholarly pursuit. There are good reasons to believe that the religious connotations used by Wide are more than simply metaphors. His religious upbringing would make it natural to use religious language when writing to his parents but there are other instances in letters to, for example, Alfred Westholm. In February of 1894, Wide wrote to Westholm from Athens soon after receiving the positive news about the position in Lund: ‘Strange are the ways in which God has directed my path thus far. Although I do not know what the outcome in Lund will be, I am happy for the beautiful recognition from Lund. However, I have, by Our Lord, been given the peculiar disposition to after each achieved goal, place another one.’333 The next goal would be the excavation at Kalaureia. Sam Wide’s letter shows the idea of the professional scholar as a chosen figure, of certain characteristics as God-given. This idea of a professional calling stem from Luther's teaching on vocation within Protestant ethics, where God-given qualities tied a person to a given role. Religious reasoning paired with biological theories on the weak nature of females created a widespread belief that women did not possess qualities suitable for scholarly pursuits. In 1911, Uppsala University decided to close the door for female Professors in the Faculty of Law, arguing that ‘women seem to lack the scientific imagination and desire to research, which is demanded from the true professional scholar’.334 Hubendick 1882-1884, booklet IV, p. 4. ‘Underligt har Gud hittills styrt mina öden. Visserligen vet jag ej, huru det kan gå i Lund, men jag är dock glad åt det vackra erkännandet från lundensiskt håll. Emellertid har jag af Vår herre fått den egenheten att bakom hvarje mål sätta ett annat.’, Wide to Westholm, 20/21 February 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 334 Ohlander 1987:86. The verdict possibly led to the suicide of Elsa Eschelsson (1861-1911), Sweden’s first female doctor of law, who experienced bullying and hostility when she tried to advance her career. 332 333 121 War in Academia As a professional scholar, and in aspiring to become an archaeologist, Sam Wide was not only fighting a battle for personal enlightenment but he was also battling a crusade against academic disciplinary traditions. For Wide, the study chamber was not only used for furthering knowledge for science’s own sake; it was also a place of war. From an early age, boys who wished to pursue a career were taught to expect to have to fight for their place in the world. Johan Bergman335, a study companion of Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg’s at Uppsala, recalled in his memoirs how the headmaster of his upper secondary school gave an encouraging speech at his graduation in 1882: ‘May the glory of victory fall onto you whom in different ways are entering into battle! And if you should be defeated, may it not be said that it was due to lack of courage in combat. Even heroes can be defeated by overpowerful destinies.’336 The more Sam Wide engaged with classical languages and archaeology, the more prepared he became for academic battles. In his letters, the will to drive his profession in a certain direction – to change the curriculum of classical languages to include archaeology – took on the appearance of a war. In May 1894, before the start of excavations at Kalaureia, Wide wrote to Alfred Westholm about the application process for the Professorship at Lund: ‘I think back on the memorable “Battle of Lund” on the 29 and 30 September 1892. Judging from all the signs, the Northern army has been completely victorious, especially on my flank. It is still a mystery to me that this has happened, and I must be deeply humble in front of Our Lord, who has ruled matters in such a way, against my own faults and worthiness.’337 Sam Wide consciously referred to the days when he gave his trial lectures at Lund University in 1892 as part of the application process to become Professor, as the ‘Battle of Lund’.338 He referred to himself and to those who Johan Bergman (1864-1951) had studied in Uppsala and received a Ph.D. in Latin in 1889. As many other young classicists, he ventured into teaching and in 1891 he founded an integrated school for both boys and girls in the wealthy suburb of Djursholm outside of Stockholm. He moved on to become the head master of several schools in Sweden before earning the title of Professor of Latin and Classical Archaeology at the University of Dorpat, present-day Tartu in Estonia, in 1919. Bergman later became a politician and parliamentarian for the Liberal Party and he was actively involved in the Temperance Movement, see ‘Bergman Johan’ in Nordisk familjebok 1904. He published his memoirs, see Bergman 1943. 336 Bergman 1943:62. 337 ‘Jag tänker tillbaka på det minnesrika ”slaget vid Lund” d. 29 och 30 Sept. 1892. Att döma af alla tecken har Nordarmén fullständigt segrat, hufvudsakligen på min flygel. Att så skett, är mig ännu en gåta, och jag måste djupt ödmjuka mig för Vår Herre, som styrt saken så, mot min egen förskyllan och värdighet.’, Wide to Westholm, 23 May 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 338 This alludes to a famous battle between the Swedish and Danish forces in 1676, where the Swedish army won and the region of Scania, where Lund is situated, became incorporated into the Swedish kingdom. 335 122 were positive to his application as the ‘Northern Army’. Within this academic army different scholars had different ranks: ‘When I think back upon my old weaponry deeds, I most willingly linger with my old friend Gustaf Lundstén. He has faithfully stood by my side during two of the most important battles, as a good friend and chief of staff – I am referring to when I became Assistant Professor in Uppsala and when I wanted to become Professor in Lund.’339 We find the same type of military analogies when Sam Wide discussed his role as archaeologist in Greece. In a letter to Oscar Montelius, Wide referred to Wilhelm Dörpfeld as his ‘general staff commander’ when initiating the excavation at Kalaureia.340 Wide further referred to the group of men present at Kalaureia during Dörpfeld’s excursion in April of 1894 as ‘young, but tried and tested generals’.341 Sam Wide’s use of military analogies when striving for a position in academia or for a position as an archaeologist in Greece can be explained in several ways. First, the competition for access to a Professorial chair or to a site in Greece was fierce, and success was dependent on an individual possessing similar character traits as those of a solider: stamina and fighting skills. In analogy with the winning army taking control of land masses and government constitutions in actual warfare, successful academics also took control over departments of research. In Greek archaeology, the battle for the right to excavate a site resembled international warfare, which I will elaborate on in the next chapter. Wide also used military analogies to describe the close bonds that formed among the like-minded men who were admitted into the collective around him. The symbolic violence inherent in academic warfare was a sign of virility and masculinity aimed at singling out individual men who were fit for science. War built character.342 In order to belong to the academic and the military collective, one would have to be both loyal and good at strategy, and also brave. These qualities were present in the ideal version of the nineteenth-century bourgeois man; the ability to take action and endure challenges with stamina and discipline were connect- ‘När jag tänker tillbaka på gamla vapenbragder, dröjer jag mig gerna vid min gamle vän Gustaf Lundstén. Han har troget stått vid min sida under tvänne af mitt lifs vigtigaste drabbningar, som god vän och ”generalstabschef” – jag menar, när jag blef docent i Uppsala och när jag ville bli professor i Lund.’, Wide to Westholm, 23 May 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 340 In Swedish ‘generalstabschef’. Wide to Montelius, 30 January 1894, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. 341 In Swedish ‘unge, men bepröfvade generalerna’. Wide to Westholm, 20/22 April 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 342 See Kolnar 2006 for a discussion on violence and warfare as masculine practice and self-image in the Nordic countries. 339 123 ed to idealized concept of masculinity and, in extension, to the ideal national citizen.343 The adventurer Becoming an archaeologist meant that the scholar had to combine work at a research institution, such as a university or a museum, with field work. Practicing archaeological field work in the late nineteenth century meant leaving the comfort of the city – the quiet study chamber – behind and engaging with nature. In this way, archaeology resembled other disciplines such as geology and anthropology whose laboratory also existed outside of the city limits.344 Often accounts of field work took on the appearance of adventures; hardships had to be endured and comforts had to be sacrificed. This image of the archaeologist-as-adventurer or archaeologist-as-hero is perhaps the most enduring representation of archaeologists in popular culture and it has its roots in the self-image of nineteenth-century archaeologists.345 In Scandinavia, the polar expeditions of Fridtjof Nansen in 1893, S.A. Andrée in 1897 and Otto Nordenskiöld in 1901-03 caused a public frenzy for stories of heroism and exploration of unknown territories. Much like the archaeological excavations in Greece and the Middle East, the polar expeditions were international competitions where the Western nations took part in a race to gain access to territory and to research.346 We will return to this international race in the next chapter. The scientific expeditions were conducted by men who shared similar traits with archaeologists; idealistic visions of the individual male as responsible for scientific progression, an ability to adapt to cumbersome situations in the field, and travelling as a way of furthering the knowledge of the world and of one self. 347 In the case of Sam Wide, his fieldwork experience while in Greece took on three forms: excursion, survey and excavation. I will now trace how Wide expressed the adventurous side of these three practices through two metaphors which he frequently employed: ‘cavalry maneuvers’ for excursions and fieldwork, and ‘living the portmanteau’s life’ as a metaphor for travelling. Lundberg 2006:349. See for example Rainger 1991 for a critical discussion of the development of Geology and Pels & Salemink 1999 for a discussion on Anthropology. 345 Silberman 1995:252f. Sandberg 2008:49 and Holtorf 2007:62f. 346 See Hamilakis 2007:109ff. for a discussion on the national competition for access to Greek archaeological sites. 347 For intersectional gender analyses on the polar expeditions, see Lewander 2004. Also Moland 1999. 343 344 124 Cavalry maneuvers When travelling in the Greek countryside in 1893-95, Sam Wide again employed military terminology. The excursions were often referred to as ‘cavalry maneuvers’ in Wide’s letters to Alfred Westholm.348 The maneuvers could be undertaken in a group or alone. In the beginning of 1895, Wide travelled to Crete, by himself, to see some of the archaeological sites and to study in the museum: ‘I am currently conducting field maneuvers on Crete. On Saturday, I rode for 8 hours from Herakleion to the old Gortyn, where I encountered Homeric customs and hospitability.’349 Often, Wide used the military terms when he was in the company of other archaeologists: ‘Olympia, April 8 1894. Brother! The cavalry maneuvers in Peloponnesos are happily concluded. After riding for 4 days through Arcadia, I barged into Olympia the day before yesterday as the second man behind Dörpfeld in the lead of a cavalcade of 30 men. Glorious days in the old Pan-Hellenic sanctuary! After the maneuvers have finished, I shall hold private general staff exercises in Argolis.’ 350 Military life required a homosocial network of other men. As I have discussed above, the men accompanying Sam Wide on these excursions were at times labeled with military titles; Wide frequently used the label ‘general staff’ when referring to his colleagues in Greece.351 As in the military, rank and responsibilities came with experience and age. In 1901, during his second visit to Greece, Wide wrote to Westholm: ‘”La banda internazionale”, consisting of 4 Italians, 3 Germans and two Swedes, made a combinded land- and sea maneuver to Salamis in the beginning of this month, a grand day with high spirits. Due to my age and experience, I have been made chief of staff, thus I make all the arrangements.’352 348 Wide to Westholm, 8 April 1894; 23 May 1894; 31 May 1894; 16 September 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 349 ‘Håller f.n. fältmanövrer på Kreta. I lördags red jag från Herakleion 8 timmar till det gamla Gortyn, där jag anträffade homeriska seder och homerisk gästvänskap.’, Wide to Westholm, 1 February 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 350 ‘Olympia d. 8. April 1894. Broder! Kavallerimanövrerna i Peloponnesos äro lyckligt afslutade. Efter 4 dagars ridt genom Arkadien sprängde jag som andra man näst Dörpfeld i spetsen för en kavalkad af 30 man i förgår afton in i Olympia. Härliga dagar i den gamla panhellenska helgedomen! Efter slutade manövrer håller jag enskilda generalstabsöfningar i Argolis.’, Wide to Westholm, 8 April 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 351 In Swedish ‘generalstab’. Wide to Westholm, 8 April 1894; 16 September 1894; 26/27 March 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 352 ‘“La banda internazionale’, bestående av 4 italienare, 3 tyskar och 2 svenskar hade i början av månaden en kombinerad land- och sjömanöver till Salamis, en grann dag med härlig stämning. På grund av min ålder och erfarenhet har jag blivit generalstabschef och uppgör alltså alla planerna.’, Wide to Westholm, 19 March 1901, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 125 The practice of riding on horseback through the landscape in a group formation with other men closely resembled the act of performing actual cavalry maneuvers required during times of contemporary war. There is also a mythological aspect to this practice: the Greek landscape was riddled with places connected to ancient warfare. By conducting sea maneuvers at Salamis and riding across the Peloponnesus, the men from the German Archaeological Institute placed themselves in the same landscape as Greek heroes, imagining themselves partaking in similar war operations. Sam Wide was not the only archaeologist using the analogy of field work and military campaigns; W. M. Flinders Petrie returns several times to military analogies in Method and Aims, his handbook for archaeologists from 1904.353 Several scholars have studied archaeology and other sciences’ close ties to military colonial ideals.354 As discussed and exemplified by Stephanie Moser, accounts of ideal archaeological behaviour and experiences during the twentieth century contain frequent use of ‘the nineteenth century image of the “colonial man” with its military connotations’.355 Archaeological practices were presented as military conquests, what Moser called ‘the penetration of the frontier’. The clothing of archaeologists, which Moser describes as the ‘khaki suit and pith helmet’, was similar to that used by the colonial military forces in various parts of the world.356 Several of the early European professional archaeologists also had actual military backgrounds.357 Sam Wide experienced the excursions with the DAI as bonding adventures and as similar to what he imagined military life would be like. After one of his first surveys on his own in the Greek countryside, in December 1893, he wrote to his parents: ‘Here in Greece, I have the opportunity to take back some of that which was omitted during my military service. One will have to get used to hardships, which have a flavor of the efforts and joys of the warrior’s life. But this is pleasant, as long as one is healthy in body and mind.’358 Adventure had a strong male connotation. We know that an unspecified number of women were present on Wilhelm Dörpfeld’s island excursion in Petrie 1904. See for example McClintock 1995, Pratt 1992 and Kuklick 1993. Also della Dora 2012:229. 355 Moser 2007:251. 356 Ibid. 357 See Evans 2014 for a discussion on the militarism of General Augustus Pitt Rivers and early British archaeology. 358 ‘Här i Grekland får jag taga tillbaka en del af det försummade i min värnpliktsutbildning. Man får vänja sig vid strapatser, som hafva en bismak af krigarlifvets mödor och fröjder. Men detta är behagligt, så länge man är frisk till kropp och själ.’, Wide to his parents, 6 December 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 353 354 126 1894 (fig. 29), a fact which annoyed Sam Wide. He wrote to Centerwall and complained over the state of the excursions: ‘Through Peloponnesus rode a caravan of 35 members. Despite all the good which comes out of such a journey, I cannot suppress the complaint that Dörpfeld’s spring trips are starting to get a tinge of travel agency á la Cook. There are too many people present and the société is too mixed. That applies in particular to the island excursion, where several women were present and where the participants were stuffed into small cabins, not unlike on a slave ship.’359 Despite the physical presence of wives of the archaeologists and possibly also female scholars, those included in Wide’s ‘council of war’, where the decision to excavate at Kalaureia was made, were the male archaeologists at the DAI. Women disturbed the homosocial experience of adventure. Fig. 29. A group picture probably taken during the DAI excursion in April 1894. Both men and women mingle at the ruins of the Temple of Aphaea at Aigina. Photo: UUB. ‘Genom Peloponnesos red en karavan af 35 deltagare. Trots all nytta, man har af en sådan resa, kan jag ej undertrycka den anmärkningen, att Dörpfelds vårresor börjat få en slags bismak af resebyrå à la Cook. Det är för mycket folk med och för blandad société. Detta särskilt på öresan, då flera fruntimmer voro med och deltagarna instufvades i de små hytterna ungefär som på ett slavskepp.’, Wide to Centerwall, 16 July 1894. Original is lost, quoted in Callmer 1953:214. 359 127 Living a ‘portmanteau’s life’ Another way in which Wide described the experience of archaeological excursions and surveys was through what he called ‘the portmanteau’s life’.360 At the start of the excavations on Kalaureia, he wrote to his parents reflecting on the conditions of life in the field: ‘Good that I came here at a relatively young age. An older man could hardly put up with the roving portmanteau’s life which I lead’.361 Living the portmanteau’s life, for Wide, was all about the experiences of travelling. Several of the practices associated with working as an archaeologist involved moving in the landscape, sometimes over great distances, in order to visit sites and collect information. Travellers in Greece in the late nineteenth century could rely on a fairly well-established system of travel routes, guides and inn-keepers, a fact which is worth keeping in mind in when we read Wide’s descriptions of his travels in Greece. As Mary Beard remarks in her biography on the British classical scholar Jane Harrison, the Peloponnese in the 1880s (and even more so ten years later) ‘turns out to have been much more heavily populated with busy Euro-archaeologists […] than we would have ever guessed’.362 If we turn to the book which we know that Wide and Kjellberg used as a travel companion in Greece363, Baedeker’s Handbook for Travellers in Greece, we find detailed instructions on how to organize excursions in Greece, from what to pack: ‘salt, preserved meats, sausages, extract of meat, macaroni, and similar articles, while poultry, eggs, and bread will be obtained en route; some simple eating and cooking utensils should also be provided’ to how to hire a guide: ‘Less exacting travellers may dispense with the expensive luxury of a courier and content themselves instead with the services of an Agogiates (Άγωγιάτης; pron. Agoyátis), or ordinary horse-boy. They will thus diminish the expense by onehalf and at the same time be much more independent. They should, however, have some knowledge of modern Greek language and must be prepared to put up with the want of many comforts and conveniences which the ordinary EuroA portmanteau is a sailor’s backpack (in Swedish “kappsäck’). ‘Bra, att jag kom hit jämförelsevis ung. En äldre man skulle svårligen finna sig i det kringflackande kappsäckslif, som jag för.’, Wide to his parents, 26 June 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 362 Beard 2000:72. Jane Ellen Harrison (1850-1928) was a classical scholar and linguist who worked and travelled extensively in Greece and Asia Minor during the late nineteenth century. She was one of Britain’s first female academic professional scholars and specialized in Greek mythology and religion, see ‘Harrison, Jane Ellen’ in Grummond 1996 and Beard 2000. 363 Kjellberg mentioned giving Wide a copy of Baedeker as a Christmas present in 1894, see Kjellberg’s Athenian diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. This was most likely the third German edition published in 1893. However Wide had access to a copy of Baedeker before then (probably the German edition from 1888), see Wide, ‘Förlofningskalas vid foten af Parnassos’ in Vårt Land, 20 December 1893. In the quote below, I have used the English version of Baedeker from 1889. 360 361 128 pean regards as almost necessities of life. […]. The agogiat generally knows the way as well as a dragoman, and like him finds quarters for the night. He also takes charge of the traveller’s baggage, bringing if necessary an extra sumpteranimal for this purpose, and carries the provisions brought by the traveller.’364 Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg frequently hired agogiates while travelling in Greece. These guides were essential for the safety and success of a longer journey, but were seldom given any credit for their work; at times they are not mentioned at all in the travel accounts. In Wide’s self-representations, enduring travels by one’s own stamina without much assistance is a vital component in the self-image of an archaeologist. A good example of how to lead a successful portmanteau’s life is preserved in Wide’s archive: an excerpt of a lengthy travel account from his trip to the area around Delphi in October 1893 (fig. 30).365 He travelled from Athens over Corinth to Aigion by railroad and from there he took a boat to Itea. In Itea he met the French archaeologist Louis Couve366 who accompanied him to Delphi. It was rainy and cold and the roads were so steep so that ‘one almost fell off the saddled due to the alignment of the horse’s back’.367 They arrived in Delphi at 11 o’clock at night and disembarked at the excavation house of the French Archaeological Institute: ‘There I bid the kind Couve farewell and was given a guide and carrier, who accompanied me to the place where I would spend the night. We walked up the mountain, among the memories of the houses which had been torn down.368 The ground was slippery and slimy because of the rain, whereby the march was particularly difficult, also because I had accidently hit my knee while on the boat, and now had to carry a part of my own luggage.’ 369 As soon as Wide entered the farm stead where he would spend the night he went to bed: ‘[…] the wind was blowing through the cracks in the walls and the rain was rattling on the roof – and I soon slept the deep sleep of a good Baedeker 1889:xvi. Travel account, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. Wide also published a travel account from Delphi in a Swedish newspaper, see Wide ‘En dag i Delphi’ in Post och Inrikes Tidningar, 13 December 1893. 366 Louis Couve (1866-1900) became a member of the French school in 1890 and later taught Greek at Nancy, see Perdrizet et al 1901. 367 ’[…] man var nära att falla ur sadeln på grund af hästryggens lutning.’, Travel account, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 368 The French had purchased the overlaying village of Kastri in 1893 which had been torn down for excavations. See Topographies of Greece for a discussion on the politics of the Delphi excavations. 369 ‘Där tog jag afsked af den hygglige Couve och fick en vägvisare och bärare, som följde mig till den boning, där jag skulle tillbringa natten. Vi gingo uppför berget bland minnena af de nedrifna husen. Marken var slipprig och hal på grund af regnet, hvarför marschen var synnerligen besvärlig, helst som jag på ångbåten råkat stöta mitt knä, och nu måste bära en del af min packning.’, Travel account, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 364 365 129 child.’370 All of Wide’s travel accounts follow the same basic structure: first he endures hardships with tenacious energy (often against the recommendation of his guides): ‘It had started to rain at 8 in the morning and my agogiate tried to go on strike. I refused such manners and we went off to the old Orchomenos in the rain which lasted the whole time until 4 in the afternoon’.371 Often the local guides are represented as lazy or of a scared nature, trying to convince the archaeologists not to venture into a certain area or not to travel in rain and thunder storms. For Sam Wide, it was important to exercise command of the situation and not to be deterred. The spirit of exploration and endurance of hardship were in Wide’s account tied to the body of an educated European man. After seeing the sites he makes himself comfortable despite the rough conditions, ‘[t]he cottage was without windows, the floor consisted of trampled dirt[…]’, before getting a good night’s sleep.372 Wide took great pride in his ability to sleep well despite the circumstances, and he often mentions this fact in his letters as a way of presenting the image of himself as a man of great flexibility. In the fall of 1894 he wrote to his parents after returning from Aphidna: ‘A fair providence has given me a constitution, that I without after-effects have endured the hardships at Aphidna. Wolters, who only slept there for one night, has been walking around with a pain in his shoulder and back for a whole month. And according to the opinion of the archaeologists staying here, a different sort of person, after having lead such a life which I led up there, would have had ailments until the ends of their lives. But I have, praise God, escaped all of it.’373 Through his self-representations, Sam Wide portrayed himself as a man who could make himself comfortable despite hardships, a man who was especially apt for an archaeological life-style. The Aphidna experience where he was, significantly, the only Westerner present on site, was as a way of proving himself worthy to belong to the collective at the DAI. ‘Jag lade mig snart – vinden blåste in genom väggarna och regnet smattrade på taket – och sof inom kort det snälla barnets djupa sömn.’, Travel account, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 371 ‘Det hade börjat regna kl. 8 f.m. och min agojat försökte strejka. Detta vägrade jag, och vi begåfvo oss i väg till det gamla Orchomenos i ett regn, som varade ända till kl. 4 e.m.’, Travel account, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 372 ‘Stugan var utan fönster, golvet bestod af stampad jord […].’, Travel account, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 373 ‘En huld försyn har beskärt mig om en konstitution, som utan efterkänningar uthärdat vedermödorna i Aphidna. Wolters, som låg där endast en natt, har en hel månad gått med smärta i axeln och ryggen. Och enligt härvarande arkeologers mening hade en annan människa efter ett sådant lif, som jag förde där uppe, fått krämpor ända till lifvets slut. Men jag har Gud ske lof sluppit undan allt sammans.’, Wide to his parents, 11 December 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 370 130 Fig. 30. Sam Wide sitting by the Stoa of the Athenians at Delphi in 1893. Unknown man to the right. Photo: UUB. The entrepreneur A third and important aspect of being a good archaeologist in Sam Wide’s representations is having the ability to manage projects and raise both financial and intellectual support for one’s pursuits. These practices can be referred to as entrepreneurial, a term coined within business economics in the early onset of the twentieth century.374 The entrepreneur is someone who is responsible for starting up an operation (in the case of archaeology, a research project or excavation) and who acquires human and financial capital for its completion. This person is then responsible for the project’s success or failure. Several scholars have studied the presence of an entrepreneurial ideal in nineteenth-century European society, where the idea of societal progression was linked to individual success stories, within the areas of science, politics or business.375 According to Ylva Hasselberg and Tom Petersson, who have studied entrepreneurship in business models in nineteenth374 The economist Joseph Schumpeter (1883-1950) published a number of studies pointing to the importance of entrepreneurs as the driving force behind capitalist development. See Schumpeter 2011 for a collection of his works. 375 See Kocka 1999 with references. 131 century Sweden, innovators and entrepreneurs were part of a patriarchal view of the world, where the entrepreneurial man could be held personally responsible for the development both of the self and of society.376 Certain character traits became desirable in an entrepreneur, most of these were connected to the ability to make connections and form networks. A successful entrepreneur needed to show good judgment and the ability to establish contacts which lead to development, without becoming tied up in relations which lead to stagnation.377 They further define three abilities needed to become successful as an entrepreneur in Sweden: first, one had to find the right actors to cooperate with. Secondly one had to be able to find a fruitful manner in which to interact with relevant actors in order to create strategies and come up with ideas. The third and perhaps most important aspect, was the ability to make your surroundings accept that you have the ability to practice entrepreneurship.378 The ideal images of the entrepreneur, with its class-based gendered connotations, resemble the ideal self-image of the archaeologist during the late nineteenth century. An example of the archaeologist as entrepreneur from the generation preceding Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg is the life and work of Heinrich Schliemann whom we have already encountered as a central figure (even though he had already passed away) in the Athenian archaeological circles of 1894. Schliemann’s life had already become the stuff of legends through his own very intentional self-representation of his entrepreneurial spirit, a ‘from-rags-to-riches’ story which fit nicely into both the image of the archaeologist-as-adventurer and the archaeologist-asentrepreneur.379 Two practices of the archaeologist as entrepreneur are expressed in Sam Wide’s self-representations: networking and fundraising. Networking ‘If one, like Hildebrand, wanted to reach a position in society, one could hardly get ahead in the world of the nineteenth century without friends. Friends could recommend you for a post, offer food and lodging or function as conversation partners, either through letters or through visits. Without friends, one came up badly [in the competition].’380 Hasselberg & Petersson 2006a:31. Hasselberg & Petersson 2006c:76. 378 Hasselberg & Petersson 2006c:79. 379 See Schliemann’s autobiographical preface in Schliemann 1880. Also Silberman 1995:251. 380 ‘Utan vänner tog man sig knappast fram i 1800-talets värld om man som Hildebrand ville nå en position i samhället. Vänner kunde rekommendera en för tjänster, erbjuda en mat och husrum eller fungera som samtalspartners, antingen brevledes eller genom besök. Utan vänner stod man sig slätt.’ Per Widén reflects on the networks around archaeologist Bror Emil Hildebrand (18061884), head of the Swedish National Board of Antiquities, see Widén 2006:22. 376 377 132 The archaeologist as entrepreneur needed to know how to network. Sam Wide learnt the importance of academic networking and knowing the right people while in Uppsala. The student clubs, the so-called ‘nations’ provided environments where male students could interact.381 Burlesque amateur theatre productions with jokingly written manifestoes, so called students’ farces (in Swedish, ‘studentspex’), in combination with ritualistic consumptions of alcohol provided grounds for bonding and socializing.382 Johan Bergman noted in his memoires from his years as a student in Uppsala how Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg participated in student life. When Associate Professor Julius af Sillén left Uppsala to get married and assume a position as rector at an upper-secondary school in the early 1880s, the students at his nation (Västmanland-Dala nation) organized a farce with a theme from ancient Greece. Bergman wrote: ‘Among those present, one noted phil. cand. L. Kjellberg […] and the student Samuel Pettersson, as he was called back then, later known as Professor Sam P:son Wide. He organized the party (he belonged to the same nation as Sillén). He had been running around, ordering the text of the farce from Risberg and my own festive poem in Latin, as well as acquiring all other props.’383 Several of Wide’s study companions became close friends and ‘allies’ in his academic battles. Wide’s relationships with his Professors seem to have been cordial. Sam Wide had a particularly close relationship with Einar Löfstedt. Löfstedt sent five recommendation letters with Wide when he went to Germany.384 Wide used one of these letters to gain access to Adolf Fürtwängler’s archaeological seminars at the museum in Berlin, after which Fürtwängler offered Wide the opportunity to use the museum for his archaeological studies.385 During his second trip to Berlin in the summer of 1890, Wide spend a lot of time paying visits to a number of scholars, including Adolf Fürtwängler, Ernst Curtius, Alexander Conze and Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff. He decided not to attend Lennart Kjellberg’s wedding despite only being a couple of hours away and instead he travelled to Halle to meet with Carl Robert.386 Wide had earlier that year expressed his desire to speak with Robert The students were organized into ‘nations’ depending on their county of birth. Wide was born in Dalarna, hence he belonged to Västmanland-Dala nation. The system of ‘nations’ still exists in Lund and Uppsala. 382 See Tjeder 2003:97ff. for a discussion on masculinity and student culture in Sweden in the nineteenth century. 383 Bergman 1943:82. 384 Wide to his parents, 3 November 1883, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 385 Wide to his parents, 25 November 1883, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 386 Wide to his parents, 29 June 1890, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 381 133 about his research and the possibility of a future publication in German on Laconian cults on which he was working.387 His priorities were established. In a letter to Johannes Paulson from March of 1891, Lennart Kjellberg wrote to Paulson that Sam Wide was also planning on applying for the Professorship in Lund. This would result in the ‘Battle of Lund’ which I have discussed above. According to Kjellberg, Sam Wide’s networking skills had already started to pay off. He wrote: ‘[…] as competitor you will get my friend Sam Wide, who has a couple of publications ready and half a dozen more in spetto. As he is extremely close to His Royal Majesty Wennerberg since the dinner of the immortals a couple of years ago, he is a dangerous man. He will travel down and give a trial lecture.’ 388 Gunnar Wennerberg (1817-1901) was Minister of Education between 187075 and 1888-91 and a powerful man in Swedish political and cultural life. He would have had a direct influence on appointing Professors, hence the satirical use of a royal epithet. While in Greece, Sam Wide could make use of the network of archaeologists which he had met in Berlin, as well as make new colleagues. We have seen in the previous chapters that Wilhelm Dörpfeld and Paul Wolters became two key figures for Wide’s success in Athens. An introduction to Panagiotis Kavvadias was essential if one wanted to use the National Archaeological Museum. Wide came into contact with Kavvadias through Gerhard Lolling who at the time worked at the museum.389 The DAI had formalized meeting grounds for its staff and visitors; besides the excursions which I have already covered, there were lecture series and parties such as the annual Winckelmann celebration. The Wolters and the Dörpfeldts had regular visiting hours at their homes, and Wide made sure to visit them as we have seen in the previous chapters. At night, the archaeologists met at the German club ‘Philadelphia’ on Ermou street. Julius Centerwall visited Philadelphia in 1886 and describes the club as follows: ‘All German travellers come here and men who are today counted as the foremost in the world in regards to science, have sat in the simple but friendly rooms of the Philadelphia. […] There is merriment, German beer is drunk, good but expenWide to his parents, 27 January 1890, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. Wide did publish Lakonische Kulte through a German publishing firm in 1893 as I have discussed in Part 1, see Wide 1893a. 388 ‘[…] deremot får Du till competitor min vän Sam Wide, som har ett par afhandlingar färdiga och ett halft dussin in spetto. Som han står synnerligen väl hos Kongl. Maj. Wennerberg sedan de odödligas middag för ett par år sedan är han en farlig karl. Han tänker fara ned och profva.’, Kjellberg to Paulson, 26 March 1891, Paulson’s archive, H127:11, GUB. 389 Wide to Montelius, 25 September 1893, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. 387 134 sive, or Greek wine, one eats Pankalos’ extraordinary sausage, there is smoking; the lesser gods play cards, which never happens at the honorary table. Some of the wholesome strong young men play pins390 in a way which would make us Swedes staggered.’391 The archaeologists were also tied to the Greek elite network of politicians and royalty. As we have seen, Wide frequented one of the royal balls in where he met the King and the Prime Minister in January 1894. ‘I live in an inebriation of pleasures’, Wide wrote to Westholm about his first months in Athens.392 In order to be part of a network or to form one of his own, Sam Wide needed to be enough of an entrepreneur and enough of a team player to work within the system. The system consisted of various social arenas, the sites, the excavations, the institutes, the museums and the clubs which together formed the infrastructure of Greek archaeology. The networking entrepreneur was allowed to shape this infrastructure, thus controlling its very fabric. The community, i.e. the scholars, benefactors and audiences, can be characterized as a homosocial network in that the members of the network tend to choose prospective new members which resemble those persons already established within the network. Relationships were established on the grounds of likeability or sameness, where the newcomer who most resembles other successful members seemed more reliable and trustworthy than those less similar.393 The identity of those allowed into the infrastructure of the Athenian archaeological circles was shaped by intersections of gender and class, but also of nationality. In order to take part in the national competition for access to archaeological sites, the institutes kept their national characteristics and selected members based on political and academic ties between nation states. Through proving himself worthy of belonging to the community, Sam Wide was granted favours and was given opportunities to further his career. Networking skills gave him the opportunity to publish the Iobacchi inscription from Acropolis and to undertake surveys for the German Academy of Science in Berlin during his first six months in Greece. Through demonIn Swedish ‘slå käglor’ which probably refers to a game similar to the present-day game of boule. 391 ‘Alla tyska resande komma hit och i Philadelphias enkla men vänliga sala hafva suttit män, hvilkas namn nu räknas till världens första i vetenskapligt hänseende. [...] Det glammas, drickes tyskt öl, godt, men dyrt, eller grekiskat vin, ätes af Pankalos’ förträffliga korf, rökes; de mindre gudarne spelar kort, hvilket aldrig förekommer vid honoratioresbordet. En del af de präktiga kraftiga unga män, härdade genom den allmänna värnepligtens välsignelse, slå käglor der nere på ett sätt som kommer oss svenskar att häpna.’, Centerwall 1888:171f. Whether or not this is the same Pankalos who later worked at Kalaureia is uncertain. I have not been able to track down any sources on him at the archives of the DAI in Athens. 392 ‘Lefver i ett rus af nöjen […].’ Wide to Westholm, 16 January 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 393 Hasselberg & Petersson 2006b:73. 390 135 strating skills as an adventurer and professional scholar, Wide could gain Wilhelm Dörpfeld’s trust and help when organizing the excavation at Kalaureia. This ability to inspire confidence and to make others have faith in your judgment and capability were essential features in the nineteenth century entrepreneur394, as well as in the successful archaeologist. Fundraising Within the infrastructure of nineteenth century classical archaeology, fundraising became an important practice. Networking skills became essential in the quest for funding. As we have seen, Sam Wide was not interested in receiving government subsidiary for the excavation. The reason for this is unclear, but perhaps the answer lays in his self-image as an entrepreneur. Wide was keen on emphasizing the project as a Swedish national affair, as well as a personal feat. In an article in Post- och Inrikes Tidningar in 1894, Wide emphasized the national importance of the excavation at Kalaureia: ‘However, these [the results of the excavation at Kalaureia] cannot be compared to those, which have been won by the great nations France and Germany, but that has not been our purpose. We have only wanted to demonstrate that Sweden is willing and able to contribute its part in the exploration of the remains of the classical past.’395 A Swedish excavation did not necessarily need to be tied to the nation state through the government; Sam Wide probably saw the excavation as linked to Sweden through his own national identity. Since a Swedish person would carry out the excavation, it could be considered a Swedish project, with or without funding from the government. This is most likely why Wide wanted a second Swede to manage the excavation (Lennart Kjellberg) and why he hired a Swedish architect (Sven Kristenson). He was aware of the fact that their excavation would be the first one conducted in Greece by Swedes, and that a successful excavation would put Sweden on the archaeological map of Greece, thus acknowledging Sweden’s national identity as a Western nation that valued classical bildung. Applying for government funding would probably have taken too much time and would have presented Wide with a substantial bureaucratic burden; if he was able to gather the money on his own Hasselberg & Petersson 2006c:79. ‘Väl kan detta ej jämföras med dem, som vunnits af de stora nationerna Frankrike och Tyskland; men detta har ej heller varit vårt syfte. Vi hafva endast velat visa, att Sverige vill och kan bidraga med sin skärf till utforskandet af den klassiska forntidens minnesmärken.’, Wide, ‘De svenska arkeologiska undersökningarna på Kalaureia’ in Post- och Inrikes Tidningar, 22 December, 1894. 394 395 136 terms, it would attest to his success as an entrepreneur and tie the project closer to his own person. Emphasizing the excavation as important for the nation was also a good strategy for obtaining funds from private individuals. Sam Wide turned to Oscar Montelius for assistance: ‘I hope that you are willing to sacrifice a penny for the cause and in addition use your influence to win over a couple more friends of classical antiquity for the venture.’396 Sam Wide and Oscar Montelius’s friendship went back to 1889 when Wide had asked Montelius if he could bring students to the National Museum in Stockholm to see the antiquities.397 Wide frequently published articles in Nordisk Tidskrift where Montelius was editor.398 From 1893 and onwards, Wide began his letters to Montelius with ‘Dear Brother’ instead of ‘Honorable Professor’, which meant that their relationship by this point had reached a certain stage of familiarity.399 By assisting Montelius with information on archaeological sites and objects while in Italy, Wide had secured himself as one of the players on the archaeological scene in Sweden through Montelius. Oscar Montelius must have been a vital contact for Wide, since Montelius had an extremely extensive network of scholars, politicians and cultural personalities, both Swedish and foreign, tied to his person. Montelius was, like Wide, a successful archaeologist-as-entrepreneur, whose competence rested on a mixture of good self-esteem, extensive knowledge in his subject and social flexibility.400 Lennart Kjellberg later also relied on Montelius for practical and intellectual support for his excavations in Turkey.401 Oscar Montelius did come to Wide’s aid. He convinced Gustaf Gilljam, a Swedish parliamentarian and scholar of classical philology, to donate 500 francs. Montelius also spoke to the director-general of the Swedish National Board of Antiquities, Hans Hildebrand, to see if the Royal Swedish Academy of Letters, History and Antiquities could contribute. They declined stating that all disposable income ‘was needed for continuous work within the country’. Montelius also contacted the director of Letterstedtska föreningen who had given Wide a travel grant to come to Greece. ‘I am a member of ‘Jag hoppas att du är lifvad att offra en slant för ändamålet samt använda ditt inflytande att vinna några andra klassiska vänner för företaget.’ Wide to Montelius, 30 January 1894, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. 397 Wide to Montelius, 12 September 1889, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. 398 Wide published a total of seven articles in Nordisk Tidskrift between 1890 and 1901. 399 The system of titles was used to distinguish social status and familiarity between two parties. The older person could choose to ‘put away the titles’, whereby the two would become ‘brothers’. Letters were often signed ‘Bäste Broder’ (‘Dearest Brother’) or simply shortened to ‘B.B’. This tradition was diminished during the 1960s, when Sweden went through a reform whereby all persons would be called the more informal ‘Du’ as opposed to ‘Ni’ (compare with the French ‘Tu’ and ‘Vous’). Today, Swedish students refer to their Professors by their first name. 400 Baudou 2012:278-379. 401 See Kjellberg to Montelius 1901-1903, Montelius’ archive, E1a:18, ATA. 396 137 the board’, Montelius wrote, ‘and I shall with pleasure do everything I can to support such an undertaking.’402 Wide’s proposition fell through and instead the Kalaureia project was funded entirely by private individual donations. The final list of contributors403 were, besides Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg, the Minister of Education Gilljam and the librarian Bernard Lundstedt, also Wilhelm Falk,404 Johannes Kerfstedt,405 the painter Geskel Saloman (fig. 31),406, and the delegate of the Swedish Central Bank Henrik Ragnar Törnebladh.407 If we take a closer look at the people who sponsored the excavation at Kalaureia, we find that Oscar Montelius probably convinced Ragnar Törnebladh to donate money. Törnebladh was a regular contributor to Nordisk Tidskrift and must have been in contact with Montelius. Johannes Kerfstedt was head master at the school where Sam Wide had taught Latin in Uppsala and he was probably Wide’s own connection. Wilhelm Falk seems to have been friends with Wide’s family and he is mentioned in letters from Wide to his parents from the 1880s.408 Bernard Lundstedt was a good friend of Wide’s from Uppsala and he was also a friend of Montelius.409 The painter Geskel Saloman shared Wide’s archaeological connections and he corresponded with Wilhelm Dörpfeld, Alexander Conze and Adolf Furtwängler, as well as with Nils Fredrik Sander who was also a friend of Wide’s as well as of Kjellberg.410 Saloman also wrote articles on classical art.411 The reasons for contributing money to the excavation at Kalaureia probably varied between the different benefactors. Some, like the painter Geskel Saloman, were genuinely influenced by the aesthetics and moral ‘Jag är medlem af styrelsen och skall med nöje göra hvad jag kan för att understödja ett sådant företag.’, Montelius to Wide, 28 February 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 403 Listed in Göthe, ‘Svenska fornforskare i Grekland’ in Stockholms Dagblad, 30 January 1896. 404 Wilhelm Falk (1825-1907) had served as Member of Parliament until 1893. In the newspaper article listing the benefactors for the Kalaureia excavation, Falk is described as a rentier, i.e. a gentleman of independent means. See ‘Falk, Wilhelm’ in Svenskt porträttgalleri 1895-1913. 405 Johannes Kerfstedt (1841-1921) was head master at Fjellstedtska skolan, a private secondary school in Uppsala where Wide had taught Latin and Greek, see Stave 1924. 406 Geskel Saloman (1821-1902) was vice Professor at the Royal Academy of Arts in Stockholm, see Raphael 1965. 407 Henrik Ragnar Törnebladh (1833-1912) was a latin scholar and politician, who had also been Member of Parliament in the 1870s and 1880s, see ‘Törnebladh, Ragnar’ in Svenskt porträttgalleri 1895-1913. 408 See Wide to his parents, 1880-90, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 409 Wide to Montelius, 7 October 1894, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. 410 Saloman’s correspondance with German archaeologists concerned various papers and theses on classical art which Saloman was writing, as well as thank you notes from the DAI for publications that Saloman had donated to its library. Letters from and to Geskel Saloman are kept at the Royal Library in Stockholm, Sweden. 411 See Saloman 1882 and 1901 for examples of Saloman’s publications on classical art. 402 138 teachings of classical antiquity412, while others probably contributed as a way of ensuring their own status as cultural benefactors. Donating money to cultural projects was a common practice among the Swedish bourgeoisie and nobility during the nineteenth century, which added to their social capital as appreciators of good values which, in turn, were connected to knowledge of the classical past. Fig. 31. Geskel Saloman in his studio in Stockholm in 1901. Photo: Stockholm City Museum. 412 Raphael 1965:140ff. 139 Othering Kjellberg ‘Uppsala, May 12, 1904. Dear friend! It was warming and to a great degree encouraging receiving your kind letter, especially since it gave me a renewed and healthy impression of your loyal disposition, an impression which I now, in this iron age, keep as a precious relic, but also since you gave me a full recognition that I, according to you, have achieved something for my science. This recognition is twice as dear to me, and it provides me with encouragement, which I am in great need of. For my former friend Sam Wide does everything in his power to reduce the value of the excavation [at Larisa], and in particular my share in it. He has succeeded in evoking an, on my part, rather degrading opinion of me in a rather wide circle. Concerning the excavation, it is supposed to be a great fiasco. You understand that it must be for me, in relation to my benefactors, highly unpleasant to find that such an opinion, which relies on the statement of an expert in the matter who in addition passes himself off as my friend, has become predominant in the general view. The man [Wide] has at present a plan under construction – it now only exists on the level on intrigue – to get his Professorship transformed into a chair in classical archaeology. But in order for him to have the prospect of being called to this new Professorial chair, or in order to easily be transferred, he has to on the one hand make sure that the same procedure is executed in Lund for [Martin P:son] Nilsson’s sake and on the other hand he has to dispose of me á tout prix. You know that this man does not stop at anything when it comes to fulfilling his own egoistic aims.’413 In 1904, Sam Wide’s and Lennart Kjellberg’s relationship fell apart. When Kjellberg sent the letter above to Johannes Paulson, Professor of classical languages at Gothenburg University, it was the culmination of many years as a victim of Sam Wide’s politics of belonging. A decade earlier while in Greece, Wide frequently remarked in letters to his colleagues and to his parents on Kjellberg’s lack of certain traits which made him, in Wide’s eyes, ‘Upsala den 12 Maj 1904. Käre vän! Det var värmande och i hög grad uppmuntrande att erhålla ditt så vänliga bref, främst därför att det gaf mig ett nytt och friskt intryck af ditt trofasta sinnelag, intryck som man i denna järnålder bevarar som dyrbara reliker, men äfven emedan du gaf mig ett fullt erkänannde att jag enligt din mening uträttat något för min vetenskap. Detta erkännande är mig dubbelt kärt och innebär en uppmuntran, som jag är i stort behof af. Min f.d. vän Sam Wide gör nemligen att hvad i hans förmåga står för att nedsätta värdet af utgräfningen och särskildt min andel i densamma. Han har lyckats att i ganska vidsträckta kretsar framkalla en opinion af för mig ganska nedsättande art. Hvad utgräfningen beträffar, skulle den vara ett stort fiasko. Du förstår, att det för mig på grund af mitt förhållande till mina välgörare måste vara i hög grad obehagligt att veta att en sådan uppfattning, som stöder sig på en fackmans uttalande, som dessutom utgör sig för att vara min vän, blir förhärskande i den allmänna meningen. Mannen har för närvarande en plan under bearbetning – den befinner sig ännu endast på intrigens stadium – att få sin professur omskapad till en lärostol i klass. arkeologi. Men för att kunna bereda sig utsikter till att blifva kallad till denna nya professur eller utan vidare öfverflyttas, måste å ena sidan samtidigt samma procedur företagas i Lund för Nilssons skull och å andra sidan jag à tout prix göras omöjlig. Du vet, att mannen icke är nogräknad om medlen, när det gäller att genomdrifva sina egoistiska syften.’, Kjellberg to Paulson, 12 Maj 1904, Paulson’s archive, H127:11, GUB. 413 140 less fit for science. Kjellberg became classified as a bad archaeologist through an exercise of politics of belonging where Wide pinned himself and his persona against Kjellberg. This othering strategy, whereby Kjellberg was turned into an anti-thesis of Wide, effectively distanced Kjellberg from the network that they both strived to belong to.414 The further Wide managed to establish himself as belonging to the collective, the more power he had to classify who was to be included and who was to be excluded. As Pierre Bourdieu notes on the judgment of academic peers in his Homo Academicus, social relations in academia tend to reproduce and neutralize hierarchies through a system of classification where ‘everyone classifies and everyone is classified, the best classified becoming the best classifiers of those who enter the race.’415 Thus following Bourdieu, since Sam Wide had managed to represent himself as a good archaeologist early on in his career by following the established codes of conduct, as I have shown throughout this chapter, he had an advantage in convincing others to trust his classifications. Next, I will look at how Kjellberg was represented by Wide as unfit to belong and the effects that had on their careers. Before I go into detail on Wide’s politics of exclusion, it is important to remember here that when the two men first went to Greece, they occupied fairly similar positions within the archaeological community. Both had earned their PhDs (although Wide had become an Assistant Professor at the time) and they both strived to continue in academia. Neither had previous experience of archaeology, but both had studied in Germany and had established a network of allies for their cause, recognizing the importance of excavating in Greece in order to establish classical archaeology at Swedish universities. But rather than seeing Kjellberg as an ally, Wide began to view his friend as a threat to his own ambition during 1894. ‘I want to tell you, but you alone’, Wide wrote to Alfred Westholm in February 1894, ‘that a certain ‘dissensus’ has already erupted between Lennart and myself concerning the execution of the excavation.’ And he continued: ‘Lennart has, on account of his 2,000 francs, started acting rather commanding and reasons on the matter – which he does not understand. I am determined to go to great lengths to act compliant, although I feel that it is I who own ‘the royal spirit’. I hope that the matter will be resolved amicably – yes, it has to, even if I have to give up leadership of the operation to Lennart. But it is of importance Othering strategies here used refers to ‘[…] the process of creating the ‘other’ wherein persons or groups are labelled av deviant or non-normative […] through the constant repetition of characteristics about a group of people who are distinguished from the norm in some way.’, see Mountz 2009:328. 415 Bourdieu 1988:217. 414 141 that my friends contribute as much as possible, so that I can act against Lennart also with a material advantage.’416 ‘He has an indescribable ability to kill time’ For Sam Wide, to be productive was a sign of a good professional scholar; diligence and professionalism were God-given attributes which some men possessed and others did not. In August of 1894, after the excavation at Kalaureia had finished, Wide wrote to his parents about Kjellberg’s failure in Greece: ‘Lennart hardly began his studies [of the monuments and topography of Athens]. He had, in the frequent words of Dr. Wennberg, ‘an indescribable ability to kill time’. What good he actually did in Athens from the end of February until the beginning of June, nobody knows, and he himself the least. On Kalaureia, he seemed to shape up, but only for 4-5 weeks; and then he allowed himself to be fooled by a false alarm into travelling back to Germany, and once he arrived there, he soon became well again. Lennart’s wife and brother are angry because I am, in the newspapers and in the public opinion, considered the head of the excavations. They wanted to right away make Lennart a great man for some three thousand francs. I am not responsible for the fact that I have come to play the lead role – as well as for the fact that I have been given the heaviest work load […]. You should note that the personal relationship between me and Lennart is still pleasant. I also realize that he has had an unpleasant position between me on one hand and his closest family on the other.’ 417 By leaving the excavation at Kalaureia, Kjellberg had abandoned his post. His departure from Kalaureia is a pivotal event which would have long last‘Jag vill för dig, men allenast för dig nämna, att redan nu visst ”dissensus” uppstått mellan Lennart och mig angående utförandet af gräfningen. Lennart har på grund af sina 2000 franc börjat uppträda ganska myndigt och resonerat i saken, som han ej förstår. Jag är besluten att gå så långt som möjlighet i undfallenhet, ehuru jag känner, att det är jag, som härvid eger ”kongsandan”. Jag hoppas också att saken skall lösas i godo – ja, den måste det, äfven om jag ska afstå chefskapet af företaget till Lennart. Men det ligger vigt därpå, att mina vänner bidraga så mycket som möjligt, på det att jag må gent emot Lennart kunna uppträda med äfven materiellt öfvertag.’, Wide to Westholm, 20/21 February 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 417 ‘Lennart knappast började dessa studier. Han hade, såsom Dr. Wennberg plägade yttra “en obeskrivlig förmåga att slå ihjäl tiden”. Hvad han gjorde för nytta i Athen från slutet af februari till början af juni, vet ingen, allra minst han själf. På Kalaureia tycktes han rycka upp sig men blott för en 4-5 veckor; så lät han af ett skrämskott narra sig att resa tillbaka till Tyskland, och när han kom dit, blef han strax bra igen. Lennarts fru och bror voro förargade därför, att jag i tidningarna och i allmänna opinionen betraktades som utgräfningarnas chef. De ville på en gång för ett par tre tusen franc göra Lennart till en stor man. Jag rår själf ej därför, att jag kommit att spela hufvudrollen – liksom att jag fått det drygaste arbetet […]. Anmärkas bör dock, att det personliga förhållandet mellan mig och Lennart fortfarande är hjärtligt. Jag inser också, att han haft en obehaglig ställning mellan mig å ena sidan och sina närmaste å den andra.’, Wide to his parents, 27 August 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 416 142 ing implications on the way in which Wide perceived his colleague. From Wide’s correspondence with his parents from Kalaureia, it is clear that Wide thought that Kjellberg had made a wrong decision and that he was overreacting. On July 22, he wrote: ‘When I came back yesterday noon, I met Lennart in a sad mood. The fever had impaired his strength and made him utterly depressed. Home sickness had now broken out with all its force, and he felt deeply miserable. I was sad, but not worried, as I knew that these are the common symptoms of climate fever. In the evening, he told me about his decision, to leave today for Athens and on Tuesday for Germany (over Italy). I, of course, had to agree with him, and carefully suggested my hesitations. During the course of the conversation, he came around and the result was such that he will go to Athens, speak with a doctor, eat well and enjoy himself as best as he can in the heat. If this does not help, he can go home.’418 It did not help, and a week later, Wide packed up Kjellberg’s belongings and went to meet him in Athens: ‘I went to Piraeus on Wednesday morning and was there greeted by Lennart, who told me that he had come down with jaundice and wanted to return to Germany to tend to his health. Jaundice is not a dangerous decease, but Lennart was worried because his father had that disease in his old age shortly before death. Because of this, Lennart wanted to take care of himself properly in a civilized country. Alongside, I believe that homesickness contributed considerably to his hasty decision to leave. He went from Athens to Patras and Brindisi on Thursday afternoon. I, of course, stayed in Athens to say goodbye to my friend, and returned on Thursday night to Kalaureia.’419 According to Wide, Kjellberg had failed to prove himself as a good fieldworker, and he had purchased his reputation as an archaeologist with pri‘Då jag i går middag återkom, träffade jag Lennart i en ledsam sinnesstämning. Febern hade nedsatt hans krafter och gjort honom ytterst missmodig. Hemlängtan hade nu brutit fram med all makt, och han kände sig djupt olycklig. Jag var ledsen, men ej orolig, emedan jag visste, att detta är de vanliga symtomerna vid klimatfeber. På kvällen meddelade han mig sitt beslut, att idag resa till Athen och om tisdag till Tyskland (öfver Italien). Jag måste naturligt hålla med honom, och försigtigt framkasta mina betänkligheter. Under samtalets lopp piggade han till sig och så blef resultatet det, att han skulle fara till Athen, tala med en läkare, äta godt och förströ sig, så godt han kan i hettan. Hjälper ej detta, får han resa hem.’, Wide to his parents, 22 July 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 419 ‘Jag for på onsdagsmorgonen till Piraeus och mottogs där af Lennart, som meddelade mig, att han hade gulsot och för helsans vårdande ville åter vända till Tyskland. Gulsot är ju ingen farlig sjukdom, men Lennart var orolig, enär hans far hade haft den sjukdomen på gamla dagar kort före döden. Därför ville Lennart ordentligt sköta sig i ett civiliseradt land. Därjämte tror jag, att hemlängtan åtskilligt bidrog till hans hastiga beslut att resa sin väg. Han for från Athen till Patras och Brindisi i torsdags middag. Jag stannade naturligtvis kvar i Athen, för att taga afsked af min vän, och återvände på torsdagskvällen till Kalaureia.’, Wide to his parents, 30 July 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 418 143 vate money. Kjellberg was portrayed as lazy and unproductive by Wide. From Kjellberg’s diary from the winter in Athens, it becomes evident that he did work almost every day at the National Museum and in the library at the DAI with the finds from Kalaureia. He was far from inactive in Athens, but it was important for Sam Wide that he was perceived as such. Sam Wide’s representation of Lennart Kjellberg as lacking in energy was contrasted with his own stamina and thirst for new projects: ‘Lennart is well, but how his work is coming along, I do not know. He has himself reached the conclusion that he is not fit for the south. But then I do fit in so much better. I also have the ability to impress the Greeks with my healthy demeanour’, Wide wrote to his parents in December 1894.420 By contrasting Kjellberg’s flaws with his own excellence, Wide could affirm his belonging in the collective of archaeologists in Athens, both to his parents and to himself. Wide now began scheming to remove Kjellberg from the competition for academic positions at Swedish universities. At the end of August in 1894, while Kjellberg was still recuperating in Germany, Wide noted in a letter to his parents that he had written to Gustaf Upmark421 in order to recommend Kjellberg for a post at the National Museum in Stockholm: ‘Wennberg and I have managed to move Lennart away from thinking of an Assistant Professorship, and suggested that he instead take up a position at the National Museum, which he accepted’, Wide wrote.422 On November 20, Kjellberg wrote in his diary that he had received a letter from Upmark that his application had been granted.423 He did apply for an Assistant Professorship at Uppsala in late 1896. By that time Wide had left to assume his position in Lund. ‘Où est la femme?’ Sam Wide had mixed feelings about Kjellberg’s return to Greece in November 1894. Wide was then working in Aphidna and Kjellberg’s arrival was described in his letters as a heroic tale: 420 ‘Lennart mår väl, men huru det går med hans arbete, vet jag icke. Själf har han kommit till klarhet om, att han inte passar för södern. Men så måtte jag göra det så mycket mera. Jag har också den förmågan att imponera på grekerna genom mitt friska uppträdande.’, Wide to his parents, 17 December 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 421 Gustaf Upmark (1844-1900) was an art historian and curator at the National Museum in Stockholm, see ‘Upmark, Gustaf Henrik Wilhelm’ in Svenskt biografiskt handlexikon 1906. 422 ‘Wennberg och jag lyckades bringa Lennart från tanken på en docentur och föreslog honom istället att gå in vid Nationalmuseum, hvilket han accepterade.’, Wide to his parents, 27 August 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 423 Kjellberg’s Athenian diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 144 ‘On Sunday, November 4, my supplies were running out. I did not have a drop of wine or brandy to keep warm, not even hot water, since one could not make a fire for several days due to the rain. The German Institute started to worry on behalf of my predicament. On Sunday afternoon, I laid in my tent and stared at the tent wall. I then hear a well-known voice, it was Lennart who had ridden, in the pouring rain and winter cold, up to Aphidna and brought me supplies, food, wine and brandy. And I became warm both in my soul and body.’424 Once the initial joy settled down, Wide expressed a different sentiment towards Kjellberg’s return: ‘Concerning Lennart’s arrival in Greece, one must simply ask ‘où est la femme?’ It was his wife who had sent him away, since she did not begrudge me making the investigations at Aphidna. When Lennart arrived, I had two days of work left. Thus he did not have anything to do there. Because of his wife’s misplaced ambitions, he has had to come here and has had to forsake Christmas joy with the family etc. Luckily, the relationship between us is still the very best. Eight days ago, Lennart was a little frail and was thinking of returning home. Wolters and I have given him a couple of subjects to investigate, so that his wife will be pleased. I, however, have to work with all my strength to keep him in Athens, and I fear, that one day he will be struck by home sickness and evaporate. He has come out too late, and totally lacks energy and stamina.’ 425 A person’s life choices affected whether or not Sam Wide considered them to be a good scientist. Lennart Kjellberg had ‘come out too late’, according to Wide. Here, Wide is referring to the fact that Kjellberg had already married and had children. The youthful enthusiasm for the experiences of the South, which Wide claimed to have had before his own marriage, had been lost in Kjellberg who had married before travelling to Greece.426 The fact 424 ‘Söndagen d. 4de Novemb. hotade mina förråder att taga slut. Jag hade ej en droppe vin eller konjak att värma mig med, ej ens varmt vatten, ty man kunde på flera dagar ej göra upp eld på grund af regnet. Tyskarna i Institutet började bli oroliga öfver min belägenhet. På söndags eftermiddagen låg jag i mitt tält och stirrade mot tältväggen. Då hör jag en välbekant stämma, det var Lennart, som i hällande regn och vinterköld ridit upp till Aphidna och bragt mig proviant, mat, vin och konjak. Och det blef varmt både till själ och kropp.’, Wide to his parents, 11 November 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 425 ‘Hvad Lennarts ankomst till Grekland beträffar, så far man helt enkelt fråga “où est la femme?” Det var helt enkelt hans fru som skickat honom i väg, enär hon icke unnande mig att utföra undersökningarna i Aphidna. När Lennart kom, hade jag 2 dagars arbete kvar. Han hade alltså intet att göra där. För fruns malplacerade äregirighet han han fått resa hit, måste försaka julfröjden i familjen o.s.v. Lyckligtvis är förhållandet oss emellan fortfarande det allra bästa. För 8 dagar sedan var Lennart litet skral och funderade på att åter fara hem. Wolters och jag ha gifvit honom ett par ämnen att behandla, så att frun kan bli nöjd. Jag måste emellertid arbeta af alla krafter att hålla honom kvar i Athen, och jag fruktar, att han en vacker dag gripes af hemlängtan och afdunstar. Han har kommit ut för sent och saknar totalt energi och uthållighet.’, Wide to his parents, 26 November 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 426 Wide to Westholm, 2 April 1897, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 145 that Lennart Kjellberg missed his family was seen as a hindrance to his possibility to be efficient while in Greece. Wide was already sceptical of Kjellberg’s marriage in 1890.427 He had met Anna von Reden, Lennart Kjellberg’s fiancée, briefly before the wedding and described her as ‘kind and pleasant, though somewhat aged (28)’.428 A caricature of Kjellberg from around 1890 in Wide’s archive show him as a man who has been defeated by love (fig. 32). Lennart Kjellberg was characterized as weak enough to be controlled by his wife (and his brother as well), and as lacking a will of his own. Since the correspondence between Kjellberg and his wife has not been included in his archive, it is very difficult to know Anna von Reden’s role in Kjellberg’s life, apart from Wide’s impressions. In Kjellberg’s Athenian diary he noted every letter he sent to Anna with a number. The couple seems to have been close. Kjellberg was not happy, physically or mentally, in Athens. On November 17, he wrote in his diary that he had vomited three times. Three days later he wanted to leave Greece: ‘A bad night, thought of returning, thought I had a stomach inflammation, finished my letter to Anna, melancholic disposition, but I felt better during the course of the day. Received letter no, 7 from Anna […].’429 Sam Wide did associate with other married men; both Wilhelm Dörpfeld and Paul Wolters were married with children, but according to Wide, they did not seem to let family matters interfere with their abililty to act as efficient archaeologists. The wives of the archaeologists in Athens appear as shadow figures in Wide’s archive; they are seldom actors in their own right. According to Sam Wide, Anna Dörpfeld and Auguste Wolters spend their days tending to the young archaeologists staying at the DAI and maintaining the social life at the Institute.430 Wide liked spending time with children and enjoyed taking part in the family life of his colleagues. He had a close relationship with Auguste Wolters and her children while in Athens. He wrote to his parents that he often played with little Wolfgang Wolters, running in the corridors of the DAI to the annoyance of the other guests.431 The extent of Anna Dörpfeld’s and Auguste Wolter’s contribution to their husbands’ scientific work is unclear. Anna was the daughter of Friedrich Adler who had been Wilhelm Dörpfeld’s tutor at Olympia, and she must have grown up surrounded by archaeological talk during her upbringing. In the biographies of Wilhelm Dörpfeld written after his death, Anna is mentioned only briefly in relation to their wedding and her death. She remains invisible throughout the discussion of her husband’s scholarship. Another family Wide to his parents, 27 January 1890, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. Wide to his parents, 29 June 1890, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 429 Kjellberg’s Athenian diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 430 Wide to his parents, 28 December 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB 431 Wide to his parents, 3 March 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 427 428 146 man, Alfred Westholm, who had reluctantly given up on an academic career as a classical philologist to become a teacher, was rather taken pity on by Wide. In 1895, Wide expressed guilt over the fact that he had been lucky whereas others had fallen short: ‘I remember our shared years as students, their delights and sufferings. I recall with joy and gratitude the loyal friendship and the encouraging example, that you have given your friend from study years gone by. At the same time, I feel ashamed over having advanced to Professor, before you have conquered your Ismail. You know me and my humble conditions. Not wisdom nor genius, but courage and willpower (+ German Streberthum 432, which I now fortunately seem to have overcome) have granted me success. I have believed in God and myself and in my burning desire to ‘awake, when all seems to fall, old trust in old weapons.’433 Again, Wide emphasized his fighting spirit in combination with religious righteousness as the determining factors for his own success. ‘Ismail’ in the letter refers to the Biblical character Ishmael who, alongside his mother Hagar, was expelled from the House of Abraham. Wide often returned to this analogy when discussing struggles to make it in academia. ‘Conquering your Ismail’, for Wide, referred to overcoming personal adversities; in the words of Yvonne Sherwood, ‘God finding the lost individual in the desert, salvation at the point of despair’ and a popular cultural metaphor in several late nineteenth-century contexts.434 Sam Wide married Maria Andersson in 1897, after he had become a Professor in Lund. We know very little about her. Their correspondence is absent in Wide’s personal archive at Uppsala University Library, but occasionally he wrote about her in letters to others: ‘My wife understands me and my work (she does not need to be a philologist to do that)’, he wrote to Alfred Westholm about Maria shortly after their marriage, ‘[s]he knows what I do and understands the general direction of my work. She should not, and is not allowed, to know more. She has learned to sacrifice herself when it The German ‘Strebertum’ (old spelling ‘Streberthum’) can be roughly translated to ‘careerism’. ‘Minnet glider tillbaka till våra gemensamma studieår, till deras fröjder och kval. Jag erinrar mig med glädje och tacksamhet den trofasta vänskap och det uppmuntrande föredöme, du skänkt din vän från flydda studieår. Jag blyges på samma gång öfver att ha avancerat till Professor, innan du eröfvrat ditt Ismail. Du känner mig och mina ringa förutsättningar. Icke lärdom och snille, utan mod och viljekraft (+ tysk Streberthum , som jag nu lyckligtvis tror mig ha öfvervunnit) ha beredt min framgång. Jag har trott på Gud och på mig själf samt på min brinnande lust att ”väcka, när allt tycks vackla, gammal tillit till gamla vapen.’’’, Wide to Westholm, 16 March 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. The last line is a reference to a poem by the Swedish poet Carl Snoilsky (1841-1903) entitled Mod! (Courage!), see Snoilsky 1913:21f. 434 Sherwood 2014:304. Ishmael is also the main protagonist in Moby Dick, published in 1851, see Melville 1851. 432 433 147 comes down to it, for ‘her only rival’, my scientific work.’435 Wide did not wish to share his scientific work with his wife; her role in the marriage was not that of a scholarly partner as was the case, for example, in Oscar and Agda Montelius’ relationship.436 He had a few close relationships with women who did not interfere with his academic work, but he was not willing to share the spotlight with those persons who he did not consider to be fit for science, such as Kjellberg or a woman. This was a personal and conscious choice of Wide’s, and another attestation to his vision of the ideal scientist as a lone working man. ‘Kjellberg had bought a 1st class ticket’ In mid-July 1894, Sam Wide, Lennart Kjellberg and Pankalos travelled from Poros to the mainland to visit a couple of sites on Peloponnesus. After travelling by boat to Piraeus and with railroad past Corinth to Kiato, they walked for 3 hours to the small village of Liopesi: ‘We spent the night there, and my travel companions were beset by lice and fleas, and were envious of me, who despite all of this slept the sleep of a righteous man and rose in the morning with healthy energyχ, Wide wrote to his parents.437 The next day, after walking in the hot sun from Tiryns to Nauplion, the three men embarked on a ship which would take them back to Poros. ‘I slept on deckχ, Wide wrote, ‘in between a couple of bags, which sheltered me from the night breeze, for I had lent my coat to Pankalos, who also slept on deck. Lennart had bought a 1st class ticket, while Pankalos and I had bought a 3rd class one.’438 The example above is one of several where Sam Wide uses Lennart Kjellberg as an antithesis to himself as adventurer. A good archaeologist in Wide’s accounts was a man who knew how to rough it, who purchased a third class ticket even though he could very well afford to travel first class, ‘Min hustru förstår mig och mitt arbete (hon behöver icke vara filolog för det). Hon vet, hvad jag sysslar med och förstår den allmänna riktigen i mina arbeten. Mera bör och får hon icke veta. Hon har lärt att uppoffra sig, om det så gäller, för ”hennes enda rival”, mitt vetenskapliga arbete.’, Wide to Westholm, 2 August 1898, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 436 See Bokholm 2000, Baudou 2012 and Montelius 2014. See also Nicklasson 2014 for an analysis of the professional relationship between Sven Nilsson (1787-1883) and his daughter Ida Nilsson (1840-1920). For other examples of couples working together in Swedish science and politics, see Berg et al. 2011. 437 ‘Vi lågo här öfver natten, och mina reskamrater anfäktade jämmerligen af loppor och löss samt afundade mig, som under allt detta sof den rättfärdigas sömn och på morgonen steg upp med friska krafter.’, Wide to his parents, 16 July 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 438 ‘Jag sof på däck mellan ett par säckar, hvilka gåfvo mig skydd mot nattvinden, ty min kappa hade jag afstått till Pankalos, som också låg på däck. Lennart hade tagit 1sta klass, medan Pankalos och jag hade 3dje.’ Wide to his parents, 16 July 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 435 148 who slept soundly despite attacks by vermin. By not partaking in adventures, or by not enjoying the ‘portmanteau’s life-style’, Kjellberg failed to live up to the expectations. Purchasing a first class ticket meant that Kjellberg, once again, purchased his reputation as an adventurer, instead of suffering through it, the suffering itself being crucial to the self-image of an archaeologist. Adventure built character. Within the nineteenth-century bourgeoisie in Sweden, a person’s character was nurtured and created during a person’s youth through exercises which would mould the personality towards virtuousness and vigour.439 In Wide’s view, Lennart Kjellberg had, as we have seen, ‘come out too late’ and was beyond rescue. The energetic, flexible man of strong mental and emotional physique in Wide’s representations is a common trope in nineteenth-century ideals of bourgeois masculinity, as well as in the image of the ideal archaeologist.440 This image combined several intersections: gender and class belongings but also physical and mental health. Kjellberg’s tendency to be outspoken about missing his family and his home became a hindrance to his ability to belong, according to Wide. By allowing himself be defeated by physical pain or illness, Kjellberg showed that he had a weak character and was not fit for a life as a field archaeologist. This weakness of character also hindered his ability to become a good entrepreneur. 439 440 Tjeder 1999:184. Lundberg 2006:349. 149 Fig. 32. A caricature of Lennart Kjellberg kept in Wideχs archive in Uppsala. In the drawing, Kjellberg covers his chest and makes a defensive hand gesture while an Eros figure aims for his heart. A statue of the goddess of love and sexuality, Aphrodite, towers above the scene. The text above the statue (in Latin) reads: φHow Cytherea [another name for Aphrodite in Greek mythology] can be recognized as Victoriaχ. The text below the scene (in Greek) reads: φThe immortals call her the golden Aphrodite, but the defeated Kjellberg calls her the wonderfully beautiful Nike.χ The caricature forms part of a leaflet with four drawings depicting scenes from the Department of Classical Languages at Uppsala. Perhaps the drawing commemorates Kjellbergχs wedding in 1890. Photo: UUB. 150 ‘Was planning on going to Wolters, it did not happen due to the headache’ ‘Dec. 6. 1894. Beautiful weather in the morning, went to the Institute in the morning, arranged with Müntje to go to Poros. Cloudy towards the afternoon, cancelled my trip. Headache. Went for a walk. Bad thoughts. Was planning on going to Wolters, it did not happen due to the headache. Started letter no. 13 to Anna. Collected photographs from Merlin. Drank half a bottle of Solon to celebrate Nisse.’441 Lennart Kjellberg’s diary from November and December 1894 are full of occasions where Kjellberg cancelled events, trips and visits due to ill health. He never stayed at the DAI, but lived in a hotel in town, which meant that interaction with the other fellows was limited. His mood shifted from dayto-day: some nights he was sad and isolated himself, but on other occasions he took an active part in the social life at the DAI as well as at the French School. Kjellberg joined the German choir during December and practiced Silent Night with Eugen Pridik442, Ernst Ziller443 and Wilhelm Dörpfeld at Philadelphia.444 He regularly met up with Sam Wide to have a drink. He also befriended Johannes Böhlau, with whom he would later excavate in Turkey, during December of 1894.445 There were occasions when Sam Wide seemed to be genuinely concerned about and supportive of Kjellberg. The two spent Christmas Eve alone together, despite having been invited to join both Dörpfeld and Wolters. Kjellberg was not feeling well and wrote in his diary: ‘Bad Christmas weather, miserable atmosphere. […] The singing did not go well [he performed with the German choir in a church in Athens, my comm.], my throat was coarse, the service was bad. Then I had to run home to get my visiting cards to give to Hartwig for the two flower baskets. I returned too late, my name ‘6. Dec. 1894. Vackert väder på morgonen, gick till institutet på morgonen, gjorde upp med Müntje om resa till Poros. Senare på middagen molndigert, inställde resan. Hufvudvärk. Promenad. Dumma tankar. Tänkte gå till Wolters, blef ej af till följd af hufvudvärken. Började mitt bref no. 13 till Anna. Hemtade fotografier hos Merlin. Drack en half butelj Solon för att fira Nisse.’, Kjellberg’s Athenian diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. ‘Nisse’ refers to Kjellberg’s brother Nils who celebrated his name day on December 6. 442 Eugen Pridik (1865-1935) was born in Reval (present-day Tallin in Estonia) and belonged to a German speaking minority in the Baltic States. He had studied Classical Archaeology in Berlin at the same time as Kjellberg and spent time in Athens during the same period as the excavations at Kalaureia, see ‘Pridik, Eugen’ in Deutschbaltisches 1970. 443 Ernst Ziller (1837-1923) was an architect of German origin who relocated to Greece. He was involved in the design of many of the neo-classical buildings that exist in the Athenian city-scape, including the Presidential Palace, the National Archaeological Museum, and Heinrich Schliemann’s house, see Kardamitsi-Adami 2006. 444 Kjellberg’s Athenian diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 445 Kjellberg’s Athenian diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 441 151 was already written on two regular cards. Wide went to Wolters’ until 7, at 7.20 we had dinner, Böhlau was invited to Wolters’ for dinner and then to Dörpfeld, as was Wide, who did not go to either place. After food, Wide came to me. I had lit two candelabras with ten candles and had bought some flowers, so it looked pretty festive. We opened the Christmas presents.’ 446 His periods of depression and homesickness were a hindrance to his ability to actively network while in Athens, networking being an integral part of archaeological entrepreneurship. Sam Wide on the other hand, made sure that he was present at all times. While Wide at times took pity on Kjellberg, it seems as though he wished to keep Kjellberg’s role in the excavation at Kalaureia to a minimum. Kjellberg is not mentioned in Wide’s letter to Alfred Westholm from April of 1894, when they first visited Kalaureia. Kjellberg is not listed among those present in the ‘council of war’ which decided that the sanctuary would make a suitable location for a Swedish excavation. On December 19, Wide gave a lecture on the excavations at Kalaureia at the DAI. Wilhelm Dörpfeld had personally asked him to deliver the talk: ‘A couple of days ago, Professor Dörpfeld came to see me and asked me if I could give a lecture on the excavations at Kalaureia at the Institute’s gathering on Wednesday, the day after tomorrow. After several protests, I let myself be convinced to do it.’447 Lennart Kjellberg was present in Athens at the time but he was not asked to contribute. He did, however, attend the lecture. 448 As I will demonstrate in coming chapters, Kjellberg actually took more responsibility for the excavation at Kalaureia than Wide did, practically running the excavations together with Pankalos for the majority of the first half of the excavation season. However, Wide was credited in the eyes of the DAI as being the leader of the excavation. By not including Kjellberg in the network, and by down-playing Kjellberg’s significance in the scientific work, Sam Wide attested himself as the driving force behind the excavation in the eyes of the DAI. ‘Dåligt julväder, miserabel stämning. […] Sången gick dåligt, jag var hes, andakten dålig. Sedan måste jag springa hem för att hemta visitkort för att lemna Hartwig för de båda blomsterkorgarne. Kom för sent. Mitt namn var redan skrifvet på tvenne vanliga kort. Wide var hos Wolters till kl. 7, kl.- ½ 8 åto vi, Böhlau var bjuden till Wolters på mat och sedan till Dörpfelds, liksom Wide, som icke gick på någotdera stället. Efter maten kom Wide till mig. Jag hade låtit tända två kandelabrar med tio ljus och låtit köpa några blommor, så att det såg rätt festligt ut. Julklapparne öppnades.’, Kjellberg’s Athenian diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 447 ‘För några dagar sedan kom Professor Dörpfeld till mig och bad mig hålla ett föredrag om utgräfningarna på Kalaureia i Institutets sammankomst om onsdag, öfvermorgon. Efter åtskilliga protester, lät jag öfvertala mig därtill.’, Wide to his parents, 17 December 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 448 Kjellberg’s Athenian diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box:703, UUB. 446 152 Closing academic doors Returning to Kjellberg’s letter to Johannes Paulson from the beginning of the last chapter, Sam Wide did succeed in realizing his plans for a Professorial chair in classical archaeology. He became the first Professor of the subject in Uppsala in 1909 and his disciple Martin P:son Nilsson became the first Professor in Lund. Both appointments were made without an external application process. Lennart Kjellberg, who was the only other person who could compete with Nilsson, did not appeal the appointment.449 Both men were Assistant Professors and had excavated in the Mediterranean, Kjellberg together with Johannes Böhlau at Larisa in Turkey in 1902 and Nilsson with a Danish expedition at Lindos in 1903. Importantly, the Larisa excavation followed an unsuccessful attempt by Wide to excavate again in Greece. In April of 1901, while on his second study journey in Athens, he wrote to Oscar Montelius that ‘Kjellberg has been promised the rights to excavate at Larisa at Hermos, but the entire excavation is in the name of the German Böhlau. I myself was planning to excavate an old pre-historic tumulus on Salamis, but was by-passed by the Austrian Institute that had decided on this excavation already at the end of last year. I was pretty devastated by this and I was not myself for 8 days, but I am now cheerful again.’450 If Kjellberg had been successful at Larisa, it would have put him on a more equal footing with Wide. In response to this possibility, the smear campaign which Kjellberg describes in his letter to Paulson provided a way for Wide to assert his authority of classical archaeology in Sweden, and make sure that his plans for a Professorial chair for himself and his disciple were realized. In August 1909, Kjellberg was contacted by the Faculty of Philosophy in Lund through Professor Karl Zander451, and asked whether or not he would like to oppose the appointment of Martin P:son Nilsson. Kjellberg responded by praising the competence of Nilsson: ‘[I am] the first to acknowledge the merits of Assitant Professor Martin Nilsson as a scientific author in various areas of classical Altertumwissenschaft and philology, whereby I, for my part, have no objections to his appointment’, he wrote.452 All 449 See letter from Kjellberg to Karl Zander, 25 August 1909, renouncing to apply for the Professorship in Handlingar rörande tillsättandet af professuren 1909:2f. 450 ‘Kjellberg har fått löfte att gräva i Larisa vid Hermos, men hela utgrävningen går i tyskens Böhlaus namn. Själv tänkte jag gräva ut en gammal prehistorisk tumulus på Salamis, men blev förekommen av Österrikiska Institutet, som beslutat sig för denna utgrävning redan i slutet av förra året. Detta knäckte mig rätt duktigt och jag var mig ej lik i 8 dagar, men nu är jag munter igen.’, Wide to Montelius, 12 April 1901, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. 451 Karl Zander (1845-1923) was a Latin philologist and Professor at Lund University. See Zander, Karl Magnus’ in Nordisk familjebok 1922. 452 ‘Jag är den förste att erkänna docenten Martin Nilssons förtjänster såsom vetenskaplig författare på skilda områden af den klassiska fornkunskapen och filologien, hvarför jag för min del 153 the experts called to weigh in on the appointment of Nilsson brought up Kjellberg’s lack of objection and unanimously decided in favor of Nilsson. Why did Kjellberg not aspire to become Professor of classical archaeology in Lund? And why did he not take an active part in the debate for or against the conversion of the Professorships? The answer probably lay in his broken friendship with Sam Wide. Wide had been Nilsson’s teacher and mentor in Lund and the two shared common research interests; Greek religion and folklore. Kjellberg probably knew that Wide and Nilsson had an alliance and he did not wish to enter into a conflict with Wide, whom we have seen had a broad network and a strong hold in his position in Uppsala. Lennart Kjellberg remained an Assistant Professor between 1896 until 1913, during which time he worked at the Uppsala University Coin Cabinet and taught at the Department of Classical Languages at Uppsala. He strived to publish the finds from Turkish Larisa, but politics and bureaucracy complicated matters.453 In order to settle the affairs in Turkey, he applied for a scholarship from the Faculty of Philosophy in early 1913. Sam Wide was on the deciding committee and Kjellberg feared that Wide would be a hindrance. In a letter to Oscar Montelius from March 1913, Kjellberg asked for Montelius’s assistance: ‘I have already been up for suggestion a few times, but have fallen through because the most immediate expert, alias prof. Wide, has objected. At one point he declared to the Faculty, that he did not wish to support research which only resulted in applications for leave of absence (!). That was when I was in Germany awaiting the Sultan’s iradé.454 So much for friendship. In addition, the above stated is not by any means the worst utterance about me which he has made to the Faculty. I therefore wish to ask you, or Reinhold Geijer, to give me a short testimonial that my excavations have some value for the science of archaeology, as support for those fellows of the Faculty who want to vote for me, but who feel unable to do so against the votum of the expert fellow of the Faculty [i.e. Wide]. I am sorry for troubling you once again.’455 ingenting har att invända mot hans kallelse.’, Kjellberg to Carl Zander, 25 August 1909, in Handlingar rörande tillsättandet af professuren 1909:2f. 453 Kjellberg wrote several letters to Oscar Montelius which give a detailed account of the difficulties at Larisa, see Kjellberg to Montelius, Montelius’ archive, E1a:18, ATA. 454 An iradé is a written edict of a Muslim ruler. 455 ‘Jag har redan förut ett par gånger stått på förslag, men fallit igenom därför att den närmast sakkunnige, alias prof. Wide uppträdt däremot. En gång förklarade han i fakulteten, att han icke ville understödja forskningar, som endast resulterade i tjänstledighetsansökningar (!). Det var då jag låg i Tyskland och väntade på sultanens iradé. Sådana skola vännerna vara. Det anförda är för öfrigt ingalunda det värsta, som han i fakulteten om mig yttrat. Jag vill därför bedja Dig, att gifva mig eller Reinhold Geijer ett kortfattat intyg om att mina gräfningar äga något värde för vetenskapen till stöd för dem af fakultetens ledamöter som vilja rösta på mig, men icke anse sig kunna göra det emot fakultetens sakkunnige ledamots votum. Förlåt mig det besvär, som jag åter gör Dig.’, Kjellberg to Montelius, 24 March 1913, Montelius’ archive, Eia:18, ATA. Reinhold Geijer (1849-1922) was Professor of Philosophy at Uppsala University. 154 By belonging to the faculty, and as the only Professor of classical archaeology in Uppsala, Wide had power to determine the outcome of Kjellberg’s career and he used his position to exclude Kjellberg once again. A few months later, in May of 1913, Sam Wide and Oscar Montelius initiated a campaign to get Kjellberg appointed Professor. He had then been an Assistant Professor for 17 years, compared with Wide who became a Professor after only seven years. Kjellberg only became Professor after Wide, Martin P:son Nilsson and Montelius wrote a petition to the Department of Education requesting that Kjellberg would be honoured with the title of Professor. In the petition, they stressed that Kjellberg had ‘by small excavations on classical soil allowed Sweden to honourably partake in the intensive scientific labour, which is called ‘the science of the spade’.’456 Wide expressed hesitations against writing the petition and wrote to Montelius that ‘I have been very reluctant regarding this issue [writing the petition on behalf of Kjellberg’s Professorship], but personal circumstances, especially pressure from abroad (for example Wiegand and Hiller von Gaertingen457 in Berlin, Pridik in Petersburg) have prompted me to raise the issue now.’458 The petition passed and Kjellberg became a promoted Professor, which meant that he did not have a Professorial chair in Classical Archaeology (like Wide) but could still enjoy the title and the benefits of a Professor. After Wide’s death in 1918, he took over the chair in classical archaeology at Uppsala. Concluding remarks: Sam Wide’s politics of belonging In this chapter, I have shown that Sam Wide was exercising a politics of belonging, where he sought to establish himself as an archaeologist through shaping his identity to match those traits desirable within the community. He designated certain personal characteristics such as strength, decisiveness, discipline and adventurousness as crucial to being able to perform the role of the archaeologist. This identity was shaped by an intersection of male ‘Genom små grävningar på klassisk mark har han låtit Sverige med heder deltaga i det intensiva forskningsarbete, som benämnes ”spadens vetenskap”.’, Draft to petition to the Deaprtment of Education in Wide to Montelius, 14 May 1913, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. 457 Friedrich Hiller von Gaertringen (1864-1947) was a German nobleman and archaeologist who had worked on excavations in Greece and Asia Minor in the 1890s. He financed and excavated Thera in Greece in the mid 1890s, see ‘Hiller von Gaertringen, Friedrich Freiherr’ in Grummond 1996. 458 ‘Jag har varit mycket tveksam om detta, men personliga förhållanden, ej minst påtryckningar från utlandet (t.ex. Wiegand och Hiller von Gaertringen i Berlin, Pridik i Petersburg) ha förmått mig att redan nu väcka frågan på tal.’ Wide to Montelius, 14 May 1913, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. 456 155 gender and bourgeois class definitions of the late nineteenth century, but within those wide categories there were narrower intersections. The Othering strategies, which Wide employed to distinguish himself from Lennart Kjellberg, show that not all men found it easy to be included in the infrastructural networks of archaeology. Other intersections were at play here. Kjellberg’s outspoken depressions and his longing for his family chafed against the ideal picture of the archaeologist and made him susceptible to Wide’s strategy of exclusion. 156 Topographies of Greece φLadies and Gentlemen! The subject that I will treat today […] might at first glance seem rather remote and uninteresting to you. It deals with Greece and the new Greeks 459, a small people in the south-east corner of Europe, who have little contact with us northerners, who live amid domestic turmoil with bad finances, who overthrow ministers and, with the exception of certain weak political manifestations of power, live the listless life of the Oriental.’460 Sometime during the first years of the twentieth century, Sam Wide gave a talk with the title ‘Från det moderna Grekland’ (‘From modern Greece’) at an unknown venue in Sweden. The quote above is taken from the opening lines of Wide’s lecture. The talk drew on his experiences working and living in Greece in 1893-95. Since the audience was, according to Wide, more accustomed to Swedish topics, he emphasized at the beginning of his lecture that ‘[…] one learns better about one’s Swedish spirit through comparison with foreign conditions.’461 Lennart Kjellberg, like Wide, was also an ethnographer of Greek conditions. He published a series of articles in Swedish newspapers about his experiences in Greece during the last years of the 459 In Swedish ’nygrekerna’ lit. ‘the new Greeks’. Wide used this term to distinguish the presentday population of Greece from the population in antiquity. Interstingly, Wide often refers to the latter as simply ‘Greeks’, underlining the originality of the ‘older’ people of classical literature to the ‘newer’ population. The prefix ‘modern’ is still used to distinguish the current geopolitical space of Greece from the ‘Greece’ of antiquity, which paradoxically never existed as a geopolitical state as we understand the concept today. 460 ‘Mina Damer och Herrar! Det ämne, som jag i dag kommer att behandla, kan vid första påseende synas Eder tämligen fjärran liggande och mindre intressant. Det handlar om Grekland och nygrekerna, ett litet folk i sydöstra hörnet av Europa, som har föga beröring med oss nordbor, som lever i inre söndringar, med dåliga finanser, som störtar ministrar och med undantag av vissa svaga politiska kraftyttringar lever orientalens dådlösa liv.’, Wide, ‘Från det moderna Grekland’, unpublished lecture manuscript, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 461 ‘ […] man bäst lär känna sitt svenska väsen genom jämförelse med utländska förhållanden.’ Wide,’ Från det moderna Grekland’, unpublished lecture manuscript, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 157 nineteenth century.462 Wide and Kjellberg were by no means alone in such endeavours: they followed a tradition of scholars, artists and authors who not only studied the remains of antiquity but also the modern situation in Greece, and published popular travel accounts intended for an educated European or American audience.463 These were written from particular perspectives, and the author would emphasize his or her own agendas, but would also follow certain trends in how to view, appropriate and manipulate the idea of Greece. In addition, the archaeologist could not escape his own contemporaneity; this was as true in the nineteenth century as it is today. In order to uncover the Greek past, archaeologists inevitably have to confront the present. The Swedish classicist Johan Bergman, an acquaintance of Wide and Kjellberg, contemplated this matter in 1896 in the foreword to his travel memoires from Italy and Greece: ‘These contemporary lovers of antiquity can trap the activity of their being in past times and drink from the river of Lethe 464 until they forget the age in which they live just as little as it is possible for a passionate swimmer to forget dry land, attain gills and transform into a fish.’465 In this chapter, I will analyse how Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg related to Greece and to Greeks through their representations of their experiences in 1893-95. I this chapter, I have chosen to focus primarily on their public representations of Greece through, for example, newspaper articles and public lectures and articles. What aspects of modern Greek life are represented? How did they relate to antiquity in relation to the modern condition? Wide and Kjellberg were foreigners in Greece, and so I will also contextualize their practices into a discourse of Greek appropriation of the classical past and views on foreign archaeologists during the late nineteenth century. Kjellberg, ‘Reseminnen från Grekland. En resa genom norra Peloponnesos’ in four parts in Svenska Dagbladet, 18 December 1896; 4 Januari 1897; 12 january 1897 and 15 January 1897. Also Kjellberg, ’Reseminnen från Grekland’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 25 July 1896. 463For Swedish examples, see for example Bremer 1863; Centerwall 1888; Bergman 1896. For discussions on cultural travel to Greece, see for example Angelomatis-Tsougarakis 1990; Eisner 1991; Constantine 2011; Dora 2012, and Mahn 2012. 464 Lethe was the goddess of ignorance and forgetfulness in Greek mythology. She was associated with an underground river by the same name from which the dead could drink to forget their past lives. 465 ‘Dessa forntidskära nutidsmänniskor kunna lika litet fastna med sitt väsens aktivitet i den förgångna tiden och ur Letes flod dricka glömska af sin samtid, som det är möjligt för en passionerad simmare att glömma det torra land, antaga gälar och förvandla sig till en fisk.’, Bergman 1896:2. 462 158 Creating topographies During the nineteenth century, Greece became what Mary Louise Pratt has called a ‘contact zone’,466 where people who perceived themselves as culturally different from each other judged the present as well as the past through observing and consuming ‘Greek’ experiences. Previous generations of cultural tourists had limited their ‘Grand Tours’ to Italy; however, the Greek War of Independence from the Ottoman Empire during the 1820s and the subsequent establishment of a Greek nation state, declared in 1821 and recognized in 1830, opened Greece to a flood of European visitors. It also led to a native national awakening. The incentive for travelling to Greece was the Hellenism of the Romantic movement which saw classical Greece as the aesthetic and spiritual home of European values, and classical bildung as a pre-requisite for personal growth.467 These values that spoke to the exceptionality of Greece also became one of the strongest incentives for the creation and imagination of the new state.468 The war itself had attracted a number of European men to fight for the Greek cause and a wave of philhellenism, a love of all things Greek, swept the educated upper-classes.469 The motivation for nineteenth century philhellenism was predicated on the idea that Greece needed to be rescued from the perceived barbarism and tyranny of the Oriental and Muslim (i.e. non-Western) Ottoman Empire, and brought back into the common ‘home’ of Europe. The geographical space of modern Greece, the extent of which fluctuated during the course of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, became constructed as Hellas, which was the ancient Greek term for the lands inhabited by people who perceived themselves as Greek. Like other nationalistic movements following the Napoleonic war, Greek statesmen constructed the nation based on a notion of continuity between the ancient and the present inhabitants, placing a strong emphasis on the national value of the monuments and artefacts of antiquity scattered across the landscape.470 Pratt 1992:4. See for example Stoneman 1987 and Güthenke 2008 & Harloe 2013 for discussions on aestethics, antiquities and early modern appropriations of Greece. For discussions on the discourse of Greece as a cradle of Europe, see Bernal 1987; Carabott 1995 and Haagsma et al. 2003. The idea of Greece as a European heritage is still foundational for much research, see for example Haarmann 2014. 468 See for example Hamilakis 2007; Koundoura 2012; Zervas 2012. 469 A number of works have been written on the Greek War of Independence and European philhellenism, see for example Pakkanen 2006 with references. 470 Holden 1972; Hamilakis 2007; Loukaki 2008 and Plantzos & Damaskos 2008. The Acropolis was especially venetrated as a symbol of the nation state, see for example Yalouri 2001 and Beard 2002. 466 467 159 With this short background in mind, Greece became, as expressed by Yannis Hamilakis, a topos471 in Western imagination during the nineteenth century, both as an idea and as an actual physical space, created and regenerated by both foreigners and Greeks.472 The topographies, i.e. the narratives and images produced in relation to the topos of Greece were influenced by the perceived exceptionality of the Greek past as providing a foundation for Western values, art and politics, as well as by the encounter with the geography and demography of the modern nation state. Artemis Leontis discusses the interconnectivity between the physical space and the mental construction of Hellas in the creation of Greek topographies where ‘[t]he logos of Hellenism may seize the topos of Hellas through literary citation or archaeological excavation; but it can never entirely claim Hellas. At the same time, the topos of Hellas, the place cited as historically belonging to Hellenes, sets limits on the ways the logos of Hellenism can develop.’473 Following Leontis, I see the topographies of Greece, as represented by Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg, as constructed through an interplay of the idea of Greece created by Hellenism and the encounter with the actual physical space through being in situ as travellers and archaeologists. In order to locate the construction of Greek topographies that are present in Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg’s accounts, I have chosen to use the concept of the gaze. Here, ‘gaze’ is articulated following Urry and Larsen’s definition as ‘a performance that orders, shapes and classifies, rather than reflects the world’474 through the act of looking-as-valorization. Within the gaze certain things are seen and others are not; the practice of gazing is thus both inclusive and exclusive. Archaeological visions or gazes have been studied from various perspectives, including the way in which archaeologists visualize the past during fieldwork and survey,475 and the mutual gaze between visitors and archaeologists on site.476 In the case of Greece, several scholars have used the concept of the ‘gaze’ to analyse travellers’ conceptions of Greece.477 As argued by Gabriel Moshenska, the archaeological gaze (as well as all other forms of gaze) cannot be understood without acknowledging ‘its substance as an agent-centred act of looking, The word topos in ancient Greek defined a physical place worthy of description. Today’s usage of topos in words like ‘utopia’ and ‘dystopia’ indicates a more ephemeral relation to physical space. Artemis Leontis argues that this dual meaning of the word topos highlights ‘the reciprocal interdependence of literature and place’ where the topos is constructed both as an idea or a ‘citation’ and as a geographical space, see Leontis 1995:18. Swedish scholars are currently investigating the creation of Swedish-Roman topographies through history, see Blennow 2015; Blennow, Fogelberg Rota & Whitling 2015. 472 Hamilakis 2007:58. 473 Leontis 1995:24. 474 Urry & Larsen 2011:2. 475 See for example Smiles & Moser 2005; Lucas 2001. 476 See for example Moshenska 2013 for a historization of the archaeological gaze and the public. 477 See for example Kaplan 2010 and Mahn 2014. 471 160 laden with questions of power, authority and gender, and located in a spatial and temporal context.’478 In the previous chapter on archaeological selfimages, I discussed the intersections of social categories (focused on class and gender) in the creation of the archaeologist as a subject. The same archaeologists constitute the bodies of the gazing subjects in this chapter (Wide and Kjellberg), thus producing particular situated gazes on Greece. In addition, the spatial context (Greece) and the temporal context (the late nineteenth century) also produced particular ways of seeing in the creation of topographies. In this chapter, I will distinguish between three different types of gaze. These are by no means to be seen as bound entities, but rather as flexible and fluid ways of seeing, which have been brought into categories for the purpose of this text.479 The first is the ‘colonial gaze’ which relates to Sam Wide’s and Lennart Kjellberg’s view on the nature of foreign archaeological projects in Greece and the discourses around the appropriation of classical cultural heritage in the late nineteenth century. The second is an ‘ethnographic gaze’ which relates to, in particular Wide’s, interest in folklore and the perceptions of similarities and differences in ‘past’ and ‘present’ cultural expressions in Greece. The third gaze, which I have termed the ‘escapist gaze’, relates to the perception of the Greek landscape and experiences as a personal escape both physically and mentally. Greece in Sweden The gaze is dependent on a pre-understanding of that which is being gazed at. Considering the dual meanings of the concept of topography, Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg had already been to Greece long before they actually set foot in the country.480 Greece existed as a topos in their imagination, as a citation existing outside the national border of the Greek state.481 Wide and Kjellberg carried with them images of Greece and of the Greek past, images produced by their upbringing and schooling in Sweden. Knowledge of classical mythology and literature were class-markers and signs of a welleducated individual in late nineteenth century Swedish society (as elsewhere in Western Europe). In all aspects of civic society, classical references and Moshenska 2013:212. Other distinctions between different gazes within nineteenth-century archaeological practice have been constructed by Leslie Kaplan who seperates between an imperial gaze, a literary gaze, and an archaeological gaze, see Kaplan 2010. 480 The inspiration for the idea of a pre-existing topography in the minds of travellers comes from the unpublished ethnographic work of Yannis Hamilakis and Aris Anagnostopoulos as part of the Kalaureia Research Program. 481 Leontis 1995. 478 479 161 citations were abundant.482 During the early and mid-nineteenth century, neo-humanism was imported from Germany, with its focus on Greek and Roman antiquity as inspiration for a harmonious personal growth.483 This import heavily influenced the Swedish educational system, where Latin and Greek (with a heavier focus on Latin) were taught from an early age. Classical antiquity was taught at school alongside the history of the Swedish nation. In art and literature, neo-classical topics and motives became popular during the late eighteenth century and cityscapes were adorned with references to Greek temples. The National Museum in Stockholm had a collection of Greek vases on display and the Royal Museum displayed a number of classical sculptures purchased by King Gustaf III in Italy in the 1780s.484 The private sphere was also inspired by ancient Greece and Rome. In upper- and middle-class homes around the country, furniture and interior design often displayed classical features.485 Magazines and newspapers published articles on ancient Greek and Roman matters. Ord och Bild (founded in 1892) with a large number of subscribers and where Sam Wide published frequently, devoted large sections to articles on classical antiquity, from travel accounts of visits to the Mediterranean (which often contained descriptions of archaeological monuments) to analyses of classical sculptures and architecture. The first edition, published in 1870, of Illustrerad Teknisk Tidning, a paper that mediated new innovations and news about technology to the public, dedicated its cover page to a collection of Greek pottery as an exemple of how fine art could be combined with functionality. 486 Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg encountered and created images of Greece during their education at Uppsala University, but a clue as to where this interest first originated may be found in the Greek topographies created by their fathers. Lennart Kjellberg’s father, Gustaf Kjellberg was Professor of psychiatry specializing in the study of mental illness in children, and he drew inspiration in his work from classical antiquity. On September 16, 1876, Gustaf Kjellberg gave a talk at Uppsala Medical Association with the title ‘Om ungdomens fysiska uppfostran förr och nu’ (‘On the past and present physical upbringing of the youth’), in which he emphasized the lessons which could be learnt from classical Greek literature.487 Gustaf Kjellberg had an idealized vision of classical Greece as the pinnacle of human evoluSee Tengström 2013 with references for an overview of the influence of classical antiquity on Swedish society from 1780-1850. 483 Nilehn 1975:46. 484 Leander Touati & Flemberg 2013. 485 See Groth 2000 and Nisser Dalman 2006 for examples of Swedish interior designs inspired by classical Greece and Rome from the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. 486 Dietrichson 1870. In English ‘Illustrated Technical Magazine’. It mediated new inventions and news on technology and engineering to the public. 487 The talk was later published, see Kjellberg 1876. 482 162 tion, where the ancient Greeks had ‘such an incomparable advantage over contemporary peoples […] [because they] understood how to care for the development of the youths, and knew better how to follow the unchangeable laws of nature during their upbringing.’488 Gustaf Kjellberg probably followed his own advice when raising his own children. Lennart Kjellberg must have grown up in a household where classical Greece was present in conversations and moral teachings, at least from his father side. Carl Fredrik Pettersson (Wide’s father) had studied classical languages as part of the curriculum when he studied to become a priest. He did not specifically deal with Greek antiquity in any of his publications. However, in 1871 he published a geography for the public schools in which a short introduction to modern Greece is supplied. Greece is described as a rocky and barren land, occupied by poor inhabitants who lack the commodities and ways of civilized life.489 In these representations, we find the two archetypical nineteenth-century versions of Greece: as a revered moral example of ancient glory and as a shocking example of modern deprivation. As I have shown, Greece existed as a topos in nineteenth century Sweden, and Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg would have seen the aesthetics and moral teachings of antiquity as part of their world during their upbringing. Stathis Gourgouris suggests, when analysing Sigmund Freud’s relationship with Greece and the Classics that ‘[a]s a nineteenth-century Germanic subject, a long-term object of Bildung, Freud learns to fantasize from early on about the Hellenic world, indeed to desire to know it, to see it. And as object of desire instituted on a cultural scale, the Hellenic becomes a primary signifier organizing the ensemble of those other significations that constitute one’s social place (notions of nationality, history, culture, knowledge etc.).’490 ‘[…] ett så ojemförligt försprång framför alla samtida folk [...] [för] att man i Grekland bättre än annorstädes förstod att taga vård om ungdomens utveckling, och att man vid dess uppfostran bättre visste att följa naturens oföränderliga lagar.’, Kjellberg 1876:7-8. Twenty pages are devoted to various child rearing strategies in classical literature, including the role of the father as head of the household, the importance of sports activities, moral teachings, the beaux arts, and weaponry. For Gustaf Kjellberg, the strength of a nation could only be secured from the fostering of children into ideal citizens, often through physical exercises. These ideas were not new and had flourished in Europe since the late eighteenth century inspired by philosophers such as JeanJacques Rousseau. For discussions on antiquity as an inspiration for the fostering of citizens in Sweden in the nineteenth century, see Tengström 2013:163 ff. and Sandblad 1985. 489 Pettersson 1871:76-77. Carl Fredrik Pettersson donated a heafty sum to Uppsala University for the purchases of books on classical archaeology and philology after his death in 1912. 490 Gourgouris 1996:127. 488 163 ‘May young Swedish philologists bring their help to the sailors at Piraei harbour’ – the colonial gaze Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg saw the Greek archaeological landscape as an object to be conquered, fought over and subdued by Westerners. As I mentioned in the previous chapter, the excavation at Kalaureia was represented in the Swedish press by Sam Wide as a national Swedish project aimed at competing with other nations in unearthing the past on Greek soil. The fact that Wide and Kjellberg decided to excavate in Greece before choosing where to excavate is an outcome of such a colonial gaze. The most important factor was not in which location to excavate but that the archaeologists showed that ‘Sweden can and wants to contribute its little piece to the exploration of the remains of classical antiquity’, as Sam Wide wrote in an article in a Swedish newspaper in December 1894.491 Seven years later, in 1901, Wide made plans to excavate once again in Greece, but found that the colonial competition between the Western nations in Greek archaeology made his plans difficult to realize. He wrote a candid letter to Oscar Montelius from Athens, which is worth quoting at length: ‘Already in Rome, I was made aware of the fact that Crete was archaeologically divided between the ‘protecting powers’ and that not even Germany had been allowed to partake in the division. There was then no chance for me. This time around I have noticed in particular in relation to certain conditions in Turkey, how big politics and archaeology go hand in hand with each other. The Danish have for two years been negotiating on behalf of the Carlsberg Foundation with the purpose of excavating Cyrene. A superpower stood behind the scenes and hindered the realization of this beautiful plan. 492 491 ‘Vi hafva endast velat visa, att Sverige vill och kan bidraga med sin skärf till utforskandet af den klassiska forntidens minnesmärken.’, Wide, ‘De svenska arkeologiska undersökningarna på Kalaureia’ in Post-och Inrikes Tidningar, 22 December 1894. 492 ‘Redan i Rom fick jag veta, att Kreta var arkeologiskt deladt mellan ”skyddsmakterna” och att inte ens Tyskland fått vara med om delningen. Det var då inga utsikter för mig. Jag har denna gången märkt särskildt på vissa förhållanden i Turkiet, huru storpolitik och arkeologi gå hand i hand med hvarandra. Danskarna har i 2 år bedrivit underhandlingar i syfte att för Carlsbergsfondens räkning gräva ut Kyrene. En stormakt stod bakom och hindrade utförandet av denna vackra plan.’, Wide to Montelius, 12 April 1901, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. Wide was referring to the separation of Crete from the Ottoman Empire in 1897, when Crete became a protectorate ruled by Great Britain, France, Italy and Russia. The Greek Prince George became the High Commissioner. In a newspaper article on the Cretan situation from September 1901, Wide commented on the opportunities for archaeological work created by the political stability on Crete. He was not as candid in his dissatisfaction over the exclusion of Germans (and himself) as in the letter to Oscar Montelius, but he comments that the archaeological work on the island had mostly been conducted by the English, the Americans and the Italians, see Wide ‘Från Kreta’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 8 September 1901. Cyrene is a site in northern Libya near present day Shahhat, founded by Greek settlers from Thera, and it remained an important city throughout the Roman period. The superpower mentioned by Wide in this letter was the United States of America which 164 The colonial archaeological race in Greece, as detailed in this quote, is described using similar rhetoric as the war-like analogies of academic battles and field surveys which I discuss in the previous chapter. Here, the scale has shifted from an individual feeling of conquering the land to a high-level diplomatic game where the excavation sites in Greece reflect the status of whole nations. I have linked this rhetoric to the self-image of the ideal archaeologist-as-soldier in the politics of belonging and group identity formations in the previous chapter. But the field missions should also be seen as analogous to other colonial mapping missions. Greece became divided between the same nations that were present in the colonial division of other areas in the world. The Berlin Conference of 1884-85, where the colonization of Africa was formalized and Africa became officially divided between competing European nation states, had taken place ten years before Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg arrived in Greece.493 A Greek topography was created during the nineteenth century which divided Greece into archaeological zones run by the foreign schools under the supervision of the Greek state. Although the Greek government consented to the establishment of schools, there was fear of and resistance against foreign engagement in Greek archaeology. As noted in Georges Radet’s early history of the French School at Athens, one Greek newspaper from the 1840s reacted against the school and expressed fear that Greece would loose its independence and risked becoming another French colony.494 In 1894, the Greek newspaper Efimeris commented on the engagements of foreign archaeologists in Greece, which is worth quoting at length: ‘The trophies of foreign archaeologists in Greece do not let foreign nations sleep. After the French, the English, the Germans and the Americans, it is the turn of the Austrians. They are handing in proposals for the founding of an archaeological school here. Before the Austrians we think that the Swedes also formatted a similar proposal. The classic land of Greece is nowadays, and in general, recognised as an inexhaustible mine of masterpieces of the past and a perpetual source of archaeological study. […] Foreign nations regard as the highest form of honor their participation in the […] examination of the ancient world. And up to now, we must admit, foreigners have worked harder to bring to the fore these antiquities than natives, their rightful heirs. But foreigners are advanced in civilisation, while the young state of Greece, swept by various cold had made plans to excavate at Cyrene already in the 1880s. The first American campaign at Cyrene was not until 1910 when Richard Norton of the Archaeological Institute of America (AIA) conducted a two year excavation on the site, see Norton et al. 1911. See Carabott 2006 for an analysis of the colonial conditions of Minoan archaeology on Crete. Also Mazower 2008:35. 493 See Crowe 1942 and Hardt & Negri 2000 for details on the Berlin Conference and its consequences. 494 Radet 1901:62. Also in Loukaki 2008:153. 165 winds, has not managed to be promoted into it yet [i.e. civilisation]. It would be desirable if we showed […] as much interest as foreign nations do in the development of archaeology.’495 The foreign schools competed with each other, but they also collaborated to a certain extent by allowing students from other schools to take part in excursions and lectures. The director or member of one school could become an honorary member of another school.496 Lennart Kjellberg wrote about his friendship with French archaeologists in a newspaper article from 1896.497 Two examples of foreign excavations during the late nineteenth century are the German excavations at Olympia and the French excavation at Delphi. The German excavations at Olympia were made possible through a successful lobbying campaign in the 1860s by Ernst Curtius and the Prussian Crown Prince Friedrich Wilhelm to gain state funding, where Germany’s cultural debt to classical Greece was emphasized. The unstable political situation in the Balkans and the threat of a war with the Ottoman Empire in 1868 made the Greek King George I and the Greek government more positive towards a German archaeological campaign since the newly united Germany would make an important ally.498 The French excavations at Delphi during the 1890s were preceded by a competition between France, the United States and the Archaeological Society at Athens for excavation permits. France won the battle after threatening to increase taxation on currents, a major export product at the time.499 But the Swedish government did not, according to Sam Wide, realize the importance of conducting excavations on classical soil and joining the prestigious race for a space in Greece. Gaining the sufficient funds in Sweden for an excavation at Thera (which Wide had considered in 1901) would only have been possible ‘if I had done something truly crazy, like wanted to dance the cancan naked over Norrbro [a bridge in central Stockholm] or if I wanted to go off in a balloon to search for Noah’s arch on Mount Ararat. But if I wish to conduct a methodical investigation of an old Pompeii from the third millennium BC, then I cannot count to support from home’, Wide wrote to Oscar Montelius.500 495 [unsigned], [untitled] in Efimeris, 9 June 1894. Original in Greek, transl. by Aris Anagnostopoulos. 496 For examples of collaborations from the American School of Classical Studies at Athens during the late nineteenth century, see Lord 1947:79ff. 497 Kjellberg, ‘Reseminnen från Grekland’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 25 July 1896. 498 See Marchand 1997 for a detailed analysis of the political game behind the Olympia excavations. 499 École française d'Athènes 1992; Hamilakis 2007:110, and Loukaki 2008:153. The political play behind the Delphi excavations was also treated by the Adolf Michaelis already in 1908, see Michaelis 1908:147f. 500 ‘ […] om jag hade någon verklig galenskap för mig eller till exempel ville dansa cancan naken över Norrbro eller ville fara i ballong för att söka Noacks ark på Ararat. Men om jag vill ha en 166 Wide and Kjellberg thus had to rely on German political capital in Greece in order to excavate at Kalaureia in 1894, since Sweden did not have an institute in Athens, and showed no interest in funding archaeology in Greece at the government level. The expansionist tendencies of ‘fit’ nation states, in the present and in the recent past, had parallels in Greek antiquity, according to Sam Wide. In 1917, shortly before his death, he published a paper called ‘Hellenisk utvandring i forntid och nutid’ [‘Hellenic emigration in antiquity and in the present’] in which he drew analogies between the colonization strategies of Greek city states in the seventh and sixth centuries BC and historical examples of colonial empires. ‘When one studies the Greek colonization in Antiquity’, he wrote, ‘one notices an intense competition between the different states to secure and occupy favourable locations and stretches of land, exactly as during the colonial expansion of the modern peoples during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and in our day in the mutual competition between the great powers to acquire areas for trade or to occupy suitable locations for colonies.’501 Greek colonialism in Antiquity was interpreted, in Wide’s account, as a force bringing about positive change and civilization: ‘[t]his Hellenic colonization was one large brewing period of discovery […] which brought expanding horizons and a flow of wealth, to no lesser extent than that which the discovery of America brought to Europe at the end of the Middle Ages.’502 The establishment of Greek colonies in Asia Minor was, according to Wide, ‘the soil for the sprouting natural science, natural philosophy, geography and historical science there.’503 Through trade connections with ‘the old cultural kingdoms of the Orient’, the colonies in Asia Minor had gained an advantageous spiritual cultivation which provided an even better growing ground for those advances towards what would become the foundation for Western culture.504 Modern colonial behaviour, metodisk undersökning av ett gammalt Pompeji från 3dje årtusendet f.Kr., då har jag hemma inga utsikter till understöd.’, Wide to Montelius, 12 April 1901, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. Wide wrote in the same letter that he had been offered a site on Thera by the German archaeologist Robert Zahn who had abandoned the idea of excavating there after having excepted a position at the Berlin Collection of Antiquities (Antikensammlung Berlin). 501 ‘När man studerar den forngrekiska kolonisationen, märker man under denna en intensiv inbördes tävlan mellan de olika staterna att belägga och besätta goda platser och landsträckor, alldeles som de moderna folkens koloniala expansion under 1500- och 1600-talen och i våra dagar under stormakternas inbördes tävlan att skaffa sig ökade handelsområden eller att belägga lämpliga platser för kolonisationer.’, Wide 1917:16. 502 ‘Denna helleniska kolonisation var en enda jäsande upptäcktsperiod, som för de dåvarande grekiska staterna medförde ej mindre vidgade vyer och tillströmmande rikedom, än Amerikas upptäckt skänkte åt Europa vid medeltidens slut.’, Wide 1917:18 503 ‘ [...] jordmånen för den därstädes uppspirande naturforskningen, naturfilosofien, geografien och historieforskningen.’, Wide 1917:18 504 ‘ […] handelsförbindelser med Orientens gamla kulturriken och därigenom fått ett betydligt försprång i andlig odling [...].’ Wide 1917:18. 167 in this perspective, is thereby naturalized as part of a historically reoccurring phenomenon. The Orient is only represented as having a positive influence on Greek colonies in the distant past. The colonial practices of non-Western empires in more recent history, such as the Ottoman Empire, are omitted in Wide’s framing, as is an understanding of expansionism in the Middle Ages, thus creating a linear reading of colonialism from classical antiquity to the pre-modern state and imperialism as a positive and normative behaviour in modern Western culture.505 The Greek national awakening meant that the Greek state, to an increasing extent, had begun to protect and nationalize archaeological sites. Permission to excavate had to be sought not only from the state authorities but also from the landowners, who at times put up some resistance. Lennart Kjellberg wrote in Svenska Dagbladet about an excursion to Titane506 in 1894, where he and Wide had plans to excavate after Kalaureia. Negotiations to expropriate the land failed because ‘the filthy and greasy priest on site, o papas, who seemed very concerned for the well-being of his flock, did everything in his power to combat us.’ The priest seemed to have been aware of, and anxious about, the disruptive potential of archaeology; ‘[h]e also seemed to have apprehensions for an old, decayed Christian chapel which was located up there, and whose peace we may, in a sacrilegious manner, disrupt.’507 Returning to the example of the French excavation at Delphi, which is contemporary to the Kalaureia excavation, Sam Wide very much admired the French determination in gaining access to Delphi after having purchased the overlaying village of Kastri and relocating the inhabitants to a new town away from the archaeological site.508 The local people put up resistance: they ‘rioted and seized the tools of the strangers’, according to This Eurocentrism present in direct analogies between ancient Greece and modern phenomena is discussed by Michael Herzfeld as an factor in historiographies of modern anthropology as well as in archaeology, see Herzfeld 2002:915. 506 The ancient Titane is located roughly 50 km south-west of Cornith. In antiquity, it housed a sanctuary to Asclepius. Titane was first documented by Ludwig Ross in the 1840s. In the late nineteenth century, it was located near the modern city of Voivonda, which has since changed its name to Titani. 507 ‘Den smutsige och flottige presten på platsen, o papas, som visade sig mycket mån om sin hjords bästa, gjorde allt hvad i hans makt för att motarbeta oss. Han tycktes äfven hysa farhågor för ett gammat, förfallet, kristet kapell, som låg der uppe, och vars frid vi skulle komma att på ett vanhelgande sätt störa.’ Kjellberg, ‘Reseminnen från Grekland. En resa genom norra Peloponnesos III’ in Svenska Dagbladet, in Svenska Dagbladet, 12 January 1897. 508 Wide, ‘En dag i Delphi’ in Post- och Inrikes Tidningar, 13 December 1893. France had paid a sum of 300,000 francs for the village. This extreme action was taken, according to Wide, because of the owners’ previous stance to demand ‘[…] an overly hefty sum for the right to excavate on the respective properties.’ [[...] en öfver höfvan stor ersättning för rättigheterna att gräfva på de repsektive tomterna.’]. 505 168 Adolf Michaelis in 1908.509 Michaelis also points out that the Greek state contributed to the expropriation of Kastri with 60,000 drachma,510 thus the resistance of local people against the archaeological excavation could also been seen as being directed against the Greek government. Through the removal of earth and the exposure and construction of archaeological remains, Kastri became Delphi - a revered site of the ancient oracle and the centre of the classical Greek world and a triumph for French classical archaeology. As discussed by Alexandra Alexandri, the renaming of villages and areas to acquire more classically sounding names in late nineteenthcentury Greece was more often than not a local initiative. The general idea behind it was to remove the traces of old ‘barbaric’ Slavic, Turkish or Frankish sounding names and to tie the communal topography closer to the national project of Hellenism.511 The resistance to foreign archaeology came not only from local representatives and inhabitants in the country side, but also from the Athenians. An example of a Greek gaze on the foreign archaeologists working in Athens, and Sam Wide in particular, comes from a newspaper article in Akropolis dated to 3 March 1894. A journalist with the pseudonym ‘Simia’ wrote about a lecture at the DAI, where Wide presented his research on the Iobacchi inscription. The article began by commenting on the setting: ‘[y]esterday saw the last annual session of the German Institute, full of such fertile and plentiful work, full of rich harvest for science. It was a long and laborious banquet, which ended in a goody of a really heavy and fat cuisine, with a lot of fat and completely devoid of spices and condiments…’512 After an initial presentation from Wilhelm Dörpfeld, the journalist noted how ‘like on a prey, on a carcass, camped and fell the hungry and predatory archaeologists [on the Iobacchi inscription]. A tragic sight indeed, this charge of antiquaries and epigraphists on the unfortunate small stone plaque. What eros and what hunger! What enthusiasm and what bulimia! Everybody wanted to grab a piece, a limb, even the skeleton, naked and gaunt.’513 It continued with an observation on Wide: ‘[t]he Swede, Mr. Wide proved to be the most formidable in this struggle, honouring his country, which bears such fresh, gymnastic and athletic men. His blooming and lissom poise does not contradict our Swedish articles… This is a man to be marvelled at. A Michaelis 1908:149. Michaelis 1908:148. 511 Alexandri 2002. As discussed by Dean MacCannell on place names and the tourism industry, there is danger in the ‘appropriation of the symbolic by those who succeed in making some names and stories sacred. Here is a source of temptation and danger for minor places. They can narrow themselves down to the distinctive qualities in the eyes of others; become places with simplified and frozen identities […]’, see MacCannell 2011:129. 512 ‘Simia’, ‘In the German school – Speeches on the inscription of the Iobacchus – Last session’, in Acropolis, 3 March 1894. Transl. by Aris Anagnostopoulos. Corresponds to 15 March in the new calendar. 513 Ibid. 509 510 169 girl with a moustache, ambling those cold lands…’514 The article is interesting in several respects. First, the journalist sets the scene by exoticizing the DAI as a foreign agent by commenting on the otherness of the food served. Next, the feeding frenzy continues with the juxtaposition of the banquet of real food with the consumption of antiquity in the shape of the Iobacchi inscription. The journalist seems to be mocking the absurdity in the fervor with which the foreign archaeologists rushed at interpreting the inscription. Thirdly, there is a sexual element here; the eros of the scholars and the nakedness of the inscription, which was given human body parts and portrayed as helpless against the assault. Wide was gazed at from a preconceived idea of Swedishness as associated with physical health and manliness, but was at the same time given female attributes, much in the same spirit as he himself commented on the Greeks. It is that ethnographic gaze which I will turn to next. ‘But my classical rapture cooled down slightly, when I came to Piraeus’ harbour’ – the ethnographic gaze A second situated type of gaze present in Sam Wide’s and Lennart Kjellberg’s accounts is that of an ethnographic gaze. It is closely intertwined with the colonial gaze and aimed at understanding the ethnos, the make-up and customs of the Greek people. Why was it so important to understand the Greeks? What was it in the encounter with Greece that prompted such an ethnographic gaze into existence? Let us return once again to Wide’s first encounter with the Greek mainland at the harbour in Piraeus in September 1893, which I discussed in the Introduction. As the steamship Galathea anchored off shore, Wide finished admiring the skyline of Athens in the distance, and after contemplating his bright scholarly future in Greece, he prepared to disembark. He wrote to Alfred Westholm a couple of days later: ‘But my classical rapture cooled down slightly when I came to Piraeus’ harbour. […] Dirty Greeks threw themselves on-board like hungry tigers in order to carry my things in a barque to the shore. During the competition to snatch my things, a fight broke out, so that the captain of the ship had to separate the rough lubbers by beating them several times with a thick iron rod. Finally, we went ashore, where my things underwent an exaggeratedly scrupulous customs examination, and despite not having anything to declare I still had to pay 2 francs. The skipper of the barque, who had spent no more than 2 minutes carrying me ashore, demanded 5 francs, but I gave 2, 50 francs and left with a horse carriage while he 514 Ibid. 170 and his colleagues cursed at me in a, for me, incomprehensible tongue. And so, I was off to Athens […].’515 The experience of a clash between the perceived enlightened and docile classical past and a dark and violent present is a reoccurring feature with travellers to Greece during the nineteenth century and it is connected to the pre-eminence of classical education. Travellers already had a certain topography of Greece in mind before setting foot in the country. When the reality of human misery and the political disorganization of the modern nation state hit the classically trained eye, it created a sense of frustration. In the words of Maria Koundoura: ‘[For the Philhellene] the desire for the ‘real’ Greece (one he constructs) brings about a ‘homecoming’ in which he figures as the modern-day Odysseus returning to Ithaca, only to find crass suitors surrounding his Penelope and occupying his home.’516 Arriving by sea just like Odysseus, Wide found that Penelope/Greece had been inundated by greedy and thievish people. The fear of Greek barbarism was not a fantasy or an illusion, not a literary trick, but a bodily physical experience which was interpreted and handled through a specific class-bound gaze on society. The fear of the masses, the uncontrolled and untamed collective, was a reoccurring theme in bourgeois minds. John Carey writes on the nineteenth century fear of the crowd that ‘[t]he crowd [had] taken possession of places which were created by civilization for the best people.’517 Greece was the ultimate place created by civilization, where the best of people (i.e. Western scholars) gathered to experience and consume. When writing about a boat ride from Poros to Aigina, Lennart Kjellberg represented the Greek lower classes as follows in the widely read Swedish newspaper Svenska Dagbladet: ‘In order to protect oneself and one’s property from these obtrusive beasts, it is almost necessary to appeal to the raw strength which is always respected by these semi-savages. A well-applied and with necessary force directed punch at the most critical moment when one’s packed lunch is pulled in three or four directions has 515 ‘Min klassiska hänförelse svalnade något, då jag kom i Piraei hamn. […] Smutsiga greker kastade sig som tigrar ombord för att föra mina saker i bark till stranden. Under täflan om att hugga mina saker uppstod slagsmål, så att skeppskaptenen måste skilja de råa bassarne åt genom att slå dem upprepade gånger med en grof järnstång. Ändtligen kommo vi i land, där mina saker undergingo en öfverdrifvet sorgfällig tullvisitation oaktadt jag ej hade något att förtulla, fick jag betala 2 francs för. Barkskepparen, som användt högst 2 minuter för att föra mig i land, fordrade 5 francs, men jag gaf 2,50 francs och afreste med droska undan han och hans kollegors förbannelser på ett för mig tämligen obegripligt tungomål. Och så bar det af till Athen […].’, Wide to Westholm, 23 September 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC: 549, UUB. 516 Koundoura 2012:252. 517 Carey 1992:3. 171 an exceptionally benevolent and calming effect on this hot-blooded and greedy species.’518 Lennart Kjellberg’s experience echoes what Stefan Jonsson calls the’ modernist primal scene’ where ‘[t]he solitary individual confronts a society of faceless masses threatening his sense of autonomy.’519 The masses were likened to an animal hoard: ‘tigers’ in the case of Wide (see above) and the less specific ‘beasts’ of Kjellberg’s account.520 The fear of the crowd, stemming from the political situation in Europe after the working-class uprisings during the second half of the nineteenth century, with the Paris Commune of 1871 as the prime example, created a fear of hyper-democracy in which the individual, such a central archetypical character in bourgeois thinking, would be erased.521 As demonstrated by Carey and Jonsson, this fear haunted intellectual debates and modernist literature around the time Wide and Kjellberg encountered Greece.522 The Swedish elite shared the fears of the working-class collective with their European counterparts. In his study of the violent uprisings in Stockholm during the early nineteenth century, Mats Berglund concludes that the contemporary debate frequently expressed concern over the frightening and threatening behaviour of the workingclasses.523 Birgit Petersson sees two primary views of the lower classes in nineteenth-century Sweden; one where the masses of poor people were seen as a separate and lower standing species who who were unable to survive without the firm hand of a leader, and one where the lower-classes were seen as ‘children of nature’, pure and simple people closer to the original state of being that the modern man.524 Both of these stereotypes exist in Wide’s and Kjellberg’s accounts. I will reconnect with the idea of the lowerclasses as ‘children of nature’ when I discuss Wide’s interest in folklore below. Gustave le Bon, a French social psychologist who combined racial theories and misogyny to propagate the superiority of the individual male at the expense of the collective in his study of mass psychology from 1896, charac‘För att värna sig och sin egendom för dessa närgångna bestar är det nästan nödvändigt att vädja till den råa styrkan, som alltid respekteras bland dessa halfvildar. En väl och med tillbörlig styrka applicerad Box i det kritiska ögonblicket, då man ser sin matsäck slitas åt en tre fyra håll, har en utomordentligt välgörande och lugnande verkan på detta hetlefrade och penninglystna slägte.’ Kjellberg, ‘Reseminnen från Grekland. En resa genom norra Peloponnesos I’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 18 December 1896. 519 Jonsson 2008:70. 520 Nietzche, for example, uses collective nouns such as herds of animals, flies, raindrops and weed to describe the crowd, see Carey 1992:24. 521 See Jonsson 2008:72f. 522 Carey 1992. Also Jonsson 2008. 523 Berglund 2009:104. 524 Petersson 1983:259. 518 172 terized the crowd as feminine, savage and child-like, only receptive to force.525 Echoes of Le Bon’s views can be found in Wide’s and Kjellberg’s way of wording their experiences in Greece. In 1887, LeBon feared that the rise of the Algerian resistance to French colonization would lead to the demise of western, i.e. classical, civilization. Resistance could only be subdued by forceful assimilation of the Other into the bourgeois version of Western civilization. ‘We must not forget’, he wrote ‘that the exact hour that definite decadence began in the Roman Empire was when Rome gave the rights of citizens to barbarians.’526 Classical Greece, and in extension its expression in Roman culture, was, in the view of Sam Wide, also associated with modern bourgeois values. The rise of the bourgeoisie in France after 1789 was likened to the political climate in sixth century Athens, which eventually led to the rise of a ‘democratic’ constitution.527 Wide wrote: ‘For it is that culture [the Athenian], that first discovered man as an individual, that has founded a real science without practical secondary purposes, that first proclaimed the freedom of the individual under the rule of law and that considered bourgeois equality to be identical with righteousness […]. 528 In the fluctuations of modernity, Wide emphasized Classics as the powerful force which would lead to a return to the core. ‘The modern bildung’, he wrote, ‘has already had to reconnect with Greek culture several times and will probably continue to do so, when it notices that it has strayed too far away from that which is truly human.’529 A deepened knowledge of Classics, through philological and archaeological engagements with Greece, would serve as a buffer against the threat of modernity and uphold the status quo of power relations through offering a historical model for ‘natural’ societal behaviour. The fear of the masses occupying Europe’s primordial homeland, which would lead to an extinction of the Greek individual (in the sense of Shelley’s famous line ‘We are all Greeks’530 meaning educated appreciative bourgeois men), meant that the crowd had to be explained and controlled. Their behaviour had to be rationalized and evaluated. ‘The modern Greek’, we read in Sam Wide’s lecture manuscript, ‘has seldom the energy and stamina reLe Bon 1896 in Carey 1992:26f. Bon 1887:457. Translation in Nye 1975:51. Also in Jonsson 2008:83. 527 Wide 1917:22. 528 ‘Ty det är denna kultur, som först upptäckt människan som individ, som har grundlagt en verklig vetenskap utan praktiska bisyften, som först proklamerat individens frihet under lagens herravälde och som ansett borgerlig jämlikhet vara identisk med rättfärdighet [...].’, Wide 1917:26. 529 ‘Den moderna bildningen har redan ett par gånger måst återknyta förbindelsen med den grekiska kulturen och kommer nog också att göra så vidare, när man märker att den alltför mycket förirrat sig från det sant mänskliga.’, Wide 1917:26. 530 Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) in the preface to his poem Hellas from 1821. 525 526Le 173 quired for a mature and critical reception of the fruits of modern culture.’531 The modern Greek state was a reflection of its people, according to Wide, a weak and morally deprived nation. Perhaps it would have been better, he speculated in his talk ‘From modern Greece’, if Greece after the War of Independence had received ‘an enlightened despot or at least a strong monarchy. Instead the Greeks were given the most liberal of constitutions that any people has ever had, and this has more than anything else been used to nourish the individualism of the new Greek people at the expense of the interest of the government.’532 Lennart Kjellberg wrote a series of articles in the Swedish conservative newspaper Svenska Dagbladet in 1896-97 on his and Wide’s travels in the Peloponnese in 1894 and on the Greek election of 1895 where the same views on Greek politics were expressed.533 While Wide hypothesized that Greece would be better off with an enlightened despot, Kjellberg’s solution to Greek political turmoil was the presence of a powerful military. A strong military could foster the ideals of discipline and obedience which would be desirable to ‘all Greek patriots, who with sadness in their hearts see their beloved Hellas corroded by the cancer of partisan fervour and corruption’ and which should be regarded, according to Kjellberg, as an anchor to ensure the bright ideals of the patria.534 Greece may have resembled a European nation state, with its monarchy and institutions and the familiar appearance of the remains from antiquity that echoed the situation at home for many travellers and scholars, but in a lot of accounts this familiarity met with an exotic otherness, either in the guise of a flare of an excitement or as a disgust and revolt.535 The perceived oriental nature of the ‘[…] har den moderna greken sällan den energi och den uthållighet, som fordras för ett moget och kritiskt mottagande av den moderna kulturens frukter.’, Wide, ‘Från det moderna Grekland’, unpublished manuscript, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 532 ‘ […] en upplyst despot eller åtminstone med en stark konungamakt. I stället fingo grekerna en den mest fria författning, som något folk haft, och denna har mer än något annat varit egnad att utbilda det nygrek. folkets individualism på statsintressets bekostnad.’, Wide, ‘Från det moderna Grekland’, unpublished lecture manuscript, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. In a letter to his parents from Athens in October 1894, Wide wrote that the political turmoil in Greece was a prime example of what happens when a people live ‘agalöst and lagalöst’, lit. ‘without corporal punishment and without laws’, Wide to his parents, 8 October 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 533 Kjellberg, ‘Reseminnen från Grekland. En resa genom norra Peloponnesos’ in four parts in Svenska Dagbladet, 18 December 1896; 4 january 1897; 12 january 1897 and 15 January 1897. Also Kjellberg, ’Reseminnen från Grekland’’ in Svenska Dagbladet 25 July 1896. 534 ‘ [...] af alla grekiska partioter, som med sorg i hjertat se sitt älskade Hellas sönderfrätas af partilidelsernas och korruptionens kräfta [...].’, Kjellberg, ‘Reseminnen från Grekland. En resa genom norra Peloponnesos II’ in Svenska Dagbladet 4 January 1897. Lennart Kjellberg was a political conservative throughout his life and he believed strongly in the Swedish monarchy and in a strong military state as security against the threat of Socialism, see Kjellberg to Magnus Lagerberg, 10 September 1917, Lagerberg’s archive, KB. 535 See Shannan Peckham 1996 for a discussion of familiarity and exoticism in encounters with Greece. Leslie Kaplan draws similar conclusions on the nineteenth-century archaeological gaze at 531 174 Greek condition (the disorganization, passionate disposition and uncontrolled greed) that had sprung from its long subjugation to the Ottoman Empire had, in Sam Wide’s view, made the transition into a European community difficult. ‘It is this mixture of the Orient and Western Europe’, he said in his talk on modern Greece, ‘this eastern fruit in the western pod, which has imprinted the modern Greek society, and which has its fair share in the ills which denote the new Greek state.’536 According to Wide, if the Greeks had been subjected to Frankish rule for a longer period of time, conditions would have been much more European since Greece would have maintained its contact with Western Europe and would have been able to share the fruits of the Renaissance.537 The ethnic bodily composition of the Greek masses was explained by racial theory. The reasons for the failure of modern Greek democracy lay in the racial mixture of the modern Greeks according to Lennart Kjellberg. The true Greeks, who had shown their spirit during the War of Independence, had in later times been ‘[…] overshadowed by the lazy, deceiving and cowardly vermin […] who had been bred from the tribe of Albanian robbers that at the end of the last century in streams of blood quenched the first flame of Hellenism in our time.’538 Kjellberg judged and evaluated the Greeks he encountered according to their level of racial purity. Contrary to the Albanian racial mix in central Greece, the purest Hellenic race could be found on the islands, ‘[…] where the Hellenic race, in an exceptional purity, has preserved its superior spiritual and physical characteristics’. They were ‘the happiest, healthiest, most intelligent and most beautiful people under the sun’ while the Albanian-Greeks harboured the ‘lowest and most vile instincts in human nature’, dirty and untrustworthy.539 The feeling of being watched by these exotic people created a sensation of hostile intrusion. The intruders were not the archaeologists, but the native people, who threatened ancient Corinth, where the ruins represented ‘familiar forms buried in an exotic Eastern context’, see Kaplan 2010:84. 536 ‘Det är denna blandning av orienten och vesteuropa, denna österländska frukt i vesterländska skidan, som tryckt sin prägel på det moderna Greklands samfundsliv, och som har sin grundliga andel i de missförhållanden, hvilka utmärka det nygrek. statslivet.’, Wide, Från det moderna Grekland’, unpublished lecture manuscript, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 537 Wide, ‘Genom Messienien och Lakonien’ in Stockholms Dagblad, 18 November 1894. 538 ‘ [...] hålles i skuggan af det lata, bedrägliga och fega pack [...] [som] fostrats ur den stam af albanesiska röfvarhorder, som i slutet af förra århundradet i strömmar af blod qväfde det första uppflammandet af hellenismen i våra dagar.’, Kjellberg, ‘Reseminnen från Grekland. En resa genom norra Peloponnesos I’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 18 December 1896. 539 [...] der den helleniska rasen i sällsynt renhet bevarat sina öfverlägsna andliga och fysiska egenskaper. Ett gladare, friskare, intelligentare och vackare folk än dessa ögreker finnes sannolikt icke under solen. […] [Albanerna hade] de lägsta och uslaste instinkterna hos menniskonaturen.’, Kjellberg, ’Reseminnen från Grekland. En resa genom norra Peloponnesos I’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 18 December 1896. 175 the comfort and the sense of supremacist control of the archaeologist. In July of 1894, while in Vasiliko (ancient Sicyon)540 outside of Corinth with Sam Wide and Pankalos, Lennart Kjellberg experienced being watched by villagers dressed in their Sunday best. The faces that stared back at him while they held a ‘general staff meeting’ at a wine soaked table at a ‘bakkali’541 in the centre of the village, were not pleasing to him, and he continued: ‘[i]t was the Albanian folk type, in all its repulsive cruelty and shrewd slyness, whom our gaze looked upon. The entire male population of the village surrounded us closely packed together and devoured us during a terrible silence with their gaze, in which one imagined oneself being able to read the human predators’ insatiable thirst for money or blood.’ 542 Unlike the inhabitants of Vasiliko, Pankalos is described as ‘European’ and as a prime example of the Hellenic race, a fact which Kjellberg claimed that Pankalos himself expressed.543 Sam Wide shared Kjellberg’s opinion that the modern Greeks were racially mixed: ‘The Greek people do stem from the old Hellenes, but their blood has, over the course of the centuries, been heavily mixed with immigrating peoples […] Slavs and Albanians.’544 The true Greeks could be separated from the interbred Greeks through their physiognomic qualities, i.e. the character of the person would show in his or her facial and body features.545 The representatives from the Greek state at 540 The ancient Greek town of Sicyon is located on the northern Peloponnese. It was founded in the fifth century. In the late nineteenth century, the remains of the old town would have been partly covered by a modern village called Vasiliko. 541 A ’bakkali’ is a small shop or an inn. 542 ‘Det var den albanska folktypen i all sin frånstötande råhet och illsluga listighet, som våra blickar mötte rundt omkring oss. Hela byns manliga befolkning stod i täta led omkring oss och slukade oss under hemsk tystnad med sina blickar, i hvilka man tyckte sig läsa det menskliga rofdjurets osläckliga törst efter penningar eller blod.’, Kjellberg, ‘Reseminnen från Grekland. En resa genom norra Peloponnesos III’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 12 January 1897. 543 Kjellberg, ‘Reseminnen från Grekland. En resa gneom norra Peloponnesos I’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 18 December 1896. 544 ‘Det grek. folket härstammar visserligen från de gamla hellenerna, men desses blod har under tidernas lopp blivit mycket uppblandat med invandrande folk, [...] slaver och albaneser.’, Wide, ‘Från det moderna Grekland’, unpublished lecture manuscript, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 545 Physiognomy was the study of a person’s character through examining especially the facial features. It became a popular science from the late eighteenth century and onwards, see Hartley 2001 and Bergquist 2009. In one brand of physiognomy, the facial features of a person were compared to those of animals, whereby the person was believed to possess similar personality traits as the animal which he or she resembled. In 1852, James Redfield likened the Greeks (illustrated with classical sculptures) to the sheep: ‘[l]arge and prominent eyes […] a high and gentlyretracting forehead – grace in feeling and action;[…] admirable precision in hitting thoughts upon the wing and in clothing them with language;[…] great refinement of feelings and manners;[…] great love of liberty […].’, Redfield 1852:312. 176 the excavation of Kalaureia, Nikolaos Grimanis and G. Sappaklis, were described by Wide as having ‘a thievish physiognomy’, which corresponded to their cowardly behaviour.546 Idealized beauty was associated with the features of Classical Greek statues, an eroticized and moralizing gaze, and a standard by which the modern Greeks could be judged. Philhellenism created, in the words of Lucy Hartely, a gaze where ‘beauty [was seen] as the physical, external index of the excellence (or otherwise) of the internal state.’547 The determination of the racial origins of the Greek people was an ongoing debate throughout the nineteenth century, both in Greece and abroad: was the contemporary population in Greece racially related to the Greeks of the classical past? Late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century travellers had already, before the Greek War of Independence, discussed and manipulated the relationship between modern and ancient Greece, where the likeness or dissimilitude of the modern population to classical statues was a focus.548 The theory of the Tyrolian historian Jacob Phillip Fallmerayer (1790-1861), presented from 1830 and onwards, was that the ancient Greek peoples and customs had been erased by invading Slavic tribes during the fifth century AD. This viewpoint created a virtual crisis for Greek intellectuals who saw, if the theory were true, that the foundations of the ethnic purity of their nation state crumble.549 546 In original ‘boffysiognomi’. Wide to his parents, 8 July 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 547 Hartley 2001:120. 548 See Angelomatis-Tsougarakis 1990:85ff for a discussion on early travellers’ accounts of Greeks. 549 Fallmerayer 1830-1836. See Gourgouris 1996:140ff for a lengthy discussion of Fallmerayer’s impact on Hellenism. Also Herzfeld 1982:75f; Koundoura 2012:90f., and Hamilakis 2007:115f. 177 Fig. 33. Delos 1894. While on the island tour with Dörpfeld and the DAI, Wide took this photo of a torso and a man. Photo: UUB. 178 The discontinuity between the classical past and the present created by the Byzantine, Frankish and Turkish eras was an additional problem that needed to be solved. Various efforts by Greek politicians and scholars to write a continuous history between classical and modern Greece followed. Between 1860 and 1877, the historian Konstantinos Paparrigopoulos (1815-1891) published History of the Hellenic Nation, which integrated the Byzantine period and Christian orthodoxy into Hellenism and divided the history of the Hellenic nation into three periods: ancient, medieval and modern Hellenism.550 The continuity vs. discontinuity between the past and the present state in Greece became a discussion that was impossible to disregard for those who studied or travelled in Greece in the nineteenth century. George Horton, the U.S Ambassador to Greece, who visited the excavation at Kalaureia in 1894, was a strong proponent of the continuation of Hellenic classical ideals in the modern population, so much so that he made a lecture tour in 1907 around the U.S. where he talked on the marvellous achievements of the Greeks after the War of Independence.551 Using more than one hundred stereopticon slides, he gave the audience a virtual tour of modern Greece, with some of the slides juxtaposing classical statues with photographs of contemporary Greek people in order to demonstrate the persistence of ‘the ancient type.’552 The racial characterization of Greeks concerned mostly men in Sam Wide’s and Lennart Kjellberg’s accounts. Greek women were also the object of evaluation, but their interaction with Greek women was limited. The Greek woman was instead gazed at from afar. Her appearance was judged and compared in terms of sexual appeal and marital qualities. ‘The women in Athens are hideously ugly’, Wide wrote to Alfred Westholm shortly after arriving in Greece and continued: ‘The heart feels completely fire proof here, and my friends do not have to fear, that old Sam will bring back ‘owls’ from Athens.’553 ‘A German friend of mine and I agreed the other day that the last thing we would do in this world, would be to marry an Athenian or a Greek woman. Even if they would impress, one could be sure that they would have fleas and lice on their bodies’, Wide wrote to his parents to- Sofos & Özkirimli 2009:50; Koundoura 2012:87ff. Horton (2009) [1907]. 552 Review of the lecture in Washington Star, 5 December 1907, quoted in Horton 2009 [1907]:88. 553 ‘Kvinnorna i Athen äro gräsligtfula. Hjärtat känner sig här fullkomligt brandförsäkrat, och mina vänner behöver ej frukta, att gamle Sam skall medföra ”ugglor” från Athenas stad.’, Wide to Westholm, 23 September 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. ‘Bringing owls to Athens’ refers to an ancient Greek proverb, meaning to undertake a pointless venture. Unattractive and unkept women are sometimes referred to as ‘ruggugglor’ in Swedish, meaning ‘shaggy owls’. 550 551 179 wards the end of 1893.554 ‘I occasionally harbour a secret longing […] for girls with blue eyes and flaxen hair, which after all are ‘best and cheaper to use’ – although the dark-skinned daughters of the South have their ineffably naïve and charming grace’, Wide wrote to Alfred Westholm from Athens.555 Besides, engaging in a flirtatious manner with Greek women meant that the foreigner could end up entangled in a family drama. Wide gave an example in his talk on modern Greece of how insensitivity to the customs of Greek middle-class honour systems caused an angry father to storm into the German Institute demanding that one of the archaeologists who had paid a visit to his daughter should immediately marry her.556 The episode functioned as an anecdote to demonstrate the old Oriental practices still present in Greek culture which were separate from the ‘civilized’ behaviour of the Swedish middle-classes. In Wide’s representations, women also became part of scenery during his field maneuvers. They could be explored in the same way as the city or site being visited. We find a good example of this perspective from Wide’s initial encounter with Asia Minor in May 1895. He wrote to Alfred Westholm: ‘Dear brother! The grand manoeuvers in Asia Minor have today been concluded, after they had been underway for 6 days and included Smyrna, Magnesia ad Sipylum557, Pergamon, Ephesos – full of feats and hardships. In my dusty and sweaty warrior’s cloak, I made my entry to Smyrna today at 4.30 in the afternoon. The hardships were forgotten with a portion of Smyrna crayfish, a portion of ham and good German beer, all consumed at Kraemer’s Brasserie by the Marina, just as the sun spread its last rays over the lovely Gulf of Smyrna. I emptied the loving cup for you and other old brothers-in-arms. Smyrna is a lovely city, full of ‘subdued côtesse’. The women are beautiful and fierce.’558 ‘En tysk vän och jag kommo här om dagen öfver ens, att det sista vi skulle göra här i verlden, vore att gifta oss med en atheniensiska eller grekinna. Äfven om de för öfrigt kunde slå an, kan man vara öfvertygad, att de ha loppor och löss på kroppen.’, Wide to his parents, 6 December 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 555 ‘ [...] men stundom erfar jag en hemlig längtan till [...] flickor med blå ögon och lingult hår, hvilka dock äro ”bäst och i bruket billigast” – ehuru söderns mörkhyade döttrar ha sina outsägligt naiva och tjusande behag.’, Wide to Westholm, 23 May 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. In Swedish ‘bäst och i bruket billigast’, was an expression used at the time to promote commercial products. 556 Wide, ‘Från det moderna Grekland’, unpublished lecture manuscript, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 557 Present day Manisa, approx. 65 km northeast of Izmir. 558 ‘Käre broder! De stora manövrerna i Mindre Asien ha idag afslutats, sedan de pågått 6 dagar och omfattat Smyrna, magnesia ad Sipylum, Pergamon, Ephesos – rika på bragder och strapatser. I min dammiga och svettiga krigarmantel höll jag idag kl ½ 5 e.m. mitt intåg i Smyrna. Mildt förgätna blefvo mödorna vid en portion Smyrnakräftor, en portion skinka och godt tyskt öl, allt inmundigadt i Kraemers Brasserie vid Marinan, just som solen spred sina sista strålar öfver den däjeliga Smyrnäiska golfen. Jag tömde piokalen för dig och andra gamla vapenbröder. Smyrna är en härlig stad, mättad af dämpad côtesse. Kvinnorna äro vackra och eldiga.’, Wide to Westholm, 17 May 1895, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 554 180 Women in Wide’s accounts of adventures in Greece and Turkey are props in a setting, either props which disturb an otherwise pleasant excursion, or props to be analysed and explored. The expression ‘subdued côtesse’ is, in the quote above, used to describe the city of Smyrna, but in an earlier letter Sam Wide used the exact same expression when he wrote about a Greek woman in Athens.559 Wide’s gaze onto what was for him an exotic city and an exotic woman is one and the same; a gaze of estimation and valorization. One of the results of the Fallmerayer vs. Paparrigopoulos debate was an increased focus on ethnographic and folkloristic studies in modern Greece. The Greek nationalists, with Paparrigopoulos spear heading the campaign, wished to scientifically prove not only the racial continuity but also the cultural and spiritual continuity between ancient and modern Greece.560 Foreign scholars backed them. Folklore, the gathering of remnants of old and dying practices, beliefs and myths through systematically collecting and recording, became established in Europe during the mid-nineteenth century as a response to the nation state’s need to trace its cultural roots.561 According to the British ethnologist Andrew Lang in 1885, the immaterial relics of old times, or ‘beliefs and ways of the savages’ were to be found among the farmers and less educated people often residing in the countryside, people who Lang calls the ‘unprogressive classes’.562 Sam Wide would become an active participant in this field. While Wide at the beginning of his journey felt threatened by the behaviour of Greek people, he later relished the potential offered by the Greeks as study objects. His keenness in travelling into the countryside stemmed partly from the wish to prove himself as a proper archaeologist, as I have discussed in the previous chapter, but also from an academic interest in the lives of Greek people in rural areas.563 In the early 1890s, Wide started taking an interest in folklore as a possible mechanism for gaining knowledge of ancient Greek religion and mythology and while in Greece Wide searched for traces of the ancient Greek religion and myth in the customs of the modern day peasantry. In Lakonische Kulte from 1893, Wide was inspired by comparative mythology and folklore theory when he traced the names of gods and cultic practices to prehistoric times, seeing them as remnants of a surviving cult among the lower strata of the classical Greek society.564 He drew inspiration Wide to Westholm, 26 July 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. Hamilakis 2007:116. 561 See Burke 2004 for a short history of folklore studies in Europe. 562 Lang 1885:26. 563 See Mazower 2008: 36f. for a discussion on ethnographic appropriation of the Greek countryside. 564 Wide 1893a and 1893b. See Siapkas 2012b for a discussion on the use of anthropological theory, including ritualist approaches in the history of classical studies. 559 560 181 from Andrew Lang and the German folklorist Wilhelm Mannhardt (18311880). An undated (but probably pre-1909) lecture manuscript entitled ‘Folklore och primitiv religion’ (‘Folklore and primitive religion’) he explains his interest: ‘One might wonder, why a prof. in Class. Languages has ended up treating such a subject at a Heimdal565 meeting. The reason is as follows. During my investigation of ancient Greek religion and the legends of the gods, I have occasionally encountered certain religious facts, which so far have defied all explanation from the point of view of the classical era. The explanation can only be given on the basis that the ancient Greek population, as all others, eventually passed through the ranks from the stage of primitive people to the high cultivation which we generally know and admire.’566 Combining archaeology and folklore did not necessarily seem like a strange pursuit. Archaeology and folklore were two sides of the same coin. Andrew Lang reasoned in 1885 that ‘[t]here is a science, Archaeology, which collects and compares the material relics of old races, the axes and arrow-heads. There is a form of study, Folklore, which collects and compares the similar but immaterial relics of old races, the surviving superstitions and stories, the ideas which are in our time but not of it.’567 Sam Wide linked the animal attributes of the Greek pantheon to the early stages of totenism; he sought similarities in classical Greek and present-day German superstitions based around agricultural practices in order to search for common features that suggested a shared, ancestral root, and he compared the hieros gamos, the ‘holy wedding’ of Zeus and Hera, to similar stories in French, Russian and Austrian folklore.568 While the exploration of this kind of ‘classical primitiveness’ during the late nineteenth century in certain respects clashed with the idealization surrounding classical Greece, as suggested by Johannes Siapkas, the Greeks as study objects still stood out in comparison with other peoples under scrutiny.569 In his 1898 article on folk-superstition and primitive religion, Sam Wide frequently emphasized the intentionality to erase traces of earlier superstitions in classical Greek society: Heimdal was a conservative student organization in Uppsala, founded in 1891. ‘Man skulle kunna undra över, huru en prof. i klass. språk kommit att på Heimdalls sammanträde behandla ett sådant ämne. Skälet är följande. Under mina undersökningar av forngrekisk religion och gudasägner har jag studom mött vissa religiösa fakta, som hittills trotsat all förklaring från den klassiska tidens ståndpunkt. Förklaringen kan endast givas under den förutsättning, att det forngrek. folket likasom alla andra så småningom passerat graderna från naturfokens ståndpunkt till den höga odling, som vi allmänt känna och beundra.’, Wide, ‘Folklore och primitiv religion’, lecture manuscript, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. In 1898, Wide published an article in Nordisk Tidskrift based on his lectures under the same title, see Wide 1898. 567 Lang 1885:11. 568 Wide 1898. 569 I refer here to Siapkas’s talk at the History of Archaeology Research Network Conference in Rome, Italy, in 2013. See also Siapkas 2012b. 565 566 182 ‘And traces of these earlier times have maintained themselves, with the conservative tenacity which in general is characteristic for religious conditions and institutions, during the time when the classical peoples stood at the height of spiritual cultivation. It is however true, that the Greeks in particular have done their best to erase these remnants from old barbaric times, or at least tried to reason them away; but this has not been entirely successful.’ 570 Here, Wide was influenced by Andrew Lang who claimed that while ancient Greek religious views resembled those of primitive peoples, the Greeks had modified those views using their superior racial intelligence. ‘Homeric gods’, Lang wrote, ‘like Red Indian, Thlinkeet571, or Australian gods, can assume the shapes of birds. But, when we read in Homer, of the arming of Athene, the hunting of Artemis, the vision of golden Aphrodite, the apparition of Hermes, like a young man when the flower of youth is loveliest, then we recognize the effect of race upon myth, the effect of the Greek genius at work on rude material.’572 Hence, the Greek could remain superior despite his primitiveness, because his racial make-up made him refine illogical practices and superstitions. Classical primitiveness was still superior to other forms of primitiveness, hence they did not pose a threat to Western values and did not make it difficult to identify with and relate to the ancient Greeks. While travelling through Greece to collect inscriptions and document architecture in 1893-94, Sam Wide took advantage of his meetings with Greeks in the countryside to take notes on any traces of ancient customs and characteristics that he found. In Eleusis, he drew parallels between the procession of Iacchus573 and modern-day pilgrimages (which had survived in particular in Italy) and illustrated his article on the subject with an image of rural women dancing in traditional Albanian folk costume (fig. 34).574 ‘Och rester från dessa tider hafva med den konservativa seghet, som i allmänhet är utmärkande för religiösa förhållanden och inrättningar, bibehållit sig ännu under den tid, då de klassiska folken stood på höjden af andlig odling. Väl är det sant, att särskildt grekerna gjort sitt bästa för att utplåna dessa öfverlevor från gamla barbariska tider, eller åtminstone att söka bortresonera dem; men detta har dock icke fullständigt lyckats’, Wide 1898:477. In an earlier publication from 1893, ‘Om historisk uppfattning af forngrekisk gudatro’ [‘On the historical understanding of ancient Greek religious beliefs’], Wide linked these practices to the second century BC and the rise of scientific reasoning, see Wide 1893b:3. 571 A native tribe in Alaska, today referred to as the Tlingit. 572 Lang 1885:26. 573 Iacchus was the son of Demeter and Zeus according to Greek mythology. During the festivities of the Mysteries, an image of Iacchus was carried in a procession from Athens to Eleusis. 574 Wide 1896b. 570 183 Fig. 34. Women dancing in Eleusis in 1894. A boy in the foreground tares his eyes away to look at the photographer. A different photograph of the same scene was published in Ord och Bild, see Wide 1896b. Photo: UUB. In the village of Arachova in Boeotia, Sam Wide was invited to an engagement celebration which was ‘just as in the days of Homer […].’575 After been treated to a grand meal and dancing with the priest, Wide went to bed happy and fulfilled with what he had seen ‘of new Greek and indirectly of ancient Greek customs […].’576 Wide’s case is an example of the type of situated gaze on modern Greek customs which had deep historical parallels. In the words of Angelomatis-Tsougarakis, ‘[t]he all too common attempts to discover points of resemblance between the ancient and the modern Greeks, to draw historical parallels in every situation is a good example of their following a model first observed as early as the sixteenth century.’577 The passing of time, especially the Ottoman period, had not erased these traditions, hence the practice to conserve Hellenism was also seen as a Greek resistance and willingness to keep their splendour alive. ‘Det var alldeles som i Homeri dagar [...]’ Wide, ‘Förlofningskalas vid foten af Parnassos’ in Vårt land, 20 December 1893. 576 ‘ [...] af nygrekiska samt indirekt af gammalgrekiska seder [...].’, ibid. 577 Angelomatis-Tsougarakis 1990:87. 575 184 We find a paradox here in Sam Wide’s accounts. The Greeks were either too influenced by Western thought or not influenced enough. The Greeks had an ‘exaggerated admiration for the Western culture and imitate everything that comes from Western Europe, particularly from France […] but those who understand the matter claim, that if one takes a somewhat closer look at these institutions, oriental barbarism lurks in several corners.’578 They had given up some of their traditional roots, despite not being ready for ‘civilization’. The worst Greeks were those who pretended to be European: ‘[h]e was dressed in the European style and verified the judgement of the German archaeologists that those Greeks who dress European are far worse than those who have kept the national costume’, Wide wrote about an agogiat whom he had hired in Livadeia in 1893.579 Their bad traits were often represented as originating from Turkish influences, however at times these undesirable traits could come from the ancient Hellenes.580 Wide emphasized hospitality as one of the few surviving positive traits in the modern population, as well as a sense for business, even though Wide emphasized that the modern Greek lacked the morals to engage in fair trading.581 ‘One look up there, and the impression disappears’ – the escapist gaze The ethnographic gaze created a topography in which the imagined remains from the past, this time manifested in customs and practices of people as well as their in bodies, were used to judge and evaluate the present condition. While moving and manoeuvering in modern-day would at times be tiring and overwhelming, the archaeological remains of antiquity offered a safe haven. ‘Up there on the Acropolis, one completely forgets the halfAsian city below’, Sam Wide wrote to Alfred Westholm shortly after arriv‘Man hyser en överdriven beundran för den vesterländska kulturen och imiterar allt som kommer från Vesteuropa, särskilt från Frankrike [...] men sakförståndige påstå, att om man ser sig något närmare omkring på dessa inrättningar, sticker det orientaliska barbariet fram i flera skrymslen.’, Wide, ‘Från det moderna Grekland’, unpublished manuscript, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 579 ‘Denne var europeiskt klädd och besannande de tyska arkeologernas omdöme, att de europeiskt klädde grekerna äro vida sämre än de, hvilka bibehållit den nationella drägten.’, Wide, ‘En färd genom Boeotien’ in Vårt land, 30 December 1893. 580 On the population of Volos in Thessaly, Wide wrote that ‘this population has inherited several of the faults of the old Hellenes, tendency to quarrel, jealousy and vindictiveness, which embitter their everyday life.’ [’[...]denna befolkning ärfvt åtskilliga af de gamla hellenernas fel, trätighet, afund och hämndlystnad, som förbittrar deras vardagslif.’], Wide, ‘Från Tessalien’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 18 June 1901. 581 Wide, ‘Från det moderna Grekland’, unpublished lecture manuscript, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 578 185 ing in Greece in September 1893.582 Even though Athens could not live up to the modern comforts of Rome where Wide had spent time before coming to Greece, the capital made up for it by offering true Greek art and true Greek historical experiences. ‘[i]t was fun meeting so many old friends, which one so far has mainly known through books and imitations[…]’, Wide explained and continued ‘[o]ne gets to stand face to face with that which one has previously only seen in a dark lecture room! What are the glossy polished statues in the Vatican in comparison to the real Attic sculptures of the Central Museum?’583 Being physically present in Greece (they had – after all – mentally already been there) offered an opportunity to emerge into the ‘real’ Greek past through appropriating the materiality of remains from Antiquity. Besides appropriating the Greek landscape for scholarly purposes by situating Classical events and monuments onto it (as part of the colonial gaze), Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg also gazed at the landscape as a way of introspective reflection. When I discussed the ethnographic gaze, I compared Sam Wide’s coming into Piraeus’ harbour with the homecoming of Odysseus.584 As a Western educated man, this homecoming made possible the act of contemplation at the sight of a monument or a landscape which offered a way to know or position oneself. This third gaze, which I have termed the ‘escapist gaze’, relates to the exoticism, yet familiarity, of the Greek landscape and the Greek experience as a personal escape both physically and mentally. Let us return to the Acropolis. The monument acted as a magnet for Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg. It was the first place they went to after arriving in Athens, and they returned to it many times while in the city; it offered a view of the landscape and a chance to escape the hustle of the city below.585 Lennart Kjellberg related his experience and the allure of the Acropolis to the readers of Svenska Dagbladet in 1897: ‘Däruppe på Akropolis förglömma man fullständigt den halfasiatiska staden där nere.’, Wide to Westholm, 23 September 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 583 ‘Det var roligt att få träffa många gamla vänner, som man hittills känt hufudsakligen genom böcker och afbildningar. [...] Man får här skåda ansigte mot ansigte, hvad man förut sett i en mörk sal! Hvad äro de glattpolerade statyerna i Vatikanen mot Centralmuseets äkta attiska skulpturer?’, Wide to Westholm, 23 September 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 584 Following Koundoura 2012:252. 585 Wide spent his first five afternoons in Athens on the Acropolis. He wrote to his parents: ‘One rarely experiences such a sight as the one which offers itself from the Acropolis in the sunset […] And at the foot, the white glowing city, which looks far better from a distance than up close.’ [‘En sådan syn som den, hvilken erbjuder sig från Akropolis i solnedgången, får man sällan skåda […]. Och vid foten den hvitskimrande staden, som på afstånd tar sig betydligt bättre ut än på nära håll.’], Wide to his parents, 29 September 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 582 186 ‘The impression which the stranger gets when exiting the station after arriving in Athens, if he can take his eyes off the temple fortress of the Acropolis in the background, is of the saddest and most desolate kind. Beyond the rows of carriages drawn by abused beasts of burden that have seen better days, extends a still uninhabited area, parched and trampled and here and there intersected by small ravines, the natural outfall of violent flows of water, a tireless desert image where people have left few traces of their activities except for the ever-whirling dust and the wheel tracks creating a consecutive row of little hills and valleys. The small, miserable houses built from sun-dried clay, where the poorest population of Athens finds shelter, sets the closest limit to this picture, against which they do not offer too stark a contrast. But over there, on the steep cliff with the reddish shimmer, the colonnade of the Parthenon rises, outlined with its warm, yellow, slightly gold tinted colour against the canopy of heaven, saturated with deep-blue azure – one look up there and the impression disappears.’ 586 From the streets of Athens, the Acropolis offered a sight for sore eyes, an escape from the unpleasantness of the modern city, the ‘half-Asian’ or ‘semi-Oriental’ capital which seemed to Wide and Kjellberg to embody the ambivalent spirit of modern Greece. As summed up by Penny Travlou in her study on travel books and visitors’ experiences in Athens: ‘[i]f Modern Athens is related to an Oriental iconography, then her historical monuments may be interpreted as an indisputable part of the Occidental ‘symbolic imagery’. […] Travellers search the Athenian landscape for landmarks which give credibility to the travel; all signs of a glorious past which is also their own.’587 In Lennart Kjellberg’s mediation of his wandering gaze, he first had to force his eyes away from the glorious sight of the classical ruins (i.e. the symbol of his own past and future), and then take refuge in it in order to escape the present of the Other. ‘Det intryck som främlingen efter ankomsten till Aten vid utträdet från stationen om han kan taga sina blickar från Akropolis tempelborg i fonden erhåller, är af den sorgligaste och ödsligaste art. Bortom raden af droskor dragna af misshandlade ök, som en gång sett bättre dagar, utbreder sig en ännu obebyggd sträcka land, uttorkad och nedtrampad och här och der genomskuren af små raviner, häftiga vattenflödens naturliga aflopp, en tröstlös ökenbild, der menniskan icke lemnat andra spår af sin verksamhet än det evigt hvirflande dammet och de i oafbruten följd af små kullar och dalar gående hjulspåren. De små eländiga af soltorkad lera uppförda husen der Atens fattigaste befolkning finner tak öfver hufvudet, begränsa nermast denna tafla mot hvilken de ej bilda någon allt för stark kontrast. Men der borta på den branta klippan med det rödaktiga skimret höjer sig Partenons pelarkolonnad, aftecknande sig med sin varma gula, något i guld tonade färg, mot det djupblå af azur mättade himlahvalfvet – en blick dit upp och intrycket försvinner.’, Kjellberg, ‘Reseminnen från Grekland. En resa genom norra Peloponnesos II’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 4 January 1897. 587 Travlou 2004:115. 586 187 Fig. 35. View from the Areopagus over the city of Athens in 1893-95. In the centre is the Temple of Hephaistos, the so-called φTheseionχ which served as a museum until 1934. The houses to the right of the temple lay on top of the Agora and were torn down in the 1930s to make way for American excavations. Photo: Sam Wide, UUB. But the Acropolis was not a pristine left-over ruin from classical antiquity, but a constructed space where the Greek nation state manifested its historical roots. It was a space constructed by and for the escapist gaze. After Athens became the capital of Greece in 1834, a clearing and cleansing operation began on the Acropolis to restore the site to its ancient glory. The undertaking was initiated by a grand ceremony on 28 August 1834, with over 6 000 participants. The newly elected King Otto I and the National Guard lead the procession from the town up the hill and into the Parthenon, a journey representing the new state’s progression from barbarism to civilization. Once up on the rock, Leo von Klenze, one of the German architects responsible for planning the new city, gave a speech to the King: ‘[a]ll the remains of barbarity will be removed’, he said, ‘here as in all of Greece, and the remains of the glorious past will be brought to new light, as the solid foundation of a glorious present and future.’588 In the following decades, the Leo von Klenze (1784-1864), the German-born architect behind the monumentalization of Athens said in his address to King Otto (in German) during the inauguration that the King now had walked ‘[…] after so many centuries of barbarism, for the first time on this celebrated Acropolis, proceeding on the road of civilization and glory […].’, see Bastéa 2000.102. See also Hamilakis 2007:58ff. According to Hamilakis, Klenze did not regard all later buildings as barbar588 188 Ottoman garrison and mosque were torn down, as well as the Medieval (socalled ‘Frankish’) tower (see fig. 36). Now, under the auspices of the Greek Archaeological Service, excavations were undertaken at the site and a small museum was built. The Acropolis was ritually purified from the remains of intermediate periods and a continuous line between the classical past and the future of the Kingdom was ensured.589 Fig. 36. The Acropolis seen from the south-west. The presence of the φFrankishχ tower means that the picture was taken pre-1874. Photo: UUB. The homogeny of the material past at the famous Acropolis and its state of ruination (although it was heavily reconstructed) created a scene where the classically inclined person could immerse him- or herself in introspection. Lennart Kjellberg wrote a letter to Johannes Paulson in March of 1894, shortly after arriving in Athens. There he shared his feelings upon visiting the Acropolis for the first time, a feeling of awe and then: ic, nor did the early legislators on cultural affairs who issued protection for recent historical buildings, including mosques. But the next generations of archaeologists had, according to Hamilakis, a more inclusive definition of barbarism where everything post-classical which disturbed the imagery on archaeological sites must be removed, see Hamilakis 2007:90. 589 See Hamilakis 2007:85ff. and Plantzos 2008:14 for discussions on the cultural politics behind the purification of the Acropolis. See also Andrén 1997 for a discussion on the effects of cultural politics on research on post-classical time periods. 189 ‘[j]ust as I left the Parthenon, a large black raven flew around one of the gables and soon after it disappeared as a symbol of the annihilation which even the most glorious work of man is subjected to.’ 590 As pointed out by Mark Mazover, the feeling of ‘memento mori’ which overcame Kjellberg was a common theme in travellers’ accounts of their experiences at ruin sites.591 The materiality of the Acropolis and of Athens created what Stathis Gourgouris has called a ‘governing matrix over one’s psyche and culture’, which made certain past-present reflections and memories possible.592 Sam Wide reflected on other matters at the Acropolis. With a mixture of nostalgia and optimism for the future, he wrote to Alfred Westholm about his first days in Athens in 1893: ‘Between the trees, I have seen the contours of the Parthenon, while the full moon stood in the sky and spread a bewitching atmosphere over the Attic hills and mountains – all wrapped in the lovely coolness of the evening. At the Acropolis I have mostly thought of Löfstedt and of you […]. Löfstedt’s tall figure has, in a more lively manner than usual, flowed through my mind: and at the same time our mutual reflections and talks as youths […].’593 Seeing the shape of the country in which, and on which, he wished to build a career, his old teacher came to mind, as did his friends who had not made it to Greece. ‘Success – or better yet, the typically bourgeois sense of the liberation inherent in success – is measured ultimately by the extent of one’s geographical mobility’, writes Stathis Gourgouris when analysing Sigmund Freud’s experience at the Acropolis.594 In the previous chapter, I have shown that Sam Wide was indeed preoccupied with making sure he was considered successful in Athens, often at the expense of his friendship with Lennart Kjellberg. This ambition made Wide’s gaze on the Greek landscape a form of personal success story. After spending more than a year in the ‘Just som jag lämnade Parthenon, flög en stor svart korp fram om ena gafvelhörnet och försvann strax igen som en symbol af förintelsen, som äfven det härligaste människoverk är underkastat.’, Kjellberg to Paulson, 7 March 1894, Paulson’s archive, H127:11, GUB. 591 Mazower 2008:35. Greek poetry from the mid-nineteenth century also used the site to reflect on ruins as the symbols of the passage of time and mortality, see Giannakopoulou 2002:243. 592 Gourgouris 1996:132. 593 ‘Mellan träden har jag sett konturerna från Parthenon, medan fullmånen stod på himmelen och spred en trolsk stämning öfver de athiska kullarna och bergen – allt uti aftonen ljuvliga svalka. På Akropolis har jag mest tänkt på Löfstedt och dig [...]. Löfstedts höga gestalt har mera lifligt än eljes sväfvat för min erinring: och på samma gång våra gemensamma ungdomsfunderingar och samtal [...].’, Wide to Westholm, 23 September 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 594 Gourgouris 1996:125. 590 190 Mediterranean, Sam Wide contemplated the wisdoms he had gathered in a letter to Alfred Westholm: ‘I have had much use of my stay in the South. Although I have become orientally lazy, it is better than ‘deutsches Streberthum’. 595 I have here, far away from ‘Europe’, better than elsewhere got to know myself – and I have become a fullblood idealist – hoping it is without the transcendental exaggerations of idealism. […] I am excited about continuing to grow and experience ‘how the grass sprouts’. At the Academy of Siena, in the Renaissance of Firenze, at the Acropolis of Athens and in front of Hermes at Olympia, I have learnt that the value of man lies not in ‘deutsches Streberthum und Massenproduktivität’ 596, but in the devoted absorption into the subject under treatment, in loving studies of nature and [?] ‘Selbstlosigkeit’.597 This is what constitutes the conditions for scientific success […].’598 Leaving Athens and venturing into the country-side offered other possibilities for reflection. The dissimilitude of the Greek landscape to the one found in Northern Europe created an attraction which echoed the travellers of the Romanic era. Travelling on horseback from Vasiliko (where the encounter with the ‘Albanian predators’ had taken place, see above), Lennart Kjellberg recounted the magical appeal of Greece: ‘[...] we could not wish for a more beautiful journey than this ride, first accompanied by the wonderful symphony of colours by the setting sun, and after in the magical illumination which the moon gave to the mountains and the valleys. […] The Corinthian Bay with Parnassos, Helikon, Kitairon and Geraneia rising like dark giants in the background. Late or never shall I forget this ride in the mild summer night by the music of the cicadas, which stands in such wonderful harmony with the grand and desolate nature of these tablelands, even more impressive and grappling to the imagination in the radiance of the moon than in the bright light of the sun.’599 ‘German Strebertum’ (‘Streberthumχ, old spelling) can be roughly translated to ‘German careerism’. The original is in German. 596 ‘German careerism and mass-productivity’. The original is in German. 597 ‘Selflessness’. The original is in German. 598 ‘Jag har haft mycken nytta af min vistelse i södern. Visserligen har jag blifvit orientaliskt lat, men det är bättre än ”deutsches Streberthum”. Jag har här fjärran från ”Europa” bättre än eljes lärt känna mig själf – och jag har blifvit en fullblodsidealist – som jag hoppas, utan idealismens transendentala öfverdrifter. [...] Jag gläder mig åt att växa ännu och att märka ”huru gräset gror”. I Sienas Akademi, i Firenzes renässance, på Athens Akropolis och inför Hermes i Olympia har jag lärt, att mannavärdet icke ligger i ”deutsches Streberthum und Massenproduktivität”, utan i det hängifna fördjupandet i det behandlade ämnet, kärleksfulla naturstudier och [?] ”Selbstlosigheit”. Det är detta som utgör äfven den vetenskapliga framgångens villkor [...].’, Wide to Westholm, 23 May 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 599 ‘[...] en vackrare färd än denna ridt kunde vi icke ha önskat oss, först ackompanjerade af den nedgående solens underbara färgsymfoni och sedemera i den magiska belysning som månen göt öfver berg och dal. [...] Korintiska viken med Parnassos, Helikon, Kitairon och Geraneia resande sig likt mörka jettar i fonden. Sent eller aldrig skall jag glömma denna ridt i den ljumma sommar595 191 The contrast between how the city and the country-side were mediated could not be more stark. The perceived pristine nature of the Greek landscape offered a more ‘genuine’ Greek experience than that of the constructed city. This type of ‘environmentalist-determinist view’ is, according to Dimitrios Plantzos, intimately connected with the ideals of Hellenism, where ‘the landscapes of Attica, the colours of Greek nature and certainly the Aegean and its islands […] become the cradle and residence of Hellenism, to which all the characteristics which shape Hellenicity are to be credited.’600 The ‘geoclimatic particularity’ of Hellenism served, according to Artemis Leontis, as an essential building block in the creation of a topographic home.601 The idealization of certain Greek sights and landscapes, including but not limited to those with ruins, was part of a consumption pattern of philhellenic Greeks and foreigners alike. However, certain landscapes reminded Sam Wide of home. In Dekeleia in October 1893, Wide wrote about the familiarity of the landscape: ‘The parts, through which we wandered, consisted mostly of moors and pineforests, and the impression that I got from the landscape was that is was quite Nordic. Often I had to stop and listen to the whistling of the northerly wind through the pinewood.’602 As pointed out by Robert Shannan Peckham, the flora and fauna of Greece were frequently compared and contrasted with those of Europe and Asia in fin-de-siècle guidebooks, casting the country ‘as a southern version of northern Europe’.603 natten vid cikadornas musik, som står i så underbar harmoni med dessa högplatåers storslagna, ödsliga natur, i månens glans ännu mera imponerande och fantasien anslående än i solens klara ljus.’, Kjellberg, ‘Reseminnen från Grekland. En resa genom norra Peloponnesos. III’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 12 January 1897. 600 Plantzos 2008:18. 601 Leontis 1995:85f. 602 ‘De trakter, genom hvilka vi vandrade, utgjordes mest av hed och barrskog och det intryck, jag fick af landskapet, var riktigt nordiskt. Ofta måste jag stanna och lyssna till nordanvindens susning i furuträden.’, Wide to his parents, 9 October 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 603 Shannan Peckham 1998:177f. 192 Creating archaeological knowledge at Kalaureia ‘The Victorians understand past human behaviour through their own very particular present-day lens, and thus they craft a reflective history heavily infused with nineteenth-century sensibility. They find past and present coexisting in an anachronistic space, a space that the interpreting individual has the power to control and to shape into form.’604 Late nineteenth century archaeology and history production was, as described in the quote by Virginia Zimmermann above, situated at a very particular present. That present had in turn, a particular way of looking at the past and had developed particular methods of analysing and handling that past. In the previous two chapters, I have discussed the complex power relationship between the ‘interpreting individuals’ of the excavation at Kalaureia, Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg, as well as their situated gaze on Greece. It is now time to take a closer look at how the self-image of archaeologists and the complexity of the Greek topography in the mind of those archaeologists played out in the excavation at Kalaureia. How was archaeological knowledge created through the practices at the Sanctuary of Poseidon during the summer of 1894? What power structures, to paraphrase Zimmermann, shaped the Kalaureia excavation? Histories of classical archaeology have recently begun to pay attention to the details of fieldwork practices.605 The excavations from the 1870s to the beginning of World War I in Greece, Egypt and the Near East have been discussed broadly as the formative period of classical archaeology, where fieldwork practices became increasingly more ‘scientific’ and where the archaeologists themselves went from antiquarians to professionals.606 The progress of excavation and recording techniques has been associated with particular individuals who brought to light new techniques that could be refined by later generations.607 Usually these histories have been confined to large scale excavations made famous by the archaeologist in charge, whether Zimmermann 2007:105. See for example Lucas 2001; Jensen 2012a; Eberhardt 2011. 606 See for example Daniel 1975:164ff For a critique of the division between ‘modern’ and ‘antiquarian’ practices, see Schnapp 2002 and Marchand 2007. 607 Carman 2004:47f. 604 605 193 that be W. M. Flinders Petrie in Egypt, Heinrich Schliemann in Greece and the Ottoman Empire, or Augustus Pitt Rivers in Great Britain.608 The excavation at the Sanctuary of Poseidon was a small-scale excavation run by archaeologists at the margin of the international field, but it was situated temporally and spatially within a formative arena in the development of classical archaeology. The excavation is also temporally confined to a few months in 1894,609 the short time period making it suitable for discussing the everyday practices in the field, from the start of the excavation to the handling of the finds and the writing-up of the publication away from the site. Taking up John Carman’s challenge to create a ‘social archaeology of archaeology’, my analysis of the excavation at Kalaureia is not just, to quote Carman, a ‘search for the answer to “how archaeologists got better at archaeology”, but an investigation into a different world-view in which the things we take as ‘real’ are only just being invented’.610 That means investigating and historicizing practices which today’s archaeologists working in the field and writing publications tend to take for granted. In this chapter, I will therefore use the micro-historical approach in order to probe the details of one excavation season, discussing in depth the hierarchies of practice on site and the methods involved in excavating and analysing the material. Inspired by archaeological ethnography, at the heart of such an approach is the recognition that archaeological practices extend beyond the fieldwork situation, that archaeology is a collective practice involving different actors, and that the space of archaeological knowledge production is situated on and off the site itself. The agency of landowners One of the pre-requisites for archaeological excavations is access to land to excavate, which in turn means that archaeologists will often encounter and interact with landowners and various interest groups. These encounters can create tensions as well as opportunities and have given rise to overlapping research fields within archaeology. In ethnoarchaeology, present cultural materiality as well as intangible heritage are used to explain cultural patterns in the past, often through ethnographic studies in rural communities.611 More Carman 2004:47. However, I will argue in Part 3 that the excavation at Kalaureia has lived on as a representation past the time frame of the actual period of fieldwork through the production of historiography. 610 Carman 2004:48. 611 Ethnoarchaeology emerged in various parts of the world during the early twentieth century in connection to the ethnographic gaze which I discussed in Topographies of Greece. For a recent 608 609 194 radical stances have been produced by so called community archaeology where local communities and stakeholders participate in the production of knowledge, and archaeological ethnography where such participatory actions are debated and discussed as well as produced, often in an interdisciplinary setting.612 The archaeological ethnography project, which has formed a part of the Kalaureia Research Program between 2006 and 2012, is an example of such an approach.613 This important part of the archaeological experience is not a new phenomenon. Accounts from excavations in the nineteenth century reveal representations of different relationships and interactions between the people living on or nearby classical sites and the archaeologists who came there to excavate. These encounters are often one-way-tales created by the archaeologists and coloured by their gaze on the topography of classical lands. This hierarchy of perspectives means that the appropriation of the site as ‘archaeological’ or as ‘historically valuable’ became the official vision.614 As expressed by Charles Goodwin ‘[a]ll vision is perspectival and lodged within endogenous communities of practice. An archaeologist and a farmer see quite different phenomena in the same patch of dirt (for example, soil that will support particular kinds of crops versus stains, features, and artefacts that can provide evidence for earlier human activity at this spot).’615 It is important to recognize that there were various ways of representing and handling local agency at classical sites in archaeology’s infancy. Leslie Kaplan notes that the emergence of an archaeological gaze on classical sites during the mid-nineteenth century, with a focus on describing and collecting material objects, meant that local inhabitants became more visible in the archaeological narrative.616 From early antiquarian representations where Greeks are portrayed as passive bystanders in Romantic portraits of classical sites, individuals now begin to be represented as more active participants in the archaeological process. Through their knowledge of the whereabouts of artefacts and ruins, local inhabitants of classical sites were potential resources. A closer reading of publications published in the mid-nineteenth century reveals the presence of various different actors in the archaeological narrative. One example of this is the work of Charles Newton (1816-1894), who is often attributed as one of the first to employ a more ‘scientific’ apexample in Greek archaeology, although much more theoretically informed and less based on perceptions of continuity, see Forbes 2007. 612 See for example Loukaki 2008; Hamilakis & Anagnostopoulos 2009a and Stroulia & Sutton 2010 for approaches to archaeological ethnography and community archaeology in Greece. 613 Hamilakis & Anagnostopoulos 2009b; Hamilakis, Anagnostopoulos & Ifantidis 2009; Anagnostopoulos 2014, and Penttinen 2014b. 614 See Hamilakis 2008:276ff on different local appropriations and interpretations of material culture. 615 Goodwin 1994:606. 616 Kaplan 2010:88f. 195 proach to excavations through his use of photography and architectural site plans in his excavations in Asia Minor in the 1850s.617 In A History of Discoveries at Halicarnassus, Cnidus and at Branchidae, Newton had the intention of presenting ‘to the public an authentic and exact narrative of the proceedings of an Expedition to Asia Minor’ and this narrative included detailed accounts of local landowners’ resistance to, or participation in, fieldwork.618 During the excavations at the Mausoleum in Halicarnassus in 1857, Newton excavated between modern buildings, fields and orchards, noting the names of the people who lived there and he wrote down the ways in which they had contributed to his excavations. He ceased excavating when the boundaries of a modern cemetery or a mosque were reached or where a landowner did not give him permission to excavate.619 Occasionally local landowners were praised for their scientific reasoning and for giving Newton access to archaeological finds, as in the case of Mehmet Chiaoux, the owner of the land on top of the Temple of Demeter and Persephone in Bodrum. Chiaoux detailed the stratigraphy of the site to Newton: ‘The proprietor, a very intelligent old Turk, called Mehmet Chiaoux, invited me to dig, in the most friendly manner, assuring me that he had found in the soil many terracotta figures. The account he gave of their discovery was as follows: On first opening the ground he found, very near the surface, a number of fine pieces of marble laid like a pavement; below these a bed of cement; and below this again a black earth, in which were terracotta figures, and also a marble slab with an inscription and five figures in relief.’620 The plates also contain information about local landowners. Newton’s architect, Richard Popplewell Pullan, drew, on the site plan, each modern house on top of the ruins of the Mausoleum and marked the name of the owner (fig. 37). Newton’s excavations at Halicarnassus and his use of photography and architectural site plans inspired the next generation of archaeologists. Alexander Conze saw Newton’s photographs in Rome in 1860 and used the technique at Samothrace thirteen years later.621 Conze’s architect during the Austrian lead excavations, Alois Hauser, included post-classical buildings in his site plan as wells as photographs of the modern village in the first publication in 1875.622 Carl Humann’s excavations in Magnesia on the Meander in Turkey in 1891-93, which are contemporary with the exca- See Michaelis 1908:99ff for an overview of Newton’s work. Also Daniel 1975:165f; Lyons 2005:40ff; Dyson 2006:137ff on Newton’s importance for archaeological field documentation. 618 Newton 1862:v. 619 See examples in Newton 1862:325f, 280f, 303f. 620 Newton 1862:325f. 621 Lyons 2005:42. 622 Conze et al. 1875: plate I and plate X. 617 196 vations at Kalaureia, included a modern mosque and a cemetery on the site plan.623 Fig. 37. Detail from the site plan of the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus. Modern houses in red are shown overlaying the ancient ruins and each house is attributed to an owner. From Newton 1862: plate IV. Photo: Royal Library, Stockholm. 623 Humann 1904:plate II. 197 However, the presence of modern buildings on top of ancient remains was also seen by Charles Newton as a hindrance. When excavating at Cnidus the year after Halicarnassus, Newton chose the site because if was largely devoid of modern structures and landowners with claims to the land.624 The same tendency of wanting an ‘undisturbed site’ coloured the choice of excavation sites in the following generations as well, including the choice of Kalaureia. Prior to the excavation season in 1894, the readers of American Journal of Archaeology and of the History of the Fine Arts were informed that: ‘[T]he Swedish Government has asked permission of the Greek Government to excavate the Temple of Poseidon, on the island of Kalaureia (the present Poros). […] Dr. Wide will supervise this work. […] Since they [the ruins, my comm.] lie apart from modern dwellings and out of the way of traffic, on a little visited island, it is hoped that the excavations may lead to good results.’ 625 The area of Palatia was, in fact, used by three families of Greek farmers as I have shown in Part 1. However, in the eyes of the state authorities on Greek antiquities, and in the archaeological community, the site was defined according to its use in antiquity. In the excavation permit issued by the General Ephorate of Antiquities and Museums, the site is not called Palatia but is referred to as the Sanctuary of Poseidon.626 Reading the archives in Uppsala reveals a telling absence of the families. Unlike earlier accounts, such as Newton’s, written in the generation preceding the excavation at Kalaureia, Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg do not mention the existence of local landowners in their letters and diaries. However, there are traces of their presence in other representations of the excavation at Kalaureia. Analogous to the examples above, the site plan drawn by Kristenson in the publication of Kalaureia from 1895 included a contemporary threshing floor where the archaeologists had pitched their tents next to the peribolos of the temple (fig. 38).627 This is the only modern building included on the site plan, possibly because it was the only modern built structure on site at the time. Later, members of the Makris family would construct a farmstead inside the sanctuary proper, but this farmstead was not present in 1894. The reason for including the threshing floor may be that it was located close to a part of the peribolos of the temple which Wide and Kjellberg interpreted as a recent addition; hence it would offer proof that the ruins of the temple had been modified in recent times. ‘I had selected this second field of operations, not only because of the celebrity of the ancient city and the extent of its ruins, but also on account of its vicinity to Budrum and the circumstance that, being uninhabited, it could be explored without such hindrances as I encountered on the site of the Mausoleum.’, see Newton 1863:346. 625 Frothingham and Jr. 1894:429. 626 Incoming letters to the Municipality of Trizina, protocol no. 759, letter no. 11119, 27 May 1894, TAP. 627 Kjellberg & Wide 1895:274. 624 198 Fig. 38. Detail of the site plan made by Sven Kristenson. The circle to the left is the modern threshing floor where the archaeologists pitched their tents. The walls between the peribolos and the cella were interpreted as recent additions to the temple. From Kjellberg & Wide 1895: plate VIII. Photo: Royal Library, Stockholm. Another example of how landowners at Kalaureia ere represented is a photograph taken on site by Sven Kristenson in 1894. It shows a man and a boy holding a large hat pose inside the temple precinct, with the excavators’ tents visible in the background; they were possibly members of the Makris family (fig. 39). The identity of these men as belonging to the Makris family has been suggested by the ethnographic work of Yannis Hamilakis and Aris Anagnostopoulos at Kalaureia through interviews with present-day family members.628 A few additional local residents are mentioned by Wide and Kjellberg. When discussing the inscriptions at Kalaureia in the publication, Sam Wide noted that one of them was found installed in the wall of a gin threshing device belonging to the brothers Spiro and Dimitris Kriesis, a few minutes away from the bay of Vajonia.629 In a letter to his parents from 18 June, one week into the excavation season, Wide wrote about a visit from a resident on Kalaureia: Penttinen 2014b:64f. Kjellberg & Wide 1895:293f. Also quoted by Wells et al. with the names of the proprietors removed, see Wells, Penttinen & Billot 2003:30. 628 629 199 ‘The other day, we had a visit from a 73-year-old medical doctor, who had been a very prominent man in his hey-day. Now he has settled down in a romantic area, approximately one quarter of an hour away from the Poseidon sanctuary. There he grows his figs and his oranges and seems to live a happy old age. He has shown us great benevolence, and yesterday we reciprocated his visit’. 630 These are the only two accounts of interactions with local inhabitants on Kalaureia and neither of these described the situation of the Makris, the Nerantzopoulos or the Nikolaou families. A photograph in Sven Kristenson’s archive taken towards the end of the excavation season shows the post-excavation appearance of Palatia. Heaps of soil covered large areas and big stone blocks of ancient buildings were left on site, which would have made farming difficult (fig. 40). Fig. 39. Two members of the Makris family who farmed the land in the vicinity of the Sanctuary of Poseidon in 1894. Photo: LUB. ‘Här om dagen hade vi besök af en 73-årig medicine doktor, som i sin krafts dagar varit en mycket framstående man. Nu har han slagit sig till ro i en romantisk trakt, ungefär ¼ timme från Poseidonhelgedomen. Där odlar han sina fikon och sina apelsiner och synes lefva en lycklig ålderdom. Han har visat oss stor välvilja, och igår besvarade vi hans besök hos oss.’, Wide to his parents, 18 June 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 630 200 Fig. 40. View of the excavations in 1894 from the south. Note the piles of soil left alongside the excavated buildings. Photo: LUB. In the archive on Poros, there are some clues as to the effect of the excavation on the Makris family. On June 19, a week after the excavations had started, Yannis Makris asked the Municipality of Trizina for a document stating the net worth of his property in order to secure a mortgage. The excerpt from the Book of Mortgages in the Poros local archive shows that the mortgage was intended as security for renting rights to collect resin on the nearby island of Hydra. φAgainst the owner Yannis Giorgos Makris, inhabitant of Angistri and staying here, for the Greek public, represented by the Minister of Economics stationed in Athens, we write a mortgage on the demand of the application with today’s date, as a security for the rent of resin of the municipality of Hydra, amounting to one thousand five hundred twenty-two drachmas and 50/00. This was drafted in Poros on the 7th of June 1894.’631 One of the explanations for this decision could be that since the excavation in and around his land coincided with the resin harvest season632, Yannis Book of Mortgages of the Municipality of Trizina, vol. 30, p. 197, no. 102., 7 June 1894, TAP. (Corresponds to 19 June in the new calendar). Transl. Aris Anagnostopoulos. 632 The best time to harvest resin is in the spring and summer when the weather is fairly warm. In cold weather, the sap runs more slowly. 631 201 Makris opted to relocate his resin collecting to Hydra since excavations were underway on his property.633 Even though landowners residing in archaeological sites were entitled to compensation from the Greek state, the process was not always quick and easy, and involved complicated bureaucratic procedures. Maria Nikolaou who owned the land inside the temple became involved in a legal battle for compensation with the Greek state after the excavations ended. On 14 October 1894, Nikolaou appealed to the Ministry of Religious Affairs and Education for compensation for finds found on her property during the excavations which in the claim are attributed to the Archaeological Society at Athens and Sam Wide. Lennart Kjellberg is not mentioned.634 She demanded either half of the finds from the excavation or a sum of 8000 drachmas.635 Georgios Nerantzopoulos filed a similar claim in February of 1895.636 Nerantzopoulos was not granted compensation a few weeks later.637 For Maria Nikolaou, it would turn out to be a protracted process. Two years after she had filed for compensation, in October 1896, the Ministry of Finance worried that the Greek state would have to pay out an excessive compensation to Nikolaou and demanded to see documents from the Archaeological Society at Athens in order to establish who the excavating body had been and what was found on site.638 In reply, the Ministry of Religious Affairs concluded that the Archaeological Society at Athens was not involved in the excavation and that Sam Wide was the sole excavator with a valid permit from the Ministry, and that ‘[…] our archaeological service knows nothing about the ownership of the excavated field where the aforementioned ancient temple lies, because neither the field itself is divided [visibly], nor were the boundaries of each disputed property demon- The Greek state or the local Municipality would rent out the right to collect resin to individuals. The resin would then be sold to a company, often located in Athens, for a profit. Anagnostopoulos, pers. comm. 634 Ministry of Religious Affairs and Education to the Ministry of Finance, folder 502, document no. 24341, 21 December 1894 (corresponds to 2 January 1895 in the new calendar). Archive of the Greek Archaeological Service, Athens. Transl. Aris Anagnostopoulos. 635 Ministry of Finance to the Ministry of Religious Affairs and Education, folder 502, document no. 16507, 25 February 1895 (corresponds to 9 March in the new calendar). Archive of the Greek Archaeological Service, Athens. Transl. Aris Anagnostopoulos. 636 Ministry of Finance to the Ministry of Religious Affairs and Education, folder 502, document no 110439, 20 February 1895 (corresponds to 4 March in the new calendar). Archive of the Greek Archaeological Service, Athens. Transl. Aris Anagnostopoulos. 637 Memo of the Ministry of Religious Affairs Education, folder 502, document no 3018, 8 March 1895 (corresponds to 20 March in the new calendar). Archive of the Greek Archaeological Service, Athens. Transl. Aris Anagnostopoulos. 638 Ministry of Finance to the Ministry of Religious Affairs and Education, folder 502, document no 87649, 15 October 1896 (corresponds to 27 October in the new calendar). Archive of the Greek Archaeological Service, Athens. Transl. Aris Anagnostopoulos. 633 202 strated to the supervising officer of our service [i.e. Grimanis] so that a catalogue of the discoveries in each could be kept’.639 The record keeping of Nicholaos Grimanis, the epistatis at Kalaureia, where he had listed the finds from the excavation, was not sufficient to be able to conclude in which field the artefacts had in fact been found. Maria Nikolaou took the case to the Court of Appeals, where in 1906, after twelve years of processing, she was awarded a sum of 1302.10 drachmas or 8 percent of what she had originally asked for.640 How are we to understand the absence of landowners in Wide’s and Kjellberg’s accounts? One interpretation would be that this absence is connected to the colonial gaze on modern Greece. In the topography of Kalaureia created by the colonial gaze, where physical and psychological access to land were justified through analogies with the Greek past, in combination with the view of Greeks as a degenerate people, the native voice could be silenced, in this case the voices of the people who lived on site. This colonial gaze was at the heart of the archaeological vision, where Palatia was reconfigured as the Sanctuary of Poseidon and became defined by the site plan produced by the archaeologists. The Sanctuary became constructed as one site, rather than as three areas appropriated by the local landowners. This in turn had an effect on claims of compensation. Since Grimanis did not categorize the finds according to modern land use, but rather recorded the excavation area as one entity, it became difficult to allocate compensation from the Greek state. This categorization of the Sanctuary was made in cooperation with archaeology and the Greek state. The Ministry of Religious Affairs and Education seems to have given Sam Wide permission to excavate, not really being fully aware that the land was not public land, possibly due to the fact that the administration of land use was managed at the local level. Another inter-connected reason for the absence of the landowners at Kalaureia is the ideals of descriptions of the site and of the excavation at the turn of the century. Ian Hodder has commented on the gradual change in the language of archaeological site reports over time, from the more thickly described story-telling which uses first person pronouns during the late eighteenth and the mid nineteenth century, to the gradual erasure of the human agency behind the excavation towards the turn of the twentieth century. 641 With an increasing emphasis on the ideal of scientific objectivity, the Ministry of Religious Affairs and Education to the Ministry of Finance, folder 502, document no. 15276, 21 October 1896 (corresponds to 2 November in the new calendar). Archive of the Greek Archaeological Service, Athens. Transl. Aris Anagnostopoulos. 640 Ministry of Finance to Ministery of Religious Affairs and Education, folder 502, document no. 61161, 5 June 1906 (corresponds to 17 June in the new calendar). Archive of the Greek Archaeological Service, Athens. Transl. Aris Anagnostopoulos. 641 Hodder 1989. 639 203 accepted ‘scientific’ language became devoid of first persons. One effect of this change is the disappearance of local landowners in the descriptions of knowledge production at archaeological sites. Hodder uses examples from archaeology in Britain, but the same tendency can be seen in archaeological writing within classical archaeology during this time. Charles Newton’s publication from Halicarnassus from the 1850s, which I have discussed above, reads like a combination of travel account and scientific description with several human actors described. The excavation at Kalaureia is situated right at this turning point. The scientific report from the publication published in 1895 is largely devoid of human agency (except for the brief introduction) and the focus is on arranging the finds and architecture into pre-existing typological sequences, which I will return to below. The narrative of discovery is instead found in newspaper articles which were intended for a layman audience and in letters to colleagues and family. As I have discussed in the previous chapter, both Wide and Kjellberg were throughout their time in Greece commenting on people they encountered, and the customs and appearance of those people; an ethnographic gaze connected to the Othering strategy against Modern Greece. These types of accounts do not exist from Kalaureia, where the focus was on the discovery of the past rather than engagements with the present in both newspaper articles and publication. As discussed by Gavin Lucas, the professionalization of archaeology from the 1870s and onwards meant that the concept of ‘the field’ and the experience of fieldwork had become ‘a critical guarantor of scientific validity’.642 This increasing need for scientific guarantee coupled with the increasing importance of context and stratigraphy meant that those who were not considered archaeologists but who still excavated and found things as local landowners did, were discredited and seen as a hindrance to real scientific labour. Archaeology became the science of context, where control of the position of artefacts by the archaeologist became important for scientific validity. Irina Podgorny has linked this development to the increasing bureaucratization and standardization of archaeological practice, where record keeping became the dividing line between dilettantism and archaeology.643 This increasing bureaucratization also meant that various governmental bodies were put in place to administer the production of archaeology, as I showed in the example of Maria Nikolaou’s struggle for compensation. The excavating body at Kalaureia, the Swedish archaeologists, did not have to take part in the process of compensation; it was handled by the Ministry of Religious Affairs and Education and other agencies in Greece. The production of the past had been separated from the affairs of the present, and the agency of landowners in the process of archaeological knowledge production was kept out of official history writing. 642 643 Lucas 2001:10. Podgorny 2015:49. Also Flinders Petrie 1904:48. 204 Hierarchies of fieldwork practices The excavation at Kalaureia lasted a total of sixty-six days. Sundays and holidays were days off and with the addition of a five-day excursion to the Peloponnesus, there was a total of fifty-three working days on site between 11 June and 16 August 1894. This time period can be divided into two parts based on the information available in the archive at Uppsala: an initial phase which lasted thirty-one working days (11 June – 22 July) during which Lennart Kjellberg and Sam Wide were together on site and a second phase which lasted twenty-one working days (23 July – 16 August) after Kjellberg had left the island and when Sven Kristenson had joined the team. The division of labour at Kalaureia consisted of the classical division between archaeologists and workmen; Kjellberg (and probably also Wide) would keep written records of the finds and the workmen would do the actual digging. But within these categories, there were other intersections at play. Who did what at Kalaureia? I will start by considering the division of labour between the archaeologists, and then move on to discuss the role of workmen and supervisors. The absent presence – Wide’s politics of belonging in the field While the self-image of the archaeologist as excavator and the importance of standardized fieldwork had become more important towards the end of the nineteenth century, site directors did not necessarily participate in the excavation process on a day-to-day basis. The role of a field director, according to W.M. Flinders Petrie a decade later, was to get his hands dirty and to ‘grow his gloves’. ‘When anything is found’, he wrote in 1904, ‘it should be the hands of the master that clear it from the soil; the pick and the knife should be in his hands every day, and his readiness should be shown by the shortness of his finger-nails and the toughness of his skin.’644 Despite such idealistic claims, Flinders Petrie often left the site for long periods of time, delegating supervision of the excavation to foremen and younger colleagues. The identity of field director did not necessarily warrant constant participation in field work, and this is something that Sam Wide took advantage of at Kalaureia. As we have seen, the relationship between Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg had already started to deteriorate before the excavation began. Wide accused Kjellberg in letters to his family and to Oscar Montelius of trying to take credit for the excavation, which Wide regarded as his personal project. At the beginning of the excavation, the relationship between the two men 644 Flinders Petrie 1904:6f. 205 was cordial. Despite this, Wide, somewhat derogatorily, wrote to his parents expressing surprise that Kjellberg was ‘conducting himself as a solid man’ and that he himself was not needed on site.645 Despite being eager to make sure that the excavation at Kalaureia was under his command, Sam Wide was absent for a large part of the excavation during the first phase. He was in Athens a total of ten working days out of thirty-one, leaving Kjellberg and Pankalos in charge of the excavation. While in Athens, Wide was able to work on his publication on the Iobacchi inscription, a task given to him by Dörpfeld. The publication was important for Wide and he saw successful completion of it as a critical factor to achieve recognition of his right to belong as a member of the DAI, hence it was a priority for him to publish on time. While in Athens, Wide stayed with the Wolters and continued his networking. Kjellberg on the other hand never left the island except during the excursion to the Peloponnese after which he fell ill and left Kalaureia for Germany. The division of labour during the twenty-one days when Wide was present is unclear, but I find it likely that he would have been in charge of doing some of the initial recording of architecture on site. In the final publication, as I shall discuss more in detail below, Kjellberg was in charge of the small finds, while Wide published the architecture.646 This division probably also reflected the conditions in the field. Kjellberg did not write down any measurements of architecture in his field diary and when he mentioned Wide, it was concerning Wide’s interpretation of various architectural finds. With such an arrangement, Sam Wide could easily be absent for extended periods of time since the day-to-day needs of keeping records would be more important for small finds than for large architecture which could be measured at a later date. This division of labour can also be seen as a reflection of Wide’s politics of belonging. Being assigned smaller finds would most probably have been considered a more minor task. In Greek archaeology at the turn of the century, architecture and sculpture were still the desired finds par excellence, although smaller finds such as pottery, metal and bones were gaining importance.647 Wide to his parents, 18 June 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. Kjellberg & Wide 1895:268. 647 Marchand 1996:87ff. 645 646 206 Fig. 41. Sam Wide casually sits on top of the peribolos of the Temple of Poseidon while Lennart Kjellberg stands shaded by Maria Nikolaouχs pine tree. Photo: Sven Kristensonχs archive, LUB. In the publication of the excavation from 1895, Lennart Kjellberg wrote in an almost apologetic way that the primary objective of the excavations had been to uncover architecture and that ‘[t]he individual finds from our excavation cannot claim the same interest as the topographical and architectural results’. The reason for this was, according to Kjellberg, that the sanctuary had been plundered and so ‘[d]ue to the nature of the terrain, our hope was low from the outset in this respect [i.e. to discover good quality finds]’.648 By being able to travel to Athens, connecting with his network and relegating a more minor task to Kjellberg, Wide would have been able to represent the excavation as his own. A third aspect of Wide’s self-representation as site director was the presentation of the scientific results to a wider audience. This began on site. The excavation had more foreign visitors during the second half of the season after Kjellberg had left the island. As we see in fig. 42, the number of visitors increase towards the end of the excavation when Wide alone was present as site director. 648 ‘Die Einzelfunde unserer Ausgrabung können nicht dasselbe Interesse beanspruchen, wie die topographischen und baulichen Ergebnisse. […] Bei der Beschaffenheit des Terrains was sauch von Anfang an unsere Hoffnung in dieser Beziehung gering.’ Kjellberg & Wide 1895:296. 207 Kjellberg Richardson & Horton Wide & Kjellberg Botho Graef Wide Kavvadias Wolters, Ms. Otto, Noack & Bulle Dörpfeld & Buresch Phindiklis & War Ministry official Richardson Agamemnon Schliemann Fig. 42. Top row shows which site director was present on site. The columns list the visitors to the excavation. The visit from Wilhelm Dörpfeld was particularly important for Wide. On August 8, he wrote to his parents that ‘On Thursday, the director of the German Institute, the splendid Dörpfeld, came here and gave me many rightful opinions on the results of the excavations. He brought Dr. Buresch from Athens, and they both stayed over-night in my tent.’649 During this visit the photograph in fig 43 was taken. The body language of Dörpfeld and Wide reveals something of the power relations between them; Dörpfeld positioned himself higher than Wide and poses with his chest out and hands firmly to his sides. Sam Wide to the left holds a piece of paper and has taken an inferior position inside the trench. Dörpfeld later approached Wide to present the results from the excavation at the DAI in December 1894, as I have discussed in the previous chapter. Lennart Kjellberg was in the audience but not as an official presenter. 649 ‘I torsdags kom tyska institutets chef, den präktige Dörpfeld, som meddelade mig många riktiga åsikter angående gräfningarnas resultat. Han hade med sig Dr. Buresch från Athen, och bägge lågo kvar öfver natten i mitt tält.’ Wide to his parents, 5 August 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 208 Fig. 43. Wilhelm Dörpfeld (left) and Sam Wide (right) inside the Temple of Poseidon in August 1894. Photo: LUB. 209 The workmen and superintendents – ‘hidden hands’ at Kalaureia It is often forgotten in the historical accounts of archaeology, but important to remember, that knowledge production through archaeological fieldwork involved labour, sweat and toil.650 Traditional histories of archaeology have showed little concern with archaeology as a collective practice.651 At Kalaureia, the majority of the workmen remain a faceless mass of numbers in the excavation diary, as was customary for many archaeological projects around the turn of the last century. Stephen Quirke has written one of the few books specifically dealing with the role of local workmen in the history of classical archaeology. In Hidden Hands, his work on the Egyptian workforces in the Flinders Petrie archives between 1880 and 1924, he demonstrates how archaeology must be regarded as a collective practice and he illustrates the uneven power structures stemming from the colonial situation that has shaped the nature of fieldwork. Quirke examines Flinder Petrie’s note books and registers where lists of names are brought to light.652 For Kalaureia, no such register exists. The workforce during the summer of 1894 fluctuated between seven to twenty-three workmen under the supervision of Pankalos who had experience from the Olympia excavations. There are no photographs of the workmen in the archives, with the possible exception of the Makris family members in fig. 39. When I started looking more closely at the photographs from the Kalaureia excavations of 1894, I began noticing that there is a man lurking in the shadows in several of the images. My own situated archaeological gaze on the photographs, looking for evidence of excavation techniques, made me oversee his presence. I had previously used the photograph of building C (fig. 44) in lectures and talks when discussing the excavation techniques employed on site (which I will return later in this chapter), never noticing that there is a person present in the photograph. Underneath the Makris family’s olive tree, wearing a light-colored shirt and a wide hat, slightly bowlegged in dark trousers, the man is dressed differently than Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg. His dress also differs from the other image of Greek persons at Kalaureia, the image of the Makris family members (see fig 39). Perhaps this is Pankalos? Shepherd 2003:349. See critique by Roberts 2012 and Quirke 2010. Also Shepherd 2003. Berit Wells lists the workforce at the Swedish excavations at Asine, Berbati and Dendra, see Wells 1998a:6f. 652 Quirke 2010. 650 651 210 Fig. 44. Building C during excavations in 1894. A shadowy figure is barely visible under the olive tree in the upper right corner of the photograph. Photo: DAI, Athens. Pankalos is represented in Wide’s letters, Kjellberg’s excavation diary and in the publication in Mitteilungen as invaluable to the success of the excavation. ‘Mr. Pankalos’, Wide wrote to his parents on 8 July, ‘an unusual Greek, who has both skill and experience and who wants what is best for us. Because of this, the excavation has become rather cheap, so we have a lot of money left if we, as is possible, should finish on Kalaureia in approximately three weeks. Then we aim to settle down somewhere else and excavate, since it is not wise to return to Athens until the middle of September.’653 Pankalos is the first person to be thanked in the publication; his name is even written above Wilhelm Dörpfeld, which indicates how invaluable he must have been for the Swedes.654 In a newspaper article from December of 1894, Sam Wide credited Pankalos for his thrift and experience.655 Not only was he racially labelled as a ‘true Greek’ as I have shown in the previous chapter, a 653 ‘[...] herr Pankalos, en ovanlig grek, som har både duglighet och erfarenhet och står på vårt bästa. På grund däraf har gräfningen blifvit mycket billig, så att vi hafva mycket penningar kvar, om vi såsom möjligt är, skulle sluta på Kalaureia om ca 3 veckor. Då är det vår mening att slå oss ned på ett annat ställe och gräfva, enär det ej är rådligt att återvända till det heta Athen förr än midten af September.’, Wide to his parents, 8 July 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 654 Kjellberg & Wide 1895:267. 655 Wide, ‘De svenska arkeologiska undersökningarna på Kalaureia’ in Post- och Inrikes Tidningar, 22 December 1894. 211 fact which made him trustworthy in the racially conscious eyes of the Swedes, Pankalos was also the most experienced archaeologist on site. As for the archaeological work on site, neither Sam Wide nor Lennart Kjellberg had any previous experience in directing projects or conducting excavations. Wide had been given a crash course on how to measure architecture by Wilhelm Dörpfeld in the winter of 1893 (see below) and Kjellberg’s prior experience remain uncertain, but I have not been able to locate any information of him having excavated prior to Kalaureia. Both had visited the German excavations in Athens and had read site reports and publications and both had physically handled archaeological objects in museums. Pankalos’s role in the excavation was to direct the workmen but he is also mentioned in Kjellberg´s diary as providing interpretations of features on site. Sometimes Kjellberg agreed with him and sometimes not. The following example comes from an entry in Kjellberg’s excavation diary from July 4: ‘The wall with small stones in D, which Pankalos holds to be a water pipe, bends to the south in the vicinity of the east wall. Pankalos also asserts that the wall becomes shallower towards this side, so that ultimately the top layer of stones lies flat on the floor, which I do not think.’656 The workforce was divided into different trenches, often two trenches were open at the same time and occasionally a single workman or a smaller group would be assigned a particular task, such as the cleaning of walls of dirt in order to see the architecture underneath more easily. Kjellberg usually started each diary entry with a short description of the number of workmen and the trenches in which they were working. This is an example from June 12: ‘2 workmen continued the exposure of the small temple on the second terrace. The rest were employed at the large upper temple, namely 4 in the northeast corner, 4 on the north side and 4 in the north-western corner, which was now exposed.’657 When an object was found, it would have been presented to Lennart Kjellberg who, if he deemed the find important enough, recorded it in his diary. I will return to the handling of finds below. Whether the workmen also took the measurements is unclear. The workmen are rarely named; Pankalos is a ‘Die Mauer mit kleinen Steinen in D, die Pankalos für eine Wasserleitung hält macht nach Süden eine Biegung in der Nähe der Ostmauer. Auch behauptet Pankalos, daß sie nach dieser Seite immer seichter wird so dass schliesslich die oberste Schicht von Steinen flach auf dem Boden aufliegen, was ich nicht glaube.’, Kjellberg’s excavation diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 657 ‘2 Arbeiter setzten die Freilegung des kleinen Temples an der zweiten Terasse fort. Die übrigen wurden am grossen oberen Tempel beschäftigt und zwar 4 an der Nordostecke, 4 an der Nordseite u. 4 an der Nordwestecke, die jetzt freigelegt wurde.’, Kjellberg’s excavation diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 656 212 notable exception explained by the fact that he occupied a middlemanagement position between Wide and Kjellberg and the workmen. The only example from Lennart Kjellberg’s excavation diary where a workman is named is a man called Stavros.658 Stavros is also the only workman credited in Kjellberg’s field diary for making an archaeological find, a wall in building B.659 Sam Wide wrote in a letter from Aphidna about a second man who joined him at Aphidna from Kalaureia, a man named Giorgos who is referred to as Barba Georgi by Wide.660 In addition, there was a boy who prepared the food at the beginning of the field season; later an older man performed the same task. Where these men came from is unclear. Sam Wide mentioned having met the kitchen boy before, and that he had been employed by the Germans: ‘A Greek boy, who has been employed by the German Institute, cooks our food. Naturally, we have had to acquire some cooking vessels, whereby Mrs. Wolters has been helpful to us’, Wide wrote to his parents on June 18.661 It is possible that the some or all of the members of the workforce had previously been employed by the Germans at one or several of their excavations, but is also possible that they were recruited locally. Since the number of workmen fluctuated over the season, it is perhaps more likely that the workmen were hired from the vicinity of Poros. Whether they stayed up on site or down in the town of Poros, or in one of the villages on Kalaureia is unclear. The two tents featured in the photograph from the excavation do not seem large enough to house up to twenty people. Sam Wide also mentioned being left alone up on site during the weekends after Lennart Kjellberg left, suggesting that the workmen probably stayed somewhere else.662 But it could also be that Wide would consider himself ‘alone’ even in the presence of Greek workmen. A local tale on Poros today tells the story of how Sam Wide built a house on Samouil for the workmen during the excavation and therefore Samouil had been named after him.663 I have not found any evidence for a house being built, and neither the budget nor the timeframe of the project would seem to allow for that kind of expense. ‘Ich habe den alten Mann Stavros das Gebäude B reinigen laßen. Nachher wird er die Steine von A auch reinigen.’ [‘I have let the old man Stavros clean building B. After that he will also clean the stones of A.’], Kjellberg’s excavation diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 659 ‘Ausserhalb der Westmauer von B hat Stavro eine neue Mauer entdeckt.’ [‘Outside the west wall of B, Stavro has discovered a new wall.’], Kjellberg’s excavation diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 660 Wide to his parents, 29 October 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 661 ’En grekisk pojke, som varit i tyska institutets tjänst, lagar vår mat. Naturligtvis ha vi måst skaffa oss några kokkärl, och andra köksartiklar, hvarvid Fru Wolters varit oss behjälplig.’, Wide to his parents, 18 June 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 662 Wide to his parents, 30 July 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 663 Wells, Penttinen & Billot 2003:34. 658 213 The relationship between the Swedish archaeologists and the Greek workmen was good, according to Wide: ‘The parting from the workmen was good and cordial. They explained that they wanted to come and work, if I were to excavate somewhere else. […] Last night, after I had packed all the things on-board, I returned to shore and was treated by some of the workmen, one of them treated me to mastika (a kind of liqueur), the second one offered coffee, the third cognac.’ 664 The workmen were described as honest and hardworking. Those types of virtues fitted the class-based division of labour: the workmen’s mission on site was to provide intense manual work and not steal any objects of value. The threat of theft, described in several contemporary and later accounts of field work strategies665 meant that it is possible that the workmen at Kalaureia were paid according to what they found, not by day or week, in order to prevent objects from being stolen. In Flinders Petrie’s handbook on field work from 1904, the selection of suitable workmen followed several criteria, the most important being physical strength and moral virtues. The latter was expressed by the facial characteristics. Finders Petrie recommended that: ‘[…] besides the mere physical strength of the fellow, the face has to be studied for the character. […] The qualities to be considered are, first, the honesty, shown mostly by the eyes, and by a frank and open bearing; the next, the sense and ability; and lastly, the sturdiness, and freedom from nervous weakness and hysterical tendency to squabble.’666 We saw the importance of physiognomy in the creation of the ethnographic gaze on Greece in Topographies of Greece above. While Lennart Kjellberg was silent about the workforce at Kalaureia, he decided to write an entire newspaper article dedicated to explaining the characters of the workmen at Larisa in Turkey eight years later. Although his attitudes towards the workmen at Kalaureia might have been different in 1894, the article is still an interesting example of how the class conscious and politically conservative Kjellberg chose to represent his employees. In the article, Greek, Turkish and Kurdish workmen at Larisa were compared with Swedish working-class railway workers; the former were found by Kjellberg to be more reliable and courteous. He wrote: 664 ‘Afskedet från arbetarne var godt och hjärtligt. De förklarade, att de ville komma och arbeta, om jag skulle gräfva på annat ställe. Igår afton, sedan jag instufvat alla sakerna ombord, återvände jag i land och blef då af några arbetare trakterad, af den ene med mastika (en sorts likör), af den andre med kaffe, af den tredje med konjak.’ Wide to his parents, 20 August 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 665 See for example Flinders Petire 1904: 31ff. and Quirke 2010:94ff. 666 Flinders Petrie 1904:21. 214 ‘During the time when I have had the pleasure of directing the excavations at Larisa, I have never seen a workman stirred by strong beverages, still less a drunk man, I have never witnessed anything disrespectful in speech or gesture on the part of the workmen […] I would with pleasure invite each and every one of them to sit at my table. I wonder how many of our railway engineers who could say the same thing about our workers? And these Anatolian workmen would of course be looked at with the deepest contempt by their class-conscious professional brethren in the Ultima Thule. And yet they are fortunate, happy, lovable people, who are as of yet untouched by the poisonous bacteria of modern civilization.’667 In Lennart Kjellberg’s account, the Larisa workforce were examples of happy savages, who did not require educated bildung since they already had a natural ‘true bildung’668 stemming from their racial character and cultural situatedness far from modernity. Swedish railway workers, in contrast, were not only unjustifiably racist in contrast to Kjellberg’s own benevolent racism, but also ‘through their excesses [i.e. alcohol consumption] a terror for the peaceful population which reside in the areas where the railway line in question is being built.’669 By presenting the Larisa workmen in such a way in the Swedish press, the politically conservative Kjellberg could comment on contemporary Swedish politics by juxtaposing ‘good workers’ against ‘bad workers’, indicating that the Swedish working class struggles were undeserving. The ‘bad Swedish workers’ did not live up to the expectations of being Swedish citizens, i.e. they did not embody the ideals of the Swedish masculine Volksgeist which was in part equated with the bourgeois man and could thus be denied civic rights. The workers in Turkey, or in Greece for that matter, were expected to embody their own race, which had a naturally occurring and exotic sensitivity with nature according to the Western gaze on the Eastern Mediterranean that I discussed above. 667 ‘Under den tid, som jag haft det nöjet att leda utgräfningsarbetena i Larissa, har jag aldrig sett en af starka drycker rörd, ej mindre en full arbetare, har aldrig varit vittne till något ohöfviskt i tal eller åtbörd från arbetarnas sida. [...] Jag skulle med nöje inbjuda alla och hvar af dem, att taga plats vid mitt bord. Jag undrar hur många af våra jernvägsingeniörer som skulle kunna säga detsamma om sina arbetare? Och dessa anatoliska arbetare skulle naurligtvis betraktas med det djupaste förakt af sina klassmedvetna yrkesbröder i det yttersta Thule. Och dock äro de lyckliga, glada, älskvärda menniskor, som ännu äro oberörda af den moderna civilisations giftbacill.’, Kjellberg ‘Från utgräfningarna vid Larissa. Turkiska arbetare’ in Stockholms Dagblad, 30 March 1902. Ultima Thule in Greco-Roman mythology deliniated an area furthest to the north or west, possible Scandinavia. Kjellberg used it here to allude to Sweden. 668 In original ‘verklig bildning’. 669 ‘[…] genom sina excesser bifva en skräck för den fredliga befolkningen, som bor och bygger i de trakter, genom hvilka den ifrågavarande jernvägslinien drags fram.’, Kjellberg ‘Från utgräfningarna vid Larissa. Turkiska arbetare’ in Stockholms Dagblad, 30 March 1902. 215 The workmen do not feature in any of the photographs taken on site at Kalaureia in 1894, with the exception of the potential members of the Makris family and possibly Pankalos. The relative absence of workmen in the archive means that they have effectively been written out of the history of the Kalaureia excavation, as I will discuss in Part 3. The composition of the archives of archaeology, here in the form of personal archives, is a product of the colonial topographical gaze. As Nick Shepherd points out in his article on the archive of John Goodwin (1900-1959) and the representation of native labour in Africa, the archives often give us detailed accounts of the thought-processes and anecdotal evidence of the life of the archaeologist, but rarely or never mention the co-workers.670 These ‘habits of elision’,671 the removal of agency based on intersections of class, gender and race, underlines the creation of archaeological self-images, where the professional, whether working in Greece or in sub-Saharan Africa, is ideally a Western European white man. In addition to a racial bias, the professionalization of archaeological practice during the nineteenth century led to a view of the site director and the trained archaeologist as the sole possessors of the ability to produce the past. The keeper of records, more than the excavator, became the true source of knowledge production. I have argued elsewhere, however, that although the names and faces are missing in the archives of the excavation, the labour of the workmen is visible in photographs in the shape of trenches and dumps.672 Through turning our gaze onto the presence of the workmen at Kalaureia, we can look at the photographs from a different angle. The picture below, featuring building A during excavations in 1894, does not feature any people but is clearly a picture of work in progress (fig. 45). Here, the trenches are not only evidence of excavation technique but also a reminder of the manual labour that was required to perform archaeology. The trenches are creations by the ‘hidden hands’ at Kalaureia in 1894. The workmen are there, but they are out of frame attesting to the illusive power of the camera to control representation at Kalaureia.673 Shepherd 2003:346. Ibid. 672 Berg 2013. 673 Cf. Sheperd 2003:350. 670 671 216 Fig. 45. Trench sections with marks of spades and shuffles in building A. Manual labour manifests in this photograph despite the absence of people. Photo: DAI, Athens. Two men from the Greek government were present at the site; Nikolaos Grimanis, who served as the epistatis or supervisor, and G. Sappaklis who was hired as agrofylakas or guard. Greek law demanded that, and still demands that, foreign excavation be supervised by officials from the government. The presence of members from the Greek authority created tensions; Sam Wide did not particularly like the Greek superintendents. Neither Grimanis nor Sappaklis are mentioned by name in the excavation diary or in Wide’s letters. Kjellberg does not mention them at all. In a letter, Wide refers to Grimanis as ‘a representative of the government, a museum guard’, and Sappaklis is called ‘a policeman’.674 Wide even accused the men of theft during the first week of excavations: ‘At the end of last week I noticed that an unusually large amount of food had been consumed, in spite of the fact that the household consists only of yours truly, Lennart and the Greek boy. It was then revealed that several others had been in our kitchen (a little barrack made of wooden planks): namely the representative of the government, a museum guard, who supervises the excavation [i.e. Grimanis]; a police man, who has been commissioned by the government to superintend the order on site [i.e.Sappaklis]; together with a third freeloader. I for- 674 Wide to his parents, 25 June 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 217 bade such undertakings in the future and I hope that from now on we may eat our food for ourselves.’675 The incident came to a head a couple of weeks later, when the kitchen boy was fired: ‘The government representative [Grimanis] at the excavations has been forced to give our kitchen boy a reprimand on the account that he stole from him last week. Strictly speaking we have two representatives from the Greek government with us. The other day, I pointed out to Lennart that these two gentlemen [i.e. Grimanis and Sappaklis] were the only persons of a thievish character in the excavation field. Our 20 workmen are honest and good men. The two previously mentioned gentlemen, however, are very cowardly gentlemen, and we have them in our grip due to our strong intervention during the investigation of the theft.’ 676 In keeping with the self-image of the archaeologist as capable of controlling the excavation, it was important for Wide to assert himself in the hierarchy whether against Kjellberg or against the Greek officials. Methods and aims – nineteenth century fieldwork practices in context While nineteenth-century sensibilities affected the division of labour on site, the field methods themselves were also outcomes of a particular way of looking at archaeological knowledge. As discussed by Ola W. Jensen in his introduction to Histories of Archaeological Practice, fieldwork has previously been ‘understood as a somewhat mechanical and objective process of assembling samples and information brought in for further intellectual exami- ‘Vid slutet af första veckan märkte jag, att ovanligt mycket mat gått åt, oaktadt hushållet bestod blott af undertecknad, Lennart och den grekiska pojken. Det uppdagades då, att flere andra gått i vårt kök (en af bräder uppförd liten barack): nämligen regeringens representant, en vaktmästare från museerna, som öfvervakar gräfningen; en polisman, som af regeringen blifvit beordrad att öfvervaka ordningen på platsen; samt ännu en 3dje snyltgäst. Jag förbjöd för framtiden sådana tilltag och hoppas, att vi nu få äta vår mat för oss själfva.’, Wide to his parents, 25 June 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 676 ‘Regeringens representant vid gräfningarna har tvungits att gifva vår kökspojke en revers på den samma, han under första veckan stal från honom. Egentligen ha vi tvänne representanter för den grekiska regeringen hos oss. Jag gjorde här om dagen Lennart uppmärksam därpå, att dessa tvänne herrar voro de enda boffysiognomier, som finnas på utgräfningsfältet. Våra 20 arbetare äro hederliga och bra karlar. Emellertid äro de nyss nämnda tvenne herrarna mycket fega herrar; och vi ha dem i vårt våld på grund af vårt kraftiga ingripande vid undersökningen om stölden.’, Wide to his parents, 8 July 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 675 218 nation.’677 With an increasing awareness of the situatedness of archaeological practice, Ola W. Jensen argues, building on the suggestion of Michael Shanks and Randall H. McGuire, as well as Matt Edgeworth, that the archaeologist should be seen as an artisan who ‘using various tools and techniques, literally carves and sculptures [a site] into shapes that make sense in accordance with certain ideals and craft skills’.678 The various practices through which archaeology creates knowledge about time and place are thus dependent on certain standards and regulations, which in turn have an impact on the appearance of a site. I will now look into the field methods used at Kalaureia and the way in which the archaeological methods applied shaped the site into a desired form, and the outcome of the artefact selection process on knowledge production on site. I will begin by discussing the architecture and site plan before moving on to the organization of soil disposal and the treatment of small finds. Chasing walls ‘June 11. Excavations began with a work force of 14 men, by a foundation wall which stretches from north to south on the second highest terrace, with the intention of continuing said wall investigating whether this wall could have belonged to a temple. Right next to the same, a piece of clay ornament from a sima laid on the surface, which, however, has disappeared in an inexplicable manner. It soon became clear that this wall could not be a temple wall, due to its scanty size. Afterwards, we started by a stronger wall, which went in the same direction, on the border between the second, or middle, terrace and the most lower one. A couple of centimetres below the surface were some vase shards.’ 679 The quote above is taken from the very first entry in Kjellberg’s excavation diary, and shows that the excavation started from visible walls on the surface of the terrain. The excavation progressed quickly. By the second day, June 12, they had located two ‘temples’: one large upper temple and one smaller ‘temple’, later reconfigured as building A. The table in fig. 46 shows the weeks in which different buildings were excavated. The excavation Jensen 2012b:10 Jensen 2012b:13. See also Shanks & McGuire 1996 and Edgeworth 2003. 679 Den 11 juni 1894. Började gräfningarne med en arbetsstyrka af 14 men, vid en fundamentsmur som går i riktning mot norr till söder på den näst högsta terassen, i afsigt att fortsätta denna mur undersöka huruvida denna mur kunde hafva tillhört ett tempel. Alldeles invid densamma låg uppe i ytan ett stycke af thonbeklädnaden till en sima, som dock på ett oförklarligt sätt försvunnigt. Det visade sig snart att denna mur icke kunde vara en tempelmur på grund af sin ringa tjocklek. Derefter började vi vid en starkare mur, som gick i samma riktning vid gränsen mellan den andra eller mellersta terrassen och den nedersta. Ett par centimeter under ytan fanns några vasskräfvor.’, Kjellberg’s excavation diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 677 678 219 moved progressively from the Temple of Poseidon towards the south-west, and the buildings were named according to the order in which they were excavated. Excavated area W1 W2 W3 W4 W5 W6 W7 W8 W9 W10 Temple A B C* D E F** G** *Building C is not mentioned in Kjellbergχs excavation diary, but it is marked on the site plan. On July 4 (week 4), Kjellberg made a drawing of an inscription found in C (Kjellberg & Wide 1895:287f.) hence we can assume that building C was excavated around that date. **Buildings F and G are not mentioned in Kjellbergχs excavation diary, but they are marked on the site plan. On July 21 (week 6), Wide sketched a drawing of an inscription found in G in Kjellbergχs diary (Kjellberg & Wide 1895:295) hence we can assume that building G was excavated around that date. This indicates that F and G were excavated towards the end of the season, after Kjellberg had left the island. Fig. 46. Table showing when the different buildings in the Sanctuary of Poseidon were excavated from June 11- August 13, 1894. Remembering here that neither Sam Wide nor Lennart Kjellberg had much practical experience directing fieldwork before Kalaureia, it is important to track the inspirations for the methods used, in other contemporary excavations. As discussed by Gisela Eberhardt, these preconceptions are important to acknowledge when discussing the history of excavations and she suggests that they usually stemmed from two directions: historical sources and/or comparisons with known similar sites. Taking the German excavations at Olympia in the 1870s as an example, Eberhardt shows how Ernst Curtius and his team relied on the description of the site by Pausanias and laid out the trenches so that they radiated from the Temple of Zeus; the buildings they uncovered were then described accordingly. The aim was to uncover 220 the buildings and structures which Pausanias had described.680 Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg as well as Pankalos also knew what to expect from a sanctuary site: they knew they would find architecture of a certain kind, and architecture became the primary focus of the investigation. Work by Philippe Le Bas at Kalaureia had in the 1840s already produced a site plan where some of the structures were marked, and this was reproduced by Ernst Curtius in 1852 (fig 47).681 Fig. 47. Plan of the Sanctuary of Poseidon made in 1842-44 by E. Landron. Note that the north arrow points in the wrong direction. From Le Bas 1888: plate 15:2. Also in Curtius 1852: plate XVIII. Photo: Royal Library, Stockholm The excavation method of choice at Kalaureia was inspired by the techniques of Bauforschung, the study of constructed architecture, which Dörpfeld had pioneered at Olympia.682 Adolf Michaelis wrote in 1908 on the Olympia excavation: ‘Nothing was superficially worked, but each spot and each building received careful attention. Each detail was carefully noted and all the finds were systematically arranged, so as to afford a general view for eventual reconstruction, quite a new and salutary proceeding. In the case of pieces of sculpture which were shattered into countless fragments, the position of each piece and the depth of the Eberhardt 2008:92 Le Bas 1888: plate 15:2. The work by Le Bas is not mentioned in the publication. 682 Hermann 2002; Eberhardt 2011:193f. 680 681 221 debris above it gave a decisive indication of the age of an architectural monument.’683 Through such more meticulous and more standardized methods compared to earlier excavation techniques, the building sequence of a settlement (sanctuaries were favoured) could be established, thus making, according to the archaeologists, ‘the excavation a reconstruction of the lost whole, [which is] the distinguishing mark of the new method.’684 This focus on architecture was nothing new. The work at Herculaneum, Pompeii and Stabiae in the eighteenth century by military engineers brought the possibility of reconstructing ancient architecture into fore.685 Coupled with a contemporary surge in neo-classical architecture, and the continued focus on romantic depictions of classical ruins in art and literature, the material manifestation of classical lands was largely focused on monumental architecture. Pankalos who had worked at Olympia would have been familiar with the German excavation techniques and Sam Wide particularly mentioned being trained by Vilhelm Dörpfeld. In November of 1893, Dörpfeld had encouraged Wide to travel to Sicyon and Titane, places that, according to Wide, had not been visited by scholars for the last 50 years. Dörpfeld wanted Wide to draw plans of the sites and therefore taught him how to make field measurements. Wide wrote to his parents: ‘During this week, I have learned how to conduct field measurements from Prof. Dörpfeld, for I intend to make plans of old classical fortresses. […] I think that I will return home as half a land surveyor. My equipment for the trip to the Peloponnese consists of, among other things, a graded scale, a 20 meter long measuring tape, a compass, a bevel steel square and other things that are required for drawing plans of sites.’686 What did this method actually entail on site? Once a wall was discovered in the Sanctuary of Poseidon, a trench was placed on either side of it in order to uncover the full extent of the architecture. In fig. 48, we see building A during excavation in 1894. The trenches are laid out along the outer walls and the inner colonnade of the stoa, leaving bulks of unexcavated earth covering the floor levels of the building. Michaelis 1908:127. Michaelis 1908:158. 685 Eberhardt 2011:189. 686 ‘Under veckan har jag lärt mig fältmätning för Prof. Dörpfeld, ty jag ämnar uppkarta planer af gamla antika befästningar. […] Jag tror, att jag kommer hem som en half landtmätare. Min utrustning för den Peloponnesiska resan består bl.a. af graderad skala, 20 meter långt mätband, kompass, vinkelmått m.fl. saker, som jag fordrar för uppkartande af platser.’, Wide to his parents, 25 November 1893, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 683 684 222 Fig. 48. Building A, a Doric stoa, during excavations in 1894. The photograph reveals the excavation techniques employed. If you look closely, you can see the figure of a man, possibly Pankalos, in the upper-right corner of the stoa. Photo: DAI, Athens. That type of approach to a site was not only used by the Germans. Flinders Petrie wrote about his preferred excavation technique for architecture in 1904 that ‘in case of tracing a building, trenches cut along the lines of the walls are a good beginning; then if more is wanted, the plan is clear and the rooms can be emptied with foresight.’687 Hence starting from visible walls and placing trenches along those walls on both sides made it possible to trace the outline of the buildings as well as to investigate the depth of the foundations and to use the associated finds to date the building. As Flinders Petrie wrote in 1904 the clearance of the walls was a first step; the next step ‘if more is wanted’ would be to excavate the floor levels inside the buildings.688 This was not done by the excavators at Kalaureia. The bulks of earth between the architecture were left intact and the trenches were not backfilled. Evidence for this can be seen in the picture below of building A in 2004 (fig. 49). The bulks of earth from 1894, as we can see in fig 48 above, have eroded forming low mounds between the walls and the inner colonnade. Why did they not excavate the floor levels? It is possible that the dearth of what they considered to be good quality finds from the trenches 687 688 Flinders Petrie 1904:41. Flinders Petrie 1904:41. 223 made them decide that it was not worth the time to excavate inside the buildings. The main interest lay in producing a site plan, and to date the buildings in accordance with the techniques of Bauforschung and for that purpose, it was enough to reveal the architecture. The architectural finds then made it possible to reconstruct the appearance of the building in Antiquity which could then be assigned a function according to what was known from historical sources on Greek sanctuaries and by comparison to other known sanctuaries such as Olympia. Fig. 49. Building A in 2004 with visible remains from the 1894 excavation. Compare with fig. 48 above. Photo: Berit Wells. Once all of the buildings had been excavated, a site plan could be made. As with other earlier and contemporary excavations, an architect was brought in to do the measuring. On Kalaureia, this was done by Sven Kristenson during the last week of excavations. In the photograph below, which is currently in Kristenson’s archive in Lund and in the DAI in Athens, we see Sam Wide standing in building A (fig. 50). A measuring stick leans against the wall. This wall serves as a good example of the interpretative process employed. Kristenson’s drawing of the wall (fig. 51) made it into the publication689 and was used to compare the stoa to other known buildings which featured the same polygonal stone technique. From the publication: ‘The technique of polygonal stones on this wall is not very different from the Themistoclean city wall in Athens. Also for the Doric capitals and the Ionic column bases, analogies arise with Athenian buildings of the fifth century BC (Parthenon and the Propylaia).’690 Hence, by using analogies with other Kjellberg & Wide 1895:276 (fig. 7). ‘Die teknik der polygonalen Mauern dieser Stoa ist von der der themistokleischen Stadtmauer in Athen nicht sehr verschieden. Auch für die dorischen Kapitelle und die ionischen Säulenhasen 689 690 224 known constructions with a similar appearance, building A was dated to the fifth century BC; according to the publication, this made it the oldest double stoa in Greece.691 The site plan, which was published in the 1895 publication, featured all the buildings that were excavated during the summer of 1894 (fig. 52): the Poseidon temple; three stoas (A-C) surrounding what was interpreted as the agora; building D which was described as a trapezoid building with a portico and four adjoining rooms; building E which was referred to as a propylaion (entrance) to the sanctuary; building F which was interpreted as a bouleuterion (where the city council, the boule, met) and building G, which was interpreted as a possible cult house to Asclepius since a statuette of the god was found there. The small c-shaped structure to the left of building E is the so-called Exedra (see fig. 18). Next to the temple is the modern threshing floor discussed earlier. ergeben sich Analogien mit Athenischen bauten des fünften Jahrhunderts vor Chr. (Parthenon und Propyläen)’, Kjellberg & Wide 1895:276. 691 Kjellberg & Wide 1895:276f. 225 Fig. 50. Sam Wide poses in building A. A measuring stick leans against the wall. The trench has been cut to reveal the foundations of the building. Photo: DAI, Athens. A duplicate exists in Kristensonχs archive at LUB. Fig. 51. Kristensonχs drawing of the wall segment from the photograph in fig. 50. Photo: Sven Kristensonχs archive, LUB. 226 Fig. 52. Site plan by Sven Kristenson. From Kjellberg & Wide 1895:plate VII. Photo: Royal Library, Stockholm. 227 Moving earth Excavating large sanctuaries, which often covered several thousand square meters, meant that a large quantity of earth had to be removed in order to uncover the architecture beneath. The removal and disposal of soil constituted a real logistic challenge during the big digs of the second half of the nineteenth century. ‘The great difficulty is to know where to place the stuff removed, so as not to block future work’, Flinders Petrie wrote in 1904.692 Rufus Richardson commented in his travel book ‘Vacation days in Greece’ that: ‘[t]he French excavators [at Delphi] are to be congratulated upon the ease with which they got rid of their earth. Their dumping-cars were easily brought to the edge of the gorge of the Pleistos, and the contents shot down thousands of feet, never to trouble them no more. How I have envied them when working at Corinth, where one of the chief difficulties has been to find a proper dumping-place for the enormous deposit of from twenty to thirty feet of earth. At Olympia, also, the brook Kladeos was very serviceable in carrying off the dump. It is a pity that one cannot always find an excavation site close by a serviceable river.’ 693 The removal of soil was one of the major reasons why a large workforce was necessary. Flinders Petrie made use of ‘a train of young boys’ during his excavations in Egypt.694 Sometimes even access to great man power was not enough. The Delphi excavations had built a rail road that carried the excess soil away; it was then dumped into the Pleistos gorge. In a newspaper article from December 1893, Sam Wide commented on the French excavations at Delphi and their use of a railroad as ‘exemplary’.695 At Kalaureia, such measures were not necessary. Lennart Kjellberg mentioned in his field diary that wheel barrows were brought in and that the excess soil from excavating the temple was thrown down the slope towards Vajonia, the ancient harbour.696 Soil from the other buildings seems to have been mostly kept as dump piles next to the buildings, as can been seen in fig. 40. However, the act of soil removal and disposal was not only seen as a logistic challenge. Removal of soil made the act of discovery possible and this was essential to the self-image of the archaeologist. There was also a sensuous quality to the removal of the mundane, i.e. the soil and the uncovering of the extraordinary, i.e. the remains of the past. Lennart Kjellberg described the sensuous qualities of the newly excavated artefact during excavations at Flinders Petrie 1904:42. Richardson 1903:33. 694 Finders Petrie 1904:43 695 Wide, ‘En dag i Delphi’ in Post- och Inrikes Tidningar, 13 December 1893. 696 Kjellberg’s excavation diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 692 693 228 Larisa in Turkey in 1902 as follows: ‘[…] all of these archaeological objects have only very recently been pulled from the bowels of the earth, yes, on some, the earth is still moist. They spread such a wonderful scent around them, which for the archaeologist offers the same sweet delight as a pile of compost for the true agriculturalist.’697 In Kjellberg’s account we meet the practice of excavation in the form of an escapist gaze, which I have described above as being important to the creation of Greek topographies. Placing oneself on an excavation site, and, if not actually digging, at least witnessing the removal of soil created sensations that for city dwellers were exotic and brought them closer to nature. But it required a real archaeologist to value such an experience, just as it required a real farmer to appreciate the smell of manure. Here we find a good example of the self-image of the archaeologist intermingling with the creation of an escapist topography of Greece. On ne trouve rien – the small finds ‘The succession of journal entries at time creates unintentionally humorous effects: “Tuesday October 24. It rained. We did not work. Wednesday October 25. It did not rain. We worked. We didn’t find anything.”’ [In original ‘On ne trouve rien’].698 The example above, taken from Paul Perdrizet’s excavation diary at Delphi from 1893, reveals a common but less discussed aspect of archaeological knowledge production: expectation and disappointment. The idea that archaeologists could spend a whole day excavating in Delphi without finding one single archaeological artefact is, of course, absurd. Instead, the quote suggests something else: the expectations of certain cultural materials which were not found, and the disappointment which ensued as a result. These expectations and disappointments stemmed from the history of constructing the Greek ideal past, where sculpture and architecture took centre stage in aesthetic appropriation of Greekness. Greek art had for centuries been looked up to as the pinnacle of human artistic expression, with Roman copies of Greek art a fundamental component of the aesthetic appreciation of Renaissance high culture. When archaeologists started to excavate the famous cities and sanctuaries described by classical authors, their expectation 697 ‘[…] alla dessa arkeologiska föremål hafva helt nyligen dragits fram ut jordens innandöme, ja, på en stor del är jorden ännu fuktig. De sprida omkring sig en parfym, som för arkeoloogen har samma ljufva behag som komposthögens för den sanne landtbrukaren.’, Kjellberg, ‘Utgräfningarna vid Larissa i Mindre Asien’ in Stockholms Dagblad, 23 February 1902. 698 ‘La succession des notes journalières crée parfois des effets d’humor non voulus: ‘Mardi 24 octobre. Il pleut. On ne travaille pas. Mercredi 25 octobre. Il ne pleut pas. On travaille. On ne trouve rien.’, Jacquemin 1992:154. 229 was to uncover more of these objects that could be placed prominently in museum exhibitions and which could be added to an already idealized vision of what society in classical Greece looked like and what it represented. Instead they often found heaps of small and mundane objects, pieces of everyday life from various time periods. In the words of Suzanne Marchand who has done extensive research on the history of German classical archaeology: ‘[…] modern Mediterranean archaeology in particular is the product not of big finds, but of big disappointments, of quests for treasure that produced, instead pottery and broken pillars, and the halting absorption of these disappointments by European cultural institutions.’699 Classical archaeology, during the nineteenth century, found and developed methods of dealing with large quantities of cultural material in symbiosis with other European archaeologies. The Olympia excavations had developed a system with large catalogues that described finds from various categories, a recording and interpretative system that is still crucial in classical archaeology. A similar undertone of disappointment with the finds from Kalaureia can be found in Sam Wide’s letters where he expressed a wish to continue excavating in another location as soon as possible.700 Since the Sanctuary of Poseidon had been used as a quarry for centuries, it was from an archaeological view-point a fairly poorly preserved site. I have already touched upon Kjellberg’s almost apologetic statement from the publication where he stated the fact that the small finds could not measure up to the architectural study at Kalaureia. Nonetheless, the small finds were treated with detail in Kjellberg’s field diary and in the publication. This gives us an opportunity to discuss the way in which archaeological knowledge production worked in relation to these new find categories. Once pulled from the ground, selected artefacts were recorded in Lennart Kjellberg’s field diary. The objects chosen by Kjellberg had diagnostic features, i.e. they could be dated based on certain material characteristics. Being diagnostic in the eyes of the archaeologist meant that they resembled other objects that had been studied before and that were present in collections and publications. Pottery is the most frequent category of find in Kjellberg’s field diary, with the next most frequent being metal objects such as coins, jewellery, nails and weaponry. Architectural pieces were also singled out, as were inscriptions. Stone objects were less frequent. Bones were not noted at all, with a few exceptions. The importance of pottery can be explained by the fact that before the invention of scientific dating techniques during the twentieth century, stylistic analyses of pots were the method of choice for dating the features on site. If we compare Kjellberg’s system of recording Marchand 2002:148. See for example Wide to his parents, 8 July 1894 and 16 July 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 699 700 230 with the field diaries preserved from Delphi (which was excavated at the same time as Kalaureia) there are striking similarities. The same find categories were recognized: pottery which was subdivided into vases, figurines and statuettes; architectural pieces (favouring those made from marble); bronzes; coins and inscriptions.701 As discussed by Anne Jacquemin, who has researched the field diaries from Delphi, the find categories were established before the excavations started.702 Hence, by applying pre-determined material categories when collecting artefacts in the field, the archaeologists literally found what they were looking for.703 This meant that objects which did not fit into the grand categories were excluded. However, occasionally materials from more recent layers were discussed. From Kjellberg’s excavation diary, we learn that a grave was discovered on June 19 in the temple area. Kjellberg concluded that it had been placed into the wall of the cella at a later date. A few human bones were found in the vicinity.704 This is the only occasion in which osteological material is mentioned. In the publication, this grave did not attract much attention apart from a foot note where Wide wrote that it was ‘from a later time’, i.e. not from antiquity.705 The grave was never believed to be part of the grave monument to Demosthenes, which according to Pausanias was raised in the sanctuary.706 The page from Kjellberg’s diary in fig. 53 is a typical example of his field notes from the beginning of the excavation. Whether the recording was done by Kjellberg during the working day or after work had finished is uncertain. The frequent corrections and crossing-out of words in the diary suggest, perhaps, that it was done rather hastily in the field. Kjellberg started off his field diary in Swedish only to switch to German, probably because he found it difficult to describe the objects in Swedish (fig. 54). German would have been the language in which both he and Wide were taught the archaeological terminology. Towards the end of the diary, the entries become less and less detailed. In the final publication, the contextual information had almost entirely disappeared apart from a general assignment of finds to various buildings. Jacquemin 1992:152. Jacquemin 1992:152. 703 See Marchand 2007:249f. 704 Kjellberg’s excavation diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 705 ‘In der Flucht der südlichen Cellamauer wurde ein Grab aus späterer Zeit gefunden.’ [’Along the straight southern wall of the cella, a grave from a later period was found’], Kjellberg & Wide 1895:271. 706 Paus. 2.33.5. I have used the translation in Pausanias [1918], see Bibliography. 701 702 231 Fig. 53. A page from Kjellbergχs excavation diary from June 12. Note the numerical list. Each find is described by measurements and contextual information. Photo: UUB. 232 Fig. 54. Kjellbergχs excavation diary from 12 June 1894. Note the top of the page where the Swedish sentence has been crossed out and rewritten in German. Photo: UUB. 233 The way of describing archaeological objects in the field, with a short comment of appearance, measurements, and find spot, was a common way of organizing the lists of finds. If we again look at the field diaries from Delphi they very much resemble Kjellberg’s diary in terms of the information selected to describe the finds. Anne Jacquemin notices how during the campaign in 1894, when Paul Perdrizet was in charge of the field notes, a more contextualized approach was used when describing the finds. Perdrizet, who also visited Kalaureia, wrote down the colour and texture of the soil as well as the relative position of the finds against the architectural remains.707 The early diaries from 1892 and 1893 were devoid of such details. Even pottery, a huge category of find at any Greek sanctuary excavation was not recorded during the first seasons of excavations at Delphi.708 Kjellberg occasionally noted the depth at which an object was found, and the distance of the object from a wall, particularly when an object had particular diagnostic value. This system of describing the finds, which for its time, both detailed and careful, was inspired by the stratigraphic thinking present in the techniques at Olympia. This way of thinking also emphasized the importance of contextual information, such as find depth, in order to date the sequence of architecture on site. Entering the National Archaeological Museum All objects from Kalaureia were transported to the National Archaeological Museum in Athens by Sam Wide. The 1894 excavation was bound by the 1834 National Legislation on Antiquities.709 Article 61 of this stated that ‘all antiquities inside Greece, because they are works of the ancestors of the Greek people, are regarded as national possessions of all the Greeks in general’.710 In practical terms, this meant that the Greek State became owners of any archaeological find that was discovered after the law came into place. The only ‘finds’ from Kalaureia taken to Sweden were squeezes of inscriptions made by Wide (fig. 55). Some of the heavier items, such as statue bases with notable inscriptions were kept at a local school in Poros. Jacquemin 1992:154f. Compare also the image of Perdrizet’s field notes in fig. 64 in Jacquemin 1992:150. 708 Jaquemin 1992:153. 709 Law of 19/22 May 1834 ‘On scientific and technological collections, on the discovery and conservation of antiquities and the use thereof’, transl. Voudouri 2010:560. 710 Sakellariadi 2008:135. 707 234 Fig. 55. A squeeze of an inscription made on site in 1894. The inscription was located on a statue base found near building F. Today, the squeeze is in kept at Museum Gustavianum in Uppsala. Photo: Museum Gustavianum. The National Archaeological Museum in Athens which officially opened in 1893 was a physical manifestation of the newly founded Greek state, a place where the treasures from antiquity were housed and displayed. The official guide book to the museum from 2009 explains the logic behind the museum in the following way: ‘When the wind of freedom began to blow for the Greeks, after the 1821 War of Independence, the need to rescue the monuments – especially the movable ones – which had survived the predations and were dispersed in every corner of Greek territory, soon became felt.’711 Right from the beginning the symbolic importance of historical artefacts for the Greek nation was emphasized.712 The remnants of the classical past Preface to the official guide book to the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, see Kaltsas 2009:6. 712 The plans for a national museum to house Greek antiquities took shape in the very early years of the Greek state. In 1829, Kapodistrias initiated work for a museum on the island of Aegina with the explicit intention of keeping Greek antiquities safe from destruction or foreign looting. But a consciousness of the importance of protecting the remains from antiquity was in place even earlier, both before and during the War of Independence. In 1807 there were plans for a Hellenic Museum to house, as expressed by the Greek humanist scholar Adamantios Koraîs, the ‘proofs of our ancestral glory’. From 1834, after Athens had been made capital of the Greek state, a Central Archaeological Museum was established in the Theseion (the Temple of Hephaistos) in the Agora. As more and more material kept flowing into Athens from large scale archaeological 711 235 needed to remain on Greek soil. The period after the Napoleonic wars initiated a boom of construction of national museums in Western Europe, spurred on by various agencies operating on behalf of national interests.713 As pointed out by Aronson and Elgenius, since the Greek state was a prime mover in ‘establishing the legitimacy of the nation, it might continue to carefully invest in the representation of its power’.714 Today, the National Archaeological Museum is a physical manifestation of such an investment and the choice of architecture is indicative of the longing for the classical ideal in the Athenian cityscape. In recent years, three items found at Kalaureia in 1894 has been on display in the bronze room at the National Archaeological Museum in Athens: a trident, a griffin head and a small votive horse figurine (fig. 57 and 59.). In this context, the objects and in extension, the excavation by Swedes at Kalaureia has been incorporated into the grand narrative of Greek archaeology. Fig. 56. The façade of the National Archaeological Museum in Athens in 2014. Photo: Christina Kolb. excavations in the middle of the nineteenth century, the decision was made to construct a new museum to house the most important of antiquities. The foundation stones for the museum were laid on 3 October 1866, but officially the museum opened its doors in 1893. For references on the history of the National Archaeological Museum, see Gazi 2011. 713 See Aronson & Elgenius 2011:10ff. for a list of national museums in Europe and their foundation dates. 714 Aronsson & Elgenius 2011:14. 236 Fig. 57. This trident found on Kalaureia is today on display at the National Archaeological Museum in Athens. Photo: Craig Mauzy. After Lennart Kjellberg had returned to Greece in the beginning of November 1894, he began studying the objects from the excavation and preparing to publish details of the finds. Kjellberg mentioned in his Athenian diary that he divided his time between the National Archaeological Museum and the library at the DAI. The National Archaeological Museum functioned not only as a museum where objects could be gazed at from afar, but also as a hub for meeting, conversing and networking in other scholars; with the right connections, archaeologists could get hands-on access to the collections. The museum functioned as a work space for archaeologists as well as operating as a museum. The museum offered scholars space for studying its collections as noted by George Horton in 1902: ‘Dr. Kavvadias, to whose labor are largely due the fact that the National Museum is admirably arranged and contains treasures of inestimable value. Herein many lectures of the various schools are given, and rooms are let furnished to students.’715 The library at the DAI was similarly a hub for networking and studying. Here, all the newly published works were available as well as older editions. Hence Kjellberg moved physically between two culturally significant arenas: the museum and the German school, while preparing for the publication. Preparing the publication During the professionalization of archaeological practices, ways to translate finds into an archaeological text became standardized. Following the path 715 Horton 1902b:87. 237 from excavation to publication in the case of the excavation at Kalaureia reveals structures of knowledge production in classical scholarship that extend both back in time and into our own present. If we take the bronze trident in fig. 57 as an example, we can follow the process from find to text. As we saw in the example from Delphi, and in Kjellberg’s field diary, a selection had already been made in the field regarding which objects were considered diagnostic, and which could therefore be described and utilized in the publication. The trident was found on June 12 and was categorized as diagnostic (see fig. 53 where the tident is drawn in Kjellberg’s diary). Constantin Carapanos stated in the publication from Dodona in north-western Greece from 1878, which Kjellberg later used as a source for the trident, that he also found a large number of objects not listed in the catalogue, but that ‘[t]hese fragments do not have a specific shape, and a description would not only be pointless but impossible.’716 The exclusion of unknown or unidentifiable objects in catalogues meant that the same categories of finds were included in publications over and over again. This in turn had an impact on which future finds were collected and selected in the field. Students studying the catalogues of large excavations learnt which objects were considered culturally relevant, and when they were in charge of excavations, they in turn selected the objects that they recognized.717 Once selected, Lennart Kjellberg divided the diagnostic finds from Kalaureia into new categories. The Mycenean finds were discussed first in a chronological order since ‘this period permits a sharp division’ in terms of chronology based on stylistic variation in the finds.718 The Mycenean objects were considered the most valuable in terms in scientific results, since they could be used to evidence activity in the sanctuary over a prolonged period of time, going for back into prehistory.719 The objects from younger time periods were grouped by material qualities and discussed in the following order in the publication from 1895: marble objects; gold and silver objects; bronze objects which were in turn divided into ‘figurative bronzes’, ‘jewellery items’ and ‘remains of various vessels and equipment’; and terracotta objects which were divided into ‘plastic representations’ and ‘vases’. The last category was coins. Coins were singled out from other metal objects due to their special properties recognized by antiquarians already in the seventeenth century. Their durability, artistic properties and their ties to both Carapanos 1878a:105. See Shanks 1996:92f. for a critical discussion on the role of catalogues and text in classical scholarship. 718 ‘[...] diese Epoche eine scharfe Scheidung im Einzelnen und auf allen Gebieten zulässt.’ [‘[…] this period permits a sharp division regarding single details and in all areas.’], Kjellberg & Wide 1895:296. 719 Wide, ‘De svenska undersökningarna på Kalaureia’ in Post- och Inrikes Tidningar, 22 December 1894. 716 717 238 geographical space and particular time periods meant that they could easily be identified and classified.720 The vases were subdivided according to ware, with only two types represented by Kjellberg: proto-Corinthian and highCorinthian, i.e. pottery from the seventh century BC.721 The trident from our example was inserted under the category ‘bronzes’ and the sub-category ‘figurative bronzes’ together with other figurines and figurative decorations made of bronze. Once the trident had been categorized, Lennart Kjellberg used comparisons found in published literature at the library of DAI as well as visual comparisons between the trident and artefacts found at the National Archaeological Museum to interpret the find. From the footnote and text in the publication, we can deduct which sources Kjellberg used to analyse the trident. First, Kjellberg found a similar bronze trident in Constantin Carapanos’ publication from 1878 of the excavations at Dodona.722 He also found a similar trident depicted on a red-figure crater with imagery interpreted as depicting the birth of Pandora in an article in Journal of Hellenic Studies from 1890. The crater, which was at the time in the hands of the British Museum, had originated from Altamura in Italy. In the imagery, the god Poseidon is seen holding a trident similar to the one found at Kalaureia.723 Further, Kjellberg turned to the Monumenti Inediti, a series of books published from 1829 onwards by the Instituto di correspondenza archeologica in Rome (which later became the DAI). These volumes consisted of plates with engravings and sketches of unpublished works of art from antiquity, but they lacked any contextual information.724 Here, Kjellberg found two plates which depicted similar tridents to the one found at Kalaureia.725 He also used Karl Masner’s catalogue of the collections of vases and terracottas held at the K.K. Oesterrich Museum für Kunst und Industri in Vienna from 1892.726 Here, he found an Attic red-figure amphora depicting Poseidon with a trident.727 The amphora originated from the necropolis at Caere in Italy and had been purchased by the museum in 1865 from a private collector.728 The last vase painting that Kjellberg used as comparanda came from the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, a vase labelled with the Schnapp 1996:184. Kjellberg & Wide 1895:302ff. 722 Carapanos 1878a:105 and Carapanos 1878b: pl. LX. 723 Smith 1890:279 and pl. XI. Smith in turn used the crater as comparanda to a column drum from Ephesus which he wished to prove depicted the scene of Pandora’s birth. 724 The Monumenti was supplemented by the Annali dell'Instituto di Corrispondenza Archeologica where the plates were analysed and compared to more recent finds. See www.dainst.org/lo/publikationen/geschichte. Accessed 15 February 2015. 725 Monumenti Inediti Vol. IV: pl. XIV and Monumenti Inediti Vol. VI-VII: pl. 158. 726 Masner 1892. 727 Masner 1892:53. The amphora in question is nr. 340. 728 Masner 1892:V. The amphora belonged to the so called Castellani collection purchased by Heinrich von Brunn, then secretary of the DAI in Rome, for the museum. 720 721 239 number 1174, which Kjellberg looked at in person. The Kalaureia trident was finally interpreted as part of a votive statuette.729 Fig. 58. Trident found during excavations at Kalaureia in the 1895 publication. From Kjellberg & Wide 1895:310. Photo: Andrea Davis Kronlund, Royal Library. The method of comparing, i.e. the search for similarity and resemblance which is a key method in archaeological knowledge production, did not originate within the professionalization of archaeology but existed in antiquarian practices before the nineteenth century.730 The categorization used at Kalaureia was probably modelled on the Olympia publications and the division of object categories made by Adolf Fürtwängler but the history of the classification of artefacts based on material properties dates back to the antiquarian tradition exemplified by the Cabinet of Curiosities of Ole Worm in the seventeenth century.731 The publication from Kalaureia followed the standards of other publications from this time; focus was on describing the site and the finds found therein, rather than discussing the workings of the Kjellberg & Wide 1895:310f. Schnapp 2002:138. 731 See table of content in Curtius et al. 1890. Also Lucas 2001:69. 729 730 240 site in Antiquity.732 There is no narrative in the publication, no sequence of events. The primary importance of the archaeological practices on site, from a scientific view point, was to assign a date and function which fit into preexisting categories: a Sanctuary of Poseidon from the sixth and fifth centuries BC, and to provide a list and plates of objects found which future excavations could use as comparanda. This particular way of organizing objects gave rise to the catalogue and the excavation report format (such as our Kalaureia publication) which still today play an important role in classical archaeology, what Michael Shanks calls ‘the signposts of the discipline [emphasis in original]’.733 The catalogue format classifies all known similar objects and can then be expanded as new items are discovered. The excavation report is similarly additive with lengthy footnotes detailing all known instances of an interpretation, a phenomenon or an artifact. Both formats aim at being cumulative and encompassing. Similar, albeit not identical, tridents to the one at Kalaureia had been acknowledged by researchers prior to 1894. By listing the sources of these finds in footnotes, Kjellberg added a sense of security around the interpretation of the find. New archaeological knowledge was not necessarily provided, but Kjellberg was, in his role as researcher, able to find and list all the instances where similar tridents had been depicted which in turn showed his skills as an archaeologist.734 As expressed by Flinders Petrie: ‘The reader is to be put first of all in possession of all the facts and materials, and the author’s conclusions are only a co-ordination, presented to enable the reader to grasp the material, and to feel clearly the effect of it on his sum of ideas, or organized sense of the nature of things. Hence nowadays the main structure of a book on any descriptive science is its plates, and the text is to show the meaning and relation of the facts already expressed by form. […] The material must be classified according to its nature, – views, plans, inscriptions, sculpture, small objects, pottery etc. In each class, the historical order must be followed, objects that are to be compared placed together, and the material arranged in an orderly shape, so that it gives a clear impression and can easily be found again from memory.’735 The variety of sources used by Lennart Kjellberg to analyse the finds from Kalaureia exemplifies the multi-situatedness in the way that archaeological material from Greece in the late nineteenth century was interpreted. Several different languages were involved and the comparanda artefacts were physically distributed across several countries. Publishing catalogues became a way of making the objects accessible to research, but they were only accessible and usable if you knew how to interpret the code, i.e. if you as a reLucas 2001:31. Shanks 1996:94. 734 Shanks 1996:93f. 735 Flinders Petrie 1904:114f. 732 733 241 searcher were trained to know how to view and appreciate the objects. The foreign institutes in the Mediterranean provided approved researchers with access to the publications and trained them in the right code of conduct when using those publications in research. Communicating the excavation – Swedish and Greek press coverage Apart from the site report, published articles in newspapers, either written by the archaeologists themselves or by journalists who had been encouraged to write them, was also part of the archaeological practice. The public relations created by such representation should not been seen as external factors to the production of knowledge but as a vital component of the epistemological and social organization of archaeology, as in other sciences.736 The early decades of ‘professional’ archaeology from the 1870s and onwards coincided with a boom in Western information flow through various media. As discussed by James Mussell, the networks of periodicals and newspapers flourished in the nineteenth century as an effect of what he calls a ‘culture of abundance’. As literacy rates increased and new modes of transportation developed, more people gained access to descriptions of places and practices removed from their own physical experiences.737 While the possibility of creating goodwill and prestige around an excavation through media coverage was important, it did, however mean that the archaeologist had to give up control of knowledge production to a journalist. Sam Wide was not always pleased with the report in the media. In December 1894, he wrote two lengthy articles on the results of the excavation in Post- och Inrikes Tidningar, an action prompted by the fact that he was tired of the ‘more or less untruthful information on our excavations, which one has been able to read in European (and in particular in Greek) newspapers.’738 How was the Kalaureia excavation represented in the press? Why was Sam Wide disappointed? I will now take a look at Greek and Swedish newspaper coverage of the excavation. The representations turn out to differ between the two countries, as I will show, and this in turn can shed light on the different ways of viewing and valuing archaeology in two different cultural contexts. Ekström 2004:11. Mussell 2007:14. 738 ‘ [...] de mer eller mindre osannfärdiga uppgifter om våra gräfningar, hvilka stått att läsa i de europeiska (och i första hand de grekiska) tidningarna.’, Wide, ’De svenska arkeologiska undersökningarna på Kalaureia’ in Post- och Inrikes Tidningar, 20 December 1894. 736 737 242 ‘Cannot hope to wreathe their efforts with laurels’ – Greek newspapers write about Kalaureia On June 23, two weeks into the excavation, Lennart Kjellberg was visited by a Greek journalist whom he showed around the site.739 The following day a lengthy article appeared in the Athenian newspaper Asty. The article presents an image of a failed excavation: ‘Mr. Kjellberg and Mr. Wide are still excavating after twenty or more days, with their own funds on the island of Kalaureia, despite the disappointment which began to occupy them on their work so far, which, as it seems, does not wreathe, and cannot hope to wreathe their efforts with laurels.’ 740 The journalist reported that Kjellberg was convinced that ‘there were other excavations made at some very distant era’ but the journalist himself offered a different explanation: ‘God knows how [everything was lost] but perhaps because everything important on this island was on top of a mountain under which is the sea, during the ages and the atmospheric mutations, it collapsed and vanished in the void.’ While Kjellberg emphasized human action as responsible for the state of the site, the journalist favoured a more natural explanation that exonerated the local inhabitants from the destruction of the sanctuary. The journalist wrote favourably about Lennart Kjellberg, who was referred to as ‘the noble Swede’, stating that Kjellberg ‘spoke to me enthusiastically about his discoveries’. The article went on to list some of the finds, focussing on the architecture of the temple. Towards the end, the reporter took pity on the excavators: ‘we wholeheartedly wish so [i.e. bigger success] to these two indefatigable workers, who have been motivated by their enthusiasm for Greek glory and do not mind hardships or monetary sacrifices to reach their goal’. The article did not mention the Greek workmen or the supervisors; Kjellberg and Wide were given sole credit for the, albeit failed, excavation. The newspapers Asty and Efimeris published similar articles based on a letter to the Ministry of Religious Affairs and Education that had been sent by the ‘supervising ephor of antiquities in Poros’.741 This must have been Nikolaos Wide to Westholm, 26 June 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. [unsigned], ‘’The excavations in Poros – interview with Mr. Kjellberg and Mr. Wide’ in Asty, 13 June 1894 (corresponds to 26 June in the new calendar). Original in Greek, transl. Aris Anagnostopoulos. 741 [unsigned], ‘The excavations in Poros – what was discovered’, Asty, 12 June 1894 (corresponds to 25 June in the new calendar). [unsigned], ‘The archaeological excavations in Poros – Discovery of the Temple of Poseidon – Other finds of great importance’, Efimeris, 9 June 1894 (corresponds to 22 June 1894 in the new calendar). Original in Greek, transl. by Aris Anagnostopoulos. 739 740 243 Grimanis. In the Asty article, under the headline ‘The excavations in Poros – what was discovered’ the most important finds were listed: ‘During the excavations, the entire peribolos of the temple was revealed, within which there were ruins of the altar and cella, and further a carved marble grave, within which there was a human skeleton. This grave seems to be of medieval age, due to its nature and its construction; within it were discovered 12 silver coins with various representations, and various other copper objects were discovered, among which one representing the head of a griffin exquisitely worked.’ 742 . The grave, which I have shown was downplayed in the publication, was in this article, emphasized as an important find, possibly due to the connection with Demosthenes. Grimanis must not have shared the Swedish archaeologists’ view that the grave was of little importance since he chose to emphasize it in his report to the government. This fact, compounded by that fact that the article misspelled Sam Wide’s name as ‘Mr. Winter’, was probably what Wide objected to in the reporting. Here, Wide had lost control of the public representation of the excavation, and above all, he had lost control to Nikolaos Grimanis who he had had open conflicts with during the excavation. This article would later be reprinted in the Swedish newspapers as I will discuss more in detail below. Wide was also likely to have objected to the interview with Kjellberg, which resulted in the representation of the excavation as a failure. This was not an image that he would have wanted the public to see. In what context were the newspaper articles on Kalaureia published? The Greek media took an interest in the archaeological discoveries made by the foreign schools in Athens (as they did with Greek excavations) and the Athenian newspapers frequently featured stories on archaeological topics.743 The presence of foreign schools in the country created a dense climate for debate, as the schools were seen both as a resource for and a threat to domestic archaeological interests. While the discourse on the remains from antiquity as vital to national identity was expressed through the media, the fact that Greece was also a host country to foreigners with similar claims to the past created both tensions and opportunities. The excavation at Kalaureia in 1894 was not a big political spectacle in the way that the Olympia and Delphi excavations had been, both the latter were extensively mediated in the Greek press.744 If we turn to the French excavations at Delphi, the re742 [unsigned] ‘The excavations in Poros – what was discovered’ in Asty, 12 June 1894 (corresponds to 25 June in the new calendar). Original in Greek, transl. by Aris Anagnostopoulos. 743 A searchable collection of digitalized Greek newspapers from the nineteenth and early twentieth century specifically reporting on archaeology can be found at invenio.lib.auth.gr/collection, see Theodouri & Kotsakis 2012:332. Accessed 10 April 2016. 744 Theodouri & Kotsakis 2012. 244 search by Eleftheria Theodouri and Kostas Kotsakis on the press coverage of the negotiations between the French and Greek governments, and the local reactions in the newspapers, suggests that the Greek politicians and archaeologists actively and intentionally played on the cultural capital offered by the Delphi excavations: ‘In contrast to the articles published in the French press during the time of negotiations, in which the ideological and cultural value of the antiquities overshadowed any other concern, Greek archaeologists – and of course politicians – were aware of the real limitations of an utterly idealistic reading of the past. In this particular case, rather than acting as ‘high priests’ of nationalism, they acted as firm and efficient tradesmen.’745 There are parallels here with the article on Sam Wide’s talk at the DAI about the Iobacchi inscription which I dealt with above. There, the idealistic enthusiasm of the foreigners was mocked by the journalist.746 The same phenomenon could perhaps explain the article in Asty where the journalist took pity on the Swedish archaeologists with their high hopes and meagre outcome. The Delphi excavations were conducted in parallel to the excavation on Kalaureia and the newspapers reported on the spectacular finds of complete marble statues from Delphi during the summer of 1894.747 This fact must have made the dearth of finds from the Kalaureia site even more disappointing, both for the press and for the excavators. But when we turn to the Swedish press coverage, a slightly different story emerges. ‘With success and honour for the Patria’ – Swedish newspapers write about Kalaureia While the article in Asty claimed that the excavation at Kalaureia had been performed ‘with enthusiasm for Greek glory’, the Swedish press emphasized the national importance of the excavation for Sweden. Several Swedish newspapers wrote about the excavation, specifically highlighting the national aspect of the undertaking, both during the excavation season in the summer of 1894 and afterwards. In 1896, after the publication in Mitteilungen, the conservative morning paper Stockholms Dagblad summed up the most important results of the undertaking under the headline ‘Swedish antiquarians in Greece’.748 Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg’s work had been executed Theodouri & Kotsakis 2012:342. ‘Simia’ in Acropolis, 3 March 1894. (corresponds to 15 March in the new calendar). Original in Greek, transl. by Aris Anagnostopoulos. 747 Anagnostopoulos, pers. comm. 2013. 748 Göthe, ‘Svenska fornforskare i Grekland’, Stockholms Dagblad, 30 January 1896. 745 746 245 ‘with success and honour for the Patria.’749 The excavation was important, stressed the article, because it positioned Sweden within an important cultural field of study: classical antiquity. ‘The work of the young Swedes joins onto […] the extensive research project which right now is underway with a great fervour in the classical world, energetically pushed forward by Greek, German, French, Italian and American learned scholars, who right now in our times are building knowledge of the classical world on a much wider, deeper and more secure ground than had been possible before’.750 In the Swedish press, the excavated material did not necessarily matter, the point was that Sweden had excavated in Greek soil and thus marked territory in the dual topography of the Greek land, both physically on the ground in Greece and more metaphorically by adding to the knowledge production of ancient Hellas. During the summer of 1894, the liberal-radical press was the first to report on the investigation. The newspaper Aftonbladet reported in late June under the headline ‘Swedish excavations in Greece’ that ‘Assistant Professor Sam Wide has asked permission by the Greek government’ to excavate at Kalaureia and that ‘this is the first time that organized excavations are conducted by Swedes on classical ground.’751 This article was reproduced verbatim in the local newspaper Dalpilen, which was based in the region where Wide was born.752 Lennart Kjellberg’s name was not mentioned and Sam Wide was, at least in the early reports, given sole credit for the excavation. The same phenomenon occurred in a later article dating from the beginning of July, where Aftonbladet republished an article published in the Greek newspaper Efimeris. The article in Efimeris only mentioned Wide’s name and emphasized the discovery of the temple structure and two single finds that would come to be indicative for the mediation of the scientific results in several newspapers: a bronze griffin head and the grave found in the temple (fig. 59).753 The article from the liberal-radical Aftonbladet (which quoted Efimeris in ‘ [...] gjorts med framgång och till heder för fosterlandet [...].’, Göthe, ‘Svenska fornforskare i Grekland’ in Stockholms Dagblad, 30 January 1896. 750 ‘De unga svenskarnes arbete fogar sig derför [...] in i det omfattande forskningsarbete, som nu pågår med största ifver inom den klssiska verlden, energiskt bedrifvet som det är af grekiska, tyska, engelska, franska, italienska och amerikanskea lärde, och som just i vår tid håller på att uppbygga kännedomen om den klassiska verlden på en ofantligt mycket bredare, djupare och säkrare grund, än förut varit möjligt.’, Göthe, ‘Svenska fornforskare i Grekland’ in Stockholms Dagblad, 30 January 1896. 751 ‘Docenten Sam Wide har af grekiska regeringen begärt tillstånd att företaga gräfningar vid Kalavria på ön Poros [...]. Detta är första gången, som ordnade gräfningar af svenskar anställas på klassisk mark’, [unsigned], ‘Svenska gräfningar i Grekland’ in Aftonbladet, 21 June 1894. 752 [unsigned], ‘Svenska gräfningar i Grekland’ in Dalpilen, 29 June 1894. 753 [unsigned], ‘De svenska gräfningarna i Grekland’ in Aftonbladet, 3 July 1894. 749 246 length) was then reproduced verbatim in the conservative newspaper Svenska Dagbladet and in Dalpilen.754 However, in the two latter versions, the headline read ‘Assistant Professor Wide’s excavations at Kalaureia’, further emphasizing the excavation as a personal project. This example shows how news stories travelled and circulated in European press towards the end of the nineteenth century. From Ephimeris in Greece, the story of the Swedish excavations at Kalaureia was reproduced by Aftonbladet and then republished verbatim by Svenska Dagbladet before finally being picked up by the local newspaper Dalpilen. Fig. 59. Griffin protome from bronze cauldron found at Kalaureia in 1894. Photo: Craig Mauzy. Aftonbladet wrote another story on the Swedish excavations towards the end of July. The article had the headline ‘Swedish excavations in Greece’ and took the form of a letter to the newspaper. An eye-witness account of Kalaureia was included; the sanctuary was ‘windswept and scented with pine’ and ‘the sunsets over the mountains of Epidauvros are the fairest sight offered to the human eye’.755 Here, both Lennart Kjellberg and Sam Wide were credited and ‘despite the plundering’, the article read, ‘the finds have been rich’.756 The bronze griffin head was again emphasized as one of the 754 [unsigned], ‘Docenten Wides gräfningar i Kalaureia’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 4 July 1894. [unsigned], ‘Docenten Wides gräfningar i Kalaureia’ in Dalpilen, 6 July 1894. 755 ‘Vindomsusat och barromdoftadt [...]. Solnedgångarna öfver de epidavriska bergen äro de skönaste ett menniskoöga kan skåda.’, [unsigned], ‘Svenska gräfningar i Grekland’ in Aftonbladet, 30 July 1894. 756 ‘Oaktadt de plundringar, som skett inom tempelområdet [...] hafva dock fynden varit rikhaltiga.’, [unsigned], ’Svenska gräfningar i Grekland’ in Aftonbladet, 30 July 1894. 247 rich finds, good enough ‘to compete with the best bronze objects from Olympia’.757 Once more, the excavation was represented in terms of the competition between the European countries in their quest for classical materials. This article was also reprinted in the liberal newspaper Dagens Nyheter and the conservative Svenska Dagbladet.758 The article in the liberal-radical Aftonbladet gave the readers the impression that the archaeologists at Kalaureia had sent a letter to the newspaper about their excavation, as was customary. But this was not actually the case. The Swedish papers were intimately connected and associated with different political parties; where you published said something about your political affiliations. It is important to remember therefore, when discussing the Swedish newspaper articles on Kalaureia, that the act of publishing was a political act. Hence, the publication in Aftonbladet caused some concern from Sam Wide’s family and friends back in Sweden, as they were mostly conservative. In a letter to his parents dated in November 1894, Wide explained that he was not responsible for the publication: ‘He [Thalén] wonders, as do many others, about that fact that it is the liberal press that has primarily delivered notice about me and my endeavours in Greece this year. However, this is not my fault, since it is Centerwall who is the root and origin of the messages in Aftonbladet. He has written to me several times bombarding me with pleas for letters and news from Greece. He has then printed the main content of my messages in Aftonbladet.’ 759 In this case, Sam Wide had lost control of the representation of the excavation to a colleague. Julius Centerwall, whom we have met as one of the Swedish travellers in Greece in the years preceding the excavation at Kalaureia, would later become a parliamentarian for the liberal party, and took this opportunity to disseminate news about classical archaeology to a different audience. The readers of Aftonbladet were often middle-class merchants and intellectuals with progressive views; they were often opposed to the 757 ‘[...] kan täfla med de bästa bronsfynden från Olympia.’ [unsigned], ’Svenska gräfningar i Grekland’ in Aftonbladet, 30 July 1894. 758 [unsigned], ‘Svenska gräfningar i Grekland’ in Dagens Nyheter, 1 August 1894. [unsigned], ’Svenska gräfningar i Grekland’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 31 July 1894. 759 ‘Han [Thalén] undrar, likasom flere andre gjort, öfver att den liberala pressen i första hand meddelat notiser om mig och mina företag i Grekland under detta år. Detta är emellertid ej mitt fel, ty det är Centerwall som är roten och upphofvet till meddelandena i Aftonbladet. Han har flera gånger skrivit och bestormat mig med böner om bref och nyheter från Grekland. Hufvudinnehållet af mina meddelanden har han sedan satt in i Aftonbladet.’, Wide to his parents, 20 November 1894, Wide’s archive, Box NC:549, UUB. 248 monarchy and advocated the rights of women and the working-classes.760 It became important for Wide to regain control. He chose the conservative and well-established Post- och Inrikes Tidningar where he, in late December 1894, published a two-part article which I mentioned above, to explicitly counteract the previous articles.761 Wide had previously been a correspondent for the newspaper’s sister magazine, the equally conservative Vårt Land, during his time in Germany as a student.762 The article headline read ‘The Swedish investigations at Kalaureia’ and was a fairly detailed account of the architecture and the individual finds. Lennart Kjellberg was credited as Wide’s ‘partner’ and his illness and departure from the excavation in late July was mentioned. It is clear from the article that Wide wanted to present himself as the leader of the excavation. Kjellberg’s role, as summarized by Wide, was that he ‘with commendable diligence and precision has documented the lesser finds.’ This way of down-playing Kjellberg was in line with Wide’s politics of belonging, which I discussed in chapter on archaeological self-images. The national importance of the excavation was also stressed by Wide in the article. ‘The Swedish excavations at Kalaureia’, he wrote, ‘[…] have been crowned with a favourable result. This cannot be compared with those won by the great nations France and Germany; but this has not been our intent. We have only wanted to show that Sweden wants to, and is able to, contribute with a share in the exploration of the monuments of the classical past.’ The fact that the excavation had been finished with relatively little money was attributed to ‘the excellent foreman, the Greek Pankalos’. Wide also added a list of important visitors to the site, among whom were Panagiotis Kavvadias, the directors of the American and German schools and Agamemnon Schliemann whose surname would have been familiar to the readers of the newspaper. By mentioning these visitors, Wide could present an image of the excavation as prestigious and important. This discussion of the mediation of the excavation in the Greek and Swedish press offers a couple of important insights into how archaeology functioned as a cultural practice in the late nineteenth century. After comparing the representations of the excavation in 1894 in the Greek and Swedish press, we can observe several differences. Archaeology as a national agenda Aftonbladet had been a strong voice for the liberal parties since the 1830s, even to the point where the King and the government had tried to close it down in 1848, claiming that it shared revolutionary and republican sympathies, see Gustafsson & Rydén 2010:85f. 761 Wide, ’De svenska arkeologiska undersökningarna på Kalaureia’ in Post- och Inrikes Tidningar, 20 December 1894 and 22 December 1894. 762 Vårt Land was founded in 1885 in response to the absence of a Christian, political, daily paper as part of a wave of new conservative newspapers which appeared towards the end of the nineteenth century in Sweden. King Oscar II was personally involved in the creation of the newspaper and even anonymously contributed in it, see Gustafsson & Rydén 2010:114f. 760 249 is a reoccurring theme in the Swedish Press while the Greek newspapers judged the success of the excavation based on the cultural material excavated. In the Greek press, the dearth of finds made the excavation a failure. The Swedish archaeologists were simply another addition to the existing network of foreign archaeologists active in the country. The Swedish press, on the other hand, emphasized the practice and the performance of archaeology by Swedish bodies as an indicator of success; the dearth of finds was less of a consideration. The important thing was that the Swedes had showed their willingness and ability to participate in archaeology in Greece, which would bring the nation closer to the grand nations of European culture at the turn of the century: France and Germany. The Greek workmen (except for Pankalos in Wide’s article) were absent from both Swedish and Greek articles. The absence of Greek voices and bodies from the Greek newspapers is an indication that this exclusion in the production of knowledge in Greek archaeology ran not only along ethnical lines, but also class differences. But there are other exclusionary mechanisms reflected in the articles: Lennart Kjellberg, who did not write any articles on the Kalaureia excavation for the Swedish press, was down-played in the Swedish papers. The political entanglements of archaeology as a cultural practice are highlighted in the discussion of Julius Centerwall’s publication of the Kalaureia excavation in Aftonbladet and in the reaction from Wide that followed. Mediating archaeology in the press was a political act, especially in Sweden where the print press was intimately tied to political parties. But the newspapers also copied off each other. In the case of Kalaureia, classical archaeology was a domain both of the liberal press and the conservative through such repetition, but the conservative press and its readership benefitted from more intensive coverage through Wide’s own articles. 250 Part 3. Representing Kalaureia 1894 251 252 Representation and historiography – the afterlife of the excavation at Kalaureia Archaeological excavations have a tendency to outlive their own momentum. When the crew has left the site, the artefacts have been stored away and the publications written up, the memory of the excavation stays behind. As I have shown in my example from Kalaureia, excavations alter the landscape in significant ways. The creation of archaeological sites is one way in which the memory of an excavation lives on through the physical remains left for visitors and scholars to appropriate. Excavations also create archaeological knowledge which, through publications and citations, lives on as scientific matters-of-fact. The excavation can also become a phenomenon in itself: its very practices become symbolic. The act of excavation has in many instances been regarded as an iconic symbol for personal and academic success (such as Heinrich Schliemann’s excavations of Troy) or a symbol for the prestige of a whole nation (such as the French excavations at Delphi). Taking these phenomena into account, it is clear that archaeological excavations have an after-life through which they are appropriated after the initial work on site.763 The excavation at Kalaureia in 1894 only lasted for ten weeks and had, one could argue, slight scientific impact at the time. However, as a historical event, the excavation and its practitioners became a feature of the historiography of classical archaeology in Sweden: they marked the origin of Swedish archaeology in Greece. Various representations of the excavation have been used and appropriated throughout the twentieth century in different contexts with different agendas and outcomes.764 It is important to take into account these interpretations in order to understand the excavation at Kalaureia as a cultural phenomenon. In this chapter, I will argue that it is equally important to take into consideration the afterlife of excavations if we wish to understand the way in which archaeological practices operate. This means a reinterpretation of the situatedness of archaeological excavations as continually becoming, instead of isolated events in time and space. In order for past excavations to have im763 Inspiration for the use of the term ‘afterlife’ in connection with cultural phenomena is taken from Ann Rigney’s work The afterlives of Sir Walter Scott. Memory on the move, see Rigney 2012. 764 This take on representations relates to what Anders Ekström calls ‘förmedlingspolitik’ (‘politics of mediation’), see Ekström 2009:38ff. 253 pact, they need to be represented in different ways. The representation of past archaeological excavations often takes its form through the creation of historiography within the profession, i.e. accounts that we categorize as official ‘histories of archaeology’. These types of ‘in-house’ or intradisciplinary processes of representations include academic publications, lectures and teaching where past excavations are explained and analysed.765 In addition, accounts of past archaeological excavations also materialize through other types of media that are more generally directed towards the public, such as museum exhibitions and TV-documentaries. Through these kinds of appropriations, past excavations become meaningful as historical events that shape the current profession, its practitioners and its praxis both in terms of the archaeologists’ self-images and also in terms of the public perception of what archaeology is.766 I will approach these concerns through an analysis of the afterlife of the Kalaureia excavation of 1894, i.e. how the excavation has been represented throughout the twentieth century. To do this, I have taken into account both intra-disciplinary representations as well as representations directed towards the public in various media, including academic prints (books and articles), public prints (travel guides, popular archaeology magazines), museum exhibitions and newspaper articles. I have located three types of representations in the source material. The first type concerns the way in which the scientific results from the excavation changed the narrative of the Sanctuary of Poseidon. In the first chapter, Representing place, I will look at how the information in the 1895 publication of scientific results was remediated in guidebooks and encyclopaedia of classical archaeology. The second chapter, Representations of strategic importance, treats the way in which representations of the Kalaureia excavation were used in the establishment of important academic bodies: the creation of Professorial chairs in Classical Archaeology and Ancient History in 1909, the inauguration of the Swedish Institute at Athens in 1948, and the initiation of the Kalaureia Research Program in 1997. The third chapter, Representations of academic identity, deals with the image of archaeologists’ professional identities through examples of how the actors involved in the excavation at Kalaureia were represented. 765 766 Gustafsson 2001:32ff. See for example Holtorf 2007 for a discussion on archaeology in popular culture. 254 Representing place The publication of the results of the Kalaureia excavation in 1895 created a new frame of reference for describing the sanctuary across various media. In Part 1. Framing Kalaureia, I discussed the official Westernized framework for understanding the sanctuary that existed before the excavation in 1894 with accounts from early travellers such as Chandler and Dodwell. I showed how the plan of the architecture in the sanctuary, made by Le Bas, was recounted in Ernst Curtius’ publication on the archaeology of the Peloponnesus. Guide books (for example Baedeker and Murray) focused on the importance of the town of Poros during the Greek War of Independence, while the Sanctuary of Poseidon was connected primarily with the death of Demosthenes. After the excavation, a new official account of the history of the Sanctuary of Poseidon was created through the publication in Mitteilungen. The excavation enabled the Sanctuary of Poseidon to be added in several encyclopaedias of classical studies. The results of the excavation became featured in works such as the Pauly Real-Encyclopädie der Classischen Altertumswissenschaft published in 1919 and the later Brill-edition amply entitled The New Pauly as well as in the Princeton Encyclopedia of Classical Sites from 1976.767 Lauffer’s Griechenland. Lexikon der Historischen Stätten published in 1989 featured a more lengthy account of the excavation findings, together with the modern history of Poros.768 Scholars turn to these encyclopedias as important reference works from which to get information and to inspire further reading. Readings featured here are sanctioned by the editor as reliable and the information given under each entry corresponds to a traditional way of describing a ‘site’: date; function; archaeological finds (often architecture) and references in historical sources. The excavation at Kalaureia, by being featured in these encyclopaedias, became inscribed in the canon of classical archaeological topography. Berit Wells, the director of the Kalaureia Research Program, would later lament the fact that for decades re- ‘Kalaureia’ in Paulys 1919; ‘Kalauria’ in Princeton 1976 and ‘Calaurea’ in Brill 2002. The Brill edition wrongly lists the publication year as 1985 instead of 1895. 768 Lauffer 1989:361. 767 255 searchers interested in the sanctuary had only Sam Wide’s and Lennart Kjellberg’s publication to rely on.769 While the encyclopaedias were meant to cater to scholars, guide books on Greece had a long-standing tradition of presenting archaeological findings to a wider audience.770 From the 1880s onwards, the topography of Greece, as represented in these travel guides, underwent a redefinition: they evolved from associating modern places with historical references from Greek mythology and classical authors, to becoming associated with the advances of modern archaeology. As I have shown, before 1894, guide books such as Baedeker and Murray focused on the importance of the town of Poros during the Greek War of Independence, while the Sanctuary of Poseidon was foremost connected with the death of Demosthenes. Developments in archaeology opened up new ways of describing the area. In Murray’s Handbook for Travellers in Greece, published in 1900, a short note on the excavation at Kalaureia was added to the text of the previous 1884 edition. The ruins of the temple of Poseidon, the guide book explained, ‘were excavated by a Swedish archaeologist in 1894 and found to consist of a Doric temple with precinct, dating from the 6th century B.C., and close by was discovered an agora with several porticoes.’771 Following its excavation, the sanctuary became associated with a nation (Sweden), became more firmly situated on the archaeological time scale (the sixth century), and was associated with an architectonic style (the Doric). In Baedeker’s English edition Greece from 1905, the official account of Kalaureia as a new archaeological site was expanded. The names of the excavators were given as well as their nationality (‘the Swedes Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg’) and a longer, more detailed description of the excavation results was included. Here, tourists and travellers were taken on a tour of the excavated remains, starting with the temple, ‘[a] Doric peripteros of the 6th cent. with 12 columns on the long side and 6 at the ends’, moving on to ‘[a]n open space, surrounded by colonnades and other buildings.’ The final section notes that the space ‘adjoins the precinct on the S.W.; its entrance was on the S.W. side near the small building. Traces of the foundations of a propylaeum have been discovered. Behind it are a small exedra and a long colonnade with projecting side-wings, which was perhaps a bouleutērion.’772 The excavation had turned Palatia into an archaeological site with several new, visible structures that could be easily understood and appreciated by Wells, ‘Projektbeskrivning’ [Appendix to the application to The Swedish Foundation for Humanities and Social Sciences (in 2002)]. Berit Wells’ papers, binder marked 1997-2003, SIA. 770 See Mahn 2012:11ff. for discussions on nineteenth-century guide books to Greece. 771 Murray 1900:105f. 772 Baedeker 1905:313. 769 256 tourists and travellers. The Baedeker guide was conveniently sized to fit in a pocket and so could be taken on site. Through the description in Baedeker, visitors were taught how to move around the site, in which directions to look and how to understand the architectural remains.773 Hence, archaeology added a material concreteness to cultural tourism in line with the modern taste for the tangible.774 Both Murray’s and Baedeker’s travel guides relied on archaeological expertise for content and fact-checking of their books, which explains how the excavation at Kalaureia (which was not a highly publicized event) made its way into the guide books. Gerhard Lolling had been in charge of writing and editing for Baedeker until his death in 1894. Reinhard Kekulé von Stradonitz (1839-1911), Professor of Classical Archaeology at the University of Berlin, and Wilhelm Dörpfeld also wrote for Baedeker.775 In the introduction to the 1900 edition of the Murray guide, the editor included a lengthy report on recent archaeological discoveries. The introduction organized the excavated sites according to the excavating body, starting with Nicholaos Kavvadias and the Archaeological Society at Athens, and subsequently listing the foreign schools and their activities (the excavation at Kalaureia was not mentioned).776 The travel guides were thus a reflection of the cultural politics of the nation states involved in the production of Greek heritage, with each country represented as intimately connected with a Greek toponym. Accordingly, Kalaureia became in some media a ‘Swedish’ site. Archaeology and heritage make up the Greek tourist’s ‘recipe of appreciation’ which was spearheaded by guide books such as Murray and Baedeker.777 In particular, those books that claimed to cater to more ‘cultured’ travellers tended to include detailed descriptions of heritage sites. The Blue Guides publication of 1967, Greece, contains a detailed description of the remains at the Sanctuary of Poseidon and credits ‘the Swedish archaeologists Wide and Kjellberg’.778 Another example of a more scientific approach to cultural tourist literature is Hans R. Goette’s Athen. Attika. Megaris. Reiseführer zu den Kunstschätzen und Kulturdenkmälern im Zentrum Griechenlands from 1993. Goette uses both the site plan from Wide and Kjellberg’s publication According to Margarita Dritsas, the emergence of a more professionalized tourist market in Greece in the nineteenth century led to a standardization of Greek tourist topography, where ‘tourists were taught how and what to see and what to expect.’ Dritsas 2005:30. 774 Cf. Dritsas 2005:33. 775 ‘Guidebooks to Greece’ in Grummond 1996. See also Dritsas 2005:46. The use of German scholars might explain why Baedeker included a more lengthy description of the Sanctuary of Poseidon than Murray which largely used British editors. But not all contributors were foreign; already in 1872, Rousopoulos, a Professor of Archaeology at the University of Athens wrote part of introduction to the Murray handbook, see Murray 1872:v and Dritsas 2005:43. 776 Murray 1900:vi. 777 Dritsas 2005:33. 778 Rossiter 1967:225. The Blue Guides grew out of the French nineteenth-century guide books Guide Joanne, which largely followed the structure of Murray and Baedeker. 773 257 and a photo from the excavation (the one of building A with the possible Pankalos in the background, see fig 48). He does so without referencing either the 1895 publication from which the information is taken, or the identity of the excavators.779 The encyclopaedia and the travel books are two examples of canonical literature which structures the gaze of the reader, whether that reader is a professional scholar or a tourist. The excavation and its subsequent representations thus created a new official story of the sanctuary in two ways: first, the site became intimately connected with Sweden and (in the case of Baedeker) with the individuals responsible for the publication. Secondly, the excavation created new material structures on site that could be easily appropriated and understood by travellers through the guidelines of the travel books. If we are to understand fully the situatedness of these representations, it is important to recognize what is not shown. Palatia was not expropriated by the Greek archaeological service until 1978, but long before then the body of travel literature had marked it as a historical site. By connecting Palatia with the excavation in 1894, the site became foremost associated with its classical past. The tourists were not advised to go to Kalaureia (or necessarily to Greece for that matter) to experience the present condition (even though ethnographical accounts were included in the guide books) but to appreciate the past. Hence the modern materiality or land-use, which had a longer history than the mere ten weeks of archaeological excavations, were not taken into consideration when representing the sanctuary – they belonged neither to the gaze of classical scholarship (encyclopaedias) nor to the travellers gaze (the guide books). So while the archaeological knowledge production at Kalaureia in 1894 could be appropriated under certain conditions, it was done so at the expense of other possible representations. So far, I have shown how the results of the excavation in 1894 were represented in encyclopaedias and guide books and how these were set in a context of canonic literature comprising classical studies and tourism. The excavation and the archaeologists became part of the official Greek topography which was wrapped up in nationalist discourse: Sweden had, for the first time, marked out a territory on Greek soil. For colleagues of Wide and Kjellberg back in Sweden, the excavation at Kalaureia generated hopes for the future. In 1895, one year after the excavation at Kalaureia, the classicist Johan Bergman came to Athens to study archaeology. Like Sam Wide had done, he stayed at the DAI and went on Wilhelm Dörpfeld’s excursions. In 1896 he published his travel memoirs entitled På Klassisk Mark (On Classical Grounds) which were based on his experiences in the Mediterranean. In the book, he reflected on the mythological topography of the Peloponnesus as 779 Goette 1993:275ff. and plate 32:2. 258 he sailed passed Kalaureia with the Germans. The landscape was, for Bergman, tied to great men of Antiquity such as Atreus and Agamemnon, and in this important cultural setting, Swedish archaeologists had contributed to the revealing of the past.780 Bergman had high hopes for the future of Swedish classical archaeology and his travel book can be read as a plea for continual Swedish interests in the expanding field of classical archaeology; in the words of Bergman this was ‘an unbroken, yet grateful field for Swedish research’.781 ‘This excavation [at Kalaureia]’, Bergman wrote, ‘which did not touch upon virgin soil – many spades had previously been active here – and which had to be executed in a couple of weeks with rather limited expenses and therefore could not bring any great results, does honour our countrymen and is a good idea. But it should not stop at this small contribution.’782 Bergman 1896:242. ‘Ett obrutet, men tacksamt fält för svensk forskning‘, Bergman 1896:297. 782 ‘Denna gräfning, som ej beörde jungfrulig jord – många spadar hade här varit värksamma – och som för öfrigt måste urföras på några veckor och med ganska små resurser och hvilken därför ej kunde medföra några större resultat, hedrar emellertid våra landsmän och är ett godt uppslag. Men det borde ej få stanna vid detta lilla uppslag.’, Bergman 1896:303. See Whitling 2010:90f. for a discussion on Bergman’s representation of Kalaureia and the establishment of the Swedish Institute in Rome. 780 781 259 260 Representations of strategic importance During the twentieth century, Swedish classical archaeology gained an infrastructure. Professorial chairs in Classical Archaeology and Ancient History were established at Uppsala and Lund (1909), Gothenburg (1935) and Stockholm (1948). Swedish Institutes opened up in Rome (1926), Athens (1948) and Istanbul (1962). The presence of Swedish archaeologists in the topography of Greece increased. A new actor had emerged on the scene. Crown Prince Gustaf Adolf, later King Gustaf VI Adolf, became an important benefactor for excavations not only in the Mediterranean, but also further afield in Asia.783 New excavations in Greece were initiated in the 1920s and 30s with excavations at Asine, Asea, Midea, Berbati and Dendra as well as The Swedish Messenia Expedition, all on the Peloponnesus.784 The Swedish Institute in Rome opened its doors in 1926, and was preceeded by a debate on where to place the first Swedish archaeological institute abroad. Athens was on the agenda, although Johan Bergman considered the city to be too ‘oriental’.785 After its establishment in 1948, the Swedish Institute at Athens still did not have permission from the Greek government to conduct their own excavations; the permissions were given instead to individual archaeologists. In 1975, the Institute was given full rights to conduct excavations in its own right.786 As for Kalaureia, Swedish archaeologists ‘returned’ to the Sanctuary of Poseidon in 1997 and initiated the Kalaureia Research Program, the largest Swedish-run excavation to date in Greece. Throughout this period, writing the history of classical archaeology and representing past Swedish commitments in Greece were part of a strategy to legitimize and situate the establishment of this infrastructure. It is important to remember that the histories of Swedish classical archaeology have, to date, mostly been written by classical scholars and not by historians of sciWhitling 2014. Also Almqvist et al 1932. See Scheffer 2000:200 and Penttinen 2014a:103 for maps and lists of Swedish excavations in Greece. See also Introduction. 785 Bergman 1896:300. Bergman propagated for a Swedish or Scandinavian institute either in Rome or on the coast of Syria or Turkey. In addition, Bergman wanted to name the institute after the Swedish author Viktor Rydberg, who used classical antiquity as an inspiration for his work and who had passed passed away in 1895, see for example Rydberg 1869. Also in Whitling 2010: 92f. 786 Penttinen 2014a:103. 783 784 261 ence. The histories have often not been written as independent research projects in their own right, but instead as short commentaries – these commentaries exist in specific contexts, such as anniversaries of a department or of the Institutes.787 This has an effect on the level of detail and scope of the information included in the histories. Appropriations of history for legitimizing purposes are not specific for classical archaeology; they are common, if often unarticulated, traditions of history writing within the discipline of archaeology as a whole as discussed by Anders Gustafsson.788 As suggested by Loren Graham, Wolf Lepenies and Peter Weingart, using disciplinary history for legitimizing strategies is a common feature of most sciences.789 In the words of Graham ‘[h]istorians of science or scientists turning to the histories of their fields, have found history extremely useful in order to legitimate a particular goal of which they are partisans.’790 A cultural competition: Kalaureia 1894 and the establishment of Professorial chairs in Uppsala and Lund On 3 March 1908, a proposition was sent out from the Ministry of Education, signed by King Gustaf V, in which the extra-ordinary Professorships in Classical Languages in Lund and Uppsala would be revoked for financial reasons as part of a salary regulation at the universities. Sam Wide held that position in Uppsala and had 18 years of tenure left before retirement. It was suggested that the extra-ordinary Professorship in Lund should be revoked immediately, and that Wide’s position in Uppsala would be revoked upon his retirement.791 The proposition was met with shock and anger by Sam Wide and his former student Martin P:son Nilsson, who had his eye on the Professorship at Lund. A counter proposal was made, whereby the Professorships would instead be converted into Professorial chairs in a ‘new’ discipline: Classical Archaeology. As we have seen, this had been Sam Wide’s goal for a long time. As I have discussed in the chapter on archaeological self-images, Wide’s politics of belonging had ensured that Lennart Kjellberg would not be in a position to provide competition. The Professorships in Classical Archaeology, if approved, would go to Wide and Nilsson. With a few exceptions, see for example Landgren & Östenberg 1996; Whitling 2010, 2014 and 2015. 788 Gustafsson 2001:30ff. 789 Graham et al. 1983. 790 Graham et al. 1983:291. 791 The extra-ordinary Professorship in Lund had just been vacated when Claes Lindskog had been promoted to the Professorial chair in Latin in February 1908. See Callmer 1985 for a detailed discussion of the establishments of the Professorial chairs in 1909. Also Lindberg 1987:276ff. 787 262 In the battle that followed, several articles and propositions were formulated: the excavation at Kalaureia was used to legitimize the need for an academic discipline of classical archaeology at Swedish universities. Later that same March, parliamentarian Henrik Cavalli792 submitted a motion to the First Chamber of the Swedish Parliament in which he expressed his indignation with the threat against classical culture, a culture that had ‘for so many hundreds of years been fruitful to our [culture].’793 In the motion, the scientific and cultural value of Swedish engagements in the Mediterranean was emphasized: ‘The rich finds, which have been made during these past few generations, the excavations, which all the cultural states – including Sweden [i.e. the excavations at Kalaureia and Larisa] – have undertaken in the classical lands, the ardent treatment of the obtained material, the modern research in the areas of ancient government and religion, all this has made it impossible for one man to satisfactorily command both the more philological and the more archaeological areas. […]. It should also be remembered […] that the grand nations have established particular institutes, where students are sent to study classical Altertumswissenschaft in the old hot-spots of classical culture; Germany, England, America and France both in Rome and Athens, Austria and Italy in Athens. Thus, the study of classical culture is most appreciated and encouraged everywhere abroad, and it would strike a discordant note with the leading scientific position which our country claims to occupy, if it in this case stood outside the international scientific struggles and did not try to assert its position in the cultural competition between the peoples.’794 The arguments used in the motion emphasized the national prestige gained from Swedish involvement in the excavation and research of classical materials, and the importance of assuring a place in the competitive international race for access to the classical lands. The excavation at Kalaureia was feaCallmer 1985:156. Callmer mistakes Henrik Cavalli (1853-1918) for his younger nephew the journalist Hans Cavalli (1892-1980). Henrik Cavalli was a conservative politician and businessman who served as Member of Parliament in the First Chamber between 1890 and 1917. 793 Cavalli 1908. The real author behind the motion was most likely Martin P.son Nilsson himself, according to Hillbom & Rystedt 2009:10f. 794 ‘De rika fynd, som gjorts under de sista mansåldrarne, de utgräfningar, som från alla kulturstater – äfven Sverige – företagits i de klassiska länderna, de ifriga bearbetandet af det vunna materialet, de moderna forskningarna på det antika statslifvets och religionens område, allt detta har alltmer gjort det omöjligt för en man att nöjaktigt behärska både det mera filologiska och det mera arkeologiska området. [...] I detta sammanhang torde också få erinras, [...] att de stora nationerna inrättat särskilda institut, dit stipendiater sändas för studiet af klassisk fornkunskap i den klassiska kulturens gamla brännpunkter; Tyskland, England, Amerika och Frankrike både i Rom och Athen, Österrike och Italien i Athen. Studiet af den antika kulturen är sålunda öfverallt i utlandet synnerligen uppskattadt och uppmuntradt, och det skulle stämma illa med den vetenskapliga rangplats, hvarpå vårt land gör anspråk, om det i detta fall ställde sig utanför de internationella vetenskapliga sträfvandena och ej sökte häfda sin ställning i den kulturella täflingskampen emellan folken.’, Cavalli 1908:5ff. See also Callmer 1985:156. 792 263 tured in the motion as a symbol of Sweden’s place as one of the cultural nations of the Western world. Without active involvement in classical archaeology, Sweden would fall behind in the competition for access to the Mediterranean countries, both in terms of their past and their present. When Cavalli stated that revoking the Professorships ‘would strike a discordant note’ with the image of Sweden as a leading country of scientific research, he was probably referring to the international success of archaeologists such as Oscar Montelius and the scientific expeditions of Otto Nordenskjöld and Sven Hedin, which had gained massive media attention both in Sweden and abroad. By creating an image of Sweden as a nation fit for scientific endeavours, he could also argue for engagements in the Mediterranean. The motion by Henrik Cavalli was presented to the general public through the Swedish press. In April of 1908, several newspapers wrote editorials propagating the conversion of the Professorships. Dagens Nyheter introduced the story with the dramatical headline ‘Should classical archaeology be sacrificed?’795 In Göteborgs Handels- och Sjöfartstidning the headline read ‘A matter of culture’.796 The editorials used the same arguments as Cavalli, at times verbatim. Sweden’s reputation was at stake, and the excavations by Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg in Greece and Turkey (although they are not mentioned by name) had demonstrated that Sweden was able to take an active part in the internationally prestigious quest for antiquity. Göteborgs Handels- och Sjöfartstidning ended the editorial with a reflection on the political importance of classical archaeology: ‘Our spiritual culture signifies – it should perhaps be added – an outwards representation, in many cases worth just as much as that of diplomacy. And this applies in particular to the research in the area, which by its nature is so international, of classical archaeology.’797 Ernst Nachmanson, Assistant Professor of Greek at Uppsala, wrote two articles on the matter in Stockholms Dagblad in April of 1908. In these, he sketched a fairly detailed history of excavations and research in classical archaeology since the 1870s, emphasizing the various contributions by European nations (the Germans at Olympia, the French in Delphi etc.).798 The Swedish excavations at Kalaureia, Aphidna and Larisa were written into this account of scientific progress and national success. [unsigned], ‘Vetenskap och lönereglering. Skall den klassiska arkeologien offras?’ in Dagens Nyheter, 11 April 1908. 796 [unsigned], ‘En kulturfråga’ in Göteborgs Handels- och Sjöfartstidning, 13 April 1908. 797 ‘Vår högre andliga kultur betyder – det bör måhända tilläggas – en representation utåt, i många fall så mycket värd som diplomatiens. Och detta gäller i särskild grad forskningen på ett område, till sin natur så internationellt, som den klassiska arkeologiens.’, [unsigned], ’En kulturfråga’ in Göteborgs Handels- och Sjöfartstidning, 13 April 1908. 798 Nachmanson, ‘Klassisk arkeologi. Några ord i en universitetsfråga på dagordningen 1 o 2’ in Stockholms Dagblad, 22 and 23 April 1908. The two newspaper articles were also published as a booklet, see Nachmanson 1908. Ernst Nachmanson would later become Professor of Greek at 795 264 The motion in the Parliament, which was reported in the Swedish press, was aimed at convincing the educated public, and those in power, of the cultural importance of Sweden’s participation in archaeology in the Mediterranean. Historiography played an important strategic role. By emphasizing past Swedish engagement in classical archaeology, and simultaneously implying that other nations were ‘ahead in the race’, the public could be persuaded that Sweden’s national prestige was on the line. In order for such an argument to be effective, the Swedish archaeologists’ dependence on the DAI for the excavation at Kalaureia and Aphidna had to be downplayed. In fact, German involvement in Kalaureia was not mentioned at all and the Greek context was entirely absent from the representation: the excavation at Kalaureia was distilled and nationalized. The strategy paid off and enough support was raised for the establishment of two Professorial chairs in Classical Archaeology at Lund and Uppsala. As we have seen, Sam Wide became the first Professor in Uppsala and Martin P:son Nilsson was appointed Professor in Lund. Parallel to the debate on the Professorships, plans for a Swedish Institute in the Mediterranean were underway during the decades around the turn of the century. Vilhelm Lundström799 had in 1909 organized the first Swedish philological-archaeological course in Rome.800 Johan Bergman and Julius Centerwall used the allure of their travel memoires from Italy and Greece to generate support for the establishment of an institute.801 Lennart Kjellberg had, together with Ture J. Arne, also made plans for an institute either in Athens or in Istanbul.802 Johan Bergman wrote that ‘experience has shown that the national character of our people is favourable for the execution of thorough, reliable and conscious research: it is merely the resources that have been lacking’.803 The experience referenced was the excavation at Kalaureia and the actions of Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg were seen as epitomizing the Swedish Volksgeist as a scientifically inclined people. Plans Gothenburg in 1919. The following day, 24 April 1908, a plea for the establishment of Professorial chairs in Classical Archaeology was sent to the Swedish Parliament. It was signed by 29 young Swedish philologists (all men, Ernst Nachmanson was one of them), see Callmer 1985:161. 799 Vilhelm Lundström (1869-1940) was a classical philologist and politician. From 1907 he was Professor of Classical Langauges in Gothenburg. 800 Blennow & Whitling 2011. 801 Centerwall 1888; Bergman 1896. 802 Kjellberg to Montelius, 24 August 1920, Montelius archive, E1a:18, ATA. Ture Johnsson Arne (1879-1965) was a Nordic archaeologist interested in contacts between Scandinavia, the Middle East and Russia in prehistory. He undertook a study travels to Turkey and Syria in 190607 where he studied archaeological finds from Kadiköy on the Asian side of Istanbul. Arne and Kjellberg thus had mutual interests in Turkish archaeology, see φArne, Ture Johnsson’ in Nordisk familjebok 1922. 803 ‘Erfarenheten har visat, att vårt folks nationalkaraktär är gynnsam för utbildande af gedigen, pålitlig, samvetsgrann forskning: det är blott resurserna som har fattats oss.’, Bergman 1896:298. 265 for a Swedish Institute in Athens would be hindered by the Second World War, a crisis that prompted various responses. Antaios touching ground: representations of Kalaureia at the Swedish Institute at Athens ‘Classical archaeology up here in distant Sweden can be likened to the giant Antaios who, according to the legend, battled with Heracles. Every time he touched mother earth, he regained his strength to resume the battle. Only by preventing him from touching the soil could Heracles overpower him. One can hope that future generations of Swedish archaeologists will also have the opportunity to come in direct contact with Hellas through excavations and from there receive the inspiration which we have seen lead to such big, and perhaps in the beginning, unexpected results.’804 From its initiation in 1948, the Swedish Institute at Athens has been the main producer of histories of Swedish classical archaeology in Greece. Representations of past fieldwork have been created to mark anniversaries and jubilees. Representations of the history of fieldwork have also been mediated to the public in times of crisis as part of a legitimization strategy intended to convince the public and the government of the cultural value of classical archaeology as a subject and as a practice. This way of using the history of archaeology as a way to legitimize Swedish presence in Greece had begun before the inauguration of the Institute. Swedish excavations in Greece and Italy, and plans for an institute in Athens were effectively halted by the outbreak of the Second World War, although the Swedish Institute in Rome remained opened during the war.805 A new generation of classical archaeologists worried about the future of their discipline. Would future archaeologists be able to return to Greece? Alfred Westholm (1904-1996), the son of Sam Wide’s friend of the same name whom we met through Wide’s correspondence, was one of the archaeologists who worried about the future. Westholm had excavated at Asine and Dendra in the 1920s and had been a leading member of the Swedish Cyprus Expedition in the 1930s. The quote in the beginning of this chapter is taken from an article in Ymer from 1942, 804 ‘Den klassiska arkeologien här uppe i det avlägsna Sverige skulle kunna liknas vid jätten Antaios, som enligt sagan kämpade med Herakles. Var gång han berörde moder jord fick han nya krafter till fortsatt kamp. Blott genom att hindra honom från att beröra jorden kunde Herakles betvinga honom. Det är att hoppas att även kommande generationer av svenska arkeologer får tillfälle att komma i direkt beröring med Hellas och därigenom få den inspiration, som vi sett leda till så stora och kanske från början oväntade resultat.’, Westholm 1942:100. 805 For a history of the Swedish Institute in Rome during the Second World War, see Whitling 2010 and 2015. See also Andrén 2003 for a short history of the Institutes at Rome and Athens. 266 where Alfred Westholm outlined the past twenty years of Swedish fieldwork in the Mediterranean and expressed concerns that the outcome of the war could potentially hinder further Swedish excavations.806 Using a metaphor from classical mythology, Westholm effectively argued that if Swedish scholars were to lose access to Greece, it could jeopardize the future of the discipline. Like Antaios, the archaeologists could gain strength only from direct contact with the earth of Greece, both in terms of the discovery of artefacts and access to the networks and arenas in Athens through an institute. In his article, Westholm referred to Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg as Swedish pioneers when it came to excavations on classical soil, but he did not view the results of their excavations as scientifically significant on an international level.807 The significance of the exercise lay in the very practice of performing archaeology, not solely in the scientific results, and Westholm emphasized the importance of being in place in Greece above the scientific merits: ‘Through these undertakings in direct contact with classical soil in the lands of classical civilization, a whole generation of young, Swedish scholars has received their education and scientific inspiration. This fact is perhaps of greater value for Swedish research than the pure scientific profits.808 This line of argument exemplifies Helge S. Kragh’s statement that histories of science can be ‘instruments that a people or a nation can mobilize in a time of crisis for the waging of ideological propaganda warfare.’809 The anxiety and threat of losing the position in Greece so eagerly fought for by Sam Wide and others, prompted the need to represent the history of the Swedish classical archaeology in various venues during and immediately after the war. In 1942, the National History Museum in Stockholm displayed finds from the Swedish Cyprus Expedition in an exhibition entitled Före Fidias (Before Fidias). Alfred Westholm was one of the curators of the exhibition together with his colleague Einar Gjerstad.810 In addition to displaying the finds from Cyprus, different types of representations of the history of archaeology were used in the exhibition Före Fidias. At the entrance of the 806 Westholm 1942. Ymer was the journal of The Swedish Society for Anthropology and Geography, an association whose function was to promote and mediate Swedish scientific explorations abroad. 807 Westholm 1942:83. 808 ‘Genom dessa företag under direkt kontakt med den klassiska jorden i de antika civilisationernas länder har en hel generation av unga svenska forskare fått sin skolning och vetenskapliga inspiration. Detta är kanske av större och mer betydande värde än de rent vetenskapliga vinningarna.’, Westholm 1942:100. 809 Kragh 1987:109. 810 Einar Gjerstad (1897-1988) had studied under Lennart Kjellberg in Uppsala and Kjellberg had recommended his participation in the excavations at Asine in 1922. 267 exhibition, visitors were greeted with a large map depicting Swedish excavation sites in the Mediterranean and the Near East (fig. 60). Fig. 60. A map of Swedish excavations in the Mediterranean used in exhibition Före Fidias. The trees represent, from left to right, Italy, Greece and Cyprus, Asia Minor, Egypt and finally Iran. The table to the right lists the sites, years of excavations and project directors. Photo: Museum of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Antiquities, Stockholm. On the map, the different trees vary in size depending on the number of campaigns performed and the number of sites excavated in each country.811 Depicting genealogy and ancestry in the shape of a tree has a long history in Western thought, for example, as a symbol of evolutionary relationships (as is the case for the Darwinian Tree of Life).812 The excavation of Kalaureia is seen as an off-shoot to the large trunk of the Greek and Cypriote tree. At the base of this trunk it says ‘His Royal Highness The Crown Prince’s travels in Greece 1920’. The Crown Prince Gustaf Adolf was represented as the supporting beam, the trunk from which grew the branches representing the 811 The choice of a tree to represent the history of Swedish fieldwork was discussed in a correspondence between Westholm and Åke Åkerström, where Åkerström argued instead for a large map of Greece with ‘small pretty labels’ (Sw. ‘små söta lappar’) where the excavations had taken place. Åkerström to Westholm, 20 October 1920, collection of the Swedish Cyprus Expedition, EI:3, Museum of Mediterranean and near eastern Antiquities, Stockholm. 812 See Bouquet 1996; Hellström 2011 and Rosenberg & Grafton 2010 for historiographies of the tree as representational form. 268 largest and most prestigious excavations. He was portrayed as the prime mover for Swedish archaeology in Greece, and rightly so: the Crown Prince employed his cultural status in order to initiate archaeological research both in Sweden and abroad; he was also an avid art collector and had participated in excavations.813 The personal and the national intersected in the agency of the Crown Prince: as an educated male, he fit the typecast of an archaeologist and as a royal body he represented the nation. In an interview made for Swedish radio, Einar Gjerstad and Alfred Westholm gave a guided tour of the exhibition and spoke briefly of the Kalaureia excavation.814 Interviewer: ‘In the first room of the exhibition, there is a large map over the eastern Mediterranean with the Swedish excavation sites marked upon it. Above the map, one has drawn a genealogical tree where the different Swedish expeditions each have a branch to sit on. First, may I ask Professor Gjerstad, with the help of this map, to give us a short orientation of the Swedish archaeological work in classical soil?’ Einar Gjerstad: ‘Yes, as you see on this map, the first excavations, were carried out at the turn of the century by the Professors in Uppsala, Wide and Kjellberg. They excavated at a couple of sites in Greece, at Kalaureia and Aphidna and Kjellberg also in Asia Minor, at Larissa. So that was at the turn of the century. Then came a long period where no Swedish excavations can be noted on classical lands.’815 Importantly, the excavation at Kalaureia was mentioned by Einar Gjerstad in the interview because it was the first Swedish excavation in Greece, not because it was significant for furthering knowledge about ancient sanctuaries or because it was particularly successful in terms of important finds. The excavation of 1894 was important because of its role as an origin event, a firm fixing point and starting date for Swedish archaeology in the Mediterranean. Such an origin event, as discussed by Helge S. Kragh, only becomes successful if it is ‘ripped out of its actual context and is given a meaning that makes its social function possible’. That way, the event can serve to strengthen the unity and ties between practitioners within a certain disciplinary setting.816 In this representation, we have two such origin events: the excavation at Kalaureia and Crown Prince Gustaf Adolf’s travel to Greece in 1920. The origin events were re-contextualized into a nationalist discourse and thus simplified and stripped of problematizing aspects. In another article outlining Swedish excavations in the Mediterranean published by Westholm in Le Nord during the war, he stated that Wide and Kjellberg Whitling 2014; Almgren et al 1932. ’Utställningen Före Fidias’, Swedish Radio Archive. 815 ‘Utsällningen Före Fidias’, Swedish Radio Archive. 816 Kragh 1987:109. 813 814 269 were ‘the Swedish pioneers’ but that their endeavours ‘bade fair to remain an isolated episode in our history of excavations.’ He continued: ‘Young Swedish scholars, it is true, later took part in foreign excavations, thus Martin Nilsson took part in the Danish work in Rhodes in 1905-07, and A. Boëthius in the American excavations at Zygouries in 1921, and in the English excavations at Mycenae in 1921-22, but not until 20 years after Kjellberg’s investigations at Larisa, in 1922, a Swedish expedition to Greece was started.’ 817 For the history of archaeology to be truly useful as a legitimizing tool when arguing for continuous Swedish presence in Greek archaeology, the national had to be emphasized. Scholars who contribute to the production of archaeological knowledge in a different national setting cannot be used for this purpose. The representation of the history of Swedish fieldwork in the Mediterranean in the shape of a family tree increased the symbolism: the excavations were all connected in time and space through the agency of Swedish archaeologists. These were genealogically linked through ‘founding fathers’, such as Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg, and their students who had now risen to become key players in the race to excavate in Greece. In addition, by emphasizing the national as the primary factor binding the excavations together, the representations followed a long established discourse which we saw in the writings of Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg some fifty years earlier. Once the war had ended and the establishment of an institute was underway, engagements in classical archaeology were discussed in the Swedish press with a sense of relief after the long absence of cultural travels to the Mediterranean. Several newspapers expressed the longing for an archaeological institute by drawing cartoons depicting male, Swedish bodies gazing upon classical monuments, see fig. 61 below. 817 Westholm 1944:67f. 270 Fig. 61. A cartoon in Dagens Nyheter from 10 January 1946. Under the caption φIn Athensχ, a stereotype of a Swedish classical scholar looks up at the Olympeion with Acropolis in the background. φThe thought of a Swedish Institute in Athens is on the agenda and is embraced by allχ, the caption continued. Photo: Royal Library, Stockholm. 271 The Swedish Institute at Athens was inaugurated on 10 May 1948, with a ceremony held at the library of the American School of Classical Studies in Kolonaki. In the midst of a war-torn Greece – the country was wrapped up in a civil war – Swedish archaeologists celebrated a new beginning for fieldwork in Greece. During the opening ceremony, Axel W. Persson, now Professor at Uppsala University after Lennart Kjellberg had retired in 1922, gave a speech emphasizing the history of Swedish excavations in Greece. He focused, in particular his own efforts in Asine and Berbati, but also on the excavations by Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg. He went on to stress the agency of the Crown Prince. Svenska Dagbladetχs correspondent wrote that ‘he [Persson] referred to the fact that Swedish scholars had already undertaken archaeological studies in Greece eighty years ago [referring to early travellers and the excavations at Kalaureia and Aphidna, my comm.], while the more systematic work in Greece by Swedish archaeologists began in 1920, after a visit to Athens by the Swedish Crown Prince who himself is an archaeologist.’818 While the representation of historiography was an important strategic tool when the Institute was founded, it has continued to play a role in subsequent anniversaries and celebrations at the Institute. The first issue of Opuscula Atheniensia in 1953 featured an article by Christian Callmer on the role of Sam Wide as a pioneering force within classical archaeology in Sweden.819 In terms of scientific results, Callmer claimed that Kalaureia could not measure up to Sam Wide’s finds in Aphidna. ‘Although Kalaureia could not be counted among the more significant excavations’, he wrote, ‘Aphidna, despite being a study in a small format, will always claim a place in the history of Greek archaeology.’820 Instead, Kalaureia became symbolic – it was a proof of Sam Wide’s greatness as an innovator and pioneer, and by extension, of Sweden as an emerging agent in Greek archaeology at the turn of the last century. Published in the very first edition of the Opuscula Atheniensia, the article by Callmer served the purpose of highlighting the longevity of Swedish excavations in Greece and, by extension, the activities preceding and leading up to the formation of the Swedish Institute at Athens. Callmer quoted Wide’s letter to Oscar Montelius from January 1894, in which Wide explicitly points out the need for someone to show the way ‘Han hänvisade till att svenska vetenskapsmän redan för åttio år sedan företagit arkeologiska studier i Grekland, medan svenska arkeologer år 1920 började det mera planmässiga arbetet i Grekland efter ett besök som svenske kronprinsen, vilken själv är arkeolog, avlade i Aten.’, Bretholz, ‘Ateninstitutet har invigts’ in Svenska Dagbladet, 16 May 1948. The manuscript of Persson’s speech has unfortuantely not been preserved. 819 Callmer 1953. 820 ‘Kalaureia konnte zwar nicht zu den bedeutenderen Ausgrabungen gerechnet werden, aber Aphidna, wenn auch eine Untersuchung im kleinen Format, wird immer einen Platz in der Geschichte der griechischen Archäologie behaupten.’, Callmer 1953:223. 818 272 before proposing an institute in Athens or Rome.821 Through such rhetoric, Callmer linked Wide’s endeavours in the 1890s with the future Institute. The intended audience, primarily Swedish classical archaeologists and members of the other foreign schools, were here informed of the fact that Sweden had been an active nation in the Mediterranean before having an institute. The article hence served to legitimize future Swedish presence in the area, and established Sam Wide as an important figure in the history of the first Swedish excavation in Greece. I will return to the article below when discussing the role of Kalaureia in representations of academic identity. In 1973, when the Institute celebrated its 25th anniversary, former director Åke Åkerström822 wrote an account of the events leading up to the inauguration of the Institute. He started with the travels of Einar Löfstedt and Julius Centerwall and continued on to the first excavations in Greece. It was, according to Åkerström, ‘through them [i.e. Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg] that the dream of Swedish excavations in Greece was realized.’823 Sam Wide was mentioned as the sole excavator at Kalaureia; Kjellberg’s name was not mentioned at all in the account of the excavation. Åkerström’s history did include a few external outlooks. He specified the influence of German ideals at Swedish universities at the turn of the century, and the importance of the establishment of the German state for the large scale excavation projects in Greece. The Greek context itself was entirely absent concerning the early stages of Swedish archaeology in Greece.824 In May 1998, the SIA celebrated its 50th anniversary by hosting a two-day conference on the unpublished material from the Swedish projects at Asine and Berbati. Director Berit Wells gave a lecture on early Swedish archaeology in Greece which was published under the title ‘The Prehistory of the Swedish Institute at Athens’ in 2002.825 The article was in many ways a remediation of Åkerström’s article 25 years earlier. Regarding Kalaureia, Sam Wide was represented as the prime mover of the excavation and according to Wells the scientific results were ‘not overly spectacular, but together with his Wide to Montelius, 30 January 1894, Montelius’ archive, E1a:42, ATA. In Callmer 1953:214. Åke Åkerström (1902-1991) was the director of SIA between 1948-1956 and then again in 1970-1972. 823 ‘Genom dem gick drömmen om svenska utgrävningar i Grekland i uppfyllelse’, Åkerström 1973:9 824 However in the pages that followed, where Åkerström discussed the establishment of the SIA, the Greek context was emphasized and problematized. The article did not include any references, and Åkerström drew on personal experiences. 825 Wells 2002. For the SIA’s 60th anniversary, the SIA published a similar short history of the Institute which came out in 2013. This publication remediated the history of Swedish fieldwork in Greece by Åkerström and Wells, see Schallin 2013. 821 822 273 [Wide’s] excavation at Aphidna the following year represented a modest beginning of Swedish archaeology in Greece’.826 In 1994, the Swedish Institute at Athens organized a symposium to honour one hundred years of Swedish archaeological work in Greece. The symposium symbolically and deliberately opened on June 11, exactly one century after the excavation at Kalaureia had begun.827 Two posters were on display at the symposium, both ‘presenting Wide and Kjellberg as the pioneers of Swedish field archaeology in Greece’828 and both were converted into papers in the subsequent proceedings. The posters represented Sam Wide’s and Lennart Kjellberg’s time in Greece through archival material (excerpts of letters, photographs and drawings). 829 A quote from a letter written by Sam Wide in January 1894 to Julius Centerwall that was sent as part of Wide’s fundraising schemes to gain support for a Swedish excavation in Greece, was chosen to set the tone for the festivities: ‘A better time cannot be found, for (1) we have Dörpfeld helping us and (2) I myself have a certain energy that not even my worst enemies dare to deny.’830 The quote was selected to represent the tenacity and stamina of Wide’s character and hence the enthusiastic beginning of Swedish fieldwork in Greece. ‘A Better Time Cannot Be Found’ became the heading of the article in the publication from the symposium on Wide’s and Kjellberg’s time in Greece in 1894-95.831 Quotes from letters were not contextualized and external influences such as the political and social context of the excavation at Kalaureia were not represented. The individual agenda of the archaeologists was emphasized and in this respect Wide was represented as a strong man with initiative. The centennial celebration coincided with another period of crisis for Swedish classical archaeology. During the 1990s, the government had threatened to retract the grants needed to keep the Institutes in Rome, Istanbul and Athens opened. The symposium in 1994 can thus also be interpreted as serving to legitimize Sweden’s presence in Greek archaeology at times of crisis; first by highlighting ‘pioneering’ individuals and second by emphasizing the longevity of Swedish engagement in classical archaeology, beginning with the excavation at Kalaureia in 1894. At the SIA, Kalaureia Wells 2002:11f. Hägg 2002b:9. 828 Hägg 2002b:8. 829 The posters themselves are unfortunately lost. The first poster detailed life in Athens and plans for the excavation at Kalaureia, see Nordquist 2002. The second poster featured a summary of Wide’s work at Aphidna under the headline ‘Sam Wide’s Excavation at Aphidna – Stratigraphy and Finds’, see Hielte-Stavropoulou & Wedde 2002. 830 Nordquist 2002:18. The original letter has been lost, but it is reproduced in Callmer 1953:215. The original quote reads as follows, according to Callmer: ‘Bättre tillfälle ges ej på länge, ty 1) ha vi Dörpfeld till medarbetare och 2) är jag utrustad med en viss energi, som ej ens mina värsta fiender djärfts frånkänna mig.’ 831 Nordquist 2002. 826 827 274 functioned as an origin event, a fixing point from where the story of national success could unfold. In order for historiography to be successful as a legitimizing strategy, the histories need to be purified and nationalized. This was achieved through short and uncritical commentary focusing on internalistic perspectives on archaeological knowledge production. A Swedish site: strategic representations of the Kalaureia Research Program ‘Four years ago, I was contacted by the Greek Archaeological Service responsible for the area around the Saronic Gulf. They wondered if the Swedish Institute at Athens would consider returning to Kalaureia. Other scholars had applied for permit to start new excavations, but the Greek colleagues felt that we still had the right to the site. During the spring of 1997, we worked in the Sanctuary of Poseidon for two weeks to mark our interest.’ 832 In 1996, the Director of the Swedish Institute at Athens, Berit Wells (the subject in the quote above) was contacted by the Second Ephorate of Prehistoric and Classical Antiquities.833 A century after the 1894 excavation, the Sanctuary of Poseidon was, in the eyes of the Greek authorities, still considered to be a Swedish site. Swedish archaeologists had ‘claimed’ the site in 1894 hence Swedish archaeologists should have first choice if the site were to be re-excavated a hundred years later. This praxis is an outcome of the nineteenth-century construction of the Greek heritage topography discussed in Part 2, in which Western nation states competed with each other to acquire land and to gain access to the coveted material remains of a perceived common past: that of Hellas. In addition, it was, and still is, in the interest of the Greek state to make sure that the foreign schools take financial and practical responsibility for the excavated areas by keeping the archaeological remains visible and protected, and the site clean from vegetation and debris – both measures are important for attracting visitors. Hence, from the point 832 ‘För fyra år sedan blev jag kontaktad av den grekiska landsantikvariemyndigheten ansvarig för området kring Saroniska bukten. Man undrade, om Svenska Institutet i Athen inte kunde tänka sig att återvända till Kalaureia. Andra forskare hade ansökt om tillstånd att påbörja nya utgrävningar, men de grekiska kollegorna ansåg, att vi fortfarande hade rättigheterna till platsen. Under våren 1997 arbetade vi under två veckor i Poseidons helgedom för att markera vårt intresse.’, Wells, ‘Ansökan om medel för utgrävningar i Poseidons helgedom på Kalaureia’ [Application to Gunvor och Josef Anérs Stiftelse], 2 March 1999. Berit Wells’ papers, binder marked 1997-2003, SIA. 833 The Second Ephorate was later divided in two parts with Kalaureia remaining within the realm of the 26th Ephorate which had seat in Piraeus. In the 2014 administrative reform, the name of the authority was changed into The Ephorate of Antiquities in Western Attica, Piraeus and the Islands. 275 of view of the foreign schools, gaining the right to excavate generates prestige (i.e. it allows them to be present in the topography of Hellas) but it also comes with a responsibility to ensure that the site meets the ideals of Greek heritage discourse. An international team of archaeologists under the auspices of the Swedish Institute at Athens conducted excavations at Kalaureia between 1997 and 2012 under the direction of Berit Wells and Arto Penttinen.834 Before I discuss the strategic representations of the excavation of 1894 as they were used for the new project on Kalaureia, it is important to acknowledge the fact that there was a local demand for archaeology in Poros. The poor condition of the Sanctuary of Poseidon as a heritage site had been debated in the local press for decades. In the 1950s and 60s, the tourism industry on Poros became increasingly important. The local newspaper Troizinia published several articles around this time on the potential of the island as a tourist destination, often focusing on whether antiquities could be used in the promotion of the island, and if so, how this could be achieved. For the parties interested in profiting from tourism, the state of the sanctuary of Poseidon, which was at the time used as farming land, was seen as a shameful waste of potential: ‘I am not going to mention the different antiquities of our place, Troizina [the archaeological site, my comm.], the temple of Poseidon, that have been completely abandoned and perhaps forgotten even by ourselves’, one commentator remarked in Troizina in 1951. ‘We leave them unexploited for so many years’, he or she continued, ‘damaging our local, but also more generally the state’s interest; and while all visitors sing the praises of our place, we remain passive and indifferent, not towards the beauties surrounding us, but towards our interest, the interest of our families […].’835 Swedish archaeologist Paul Åström visited the sanctuary in the 1960s and described it as ‘overgrown, however one can still fairly well trace the outline of the Temple of Poseidon […]’.836 In 1968, a local archaeological museum was inaugurated in Poros town. The land was expropriated in stages by the Greek Archaeological Service from 1978 onwards; the area to the east and south-east of the Temple of Poseidon was not included within the official boundaries of the Sanctuary until 2006. The Sanctuary became an enclosed area, classed as ‘protection zone A’, with very strict regulations prohibiting any use of the land except for sanctioned archaeological work, visits from tourists and specified non-evasive agricultural Berit Wells was director of the Swedish Institute at Athens between 1994 and 2003 and lead the excavations at the Sanctuary of Poseidon from 1997 until her death in 2009. Arto Penttinen, who had functioned as the co-director of the excavations from 2003, took over the directorship in 2009. He has also been the director of the Swedish Institute at Athens since 2010. 835 [unsigned] ’Tourism in Poros’, Troizina, 19 December 1951. Original in Greek, transl. by Aris Anagnostopoulos. 836 Åström 1963:746. 834 276 work.837 The descendant of the Markis-family who used the land bordering the Sanctuary in 1894 and who had constructed a farmstead inside the sanctuary at a later date, reluctantly moved with a monetary compensation.838 After that, the site lay abandoned causing vegetation to cover the site and the Makris’ farmstead became a ruin. Applying for funding As discussed above, at the beginning of the 1990s there was demand from both private and official authorities on Poros to turn the sanctuary into a heritage site. The fact that Swedes had been in active in the area one hundred years ago was enough to legitimize the Swedish Institute at Athens as the actor to turn to when new excavations were wanted. While the first seasons were small scale excavations, the Kalaureia Research Program eventually received funding for two larger scale archaeological projects: Physical environment and daily life at the Sanctuary of Poseidon on Kalaureia (Poros), Greece (2003-2005) and The Sea, the City, and the God (2006-2012).839 It is in the applications for funding for these endeavours that the first strategic use of the old excavation appears. A funding application is a very specific type of document. The application has to be relatively brief, and the research description is required to be of a more general nature, without too much complicated professional terminology. A vital aspect of a research application is that it has to stand out from hundreds of other applications and therefore the applicants must appeal to the evaluators on an emotional as well as a professional level. The application also has to appeal to the prevailing paradigm of scientific reasoning, accomplished through the use of certain buzzwords. In her work on archaeological applications for funding submitted to the European Union’s cultural programs, Elisabeth Niklasson refers to the specific type of rhetoric used in application for research grants as ‘application poetry’.840 As I will See Loukaki 2008:161ff. for a discussion of the Greek archaeological zoning system. The ethnographic work by Yannis Hamilakis and Aris Anagnostopoulos has in part focused on the experiences and memories of the Makris’ descendant. The archaeological ethnography of Poros has yet to be published. I have chosen not to use the first name of the Makris descendant in question, since he has not been my informant, and I refer readers to the future publications of Hamilakis and Anagnostopoulos for more detailed information on the events surrounding the expropriation in the 1970s. 839 These two projects were funded by the Swedish Foundation for Humanities and Social Sciences (previously The Bank of Sweden Tercentenary Foundation). Berit Wells was the main applicant for Physical environment and daily life at the Sanctuary of Poseidon on Kalaureia (Poros), Greece. Arto Penttinen was the main applicant of The Sea, the City and the God, even though Berit Wells remained the director of the excavations till her death in 2009. 840 Niklasson 2016:162ff. 837 838 277 demonstrate, the successful application poetry composed by the Kalaureia Research Program used the history of fieldwork at the site as a legitimizing predecessor to the program. The first seasons of archaeological work at Kalaureia from 1997 until 2003 were rather small scale excavations funded by various Swedish research foundations, and also by private sector Swedish companies with offices in Greece. As an example, the 2001 field season was funded by two private research foundations; Birgit och Gad Rausings Stiftelse för Humanistisk Forskning and Gunvor och Josef Anérs Stiftelse, as well as by two branches of Swedish pharmaceutical companies based in Athens: Astra Zeneca and Getinge Castle.841 More or less identical research descriptions were used when applying for money from the different financiers.842 The very first line in the introduction, vital for the overall impression of the application, singled out the excavation of 1894: ‘Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg, together with the architect Sven Kristenson, were the first Swedes to conduct archaeological excavations in Greece.’ This first line of the funding applications served to establish continuity, and hence legitimization of a Swedish presence on site. In addition, it alludes to the symbolic importance of the origins of Swedish field work in Greece as attached to a site which would serve Swedish interests in the future.843 This type of rhetorical structure is what Lepenies and Weingart refers to as legitimizing historiographies which ‘extend the present (or what is to become the future) as far as possible into the past, thereby constructing an image of continuity, consistency and determinacy.’844 The early applications for funding also stressed another connection between Sweden and the Sanctuary of Poseidon. From the 1990s to 2010, several Scandinavian travel companies organized packaged tours to Poros. In 1999, in a letter to Gunvor och Josef Anérs Stiftelse, Berit Wells began by thanking the foundation for a grant of 50,000 SEK (approx. 5,000 Euro) Wells, ’Resultaträkning Poros - 2001’, Berit Wells’ papers, binder marked 1997-2003, SIA. ‘Sam Wide och Lennart Kjellberg tillsammans med arkitekten Sven Kristenson var de första svenskar, som utförde arkeologiska utgrävningar i Grekland.’ Wells, ’Forskningsbeskrivning för undersökningar i Poseidons helgedom på Kalaureia (Poros)’ [Appendix to the application to Birgit and Gad Rausings Stiftelse för Humanistisk Forskning (in 2000), to Gunvor och Josef Anérs Stiftelse (in 2000 and 2001), and to Karin och Herbert Jacobssons Stiftelse (in 2001)]. Berit Wells’ papers, binder marked 1997-2003, SIA. 843 The Swedish continuity on site was also emphasized in the appeal for funding to Swedish companies in Greece. In a letter to the Managing Director of Getinge and Castle, Berit Wells situated the short description of the Swedish excavation of 1894 immediately followed by the phrase ‘[a]fter more than a hundred years, since 1997, the Swedish Institute at Athens now excavate in the Sanctuary of Poseidon […]’ [‘Efter mer än hundra år gräver nu, sedan 1997, Svenska Institutet i Athen i Poseidons helgedom […]’], Wells to Björn Wedeman, 5 April 2001, Berit Wells’ papers, binder marked 1997-2003, SIA. 844 Lepenies & Weingart 1983:xvii. 841 842 278 and continued to describe the upcoming seasons of fieldwork: ‘Over the coming years, we will not only be investigating the remains archaeologically, but above all perhaps try to get the place in order so that the large number of principally Scandinavian tourists who come here every year will be able to understand it.’845 Representing the excavation of 1894 as a primarily Swedish undertaking and connecting it with present and future fieldwork in combination with an emphasis on Swedish tourism created a powerful image: sponsorship of Kalaureia as an important national and cultural undertaking. In 2002, the Kalaureia Research Program was awarded a large grant from The Swedish Foundation for Humanities and Social Sciences for the project Physical Environment and Daily Life in the Sanctuary of Poseidon on Kalaureia (Poros). In the successful application, a direct national link between the old excavation and the new project was again emphasized: ‘[i]n 1996, the Swedish Institute at Athens was invited to resume the archaeological investigations which had been initiated in 1894 [my emphasis]’.846 Further, the application stressed the necessity for more thorough excavations since the 1895 publication by Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg ‘is probably of the most cited Swedish archaeological works ever, since Kalaureia was a sanctuary of rank in antiquity and no investigations have been made there before we returned to the site in 1997. […] all discussions today are based on the very limited investigations made more than a hundred years ago.’847 The message from the Kalaureia Research Program was that the limited excavation and the less evasive excavation techniques employed during 1894 had ‘preserved’ the site, ensuring optimal conditions for contemporary research. New excavations were deemed necessary on the grounds that it would be unfortunate if the 1895 publication were to remain the only archaeological interpretation of the Sanctuary of Poseidon. The ‘return’ to Kalaureia was also discussed in Hellenika, a magazine published by the Friends of the Swedish Institute at Athens. Hellenika is an important arena for historiography as the Friends are a crucial part of the outwards representation of the Swedish Institute at 845 ‘Vi kommer under de kommande åren att inte enbart arkeologiskt undersöka lämningarna utan framför allt kanske försöka ställa i ordning platsen för att det stora antal främst Skandinaviska turister, som kommer dit varje år skall kunna förstå något av den.’ Wells to Gunvor och Josef Anérs stiftelse, 14 June 1999, Berit Wells’ papers, binder marked 1997-2003, SIA. 846 ‘1996 inbjöds Svenska Institutet i Athen att återuppa de arkeologiska undersökningarna, som påbörjades 1894 […].’, Wells, ’Projektbeskrivning’ [Appendix to the application to The Swedish Foundation for Humanities and Social Sciences (in 2002)]. Berit Wells’ papers, binder marked 19972003, SIA. 847 ‘[…] ett av de mest citerade svenska arkeologiska arbetena överhuvudtaget, eftersom Kalaureia var en helgedom av betydelse i antiken och inga undersökningar gjorts där, förrän vi återvände till platsen 1997. […] alla diskussioner idag grundar sig på de mycket begränsade undersökningar, som gjordes för mer än hundra år sedan.’ Wells, ‘Projektbeskrivning’ [Appendix to the application to The Swedish Foundation for Humanities and Social Sciences (in 2002)]. Berit Wells’ papers, binder marked 1997-2003, SIA. 279 Athens. Berit Wells wrote several articles from 1997 until 2005 emphasizing the Swedish continuity on site and the role of Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg as the first Swedish archaeologists in Greece.848 Cleaning operations The first seasons of excavations (1997-2001) were published in 2003 in the Opuscula Atheniensia.849 The publication was a report on the state of the site and of the condition of the different buildings when the Swedish archaeologists arrived in 1997, as well as a preliminary report of the excavations conducted particularly in Building D and in the Bronze Age construction west of the temple area, which had been discovered in 1997. A large portion of the report dealt with post-antiquity descriptions of the site, i.e. travellers’ accounts. It also gave a background to, and discussed the results of, the excavations by Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg and the observations made by Gabriel Welter.850 While the Kalaureia Research Program used the excavation of 1894 for various legitimizing strategies in text, the physical remains left on site from the digging were removed through subsequent excavations. If we consider the archaeological site itself as a space of representation where the archaeological remains, by their visibility, mediate an image of the past to visitors, we find an apparent paradox. Why remove traces of such an important genealogical event in the history of Swedish fieldwork? The answer lay in the cultural politics of Greek heritage management and in the archaeological gaze on material culture. As the Sanctuary of Poseidon was re-excavated from 1997 and onwards, certain choices were made as to which type of pasts should be represented to the public through the archaeological remains. During excavations between 1997 and 2005, the appearance of the site was significantly altered as modern construction and land-fill were removed and horizons from antiquity were brought forth. These removal practices were part of what the excavators called ‘cleaning operations’ and they served the purpose of ‘substantially improving the appearance of the site’.851 In order to follow the regulations and praxis of what a Greek heritage site should look like, the remains of post-antiquity cultural horizons were removed in order to expose the outline of the buildings and reach a ground level equivalent to that in antiquity. The practice of cleaning at the Sanctuary of Poseidon had its roots in Wells 1998b; 2000; 2005. Wells, Penttinen & Billot 2003. 850 Wells, Penttinen & Billot 2003:32ff. 851 Wells, Penttinen & Billot. 2003:78f. 848 849 280 the history of archaeological and heritage management practice in Greece and elsewhere. The creation of national Greek topographies, as I have previously discussed, was dependent on the construction of certain pasts made visible in the present. Remains from pasts not considered to be part of the national narrative of the nation state were removed; the destruction of Medieval and Ottoman pasts at the Acropolis are a prime example of this practice.852 At Kalaureia, the ‘cleaning operations’ included the removal of the remains of the Makris farmstead and also removal of the remains from the 1894 excavation. The photographs below (fig. 62 and 63) show the appearance of the ruins of the Makris farmstead in 2000 before the walls were removed. Some remains of the farmstead were kept on site, including an oven for baking. The physical on-site remains from the 1894 excavation on were mostly in the form of excavations dumps and eroded trench sections. Fig. 49 above shows Building A before the new excavations; eroded trench sections can be seen as low mounds in the centre of the building and the dump from the excavation of 1894 is visible to the right. Often the cultural layers from Makris’ agricultural practices and the excavation of 1894 were superimposed. The dumps created by manual labour in 1894 had been supplemented by adding soil to create conditions for growing agricultural crops. Both these horizons, the remains of the Makris farmstead and the remains from the 1894 excavation were labelled by the excavators as disturbances.853 852 853 See Hamilakis 2007:87ff, with references. Also Andrén 1997. Wells Penttinen & Billot 2003:78 281 Fig. 62. The ruins of the stables belonging to the Makris family rest on top of the wall of building D. The stable wall was removed during excavations in 2001. The floor levels of the stable were excavated in 2001 but the modern materials found were not recorded. Photo: Berit Wells. I have argued elsewhere that the dumps and ditches from the excavation of 1894 could be regarded as the physical manifestation of manual labour on site, and thus as monuments to those workmen who remain nameless in traditional accounts of histories of archaeology.854 Hence, they can be used to represent the power hierarchies present in archaeological practice since they contain historiographical information excluded from the usual archive material. Erasing these pasts, the Greek presence on site and the complexity of the social dimensions of the 1894-excavation, meant that the history of the site was purified and neutralized, much in line with other legitimizing strategies discussed above. Fig. 64 shows building A during excavations in 2012 when the remains of the 1894 excavation were being removed. While 854 Berg 2013. 282 the history of archaeology could serve to legitimize Swedish continuity at Kalaureia, on the actual heritage site, the remains of the historical practices on site whether from the original archaeological excavation or from agricultural work in the nineteenth century, were not considered strategic remains. Their removal was in line with archaeological praxis on Greek heritage site, a praxis which has only recently started to change. Encountering ruins from antiquity would meet the visitors’ expectations of a Greek heritage experience, while remains from other time periods could not easily be made to fit into the narrative neither Greek nor Swedish heritage discourse. Fig. 63. Members of the Kalaureia Research Program excavate cultural horizons from antiquity in the shadow of the ruins of the Makris farmstead. The wall was torn down in 2001. Photo: Berit Wells. 283 Fig. 64. Building A during excavations in 2012. The red arrows point to bulks of earth belonging to the eroded trench sections from the 1894 excavation, which were being removed. To the right, a series of Roman stone constructions are brought to light underneath the remains of the 1894 excavation. Photo: Patrik Klingborg. New appropriations? In 2006, the Kalaureia Research Program successfully applied once again for a grant from The Swedish Foundation for Humanities and Social Sciences, this time for a much larger archaeological program entitled The Sea, the City, and the God.855 Unlike the previous project, which had been fairly traditional and based on the archaeological information, the new project aimed at a broader, more encompassing and politically complex understanding of the Sanctuary of Poseidon. By engaging a team specializing in archaeological ethnography parallel to the archaeological excavation team, and letting the two groups intermingle, the aim was to produce alternative readings of the sanctuary in collaboration with the local inhabitants of Poros. Tourists’ perceptions of the site would also be taken into account. The presence of an ethnographic approach meant that the role of the 1894 excavation in the application for funding had shifted slightly. In this application, the national Kalaureia Research Program, Application to The Swedish Foundation for Humaities and Social Sciences in 2006, Reference number M2006-0814:1-PK, SIA. 855 284 continuity between the old and new excavations at Kalaureia was less relevant than in previous applications, although the Swedish presence there both in 1894 and in the present (through members of the archaeological team and many Scandinavian tourists) was mentioned. An explanation for the change of emphasis may lie in the fact that the new project stressed that the researchers would reflect critically on their role in the power structures of Greek archaeology, i.e. ‘the fact that they are part of a large, potentially well-funded international team of well-educated people working under the auspices of a non-Greek archaeological institution, and advocating a specific view on the material past that may not coincide with that of the local communities.’856 Such a reflexive stance meant that an uncritical use of the nineteenth-century excavation did not fit the aim of the new research project. This perspective shows in the representations of the history of fieldwork. In 2007, the new project at Kalaureia was introduced to the public through two articles, one in Hellenika and one in Populär Arkeologi.857 The critical perspectives offered by the ethnographic project were emphasized in both articles as new and important aspects in addition to advances in the ongoing field work; the role of the 1894-excavation and its members was hardly mentioned at all. In an edition of Medusa published in 2008, a whole issue was devoted to the Kalaureia Research Program. The editorial preface entitled ‘Up-to-date Archaeology’ emphasized the modern and contemporary advances in archaeological fieldwork offered by the Kalaureia Research Program and its new project. ‘Modern archaeology in the Mediterranean today is something completely different from back in the days of Schliemann and his colleagues at the end of the nineteenth century’, the editors wrote and emphasized the distance covered over the past one hundred years from, in their perspective, a lopsided focus on spectacular finds and architecture to the inter-disciplinary scientific archaeology of today.858 The excavation of 1894 was covered in an article by Arto Penttinen which highlighted the biography of the site.859 Although the heading read ‘The Pioneers’, the section on the 1894 excavation offered a more contextualized attempt at explaining the nineteenth-century practice of archaeology. The role of archaeology in constructing national identity was problematized. Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg were given equal credit for the excavation and the workmen and Pankalos were included in the account (although Pankalos was not mentioned by name). The Kalaureia Research program began by expressing a desire for a more in-depth analysis of the old excavation at this Kalaureia Research Program, Application to The Swedish Foundation for Humanities and Social Sciences in 2006. Reference number M2006-0814:1-PK, SIA. 857 Wells 2007a and Wells 2007b. 858 ‘Modern arkeologi i medelhavsområdet är idag något helt annat än när det begav sig på Schliemanns och hans kollegors tid vid slutet av 1800-talet [...]’, Redaktionen 2008. 859 Penttinen 2008. 856 285 point. ‘One does not get an idea [from the 1895 publication] of how the excavation actually went down or what the Swedes thought about their project deep inside’, Penttinen wrote.860 By this time, at the beginning of the new project, the Kalaureia Research Program had located some of the newspaper articles written by Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg and these offered a more complex picture of their experiences in Greece. ‘Perhaps’, Penttinen wrote, ‘it was simply that the Swedish pioneers were subjected to a cultural shock when they were exposed to the Greek reality outside of the learned lounges of Athens, something which they were not alone in experiencing.’861 These examples represent a turn in the representation of the modern history on site, one in which the Makris family and their actions on site were no longer seen as a problematic disturbance but as a vital part of the biography of the site. When writing about Welter’s archaeological work in the 1930s, the Makris family was presented as the owners of the site who were ‘visited by a German archaeologist by the name of Gabriel Welter’.862 These new appropriations of the old excavation and of the history of the sanctuary which we find in the popular accounts of the Kalaureia Research Program after 2006, were most likely a consequence of the new perspectives facilitated by the ethnographical approach to the site. Yannis Hamilakis and Aris Anagnostopoulos also wrote an article on alternative archaeologies at Kalaureia in the same issue of Medusa.863 The ethnographic perspectives on site also invited new practices for representing the history of excavations on site. The image below is taken from the photo blog of the ethnographic team (fig. 65). The picture is called ‘View from “wide’’’ and the Sanctuary of Poseidon is seen through a barbed wire fence. The photograph’s name is a play on words. It is a wide shot, a panorama of the sanctuary and a favoured perspective of nineteenth century photography.864 It is also a play on Sam Wide’s name. We are invited to view the site from his horizon as interpreted by the ethnographers. Wide becomes a representative of the Western gaze, where the classical past is fenced off for regulated consumption, both literally and metaphorically. Here, a critique against the cultural politics of present-day Greece was made using a representation of the excavation at Kalaureia in 1894 – another example of how histories of archaeology can be used in legitimizing strategies in the present. ‘Man får ingen uppfattning om hur utgrävningen gick till eller vad svenskarna innerst inne tyckte om sitt företag.’, Penttinen 2008:8. 861 ‘Kanske är det helt enkelt så, att de svenska pionjärerna drabbades av en kulturchock när det utsattes för den grekiska verkligheten utanför Athens lärda salonger, vilket de i så fall inte skulle vara ensamma om.’, Penttinen 2008:11. 862 ‘ [...] fick besök av en tysk arkeolog vid namn Gabriel Welter.’, Penttinen 2008:11. 863 Hamilakis & Anagnostopoulos 2008. 864 The photographer and archaeologist Fotis Ifantidis often uses and twists the traditional panorama shot in his photography at Kalaureia, see Hamilakis, Anagnostopoulos and Ifantidis 2009: 299 and Hamilakis & Ifantidis 2016. For the photo blog, see kalaureiainthepresent.org. 860 286 Fig. 65. φView from τwideχχ from the photo blog of the ethnographic strand of the Kalaureia Research Program. Photo: Fotis Ifantidis. The Kalaureia Research Program has successfully used the project of 1894 as a strategy to establish continuity between the ‘old’ and the ‘new’ excavations on site. Funding applications, popular archaeology magazines and scientific publications have served as effective media through which to legitimize a continuous Swedish presence on site. National identity has served as the framework for these representations. Since the representational strategies served primarily to legitimize existing praxis, more complex analytical frameworks and problematizing aspects of the history of archaeology were not included. Such aspects only appear after the initiation of The Sea, the City and the God, which offered a theoretical shift towards ethnographic approaches of to how to view the site. While the representation of the history of the old excavation has been an integral part in the public relations aspect of the Kalaureia Research Program, the archaeological practices on site have instead served to erase the material traces of post-antiquity practices on site. While this may seem like a paradox, it is actual two sides of the same coin. The removal of modern remains to uncover remains from antiquity underneath serve to legitimize the Sanctuary of Poseidon as a heritage site. The preservation of modern layers, including those created by the history of fieldwork, would not serve strategic purposes in such a context. The reason for this is that those horizons belong to time periods that are not included in the official topography of Hellas. Hence, the Kalaureia Research Program can legitimize its claim to Hellas by simultaneously including the history of archaeology for strategic purposes whilst excluding and removing the physical remains of the same event. 287 288 Representations of academic identity ‘On the one hand, the traditional history of science was told as a story of a hero and hero worship, on the other hand it was, paradoxically enough, the constant attempt to remind the scientist whom he should better forget.’ 865 Within the representations of excavation at Kalaureia in 1894 that were used for a legitimizing strategy, various images of archaeological identity were present. How were the archaeologists portrayed and who was considered an agent in archaeological knowledge production? One of the underlying assumptions of this chapter is that the self-understanding of how we are – or who we should be – as archaeologists is highly influenced by the representations of the history of archaeology that we encounter. The mediation of disciplinary history constitutes, according to Helge S. Kragh, ‘the scientist’s self-understanding and cultural tradition: how his subject has developed, which areas and methods are of value, who the founders and authorities are, what its higher aims are, and so on.’866 In an archaeological context, being exposed to representations of disciplinary predecessors means that students and participants in fieldwork are, in the words of Anders Gustafsson, ‘acclimatized through a subtle network of implicit norms into his or her role as an archaeologist.’867 Here, the infrastructure and its legitimizing histories of archaeology play a vital part as arenas where academic identity can be represented. However, it is important to remember that in these representations, we encounter not only the ideal but also implicitly that which not ideal. To return to the quote in the beginning of the chapter: if we look at the silences and that which is not represented, we can expose the hierarchies of the discourse. Who is remembered and who is forgotten in the academic identity politics of archaeology? 865Lepenies & Weingart 1983:ix. Kragh 1987:112. 867 Gustafsson 2001:81. 866 289 ‘Wide wanted to show the way’: the afterlife of Sam Wide’s politics of belonging ‘Wide wanted to show the way. He was more than a guide. He was a pioneer and an educator. He did not live to see the success of Swedish archaeologists in Greece in the 20s. Famous among them was his successor in office, Axel W. Persson, whose name remains connected with Mideia – once on Wide’s work program.’868 The quote above is taken from the article by Christian Callmer in the very first edition of the Opuscula in 1953. This article would stand alone as the most detailed account of the Kalaureia excavation and the life of Sam Wide until the exhibition in 1994. The article, entitled ‘Sam Wide und die Ersten Schwedischen Ausgrabungen in Greichenland’, focused exclusively on Sam Wide’s biography.869 Callmer had done extensive archival work, where he traced Wide’s networks and travels, his publications and research interests. Sam Wide was, according to Callmer, ‘the first representative – in a modern sense – of classical archaeology in Sweden’, and Wide had laid the foundations for the discipline, together with Martin P:son Nilsson.870 Sam Wide was portrayed as if he was destined to predict the success of the infrastructure of classical archaeology. This type of anachronistic history writing is common in histories of archaeology and associated with internalistic histories of science.871 It should be added here, that the first volume of Opuscula also included articles by Martin P:son Nilsson and Axel Boëthius who both knew Sam Wide personally, perhaps making it difficult to bring up less positive aspects of early Swedish archaeology in Greece. In Part 2, I discussed how Sam Wide represented himself as an archaeologist through three tropes: the professional scholar, the adventurer and the entrepreneur. Sam Wide’s own self-image as an academic warrior and pioneer was confirmed by Callmer’s representation of him. By excluding the external setting, both in terms of Greek and Swedish politics and history, Callmer’s representation fits into an internalistic history of archaeology, where the idea of the academic genius (the Great Man) is given primary importance. In such histories, the supporting networks surrounding the Great Men are rarely included. In the case of Sam Wide, I have shown how ‘Wide wollte den Weg zeigen. Er war mehr als ein Wegweiser. Er war ein Bahnbrecher und Erzieher. Die Erfolge schwedischer Archäologen in Griechenland in der zwanziger Jahren erlebte er nicht. Berühmt unter ihnen wurde sein Amtsnachfolger Axel W. Persson, dessen Name vor allem mit Midea – einmal auf dem Arbeitsprogramm Wides – verbunden bleibt.’, Callmer 1953:223. 869 Callmer 1953. 870 ‘[…] der erste Vertreter – im modernen Sinne – der klassischen Altertumswissenschaft in Schweden [...].’ Callmer 1953:208. 871 See parallels in Gustafsson 2001: 57f. 868 290 he was dependent on various people for his academic success: colleagues, parents, his wife Maria Wide, Pankalos, the Greek workmen at his excavations etc. These bodies are excluded in the representations, which in turn gives the reader of these histories of archaeology the impression that academic success is an individual rather than a collective effort. It also shadows the complexity of power relations active in the late nineteenth century, effectively hiding the unequal possibilities for different groups to become, or to be regarded as, archaeologists. As I have shown, Wide constructed his self-image as a successful archaeologist through constantly contrasting and comparing himself to women, ‘non-Western’ men and to Lennart Kjellberg who he considered to be failing in masculinity. This politics of belonging was successful if we consider the way in which Wide is remembered in comparison with Kjellberg. Christian Callmer probably did not go through Kjellberg’s papers at Uppsala University Library. Kjellberg’s archive is not included in the article, with the result that Wide’s self-representation as leader of the excavation at Kalaureia took centre stage in Callmer’s account.872 Kjellberg’s contribution ended with his departure from Kalaureia in July 1894.873 The conflicts between Wide and Kjellberg were not mentioned, and the focus of the article was on the successful networking abilities of Wide and his personal ambition as positive prerequisites for the initiation of classical archaeology in Sweden. When the SIA celebrated its 25th anniversary, the article by Callmer was used as inspiration in an article by Åke Åkerström, the former director. Sam Wide was described as an extremely competent and forceful man: ‘Wide’s clearly stated goal was to show the way and he did, despite all the resistance and passivity at home, which he laments in his letters. He became the pioneer of Swedish field archaeology in Greece. For the first time we had a man in this international research project.’874 Lennart Kjellberg’s background was not included in the account of the events leading up to the excavation at Kalaureia. The focus was, instead, strictly on Wide’s career and network. Interestingly, Åkerström had been in charge of publishing Kjellberg’s finds from Larisa after his death and he wrote a short biography on Kjellberg.875 It is difficult to know why KjellCallmer did at a later stage work with Kjellberg’s archive. According to the records at Carolina Rediviva, he checked out the excavation diary from Kalaureia as well as the Athenian diary from the archive in 1978. 873 Callmer 1953:216. 874 ‘Wides klart uttalade mål var att visa vägen och det gjorde han, trots allt motstånd och all passivitet hemifrån, som han bittert klagar över i sina brev. Han blev banbrytaren för svensk fältarkeologi i Grekland. För första gången fick vi en man med i det internationella forskningsarbetet.’, Åkerström 1973:11. 875 Åkerström & Kjellberg 1940; Åkerström 1975-77. 872 291 berg’s role in the Kalaureia excavation is downplayed. Åkerström’s representation did include a few external outlooks. He referred to the influence of German ideals at Swedish universities at the turn of the century, and the importance of the establishment of the German state for the large scale excavation projects in Greece. The Greek context was entirely lacking, as was any mentioning of Pankalos or the workmen or Sven Kristenson.876 The Sanctuary of Poseidon at Kalaureia was Sam Wide’s domain. In 1976, the Department of Classical Archaeology and Ancient History at Uppsala recounted its history when the University celebrated its 500-year anniversary. The difference between the two scholars was clearly emphasized. When discussing the first Professors of classical archaeology at Uppsala, the headline read ‘The Pioneers: Wide (1909-18) and Kjellberg (191822)’ but began with the phrase ‘[i]n the young generation of archaeologists, Sam Wide (1861-1918) soon stood out as the leading man.’ Lennart Kjellberg was introduced as ‘his [Wide’s] friend and successor’ and the article stated that ‘it seems that he [Kjellberg] was very much in the shadow of his younger, more robust and resourceful friend’. If we compare how Wide and Kjellberg were described, the pattern fits very well with the other representations discussed above. Wide was described as a pioneer, and as a very productive and versatile scholar who ‘made original contribution to several branches of classical archaeology’, while Kjellberg was described as a competent scholar with an eye for detail but one who was less comfortable with synthesis and whose ‘scholarly profile had vague contours.’ The differences in personality between the two scholars were emphasized. Wide ‘inspired further research abroad’ and had a ‘great reputation’, while Kjellberg was described as a ‘lone worker’ who did ‘not seem to have exerted any considerable influence on his students’ choice of subjects or methods, as, for instance, Wide and [Axel W.] Persson did.’877 Early on, the Kalaureia Research Program also identified Sam Wide as the most influential actor in the excavation at Kalaureia. I have shown that in fact, Wide was absent from the site for a large part of the excavation. Focus of the initial excavation report in Opuscula from 2003 was on Sam Wide. He was again presented as the prime mover behind the excavation; his life story was outlined and his German connections were emphasized.878 Three photographs of Wide were included: a portrait (see fig. 10), a photograph where he is seen next to the tents (see fig. 21) and one where he is with a man Unlike the pages which follow, where Åkerström discussed the establishment of the SIA, where the Greek context was emphasized and problematized. The article did not include any references, and Åkerström drew on personal experience. 877 Brunnsåker 1976:25ff. 878 Wells, Penttinen & Billot 2003:33ff. 876 292 originally believed to be Lennart Kjellberg but whom I have later identified Wilhelm Dörpfeld (fig. 43). Lennart Kjellberg was presented as the cofinancier and partner in the excavations. When any interpretations of the archaeological features on site were discussed in the excavation report, Wide was written as the subject behind the interpretation. A telling example is the discussion of the location of the ancient town of Kalaureia and its access road. This key opinion was attributed to Wide: ‘Wide believed that the town of Kalaureia was located on the very same saddle as the sanctuary […] According to Wide, a road led up to the town of Kalaureia and to the sanctuary on its north-western side.’879 Lennart Kjellberg’s excavation diary show that the interpretation was first presented to Kjellberg on site by Paul Perdrizet while Wide was in Athens.880 The interpretation that went into the final publication in 1895 most likely came from Kjellberg’s diary. But since the excavation of 1894 had been interpreted and represented as Wide’s excavation throughout the twentieth century, interpretations of the excavation presented in the 2003 publication were routinely attributed to Wide. Pankalos was mentioned in the publication as the foreman of the work crew and there was a short discussion on whether the workmen had been recruited locally or if Pankalos had brought them to Kalaureia.881 Berit Wells offered the interpretation that there might be some truth to the local tradition that Wide built houses for the workmen close to the site (in which case they most likely were not local), since the name Samouíl ‘is nothing but a version of Wide’s first name Samuel.’882 Since the Kalaureia Research Program was not, at this stage, interested in further investigation of the modern history of the site, the local archives were not consulted. Had they been, it would have been clear that the area was called Samouíl long before Sam Wide arrived on the scene. The fact that Sam Wide passed away in his prime affected his legacy. He never became a Professor emeritus and his research did not become obsolete in the eyes of a new generation of archaeologists. Lennart Kjellberg on the other hand became remembered for his suborn conservatism. In one of the few articles chronicling Kjellberg’s career, he is pictured as an elderly man suffering from blindness who refuses to change his views on the origins of Ionian art in light of new research.883 In addition, Wide’s politics of belonging provided a secure foundation for his work, whereas Lennart Kjellberg’s competence was continually and publically questioned by Wide and this was one of the reasons why Kjellberg’s career halted in the first Wells, Penttinen & Billot 2003:34. Kjellberg’s excavation diary, Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. 881 Wells, Penttinen & Billot 2003:34. 882 Ibid. 883 Åkerström 1975-77. 879 880 293 place. Only after Wide’s death in 1918 was Kjellberg able to become a powerful factor through the possession of the chair at Uppsala. By then his health was failing and he retired only four years later. Kjellberg was, after his retirement, involved in a bitter argument over the appointment of his chair at Uppsala in which his opinions did not win ground.884 This end to his career probably did have an effect on his legacy. For example, in the quote at the beginning of this chapter, Axel W. Persson is portrayed as Wide’s successful successor, even though Kjellberg was the one who actually followed Wide as Professor in Uppsala. Persson’s appointment went against the expert opinion of Kjellberg and Persson bitterly expressed his outrage in a series of formal written appeal where he attacked Kjellberg’s competence.885 As Anders Gustafsson rightly points out, there is a danger in creating this type of division between ’good’ and ’bad’ actors in the history of archaeology, since it masks the complexity of the politics of belonging inherent in the profession.886 Sam Wide came to be remembered in a different light than Lennart Kjellberg partly due to the former’s strategic selfrepresentation and excluding practices that were directed towards Kjellberg. The opportunity for him to create a personal legacy rested on the shoulders of other actors: the workmen at his excavations; his parents; his wife and children; his colleagues and friends. As I have shown, Sam Wide maneuvered with nineteenth-century sensibilities within academia. If we do not represent the premise for this movability, we neutralize his political actions as ‘common practice’ and so the politics of being an archaeologist and performing archaeology is hidden. The archaeologist as national pioneer The one aspect of the archaeological self-image most frequently represented in connection with the Kalaureia excavation is that of the pioneer – the one breaking ground – the adventurer and innovator. In the case of the archaeologists at Kalaureia, this image has two related parts: one part is connected to the idea of the ‘discoverer’ and the second to the image of the ‘founder’. Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg were represented as the first Swedish archaeologists to excavate on Greek soil and as the discoverers of the Sanctuary of Poseidon. The pioneering feat lay in their ability to actually run an archaeological project instead of merely participating in other nations’ excaIn his referee statement, Kjellberg clearly favoured his own student Axel Boëthius over Axel W. Persson, see Handlingar angående professuren 1924:25ff. 885 Persson’s appeal was published, see Persson 1924. 886 Gustafsson 2001:61. 884 294 vations. If we return to the exhibition Före Fidias at the National History Museum in 1942 and the image of the tree (fig. X), Wide’s participation in the Greek archaeologist Staïs’s excavation at Dimini in 1901 was not represented in the exhibition, nor was Martin P:son Nilsson’s participation at Lindos with the Danish in 1903. These excavations did not become part of the genealogical tree of Swedish classical archaeology for one reason: one could not be a pioneer if one had not performed classical archaeology in the name of Sweden. The primacy of the archaeologist’s national identity as the director in the performance of archaeology was stressed here. The epithet ‘pioneer’ was given to Wide in particular, but also to Kjellberg, with both men portrayed as founding fathers of the academic subject – in turn important for Swedish politics of belonging to the international project of Greek archaeology. In the autumn of 1985, an exhibition was put together at Uppsala University Library, Carolina Rediviva, where the archives of Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg are kept. The front cover of the exhibition catalogue showed part of a black-figure lekythos887 from the collection of antiquities at the university (fig. 66). From the catalogue: ‘The cover page shows Heracles’ battle against the Nemean lion. Athena, the goddess of science and craft, and Hermes, the messenger of the gods, encourage the hero. The image can be interpreted as a symbol of the struggle of culture and civilization against barbarism and ignorance.’ 888 The aim of the exhibition was, according to the exhibition catalogue, to ‘highlight research on Classical antiquity, partly during the approx. 425 years of activity at the university and, partly during the 75 years during which the department of Classical Archaeology and Ancient History has been in existence.’889 The exhibition featured displays of material culture relating to the history of the department, from the Renaissance until the present, culminating in a display showing the current status of classical studies. The 1960s and the two subsequent decades marked a decline in the prestige of the Humanities at Swedish universities. The social and cultural climate had changed, and politicians were questioning the necessity and relevance of the old subjects of bildung. 887 A lekythos is a type of Greek pottery vessel with a narrow base and long neck, used for storing oil. 888 Nordquist 1985:2. 889 ‘ [...] belysa forskningen i Klassisk fornkunskap, dels under de ca 425 åren av universitetets verksamhet, dels under de 75 år som Institutionen för Antikens kultur och samhällsliv har funnits.’, Nordquist 1985:20. 295 Fig. 66. The front cover of the catalogue from the exhibition at Uppsala University Library in 1985. Heracles battles the Nemean Lion. From Nordquist 1985. 296 One consequence of this shift was that in 1969-70, Classical Archaeology and Ancient History at all four universities (Stockholm, Lund, Uppsala and Gothenburg) collectively changed its name to ‘Antikens kultur- och samhällsliv’, lit. ‘The Cultural and Social Life of Antiquity’, in order to better reflect the changing social conditions in the present.890 By down-playing the archaeological side of the profession, they wanted to move away from positivistic empiricism focusing on historical artefacts towards more encompassing research questions that deal with social relations and cultural issues. In the words of Charlotte Scheffer, ‘[…] words such as klassisk and fornkunskap were considered to be antiquated and to emphasize the allegedly exclusive and unprofitable character of the subject, which was therefore retitled […]’.891 One of the display cases at the exhibition in 1985 featured several contemporary critical newspaper articles questioning the importance of classical studies and the Humanities in general at Swedish universities. The exhibition overall was put together as a reaction to the opinions expressed in that display case. By emphasizing the longevity of classical studies at Uppsala University, the exhibition creators wanted to legitimize the existence of those studies. Two display cases featured objects relating to the excavation at Kalaureia and the lives of Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg. The catalogue gave a short description of the two scholars and emphasized their connections with Uppsala; Sam Wide as the first Professor and Lennart Kjellberg as his successor. On Wide, the catalogue text stated that ‘[h]e was the first Swede who conducted scientific excavations in the Aegean area, on Kalaureia on the island of Poros and in Aphidna in northern Attica during the years 1894-95. As Assistant Professor of Greek in Uppsala and Lund, he worked relentlessly to make classical archaeology an independent academic subject.’892 The objects on display in connection with Wide were a copy of his Lakonische Kulte and the publication on Kalaureia as well as his portrait. A portrait of Kjellberg and his Athenian diary were also featured in the showcase. Some of Wide’s photographs from nineteenth-century Greece adorned the walls of the exhibition area.893 The plan of the buildings from However, the English name for the subject, Classical Archaeology and Ancient History, remained the same, whereby there is today a discrepancy between the Swedish name and its English translation. 891 Scheffer 2000:199f. The subject also actively reached out to a wider audience through various media around this time. The organization Friends of the Swedish Institute at Athens was founded in 1976 and the Rome version (founded in 1937) expanded into several local branches during the 1960s. The popular science magazine Medusa was founded in 1980, and the Museum of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Antiquities opened its doors in Stockholm in 1982. 892 ‘Han var den förste svensk som bedrev vetenskapliga utgrävningar i det egeiska området i Kalauria på ön Poros och Aphidna i Nordattika under åren 1894-1895. Som docent i grekiska i Uppsala verkade han oförtrutet för att klassisk arkeologi skulle bli ett självständigt akademiskt ämne.’, Nordquist 1985:22. 893 Nordquist 1985:27. 890 297 the Sanctuary of Poseidon and Lennart Kjellberg’s excavation diary were also featured. Wide and Kjellberg were both portrayed as important founding figures for the collection of classical antiquities housed in the Museum Gustavianum in Uppsala. One showcase displayed the very first inventory number from 1902, a Neolithic shard from Dimini in Greece from Wide’s collection and from Kjellberg’s collection, a patrix for making casting molds for terracotta figurines from Larisa in Turkey.894 These objects gave concrete material evidence for the longevity of Uppsala scholars as participants in classical archaeology, which was represented as a culturally prestigious activity. Let us return once again to the quote about Heracles and the battle with the Nemean Lion. In the exhibition, archaeologists and philologists at Uppsala University, like the hero Heracles, were portrayed as battling ignorance through uncovering the classical past. By participating in classical archaeology, Sweden could claim a role in the larger Western cultural project of creating classical heritage, thereby contributing to the furthering of civilization. The battle was also a struggle for existence in times of political questions about the necessity of classical studies in Sweden. Critics questioning the cultural claims of classical studies could be dismissed as ignorant by equating their viewpoints to barbarism, the very opposite of the Western cultural project and these critics with their claims were, in this way, connected to images of otherness. We saw this rhetoric when the Professorial chairs were founded, and it remerged when the profession celebrated its 75th anniversary. By emphasizing the importance of the Classics since the foundation of the university and the role played by scholars from Uppsala in the institutionalization of classical archaeology in Sweden, a narrative of tradition is produced. The excavation at Kalaureia becomes a symbolic event through which the discipline can legitimize its own existence; its status as origin event can be activated in times of crisis, as we saw in the representations during the Second World War. Emphasizing the longevity of the discipline as marked by pioneering individuals in a time of crisis is a practice common of histories of science in general, especially when the histories are directed towards supporting networks on which the discipline is dependent. Regarding such legitimizing strategies, Wolf Lepenies and Peter Weingart says that ‘[…] legitimations are directed to those who support it, in a very general sense the lay public and more specifically governments, foundations and other sponsors engaged in science policy. The legitimation of science with arguments of utility or of its cultural value has as long of a tradition as the development of modern science itself. Legitimations of this sort typically assume the format of popularized accounts of heroic achievements and 894 Nordquist 1985:23. 298 adventures at the frontiers of knowledge.’895 These types of representations of historiography are what Helge S. Kragh refers to as ‘external ideologies’, which are intended to play a role in science policy.896 The implication for the image of Kalaureia created through such a context was that more critical evaluations of the cultural and social prerequisites of archaeological practice were not used in the portrayal of the excavation. Importantly, the context of the exhibition at Carolina Rediviva, at a time when classical studies felt threatened, probably contributed to the lack of more complex and problematizing perspectives. The use of Wide’s photographs to adorn the walls of the exhibition in 1985 served the function of alluding to an exotic adventure rather than as an externalistic backdrop to understanding the excavation. One consequence of attributing the epithet ‘pioneer’ to Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg is that the connection between nationalism and archaeology is emphasized but, once again, without referral to the problems inherent in this association. Another consequence is that the overall effect is to create an image of archaeological fieldwork as an individual rather than a collective practice, despite the latter interpretation being more consistent with the source material from the Kalaureia excavation. In the representations of academic identity of the Kalaureia excavation, the plethora of people involved in the archaeological practice on site was reduced to two people: the ones responsible for the publication, namely Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg, The Greek workmen and Pankalos were effectively written out of the accounts of the excavation. Wide and Kjellberg’s interaction with Wilhelm Dörpfeld and Heinrich Schliemann were, on the other hand, at times mentioned, despite the fact that the latter two were not Swedish citizens. Their inclusion is an outcome of their status as important father figures of Classical Archaeology as an international project, which gave an additional prestige to the history of Swedish engagements. Archaeological self-imagery: familiarity and strangeness As I have shown above, representations of Kalaureia 1894 have tended to focus on the positive personal aspects of being an archaeologist working in Greece. One reason for the lack of problematization in the representations has to do with the self-identification of the author with the object represented. To quote the physicist P.P. Ewald, scientists who write histories of their discipline have a ‘personal experience of growing with their subjects 895 896 Lepenies & Weingart 1983:xvi. Kragh 1987:108. 299 and knowing the motives prevalent during the growth’ which are then transmitted into the production of historiography.897 When it comes to Swedish archaeology in Greece, this type of internalistic representation assumes a pre-existing, embodied knowledge of what an archaeological lifestyle is about. In the 1994 exhibition at the Swedish Institute at Athens that celebrated one hundred years of Swedish fieldwork in Greece, the quotes chosen in the posters and later in the publication to represent Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg’s time in Athens conjured an image of a conflict free and happy period in the life of the two archaeologists; they eat figs and fruits, they share bottles of wine, travel to well-known archaeological locations, visit church together and plan future excavations.898 Through Sam Wide’s letters and Lennart Kjellberg’s Athenian diary an intimate account of the two men and their experiences in Greece was created, but it was an intimate account that only took into consideration the positive aspects life in Greece. There are no mentions of Lennart Kjellberg’s illness, which forced him to leave Kalaureia, or of the tensions that arose between him and Wide both before and after the excavation. By leaving the quotes without comment and decontextualized, visitors and readers had to relate to the information using their own memories of being an archaeologist in Greece, or their image of what that would be like if they had no direct experience. The legitimizing setting of the representations also meant that different, politically charged issues tended to go unconsidered. The archaeologists’ ethnographic gaze on Greece, with its racist and colonial valorizations, was not included in the representation even though this gaze is highly visible in the source materials used in the exhibition at the Swedish Institute at Athens. The centennial exhibition can be compared to another arena of representations: the Department of Literature at Gothenburg University. In 1986, a research report was published that challenged the accepted view of Greece in the history of Swedish literature.899 Archive material from the University of Gothenburg as well as newspaper articles by Johan Bergman, Julius Centerwall, Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg were used. Here, Sam Wide’s preoccupation with race is brought to light and discussed as a clash between classical idealism and the encounter with modern Greece.900 Lennart Kjellberg’s escapist gaze on the Acropolis is contextualized.901 One probable explanation for the difference in content between the two representations lies in the fact that the exhibition at SIA was meant to legitimize while the report from Gothenburg was meant to problematize. This is a clear example Ewald is quoted in Kragh 1987:118. Nordquist 2002:18ff. 899 Eklund & Eklund 1986. 900 Eklund & Eklund 1986:55ff. 901 Eklund & Eklund 1986:62f. 897 898 300 of how the aftermath of an excavation and the subsequent portrayal of its practitioners can take several forms depending on the agenda behind the representation. It is difficult for historians of archaeology writing the history of excavations to shake off the sense of familiarity with previous generations. When the Kalaureia Research Program changed its focus to a more ethnographic approach to its fieldwork, the project leaders contemplated the best way to write the history of archaeology from such a perspective. In an essay called ‘Minnen från en helgedom’ (‘Memories from a sanctuary’) published in 2008, the authors try to distance themselves from the actions and thought patterns of Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg while at the same time feeling intimately connected to them. ‘For Wide and Kjellberg’, the authors wrote, ‘it was apparently important that Sweden as a nation took part in the exploration of classical civilization in Greece. This is hardly an incentive for us. Yet we have chosen to dwell deeper into the destiny of the Swedes that were on Poros before us, in this essay.’902 This paradox was explained by a feeling of closeness to the bodily, sensual experiences of being-in-place on Poros as a self-proclaimed Swedish subject: ‘[…] it is perhaps easier for us to integrate these fragments of memories into the total image of what this place means and has meant, since we have our personal experience of being Swedish there.’ 903 This emphasis on familiarity is one explanation for the exclusion of Greek experiences in the representations of the history of the Kalaureia excavation. Let us return again to the publication of the centennial exhibition at the Swedish Institute at Athens in 1994. The front cover featured the photograph of the man and boy inside the temple in 1894 (fig. 67). The photograph of the two men, whom we now believe are members of the Makris family who used the land bordering the site in 1894, was the only picture from the 1894 excavation featured in the publication. The presence of the persons in the photograph was left uncommented. The caption of the photo, printed on the back of the cover page, read ‘The Swedish excavations in the Sanctuary of Poseidon at Kalaureia, 1894. Excavation photograph.’ The image of the Greek men and boy can be contrasted to the only other two images of people in the publication: the portraits of Sam Wide, and Lennart Kjellberg, together with Anna Kjellberg von Reden (see fig. 10 and 9). ‘För Wide och Kjellberg var det uppenbart viktigt att Sverige som nation deltog i utforskandet av den klassiska civilisationen i Grekland. För oss är detta knappast någon drivfjäder. Ändå har vi valt att fördjupa oss i de svenskars öden som var på Poros före oss, också i denna essä.’ Wells & Penttinen 2008:53. 903 ‘ [...] det kanske är lättare för oss att integrera dessa fragment av hågkomster i den totala bilden av vad denna plats betyder och har betytt, eftersom vi har våra personliga erfarenheter av att vara svenskar just där.’ Ibid. 902 301 Fig. 67. Cover of the publication celebrating 100 years of Swedish field work in Greece. The caption reads φThe Swedish excavations in the Sanctuary of Poseidon at Kalaureia, 1894. Excavation photograph.χ From Hägg 2002. Photo: author. 302 As already discussed, the audience at the symposium at the SIA could probably relate to these Swedes, their life histories mimic experiences and struggles that later generations of archaeologists could relate to; the quest for funding, the pride in making archaeological discoveries, the adventure of being in Greece and their climb up the career ladder at Swedish universities. Their appearance in the photographs also strikes a familiar and comfortable note; suited up, cleaned and groomed with stern eyes peering into the distance slightly off camera. In contrast, the appearance of the man and boy with the white loose clothing, dirty and propped up on the stones inside the temple while looking straight into the camera, where the boy has taken his hat off so that the photographer can see his face, these are images of someone else. Rather than being represented as an attempt to exemplify Greek experiences at an archaeological site in the late nineteenth century, the image served an almost aesthetic function as a captivating and alluring backdrop to the experiences of the Swedish archaeologists. The same photograph was used by the Kalaureia Research Program in the first scientific report from the new excavations published in 2003. It contained a detailed treatment of the history of the site which was used to evaluate the state of the buildings, that is to determine which architectural fragments had been present where and when on site. This information was used to facilitate the reconstruction of the buildings’ appearance in antiquity. The history of archaeology written into in the scientific report did not focus on the social aspects of the excavation in 1894, which had implications for how the archival material was represented. The photograph of the members of the Makris family was added as an illustration to general observations of the surviving architecture made in 1997 in the temple area. ‘We do not know’, Berit Wells wrote, ‘which stone was used for the superstructure of the temple. Wide believed the foundation to be of poros stone. A photograph shows a line of blocks in the eastern peristyle (Fig. 10) and it must be those, that Wide based his conclusion on.’904 The presence of the boy with the hat and the man in the photograph was ignored, while the reader’s attention was directed to the stones below their feet in line with an archaeological gaze onto the photograph. However, the presence of the archaeologists’ tents in the background is recognized in the caption to the photograph making the exclusion of the Greek subjects in the image all the more striking (fig. 68). 904 Wells, Penttinen & Billot 2003:38. 303 Fig. 68. The photograph of the Greek man and boy from the excavations in 1894 used as illustration in the publication by the Kalaureia Research Program in 2003. From Wells, Penttinen & Billot 2003:38. Photo: author. ‘Archaeology is a practice we do with others, perhaps in fieldwork particularly, and there is a violence which accompanies this when people are silenced in the name of representation, the production of knowledge’, Gavin Lucas writes on the exclusionary practices in archaeological representations of fieldwork.905 When the relationships between people on site are pushed into the background of analysis, the politics of fieldwork become hidden and this phenomenon, as I have demonstrated in Part 2, had an effect on knowledge production in 1894.906 The ideal of the academic subject in these sorts of representations then becomes someone who believes him- or herself to be detached from the politics of performing archaeology.907 By excluding certain bodies or by representing bodies without context, representations of historiography mimic the unequal power hierarchies of nineteenth-century practice: in this case, Swedish men are active, Greek men are passively represented, and women are portrayed as silent wives. This unrecognized and undiscussed mimicry potentially runs the risk of resulting in obscuring unequal archaeological practices in the present. Lucas 2001:13. Lucas 2001:17. 907 A not uncommon illusion, see Penttinen 2014: 103f. 905 906 304 Concluding remarks: the aftermath of Kalaureia 1894 In part 3, I have traced the after-life of the Kalaureia excavation through the strategic representations of it by various actors in the infrastructure of classical archaeology throughout the twentieth century. The Sanctuary of Poseidon became featured in canonical encyclopaedias of Classical Studies. Travel guides created a new frame of reference for describing the cultural significance of Poros to visitors, one that was more connected to the classical past than to the locally significant era of the War of Independence. I have shown how the Department of Classical Archaeology and Ancient History at Uppsala University used the history of the discipline to legitimize its existence both in time of crisis and of celebrations, from the establishment of the Professorial chairs in 1909 to the 75th anniversary in 1985. The Kalaureia excavation has also been an important event to refer to when the Swedish Institute at Athens has acknowledged and celebrated its history. In this context, the excavation at Kalaureia, despite having taken place fifty years before the establishment of the Institute, could be used as part of the Institute’s pre-history on the basis of the national ties between the Swedish excavators and the Institute. When the Kalaureia Research Program was set up in 1997, the history of fieldwork on site served to legitimize the continued Swedish presence on site. The historiography remained fragmented and schematic, which is a common feature for an internalistic ‘working history’ of a discipline.908 The Kalaureia excavation was nationalized and purified in order to be used to legitimize the establishment of an infrastructure of classical archaeology in Sweden. In these representations, Sweden’s place in the competition between Western nations for access to Greek soil was repeatedly emphasized. The anxiety caused by political and social questioning over the necessity of classical studies was combatted using the history of the discipline to point to its longevity and the cultural importance of Swedish engagement in the Western project of bildung. During these one hundred years of representations, the image of the excavation at Kalaureia remained fairly static: the archaeologists were cast as pioneers and the Greek context and 908 Kragh 1987:112. 305 Greek practitioners were set aside. Sam Wide and his persona became intimately connected with the excavation at the expense of other actors – an outcome of an unproblematized relationship with his own selfrepresentations. 306 Archaeology as cultural practice – views from Kalaureia ‘West, East. I look out into the dawn for the shore which is ours.’ 909 In the opening lines of Swedish Nobel Laureate Pär Lagerkvist’s essay The Clenched Fist, we meet the author on a boat from Palestine sailing towards Athens in April 1933. Seasick and full of contempt arising from his encounter with ‘the hot and sickening orient’910, he gazes across a storm-swept sea longing for land: ‘The sun is not visible, but it is daytime nevertheless. Cool, clearing Aegean day. Islands appear, islands with proud, famous names. The plain of Marathon ascends from the sea; and there is blue Salamis, where the Greeks defeated slavery and despotism. I am on the way home.’911 The Clenched Fist was Lagerkvist’s battle cry against fascism. Published in 1934 in Dagens Nyheter, he used Greek archetypes and tropes to instil a sense of rebellion against the rise of fascism and the ideology of violence, which he perceived to be a threat against Western values.912 The Battle of Salamis, where the Greeks had defeated the Persian fleet in 480 BC, stood as an analogy for his present: the impending threat of war and the necessity to prepare for battle. Liberalism against fascism – Greek against the Other. Returning to Sam Wide’s description of his first encounter with Greece from the introduction, there are striking similarities despite the forty years that had passed between the two encounters. Greece was still a land of cultural claims, where Swedish bodies joined the act of appropriating the topography of Greece for their own political claims. Gazing upon the Greek Lagerkvist 1988:190. Here, I use the English translation of Lagerkvist’s essay by Roy Arthur Swanson. 910 Lagerkvist 1988:189. 911 Lagerkvist 1988:191. 912 Lagerkvist, ’Den knutna näven’ in Dagens Nyheter, 18 March 1934. 909 307 landscape, in both accounts, represented a homecoming – Greece was theirs for the taking. In the case of Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg, the claim on Greece was an academic claim, but one which was nonetheless bound up in cultural entanglements. West and East were contrasted in both accounts. Greece was defined through its familiarity and its Europeaness. The allure was Hellas – not necessarily modern Greece – and the presence of ruins and monuments filled the visitor with sentimentality and longing. Just as Wide and Kjellberg had done, Lagerkvist used the Acropolis as a backdrop to represent his escapist gaze, which, in turn, inspired an inflammatory speech to take arms: ‘For thousands of years it has not yielded. It summons its faithful, collects them anew around their most precious possession. Not to visions of beauty, not to dreams and idleness. But to struggle! To uncompromising, unwearying struggle! To militant humanism! The clenched fist!’913 The prerequisites for the Greek idealism of Lagerkvist, and other artists and writers, were produced and staged by classical scholarship, with archaeology functioning as one of the most important practices of that scholarship. Ruins and objects constructed and produced by archaeology functioned as stages where fantasies of Western values could be acted out. The creation of these stages in Greece – the archaeological practice - was in itself a cultural performance in which a number of countries participated. In this thesis, I have traced the discourse to the beginnings of Swedish archaeological engagements in Greece. I have investigated how archaeology was performed in the late nineteenth century through a micro-historical study of the first Swedish excavation in Greece. The aim has been to deconstruct the way in which archaeology operated during a very formative period in the history of classical archaeology and, through this process, to show how archaeological practices were temporally and spatially situated. Recognizing that archaeological excavations tend to have extensive afterlives, the second aim has been to analyse the way in which historiographical accounts create situated representations of past excavations; that is, to explore the ways in which histories of archaeology create the heritage of the discipline. In these concluding remarks, I will give a short summary of the thesis before elaborating on three ways in which archaeology functioned as a cultural practice in the late nineteenth century: archaeology as an identity-making practice, archaeology as a nationalist practice, and archaeology as a heritagemaking practice. 913 Lagerkvist 1988:200f. 308 Kalaureia 1894 – a short summary The excavation at Kalaureia took place during the summer of 1894, and lasted for two months. Since the events surrounding the excavation have never been studied in detail, I created a framework which was outlined in Part 1 and which was developed through a close reading of the archival sources. In Part 2, those sources were triangulated with theoretical approaches from gender studies, post-colonial theory and archaeological ethnography. In Archaeological self-images: Sam Wide and the politics of belonging, I discussed how, during the turn of the last century, the politics of belonging to the archaeological community, both in the field and in academia, was closely connected to ideals of bourgeois masculinity. Due to the extensiveness of his archive, it was possible to use Sam Wide as a case study. I showed how Wide created his archaeological self-image through constrating himself against women and Greek men and how these bodies were excluded from memory as producers of archaeological knowledge. During this process Wide, while trying to live up to the expectations of the archaeological community and of academia, employed othering strategies against Lennart Kjellberg in order to remove him from the community of influence of Swedish archaeology. In Topographies of Greece, I discussed how the Swedish archaeologists involved in the excavation at Kalaureia related to modern Greece through a set of contemporary gazes, where Greece was constructed both as an ideal and as a flaw through racist discourses contrasting classical antiquity with the modern country and the people living there. As performers of archaeology, the Swedes entered into a race with other countries for access to Greek heritage sites – this practice formed part of a broader colonial discourse stemming from contemporary Western European expansionist practices in other parts of the world. I also showed how archaeological sites and the Greek landscape were appropriated as an inspiration for personal reflection. Fantasies about the beauty of classical antiquity became a way of escaping an uncomfortable present while, at the same time, ethnographical reflections on the present conditions were part of the archaeological experience in Greece. Creating archaeological knowledge at Kalaureia discussed the practices involved in knowledge production at the Sanctuary of Poseidon during the summer of 1894. I showed how the Swedish archaeologists came to Greece with a pre-understanding of the value of the material culture found there and how they used their nineteenth-century sensitivities to produce and interpret that material culture. I discussed the division of labour on site, and through applying an ethnographic perspective, I was able to re-evaluate and re-read images and texts to find landowners, workmen, wives and visitors who were involved in the excavation through a series of different roles. In particular, 309 Pankalos, the foreman of the workmen was assigned a great deal of credit for the excavation by the archaeologists themselves, and Kjellberg’s field diary shows that he was involved in the interpretations of features on site. The excavation methods closely followed the German Bauforschung applied by Wilhelm Dörpfeld, which focused on dating and describing the architecture. Due to the history of the site – where stones from the buildings had been reused in contemporary structures on Poros and neighbouring islands – the materials found were fragmented. The fragmented state of the individual finds led Lennart Kjellberg who was in charge of the small finds, to apply a rather detailed recording system. Finds that normally would not have been recorded in the field were entered into the field diary. But archaeological knowledge production does not end in the field. Through an analysis of the preparation of the publication in the Mitteilungen of the DAI, I discussed how archaeological knowledge was produced through comparison with known objects and written sources and how the structure of the publication followed heritage discourses that valued inscriptions and architecture over other finds. By investigating Greek and Swedish press coverage, I raised the issue of how the excavation was used in both the Greek and the Swedish nationalist context, and pointed out differences in how the outcome of the excavation was perceived. While the Swedish press raved about the excavation (often because it was the archaeologists themselves who supplied the information), the Greek press, in contrast, portrayed the excavation as a failure due to the fragmented state of the site. In Part 3, I discussed the way in which archaeological excavations tend to have extensive afterlives mediated through the production of historiography within the profession. In Representing place, I analysed guide books and encyclopaedias of classical archaeology to show how Palatia became constructed as the Sanctuary of Poseidon and inscribed in the topography of classical archaeology. Representations of strategic importance discussed the ways in which Swedish classical archaeology, as a profession, has used the history of the 1894 excavation and its selected practitioners (i.e. Wide and Kjellberg) as part of a legitimizing strategy to promote future Swedish engagements in Greece and also as a way to secure future funding for the academic discipline. Finally, in Representations of academic identity, I discussed the way in which history of archaeology represented ideals of professional identity through highlighting pioneering ‘father figures’ and through its emphasis on the civilising mission of archaeological practitioners. 310 Archaeology as identity-creating practice The first and most fundamental way in which Greek archaeology functioned as a cultural practice in the late nineteenth century was through assigning and creating various identities and roles for those affected by – or involved in – archaeological practices. As I discussed in the first chapter, In the archive, the Swedish archaeologists had, from an academic perspective resulting from the situatedness of the source material, the prevailing authority to ascribe identities to, and describe the identities of, both themselves and others. Through an intersectional analysis of Sam Wide’s self-representations, I described three components in the ideal image of the archaeologist: the professional scholar, the adventurer and the entrepreneur. In Archaeological self-images: Sam Wide and the politics of belonging I have shown how these images stem from nineteenth-century ideals of masculinity, where the Western European bourgeois man reflected on himself through comparisons with women and with men from different class backgrounds and ethnicities. The archaeological community described in Sam Wide’s and Lennart Kjellberg’s representations was homogenously male, white and bourgeois, and tended to promote men who resembled this demographic. However, not all bourgeois men fulfilled the criteria. Wide’s exclusionary practices towards Lennart Kjellberg can be understood as arising from the fact that Kjellberg did not live up to the expectations of the network; he was, in Wide’s view, too family-oriented, too fond of comfort and too unproductive. The ideal of the academic and archaeological warrior, stemming from ideals of masculine behaviour, led to the belief that loyalty, perseverance and stamina were key character traits, and these are present in Wide’s accounts of academic success. By leaving Kalaureia to be with his family, Kjellberg had abandoned his post. In the politics of belonging, both in archaeology and in academia more generally, the importance of reputation and networks cannot be stressed enough. Wide used his entrepreneurial strategies and connections to assert himself as a competent archaeologist within his network, often by comparing himself favourably to Kjellberg. The ultimate outcome of this politics of belonging was that Wide became the first Professor in classical archaeology together with his ally and former student Martin P:son Nilsson. The two men influenced the direction of classical archaeology during the formative first decade of the new subject. Kjellberg did assert influence in the profession, for instance his involvement in the Asine committee and the Swedish Cyprus Expedition in the 1920s after Wide’s death, but in the history of Swedish classical archaeology, he has remained in the shadow of Wide’s reputation. 311 The exaltation of individual achievements in the mindset of the archaeologists has materialized in the archives and through representations of the history of Kalaureia, thus creating images of archaeology as an individual rather than a collective practice. In Creating archaeological knowledge at Kalaureia, I show how a large number of actors were involved in the excavation at various stages. Where previous research has demonstrated that Greek bodies such as workmen and local stakeholders were excluded from the official accounts of archaeological knowledge production, I have been able to demonstrate a higher degree of complexity through my in-depth analysis of the excavation at Kalaureia. If we direct our historiographical gaze by repositioning our perspective towards the gaps in the traditional archives of archaeology, other voices and actors can be seen. I discussed how archaeological practices employed at Kalaureia reflected ethnic, class and gender hierarchies, where different bodies performed different tasks that were culturally valued at different rates. While physical, hard labour was performed by workmen hired locally, the Swedish archaeologists were in charge of selecting and classifying the material found. Greek men were to some extent excluded from those practices that counted towards knowledge production; that is the interpretation of finds. By applying an intersectional approach, we see that class played as much of a difference as ethnicity when it came to exclusionary practices at Kalaureia. This is clearly visible in Sam Wide’s and Lennart Kjellberg’s ethnographical accounts from Greece, where Greek men were contrasted with the archaeologists in terms of behaviour and appearance. Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg interpreted this contrast through racially coloured gazes, through which Greek people were compared and contrasted with their ancient ancestors in terms of what the archaeologists believed those ancestors to be like, with surrounding ethnic groups and with Western European men. Greek women were sexualized and judged on the basis of their physical appearance and marital qualities. Through letters, newspaper articles and lectures, these images and representations of Greece and the Greeks were relayed to the public in Sweden at a time when few had the opportunity to travel, thus making the situated experiences of the archaeologists the prevailing image of local Greek communities. Other women feature in the accounts as wives of the archaeologists and were described as nurturing matrons who existed either in the background of the project work (such as Anna Dörpfeld) or as upholding their husband’s reputation (such as Sophia Schliemann and Anna Kjellberg von Reden). One notable exception was Auguste Wolters, with whom Wide had something of a friendship. Greek archaeologists such as Panagiotis Kavvadias, the director of the Greek Archaeological Service, and Pankalos, the foreman of the crew at Kalaureia could be included on the basis of necessity. In the case of Pankalos, his self-described racial purity made him accessible to the Swedish archaeologists and he was also the most seasoned archaeologist on site, which meant that they needed his expertise. 312 In the historiographical representations of Kalaureia, Sam Wide is depicted as a pioneer: this accolade can be interpreted as an outcome of his own successful politics of belonging visible in the archival material. There is a rhetorical line running from Wide’s letter to Oscar Montelius in January 1894 in which he expressed a desire for pioneership (‘someone has to show the way’) to the representation of his persona in Christian Callmer’s biography from the 1950s (‘Wide wanted to show the way, but he was more than a guide’) and Åke Åkerström’s publication celebrating the Swedish Institute at Athens in the 1970s (‘Wide’s clearly stated goal was to show the way and he did’). The exclusion of other actors at Kalaureia creates the image of an individual success story, which in turn is an outcome of gender structures within academia. Whether the subject is male or female, the exaltation of individual achievements in archaeological self-imagery is tied to nineteenth-century ideals of male bourgeois self-sufficiency. The gist of this discussion is that without analysing the politics of belonging in the archaeological community, histories of archaeology tend to take for granted the selfimagery of successful individuals. Instead, as I have demonstrated using Sam Wide as a case study, the success of such people often relies on clever manoeuvering in politically and socially situated networks where certain traits are favoured above others. This maneuvering often leads to exclusionary practices directed against those who are perceived as threats or who are considered unworthy of belonging. Ultimately, this has an effect on access to archaeological knowledge production. As classical archaeology over the past decades - at least in Sweden – has gradually become a female domain, it is important to keep debating and discussing the persistence of ideal types in academia and in the field. Do we still favour individuals who live up to expectations stemming from nineteenth-century masculine discourses? Becoming a successful archaeologist and portraying oneself as such in Wide’s era meant cultivating an identity as a cultural hero of nineteenthcentury society – one that upheld certain civilized traits through actions and appearance, and who performed a culturally important task, i.e. revealing material objects from selected pasts. This performance has often been discussed with a nationalistic backdrop, and I will consider this aspect below, but it is also evident from the source material connected to the excavation at Kalaureia that appropriating material culture from classical Greece was seen as important for the development of the self – it was considered a form of character building. As I have shown in Topographies of Greece, Wide and Kjellberg reflected on their self-worth and identity by employing an escapist gaze on Greece. Classical materiality served as a reflecting device to bring forth both memories of the past and visions of the future. Rather than viewing the emotions triggered by the sight of ruination as a ‘natural’ reaction, the gaze on ancient Greece and the reaction to the encounter with its materiality were part of a learned behaviour stemming from a preconceived 313 idea of classical antiquity’s cultural pre-eminence that was present before, and amplified by, the physical encounter with modern Greece. It is this erotic fervour for classical materiality that the Greek journalist in Acropolis mocked in his article about Wide’s lecture at the DAI, despite the fact that philhellenism was also a key ingredient in the construction of Greek national identity. In Part 3, Representations of academic identity, I have acknowledged the potency that histories of archaeology have in shaping professional identities. By producing un-problematizing and decontextualizing success stories of individual archaeologists in the past, we signal to future generations certain expectations of archaeological behaviour. I have shown how the archaeologist was portrayed as a civilized hero by using analogies with classical Greek mythology, with the battle of ‘enlightenment’ vs. ‘ignorance’ taking centre stage. This polarizing discourse stems from nineteenth-century bourgeois identity construction, as I have shown using Wide and Kjellberg as case studies. In their accounts, which were discussed in Topographies of Greece, the educated philhellene was contrasted with the ‘oriental savage’ who was portrayed, through a colonial gaze, as not understanding the cultural value of archaeological remains or the practices which produced them. In the representations of classical studies in Sweden discussed in part 3, I show how a similar discourse was employed in the twentieth century, this time directed against the Swedish government and those not in favour of funding classical studies at Swedish universities. The ideals of classical bildung have been employed to uphold the image of the classical archaeologist as warrior-hero while at the same time ‘othering’ those arguing against the necessity of said bildung by evoking imagery of barbarism – this practice was particularly noticeable during times when the academic subject was in crisis. By portraying critics as barbarians, classical archaeology as an academic discipline relied on an older discourse of othering strategies. The cultural significance of classical antiquity was not up for debate; neither in nineteenth-century accounts or in later representations. The will and opportunity to engage in a predetermined way with classical materiality separated those who were considered educated people from the masses. Archaeology as national practice The excavation at Kalaureia during the summer of 1894 was regarded and represented as a national Swedish undertaking from the perspective of the archaeologists themselves, their colleagues at home and abroad, and also from the Greek authorities, despite the lack of any involvement from the Swedish government. Archaeology as national practice was tied to the bod314 ies of the archaeologists and their national identity. As I have demonstrated, although the excavation could not have taken place without German support, the undertaking was continually emphasized as a Swedish national affair, both in the Swedish and the Greek press. Already in early 1894, Sam Wide’s letters speak of an explicit aim to conduct a Swedish excavation in Greece, one in which the national importance of the project was underlined. The decision to excavate was made before the location was chosen, a fact that is indicative of the significance of archaeology as a nationally prestigious practice regardless of the site under investigation. In the case of Kalaureia, the performance of excavation was represented as being more important than scientific knowledge production: the excavation would mark a Swedish territory on the cultural map of Greece. A discourse of national competition is emphasized continuously in the source material concerning the 1894 excavation; we encounter it in Wide’s and Kjellberg’s letters, and also in newspaper articles as part of the colonial gaze on Greece. As I discussed in Topographies of Greece, in order for the colonial system – in which Western countries had divided Greece between themselves – to function properly, Greece had to be continuously represented as failing to live up to its expectations. Returning to Wide’s poem from the Introduction, the Swedish archaeologists saw themselves as saviours who had come to embrace Hellas in the bosom of Svea – to calm the barbaric present with their own civilizing mission and produce a heritage that could be used to represent Western Europe as the pinnacle of civilization – a crucial strategy of the colonial project. Cultural behaviour in modern Greece that seemed exotic or strange to the archaeologists was explained by oriental import; familiar behaviour was explained with references to lingering cultural elements from classical antiquity or as a direct input from Western Europe. At the same time as familiar traits were favoured, Greece could not be represented as too recognizable or too westernized. If so, it would have been more difficult to legitimize the supremacy of the foreign schools in Greek archaeological engagements in the late nineteenth century. Sam Wide’s emphasis on the crumbling state of modern Greece in his talk ‘From Modern Greece’ and in newspaper articles should be seen in this light. Analysing and representing modern Greece was also a way of defining Swedish identity. Through contrasting the behaviour of Swedish and Greek bodies, Wide claimed to get to the heart of not only his own identity, as discussed earlier, but also the collective identity of Swedish Volksgeist. As I have demonstrated through my analysis of the aftermath of the Kalaureia excavation in Part 3, the performance of archaeology by Swedish bodies has continued to be represented as nationally prestigious on an international scale throughout the twentieth century. In this type of discourse, we encounter the politics of belonging on a national level: by performing archaeology in Greece, Sweden can claim a place among the cultural nations 315 of the Western world. Comparison with countries such as France and Germany when seeking to establish first the Professorship in 1909 and later an Institute in Athens in 1948, can be seen as a strategic way of entering the race for cultural belonging in Greek archaeology. These institutions in turn were regarded as pivotal in becoming part of the greater quest to define Western civilization. For Greece, the importance of classical heritage entered into the same system: the national politics of belonging, through which the Greek state could benefit from foreign engagements. It should be noted, however, that some resistance existed at both a local level and, at times, a government level depending on international relations. As discussed in Representations of strategic importance, the Kalaureia Research Program has continued to emphasize the national importance of excavating the Sanctuary of Poseidon, and has used the national ties between the excavation in 1894 and the contemporary projects in order to legitimize further Swedish engagements at the site through rhetorical arguments. This strategy is clearly visible in the search for funding during the late 1990s and early 2000s, where the Kalaureia Research Program emphasized the ‘return’ of Swedish archaeologists to the sanctuary. Despite decades of debate on the relationship between archaeology and nationalism, national discourse still thrives in archaeology. The continued presence of foreign archaeological schools in Greek archaeology makes it difficult to move beyond the representation of archaeological knowledge production as a national undertaking. Excavations become tied to countries represented by the schools through the historiography produced by those institutions. This thesis falls into that categorical pitfall, as I have continued to emphasize, however in a critical fashion, the ties between the Sanctuary of Poseidon and Sweden as a nation. Kalaureia has continued to be constructed as a Swedish site – an outcome of a practice that allows foreign actors to stake claims on sites long after the initial excavations have ended. This practice, set up in collaboration with Greek authorities during the early years of the Greek state, means that different countries can continue to assume ‘ownership’ over territories and sites. Archaeology as heritage-making practice The national prestige of excavating on Greek soil was, and is, tied to the values placed on classical heritage. As I discussed in Topographies of Greece, classical antiquity was a safe zone and an inspiration for the Western bourgeoisie; references to classical art, architecture and literature were considered crucial for cultural belonging during the nineteenth century. Hence, as discussed in Creating archaeological knowledge at Kalaureia, going to Greece to excavate and publish the finds meant for Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg a 316 sense of personal cultural achievement as well as involvement in a nationally important undertaking. The division of archaeological sites between countries, and the establishment of foreign archaeological schools meant that Greece became, and continues to be, a landscape of claims. Underlying these claims are material constructions of, and escapist fantasies about, classical Greece as the birthplace of various Western values – an appropriation that is vital for constructing the status quo between the West and the rest of the world. On a local level, this emphasis on classical heritage has consequences for people affected by archaeology. The creation of heritage sites through archaeology has had an impact on people living on site. As I have shown, Palatia became constructed as the Sanctuary of Poseidon through visits by foreign scholars before, during and after the excavation in 1894. These visits by bodies of academic authority, which included the Swedish archaeologists, led to the sanctuary becoming part of the topography of classical archaeology; this process was strengthened through the inclusion of the sanctuary in guide books and reference works that I discussed in Representing place. The construction of the archaeologist’s self-image as a professional scholar and adventurer arose from the professionalization of archaeology during the late nineteenth century, and meant that archaeologists came to regard themselves as the sole producers of heritage. The discovery of material traces from the past, and the rights to publish them were heritage producing practices that could only be performed by sanctioned professionals able to manoeuver in the academic arena. This created an official narrative of the site: Palatia became defined by remains from antiquity and other uses of the site became forgotten in historiographical accounts. The three families living in and around the Sanctuary of Poseidon during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries are not mentioned in official accounts of the Sanctuary, nor are they found in the Swedish archives. As discussed in Creating archaeological knowledge at Kalaureia, claims by one of the local landowners led to a lengthy legal battle after the excavation season had ended in 1894. As discussed in In the archive, the personal archives represent a materialization of certain power hierarchies present in the mind of the Swedish archaeologists, hierarchies which in turn were outcomes of a colonial and ethnographical gaze on Greece as discussed in Topographies of Greece. The appearance of the heritage site of the Sanctuary of Poseidon is also the outcome of certain power hierarchies. Greek heritage sites are expected to feature material traces from selected time periods that are considered culturally important from present day perspectives: most notably time periods associated with classical antiquity, which are often also the focus of archaeology. As a result, modern materialities or modern land-use are not taken into consideration when representing the sanctuary – they belong to neither the gaze of classical scholarship nor to the travellers’ gaze, as discussed in Representing 317 place. This practice of exclusion also extends to the materiality of the history of fieldwork. As I discussed in Representations of strategic importance, while the excavation at Kalaureia has featured as a symbolic event in the heritage production of Swedish classical archaeology, the physical remains of the practices on site in 1894 have been, to a large extent, removed by the Kalaureia Research Program. Histories of archaeology change with the times. As the Kalaureia Research Program changed its theoretical focus with the new project in 2006, representations of the 1894-excavation also changed focus. As I discussed in Representations of strategic importance, the archaeological ethnography project on Poros used the 1894-excavation as a historical representation of official modernist archaeology by creating imagery of the sanctuary behind barbed wire and then relating the resulting image to Sam Wide’s name. Just as Greek topographies are appropriated according to changing cultural claims, the history of archaeology is malleable and can be shaped and appropriated according to the need of the profession. Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg came to Greece in 1893-94 with their own agendas and desires, some of which have had a very long afterlife, ultimately resulting in a discourse that has been reproduced through generations of classical archaeologists. We all enter archaeology and come to Greece with our own desires, but we are also situated in webs of significance, to paraphrase Clifford Geertz. As archaeologists, we carry with us images of ourselves and of the significance and benefits of our work, images that have historical backgrounds. 318 Epilogue In November 2014, the Swedish Institutes in Athens, Rome and Istanbul came under threat. In the annual budget proposition, the Swedish government proposed to cut funding for these Institutes, an act that would, in effect, have closed them down. A massive media campaign started to save the Institutes. I took an active part in this campaign. We collected 13, 000 signatures from all around the world, Members of Parliament and cultural personae wrote debate articles, and ‘The Mediterranean Institutes’ became an established concept in the mind of some groups of the Swedish public. This massive outpour of critique worked, and the budget cut was erased from the proposition. As I have shown throughout this thesis, classical archaeology in Sweden has, for a large part of its history, perceived itself as being under threat, and this has had an effect on the historiography produced. Throughout the campaign to save the Institutes, traditional arguments regarding the cultural significance of classical bildung were put forward, again portraying those who were critical of the Institutes as enemies of culture and products of a society ignorant of its history. The lesson that the Institutes, and all of us active there, took from the debate was that there is a need for the Institutes, and for classical scholarship, to become more visible in the arenas of politics and social commentary. As the Swedish Institute at Athens faces the future and new archaeological projects are planned in Greece, it is in my view important to remember and to take lessons from the historical premises for Swedish engagements there. Producing critical histories of archaeology in such a setting does not necessarily make Swedish archaeology in Greece less legitimate. On the contrary, by including research on the history of archaeology in field projects and academic departments, we learn more about the cultural and social situatedness of archaeological knowledge production both in the past and in the present. We then have the opportunity to create premises for knowledge production that pays attention to the politics of belonging both on an individual and a national level in tune with today’s society. This gives us the opportunity to further discuss our current practices and discourses which in turn can open up a space to create new ways of approaching antiquity. 319 320 Sammanfattning – Kalaureia Kulturhistoriska perspektiv på den svenska utgrävningen i Grekland 1894. första Hösten 1893 reste den svenska Uppsala-filologen Sam Wide (1861-1918) till Grekland på ett resestipendium från Letterstedtska föreningen. Tillsammans med sin kollega och vän, Lennart Kjellberg (1857-1936) och arkitekten Sven Kristenson (1858-1937) reste Wide följande år till Poros för att tillsammans med inhemska grovarbetare under ledning av förmannen Pankalos utföra utgrävningar i Poseidonhelgedomen på Kalaureia, en av Poros två öar. Grävningen, som pågick under två varma sommarmånader, skulle i historieskrivningen bli känt som den första svenska utgrävningen i Grekland. År 1997 återkom svenska arkeologer från Svenska Institutet i Athen till Kalaureia för ett större forskningsprogram som under senare år finansierats av Riksbankens jubileumsfond. Detta forskningsprogram avslutades under 2012. Syfte och teoretiska utgångspunkter Avhandlingen har två syften. Det första är att undersöka varför svenska arkeologer under slutet av 1800-talet utförde en arkeologisk grävning i Grekland. En central frågeställning i sammanhanget är: hur fungerade arkeologi i Grekland som kulturell praktik under det sena 1800-talet? Avhandlingen kan ses som en mikrostudie i det att den analyserar ett skeende som tilldrog sig under några månader år 1894 på en begränsad plats. Samtidigt är en övergripande tanke med studien att analysera grävningen som del i mångfacetterade och övergripande politiska, sociala och kulturella system för att visa på arkeologins avhängighet av externa faktorer. Genom detta syfte synliggörs sekelskiftets antikreception i Sverige och Grekland där den svenska grävningen analyseras i ljuset av en nationalistisk diskurs kring Sverige och Grekland som kulturnationer. Det andra syftet är att undersöka hur den första svenska grävningen i Grekland har representerats under 1900-talet, det vill säga vilka aspekter 321 som har lyfts fram i den arkeologihistoriska berättelsen samt vilket syfte representationen har haft. Här belyses strukturer inom discplinens egen historieskrivning. Bilden av ett avslutat arkeologihistoriskt skeende problematiseras eftersom grävningen på Kalaureia år 1894 har fortsatt att omskapas och omformuleras. Den teoretiska utgångspunkten ligger i den så kallade nya kulturhistorien (New Culture History) som kombineras med perspektiv hämtade från arkeologihistoria och arkeologisk etnografi. Min förståelse av kulturhistorisk arkeologihistoria tar avstamp i en bred definition av vad som räknas som arkeologi och arkeologiska praktiker. Detta får ett antal konsekvenser. En konsekvens av den nya kulturhistorien är att jag ser arkeologi som en specifik, kulturellt situerad form av historieskrivning där olika samtida maktanspråk tar sig uttryck. Detta innebär att arkeologi under det sena 1800talet byggde på exkluderings- och inkluderingsmekanismer som fick konsekvenser för kunskapsproduktionen. I avhandlingen anläggs därtill ett intersektionellt genusperspektiv där arkeologiska självbilder och tillhörighetspolitik analyseras och problematiseras i ljuset av 1800-talets idéer om manlighet och klass. Genom arkeologernas möten med det moderna Grekland analyseras även maktanspråken i Greklands dubbla topografi, det vill säga konstruktionen av det antika och det moderna Grekland. Denna uppfattning såg Grekland som en gränszon mellan ”Europa” och ”Orienten” i 1800talets västerländska världsuppfattning. Generellt uttryck så innebär detta specifika sätt att se på det grekiska kulturarvet att det antika Grekland idealiserades medan kulturella uttryck i det moderna landet förkastades, vilket syns i osynliggörandet av arbetare och lokalbefolkning på platsen. En andra konsekvens av ett kulturhistoriskt perspektiv är att grävningen på Kalaureia år 1894 inte ses som en avslutad arkeologihistorisk episod, utan som ett skeende som omformas och omtolkas i olika samtider. Genom att analysera hur grävningen har skapats som figur och traderats och använts för olika syften under 1900-talet, belyses hur olika institutioner som bedriver klassisk arkeologi i Sverige har förhållit sig till sin egen historia. En tredje konsekvens av ett kulturhistoriskt förhållningssätt till arkeologihistoria är att jag arbetar med ett brett källmaterial. Förutom traditionella källmaterial i arkeologernas personarkiv (brev, dagböcker, manuskript och fotografier) och de vetenskapliga publikationerna om grävningen, använder jag mig även av tidningsartiklar (från svensk respektive grekisk press), samt museiutställningar och dess kataloger och angränsande radiointervjuer och ansökningshandlingar för arkeologiska projekt. 322 Avhandlingens struktur Avhandlingens första del Framing Kalaureia 1894 utgörs av en närläsning av arkivmaterial för att diskutera arkeologernas bakgrunder, motivationer för att resa till Grekland och händelseförlopp under grävningen i Poseidonhelgedomen. Under Sam Wides och Lennart Kjellbergs studietid i Uppsala på 1880-talet påverkades deras undervisning i en allt mer arkeologisk inriktning under influens av professorn i grekiska vid Uppsala universitet, Einar Löfstedt. De båda studerade även i Berlin under antikvetarna Ernst Curtius, Adolf Furtwängler och Carl Robert vilka inspirerade till fortsatt arkeologisk forskning. Grävningen på Kalaureia finansierades med privata medel, dels från arkeologerna själva men också med bidrag från diverse svenska mecenater. Tyska Institutet i Athen (DAI) bistod med hjälp och material, särskilt Wilhelm Dörpfeld var instrumental för att grävningen kunde genomföras. Det blev enbart en grävsäsong på Kalaureia. Fynden var fragmenterade och arkeologerna ville fortsätta på annan plats. Dessutom blev Lennart Kjellberg sjuk och lämnade grävningen, men återkom till Grekland under vintern 1894. Under oktober 1894 arbetade dock Sam Wide återigen med Pankalos och en arbetsstyrka från Kalaureia-grävningen vid Aphidna i Nordattika. De vetenskapliga resultaten från Kalaureia och Aphidna publicerades i DAIs publikationsserie Mitteilungen under 1895 och 1896. Lennart Kjellberg grävdes senare i Larisa am Hermos i Turkiet under 1902. Sam Wide blev år 1909 den första professorn i det nybildade ämnet Klassisk fornkunskap och antikens historia (idag Antikens kultur och samhällsliv) vid Uppsala universitet. Lennart Kjellberg efterträdde honom på posten år 1918. Den andra delen består av tre analyskapitel där jag går in mer i detalj i den stomme som skapats i del 1. I kapitlet Archaeological self-images: Sam Wide and the politics of belonging diskuterar jag konstruktionen av arkeologiska självbilder under sent 1800-tal ur ett intersektionellt genusperspektiv. Ett resultat av denna analys är att det krävdes vissa specifika representationer av det egna jaget, samt uttänkta navigeringsstrategier och lagarbete för att få tillhöra det arkeologiska kunskapskollektivet. Dessa representationer och strategier diskuterar jag utifrån begreppet ‘tillhörighetpolitik’ (‘politics of beloning’). Genom en närläsning av Sam Wides representationer av sin person i brev och tidningsartiklar diskuteras tre troper som är synliga i källmaterialet: arkeologen som vetenskapsman; arkeologen som äventyrare, och arkeologen som entreprenör. Jag argumenterar för att Wide skapade denna arkeologiska självbild utifrån borgerliga manlighetsideal och representerade den i text och bild genom att kontrastera sig själv mot, och jämföra sig själv med, utländska kollegor i Athen och grekiska män. Kroppar som inte motsvarade förväntningarna ställda på en arkeolog, det vill säga de kroppar som inte 323 ansågs ha rätt att tillhöra det kunskapsproducerande kollektivet, exkluderades. Detta gällde i särskilt hög grad grekiska män från lägre samhällsklasser, vars roller under det arkeologiska fältarbetet nedtonades i berättelserna om grävningen på Kalaureia. Det innebar dock inte att alla borgerliga, välutbildade män kunde ta plats som arkeologer. Genom olika exkluderingspraktiker riktade mot Lennart Kjellberg lyckades Sam Wide manövrera ut Kjellberg från konkurrensen om professuren i Klassisk fornkunskap och antikens historia 1909. I kapitlet Topographies of Greece analyseras arkeologernas komplicerade förhållningssätt till både det moderna och det antika Grekland. De svenska arkeologerna producerade bilder av Grekland genom att samtida ‘blickar’ (‘gazes’), där Grekland konstruerades både som ett ideal och som ett avskräckande exempel. Tre blickar diskuteras i kapitlet: den koloniala blicken, den etnografiska blicken och den eskapistiska blicken. Dessa blickar färgades av en diskurs där det moderna och det antika Grekland jämfördes med varandra. Här framkommer koloniala och rasistiska tankegångar och handlingsmönster i mötet med det moderna landet, där grekiska kroppar och dess beteenden bedömdes i jämförelse med västerländska normer. Som utländska arkeologer verksamma i Grekland deltog Sam Wide och Lennart Kjellberg i en tävling med andra länder om tillgång till arkeologiska platser – en tävling med ideologiska rötter i samtida västeuropeiska koloniala praktiker i andra delar av världen. Jag visar också hur mötet med arkeologiska platser och landskap fungerade som en slags verklighetsflykt. Den kulturkrock som arkeologerna upplevde kunde dämpas med fantasier om mötet med antikens materialitet som karaktärdanande samt som en speglingsyta för såväl retrospektion som introspektion. I det sista kapitlet i del 2, Creating archaeological knowledge at Kalaureia, diskuterar jag hur grävmetodik, arbetsfördelning och fyndhantering skapade bilder av det förflutna i Poseidonhelgedomen på Kalaureia under sommaren 1894. Jag visar hur arkeologernas situerade kunskap och samtida idéströmningar påverkade praktikerna på utgrävningen. Genom att anlägga ett arkeologiskt-etnografiskt perspektiv på källmaterialet från grävningen, har jag lyft fram personer och praktiker som sällan diskuteras som betydelsebärande för kunskapsproduktionen. Ett centralt tema här är det sociala samspelet mellan olika aktörer på plats; arkeologer, arbetare, jordägare och besökare. Jag visar att detta samspel, och hur det har materialiserats i arkiven, är ett resultat av arkeologernas självbilder och syn på Grekland. Genom en närläsning av bildmaterial och textkällor har jag funnit att särskilt Pankalos, som var förman för arbetsstrykan, var avgörande för grävningens genomförande. Grävmetoden inspirerades av tyska arkeologer och grävningarna i Olympia: Wilhelm Dörpfelds Bauforschung, vilken fokuserade på identifiering och datering av arkitekturen i helgedomen. Genom århundradena innan 1894 hade helgedomen bland annat nyttjats som stenbrott och jordbruksmark, vilket innebar att fynden inte levde upp 324 till arkeologernas förväntningar. Detta innebar i sin tur att Lennart Kjellberg dokumenterade även sådant material som i vanliga fall inte skulle ha dokumenterats i fält. Men arkeologisk kunskapsproduktion rör sig också utanför fältarbetet. Genom en analys av tolkningsprocessen och hur fynden hanterandes i arbetet med publikationen i DAIs publikationsserie Mitteilungen, visar jag hur arkeologisk kunskap skapades utifrån analogier med redan kända föremål och antika texter. Publikationens struktur visar även hur inskriftsmaterial och arkitektur fick företräde framför andra fyndkategorier, något som även speglar Sam Wides tillhörighetspolitik då han ansvarade för publicering av dessa materialkategorier. Genom att även studera hur svenska och grekiska tidningar skrev om grävningen på Kalaureia, visar jag hur grävingen användes i en nationalistisk kontext både i Sverige och i Grekland. Medan svenska dagstidningar representerade grävningen som ett nationellt prestigeprojekt med lyckat resultat (en representation som ofta baserades på information från arkeologerna själva), framställde den grekiska dagspressen grävningen som misslyckad eftersom fynden inte motsvarade de förväntningar som ställdes på en grekisk kulturarvsplats. Avhandlingens tredje och avslutande del, Representing Kalaureia 1894, diskuterar representationer av grävningen, det vill säga hur meningsbärande bilder och berättelser skapades under 1900-talet kring grävningen som historisk händelse. I kapitlet Representing archaeological knowledge diskuterar jag hur resultaten från grävningen har medierats i guideböcker och publikationer och därmed skrivits in i den klassiska arkeologins ämnestopografi. Konsekvensen av denna tillskrivelse är att platsen har skapas som ett arkeologiskt turistmål på bekostnad av andra berättelser än den arkeologiskt sanktionerade. I kapitlet Representations of strategic importance analyserar jag de historiografiska narrativ som skapats av tre viktiga institutioner: Svenska Institutet i Athen (grundat 1948), ämnet Antikens kultur och samhällsliv (tidigare Klassisk fornkunskap och antikens historia, grundat 1909) och de nya grävningarna på Poros genom Kalaureia-projektet (1997-2012). Här visar jag hur historieskrivingen runt grävningen 1894, som den första svenska grävningen i Grekland, blev ett verktyg för att legitimera samtida och framtida svensk närvaro i grekisk arkeologi genom att representera arkeologisk praktik i Grekland som en bildningsmission. I det sista kapitlet Representing academic identities diskuterar jag hur representationer av grävningen och dess aktörer har använts för att förmedla idealbilder av arkeologer och deras verksamheter genom att okritiskt framhäva akademiska fadersfigurer i historieskrivningen. Här visar jag hur Sam Wides tillhörighetspolitik har påverkat hur han kommit att framställas i historieskrivningen, där Lennart Kjellberg har fått en mer tillbakadragen roll i historien runt Kalaureia 1894, och där den grekiska kontexten och de grekiska aktörerna har osynliggjorts. 325 För att svara på frågan hur arkeologi fungerade som kulturell praktik under det sena 1800-talet har jag i det sammanfattande kapitelt fokuserat på tre teman som går som en röd tråd genom avhandlingen: arkeologi som identitetsskapande praktik, arkeologi som nationalistisk praktik och arkeologi som kulturarvsskapande praktik. Arkeologi som identitetsskapande praktik Det första och det mest grundläggande sättet på vilket arkeologi i Grekland fungerade som kulturell praktik under det sena 1800-talet var genom att dess praktiker tillskrev och konstruerade olika identiteter till de människor som var involverade i och påverkade av arkeologin. I avhandlingens första kapitel In the archive diskuterar jag hur de svenska personarkivens materialitet har en tendens att begränsa tolkningsmöjligheterna runt grävningen på Kalaureia 1894. Sam Wide och Lennart Kjellberg hade möjlighet att bevara sig själva och sina nedskrivna tankar för eftervärlden och detta material är starkt färgat av tidens föreställningar kring klass, kön och ras. I arkivet är grekiska röster underrepresenterade och genom sin situerade maktposition får de svenska arkeologerna auktoriteten att beskriva sin omvärld. Genom att okritiskt följa arkivens innehåll riskerar forskningen att reproducera de maktförhållanden som fanns under sent 1800-tal. Detta gäller även arkeologernas egna självbilder. I kapitlet Archaeological self-images: Sam Wide and the politics of belonging, visar jag hur nätverket runt arkeologerna tenderade att vara homogent, med en överrepresentation av vita, borgerliga män. I sig är detta ingen nyhet, utan speglar tidigare forskningsresultat kring köns- och klassperspektiv i 1800-talets akademi. Genom att se närmare på hur dessa homogena nätverk fungerade internt kan vi dock upptäcka andra former av exkludering inom nätverken. Sam Wides exkluderingspraktiker gentemot Lennart Kjellberg måste förstås i ljuset av detta homogena nätverksbygge. Kjellberg klarade, enligt Wide, inte av att leva upp till de förväntningar som ställdes på en arkeolog: Kjellberg var överdrivet familjeorienterad, han var för bekväm i sina resmönster och saknade den uthållighet och flexibilitet som krävdes för att få tillåtelse att producera kunskap kring antikens kulturer. Dessa ideal om den akademiska krigaren/hjälten skapades utifrån samtidens ideal om den borgerliga manligheten. Genom att lämna grävningen på Kalaureia på grund av sjukdom hade Kjellberg, i Wides ögon, övergivit sin postering. I den akademiska tillhörighetspolitiken var det goda ryktet och det rätta nätverket nycklar till framgång. Wide använde sina entreprenörsegenskaper för att representera sig själv som en bra arkeolog inom sitt nätverk genom att jämföra sig med Kjellberg, på bekostnad av den senares rykte. Konsekvensen av dessa exkluderingspraktiker blev att Sam Wide och 326 hans student Martin P:son Nilsson utan konkurrens från Lennart Kjellberg (som var den enda kandidaten som kunde konkurrera om tjänsterna) kunde bli de första professorerna i Klassisk fornkunskap och antikens historia i Uppsala och Lund år 1909. Lennart Kjellberg har sedan dess hamnat i skuggan av Sam Wide i historieskrivningen, inte minst i berättelsen om grävningen på Kalaureia trots att Kjellberg de facto ledde arbetet och tillbringade mer tid på platsen än Wide under grävningens första del. De individuella prestationerna som har materialiserats i arkiven, och de historiografiska representationerna av grävningen 1894, har skapat en bild av arkeologi som en individuell snarare än en kollektiv praktik. I kapitlet Creating archaeological knowledge at Kalaureia visar jag hur ett stort antal aktörer var involverade i arbetet i olika roller. Där tidigare forskning har visat att grekiska kroppar, till exempel grovarbetare och jordägare, blivit exkluderade från arkeologins officiella historieskrivning, har jag genom min närläsning av arkivmaterialet visat på en högre grad av komplexitet. Genom att skifta fokus för vår historiografiska blick och leta efter sprickor i de stora narrativen som representeras av de traditionella arkiven, kan vi upptäcka andra aktörer och höra andra röster. Jag har diskuterat hur de arkeologiska praktikerna och arbetsfördelningen på Kalaureia var en reflektion av genus-, klass- och etniska hierarkier under det sena 1800-talet, där olika kroppar innehade olika roller och vars arbete värderades olika i historieskrivningen. Grekiska manliga kroppar från lägre samhällsskikt utförde det hårda fysiska arbetet under ledning av Pankalos, medan Wide och Kjellberg valde ut vilka fynd som skulle dokumenteras och tolkade dessa. Sven Kristenson skötte arbetet med att rita arkitekturen. Själva fyndhanteringen, det vill säga dokumentation i fält och produktionen av publikationen, var sedan de praktikerna som kom räknas som den verkliga arkeologiska kunskapsproduktionen. Genom att applicera ett intersektionellt perspektiv, visar jag att klass spelade en nästa lika stor roll som etnicitet i den här processen. Detta är tydligt i Sam Wides och Lennart Kjellbergs etnografiska betraktelser av den grekiska landsbydgen, där grekiska mäns utseende och uppförande kontrasterades mot de svenska arkeologernas. Wide och Kjellberg tolkade dessa kontraster med rasistiska blickar, där de grekiska kropparna jämfördes dels med tolkningar av deras antika förfäder, och dels med andra grupper i närområdet, främst turkar och albaner, och till sist med västeuropeiska män. Grekiska arkeologer som riksantikvarien Panagiotis Kavvadias och förmannen Pankalos kunde ibland bli inkluderade i narrativet. Grekiska kvinnors kroppslighet bedömdes och sexualiserades som potentiellt äktenskapsmaterial. Dessa bilder av greker medierades sedan till allmänheten genom resebetraktelser och tidningsartiklar, detta i en tid då få människor hade möjlighet att resa till Medelhavet. Arkeologernas situerade blickar fick därigenom tolkningsföreträde. 327 Fruar till arkeologerna i nätverket i Athen skymtar även fram i arkiven, och de beskrivs antingen i termer av omhändertagande matronor som verkade i bakgrunden av den arkeologiska kunskapsproduktionen (Anna Dörpfeld) eller som upprätthållande av sin makes rykte (Sophia Schliemann och Anna von Reden). Auguste Wolters är ett undantag då hon och Wide verkade ha utvecklat en slags vänskap, dock identifieras hon främst i termer av hustru. I de historiografiska representationerna av Kalaureia beskrevs Sam Wide som en pionjär, en hedersbetygelse som ytterst är en konsekvens av hans skickliga manövrerande i den akademiska tillhörighetspolitiken, vilket har materialiserats i arkiven. Det finns en retorisk röd tråd från hans egna självrepresentationer, till exempel ett brev till Oscar Montelius från 1894 där Wide uttrycker ett önskemål om pionjärskap (”en person måste visa vägen”), till representationer av hans persona i Christian Callmers biografi från 1953 (”Wide wollte den Weg zeigen”) och Åke Åkerströms publikation från SIAs 25-årsjubileum på 1970-talet (”Wides klart uttalade mål var att visa vägen”). Exkluderingen av andra aktörer på Kalaureia skapar bilden av en individuell framgångssaga, en representation som ytterst kan härledas till akademiska genusstrukturer. Oavsett om subjektet i fråga är kvinna eller man, eller inte identifierar sig som någotdera, är upphöjandet av individuella gärningar i den arkeologiska idealbilden ett resultat av borgerliga maskulinitetsideal från det sena 1800-talet om självtillräcklighet. Utan att analysera den arkeologiska tillhörighetspolitiken riskerar arkeologihistorien att fortsätta representera sådana idealbilder. Istället, som jag har visat med Sam Wide som fallstudie, berodde framgångssagorna ofta på ett skickligt manövrerande i olika nätverk, vilket ledde till exkluderingspraktiker i vad Wide liknade vid ett akademiskt krig. Arkeologen framställde även sig själv som kulturhjälte i 1800-talets samhälle – någon som upprätthöll olika civilisatoriska samhällsfenomen med sin framtoning och sina praktiker. Kulturhjälten utförde en viktig uppgift: att hitta och mediera ting från utvalda förflutenheter. Detta utförande var inte bara viktigt i en nationell kontext, som jag kommer att diskutera nedan, utan ansågs även vara karaktärsdanande för individen. I Topographies of Greece visar jag att Sam Wide och Lennart Kjellberg reflekterade över sitt mänskliga värde utifrån materialitet från det antika Grekland. Denna typ av reflektion bör inte ses som en naturlig eller allmänmänsklig reaktion i mötet med tingen, utan som ett inlärt beteende som bottnar i en borgerlig förförståelse av antiken som överlägsen idealbild. Denna idealbild var också en nyckelingrediens i den grekiska inhemska nationalismen. I del 3, Representations of academic identity, påpekar jag att arkeologihistoriska representationer har en tendens att påverka våra egna självbilder. Jag visar hur arkeologen som kulturhjälte lever kvar i historiografin, särskilt när klas328 sisk arkeologi i Sverige upplever sig att vara under hot. Här kontrasteras den klassiska arkeologen mot sina kritiker med analogier till antik mytologi där ett pågår ett krig mellan ”barbariet” och ”civilisationen” eller ”upplysning” mot ”okunskap”. Denna polariserande diskurs kan återigen härledas tillbaka till 1800-talets koloniala och patriarkala världssyn. I Wides och Kjellbergs etnografiska studier som jag diskuterar i Topographies of Greece, ser vi hur den ”utbildade filhellenen” ställs mot den ”orientaliske barbaren” som framställdes, utifrån den koloniala blicken, som otillräcklig att förstå det kulturella värdet av den klassiska arkeologin som praktik eller av den kunskap som producerades. Genom att framställa kritiker eller oliktänkande under det sena 1900-talet som ”barbarer” samt genom att framhålla ett traditionellt bildningsbegrepp som önskvärt status quo, lutar sig argumentationen mot äldre diskurser och exkluderingsretoriker. Arkeologi som nationalistisk praktik Utgrävningen på Kalaureia 1894 diskuterades i sin samtid som ett nationellt svenskt projekt, både av arkeologerna själva, av deras närverk och av de grekiska myndigheterna. Denna diskurs kunde föras utan officiell inblandning från svenska staten. Idén om arkeologi som nationalistisk praktik var snarare knuten till arkeologernas kroppar och deras tillskriva nationella identiteter. Trots att utgrävningen var beroende av DAIs stöd, framställdes grävningen som ett svenskt projekt, både i grekisk och i svensk press. Redan i början av 1894 lade Wide stor emfas vid att grävningen skulle komma att bli den första svenska grävningen i Grekland. Beslutet att gräva togs innan platsen för grävningen hade bestämts, vilket säger något om det kulturella och nationella värdet av praktiken i sig, oavsett den arkeologiska kunskapsproduktionens vetenskapliga värde. Genom grävningen kunde Sverige markera en plats på den grekiska kulturarvskartan och därigenom sälla sig till Europas kulturnationer. Källmaterialet kring Kalaureia-grävningen betonar gång på gång den nationella tävling som arkeologerna i Grekland ansåg sig vara en del av. Denna betoning är en konsekvens av den koloniala blicken som i slutet av 1800-talet var en förutsättning för utländska engagemang i Grekland. Detta fick även konsekvenser för hur Grekland som modern nation uppfattades. I Topographies of Greece diskuterar jag hur de svenska arkeologerna beskrev Grekland som ett orientaliskt land påverkat av århundranden av osmanskt inflytande. Grekland förväntades samtidigt vara exotiskt men också vara kulturellt tillgängligt och familiärt i och med sin, på samma gång självtillskriva och till viss del påtvingade, status som västerlandets vagga. Det koloniala projektet krävde 329 exotifiering av den Andre för att legitimera sina praktiker och sitt tolkingsföreträde, samtidigt som det antika Grekland skulle representeras som ett urhem. På det sättet kunde de svenska arkeologerna framställa sig själva som kulturarvets beskyddare, samtidigt som de gynnades av att exotisera det moderna landet i sina skildringar. I Representing Kalaureia 1894, beskriver jag hur svensk arkeologi i Grekland har fortsatt att framställas som ett nationellt betydelsebärande projekt, genom vilket Sverige kan plocka poäng på den inetrnationella arenan. Här ser vi tillhörighetspolitik på nationell nivå. Även om den kritiska debatten och forskningen kring banden mellan arkeologi och nationalism har pågått i decennier, gör praxis med nationella skolor i Grekland det svårt att bryta mönstret med att framställa arkeologiska projekt i nationellt ljus. Det nya Kalaureiaprojektet och Svenska institutet i Athen har framhävt projektet som nationellt betydelsebärande under större delen av 1900-talet och det tidiga 2000-talet. Min avhandling är också ett exempel på en historiografi som tydligt knyter Poseidonhelgedomen till Sverige, även om jag gör detta under ett kritiskt paraply. Denna problematik är en konsekvens av den praxis som sattes upp av grekiska myndigheter i sammarbete med de utländska skolorna under 1800-talet, där olika länder kan besitta rätten till arkeologisk verksamhet på designerade platser, vilka i sin tur därigenom knyts till de olika länderna som nationella territorier. Arkeologi som kulturarvsskapande praktik Den internationella prestige som associeras med grekisk arkeologi hänger samman med de värden som tillskrivs det klassiska kulturarvet. Jag diskuterar i Topographies of Greece, men även i Archaeological self-images, hur det antika kulturarvets materialitet under 1800-talet fungerade som en referenspunkt och en inspiration för borgerliga värderingar: kunskap om det antika arvet var en nyckel för kulturell tillhörighet inom den gruppen. I Creating archaeological knowledge diskuterar jag därför även hur grävningen och publiceringen av fynden inte bara medförde nationell prestige utan även var viktigt för den personliga utvecklingen – karaktärsbygget. Arkeologi i Grekland innebar med andra ord att kulturarvet knöts inte bara till olika länder men också till individuella aktörer. På lokal nivå har denna diskurs fått konsekvenser för människor som bor i närheten av kulturarvsplatser. I Creating archaeological knowledge diskuterar jag de få spår som har materialiserats i arkiven som visar hur tre familjer som bodde runt helgedomen påverkades av arkeologin. Poseidonhelgedomen på 330 Kalaureia skapades som kulturarvsplats genom besök av officiellt sanktionerade kroppar: utländska besökare, vilka inkluderar de svenska arkeologerna, och grekiska myndighetspersoner. Därigenom skrevs platsen in i den klassiska arkeologins officiella topografi, en process som stärktes genom att helgedomen blev inkluderad i guideböcker och översiktsverk. Detta skedde på bekostnad av andra berättelser och aktiviteter i helgedomen, något som fick sin yttersta konsekvens i annekteringen av helgedomen av grekiska myndigheter på 1970-talet. Härigenom hindrades jordbruksaktivitet som skulle komma att skada den antika materialiteten som skulle skyddas, samtidigt som lämningar från mer sentida tidsperioder rensades bort från platsen, bland annat av Kalaureia-projektet under 1990- och 2000-talen. Spår av aktiviteter från andra tidsperioder än de antika räknas traditionellt varken till turisternas blickar eller till arkeologernas blickar. Även om Kalaureiaprojektet har använts sig av grävningen 1894 som ett viktigt event i sin egen historieskrivning så har de materiella spåren av grävningen till stor del rensats bort för att skapa en kulturarvsplats som motsvarar de grekiska myndigheternas och turisternas förväntningar. 331 332 List of figures Fig. 1, p. 19. Piraeus’ harbour in the late nineteenth century. From Centerwall 1888:73. Repro: Andrea Davis Kronlund, Royal Library. Fig. 2, p. 24. Table showing Swedish field projects in Greece 1894-2016. Made by author. Fig. 3, p. 47. Uppsala University Library. Photo: author. Fig. 4, p. 48. Sam Wide’s archive. Photo: author. Fig. 5, p. 52. Lennart Kjellberg’s archive. Photo: author. Fig. 6, p. 53. Corner of building D. From: Sven Kristenson’s archive, LUB. Repro: LUB. Fig. 7, p. 54. Corner of building D. Identical with fig. 6. From: D-DAI-ATHPoros-0008, DAI, Athens. Repro: DAI, Athens. Fig. 8, p. 58. ‘Prosten i Sundborn’ by Carl Larsson. Repro: Cecilia Heisser, Swedish National Museum. Fig. 9, p. 66. Lennart Kjellberg and Anna von Reden in 1890. From: Collection of Swedish portraits, photo id. 11254, UUB. Repro: UUB. Fig. 10, p. 66. Sam Wide in 1892. From: Collection of Swedish portraits, photo Id. 11253, UUB. Repro: UUB. Fig. 11, 68. Self-portrait by Sven Kristenson. From: Sven Kristenson’s archive, LUB. Repro: LUB. Fig. 12, p. 78. Itinerary of Dörpfeld’s island excursion in 1894. From: Ludwig Pollak’s archive, Museo di Scultura Antica Giovanni Barraco, Rome. Photo: author. Fig. 13, p. 79. Poros town in 1894. From: D-DAI-ATH-Poros-0019B, DAI, Athens. Repro: DAI, Athens. Fig. 14, p. 80. Poros town in 1894. From: D-DAI-ATH-Poros-0017, DAI, Athens. Repro: DAI, Athens. Fig. 15, p. 82. Russian naval station on Poros. Photo: author. Fig. 16, p. 83. View of the Sanctuary of Poseidon in 2007. Photo: Berit Wells. Courtesy of the Kalaureia Research Program. Fig. 17, p. 85. Site plan of the Sanctuary of Poseidon in 2012. Plan by Emanuel Savini. From: Penttinen 2014b:21. Fig. 18, p. 86. Round structure next to building E. Photo: author. Fig. 19, p. 88. Nikolaos Grimanis in Asine. From: Wells 1998:23. Original in the archive of the excavation at Asine, photo id. C.7779, SIA. Fig. 20, p. 90. Remains of a basin for resin collecting. Photo: author. 333 Fig. 21, 93. Tent camp in 1894. From: D-DAI-ATH-Poros-0011, DAI, Athens. Repro: DAI, Athens. Fig. 22, p. 94. Storage shed in 1894. From: D-DAI-ATH-Poros-0004, DAI, Athens. Repro: DAI, Athens. Fig. 23, p. 94. Corner of the peribolos of the Temple of Poseidon . From: DDAI-ATH-Poros-0009, DAI, Athens. Repro: DAI, Athens. Fig. 24, p. 97. The harbour in Poros town in 1894. From: D-DAI-ATH-Poros0012, DAI, Athens. Repro: DAI, Athens. Fig. 25, p. 100. Aphidna in Attica. Photo: author. Fig. 26, p. 104. Sam Wide’s collection of antiquities at the Museum of Antiquities in Gotehnburg. Photo: author. Fig. 27, p. 105. Barbro Wide on a letter card from Sam Wide to Albert Engström. From: Albert Engström’s archive, Royal Library, Stockholm. Repro: Andrea Davis Kronlund, Royal Library. Fig. 28, p. 114. Caricature in pencil depicting two dogs. From: Sam Wide’s archive, Box NC:550, UUB. Repro: UUB. Fig. 29, p. 127. Group photograph on Aegina in 1894. From: Donation från Antikens kultur och samhällsliv, Section for Maps and Pictures, UUB. Repro: UUB. Fig. 30, p. 131. Sam Wide in Delphi in 1893. From: Donation från Antikens kultur och samhällsliv, Section for Maps and Pictures, UUB. Repro: UUB. Fig. 31, p. 139. Geskel Saloman in his studio in 1901. From: Stockholm City Museum, photo id. C 2449. Repro: Stockholm City Museum. Fig. 32, p. 150. Caricature in pencil depicting Lennart Kjellberg. From: Sam Wide’s archive, Box NC:550, UUB. Repro: UUB. Fig. 33, p. 178. Torso and man in Delos in 1894. From: Donation från Antikens kultur och samhällsliv, Section for Maps and Pictures, UUB. Repro: UUB. Fig. 34, p. 184. Women dancing in Eleusis in 1894. From: Donation från Antikens kultur och samhällsliv, Section for Maps and Pictures, UUB. Repro: UUB. Fig. 35, p. 188. View from the Aeropagus. From: Donation från Antikens kultur och samhällsliv, Section for Maps and Pictures, UUB. Repro: UUB. Fig. 36, p. 189. Acropolis pre-1874. From: Donation från Antikens kultur och samhällsliv, Section for Maps and Pictures, UUB. Repro: UUB. Fig. 37, p. 197. Detail from the site plan of the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus. From: Newton 1862: plate IV. Repro: Andrea Davis Kronlund, Royal Library, Stockholm. Fig. 38, p. 199. Detail of the site plan of the Sanctuary of Poseidon made by Sven Kristenson. From: Kjellberg & Wide 1895: plate VIII. Repro: Andrea Davis Kronlund, Royal Library, Stockholm. Fig. 39, p. 200. Two men standing in the Temple of Poseidon in 1894. From: Sven Kristenson’s archive, LUB. Repro: LUB. Fig. 40, p. 201. View of the excavations in 1894. From: Sven Kristenson’s archive, LUB. Repro: LUB. 334 Fig. 41, p. 207. Sam Wide and Lennart Kjellberg during excavations in 1894. From: Sven Kristenson’s archive, LUB. Repro: LUB. Fig. 42, p. 208. Table showing archaeologists and visitors present on site in 1894. Made by author. Fig. 43, p. 209. Wilhelm Dörpfeld and Sam Wide during excavations in 1894. From: Sven Kristenson’s archive, LUB. Repro: LUB. Fig. 44, p. 211. Building C in 1894. From: D-DAI-ATH-Poros-0002, DAI, Athens. Repro: DAI, Athens. Fig. 45, p. 217. Building A in 1894. From: D-DAI-ATH-Poros-0010, DAI, Athens. Repro, DAI, Athens. Fig. 46, p. 220. Table showing the progression of excavation from June to August 1894. Made by author. Fig. 47, p. 221. Plan of the Sanctuary of Poseidon. From: La Bas 1888:plate 15:2. Repro: Andrea Davis Kronlund, Royal Library, Stockholm. Fig. 48, p. 223. Building A during excavations in 1894. From: D-DAI-ATHPoros-0001, DAI, Athens. Repro: DAI, Athens. Fig. 49, p. 224. Building A in 2004. Photo: Berit Wells. Courtesy of the Kalaureia Research Program. Fig. 50, p. 226. Sam Wide in building A in 1894. From: D-DAI-ATH-Poros0006, DAI, Athens. Repro: DAI, Athens. Fig. 51, p. 226. Kristenson’s drawing of a wall fragment from building A. From: Sven Kristenson’s archive, LUB. Repro: LUB. Fig. 52, p. 227. Site plan of the sanctuary of Poseidon by Sven Kristenson. From: Kjellberg & Wide 1895:plate VII. Repro: Andrea Davis Kronlund, Royal Library, Stockholm. Fig. 53, p. 232. Page from Lennart Kjellberg’s excavation diary. From: Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. Repro: UUB. Fig. 54, p. 233. Page from Lennart Kjellberg’s excavation diary. From: Kjellberg’s archive, Box NC:703, UUB. Repro: UUB. Fig. 55, p. 235. Squeeze of inscription from Kalaureia. Photo: Ludmila Werkström, Museum Gustavianum. Fig. 56, p. 236. Façade of the National Archaeological Museum in Athens. Photo: Christina Kolb. Fig. 57, p. 237. Bronze trident found at Kalaureia in 1894. Inv. no. EAM11466. Photo: Craig Mauzy. Courtesy of the Kalaureia Research Program. Fig. 58, p. 240. Bronze trident drawn in the 1895 publication. From: Kjellberg & Wide 1895:310. Repro: Andrea Davis Kronlund, Royal Library, Stockholm. Fig. 59, p. 247. Griffin protome from bronze cauldron. Inv. no. EAM11461. Photo: Craig Mauzy. Courtesy of the Kalaureia Research Program. Fig. 60, p. 268. Map of excavation tree from the exhibition Före Fidias. From: Archive of the Swedish Cyprus Expedition, Museum of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Antiquities, Stockholm. Repro: Museum of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Antiquities. 335 Fig. 61, p. 271. Cartoon depicting a classical scholar. From: Dagens Nyheter, 10 January 1946. Repro: Andrea Davis Kronlund, Royal Library, Stockholm. Fig. 62, p. 282. Ruins of modern stables at Kalaureia in the late 1990s. From: Berit Wells’ archive, SIA, Athens. Courtesy of the Kalaureia Research Program. Fig. 63, p. 283. Excavations in front of modern ruins at the Sanctuary of Poseidon in the late 1990s. From: Berit Wells’ archive, SIA, Athens. Courtesy of the Kalaureia Research Program. Fig. 64, p. 284. Building A during excavations in 2012. Photo: Patrik Klingborg. Fig. 65, p. 287. ‘View from “wide”’ from the photo blog of the ethnographic strand of the Kalaureia Research Program. Photo: Fotis Ifantidis. Fig. 66, p. 296. Cover of exhibition catalogue. From: Nordquist 1985. Photo: author. Fig. 67, p. 302. Cover of publication celebrating 100 years of Swedish fieldwork in Greece. From: Hägg 2002a. Photo: author. Fig. 68, p. 304. ‘Fig. 10’ from the publication of the excavations at Kalaureia 1997-2001. From: Wells, Penttinen & Billot 2003:38. Photo: author. 336 Bibliography Archival sources Arkeologisk-topografiska arkivet [Archive of the Swedish National Heritage Board], Stockholm (ATA) Oscar Montelius’ archive, collection of letters, E1. Archive of the Greek Archaeological Service, Athens. 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