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Objects as War Booty: The Case of the Statuette of Heracles from Seleucia-on-the-Tigris

Guillaume Biard

In antiquity, statues were not meant to move. At least, this is what the poet Pindar suggests in his famous verses at the beginning of the Fifth Nemean Ode (5th Nemean ode, v. 1-2), where bronze portraits of athletes are described as immovable, in contrast with the swift diffusion of poetic words. Statues were the ultimate symbol of stability and permanence. Horace, five centuries later, perhaps playfully countering Pindar, would claim that his odes were “more enduring than bronze” (Odes III, 30, v. 1).

History and archaeology, however, seem to vindicate Horace: the majority of ancient statues were destroyed, melted down, smashed, or reused, while the poets’ words have survived mostly intact. Although it is true that widespread destruction and removal of statues became particularly prevalent from Late Antiquity onwards, one should not underestimate the various ways statues were reused in earlier times, whether for economic, political, or cultural purposes. Among these practices, the looting of statues during war, followed by their accumulation or re-display by victors, was initially uncommon in the Greek world. With some symbolic exceptions – such as the removal of the Tyrannicides from Athens during the Second Persian War – Greek belligerents generally destroyed them entirely in an attempt to erase them from memory.

The Romans were the first to systematize the practice of bringing works of art back from their campaigns in the Greek world, beginning in the late 3rd century BC. This practice was closely tied to the triumph, a religious and political ceremony at the heart of the Res publica. In the triumphal procession, captive leaders and soldiers, captured weapons, precious metals, and statues taken as spoils were displayed in a lavish parade. Ironically yet inevitably, the Romans soon developed an insatiable appetite for Greek art, prompting another well-known remark from Horace (Epistles II, 1, v. 155-156) : Graecia capta ferum victorem cepit et artis intulit agresti Latio (« Greece, the captive, made her savage victor captive, and brough the arts into rustic Latium »).

From the Hellenistic period onwards, the seizure of statues as war booty was adopted by belligerents from other cultural traditions as well. The significance of this practice is manifold, as illustrated by an exceptional example kept in modern-day Iraq. The object under discussion is a Hellenistic bronze statue of Heracles (Fig. 1) ; nearly half life-size, modelled after the famous Farnese Heracles attributed to Lysippus (Invernizzi 1989 ; Bernard 1990). It was unearthed in 1984 at Seleucia-on-the-Tigris (about 30 km southeast of present-day Baghdad), though unfortunately not through official excavation. Local accounts indicate that it was discovered on the banks of the Tigris, about 800 meters northwest of Tell ‘Umar, the main mound of the city. Yet this was certainly not its original setting, as proven by an extraordinary bilingual inscription – in Greek and Parthian language – carved on both thighs of the figure (Canali De Rossi, no. 86) (Fig. 2). Only the Greek version is given below, with its English translation.

Fig. 1. Statuette of Heracles kept in Iraq National Museum in Baghdad (from Bernard 1990, fig. 1).
Fig. 2. Statuette of Heracles (Iraq National Museum, Baghdad), detail of the thighs photographed by Osama Shukir Muhammed Amin FrCP (Glasg) – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0

Ἔτους τοῦ

καθ᾽ Ἕλληνας

βξυʹ βασιλεὺς

βασιλέων Ἀρ-

σάκης Ὀλόγασος,

υἱὸς Μιραδάτου βα-

{βα}σιλέως, ἐπεστρα-

τεύσατο Μεσσήνηι

κατὰ Μιραδάτου βασιλέ-

λέως, υἱοῦ Πακόρου τοῦ

προβασιλεύσαντος, καὶ

τὸν Μιραδάτην βασιλέ-

α ἐγδιώξας τῆς Μεσήνης

ἐγένετο ἐνκρατὴς ὅλης

τῆς Μεσήνης καὶ εἰκόνα

ταύτην χαλκῆν Ἡρακλέ-

ους θεοῦ, τὴν μετενεχθεῖ̣-

σαν ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ τῆς Μεσή̣-

νης, ἀνέθηκεν ἐν ἱερῶι̣ τῷ̣-

δε θεοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος το̣ῦ

χαλκῆς πύλης προκα̣-

θημένου

In the year 462 [i.e. 150/1 AD] of the Greek era, the king of kings, Arsaces Vologeses, son of Mithridates, waged a military campaign in Mesene against King Mithridates, son of Pacorus, who had reigned before him. After expelling King Mithridates from Mesene, he became master of all Mesene and dedicated this bronze statue of the god Heracles, which he had transported from Mesene, to this sanctuary of Apollo, who stands before the Bronze Gate.

Stylistic analysis dates the statue to the late Hellenistic period, while the inscription provides the precise date of 150/1 AD. Scholars Antonio Invernizzi and Paul Bernard, who studied the statue in depth, argued that it was the product of a local workshop, possibly based in Seleucia-on-the-Tigris, a city known archaeologically for its significant artistic output in Hellenistic times. The statue may originally have been a royal dedication commissioned by Hyspaosines, the first independent king of Mesene (also known as Characene),(Fig.3), during the reign of the Seleucid king Demetrios II Nikator (145‑139 BC).

Fig. 3. Map of Characene by NordNordWest – self-made, usingGTOPO-30 Elevation Data by USGS, CC BY 3.0

Heracles, who appears frequently on Mesene’s coinage, was a protector of the kingdom. Thus, the statue was probably not originally erected in Seleucia-on-the-Tigris but in one of the principal sanctuaries of Hyspaosines’ capital, Spasinou Charax (about 50 km north of present-day Basra) a Seleucid foundation to which Hyspaosines later gave his name. In its original context, the Heracles statue was a highly symbolic object: set up in the capital of a newly independent kingdom, it proclaimed the power and wealth of its rulers. As a locally produced work emulating a masterpiece by Alexander the Great’s official portraitist, it signalled the kingdom’s claim to artistic sophistication on par with the legacy of the conqueror himself. At the same time, it was a bold, even hyperbolic statement: for although Hyspaosines briefly ruled Babylon, by the end of his life he was a vassal of the Parthian king.

Nearly three centuries after its original consecration, the statue retained its symbolic potency, as evidenced by the inscription that was then carved on his thighs. The “King of Kings” Vologesus mentioned in the statue’s inscription is the Parthian ruler known to historians as Volageses IV (r. 147‑191 AD). It is likely that the Parthians lost control of Mesene following Emperor Trajan’s campaigns of 116‑117 AD. Mithridates, son of Pacorus, was probably a Parthian prince and client of Rome.

Thus, the conquest of Mesene/Characene by Volageses IV was both an act of revenge for Trajan’s Parthian wars and a reminder that, even in Hyspaosines’ day, Mesene/Characene had been subject to Parthian rule. The campaign also had a crucial economic dimension: Mesene/Characene controlled a vital artery of trade with the East. By reclaiming the territory, Volageses sought not only to assert political supremacy but also to re-establish Parthian dominance over a key commercial route.

In these circumstances, what is the meaning of the transfer of the Heracles statue from Spasinou Charax to Seleucia-on-the-Tigris? On a religious level, the relocation of the kingdom’s protective deity from Mesene to a sanctuary of Apollo/Tir at the city gate of Seleucia signifies, within the Mesopotamian tradition, the transfer of divine protection. On a political level, the looting of a sanctuary belonging to a Roman client kingdom can be read as symbolic compensation for the earlier spoliations carried out by Roman troops. On a broader cultural level, the appropriation of a prestigious Hellenistic statue – an emblem of continuity with the age of Alexander and his successors – served to magnify the grandeur of the Parthian Empire. The meaning of the act becomes even richer when one considers the materiality of the inscriptions, carved directly in the 2nd c. AD on the Hellenistic statue. The practice of inscribing texts on statues was well attested in Mesopotamia, notably in the case of a statue of Darius I discovered at Susa. In this light, the conspicuous engraving on both thighs of the Heracles figure constitutes a striking gesture of cultural appropriation. Yet it also remains profoundly ambiguous, for the inscription is bilingual: its material and linguistic features embody a deliberate fusion of Greek and Parthian heritage.

Today, scholars often speak of the “biography of objects,” or even invoke the paradoxical notion of “object agency.” Such metaphors can be heuristically useful, but in the author’s view, they should not obscure the reality that objects do not act on their own. It is human agents who create, move, destroy, and reinterpret them, investing them with new meanings and powers over time. What objects do preserve are the material traces of these successive transformations – marks left by human will, belief, conflict, and exchange. In this sense, they are documents of history itself, often bearing witness to processes of extraordinary complexity. The bronze Heracles of Seleucia is a case in point: a single statue encapsulates the interplay of religion, politics, and culture across centuries. To retrace these histories inscribed upon objects is, ultimately, the very essence of archaeology.

Further reading

Filippo Canali De Rossi (ed.), Iscrizioni dello Estremo Oriente (Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 65), Bonn, 2004.

Antonio Invernizzi, « Héraclès à Séleucie du Tigre », Revue Archéologique, no. 1, 1989, p. 65‑113.

Paul Bernard, « Vicissitudes au gré de l’histoire d’une statue en bronze d’Héraclès entre Séleucie du Tigre et la Mésène », Journal des Savants, no. 1-2, 1990, p. 3‑68.

De la lettre au journal : Le parcours d’une lettre de l’archéologue français Gustave Fougères en octobre 1887

Loïc Marcou

Il est connu que la seconde moitié du XIXe siècle a consacré l’émergence de la « civilisation du journal ». On sait aussi que la « mondialisation de l’information », qui débute dès le mitan du siècle, est concomitante de la mutation des transports qui accompagne la première révolution industrielle. En 1851, la création du Service maritime des Messageries nationales (lesquelles deviendront, en 1852, les Messageries impériales puis, en 1871, les Messageries maritimes) contribue à rapprocher la France du Levant. En ouvrant les premières liaisons postales françaises en Méditerranée grâce à une flotte de paquebots-poste construits dans les chantiers navals de La Ciotat, les Messageries maritimes réduisent le délai d’acheminement des nouvelles en provenance de et vers les contrées du Levant. Cette période voit apparaître un nouveau type de « journaliste » : le correspondant particulier. Ressortissant français ou étranger parlant le français installé sur place, ce publiciste est chargé par les journaux parisiens et provinciaux de leur faire parvenir des nouvelles locales susceptibles d’intéresser les lecteurs de la presse quotidienne. L’émergence du correspondant particulier explique qu’une nouvelle rubrique, intitulée « Lettres de… », voit le jour dans les journaux français vers le milieu du siècle. Si les plus connues aujourd’hui sont sans doute les « Lettres des États-Unis » envoyées, juste après la guerre de Sécession, au quotidien parisien Le Temps, par un jeune médecin français du nom de Georges Clemenceau, d’autres « Lettres de… » paraissent dans la presse française, notamment des « Lettres d’Athènes » ou des « Lettres de Grèce » (fig. 1). Rédigées anonymement ou sous pseudonyme par le publiciste corse d’origine maniote Antonios-Zannettakis Stéphanopoli (Cargèse 1839 – Athènes 1913) à partir des articles qu’il a fait paraître dans Le Messager d’Athènes − l’hebdomadaire d’expression française qu’il a fondé en 1875 dans la capitale grecque −, ces lettres publiées sous la forme d’articles contribuent à « faire connaître la petite Grèce à la grande France », pour reprendre la formule du journaliste français contemporain Jean Leune (1889-1944).

Fig. 1. « Lettres des États-Unis » (Le Temps, 31 décembre 1865). « Lettre de Grèce » (Le Sémaphore de Marseille, 4 juin 1887) (Source : RetroNews)

Dans ce billet, il ne sera pas question d’un « papier » envoyé par Stéphanopoli aux salles de rédaction parisiennes, mais d’une lettre adressée à ce dernier par l’archéologue français Gustave Fougères (1863-1927). Rédigée par celui qui était alors membre de la 36e  promotion de l’École française d’Athènes, cette lettre manuscrite de quatre pages est aujourd’hui conservée aux Archives historiques du musée Bénaki (fig. 2). Reproduite quasi intégralement, en version imprimée, en octobre 1887, dans les colonnes du Messager d’Athènes, elle paraît une dizaine de jours plus tard dans au moins quatre journaux parisiens, puis dans un quotidien bordelais.

Fig. 2. Lettre de Gustave Fougères à Antonios-Zannettakis Stéphanopoli, Athènes, 1er octobre 1887 (Source : Ιστορικά Αρχεία του Μουσείου Μπενάκη [Archives historiques du musée Bénaki], Αρχείο Σπανιολάκη-Στεφανόπολι (π. 1815-1960) [Archives Spaniolakis-Stéphanopoli (v. 1815-1860)], n° 200, doc. 552.

Avant de reconstituer le parcours de cette lettre, présentons son contenu. Elle annonce une information scientifique importante : la découverte par Gustave Fougères, lors des fouilles qu’il a entreprises à Mantinée, d’un bas-relief constitué de trois plaques sculptées représentant la joute musicale entre le satyre Marsyas et le dieu Apollon, en présence des Muses. Peu après sa mise au jour le 11 août 1887, ce bas-relief, connu de Pausanias et dont Praxitèle était peut-être l’auteur, précise Fougères, fut transféré au Musée national d’Athènes pour y être restauré.

Envoyée par Fougères à Stéphanopoli à la demande de ce dernier, la lettre, datée du 1er octobre 1887 (“nouveau style”, i.e. dans le calendrier grégorien en vigueur en France et plus largement en Occident, et non dans l’“ancien style”, i.e. dans le calendrier julien encore en vigueur en Grèce), parut quasi intégralement dans le numéro du 19 septembre – 1er octobre 1887 du Messager d’Athènes, ce qui laisse à penser que l’archéologue prit le soin de faire coïncider la date d’écriture de sa missive avec celle de sa publication dans le journal athénien. Fougères veilla bien sûr à publier ensuite un compte rendu détaillé de sa découverte dans le Bulletin de correspondance hellénique (1888), puis dans sa thèse Mantinée et l’Arcadie orientale (1898).

Qu’advint-il de la lettre publiée dans Le Messager d’Athènes au début octobre 1887 ? (fig. 3) Elle parut entre douze et quatorze jours plus tard dans les colonnes de plusieurs quotidiens français. Le Temps fut le premier à la publier le 13 octobre 1887. Suivirent le lendemain les journaux La Justice, Le Rappel et L’Univers. Puis ce fut le tour, le surlendemain, du quotidien La Gironde (fig. 4).

Fig.3. Lettre de Gustave Fougères insérée dans les colonnes du Messager d’Athènes (numéro du 19 septembre – 1er octobre 1887, p. 2), sous le titre « Les fouilles de Mantinée ». (Source : Βιβλιοθήκη της Βουλής [Bibliothèque du Parlement hellénique])
Fig. 4. Publication de la lettre de Gustave Fougères dans les quotidiens français Le Temps (13 octobre 1887, p. 2) et La Gironde (15 octobre 1887, p. 2). (Source : RetroNews)

Comment la lettre de Fougères fut-elle publiée dans des journaux français alors qu’elle n’avait jamais quitté Athènes ? La réponse tient dans une pratique « médiatique » courante au XIXe siècle : l’échange de journaux. Avant de faire appel à des correspondants particuliers ou tout en recourant à leurs services, les grands quotidiens européens s’échangeaient leurs publications ou s’y abonnaient pour (faire) connaître les nouvelles de l’étranger. Il ne fait donc guère de doute que la découverte archéologique de Fougères fut diffusée dans la presse française grâce à cette pratique. En l’occurrence, ce n’est pas la lettre de Fougères qui circula, mais le journal qui la reproduisit.

Il n’est pas très difficile de reconstituer le parcours du Messager d’Athènes, entre Grèce et France, au début octobre 1887. Depuis le milieu du siècle, les Messageries impériales (puis maritimes) disposaient, on l’a vu, du monopole de l’acheminement du courrier français vers le Levant et inversement. (Entre-temps, les liaisons ferroviaires entre la Grèce et la France étaient inexistantes, le réseau ferré du jeune royaume hellénique n’étant pas encore achevé.) La livraison du Messager d’Athènes paru le samedi 1er octobre 1887 fut donc de toute évidence envoyée au Pirée. Avec le courrier français en provenance d’Athènes, elle fut chargée dans un paquebot-poste des Messageries maritimes appareillant pour Marseille – sans doute le mercredi 5 octobre. Le bateau débarqua dans le vieux port de la cité phocéenne le mardi 11 octobre au matin (fig. 5). Puis les ballots postaux furent acheminés à la gare Saint-Charles pour être chargés dans un train en partance pour Paris (ancienne gare de Lyon). Comme la durée du trajet en train entre Marseille et Paris à la fin du XIXsiècle était légèrement supérieure à 14 heures, on peut estimer que le journal de Stéphanopoli parvint à Paris le mardi 11 octobre dans la soirée pour être livré aussitôt ou, au plus tard, le lendemain, mercredi 12 octobre, au journal Le Temps. Ce quotidien avait donc le temps de reproduire la lettre de Fougères pour la faire paraître (en page 2) de son numéro du jeudi 13 octobre 1887, un jour avant ses concurrents parisiens et deux jours avant La Gironde.

Fig. 5. Guide des services des messageries impériales dans La Méditerranée (1856), Marseille : imp. de Ve M. Olive, 1855, p. 11. (Source : BnF (Gallica))

Que montre cette étude de cas ? Qu’un objet matériel en mouvement – une lettre –, pouvait être à l’origine d’une circulation culturelle  au sens large  à l’ère de la « civilisation du journal ». À une époque où les agences de presse européennes, nées dans le sillage du télégraphe électrique, alimentaient les quotidiens en dépêches télégraphiques, il n’est pas inopportun de rappeler que, dans le dernier quart du XIXe siècle, le journal était encore un assemblage de lettres – d’où la vogue de certaines rubriques comme le « courrier des lecteurs ». Cette étude de cas montre par ailleurs qu’une découverte scientifique, traditionnellement dévolue à une revue savante, pouvait se répandre, entre Grèce et France, à une dizaine de jours d’intervalle, par le biais de la presse quotidienne, à l’heure de la circulation transnationale de l’information.

Références

Marie-Françoise Berneron-Couvenhes, Les Messageries maritimes : l’essor d’une grande compagnie de navigation française, 1851-1894, Paris : PUPS, 2007.

Delphine Diaz et Renaud Meltz (dir.), Mondialisation de l’information. La révolution médiatique du XIXsiècle, Monde(s), histoire espaces relations, Rennes : Presses universitaires de Rennes, 2019.

Dominique Kalifa, Philippe Régnier, Marie-Ève Thérenty et Alain Vaillant (dir.), La civilisation du journal. Histoire culturelle et littéraire de la presse française au XIXe siècle, Paris : Nouveau Monde éditions, 2011.

Loïc Marcou, « Circulation et viralité de l’information de la Grèce vers la France au tournant du XXe siècle : le cas de l’homme de presse français d’origine grecque, A.-Z. Stéphanopoli (1839-1913) », in Presses anciennes et modernes à l’ère du numérique, actes du congrès Médias 19 – Numapresse (Paris, 30 mai-3 juin 2022), sous la direction de Guillaume Pinson et Marie-Eve Thérenty. DOI : https://www.medias19.org/publications/presses-anciennes-et-modernes-lere-du-numerique [consulté le 18 juin 2026].

Guillaume Pinson (dir.), La lettre et la presse : poétique de l’intime et culture médiatique. Dossier publié dans Médias 19. DOI : https://www.medias19.org/publications/la-lettre-et-la-presse-poetique-de-lintime-et-culture-mediatique [consulté le 18 juin 2026].

Marie-Ève Thérenty et Sylvain Venayre (dir.), Le monde à la une. Une histoire de la presse par ses rubriques, Paris : Anamosa, 2021.

Itinéraire d’une ampoule à eulogie de saint Ménas, d’Alexandrie à Laval

Flora Muntrez

S’il n’est plus nécessaire de revenir sur l’histoire de saint Ménas, de son martyre et de son sanctuaire près d’Alexandrie (Égypte), sur la fabrication en très grand nombre des ampoules à eulogie dédiées ou sur les types iconographiques utilisés sur ces objets dispersés dans le monde entier, il est toutefois intéressant d’aborder ces objets sous l’angle de leurs circulations et de leur(s) dépaysement(s).

Les ampoules, on le sait, ont transité pour un certain nombre d’entre elles de l’Égypte vers l’Europe par le biais des pèlerinages réalisés durant l’Antiquité tardive : les pèlerins se rendaient au grand sanctuaire de Saint-Ménas, situé à une quarantaine de kilomètres d’Alexandrie, avant ou après leur passage en Terre sainte. Spécifiquement conçues pour emporter un souvenir du site (eau bénite, huile sainte, etc.), les ampoules faisaient donc partie des objets ramenés aisément chez eux par les pèlerins, étant donné leur légèreté et leur petite taille : une dizaine de cm de hauteur en moyenne. Aux pèlerinages tardo-antiques s’ajoute la dispersion de ces ampoules par le biais des voyageurs, scientifiques et/ou curieux des XIXe et XXe siècles se rendant toujours plus nombreux en Égypte. Par leur intermédiaire, on les retrouve ensuite sur le marché des antiquités, entrant dans des collections privées ou publiques par acquisition à titre onéreux. C’est le cas par exemple d’une ampoule entrée dans les collections du musée du Louvre (inv. MNC 1926) en mai 1895 lors de la vente Hoffmann, achetée 155 francs. L’achat n’est pas la seule modalité d’acquisition : elles peuvent aussi être données à des musées par des collectionneurs ou des érudits locaux. Difficile, dès lors, de retracer les circulations précises de ces objets, de leur lieu de fabrication à leur lieu de conservation actuel. À ces deux phénomènes s’ajoute un troisième dépaysement : la (re)découverte de ces objets, lors de fouilles archéologiques dans des remblais ou dans des sépultures du haut Moyen Âge puis leur dépôt dans des musées, plus ou moins éloignés du lieu de découverte.

Le destin de l’ampoule à eulogie représentant saint Ménas conservée dans les collections des musées d’art de Laval (Mayenne) (inv. 4270) (Fig. 1 et 2) est particulièrement représentatif des nombreuses circulations de ces objets et de ce triple dépaysement. Datée des Ve-VIe siècles, cette ampoule a pu être amenée par un pèlerin, depuis Alexandrie vers l’Isère, à Vienne, lieu présumé de sa redécouverte au XIXe siècle. En effet, cette ampoule aurait été découverte en 1873 à Vienne (Isère), d’après une note manuscrite laissée sur la fiche d’identification de l’objet au musée de Laval (Fig. 3) et selon sa publication, en 1904, dans le Bulletin de la commission historique et archéologique de la Mayenne (Marsaux 1904). Il est donc tout à fait possible qu’un pèlerin isérois se soit rendu au sanctuaire de Saint-Ménas et en ait ramené cette ampoule. Le sanctuaire faisait partie des points de passage obligés des pèlerins se rendant en Égypte, depuis ou vers la Terre sainte. Sa localisation à proximité d’Alexandrie, port d’accès pour les pèlerins arrivant par voie maritime, le rendait facile d’accès et très fréquenté par ces derniers. Il est attesté que des évêques influents envoyaient en mission des clercs dans des lieux saints pour ramener des reliques ; on pense par exemple à Avit, évêque de Vienne (v. 450-525), qui envoya de nombreuses missions à Jérusalem (Maraval 1985, p. 124).

Fig. 3. Fiche d’inventaire de l’ampoule à eulogie conservée aux musées d’art de Laval ©Ville de Laval

Redécouverte à la fin du XIXe siècle, issue probablement d’un site mérovingien, l’ampoule est identifiée comme telle et présentée lors de l’exposition Collections mérovingiennes : Musée du Vieux Château en 1977-1978. Dans le catalogue de l’exposition, l’ampoule est bien identifiée comme égyptienne mais on la retrouve dans la section « Objets religieux et votifs » mérovingiens en raison de son statut de mobilier archéologique ou découvert fortuitement sur un site alto-médiéval. Si les éléments manquent cruellement pour déterminer le site duquel serait issue la découverte de l’ampoule en 1873, une piste s’offre à la réflexion : l’objet pourrait être issu d’un contexte funéraire et retrouvé dans une sépulture accompagnant un défunt.  Un candidat serait le complexe ecclésial et funéraire Saint-Georges-Saint-Pierre à Vienne, dont l’histoire et la chronologie correspondent peu ou prou : fouilles de la nef de Saint-Pierre entre 1860 et 1864, transformation en musée lapidaire et ouverture du musée en 1872. L’objet aurait pu réapparaître fortuitement dans ce contexte de création muséale.

Cette ampoule aurait alors connu plusieurs dépaysements : conçue à l’origine près d’Alexandrie, au Ve-VIe siècle, ramenée en France sans doute pendant l’Antiquité tardive à l’occasion d’un pèlerinage, elle aurait ensuite connu une seconde vie en Isère et aurait accompagné un défunt dans sa tombe. Redécouverte au XIXe siècle, elle devient alors un objet archéologique mérovingien puis circule en France de Vienne vers Laval, sans qu’il existe la moindre information au sujet de ce troisième dépaysement. Enfin, cette ampoule, longtemps étiquetée « mérovingienne », est aujourd’hui un objet muséal, loin de sa fonction religieuse et mémorielle d’origine.

Néanmoins, il faut rester précautionneux sur les origines, les circulations et les dépaysements de cet objet – et de toutes les ampoules à eulogie sans historique précis, puisque son arrivée en France par le biais d’un pèlerinage est une hypothèse impossible à prouver. Il n’a pas été possible de retrouver des sources sur sa découverte archéologique ou fortuite à Vienne, laissant planer le doute d’une erreur de provenance donnée au XXe siècle. Son déplacement de Vienne à Laval reste également à ce jour énigmatique et inexpliqué. Il est donc tout à fait possible que cette ampoule soit en fait arrivée en France à la fin du XIXe ou début du XXe siècle, par le biais d’un individu ou en transitant sur le marché des antiquités. Le caractère stéréotypé des ampoules à eulogie et les aléas de leur identification, puisqu’elles sont appelées indifféremment « gourde de forme lenticulaire », « petite eulogie » ou « espère de gourde à deux anses » dans les catalogues de vente, rend impossible le suivi de leur(s) circulation(s) sur le marché des antiquités des XIXe et XXe siècles. Surtout, la difficulté de catégorisation des antiquités coptes, considérées tantôt égyptiennes, tantôt romaines, tantôt byzantines, ajoute une complexité supplémentaire à l’étude des circulations des objets de cette période et de cet espace géographique qui échappent aux classifications habituelles.

Flora Muntrez tient à remercier chaleureusement Morgane Thorel, chargée des collections aux musées de Laval, Emma Bouvard-Mor, conservatrice du patrimoine au Service régional de l’archéologie Auvergne Rhône-Alpes chargée de l’Isère et Jade Ollivier, masterante à l’Université Lyon 2, pour leur aide précieuse dans ce travail de recherche.

Références

Chiara Lambert, Paola Pedemonte Demeglio, « Ampolle devozionali ed itinerari di pellegrinaggio tra IV e VII secolo », Antiquité tardive 2, 1994, p. 205-231.

Pierre Maraval, Lieux saints et pèlerinages d’Orient. Histoire et géographie. Des origines à la conquête arabe, Paris : Les Editions du Cerf, 1985.

Léopold Marsaux, « Ampoule de saint Mennas », Bulletin de la commission historique et archéologique de la Mayenne 20, 1904, p. 170-172.

Catherine Metzger, Les ampoules à eulogie du musée du Louvre, Paris : Réunion des musées nationaux, 1981.

Charles Schaettel (éd.), Collections mérovingiennes : musée du Vieux Château, cat. expo., Laval, musée du Vieux Château, (2 décembre 1977-15 février 1978), Laval : musée du Vieux Château, 1977.

From Russia with Love: The Journey of a 19th Century Silver Evangelion

Mara Verykokou

This post explores the complex trajectories of religious artefacts in motion, focusing on a Russian evangelion with an enamel and strass decorated cover that bears two dedicatory inscriptions: one by the donor, dated March 15, 1867, «Deisis of the servant of God Dimitrios. Evgenia, Joakim and the siblings. March 15th 1867- Δέησις τοῦ δούλου τοῦ Θεοῦ Δημητρίου. Εὐγενίας, Ἰωακεὶμ καὶ τῶν ἀδελφῶν. 1867 Μαρτίου 15», and another by the master metallurgist, «The present holy gospel was crafted by Konstantinos Ropalidou Kallipolitis – Τὸ παρὸν ἱερὸν Εὐαγγέλιο εἰργάσθη παρὰ τοῦ Κωνσταντίνου Ροπαλίδου Καλλιπολίτη». On the other side, next to the inscription with the name of the master metallurgist, there are three unidentified stamps, “14”, “KL” and a coat of arms. The evangelion reached Greece through the Greek Orthodox Community of Kallipolis (Gallipoli, modern Gelibolu, Turkey), a port town in Çanakkale Province of the Marmara Region, located at the entrance of the Dardanelles. Brought into focus during the RICONTRANS project (Visual Culture, Piety and Propaganda: Transfer and Reception of Russian Religious Art in the Balkans and Eastern Mediterranean, 16th–early 20th century), this object (Inventory no. 34159 in the Benaki Museum) highlights the intersections between Russian religious art and Greek Orthodox communities under Ottoman rule.

The object was first included at an exhibition in 1992, at the Megaron Athens Concert Hall, under the title“Russia 1850 – 1910: Images of an Era, Space and Morals – Ρωσία 1850-1910: Εικόνες μιας Εποχής, Χώρος και Ήθη. Subsequently it was featured in the 2017 exhibition “Religious Art from Russia to Greece, 16th century to 19th century” at the Benaki Museum, curated by Yuliana Boycheva and Anastasia Drandaki.

Two intertwined journeys will be traced: that of displaced Greek communities from Asia Minor, Pontos, and Eastern Thrace, and that of the evangelion itself—an heirloom that eventually found a home in the Benaki Museum’s post-Byzantine ecclesiastical collection. Broader questions are raised: How did Greek Orthodox communities in Asia Minor acquire Russian religious art? Why would they acquire Russian art? Was it considered superior or was it a matter of changing tastes? And how were these heirlooms transferred to Greece during the turbulent years of 1923–1924?

The evangelion measures 38 × 27 cm. Its iconography is striking: the central medallion on one side depicts the Resurrection, surrounded by the four Evangelists in enamel, while the reverse features a cast silver-gilt scene of the Descent from the Cross. On the spine, the Archangel Michael appears holding a cross. The cover was most likely produced in Moscow, while the printed Greek text came from Venice (Boycheva & Drandaki 2017, p. 69-70) . (Fig. 1)

 

The specific object is an example of luxury ecclesiastical art. The use of painted enamel in a medallion decorated with strass is typical of the decoration in high- end Russian ecclesiastical objects and textiles from the 17th century onwards. The practice of acquiring a silver-gilt gospel cover from a Russian workshop was also quite common during the 18th and the 19th centuries (Boycheva & Drandaki 2017, p. 69-70). The number of similarly decorated  Russian gospel covers, as we will see later, and ecclesiastical objects and icons in collections in Greece, proves that Russian art was destined for the upper class and was preferred due to the artistic skills of Russian workshops (Tschesnokova in Boycheva & Drandaki 2017, p. 15-21).

The evangelion in question attracted attention less for its craftsmanship than for the circumstances of its arrival at the Benaki Museum. It was brought from the Greek community of Kallipolis (modern Gelibolu). Kallipolis was a Greek Orthodox bishopric during the entire Ottoman period, known from the early 20th century onwards as the Bishopric of Kallipolis and Madytos (Μητρόπολις Καλλιπόλεως και Μαδύτου) (Louizos 1956, p. 13). The city had four churches, the metropolitan cathedral of St. George, and the parish churches of St. Nicholas, St. Demetrius and the Dormition of the Virgin (Panagia). St. Nicholas was known for a wonderful iconostasis:  Ὁ Ἅγιος Νικόλαος, μὲ ἕνα θαυμάσιον τέμπλον ἐκ ξύλου καρυᾶς ἔργον μεγάλης τέχνης, ἔχον παραστάσεις καὶ σκηνὰς εἰς μὲν τὴν ἀριστερὰν πλευρὰν ἐκ τῆς Παλαιᾶς Διαθήκης, εἰς δὲ τὴν δεξιὰν ἐκ τῆς Νέας Διαθήκης, ἐκατέρωθέν καὶ ὑπεράνω τῆς ὡραίας πύλης τοὺς Δώδεκα Ἀποστόλους μετὰ τῆς εἰκόνός τοῦ Κυρίου. [St. Nicholas, with a marvelous iconostasis made of walnut wood, a work of great artistry, bearing depictions and scenes—on the left side from the Old Testament, on the right from the New Testament, and, on either side and above the Beautiful Gate, the Twelve Apostles together with the image of the Lord] (Louizos 1956, p. 17).

In 1914 Kallipolis had 14,000 inhabitants (7,500 Muslims, 3,500 Greek Orthodox, 2,000 Jews, and 1,000 Armenians) (Louizos 1956, p. 12). After the population exchange of 1923 between Greece and Turkey, Greek Orthodox and Armenian Kallipolitans settled in refugee settlements named “Nea Kallipolis” in Salonica, Giannitsa and Piraeus (Nikolopoulos 1965, p. 263) The evangelion entered the Benaki Museum between 1930 and 1931 together with hundreds of ecclesiastical heirlooms from Asia Minor that accompanied refugees during the population exchange.

This evangelion is not a unique case. Other Russian ecclesiastical artefacts followed similar paths—acquired by Greek Orthodox communities in Asia Minor and, after 1922, absorbed into Greek museums. In 1928, it was decided by the Refugees Fund that objects of artistic or archaeological value brought from Asia Minor would be distributed among large museums in Athens. Initially stored in large crates at the Academy of Athens, they were eventually divided between three institutions: the Byzantine and Christian Museum, the Benaki Museum, and the then Museum of Greek Folk Art (now Museum of Modern Greek Culture).

For instance, the Byzantine and Christian Museum preserves a noteworthy 19th century Russian evangelion (Κ. Πρ. 226, new inv. no. ΒΧΜ 17875), dedicated by Grand Duchess Elena Pavlova (née Princess Charlotte of Württemberg, 1807-1873), the wife of Grand Duke Michael Pavlovich, the youngest son of Paul I of Russia)  to the Archangel Monastery of Caesarea in 1849, which later entered its collection. This gospel was displayed in the 1982 exhibition, at the Byzantine and Christian Museum of Athens, dedicated to the relics of Asia Minor refugees (Ειδική Έκθεσις Κειμηλίων Προσφύγων, 1982). On one side it has the scene of the Resurrection with the four Evangelists on the four corners and, on the other, the engraved scenes of the Crucifixion, the Descent from the Cross and the Entombment (Fig. 2). Inside there is an inscription in Russian by the Grand Duchess Elena Pavlovna who dedicates the gospel to the Archangel Monastery of Caesarea, on December 25, 1849. The inscription reads:  «The Grand Duchess Elena Pavlovna dedicates this gospel to the Archangels Monastery in Caesaria, December 25th 1849Η Μεγάλη Δούκισσα Ελένη Παύλοβνα αφιερώνει το Ευαγγέλιον εις την Μονήν Αρχαγγέλων Καισαρείας, 25 Δεκεμβρίου 1849.»  (Ειδική Έκθεση Κειμηλίων Προσφύγων 1982, p. 52).

The RICONTRANS project has revealed yet more Russian-style gospels across Greece, in collections ranging from the Ecclesiastical Museum of Hydra and the Byzantine Museum of Mytilene, to the Holy Metropolis of Serres and Nigrita, the Evangelistria of Tinos, the Monastery of Mega Spilaio in Kalavryta, the Monastery of Saint John the Theologian in Patmos, as well as in the Patriarchal Sacristy of the Ecumenical Patriarchate in Constantinople.

Objects travelled from Russia to Greece in multiple ways: as imperial gifts, as private commissions by clergy or laymen, or as commodities circulating through trade networks across the Balkans. This post, however, examines a different trajectory—the journey of displaced people and the artefacts they carried from Asia Minor, Pontos and Eastern Thrace to Greece. At the same time, it considers how Russian works of art entered Greek museum collections.

The journey of this evangelion—from the workshops of Moscow and Venice, to the Greek community of Kallipolis, to Athens with the Asia Minor refugees, and finally into the Benaki Museum—illustrates how sacred objects can transcend their original liturgical use. They become heirlooms, carriers of memory, and eventually museum artefacts, embedded in scholarship and exhibitions. In telling its biography, not only the intertwined histories of objects and people are recovered but a larger truth is also confronted: that the displacement of communities leaves behind not silence, but a material testimony of faith, resilience, and cultural continuity.

References

Yuliana Boycheva and Anastasia Drandaki (eds.), Θρησκευτική τέχνη από τη Ρωσία στην Ελλάδα. 16ος– 19ος αιώνας [Religious Art. From Russia to Greece, 16th to 19th century], Benaki Museum and Institute for Mediterranean Studies, FORTH, Athens 2017.

Konstantinos Louizos, « Ιστορία Καλλιπόλεως Ανατολικής Θράκης » [History of Kallipolus of Eastern Thrace], Thrakika 25, 1956.

Panayotis Nikolopoulos, « Καλλίπολις » [Kallipolis], ΘΗΕ 7, 1965.

Ειδική Έκθεσις Κειμηλίων Προσφύγων, Υπουργείο Πολιτισμού και Επιστημών- Βυζαντινό και Χριστιανικό Μουσείο, [Special Exhibition of Refugee Relics, Ministry of Culture and Sciences – Byzantine and Christian Museum], Athens 1982.

Internet Sources

https://www.megaron.gr/event/rosia-1850-1910-eikones-mias-epochis-xoros-kai-hthi

https://isl.ics.forth.gr/synthesis_ricontrans

https://imhydra.gr/ekklisiastika-mouseia

The Journey of an Archive from Italy to the World: The Papers of Eugène Rose de Beauharnais (1781–1824)

Gerassimos D. Pagratis

In searching for information on Marinos (Panagiotis) Doxaras (1755–1833), a Greek merchant from Venice who appears to have left no personal archive, an important discovery was made in the Special Collections Department of Princeton University’s Firestone Library: his correspondence with Eugène Rose de Beauharnais (Fig. 1). How did a Greek merchant from Venice establish a connection with de Beauharnais? How did their correspondence come to be housed at Princeton alongside de Beauharnais’s other documents? And finally, how did this archive serve as the basis for a significant research collection on Napoleonic Europe?

Fig. 1. Letter from Doxaras to Eugène de Beauharnais with references to the course of the Greek Revolution (1821) (Princeton University Library, Special Collections).

Marinos Doxaras, who lived in Venice from an early age and pursued his professional career there, was the son and grandson of prominent painters and military officers. Archival records indicate that, as a young man, he successfully established himself both as a banker and a merchant. His financial expertise, coupled with the privileged relationships he developed with the French after 1797, appears to have been the decisive factor leading Eugène de Beauharnais to appoint him as manager of his funds and investment advisor.

Eugène Rose de Beauharnais (1781–1824) is a historical figure considerably better known than Doxaras (Fig. 2). He was the son of Alexandre de Beauharnais, an aristocrat and general of the French Revolution who was guillotined in 1794 during the Reign of Terror. His mother, Joséphine, later became Napoleon’s wife in 1796. Through this connection, Eugène entered Napoleon’s inner circle of collaborators – a practice Napoleon often extended to members of his family. Eugène accompanied Napoleon on the Italian campaign in 1796 and later to Egypt. When Napoleon became King of Italy in 1805, he appointed Eugène as viceroy. A year later, he officially adopted him and arranged his marriage to Augusta of Bavaria, daughter of Maximilian I Joseph of Bavaria, a key ally of Napoleon.

Fig. 2. (Atelier de) Jacques Louis David, Portrait of Prince Eugène de Beauharnais (1781-1824) Viceroy of Italy and Duke of Leuchtenberg (Paris, Hôtel de Beauharnais).

Following Napoleon’s defeat in 1814, de Beauharnais’s marriage to the Bavarian princess provided a vital lifeline, enabling him to leave Italy and France and continue his life in Bavaria. In 1817, he received from his father-in-law the titles of Duke of Leuchtenberg and Prince of Eichstätt, and in the subsequent year he became the emperor’s banker. From 1822, his health declined, and he passed away two years later, at the age of forty-three.

The archive at Princeton comprises essentially the complete set of documents that de Beauharnais took with him in 1814 when he departed Italy for Bavaria. It encompasses approximately 30,000 documents covering two periods: (a) the Kingdom of Italy (1805–1814) and (b) the decade he spent in Bavaria (1814–1824).

The archive appears to have been transferred to Russia, where Maximilian, de Beauharnais’s son and the third Duke of Leuchtenberg, married the Russian aristocrat, Maria Nikolaevna. Their descendants remained in Russia until the 1917 Revolution, after which they returned to Bavaria.

Until 1934, de Beauharnais’s archive was located in Seeon, southern Bavaria. It was then transferred to London, when the family decided to sell it at auction through Sotheby’s. The auction was won by André de Coppet (1892–1953), a prominent American collector with a particular interest in Napoleonic and American history. De Coppet, a stockbroker, New York resident, and Princeton University graduate (1915), placed the collection on long-term loan to Princeton University in 1941, which ultimately became a donation. This acquisition did not comprise the entirety of de Beauharnais’s archive, as the Leuchtenberg family had begun selling portions of it in 1929. They also retained documents bearing Napoleon’s signature, believing that these items could command higher prices if sold separately.

De Coppet’s donation enabled Firestone Library to assemble a significant collection on the Napoleonic period (Napoleonana). Subsequently, 407 books from Napoleon’s personal collection were added to the archive. Napoleon, an avid reader and collector, had amassed a substantial library together with his second wife, Marie-Louise of Austria. When he was arrested and exiled in 1815, Marie-Louise ensured that their books were transferred to Austria and incorporated into the Habsburg library. For a long time, the provenance of these books remained unclear.

In 1930, a Berlin bookseller, M. Breslauer, was invited to Vienna to appraise Archduke Rainer’s collection, where Napoleon’s books had ended up in whole or in part. It was through this appraisal that it was established that a substantial portion of Rainer’s collection –approximately 12,000 lavishly bound volumes – had originally belonged to Napoleon.

Under Breslauer’s management, Napoleon’s books were exhibited in Berlin and subsequently sold. Part of the collection was purchased by an English collector and later transferred to the French government, eventually arriving at the library of the Château de Malmaison. The remaining volumes exhibited in Berlin were sold to various collectors, some of which were acquired by a New York bookseller. It was through this channel that de Coppet discovered them and subsequently donated them to Firestone Library.

Through a combination of chance events and deliberate decisions, Princeton University’s Firestone Library acquired an extensive collection of archival materials and books on the Napoleonic era, with the de Beauharnais archive forming its cornerstone. The trajectory of this archive illustrates the broader fate of private collections, highlighting how owners’ decisions can lead to the dispersal or relocation of documents from the place where they were produced.

This case also exemplifies the impact of proactive collectors, particularly those with strong professional and educational backgrounds. De Coppet’s initiative reflects a pattern often observed among successful alumni of prestigious American universities: the tendency to contribute materially to their alma maters as a means of supporting scholarly endeavors and preserving historical legacies.

References

R. R. Palmer, «Special Collections at Princeton: VII. The Beauharnais Archives», The Princeton University Library Chronicle 3, n° 2, 1942, p. 45-51.

A. P. Clark, «The Andre de Coppet Collection of American Historical Manuscripts: A catalogue of an exhibition in the Princeton University Library, May 16 to June 30, 1955», The Princeton University Library Chronicle16, n° 4, 1955, p. 166-181.

M. Kerautret, Eugène de Beauharnais. Fils et vice-roi de Napoléon, Paris, 2021.

G. D. Pagratis, «Sulla presenza greca a Venezia prima e dopo il 1797: Le “molte vite” di Marinos Doxara (1755-1835)», Proceedings of the Conference: 12° Convegno internazionale: Venezia e il suo Stato da mar (Venice, 6-8 march 2025), forthcoming.

Transporting Personal Belongings to the Museum : Sophia Vembo, Headscarves and Vinyls as National Memorabilia

Efi Gazi

In the War Museum of Athens, there is a display case containing a few unusual for this context items: a gramophone record, a traditional dress, a photograph depicting a woman wearing a headscarf and some other objects and documents (Fig. 1). They belong to or depict the artist Sophia Vembo [Σοφία Βέμπο] (1910? -1978). Another collection of Vembo’s memorabilia was gifted to the Thessaloniki branch of the War Museum by the collector and artist Katerina Petridou, after an exhibition held in 2005. Vembo became synonymous with the Greek fight against Mussolini’s troops in 1940-1941. She was not only a singer but an efficient performer, bringing together acoustic and  visual elements involving folk clothing. She often accessorized her outfits with a  headscarf (Fig. 2).

Fig. 1, Display case with Sophia Vembo’s memorabilia (Athens War Museum; Photo: Efi Gazi, 2025).

Fig. 2 (left). Vembo’s photograph (Athens War Museum). According to K. Petridou, the photo was taken in a performance in 1964 on the occasion of Vembo’s thirtieth anniversary in the art scene (Petridou 2014, p. 187). (right). Her performance costume kept at Athens War Museum.

Performing  ‘Greek tradition’ 

Sophia Vembo, née Sophia/Efi Bembo/[ Σοφία – Έφη Μπέμπου], was born in Gelibolou/Kallipoli in the Ottoman Empire and moved to the Greek state with her family in the years following World War I.  Vembo started her career in the musical theatre in the early 1930s. By the end of the decade, she was popular in Greece and in Egypt where she mainly performed for Greek communities. At the time, songs were important in theatrical plays as gramophones were not widespread and Greek broadcasting radio had not been launched yet.  Columbia Records started the production of records in Greece in the beginning of the 1930s. Vembo was one of the artists whose career was  linked to the development of gramophone records and the new materialities of songs (Liavas 2009, 163-190).   

In the beginning of her career, Vembo embodied the modern young female artist with novelties and lifestyles of the era, i.e. public smoking. Yet, she soon transformed her persona along different lines. During the 1920s and the 1930s, Greece experienced major socio-economic, demographic and cultural changes, in the wake of World War I and the defeat in Asia Minor in 1922 and due to the world financial crisis of 1929. A constant interrogation around definitions of Greekness emerged. The changing landscapes of both urban and country settings and the arrival of refugees and other populations with various cultural identities, backgrounds and experiences had an important impact on cultural and artistic life.

The rural drama ‘Golfo ‘ [Γκόλφω]  was produced as a silent movie in 1914-1915. It inaugurated the genre of bucolic ‘fustanella dramas’ which idealized rural space and the ‘traditional village.‘ In fact, the quest for the ‘folk’ aspects in Greek identity had emerged in the late 19th century but it accelerated in the early 20th century.  The ‘traditional’ village set the frame of a community which lived away from the urban centers. Audiences for cultural artefacts focusing on the ‘village’ included urbanized villagers, Asia Minor refugees who were trying to re-build their lives in the Greek nation state but also the Athenian elites which romanticized rural life (Karalis 2012; Karakasidou 2020).  

The intellectual, cultural and artistic turn into the ‘authenticity of pre-modern life’ further expanded in the 1930s. Up to the late 1950s,  films  which depicted ‘authentic’ Greek villages with distinct moral female characters, portrayed as the bearers of tradition, were popular. For Vembo, the year 1938 was important in her career. She acted in the film ‘The Refugee Girl’ [Η προσφυγοπούλα],a Greek-Egyptian productiondirected by Togo Mizrahi. A refugee girl from Asia Minor lives in a Greek province and struggles to overcome a marriage crisis and to carry on with her life as a folk singer. The film became popular in Greece, Egypt and the USA, screened for Greek communities and migrants (Poulakis 2024, 365, 370).  In the same year, Zehra [Ζεχρά],  an ‘oriental’ song with lyrics by Aimilios Savvidis and music by the composer Michalis Souyioul (Souyioultzoglou), was launched. Ever since, Vembo’s ‘traditional’ images, including headscarves, acquired greater popularity.

National Identity and Resistance in WWII

The Greek Italian war of 1940 found Vembo performing patriotic and resistance songs, including pieces which satirized Mussolini and the invading Italians. The legendary song Children of Greece [Της Ελλάδος Παιδιά] composed by her partner Mimis Traiforos (1912? -1998) on the musical pattern of Zehra, remains famous to this day.

Vembo adapted herself to the war culture. Hence, she also fitted in the wider context of the era. Her ‘neo-demotic’ songs and outfits, her headscarves, her performance of ‘local accents’ of various Greek communities ranging from Epirus to Asia Minor, ‘translated’ and transmitted patriotic messages with the use of familiar cultural codes for wider audiences. Following the German invasion in April 1941 and the Axis occupation of Greece, Vembo was arrested. After her release, the occupation authorities forbade her performances and singing. In an interview for the Greek television after the fall of the Colonels’ dictatorship, Mimis Traiforos mentioned that she was not allowed to wear her  headscarf, considered by the occupation forces to be ‘a symbol of resistance or national pride’  (interview to Freddy Germanos, 18:11).

During the occupation, Vembo escaped in the Middle East. She engaged in the ‘theatre of the resistance,’ in artists’ collectives which continued performing for the allied army forces. Because of her patriotic devotion, she gained a wider recognition after World War II while she has lived in collective memory as the ‘Singer of Victory’.

Antifascist and patriotic songs and tunes formed a distinct repertoire which accompanied the resistance across Europe during World War II. Vera Lynn (1917-2020) was an English resistance singer whose songs and performances became famous during the war. The Italian partisan song Bella ciao is also a telling example. Music and singing acquired an important position both in the resistance politics but also, later on, in the mnemonic cultures of World War II. The remembrance of the resistance, to this day, relies on the ‘echo of the past’ and on the soundscape of World War II, on tunes, songs and rhymes in various countries and contexts.

The Making and Re-making of ‘Vembo’

Vembo is primarily associated with World War II, the Italo-Greek War in 1940-1941 and the Resistance songs. Yet, her itineraries during her lifetime are much more complex. In 1946, Vembo returned to Greece from Egypt. She was now the ‘official singer’ of the resistance against the Axis powers. In the civil war, Vembo sided with the anti-communist forces.  Zehra, the ‘oriental’ song which had been adapted as a resistance song (Children of Greece), acquired new lyrics. The re-make praised the state army fighting against the communists. Vembo continued her remarkable career in Greece, Egypt and the USA during the 1950s and 1960s, in the context of the Cold War era. Despite her engagement with Cold War anti-communist politics, Vembo sided with the students and the youth who participated in the Polytechnic School uprising against the dictators in November 1973. She hosted persecuted young people in her apartment. A third version of the Children of Greece, referring to the students’ uprising and their fight against the dictatorship, circulated soon (George Pavrianos’ testimony, 30:00).

Vinyls, Memory and Nostalgia

An important part of Vembo’s image, in the context of national culture and collective memory, links to a growing cult around objects attributed to her or with her records. The gramophone record at the War Museum of Athens is the Tobacco Case [Ταμπακέρα] first recorded in 1950, much later than Vembo’s resistance songs (Fig. 3). According to the signboard, it was a gift to the museum by Lieutenant Nikolaos Roussos.

Fig. 3. Gramophone  record  Tobacco Case (Ταμπακέρα) with songs by Sophia Vembo  by Columbia Records (Athens War Museum).

 ‘Vembo’s cult’ is part of a wider nostalgia and audiophilia in which records, mostly vinyl records, stand as icons and fetish objects of analog music. The revival of vinyl records reflects an interest in ‘retro-technologies’ which re-frame the meanings and uses of material objects in popular culture and memory.

Vinyl records are tactile objects whose value and meanings are tied to the physical act of handling, storing, and passing between people. Engaging with vinyl involves rituals of care (i.e. cleaning and preservation) while their circulation through trading, collecting or sharing turns them into ‘things in motion.’ The revival of the vinyl, its comeback, indicates that music involves sensorial and material aspects which transcend sound and which relate to communication, heritage and memory. Also, in phonography’s history, vinyl’s preservation of the human voice is understood as an indication of its ability to preserve the ‘authentic’ and to reclaim the ‘voice of the dead.’ In this sense, vinyl is a material object which bridges the present and the past (Bartmanski, Woodward 2016).

A Multifaceted phenomenon

Material culture is a multifaceted phenomenon. The study of the ‘social life of things’ is not limited to their ‘material’ aspects. It is embedded in sensorial and emotional histories and in various forms of visual, acoustic or tactile experiences.

Vembo’s lasting legacy has been constructed through her music but also through her ‘things,’ such as records and garments. A main aspect of this legacy, articulated through the making and re-making of Vembo, involves the formation of a gendered version of national identity and of ‘national tradition’ from the mid-war years to the late 20th century, with a particular emphasis on World War II and its aftermath.

References

Dominik Bartmanski, Ian Woodward, ‘Vinyl record: a cultural icon,’ Consumption Markets and  Culture 21, no. 2, 2016, p. 1 – 7.

Ελεάνα Γιαλούρη (επιμ.), Υλικός Πολιτισμός. Η ανθρωπολογία στη χώρα των πραγμάτων  [Material Culture. Anthropology in the land of things], Athens: Alexandria, 2012.

Anastasia Karakasidou,”Bucolic dramas and the Greek village: a transcultural comparison,” Journal of Mediterranean Studies 29, no 1, 2020, p. 1-17.

Vrasidas Karalis, A history of Greek cinema, New York: Continuum, 2012.

Λάμπρος Λιάβας, Το ελληνικό τραγούδι από το 1821 έως τη δεκαετία του 1950  [ Greek Song from 1821 to the decade of 1950s], Athens: Commercial Bank of Greece, 2009. Κατερίνα Πετρίδου, Σοφία Βέμπο. Τραγούδαγε την Ελλάδα κι όλη η Ελλάδα τραγουδούσε μαζί της [Sophia Vembo. She sang about Greece and all of Greece sang along with her], Thessaloniki: University Studio Press, 2014.

A Yellow Linen Dress with a White Collar, Travelling from Athens to Munich in June 1943

Marilisa Mitsou

On the evening of 13 June 1943, a German train departed from Larissa Station in Athens, bound for Munich. The front and rear carriages were occupied by Wehrmacht soldiers returning home on leave (Urlauber), while other carriages transported teachers from the German School in Athens, also on leave, as well as German families relocating with their belongings (Rückwanderer), as the Occupation authorities feared an Allied landing.

Among the passengers, in a third-class compartment, were three Greek scholarship holders of the German Academy (Deutsche Akademie), Olga, Dora and Rouli, accompanied by Alexander Steinmetz (1879–1973), professor of German at the University of Athens since 1939, who was not renowned for his philhellenism. All three students had attended seminars at the German Scientific Institute (Deutsches Wissenschaftliches Institut, DWI) and had been awarded scholarships for a two-month stay in Munich, with intensive courses in German literature and language (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1. A German Academy course program in Munich, summer 1943 (Family archives).

The German Academy, founded in Munich in 1925 to promote cultural diplomacy, prioritized the Balkans. By the end of 1933, seven of its seventeen branches were operating in Greek cities. During the war years, it awarded ten scholarships annually in every European country, both occupied and neutral. The German Scientific Institute, by contrast, was established in Athens in the autumn of 1941 under the direction of Rudolf Fahrner (Fig. 2). While connected to official institutions, it pursued a relatively independent cultural policy and attracted a young, German-speaking audience, not necessarily Germanophile, including figures such as the painter Nelli Andrikopoulou (1921–2014), who later on would board the ship Mataroa, along with other resistance-affiliated students, as a French government scholarship holder to Paris.

Fig. 2. Rudolf Fahrner (1903-1988), German specialist in literature, a close friend of the Stauffenberg brothers and a member of the Stefan George circle, Director of the Deutsches Wissenschaftliches Institut in Athens (Family archives).

Nelli was a close friend of Peter Coulmas (1914–2003), a 29-year-old doctor of philosophy, initially Fahrner’s assistant at the University and later at the DWI. Coulmas, who was traveling with his brother on the same train en route to Hamburg to complete his habilitation, was particularly popular among his Greek female students and congenial company.

The youngest of the three scholarship holders, Rouli (1922–2001), wore a yellow linen dress with a white collar. She kept a diary of the journey, recording details hereby presented (Fig. 3). A graduate (Abiturientin) of the German School of Athens, she had been recommended to Kurt Meyer, the Academy’s representative in Athens and head of the DWI language department, by Alfred Romain, director of the German School since 1933 and professor of German at the University of Athens—a notorious and implacable Nazi. Isidora (Dora) Kamarinea (1918–2004), a graduate of the Faculty of Philosophy, was slightly older; she would later continue her studies in Marburg and subsequently become the first professor of Modern Greek Studies at the University of Bochum.

This journey, undertaken for educational purposes at a time of intensifying Resistance activities and Allied bombing campaigns against German cities, is remarkable. Indeed, dozens of Greek students were pursuing studies in Germany, particularly in Berlin and Munich. Johannes Irmscher estimates their number at 76 in 1942, mostly in medical and engineering schools. Were all of them intellectual collaborators, as suggested by members of the Resistance? Some students tuned into the BBC and resisted Nazi propaganda, others were imprisoned in concentration camps. This research topic remains largely unexplored.

During the journey, the three young women’s compartment became a gathering place for fellow passengers: Coulmas, who had hoped to continue his seminar on board; Wehrmacht soldiers, including Heinz Pistorius—formerly quartered in Rouli’s requisitioned house; another scholarship holder, Iliadis; some repatriated German women with their children but without their Greek husbands; and four military nurses traveling with a Greek dog, Faliron, on their way to Sicily. These nurses provided the students with hot meals when the field kitchen carriage (Feldküche) was detached from the train.

The Athens–Munich journey lasted twelve days, as the train advanced slowly through occupied territories—“at a snail’s pace” as Rouli wrote—advancing by night under blackout conditions and stopping frequently to refuel. Its route passed through Boyati, Livadia, Amfiklia, Katerini, Thessaloniki, Goumenissa, and Eidomeni; then through Gevgelija, Veles, Skopje, and Zemun. On 20 June, a week after departure, the train entered fascist Hungary, where travel was considered secure. At the Austrian border, non-German passengers recovered their passports and visas, issued by the Italian garrison (Comando piazza) in Athens but withheld until the train’s arrival in Nazi Germany’s territory. Surprisingly, the train crossed Greece, North Macedonia, and Serbia without any passport or visa checks carried out on board.

Meals were rudimentary: coffee and army issue rye bread with margarine for breakfast; pea soup and canned rations for lunch; bread, cheese, margarine, or canned fish for dinner (Fig. 4). To avoid a stomach bug, the students refrained from drinking water, relying instead on unsweetened coffee, which was available in abundance.

Fig. 4. A food voucher for travelers, June 1943 (Family archives)

Sleeping arrangements were also basic: Steinmetz used one bench, Rouli and Dora the other, while the third student slept on the floor. Before sleeping, the young women changed clothes and set their hair in rollers. The yellow linen dress with the white collar, worn daily, was carefully folded and put aside at night. The long hours of travel were spent gazing through the open windows, occasionally singing, and sitting back in their seats only when going through tunnels. Every two or three kilometers, they encountered German or Italian guard posts and passed other Urlauberzüge—military trains—similar to those described in Erhart Kästner’s wartime travel account Griechenland. Ein Buch aus dem Kriege (Fig. 5). In the summer of 1942, his train had taken 40 hours to travel from Thessaloniki to Athens, about the same amount of time that Rouli’s train took in the opposite direction. Kästner marveled at the divine beaches and the clear water, where the “Homer’s blond Achaeans”, as he called Wehrmacht soldiers, swam naked.

By the time Rouli’s train reached Thessaloniki on the third day, the yellow linen dress with the white collar had become sooty with smoke. At each station passengers had the opportunity to wash themselves at a tap, fill their water bottles, rinse their underwear, and stretch their legs walking along the tracks. In Thessaloniki the passengers weren’t allowed to leave the station, although the train remained stationary for more than three hours. Rouli and Dora were certainly unaware that since March, transports of Jews to extermination camps had departed from that very station—6 in March, 9 in April, 2 in the first ten days of May, 42,000 Jews in total. In August 1943 Thessaloniki was declared judenfrei by Dieter Wisliceny and Alois Brunner.

Crossing into Bulgaria, the train traveled only by day to avoid partisan attacks. Near Gevgelija, fire from partisans was repelled by the Zugwache (train armed guards). At Skopje, the young women narrowly escaped sexual assault by Slavic seducers thanks to German intervention, as Rouli relates in her diary. Near Semlin or Zemun, 15 km from Belgrade, on the border of the former Austro-Hungarian Empire, they spent an entire day outdoors waiting for partisan-damaged tracks to be repaired. Upon entering allied-to-Germany Hungary, passengers drank beer and danced to the music of accordions and harmonicas, relieved to have left behind the “wild Balkans.” On 21 June, in bitter cold, the train entered the Reich, reaching Vienna at dawn where soldiers, families, and teachers disembarked. In Salzburg, passengers enjoyed a walk in a pine forest, a hearty lunch of potatoes and sauerkraut at a Gaststätte, and several glasses of beer.

Finally, on 24 June at 8:00 a.m., after twelve days of travel, in cold and rainy weather, the train arrived in Munich. The scholarship holders’ first act was to take a bath, but their use of a bathtub reserved for fire emergencies during air raids caused tensions with their landlady, Frau Daehler. By March 1943 Munich had already been heavily bombed by the allies, resulting in hundreds of deaths and injuries, and leaving 9,000 homeless. Furthermore, the landlady accused the girls of having bedbugs, so from then on they could only wash themselves in public baths and iron their clothes with borrowed irons. The yellow linen dress with the white collar, now blackened by smoke, was boiled in an attempt to restore its original color, but it became shapeless and was never worn again.  Perhaps an inevitable outcome for any item that had to be moved unprotected during wartime. The cold Munich summer, ration cards, and long hours of classes from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. quickly set the rhythm of their new lives—but that is another story, only loosely tied to the memory of the yellow dress.

Indications bibliographiques

Hagen Fleischer, «Στρατηγικές πολιτισμικής διείσδυσης των μεγάλων δυνάμεων και ελληνικές αντιδράσεις, 1936-1960» [Stratégies de pénétration culturelle par les grandes puissances et réactions grecques, 1930-1960], in Hagen Fleischer(éd.),Η Ελλάδα ’36-’49. Από τη δικτατορία στον Εμφύλιο. Τομές και συνέχειες  [Grèce 1936-1949. De la dictature à la guerre civile: ruptures et continuités], Athènes: Kastaniotis, 2003, p. 87-120.

Hagen Fleischer, « Besatzung und Widerstand 1941-1944. Deutsche Strategieziele und die Entwicklungen im besetzten Griechenland bis 1943 », in Chryssoula Kambas (éd.), Krieg und Nachkrieg. Das schwierige deutsch-griechische Jahrhundert, Cologne et al.: Böhlau Verlag, 2020, p. 25-120

Johannes Irmscher, «Οι επιστημονικές σχέσεις του πανεπιστημίου του Βερολίνου με τη φασιστική Ελλάδα» [The Scientific Relations of the University of Berlin with Fascist Greece], in Hagen Fleischer and Nikos Svoronos (éds.), Ελλάδα 1936-1944. ΔικτατορίαΚατοχή Αντίσταση [Greece 1936-1944. Dictatorship – Occupation – Resistance], Athènes: ATE Educational Institute, 1989, p. 336-356

Chryssoula Kambas et Marilisa Mitsou (éds.), Hellas verstehen. Deutsch-griechischer Kulturtransfer im 20. Jahrhundert, Cologne et al.: Böhlau Verlag, 2010

Chryssoula Kambas et Marilisa Mitsou (éds.), Die Okkupation Griechenlands im Zweiten Weltkrieg. Deutsche und griechische Erinnerungskultur, Cologne et al.: Böhlau Verlag, 2015

The Suez Civil Status Registers: Navigating Imaginary and Real Motions

Angelos Dalachanis

In the early 1950s, a set of 926 brown, square registration cards was produced to document the 2,325 Greek nationals residing in the Red Sea city of Suez. At first glance, these cards appear as ordinary bureaucratic artefacts: individual or family files placed in a drawer or box, containing a photograph and standardized information: full name, date of birth, date of arrival in Egypt, profession, address, and municipal registry in Greece. (Fig. 1)Yet their apparent administrative banality conceals a far more complex story. These cards not only recorded the presence of a small diasporic community; they also came to embody the layered and sometimes contradictory movements of people, institutions, and objects in the Eastern Mediterranean.

Fig.1. The registration card of the Theodoros Avierinos family (Archives of the Greek Community of Suez).

Although the cards lack explicit meta-data identifying their producer, their format and content clearly indicate that they were created by a Greek state authority with access to consular and civil information. They testify to the bureaucratic capacity of the Greek diplomatic apparatus in Egypt at mid-century and to its concern with monitoring and documenting its nationals abroad. Produced at a time when Suez was a relatively small provincial city, the cards paradoxically connect this local setting to broader geographies of mobility. The city’s name had become synonymous with the canal that linked the Mediterranean and the Red Sea, facilitating global circulations of goods and people. In this context, the registration of Greek residents constituted an attempt to fix, classify, and stabilize a population otherwise defined by movement.

The community documented in these registers would soon experience a series of violent disruptions. Within a span of seventeen years, Suez was marked by three wars: the Suez Crisis of 1956, the Six-Day War of 1967, and the Yom Kippur War of 1973. Particularly between 1967 and 1973, the city was largely evacuated. Its residents relocated temporarily or permanently to Cairo, Alexandria, or left Egypt altogether. The cards thus record a population on the eve of dispersal. They freeze in administrative form a community that would soon cease to exist in situ.

The material was first encountered in 2009, during research on the Greek presence in the Canal Zone. At some point, the existence of “useless papers” in the building that had once housed the Greek school and community of Suez was signaled. (Fig. 2)

Fig. 2. The building that housed the school of the Greek Community of Suez in the 1920s (Archives of the Greek Community of Suez).

The building stood and still stands in what was known as the “Greek square,” a configuration common in Egyptian cities, where communal institutions, like the church, the community offices, the school, and even the scout hall, were spatially concentrated. Upon arriving at the site, one was struck by the atmosphere of abandonment. In one of the rooms, papers had been thrown on the ground; among them were the registration cards, still roughly arranged in alphabetical order. (Fig.3)

The presence of such sensitive personal data in a neglected room immediately raised questions. Why had these documents been left behind? Where was the consulate’s archive? The initial assumption was that the cards had been abandoned during a hurried departure of Greek state authorities in wartime. The visual evidence, the disorder, the dust, the absence of other materials, seemed to support this interpretation of abrupt evacuation.

Further investigation, however, complicated this narrative. The Greek consulate had not been located in the Greek square but in a nearby residential building. The consular signs displayed on the square had been installed only after the diplomatic authorities departed. Their function was less to indicate the actual location of the consulate than to invoke diplomatic immunity and protection over the square and its buildings. In a period of insecurity and fluidity, the symbolic authority of the consular sign was mobilized to prevent encroachment upon communal property and to forestall the seizure of spaces belonging to a community that had effectively disappeared. (Fig. 4)

This revelation forces to reconsider the relationship between material traces and spatial designations. The apparent location of the consulate, suggested by signage, did not correspond to its operational site. The displacement of the sign concealed as much as it revealed. The registration cards, found in the Greek square, seemed to belong to a consular archive; yet their trajectory from one building to another remains partially obscured. The movement from the consulate to the square was not publicly acknowledged but materially enacted.

Legal frameworks add another layer to this story. According to a Greek-Egyptian treaty of the 1940s, when a Greek community in Egypt was dissolved, its property was to be transferred to either Cairo or Alexandria, depending on geographical proximity. As consular documents, the Suez registration cards should have been forwarded to the archives of the Greek Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Instead, they remained in Suez for decades and were only transferred in 2013 to the archives of the Greek Community in Cairo. The movement that should have taken place, that is from Egypt to Greece, never occurred. The cards followed a different itinerary, shaped less by legal prescription than by local contingencies and institutional improvisations.

Why focus on this example? Because these registration cards index multiple, entangled histories of circulation. Their trajectories can be analyzed on at least three levels. First, there is the transformation of the material itself. Initially an administrative diplomatic document, the card became a discarded object, then an archival artefact, and finally a source for scholarly research, particularly after digitization. Each stage involved a redefinition of its function and value. Second, there is the question of physical movement and relocation. The cards moved from the consulate building to the Greek square and, decades later, to Cairo. These spatial displacements did not always coincide with changes in use. A document may remain administratively “consular” even when physically separated from the consulate; conversely, it may lose its administrative function while remaining in the same place. Movement and meaning are not necessarily synchronized. Third, there are the movements that did not occur but were anticipated or concealed. The legally prescribed transfer to Greece never materialized. The relocation from the consulate to the square was not formally recorded but can be reconstructed through contextual evidence. Such unrealized or hidden itineraries are as significant as actual ones. They reveal the gap between normative frameworks and practical realities, between imagined administrative order and lived institutional improvisation.

Ultimately, the interest of the Suez civil status registers lies less in where they were found than in where they should have been. In moments of emergency, the minimal consular staff, perhaps only one or two individuals, neither destroyed the cards nor repatriated them to Greece. The decision to leave them in Suez may have reflected an implicit expectation that the Greeks would one day return. The cards preserved the administrative possibility of a community’s reconstitution, even as its members dispersed permanently. Today, these documents stand as witnesses to a vanished presence. The individuals they record left Suez and, in many cases, Egypt for good. Yet the cards remained, materially anchoring in place the memory of a community that no longer existed. Their survival reminds us that archives do not simply reflect human mobility; they participate in it. Through their own movements, delays, and misplacements, they trace a parallel geography of institutions, legal regimes, and imagined futures.

Further readings

George M. Kotzas, Egypt’s Port-Tewfick through the Eyes of my Soul, Athens: Athens Alkodi Group, 2015.

Angelos Ntalachanis, « Les archives grecques de Suez : un fonds inédit », Annales Islamologiques 45, 2011, p. 307-320.

Claudine Piaton (dir.), Suez, histoire et architecture, Cairo: IFAO, 2011.

Claudine Piaton (coord.), L’Isthme et l’Égypte au temps de la Compagnie universelle du canal maritime de Suez, Cairo: IFAO, 2016.

 

The German Paradoxical Fate of Greek Medals Collected by a French Numismatist

Paraskevi Michailidou

Assembled on Greek territory over more than three decades, the first and most significant numismatic collection of Esprit-Marie Cousinéry (1747–1833), a member of the French consular staff and an amateur numismatist, became highly sought after by many modern European institutions in the early nineteenth century. The history of the negotiations between Cousinéry and the Cabinet des Médailles de Paris over the acquisition of this collection shows that the antiquities market of the period underwent profound transformations on multiple levels, reshaping both its structure and dynamics.  In the medal market in particular, shifting sources of supply, the emergence of new actors, and the evolution of evaluation systems transformed traditional patterns of acquisition and collecting, creating the conditions for the development of an international market.

Up to the end of the Ancien Régime, heritage institutions expanded their numismatic collections in two main ways: by commissioning state-funded missionaries to travel in search of missing medals, or by purchasing established and prestigious private collections that frequently involved the risk of acquiring numerous duplicates. Both approaches required significant financial investment: the first to cover the considerable difficulties and expenses associated with organizing still-arduous voyages, and the second because institutions were paying not only for the collection itself but also for its reputation, which served as a guarantee of quality. Since the French Revolution, priorities and practices in the antiquities market evolved. The emergence of “field antiquarians”, who acted autonomously as both agents and collectors, introduced new dynamics between private individuals and institutions. Esprit-Marie Cousinéry, who spent much of his life in the Ottoman Empire and leveraged the privileges of his professional position to pursue his passion for archaeology, exemplifies this new type of actor. His collections, unlike those of the Ancien Régime, possessed a more archaeological than aesthetic or prestigious character, which made the estimation of their economic value, and consequently their negotiation, much more complicated.

In Cousinéry’s view, the value of a collection rested on three principal criteria: authenticity, rarity, and diversity. To guarantee the authenticity of his medals, he systematically avoided purchasing them from the well-established medal markets of major commercial centers in the Ottoman Empire, such as Istanbul, Thessaloniki, or Smyrna, where speculation and forgery were widespread due to the influx of travelers. Instead, he preferred to conduct his own excavations and organize trips to obtain medals directly from local inhabitants, who often kept them for their material value or used them to adorn women’s jewelry. To better orient his research, recognize precious and rare medals, and make informed choices when buying or exchanging them, he relied on the advice of some of the most renowned numismatists of his time, Abbé Joseph Eckhel (1737–1798), the curator of the Imperial Cabinet of Medals in Vienna ; Abbé Jean-Jacques Berthélemy (1716-1795), the curator of the Cabinet des médailles of Paris and Abbé Domenico Sestini (1750-1832 ), a Florentine scholar. Indeed, his direct access to the field, and physical contact with the medals, enabled him not only to join Europe’s antiquarian circles despite his lack of classical training, but also to provide valuable information about still-unpublished Greek coins. It was notably thanks to these correspondents that he succeeded in establishing the reputation of his collection as a significant contribution to the field of numismatics. The extreme diversity of its pieces, in terms of both type and geographical origin, further contributed to the collection’s value. Rather than aiming to form complete series or privileging medals made of precious metals or in perfect condition, Cousinéry sought out curious and unique pieces. It is therefore no coincidence that he was among the first to discover “paleographical” Greek coins featuring representations of animals, and consequently deemed ancient. To this end, he established a network of correspondents in various cities across Greece and Egypt in order to acquire and exchange medals from distant regions (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1. Extract of the correspondance between Cousinéry and L. F. S. Fauvel, a member of his network of collaborators in Greece, duscussing a medal. (Athens, 7 April 1795, Historical archives of the Benaki Museum, 146-6).

The letter that Cousinéry addressed to the French government on 28 October 1803, in which he proposed the acquisition of his collection for 200.000 francs, marked the beginning of a long period of negotiations, which can be divided into three distinct phases, each reflecting a different approach to valuing the collection. First, there was the assessment of the collection’s conceptual value (1803–1804), based on the examination of the materials the collector had provided for this purpose: a report outlining the circumstances in which the collection had been assembled, a geographical summary of the provenance of the items, and a manuscript catalogue (Fig. 2). The conclusion of this assessment was that the collection represented a unique opportunity to enrich the holdings of the Paris’ Cabinet and that the proposed price was fully justified.

Fig. 2.. Extract of the assessment report of the Cousinéry collection, dated 19 March 1804 (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, 2011/091/ACM06A-03).

Nevertheless, in order to finalize the transaction, a physical examination of the collection was also required, initiating the second phase of the negotiation, which involved estimating the material value of the collection (1808–1810). This time, the valuation focused primarily on its material aspects rather than its uniqueness, and differed significantly from the first and second prices set by Cousinéry who had already revised his offer downwards asking for 170.000 francs. Approached as the sum of its individual pieces rather than as a unified whole, the physical collection was valued at 67.763 francs, thus less than half the amount Cousinéry had requested. The curators justified this considerable discrepancy on the grounds that most of the pieces were made of non-precious metals and that a significant number were poorly preserved, often casting doubt on their attribution. The argument of lack of restoration perfectly illustrates the ambiguous character of this transitional period, since the very same element that appeared as a flaw and a source of doubt to the Cabinet was, for Cousinéry, considered proof of authenticity.

Deeply disappointed by the new valuation, Cousinéry decided to withdraw his offer and place the collection abroad, illustrating its international value (1811). On a European scale, a collection’s value was at the time determined as much by timing as by its intrinsic qualities. Unfortunately, Cousinéry’s insistence on preserving the collection for his own country cost him a substantial sum, as the 160.000 francs offered by the Munich Cabinet in 1806 had decreased to 136.000 francs by 1811. The main reason for this decrease was not related to the collection itself, but rather to the fact that, in the meantime, other collections had already made their way from the Levant to European Cabinets. Nevertheless, this amount was still more than double the offer made by the Paris Cabinet.

Within the broader context of the rise of cultural capitals actively shaping national collections, Cousinéry’s medals could have enabled the Paris Cabinet to maintain its long-standing preeminence among European institutions. Caught in a transition from one era to another, despite the collector’s desire to preserve it for his own country, it was ultimately sold to the Munich’s Cabinet in 1811. Although the paradoxical, i.e. non-national, fate of this collection was partly related to the political, economic, and cultural challenges facing the French government at the time, it highlights not only the shift toward an internationally competitive market but also the impact of this transformation on the circulation of ancient objects and collections.

References

Louis Bergasse, Un consul de France en Orient, Esprit Cousinéry, voyageur, archéologue et numismate (1747-1833), Marseille, 1932.

Anne Gerritsen et Giorgio Riello (dir.), The Global Lives of Things: The Material Culture of Connections in the Early Modern World, London: Routledge, 2015.

Christophe Charle, Daniel Roche (dir.), Le temps des capitales culturelles européennes, Seyssel: Champ Vallon Editions, 2009

Thierry Sarmant, Le Cabinet des médailles de la Bibliothèque nationale, 1661-1848, Ecole Nationale des Chartes, 1994.

Thierry Sarmant, La République des médailles : numismates et collections numismatiques à Paris du Grand Siècle au Siècle des Lumières, Paris : Honoré Champion, 2003.


From Ancient Drinking Vessel to Modern Olympic Trophy: The Semiotic Metamorphosis of the “Spyridon Louis/Ioannis Lambros” Cup

Christina Mitsopoulou

On March 30, 1896, the frontpage of the journal Hestia (Εστία) was graced with a facsimile drawing of a black-figured ancient drinking vase (skyphos), ornated on both sides by a scene of two nude runners and a draped referee (Anonymous 1896, p. 1). The caption read (Fig. 1):

ΤΟ ΔΩΡΟΝ ΤΟΥ ΜΑΡΑΘΩΝΟΔΡΟΜΟΥ = THE PRESENT FOR THE MARATHON RUNNER Ancient vase donated by Mr. I. P. Lambros

The vase, dated erroneously to the 4th century BC, was reportedly discovered in a tomb in Thebes. Based on its theme, it was considered to have belonged to a victorious runner from some ancient athletic competition.

Fig. 1. Press publication of the Lambros cup (side B), facsimile of chromolithography, Hestia 30 March 1896.

The scene does not suffice to confirm this interpretation, nor is its provenance ascertained. The vase is an ancient object out of context, found during private excavations. It is attributed to the so-called Camel painter (a vase painter from Attica or Boeotia active during the second half of the 6th century BC) and dated to 540-520 BC (Kollia 2024). The vase was offered as an additional award to the winner of the marathon run, held on 29 March 1896 within the first modern Olympic Games. Spyridon Louis, who became a national hero, received numerous other presents that day. The most prominent was the Bréal Cup, offered by Michel Bréal, the philologist who conceived the idea of the modern marathon. The small fluted silver cup was created by an anonymous Parisian silversmith upon Bréal’s instructions. Instead of a decoration in ancient style, Bréal conceived a scene inspired by environmental features (Fig. 2): the marshland with reeds and waterbirds, a dragonfly and swallows, alluding to the landscape of Marathon, the battlefield where the Athenians defeated the Persians in 490 BC. According to Pausanias (Attica I, 32, 6-7), the Persians became trapped in the marshland, leading to their downfall. Bréal, the father of the discipline of Semantics, chose a natural element, decisive to the outcome of the most legendary battle of Athenian history.

Fig. 2. Bréal cup, silver trophy offered to the first winner of the marathon run in 1896, orthophotography ARCHICON, P. Feleris, M. Kontaki, 2024 (Stavros Niarchos Foundation).

The donor of the additional award, Ioannis Lambros, son of Pavlos Lambros, a merchant and coin collector identifying as a numismatist, was a prominent antiques dealer. He was also the brother of Spyridon Lambros, a member of the “think tank” for the Olympic Games in Greece, who taught medieval history at the University of Athens, had instructed the sons of King George I, and later became a politician (Karamanolakis et al 2023). In their youth, the four Lambros brothers had founded in 1865 the Philological Society Parnassos. It was in its premises that Pierre de Coubertin presented the project of the modern Olympic Games to the Athenian elite in October 1894.

In 1896, Spyridon Lambros acted as the spokesman of Bréal’s idea of the marathon run, a discipline that did not exist in antiquity.Bréal himself had hardly commented on his invention; only a few lines in a four-page letter addressed to de Coubertin on September 15, 1894 are known. They depict his idea of a race reminiscent of the historical event and express his intention to sponsor a cup for the winner: “As you go to Athens, you could try and see if a long distance run from Marathon to Pnyx could be organized. That would emphasize the character of Antiquity. […] I, personally, would claim the honour of offering ‘the Cup of Marathon’” (Coubertin et al 1896).

But to attract spectators to such a race in Athens, it was necessary to explain its historical background and present the “Parisian jewel,” the Bréal cup, to the broader public. Spyridon Lambros penned eight articles during the weeks preceding the big day, summarizing the important facts about the invention. The arrival of the marathon runner in the Panathenaic stadium went down in history as a moment of joy and national pride.

In the weeks leading to the event, Lambros became aware of the fame Bréal would be attached with in history. Therefore, the “French cup” was doubled by a “Greek cup” bearing the name “Lambros” as a tribute to Spyridon, who had handled the affair in Greece and stemmed national pride for the event. The donation was meant to commemorate his role in bringing the marathon run to life. An ancient drinking vase, kept as a funerary offering,was acquiring a new function as a modern Olympic trophy bearing the Lambros name (Mitsopoulou 2024).

The Lambros Cup’s traces were lost after 1896. In 1934 it was kept by the German classicist Werner Peek, a committed Nazi and founder of the Hitlerjugend in Greece. He probably escorted Joseph Goebbels during his official visit to Athens. Years later, Peek claimed to have smuggled the vase in Goebbels’s boots packed in a diplomatic bag. In 1986, he sold it with his collection of antiquities to the University of Münster. The once-prized Olympic trophy remained unnoticed until the 2010s, when archaeologist Georgios Kavvadias of the National Archaeological Museum in Athens identified the original vase from two drawings published in the newspapers and a commemorative album from 1896 (Kavvadias 2020). In 2019 the vase was repatriated to Greece, and a replica was sent to Münster. After a brief exhibition in Athens, it was moved to the Museum of the History of Ancient Olympic Games in Olympia (Fig. 3). In 2024 it was displayed in the Louvre, next to the Bréal Cup.

Fig. 3. Black-figured cup attributed to the Camel painter, ca. 540-520 B.C. (side A). (Olympia, Museum of the History of the Olympic Games of Antiquity, MIOAA Π15644).

The Lambros Cup is linked to the archaeological artist Émile Gilliéron. The chromolithograph published in the commemorative album of the 1896 Olympic Games was unsigned (Fig. 4), but its style closely resembled that of Gilliéron. In 2018, this connection was confirmed: a modest ink sketch discovered in the artist’s archive (Fig. 5), proved that he was, indeed, the anonymous draughtsman of the first published illustration of the cup.

Fig. 4. Chromolithography of Lambros cup (side A); de Coubertin et alii 1896, v. 2, p. 20 (Lausanne, The Olympic Museum (TOM), MB 450/1-2).

Gilliéron had known Lambros since the late 1870s, when both served as tutors at the Greek royal palace. In 1880, he accompanied Lambros on a research expedition to Mount Athos (Mitsopoulou 2025, 123-126). Their close relationship later led to Gilliéron being chosen as the Olympic artist for the 1896 Games. A few years earlier, in 1890, Gilliéron had worked for the Greek excavators at the Marathon tumulus, a discovery that triggered international enthusiasm and ultimately inspired Bréal’s concept of the marathon run. His brother Jules Gilliéron was a linguist in Paris and a former student-turned-colleague of Bréal at the École Pratique des Hautes Études. Finally, it was Lambros who campaigned in favor of the marathon run in Greece. Identifying Gilliéron as his collaborator during the elaboration of the idea of presenting a cup in his name provides a crucial missing link in the historical narrative.

The extensive journey and evolving semantic changes of this ancient drinking vase – first a funerary offering, then an Olympic trophy and nowadays a museum artefact –, qualify it as a true “Thing in Motion.”

References

Anonymous, “Το Δώρον του Μαραθωνοδρόμου. Αρχαίον αγγείον δωρηθέν υπό του κ. Ι. Π. Λάμπρου,” [The Present for the Marathon Runner. Ancient vase offered by Mr. I.P. Lambros] Hestia, 30 March 1896, p. 1.

Pierre de Coubertin, Spyridon P. Lambros, Nikolaos G. Politis, Timoleon J. Philemon, Charalambos Anninos, The Olympic Games: B.C. 776 – A.D. 1896, 2, Athens : C. Beck, 1896.

Βαγγέλης Καραμανωλάκης, Γεράσιμος Ζώρας, Κατερίνα Νικολάου, Αναστασία Παπαδία-Λάλα (eds.), Σπυρίδων Λάμπρος. Ο ιστορικός, το έργο και η εποχή του [Spyridon Lambros. The Historian, his Work, and his Time], Athens : Eurasia, 2023.

Giorgos Kavvadias, “Der verlorene Skyphos des Spyros Louis,” Boreas 43/44, 2020, p. 107–119.

Erofylli-Iris Kollia, “Skyphos à figures noires, dit de Spyros Louis, ou coupe Lambros,” in Christina Mitsopoulou et al., (eds.), L’olympisme: une invention moderne, un héritage antique, Paris : Louvre éditions/Hazan, 2024, p. 140–141.

Christina Mitsopoulou, “Promotion de la coupe Lambros pour le marathon de 1896,” in Christina Mitsopoulou et al. (eds.), L’olympisme: une invention moderne, un héritage antique  Paris : Louvre éditions/Hazan, 2024, p. 142–143.

Christina Mitsopoulou, “Spyridon Lambros and Émile Gilliéron: scientific mission to Mount Athos in 1880,” in Eleni Manakidou and Christina Mitsopoulou (eds.), Cast Museum A.U.Th. & Gilliéron Workshop. A Century of Creative Collaboration, Thessaloniki: University Studio Press, 2025, p. 123-126.

Pausanias/Pausaniou, Attiká, 5 volumes, edition by Nikólaos Papachatzḗs, Athens : Ekdotiki Athenon, 1974.

“Spyros Louis Bréal’s Cup”, Stavros Niarchos Foundation Cultural Center (SNFCC), https://www.snfcc.org/en/your-visit/discover/spyros-louis-cup/ (accessed on 13 January 2026).