Boreas rising: Antiquarianism and national narratives in 17th- and 18th-century Scandinavia 9783110638042, 9783110632453

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Boreas Rising

Transformationen der Antike

Herausgegeben von Hartmut Böhme, Horst Bredekamp, Johannes Helmrath, Christoph Markschies, Ernst Osterkamp, Dominik Perler, Ulrich Schmitzer Wissenschaftlicher Beirat: Frank Fehrenbach, Niklaus Largier, Martin Mulsow, Wolfgang Proß, Ernst A. Schmidt, Jürgen Paul Schwindt

Band 53

Boreas Rising

Antiquarianism and national narratives in 17th- and 18th-century Scandinavia Edited by Bernd Roling and Bernhard Schirg in collaboration with Matthias Stelzer

The publication of this volume was made possible through the support of the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft, using funds provided to Collaborative Research Center 644 »Transformations of Antiquity«.

ISBN 978-3-11-063245-3 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-063804-2 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-063707-6 ISSN 1864-5208 Library of Congress Control Number: 2019933622 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2019 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Logo »Transformationen der Antike«: Karsten Asshauer – SEQUENZ Cover design: Martin Zech, Bremen Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck www.degruyter.com

Contents Foreword

VII

Bernd Roling and Bernhard Schirg Introduction 1 Gottskálk Jensson Hypothesis Islandica, or Concerning the initially supportive but ultimately subversive impact of the rediscovery of medieval Icelandic literature on the evaluation of Saxo Grammaticus as a historical authority during the heyday of Danish antiquarianism 13 Raija Sarasti-Wilenius Praises of Towns and Provinces at the Academy of Turku in the Seventeenth 61 Century Kristoffer Neville Antiquarianism without Antiques. Topographical Evidence and the Formation of the Past 81 Jonas Nordin Spirit of the Age. Erik Dahlbergh’s Images of Sweden’s Past

103

Elena Dahlberg Antiquarianism, politics, and self-fashioning in Magnus Rönnow’s poem Scanicae 129 Runae cum Ense Thorsiöensi (1716) Bernhard Schirg The Northern Face of January. Roman narratives of early cultural history (Janus, Saturn, Numa) and their appropriation in Swedish antiquarianism 151 Poul Grinder-Hansen Søren Abildgaard – a Patriotic Antiquarian Draftsman from Eighteenth-century 179 Denmark Stefan Heinrich Bauhaus Etymologized space: Olof Rudbeck the Elder and the Phrygian language

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Contents

Outi Merisalo De usu diversitatis linguarum. Linguistic past (and present) in the dissertations supervised by Carl Abraham Clewberg (1712 – 1765) at the Academia Aboensis 217 Benjamin Hübbe Trapped and Lost in Translation – The Moose in Early Modern Zoology and Biblical Philology in Northern and East-Central Europe 229 Bernd Roling Hyperboreans in Tibet: Transformations of the Atlantica of Olaus Rudbeck in the 263 eighteenth and nineteenth century Index of Names

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Foreword The contributions to this volume are based on papers that were delivered at the workshop ›Boreas arising from the East. Antiquarianism and Orientalism in Art, Scholarship around the Baltic Sea (17th and 18th centuries)‹, held on 19 – 20 May 2016 in the Finland Institute in Berlin. The event was staged by Project A15 ›The Nordic Transformation of Antiquity‹ of the Collaborative Research Centre ›Transformations of Antiquity‹ (SFB 644). The conference and the present volume could not have been achieved without support and collaboration from many quarters. The editors wish to thank first of all the Finland Institute and Laura Hirvi, Suvi Wartiovaara and her staff, whose warm hospitality and generous help accompanied the whole conference. Many thanks are due also to Orla Mulholland, who is responsible for linguistic editing, to the student assistants Vanessa Güldenpfennig, Helena Winterhager and especially Matthias Stelzer, who were of great help in the editorial production of the book and the organization of the conference, we further wish to thank the Research Centre ›Transformations of Antiquity‹ itself, its spokesman Johannes Helmrath, its coordinator Stefan Schlelein and Kathrin Trauer, who all supported us throughout the whole event. Warm thanks are owed by the editors, finally, to one other institution which provided continuous help without which the work would have been impossible, namely the Carolina Rediviva and Peter Sjökvist and Anna Fredriksson in Uppsala. Bernd Roling Bernhard Schirg Matthias Stelzer

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638042-001

Bernd Roling and Bernhard Schirg

Introduction

In 1815, shortly after Napoleon’s hardly successful invasion of Russia, the Russian poet Vassilij Kapnist published the treatise A short survey of the Hyperboreans. That paper is not just a mere antiquarian tract on the history of the legendary people beyond the North Wind, as they had been described by Herodotus, Pliny, or Diodorus. His purpose is clear. It was the Russians who, according to Kapnist, had to be identified with the Hyperboreans. Regarded as an ancient, advanced civilization of Antiquity, it was they who had built Apollo’s highly praised temple, and it was their realm from which his wisdom had spread over the South. Old Russia, home of the North Wind, became the matrix of all of Europe.¹ Kapnist’s treatise was surely a product of the contemporary joy over the victory, but it is also a document of that great enthusiasm for antiquity which had been flourishing since Peter the Great, and which included the desire to be part of it. Kapnist took that desire to extremes.² One may remember that Ossian’s works had been translated shortly before.³ Kapnist’s ideas look very familiar to an expert on Scandinavian antiquarianism. Rudbeck’s Atlantica and his desire to locate Atlantis in Scandinavia had finally reached Russia too. Kapnist was a thorough reader of Rudbeck’s work. Consequently, his own interpretation of the Hyperboreans was completely based on the strand of scholarship that culminated in and expanded from the Atlantica. ⁴ Rudbeck’s particular way of exalting his nation had been able to influence the neighboring Baltic countries for more then 150 years, and could, as is apparent from Kapnist’s work, be translated into a genuinely Russian version very easily. In recent times, historians of the Early Modern period have repeatedly argued against the notion that only classical, that is Roman and Greek, antiquity was rediscovered in the course of the Renaissance. Such a perspective glosses over a wide range of other ›antiquities‹ that were likewise conceived from the sixteenth century onward, and fused together with various national narratives, taking either a complementary or competing stance towards what is commonly perceived as classical antiquity. The great French scholar Raymond Schwab correctly spoke of an “Oriental Renaissance”, for instance. Since the times of scholars like John Selden, Thomas Hyde, or Edward Pococke, the Greek and Latin antiquities have been complemented by Jewish or Hebrew, Syriac, and Arabic antiquity. Also Celtic, Germanic, Scandinavian, and later even Slavonic and Baltic ones found their way into the chorus of Ancient

 Kapnist, Краткое изысканґе о Гипербореанахъ.  For a short summary of Kapnist’s treatise see Boele (1994), 41– 43.  Оссіанъ, Moskow 1792, there esp. vol. 1, Kostrov’s Introduction, pp. III – LXVI, on the cultural opposition between the North and the South.  For Sweden’s approach to the Hyperboreans before and after the publication of the Atlantica see Anttila (2014). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638042-002

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History.⁵ Last but not least India, as represented by William Jones and the “Asiatick Researches”, entered the field of European research and questioned the supremacy of the Hellenistic period.⁶ The most often belligerent rivalry among the Baltic states in early modern times turned that quest for one’s own history into a fight for one’s own national supremacy. There was an eagerness to legitimize the hegemony of one’s own nation with reference to its age and its closeness to classical antiquity. In the eighteenth century Gotthold Ephraim Lessing criticized the humanist Erasmus Stella (1460 – 1521) from Zwickau, who attempted to find an ancient founder for his home town. He found Cygneus, son of Heracles. In the sixteenth century no one had laughed at that, at least until it was uncovered that Stella had written all his inscriptions himself.⁷ Recent studies have increasingly paid attention to the phenomenon now discussed as ‘credulity’, to the role material culture – either complemented through new findings or deftly enriched by forgeries – played in establishing, refining, and stabilizing narratives of national origin in countries that lacked historiographical material, while exploring the full intellectual and social spectrum of antiquarian practice in and beyond Europe.⁸ The monuments of Old Norse, Swedish, and Danish literature, runes and artifacts of all kinds, the discovery of the Sami and Finnish traditions, which had so long been neglected, but also the discovery of Arabic and Persian literature, and artifacts that had been acquired in the Baltic: all that was not just a question of philology, archeology, and religious studies, it was also, to a considerable extent, part of the history and the present status of those young nations themselves. The genealogy as set out in the Holy Scripture was not understood as just any text. The goal was to claim a prominent place in that history of salvation. German, English, or Hungarian humanists, men like Conrad Peutinger or Johannes Aventinus, may have been the initiators of their own national history.⁹ Yet in a wider perspective on the phenomenon of Nordic antiquarianism in its full range – encompassing the classical as well as the vernacular tradition, comparative linguistics and antiquarian practice – a seminal starting point can certainly be located in Denmark and, most prominently, the University of Copenhagen. For a long time it had been believed that the Cimbri were the true “Urvolk” of the North,¹⁰ whose an-

 For a first bibliography on the role of antiquarianism at Scandinavian universities and the role of Olaus Rudbeck in special see Roling (2017a), 1– 16.  The research on eighteenth century English Indology has grown, see e. g. the good introductions by App (2010), passim, Teltscher (1999), passim, and the classical studies of Schwab (1984) and Windisch (1917), passim.  Lessing, Erasmus Stella und dessen nun erst ans Licht tretende ‚Commentarii de rebus ac populis orae inter Albim et Salam‘, 313 – 358.  Exemplary for these discussions are Schnapp (2013) and Wood (2008).  As examples see on the Cimbri and the beginnings of ›German‹ history, Aventinus, Annalium Boiorum libri VII (first 1554), Liber I, 7– 8, 10, 14; Peutinger, De inclinatione Romani imperii et exterarum gentium praecipue Germanorum commigrationibus, there esp. fol. D5rf.  On later debates on the Cimbri see e. g. Brough (1985), 163 – 166 and Lohmeier (1977– 78), 54– 70.

Introduction

3

cestor Gomer had migrated to the west after the Deluge in order to settle in Denmark.¹¹ But as the gates to old Icelandic literature opened again, men like Arngrímur Jónsson, Ole Worm, Thomas Bartholin, Árni Magnússon, and Peter Resenius initiated the documentation of the literary monuments of the North. Figures like Odin or Freya, hardly known before, were suddenly charged with significance and found themselves in grand narratives next to their classical competitors. At once, one’s own history could be retold by tapping into saga literature. Dictionaries, collections of runic inscriptions gathered across Scandinavia, and text editions came to light, but first and foremost Resenius’ edition of the Edda. It was that edition that formed the basis for every discussion of the Nordic deities until the late eighteenth century.¹² Even though the Swedish had enough spirit for that patriotic battle, personified by men like Olaus Magnus, they at first did not possess the manuscripts and translators they needed. However, yet another war with Denmark brought at least the manuscripts home to Sweden. After only a few years, in Uppsala, Lund, Turku, Greifswald, Tartu, and Pärnu the Danish version of Gothicism was transformed into a Swedish one, one that was able to claim Sweden’s flattering place in an extensive narrative of early history. For the brothers Magnus and their followers, it was left to their own imagination to trace back the Swedish royal genealogy to Noah’s ark and to make Gustavus Adolphus the shining star of the North.¹³ In the middle of the seventeenth century, Sweden’s national narrative was buttressed by different means. Olaus Verelius, Johannes Reenhielm, or Petrus Salanus provided the first editions of the Norse sagas, garnished with excessive paratexts and extensive commentaries. These delved deeply into the cultural history of the ancient North as well as into realia such as warfare and seafaring. Most importantly, however, the explosion of Swedish scholarship on the sagas aimed to securing the kingdom’s claim on them as its national heritage. In doing so, Nordic history turned into Swedish prehistory, including Hyperborean heroes like Thorsten Vikingsson or Starkater, but also Thor and Odin. Japheth’s and Noah’s offspring competed with the heroes known from classical antiquity.¹⁴ It is well known that scholars like Carl Lundius, Georg Stiernhielm, and, most prominently, Olaus Rudbeck managed to take this national self-aggrandizement to extremes – and to escalate it both nationally and internationally. Sweden was considered to be Europe’s sole matrix, home of the Hyperboreans, the  Petraeus, Cimbrorum et Gothorum origines, migrationes, Liber I, 1– 32, and in addition Lyschander, Synopsis Historiarum Danicarum, c. 3, 15 – 40, Strelow, Cronica Guthilandorum, 6 – 10.  On the first edition and translation of the Edda by Resenius see Anthony Faulkes in: Edda Islandorum, Introduction, 9 – 95, and in addition e. g. Ebel (2001), esp. 20 – 36.  On the crucial role of Olaus Magnus’ Historia de gentibus septentrionalibus in the rise of Gothicism see Johannesson (1982), 191– 279, and e. g. Bolzano (2005), 135– 151, Stok (1999), 387– 410. On the Gothorum historia of Johannes Magnus and its influence e. g. the fundamental study of Inken Schmidt-Voges (2004), 143 – 160, or Zellhuber (2002), 49 – 59.  For the most valuable survey of the manuscripts used by the first Swedish translators see Busch (2004), passim, and for the whole circle of translators in addition see e. g. Schier (1998), esp. 197– 201, and Blocher (1993), 199 – 210.

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true Thule, and, finally, Atlantis, as it was described in Plato’s Critias. The four books of the Atlantica erected Rudbeck’s national edifice, and managed to include all fields of contemporary study, classical and Scandinavian philology, archeology, but also geology, engineering, zoology, botany, and even economics.¹⁵ It is not coincidental that Rudbeck’s system developed into an academic paradigm, irresistible to all subsequent scholars.¹⁶ Two generations of professors in Uppsala, Lund, Turku, Tartu, Greifswald, and even in Tallinn, Szczecin, and Bremen, the western periphery of the realm, would be inspired by Rudbeck.¹⁷ As Alan Ellenius and Kristofer Neville have shown, Rudbeck’s attraction was so great that his ideas could even be transformed into a poetic program by men like Samuel Columbus, Haquin Spegel, or Magnus Rönnow, or into an aesthetic one by painters such as David Klöcker-Ehrenstrahl.¹⁸ At the same time, it was so influential that even the decline of the Caroline Empire after the victory of the Russians in the Northern War was not able to slow it down. To the contrary: Until the end of the eighteenth century and beyond, and even outside the Swedish kingdom, we still find scholars defending his ideas. It is frequently forgotten that the success of that national mythology went hand in hand with a general dynamization in science, in and around Sweden. Related to this process, in Sweden as well as Denmark we can observe the gradual appearance of antiquarian societies, treatises, disputations, and poems of all kinds, accompanied by series of pictures, numismatic exhibitions, construction projects, patriotic plays, but also a rise of ›Oriental Studies‹, which was no less successful than in France or England and was tied in to an enormous process of elucidating the Nordic past. Oriental Studies became common throughout the Baltic, including universities and academies in Rostock, Kiel, Königsberg, and St. Petersburg alike. Also Arabic Studies, originally a mere tool for exegesis, developed into a subject on its own, interested in applied geography as well as philology. The initiators, Johannes Dantiscanus, Olof Tychsen, Gustaf Peringer, or Olaus Celsius did not shy away even from field research.¹⁹ Long journeys into the Middle East, the Holy Land, or North Africa, the

 For a survey of Rudbeck’s Atlantica see the classic studies of King (2005), there esp. 143 – 146, 161– 165, Eriksson (1994), 13 – 86, Eriksson (2002), 279 – 496, and in addition e. g. Boyer (2004), 83 – 95, Schröder (2010), 61– 80, Huhtamies (2014), 53 – 66, Anttila (2009), esp. 43 – 51, Anttila (2014), 143 – 198, but esp. Nordström (1934), 136 – 154, and Lindroth (1975), vol. 2, 284– 302.  For general summaries of Swedish antiquarianism see e. g. Widenberg (2006), esp. 105 – 141, and Legnér (2004), there esp. 48 – 83.  On the reception of Rudbeck at Swedish universities see Frängsmyr (2000), vol. 1, 323 – 325, Lindroth (1975), vol. 3, 643 – 653, Anttila (2014), 199 – 246, and Roling (2016), 199 – 216.  For the role of Gothicism and Rudbeck in Swedish art see Ellenius (1959), 40 – 52, Ellenius (2003), passim, and Neville (2012), 435 – 459, Neville (2006), vol. 2, 333 – 340, and see also the Neville – Skogh (2017), 1– 17. See also the contributions by Jonas Nordin, Kristoffer Neville, and Elena Dahlberg to the present volume.  On Oriental Studies at the Swedish universities in general see the surveys of Schoeps (1952), 134– 162, Eskhult (2007), here 53–63, Lindberg (2007), here 146 – 161, Bäärnhielm (2007), 39 – 87, for Fin-

Introduction

5

expedition of the East-Indian Company in Gothenburg, or the journey of the Danish missionaries to India – all that helped to broaden knowledge of the Orient in the course of the following years. National mythology and Oriental Studies depended on each other, most often in a quite surreal way. The same generation who had dedicated their efforts to an Arabic encyclopedia was willing to find traces of runic stones in Armenia, or, when it comes to Rudbeck the Younger, to prove by applying language comparison that the Finnish and Sami languages were direct descendants from Hebrew, a result of a long journey that had taken the Lost Tribe of the Israelites to northern Scandinavia. Most of the professors were universalists with staggering intellectual horizons, seeing far beyond the scope of comparative Semitics,²⁰ often for the sake of Sweden’s national narrative. The creative combination of new kinds of philological studies and national ideology has rarely been surveyed until now, even though it is embodied by many scholars of that era. The discovery of the remote parts of Russia and the native population provided the impact required to promote Oriental Studies and national mythology in the Baltic countries. The cartography of Siberia was advanced to a considerable extent by Swedish explorers, most prominently by Philipp von Strahlenberg.²¹ Men like him brought their discoveries back home and integrated them into contemporary scientific frameworks. It could no longer be overlooked that the Finns were far from being an isolated people; rather, the settlements of their relatives reached far beyond the Urals. But it was also Strahlenberg who believed he had found the name of Odin in Turkish chronicles, a type of document found perfectly suitable to bolster the historicity of the Nordic pantheon.²² These great expeditions marked the beginning of both Finno-Ugric and Turkic philology, but they had to be integrated into the national mythology of Sweden first. How did universities abroad react to Rudbeck’s, Stiernhielm’s, or von Strahlenberg’s attempts? Swedish disputants not only advanced their ideas at North-German universities such as Wittenberg or Göttingen. Had Sweden indeed been the ancient home to the Hyperboreans? Had the Scythians really been the most ancient people of Europe and the ancestors of the Swedes, speaking a language derived from Hebrew? As one would expect, the Danish remained ambivalent. Too many wars had destroyed any inclination towards the magic of Gothicism. But in the Danish kingdom, too, some scholars began to promote lectiones Nordicae of classical mythology.

land see in addition Karttunen (1993), 163 – 202, Karttunen (2011), 13 – 182, Karttunen (1995), 65 – 74, and see also Roling (2017b), 93 – 132.  On Olaus Rudbeck the Younger see e. g. Agrell (1955), 119 – 125, Stipa (1990), 187– 191, Bauhaus (2017), 47– 62, and soon Bauhaus (2018).  On Philipp Tabbert von Strahlenberg’s expedition to Siberia see Nol’vanskaja (1966), 25 – 91, on the diaries of Swedish officers in Russia see e. g. Sjebaldina (2009), 43 – 62.  Strahlenberg, Das Nord- und Ostliche Theil von Europa und Asia, Introduction, 113 – 127.

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Why should the adventures of the Odyssey not be located somewhere around the Baltic, asks Jonas Danielsson Ramus in the year 1718.²³ Göttingen, the center of early Enlightenment, was harsh in its critique. Johann David Michaelis was one of those who were still willing to differentiate between the achievement of his Swedish colleagues and the ideology behind it.²⁴ But already August Ludwig Schlözer, who had been studying in Uppsala himself, in his famous Nordische Geschichte totally dismissed Gothicism in very clear terms.²⁵ His students were about to export his ideas to Sweden, most prominently, Henrik Gabriel Porthan, the main representative of the Finnish Enlightenment. But what about Rostock, Königsberg, or St Petersburg? And how did the Swedes themselves respond to criticism voiced in Denmark and Germany? Our volume aims to open up new avenues of approach to antiquarianism and Oriental Studies around the Baltic Sea as part of a discursive culture that significantly influenced academic life in the seventeenth and eighteenth century. Controversy over opinions, academic and artistic rivalry, traveling scholars, all these phenomena were significant for all countries around the Baltic Sea. Patriotic self-discovery was tested in scientific surroundings that were united by the international language of Latin, in which competing and revising interpretations continued to be formulated as intellectual horizions and balances of power shifted. Our contributions offer insight into different narratives of cultural history as maintained in early modern Sweden, Denmark, and neighboring countries. By encompassing the entire Baltic area, they elucidate variants and centers of Northern antiquarianism as well as Oriental Studies, and the function and meaning they took on in patriotic self-glorification. Our volume begins with two contributions which, each in their own way, address the foundations of the antiquarian movement. Godskálk Jensson takes us to the beginning and ultimate basis of the whole of Scandinavian antiquarianism, namely the massive contribution of the Icelanders, without whose editorial and translation activities in the seventeenth century Gothicism could not even have been imagined. Jensson shows in detail how a competition over access to the ancient materials flamed up between the two rival powers, Denmark and Sweden, which the two nations could only pursue with the help of the Icelanders. First it was the Danes Ole Worm, Stephan Stephanius, Peder Resenius, and Thomas Bartholin the Younger who profited from the manuscripts that had been brought to Copenhagen, and then in Sweden Olaus Verelius and of course Olaus Rudbeck, in whose hands the Icelandic textual witnesses were transformed into authorities in a primordial Gothic history. However,

 Ramus, Tractatus historico-geographicus quo Ulissem et Outinum unum eundemque esse ostenditur (first published in 1713), e. g. c. 2, 38 – 52, § 4, 47– 49, and also id., Nori Regnum hoc est Norvegia antiqua et ethnica, 4– 5.  As example see the comments on Rudbeck the Younger by Michaelis, Fragen an eine Gesellschaft Gelehrter Männer, q. 4, 11– 12.  Schlözer, Allgemeine Nordische Geschichte, Abhandlung II, c. 8, §§ 1– 7, 572– 579, §§ 22– 26, 596 – 601.

Introduction

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the key figure, as Jensson shows very clearly, was the Icelander Thormod Torfaeus, who promoted the Icelandic transmission as the sole source about ancient Scandinavia, ultimately establishing the hypothesis islandica. That this view of Icelandic literature would necessarily meet with resistance in Denmark, too, was to be predicted, since, as Jensson also shows, it challenged the long monopoly of Saxo Grammaticus over Danish historiography. Raija Sarasti-Wilenius in her study addresses a genre that likewise has barely been studied until now, the eulogies of cities and landscapes that were delivered as speeches of praise at the Scandinavian universities, in this case Turku, in the mid-seventeenth century. These eulogies offer not only a very positive and colorful picture of the district in question in each case, but also a stock of strategies for exalting the nation, which was drawn on by the later apologists of Gothicism in the wake of Rudbeck’s Atlantica. The next five papers, which likewise form a unity through distinctive contributions, lead us into the close entanglement of material culture and artefacts, patronage, and Gothicism. Kristoffer Neville addresses the strategies by which the first Gothicist antiquaries and national ideologists – in this case Eric Dahlbergh and Olaus Rudbeck – managed to integrate landscapes into the Gothicist molding of the past. Symbolically charged areas such as Bråvalla or the district around Uppsala were in this way able to become conspicuous witnesses to Swedish prehistory. Jonas Nordin concentrates in his paper on Eric Dahlbergh, whose Suecia antiqua et hodierna offered the most important survey of Swedish cities and sights in the seventeenth century. In a similar way to Neville, Nordin too shows how Dahlbergh succeeds in his drawings in bestowing symbolic capital on central sites of Swedish history, such as the Mora Stones on which the Swedish kings were crowned. Next Elena Dahlberg documents how historic monuments could be transformed into objects of patriotic poetry that was presented by the most important Gothicist panegyricist of Sweden’s late imperial phase, the propagandist of Charles XII, Magnus Rönnow. Rönnow, too, in his poems transformed artefacts into tools of national glorification, as Dahlberg shows in detail through the example of a poem about rune stones, and in doing so he was able to run through every register of political panegyric. But the most important exponent of the Gothicist transformation of objects was undoubtedly Rudbeck himself. Bernhard Schirg offers a paradigmatic reconstruction of how Rudbeck adapted myths that had a long prehistory in poetry and iconography and which connected the cultural history of ancient Rome directly to the history of Sweden. How did Rudbeck and his followers manage to lay claim to Janus, Saturn, and a figure such as Numa Pompilius? Poul Grinder-Hansen then brings the focus back to the other side of the Baltic Sea, to Denmark, and calls to our attention an unjustly little known Danish antiquarian and student of ancient history, Sören Abildgaard, who was a collaborator with the today far better known Jacob Langebek, the father of Danish medieval studies. As Grinder-Hansen shows, it was not least the indefatigable efforts of Abildgaard that made Langebek’s work possible. The third complex in our volume is formed by the linguistic speculations that were a feature of Gothicism right from the start. They too earn three contributions

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here. Stefan Heinrich Bauhaus begins, picking up an aspect of the eccentric philosophy of language of Olaus Rudback the Younger, Rudbeck’s son, namely the elevation of the Finns and Sami to descendants of the Lost Tribes of Israel. Bauhaus is able to show not only that already Rudbeck the Elder in the Atlantica had incorporated other languages, such as Phrygian, into similar etymological constructions, but also how the etymological method of Rudbeck the Younger, building on his father’s work, gave him the chance to import whole cartographies from the Orient to Sweden, and so to turn them into proofs of the Swedes’ status as Chosen People. That Oriental Studes could follow less spectacular paths at the universities of the Swedish empire is documented by Outi Merisalo, who presents Carl Abraham Clewberg, probably the leading Hebraist of the University of Turku. Clewberg, too, reacted to the contemporary Gothicist models of language, but, as Merisalo shows clearly, out of the model of a primordial language he picked up very different aspects from those of his predecessors. A further example of the Nordifying treatment of the Bible, but an example also of the engagement with the realia of Scandinavia more generally, is then given by Benjamin Hübbe. Was the moose, the icon of Swedish zoology, also to be found in the Bible? Hübbe traces the enormously wide-ranging debate about the moose across a period of more than a century; he shows, too, how much energy was devoted to the attempt to settle the creature in the habitat of the Holy Land. Just how far the various forms of Gothicism, out of the wealth of which we have here presented a selection, could resonate is shown, finally, by the study by Bernd Roling. Even in the eighteenth and nineteenth century it was still possible to revivify the belief in a civilization in the North as favored by Rudbeck, as is clearly shown above all by the example of the French astronomer Jean-Sylvain Bailly. Bailly was able to draw on the Swedish and Russian interest in Siberia, but he relied above all on Rudbeck’s Atlantica. That Bailly, as Roling’s study shows, for this reason became an object of satire, should perhaps cause no surprise. The mighty runic writings which explained all and gave meaning to all history would in the end, as Bailly’s opponent Senkovskij hints, be unmasked as natural patterns in the rocks.

Bibliography Primary Literature Aventinus, Johannes, Annalium Boiorum libri VII, Basel 1580. Edda Islandorum – Völuspá – Hávamál, ed. by Peder Resenius, Copenhagen 1665, Reprint Reykjavík 1977. Kapnist, Vasilij, Краткое изысканґе о Гипербореанахъ, in: id., Сочиненґя Капниста, ed. by Alexander Smirdin, St Petersburg 1849, 569 – 599. Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, Erasmus Stella und dessen nun erst ans Licht tretende ‘Commentarii de rebus ac populis orae inter Albim et Salam’, in: id., Sämmtliche Schriften (12 vols.), ed. by Karl Lachmann, Berlin 1838 – 40, vol. 9, 313 – 358.

Introduction

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Lyschander, Claudius Christian, Synopsis Historiarum Danicarum: En kort Svmma offner Den Danske Historia Fra Verdens Begyndelse til Neruerendis oc nu Regerendis Stormectige Førstis, Copenhagen 1633. Michaelis, Johann David, Fragen an eine Gesellschaft Gelehrter Männer, die auf Befehl Ihro Majestät des Königes von Dännemark nach Arabien reisen, Frankfurt 1764. Оссіанъ, сынъ Фингаловъ, вардъ третъяго вѣка, галъскґя стихотворенґя, translated by Jermil Kostrov (2 vols.), Moskow 1792. Petraeus, Nicolaus, Cimbrorum et Gothorum origines, migrationes, bella, atqve coloniae libris duobus recensitae, Leipzig 1695. Peutinger, Conrad, De inclinatione Romani imperii et exterarum gentium praecipue Germanorum commigrationibus, in: Jornandes, De rebus Gothorum et Pauli Warnefridi historiae Langobardiae libri, Augsburg 1515. Ramus, Jonas Danielssøn, Tractatus historico-geographicus quo Ulissem et Outinum unum eundemque esse ostenditur, Kopenhagen 1716. Id., Nori Regnum hoc est Norvegia antiqua et ethnica, sive Historiae Norvegicae prima initia, Christiana 1689, 4 – 5. Schlözer, August Ludwig, Allgemeine Nordische Geschichte: aus den neuesten und besten Nordischen Schriftstellern und nach eigenen Untersuchungen beschrieben, Halle 1771. Strahlenberg, Philipp Johann Tabbert von, Das Nord- und Ostliche Theil von Europa und Asia, Stockholm 1730, Reprint Szeged 1975. Strelow, Hans, Cronica Guthilandorum, den Guthilandiske Croncia, huor udi beskrifnis suorledis Guthiland er opsøgt oc paahundet, Copenhagen 1633.

Secondary Literature Agrell, Jan, Studier i den äldre språkjämförelsens allmänna och svenska historia fram till 1827, Uppsala 1955. Anttila, Tero, “East of Atlantis – Ancient Finland and its Inhabitants in Olof Rudbeck the Elder’s Atlantica”, in: Kari Alenius / Anita Honkola (eds.), Itämeren itälaidalla II, Rovaniemi 2009, 39 – 56. Id., The Power of Antiquity. The Hyperborean Research Tradition in Early Modern Swedish Research on National Antiquity, Oulu 2014. App, Urs, The Birth of Orientalism, Philadelphia 2010. Bauhaus, Stefan Heinrich, “Olof Rudbeck the Younger’s Oförgripelige tankar om amerikanska språket”, in: Bernd Roling / Bernhard Schirg / Stefan Bauhaus (eds.), Apotheosis of the North. The Swedish Appropriation of Classical Antiquity around the Baltic Sea and Beyond (1650 – 1800), Berlin 2017, 47 – 62. Id., Zwischen Gotizismus und Orthodoxie. Olof Rudbeck der Jüngere und die Sprachen des Nordens, Diss. Berlin 2019. Bäärnhielm, Göran, “Orientalistiken i Sverige fram till 1720-talet”, in: Éva Á. Csató / Gunilla Gren-Eklund / Folke Sandgren (eds.), En resenär I svenska stormaktstidens språklandskap. Gustaf Peringer Lillieblad (1651 – 1710), Uppsala 2007, 39 – 87. Blocher, Sabine, Altertumskunde und Sammlungswesen in Schweden von den Anfängen im Mittelalter bis zur Regierungszeit Gustavs II. Adolf, Frankfurt 1993. Boele, Otto, The North in Russian Romantic Literature, Groningen 1994. Bolzano, Elena, Olaus Magnus. Carta marina, Paris 2005. Boyer, Regis, “L’Atlantide, c’est-à-dire la Suède, selon Olof Rudbeck (1630 – 1702)”, in: Chantal Fourcrier (ed.), Atlantides imaginaires, réécritures d’un mythe, Paris 2004, 83 – 95.

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Brough, Sonia, The Goths and the Concept of the Gothi in Germany from 1500 to 1750. Culture, Language and Architecture, Frankfurt 1985. Busch, Kay, Großmachtstatus und Saga-Interpretation – die schwedische Vorzeitsagaeditionen des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts, Diss. Digital, University Library, Erlangen 2004. Ebel, Uwe, “Studien zur Rezeption der ›Edda‹ in der Neuzeit”, in: id., Gesammelte Schriften zur skandinavischen Literatur, vol. 3: Zur Renaissance des ›Germanischen‹ vom 18. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert, Metelen 2001, 19 – 78. Ellenius, Allan, “Olaus Rudbecks Atlantiska Anatomi”, in: Lychnos (1959), 40 – 52. Id., Baroque dreams: Art and vision in Sweden in the era of greatness, Uppsala 2003. Eriksson, Gunnar, The Atlantic Vision. Olaus Rudbeck and Baroque Science, Canton 1994. Id., Olaus Rudbeck 1630 – 1702. Liv, lärdom, dröm i barockens Sverige, Stockholm 2002. Eskhult, Josef, Andreas Norrelius’ Latin Translation of Johan Kemper’s Hebrew Commentary on Matthew, Uppsala 2007. Frängsmyr, Tore, Svensk idéhistoria. Bildning och vetenskap under tusen år (2 vols.), Stockholm 2000. Johannesson, Kurt, Gotisk renässans. Johannes och Olaus Magnus som politiker och historiker, Stockholm 1982. Huhtamies, Mikko, Pohjolan Atlantis. Uskomattomia ideoita itämerellä, Helsinki 2014. Karttunen, Klaus, “Lähteitä orientalistiikan ja Vanhan testamentin eksegetiikan historiaan 1640 – 1828”, in: Ilkka Antola / Harry Halén (eds.), Suomalaisen eksegetiikan ja orientalistiikan juuria, Helsinki 1993, 163 – 202. Id., “Linguarum professio in Academia Gustaviana in Tartu (Dorpat) and Academia Gustavo-Carolina in Pärnu (Pernau) in Estonia”, in: Nordisk Judaistik 16 (1995), 65 – 74. Id., Moseeksen kirjoista kungfutselaisuuden klassikoihin ja Jerusalemista Siperian tundralle. Aasian-tutkimuksen vaiheet Suomessa, Helsinki 2011. King, David, A True Story of Genius, Madness, and an Extraordinary Quest for Lost World, New York 2005. Legnér, Matthias, Fäderneslandets rätta bekrivning. Mötet mellan antikvarisk forskning och ekonomisk nyttokult i 1700-talets Sverige, Helsinki 2004. Lindberg, Bo, “Filosemitism och biblicism – om synen på det judiska i det karolinska Sverige”, in: Éva Á. Csató / Gunilla Gren-Eklund / Folke Sandgren (eds.), En resenär I svenska stormaktstidens språklandskap. Gustaf Peringer Lillieblad (1651 – 1710), Uppsala 2007, 143 – 163. Lindroth, Sten, Svensk Lärdomshistoria (4 vols.), Stockholm 1975. Lohmeier, Dieter, “Das gotische Evangelium und die cimbrischen Heiden. Daniel Georg Morhof, Johann Daniel Major und der Gotizismus”, in: Lychnos (1977 – 78), 54 – 70. Neville, Kristofer / Lisa Skogh, “Introduction”, in: id. (eds.), Queen Hedwig Eleonora and the Arts. Court Culture in Seventeenth-Century Northern Europe, London 2017, 1 – 17. Neville, Kristoffer, “The Land of the Goths and Vandals: The visual presentation of Gothicism at the Swedish Court, 1550 – 1700”, in: Renaissance Studies 27 (2012), 435 – 459. Id., “Towards an International Gothicism in Early-Modern Europe”, in: Jan Harasimowicz (ed.), On Opposite Sides of the Baltic Sea. Relations between Scandinavia and Central Europe (2 vols.), Warsaw 2006, vol. 2, 333 – 340. Nol’vanskaja, Marija Grigor’evna, Филипп Иоганн Страленберг. Его работы по исследованию Сибири, Moscow 1966. Nordström, Johan, De yverbornes ö. Sextonhundratalsstudier, Stockholm 1934. Roling, Bernd, “Akademischer Hyperboreer-Kult: Rudbeckianische Disputationen zwischen Netzwerkbildung und nationaler Überhöhung”, in: Robert Seidel / Marion Gindhart / Hanspeter Marti (eds.), Frühneuzeitliche Disputationen – polyvalente Produktionsapparate gelehrten Wissens, Köln 2016, 199 – 216.

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Id., “Introduction”, in: Bernd Roling / Bernhard Schirg / Stefan Bauhaus (eds.), Apotheosis of the North. The Swedish Appropriation of Classical Antiquity around the Baltic Sea and Beyond (1650 – 1800), Berlin 2017, 1 – 16. Id., “Arabia in the Light of the Midnight Sun: Arabic Studies in Sweden between Gustaf Peringer Lillieblad and Jonas Hallenberg”, in: Jan Loop / Alastair Hamilton / Charles Burnett (eds.), The Teaching and Learning of Arabic in Early Modern Europe, Leiden 2017, 93 – 132. Schier, Kurt, “Literatur als historisches Argument: Einige Bemerkungen zum Nachwirken Snorris in Skandinavien vom 17.–19. Jahrhundert”, in: Hans Fix (ed.), Snorri Sturluson. Beiträge zu Werk und Rezeption, Berlin 1998. Schmidt-Voges, Inken, De antiqua claritate. Gotizismus als Identitätsmodell im frühneuzeitlichen Schweden, Frankfurt 2004. Schnapp, Alain (ed.), World Antiquarianism. Comparative Perspectives, Los Angeles 2013. Schoeps, Julius, Philosemitismus im Barock, Religions- und geistesgeschichtliche Untersuchungen, Tübingen 1952. Schröder, Stephan Michael, “Schweden als Herkunftsland antiker Kultur: Olof Rudbecks Atland eller Manheim (Atlantica sive Manheim) (1679 – 1702)”, in: Dietrich Boschung / Erich Kleinschmidt (eds.), Lesbarkeiten. Antikerezeption zwischen Barock und Aufklärung, Würzburg 2010, 61 – 80. Schwab, Raymond, The Oriental Renaissance. Europe’s Rediscovery of India and the East, 1680 – 1880, New York 1984. Sjebaldina, Galina, “Karolinernas sibiriska dagböcker – om de egna och de andra”, in: Lena Jonson / Tamara Torstendahl Salytjeva (eds.), Poltava: krigsfångar och kulturutbyte, Stockholm 2009, 43 – 62. Stipa, Günter Johannes, Finnisch-ugrische Sprachforschung von der Renaissance bis zum Neupositivismus, Helsinki 1990. Stok, Fabio, “Enciclopedia e fonti enciclopediche nella Historia de gentibus septentrionalibus”, in: Carlo Santini (ed.), I fratelli Giovanni e Olao Magno. Opera e cultura tra due mondi, Rom 1999, 387 – 410. Teltscher, Kate, India inscribed. European and British Writings on India, 1600 – 1800, New Dehli 1999. Widenberg, Johanna, Fäderneslandes antikviteter: etnoterritoriella historiebruk och integrationssträvanden i den svenska statsmaktens antikvariska verksamhet ca 1600 – 1720, Uppsala 2006. Windisch, Ernst, Geschichte der Sanskritphilologie und Indischen Altertumskunde, Straßburg 1917. Zellhuber, Andreas, Der gotische Weg in den deutschen Krieg – Gustav Adolf und der schwedische Gotizismus, Augsburg 2002. Wood, Christopher S., Forgery, replica, fiction. Temporalities of German Renaissance Art, Chicago 2008.

Gottskálk Jensson

Hypothesis Islandica, or Concerning the initially supportive but ultimately subversive impact of the rediscovery of medieval Icelandic literature on the evaluation of Saxo Grammaticus as a historical authority during the heyday of Danish antiquarianism Quae tempestas me in altum illud antiquitatum abripuerit mare, nescio; portum non video. Alea jacta est, utut fors ceciderit. ¹ Ole Worm (1588 – 1654)

This paper is concerned in essence with the establishment of the academic discipline of Antiquitates Danicae in the early seventeenth century, the development of which it pursues, primarily in so far as this impinges on the reception of Icelandic literature in Denmark, into the eighteenth century. The creators of this branch of knowledge were Scandinavian royal antiquarians and historians, who with few exceptions were also professors at the two Danish academies of Copenhagen and Sorø. The history of antiquarian studies in Denmark is a worthwhile subject in its own right, but also forms the background to the monumental project of editing Old Norse-Icelandic texts for publication. This project began in earnest in Copenhagen after the foundation of the Arnamagnæan Commission in 1772. Before this time almost no Old Norse-Icelandic editions were produced in Denmark, while many more came out in Sweden and, despite the numerous obstacles, in Iceland itself.² Virtually all publications of Old Norse-Icelandic texts, both in Denmark and Sweden, were prepared by Icelanders, primarily because of the scarcity of lexical and grammatical tools, which made it virtually impossible for others than native speakers of Icelandic to master the medieval language.³ The absence of Danish editions from before 1772 stands in noteworthy contrast to the success of Danish authorities in procuring Icelandic manuscripts, which meant

 »I know not what tempest sets me adrift on the deep ocean of antiquities; with no harbor in sight. The die is cast, whatever fate may befall.« From a letter to Bertel Knudsen Aquilonius (1588 – 1650), dated to 1626, when Worm was embarking on his antiquarian studies. Worm, Olai Wormii et ad eum doctorum virorum epistolae, 50.  The only major texts published in Denmark before this time were the Sorra-Edda in 1665, including the poems Völuspá and Hávamál, and the Konungsskuggsjá, published in 1768 on Icelandic initiative, which Finnur Jónsson calls »the first real edition«, Jónsson (1918).  Such aids first became available in the early 1800s, thanks to the Icelandic provost Björn Halldórsson (1724– 1794) and the Danish linguist Rasmus Kristian Rask (1787– 1832). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638042-003

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that the greatest part of the important Old Norse-Icelandic codices was in the Danish royal collection by the late 1660s, or by 1720 in the considerably larger collection of the Icelandic-born professor and archivist Árni Magnússon (1663 – 1730). During the late seventeenth century antiquarians of Denmark and Sweden vied in collecting Icelandic literature, and in accordance with the patriotic spirit of the times invoked the Icelandic material as their own. Because the Danish held sovereignty over Iceland, many more manuscripts were exported to Denmark than Sweden. In 1685 King Christian V even prohibited outright the surrender of Icelandic manuscripts to agents of other countries. The scholars of the Swedish College of Antiquities nevertheless managed to recruit competent Icelanders to copy and translate medieval texts, and a number of Icelandic manuscripts were brought to Sweden directly or even through Denmark, e. g. the important collection of the Danish professor at Sorø, Stephen Stephanius (1599 – 1650), which was sold to Sweden by his impoverished widow. Noteworthy also is the successful expedition to Iceland on behalf of the Swedish authorities by the disgruntled Icelander Jón Eggertsson (1643 – 1689), which resulted in the enrichment of the Swedish collections by several important parchment manuscripts. After 1772 Copenhagen gradually became the center of Old Norse-Icelandic editorial philology, a preeminence it maintained for two centuries, until the historic transfer began in 1971 of a large part of the Icelandic manuscripts in Copenhagen to the University of Iceland.⁴ A quick estimate indicates that there are still over 1800 Old Norse-Icelandic codices in the Copenhagen collections, although most of them are post-medieval, besides important parchment books in Sweden and elsewhere. But in recent years the center of gravity of Old Norse-Icelandic philological projects has shifted towards Iceland itself, though the field is now very much an international area of study. However, the foundations of the discipline were unquestionably laid in Copenhagen, where an initial methodology for Old Norse-Icelandic philology was developed in collaboration between Icelandic, Danish, Norwegian, Swedish, and German scholars. Arguably these origins have never been shed entirely. The foundational rationale of the academic discipline of Danish Antiquities could be described as yet another Renaissance transferral, a translatio antiquitatis, as it were; a shifting of the focal point of ancient studies from the Mediterranean to the North by adapting classical contents to a Scandinavian setting. The vestiges inevitably carried over from the study of the classical world were inherent, but not necessarily evident as such to the advocates of the new discipline, especially in the use of Latin as the scientific medium and in the Greco-Roman intellectual baggage that came with it. The motivation for the establishment of the discipline in Den-

 During the first century or so, text editing in Copenhagen was mostly in the hands of publishing societies, beginning with the Arnamagnæan Commission. The Icelandic Literary Society was founded in 1815 by Rasmus Rask. The Royal Society of Nordic Studies was founded in 1825, also by Rask, though after the first three years it was led by Carl Christian Rafn (1795 – 1864). The Nordic Antiquities Society was founded in 1847. From 1771 to 1879 about 90 volumes of Old Norse-Icelandic texts were published in Copenhagen and many more in the following century (1879 – 1971).

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mark arose out of the ideological necessity, felt most keenly by intellectuals close to the king, to give appropriate expression to the momentous breach with Rome that occurred in the Reformation. This cultural revolution provided the monarchs and princes of Northern Europe with an opportunity to take over the church by severing their ties with the Apostolic See. Elevated to head of the church, the heads of state appropriated enormous ecclesiastical resources that had been accumulated through the centuries. This great power seizure put an end once and for all to the medieval policy of libertas ecclesiae, i. e. the sharing of sovereignty between regnum and sacerdotium. The triumph over Rome demanded that the monarch and Council of the Realm take control of the history of the patria. Historiography had traditionally been the domain of church officials, and so it partly continued to be, but catholic universality was no longer viewed as being in the interest of the state. Regardless of the pragmatics of Realpolitik, the Roman Church had always seen itself in theory as independent of and celestially positioned above worldly governments, and citing Scripture it loudly polemicized against temporal pursuits. As always, Catholic history was Rome-centric, producing comparisons between states and cultures at the expense of the northern realms but favorably to the ancient Mediterranean empires (with the notable exceptions of Egypt and Mesopotamia). The northern realm and its inhabitants, who are barely mentioned in classical texts, were portrayed as barbarian and latecomers to civilization. Thus the history of the Germans and Scandinavians, seen through a Mediterranean lens, was that of savage tribes pacified by military expeditions and Christian missions from the south. After the Reformation, refashioning the Hyperborean Other into a respectable subject with an illustrious pedigree became a cultural imperative. This ethnic Care-for-the-Self, to use a Foucauldian phrase, showed itself with time to be a highly rewarding enterprise, especially when manuscripts were discovered in Iceland that could support the supposition that the Scandinavians had their own glorious ancient history, language, and literature.

1 The historiographical feud between the Danes and the Swedes The goal of Antiquitates Danicae was to construct a glorious Protestant antiquity for the Danish empire, and to provide ideological support for the ambition of the Danish monarch and the Councils of the Realm to rule the Nordic countries. With the Treaty of Kalmar of 1397, which stipulated the eternal union of Scandinavia under one monarch with separate Councils of the Realm (Rigsraad) for each country, Danish hegemony in Scandinavia was founded as a political ideal, although the new empire soon ran into serious difficulties as far as Sweden was concerned. Besides, the Danish monarchs from Christian I (king of Denmark 1448 – 1481, Norway 1450 – 1481, and Sweden 1457– 1464) were in fact Germans and members of the Low-German House

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of Oldenburg (a port city on the North Sea). Apart from ruling Denmark, Sweden (including Finland), and Norway, they were also dukes of Schleswig (from 1460) and Holstein (after 1474), two duchies within the Holy Roman Empire. Nevertheless, modern historians argue that the political logic of the Kalmar Union was an attempt on the part of the aristocratic members of the Scandinavian Councils of the Realm to resist the power of the Hanseatic League and its growing influence over the Scandinavian economy. From a continental point of view, however, the whole of the Danish empire could well be viewed as a North-German vassal state. The continent to the south, whatever political constellations ruled the day there, had always been an exciting source of inspiration and innovation, while at the same time constituting a threat of domination, which made expedient various, mostly defensive, alliances between the Nordic kingdoms. Long before the Reformation, the great medieval chronicler Saxo Grammaticus had established a workable ideal of Danish / Nordic autonomy with his Behemoth of the Gesta Danorum (ca. 1200). The intention of this great project, defined and commissioned by Archbishop Absalon of Lund (d. 1201), was »to demonstrate convincingly that Denmark was an ancient Empire, every bit as distinguished and cultivated as the Roman Empire […] that Denmark was not and never had been a province of the Holy Roman Empire«.⁵ According to this imperial and patriotic construct, Denmark did not even – contrary to fact – owe its Christianity to the Continent. A strange allegory of history permeates Saxo’s work, according to which ancient Roman literature is used as a model for the contemporary culture of the Holy Roman Empire north of the Alps, i. e. Saxo’s posturing is aimed at neither ancient Rome nor the medieval Papal See, but at the Roman Empire immediately south of the Danish border. Nevertheless, in his twelfth-century classicizing Latin, Saxo appropriates the authoritative style of Greco-Roman poetic diction, and transfers it onto old »Danish« poetry in the sermo patrius. In practice this means translating and refashioning Icelandic skaldic and eddic poetry into Latin verses, which are in turn modeled on the poetry of the Roman classical poets, such as Vergil and Horace. As for Saxo’s carefully crafted narrative prose, this is likewise based on vernacular material, which he has polished in emulation of Silver Latin rhetoricians such as Valerius Maximus. In Saxo’s typically medieval mixture of verse and prose, however, the center of gravity of historical authority leans towards the poetic side, much as it does in Icelandic sagas, such as the Heimskringla. ⁶ Saxo’s Gesta Danorum, citing rune stones and Icelandic historical sources in the preface, reaches back into murky antiquity to trace the history of the Danish kingdom from its eponymous founder, King Dan, to the times of the Valdemars and Arch-

 Knudsen (2000).  Friis-Jensen (1987).

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bishop Absalon of Lund in the late twelfth-century.⁷ Its scope is unrivaled, no other medieval source of Scandinavian history gives an equally sweeping, detailed, and living picture of the earliest history of the North. Of major medieval chronicles on Scandinavia, only Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla is independent of Saxo, and can be placed alongside him, supplemented by the mythological chapters of the prose Edda. ⁸ The first edition of Saxo’s work was printed in Paris in 1514.⁹ It was a success in learned European circles. Erasmus of Rotterdam in a dialogue entitled Ciceronianus (1528) has one of the interlocutors express his surprise that such stylistic elegance and learning was to be found in a Danish author of that age.¹⁰ As is evident from the paratexts the editio princeps was motivated by a wish on the part of Christian II (1513 – 1523) to secure his position as ruler of the Kalmar Union, a position increasingly threatened by Swedish attempts to break away from the alliance. Saxo’s grand history was interpreted as an emphatic statement of Danish power.¹¹ In the years following the first printing, tensions between Denmark and Sweden grew, culminating in the notorious Massacre of Stockholm in 1520, in which a number of Swedish noblemen, prelates, and burghers were killed by Danish royal agents. Three years later, Christian II was forced into exile and the Kalmar Union dissolved. Hence it is not surprising that anti-Danish sentiment among Swedish intellectuals should find expression in attacks on the glorious construct of Saxo’s Gesta Danorum as presented in the edition of 1514. Indeed, this publication prompted a grand  Saxo provides the names of about 60 Danish kings up to Gorm the Old, the last pagan king, and an additional 15 Christian ones, including Valdemar the Great. He does not fix the reign of Dan with respect to Roman chronology, but his succession of Danish kings puts Dan 22 generations before King Frothi the Peaceful, who is supposed to be Augustus’ contemporary. Accordingly, it has been suggested by the latest editor of the text that Saxo imagined the brothers Dan and Angel, his parallel for England, to be contemporaries of Romulus and Remus, the legendary founders of Rome. Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum, ad loc. In dating the Peace of Frothi to the days of Augustus Saxo is following the Icelandic Skjöldunga saga, the genealogy of which goes back to the first Icelandic historian Sæmundur Sigfússon (d. 1133). Guðnason (1981), 88.  The Zealand Chronicle of the thirteenth century and the Jutland Chronicle of the fourteenth century take Saxo as their obvious point of departure. Likewise, when Ericus Olai in Uppsala in the 1470s wrote his Chronica regni Gothorum, and when Albert Krantz in Hamburg a few decades later compiled the history of the Saxons, Vends, and Nordic peoples, they, too, derived most of their knowledge from Saxo, Johannesson (1978), Johannesson (1982).  Saxo Grammaticus, Danorum Regum Heroumque Historiae.  Erasmus admired Saxo for »his lively and burning genius, his rapid, flowing speech, his wonderful wealth of words, his numerous aphorisms, his wonderful variety of figures« (vividum & ardens ingenium, orationem nusquam remissam aut dormitantem, tum miram verborum copiam, sententias crebras, & figurarum admirabilem varietatem), and he couldn’t »wonder enough where a Dane of that age got so great a power of eloquence« (ut satis admirari non queam, unde illa ætate homini Dano tanta vis loquendi suppetierit). Erasmus’ approval of Saxo’s style was used as a blurb on the title page of the 1534 Basel edition, and again in the 1576 Frankfurt edition, at the end of the prefatory materials, facing the first page of Saxo’s text.  Friis-Jensen (1989).

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Swedish counterstatement by the last Catholic archbishop of Sweden, Johannes Magnus (1488 – 1544). Magnus had been forced into exile when the new king of Sweden, Gustav Vasa, finally embraced the Protestant Reformation. He wrote his influential Historia de omnibus Gothorum Sveonumque regibus in Danzig and Venice. Although written around 1530 it was first printed posthumously in Rome in 1554 by the author’s younger brother, Olaus, who a year later also issued his own equally famous Historia de gentibus Septentrionalibus. Johannes Magnus’ Historia de regibus tells of Gothic and Swedish kings and their deeds from the earliest times, stretching back into Biblical antiquity, even further than Saxo had done. As historians in Denmark recognized early, Magnus’ grand construct was largely built on the Gesta Danorum by revising the identity of Danish kings and reapplying Saxo’s already grandiose claims on behalf of the Danes to Goths and Swedes. According to Magnus, who begins his narrative from the Deluge, Noah’s grandson Magog settled in Sweden and inaugurated a veritable Gothic Golden Age, long before the other empires of old. Magnus can name 143 Swedish kings from Magog to Gustav Vasa. Although his focus was ostensibly on his patria, the scope of his undertaking was catholic, since he concerned himself no less with the Goths beyond Sweden (extra patriam) than with the Goths in Sweden (in patria). The former, he says, emigrated from their northern Heimat as early as 1430 B.C. and eventually overpowered Greece and Rome. This was Gothicism at its chauvinistic extreme, based on early modern interpretations of Jordanes’ Getica, the sixth-century history of the Goths, which had been printed by Konrad Peutinger in Augsburg 1515 – a year after Saxo came out in Paris.¹² Magnus’ celebration of the ancient Goths also borrowed from the Germanistic movement, which was inspired by Tacitus’ description of the Germans in his Germania, another rediscovered ancient authority recently made available in print, indeed available in several editions before 1500. On the authority of Tacitus, German humanists could describe the character and moral habitus of the ancient Germans in positive terms and so counter the contemptuous accusations of barbarism frequently launched by Italian humanists.¹³ Thus Magnus’ Goths were given a share in these newly rediscovered ancient German virtues. Such incorporation into Magnus’ history of up-to-date knowledge, made available through the modern medium of printing, caused Magnus’ work to become something of a sensation in learned European circles. As for the historic Kalmar Union, Magnus regarded it simply as Danish tyranny. He expressed his vehement antipathy towards the Danes in a long polemical tirade, »A Speech Against the Danes« (Oratio contra Danos), with which he concluded his history. Most outrageous to the Danes, though, were Magnus’ claims that Denmark

 On Swedish Gothicism in particular, see Lindroth (1961), Malm (1996). On Gothicism in general, see Svennung (1967).  On the Germanistic movement, see the modern standard work by Ride´ (1977).

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had originally been a set of unpopulated islands south of Sweden, settled by Swedish criminals around 2000 B.C., who were deported by the good King Erik I in an act of purging Sweden. These reputedly ignoble origins of the Danes then served the Swedish archbishop as une cause historique for certain repulsive character traits among the Danes, viz. cruelty and deceitfulness. The archbishop even prints a poem or song by King Erik I, where he boasts of his achievement in founding Denmark by purging Sweden of rogue elements. This ›Song of Erik‹, Magnus writes, »is in circulation throughout the fatherland [Sweden] in the vernacular for the appreciation of the entire population« (circumferuntur in tota patria ante publicum omnium conspectum carmina patrio sermone). Nevertheless, the song is represented on the pages of Historia de regibus in Latin Sapphic stanzas in emulation of Saxo’s classicizing style.¹⁴ This unique sample at the beginning of the work is designed to match up to Saxo’s elegant Latin versification; in the rest of the Historia de regibus, however, Johannes Magnus altogether drops such demanding metrical exercises. Although the Kalmar Union was dissolved in 1523, this event by no means marked the end of the Danish Empire. Denmark was still a political power to be reckoned with since the German Duchies, Schleswig and Holstein, together with Norway, Iceland, and the Faroe Islands continued to be united with Denmark in the Great Danish realm. In the early seventeenth century Greenland was rediscovered and eventually, in the early eighteenth century, it too became part of the Danish empire. The Danish monarch was both enriched and empowered by the Reformation, which, as noted above, eliminated the Roman church as a player in Danish politics. With only the nobles left as serious rivals within the institutions of state, Frederick III was able to claim absolute power in the 1660s. Historians of Denmark did not at first know how to rebut the fabrications launched against them by the »Great Goth« (Magnus Gothus) except by disavowing the calumnies and insisting on Saxo’s general reliablity in Danish history.¹⁵ Almost half a century later, in 1596 – 1604, the impressive 10-volume Danmarks Riges Krønike by State Chancellor Arild Huitfeldt (1546 – 1609) came out, which soon became the canonical account of the Danish past in the vernacular. The government’s efforts to produce a new history of Denmark in Latin for an international readership bore fruit in 1631, when the Dutchman Johannes Pontanus (d. 1639) published his

 Skovgaard-Petersen (2008), http://www.renaessanceforum.dk/rf_5_2008.htm (last viewed: 4 July 2017).  Hans Svaning’s Refutatio calumniarum cuiusdam Joannis Magni Gothi from 1560 – 1561 was not a history of Denmark, although as an appendix the author added his history of King Hans (1483 – 1513), who ruled Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. Svaning had in fact written a history of Denmark, but the Danish government decided against publishing it, probably in compliance with the paragraphs of the peace treaty between Denmark and Sweden of 1570 (at the end of the Seven Years’ War), which prohibited polemical writings between the countries. One of Svaning’s refutations of Magnus consisted in pointing out that it was the Danes who were the rightful heirs of the Goths, since Scania was Danish territory, Skovgaard-Petersen (1993), 114– 116.

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Rerum Danicarum historia. ¹⁶ Pontanus had been appointed to write the history of Denmark in 1618, the same year as the famous Leiden philologist Daniel Heinsius (d. 1655) was appointed by Gustavus Adolphus to write the history of Sweden. Pontanus had previously written on German tribes in the period of the Völkerwanderung, relying on classical and early medieval historians, a fact which no doubt contributed to his recruitment as historiographer to Christian IV. His Latin history cautiously attempted to exploit reliable classical and medieval sources to extend Danish history further back in time, and to provide it with the Biblical link that was missing in Saxo. The text therefore contains extensive discussions of the early migrations by Cimbri, Teutons, Goths, and Vandals, but for the history of Denmark proper Pontanus more or less follows Saxo and, where Saxo’s narrative leaves off in the late 1100s, Pontanus proceeds by following Huitfeldt. The foundations of Danish history laid by Saxo were therefore still in place even after Pontanus’ history became the standard narrative on the subject in international circles. This almost spellbound dependency on Saxo even went beyond Denmark. Johannes Magnus, in the introductory passage to his Historia de regibus borrows so heavy-handedly from Saxo’s introduction that the phraseology of the original remains visible in the text. As Skovgaard Petersen has shown, Magnus can be caught in the act of inventing his sources, the otherwise unknown ancient runic books of the priests of Uppsala, where he stitches together his patchwork of a text from an erroneous reading of the 1514 edition of Saxo, which has since been identified and corrected in modern editions. Saxo had claimed in his prologue to have used vernacular, i. e. runic, poetry sculpted on stones »as if it were« (ceu) ancient books (antiquitatis uolumina; cf. uoluminum loco in the same passage), but in the 1514 edition this had become a claim that Saxo had used runic inscriptions »or« (seu) ancient books – the difference amounts to a single letter.¹⁷ Moreover, Saxo had conceded that the source of »no small part« (haud parva pars) of his work was the »historical treasures« (thesauri historicarum rerum) of the Icelanders (Tylenses), while Magnus seems to know nothing of Icelandic sources, but claims to have based »no small part of his history« (non parua scribendæ historiæ materia) on poetry composed in the patrius sermo, which commemorates the deeds of his ancestors, which (like Saxo before him) he had found sculpted on the stones and rocks of his fatherland. Magnus then makes

 The first volume of Pontanus’ history ended its narrative of events in 1448, and thus covered only a part of the missing period after Saxo. Volume 2 was not printed until a century after Pontanus’ death.  Karen Skovgaard-Petersen (2008), 6: »The seu-reading may well be taken to mean that Saxo indicates that he has used books written in the early Danish past. Johannes Magnus, I think, seized on this suggestion of an old Danish bookish culture, applying it (as he had done with the other sources mentioned by Saxo) to the older Gothic culture. And he then – a typical feature of his construction of the early past – elaborates on this vague suggestion by adding a number of precise circumstances: The Gothic priests in Uppsala were keepers of books written in Gothic with Gothic letters, and somehow – no details are given – Magnus was able to consult them.«

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the statement mentioned that he has found »not a few very old volumes written in the Gothic language with Gothic letters [i. e. runes], relying on the authority of the priests of Uppsala« (non pauca antiquissima uolumina, quæ publica sacerdotum Upsalensium fide, & Gotico sermone ac charactere conscripta).¹⁸ In replying to Magnus, the antiquarians of Denmark early on rejected the ineffective rhetorical strategy of outbidding him in fabulous prehistoric claims.¹⁹ Such claims, they understood, would only contribute to undermining the historical authority of Saxo by altering his account of ancient history. As early as 1575 a Danish translation of Saxo was printed, the work of Anders Sørensen Vedel (1542– 1616), at the request of the king’s chancellor Christian Friis (1556 – 1616). Although the Danes were willing to compete with their neighbors in tracing their lineage back to the Creation and the Flood, an escalation of historical claims was considered a strategy inferior to professing disbelief in Swedish legendary lore and opening up the possibility, as did Pontanus, that reliable knowledge about the Danish past perhaps did not go further back in time than the late ancient and early medieval classical sources. Sources on early Scandinavian history were indeed scarce, until an unexpected new avenue of historical research opened up. This was the ancient poetry of Iceland, which at first promised to confirm the veracity of Saxo, although later, as it happened, the rich Icelandic material as a whole, as more of it came to be available, would begin to subvert the authority of Saxo’s early account of Danish history.

2 Ole Worm’s discovery of Ancient »Danish« poetry in Iceland In the decades before and after 1600, Icelandic medieval texts, both poetry and sagas, began to come to the attention of Danish historians and officials. At first this was through Danish translations of the Heimskringla of Snorri Sturluson (d. 1241), made by Norwegian humanists in Bergen, who could still read Old  Cf. Nilsson (2016), who gives a more appreciative account of Magnus’ runic sources.  The exception to this rule is the embarrassing Claus Christoffersen Lyschander (1558 – 1623/4), who was replaced by Pontanus as royal historiographer, but nevertheless allowed by Christian IV to continue his work. He was educated with David Chytræus (1530 – 1600) in Rostock and in Wittenberg. In 1619 he delivered to Chancellor Christian Friis (1581– 1639) a draft of a Synopsis historiæ Danicæ or Slectebog, which was published in 1622. In this vast study Lyschander provides Denmark with an early history comparable to the one Magnus had provided to Sweden. He begins the Danish royal succession with Adam, and employing supposedly local relationes he splices Saxo’s list of Danish kings together with biblical genealogies, elaborating the Danish royal genealogy along collateral branches in order to connect it with just about every royal and ducal family in Europe, hence the title Slectebog. The work was published in Danish and never had an influence beyond Denmark. Even in Denmark it never inspired a Gothicism like that which Magnus started in Sweden with his Historia de regibus. Among Danish historians Lyschander had a notorious reputation, Skovgaard-Petersen (2002), 118 – 120.

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Norse-Icelandic.²⁰ Subsequently, publications in Latin by the Icelandic humanist Arngrímur Jónsson (1568 – 1648), a priest working at Hólar, the northern episcopal see of Iceland, began to make available the contents of other Icelandic historical texts. Some of these were not printed until the twentieth century, and were originally intended simply as source material for Danish historians. Among them is the Rerum Danicarum Fragmenta, which retells the contents of the Skjöldunga saga (by then already fragmentary and now lost, apart from 6 leaves), and Knýtlinga saga (preserved in copies). These two Icelandic sagas from the early to mid thirteenth century aimed to present a complete history of the Danish kings. The much shorter earlier text, which largely diverges from Saxo’s account, begins from the first king, Skjöld (not Dan, as in Saxo), and gives an account of the pagan kings of Denmark from the earliest times. The latter more prolix saga compilation takes over from the first Christian king, Harald Bluetooth, and continues until the reign of Kanute VI and Archbishop Absalon at the end of the twelfth century, using Saxo and Heimskringla as sources, but adding much poetry and detail. As has been argued, in combination these two Icelandic histories of Denmark must be intended to imitate the Heimskringla, i. e. to achieve for Danish history what it does for Norwegian history. Indeed, both works are organized around the royal saint of each country, St. Olaf and St. Canute, whom they position at the center of the account. From 1594, Arngrímur’s Latin retelling was accessible to Danish historians, but made little impression on them, until in the 1630s, when it fired the interest of Chancellor Christian Friis (1581– 1639), who in his youth had sojourned in France and Italy, where he developed a keen sense of the uses of history in international relations. It was the Chancellor, who made sure that Pontanus’ Latin history of Denmark came out in 1631, and a year later he entrusted the Danish polymath Ole Worm (1588 – 1654), professor in Copenhagen, with the task of exploring whether historical poetry from the two great Icelandic saga compilations on Scandinavian history was still to be found in Iceland (neither the Danish version of Heimskringla nor Arngrímur Jónsson’s Latin rendering of Skjöldunga saga had the poetry). Worm wrote to Iceland and asked his friends there to provide him with historical poetry, but very little from these specific sagas came to light (most of the Heimskringla mss. were already in Denmark, and the others had disappeared again). Instead, the priest Magnús Ólafsson (1573 – 1636), who was one of the few Icelanders who could decipher the more difficult verse, sent Worm first one poem, and then

 State Chancellor Arild Huitfeldt (1546 – 1609) himself was the first to arrange for the publication of a Danish version of the text, a free and abridged Danish translation of the Heimskringla by Mattis Störsön, printed in Copenhagen 1594 under the title of Norske Kongers Krønicke oc bedriftt indtil unge Kong Haagens tid som døde: Anno Domini 1263. Almost four decades later, Ole Worm edited another more complete translation in Copenhagen 1633, made by Peder Claussøn Friis: Snorre Sturlesøns Norske Kongers Chronica. The unfinished translation of Laurents Hanssøn from the middle of the sixteenth century was first printed much later by Gustav Storm in 1899.

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some more, accompanied with translations and commentary. From Worm’s correspondence, it is clear that receiving these poems caused a sensation in Denmark, for in them the Chancellor and the polymath recognized the remnants of Saxo’s ancient »Danish« poetry. In 1636 Worm could publish in Amsterdam a monograph on the origin of the runes and their use in ancient Danish literature, Runer [in runic typeface] seu Danica Literatura Antiquissima, vulgo Gothica dicta. In an addendum to the book, »Appendix Literarum Runicarum, in poësi usum uberius declarans« (›A supplement of runic literature, providing a fuller explanation of their use in poetry‹), two »runic« poems were published, »Krákumál« (›The Lay of Kraka‹) from Ragnars saga loðbrókar and »Höfuðlausn« (›Head Ransom‹) from Egils saga, both with Latin translations. The poet of »Höfuðlausn«, Egill Skallagrímsson, was according to his saga an Icelandic-born farmer and Viking raider, who died of old age shortly before Iceland was Christianized in 999. The occasion of the composition is as follows: after suffering shipwreck in Northumbria and falling into the hands of his arch-enemy, King Eiríkr Blóðöxi (›Bloodaxe‹) of Norway, the poet awaits his death in captivity; given a last chance to redeem his life he composes a panegyric in praise of his captor, a poem that might uphold his enemy’s renown for posterity. Yet this otherwise captivating story made litle impact when first published in Denmark in 1636. Entirely different was the reception of the poem »Krákumál«, composed according to tradition by the ninth-century viking Ragnar Loðbrók (›Shaggy-Breeches‹), because here the poet was reputedly one of the Danish kings of old. Worm in his short introduction to »Krákumál« (p. 196) says that he is printing this »ancient example« (antiquum paradigma) »so that you [the reader] will not think that our Poetry is the invention of modern men« (Ne nostram Poesin modernorum inventum esse existimes), and then he refers to Saxo’s discussion in book 9 (ch. 4) of a poem resembling »Krákumál«, where King Ragnar is the speaker, recounting »with a brave voice« an entire catalogue of his military achievements, while his heart is being slowly eaten into by an ormr (›snake‹) in the snakepit of King Ella of Northumbria. The poem is an honorific (self‐)laudation (drápa) of 29 stanzas, 10 lines each, complete with refrains. Saxo even cites a phrase that corresponds fairly accurately to a passage in the Icelandic poem. Although »Krákumál« is not among the poems which Saxo represents in full, translated into classicizing Latin verses, the recovery of the ancient »Danish« poem of »Krákumál« was as direct a proof as could be expected that the Danish historian Saxo (unlike the Swedish historian Johannes Magnus) had not invented his ancient runic sources. Danish antiquarians could now entertain a reasonable hope that some of the impressive ancient songs in the patrius sermo that Saxo had claimed to have translated / adapted into his classicizing Latin metres, and which were considered a major source of the legendary first part of his prosimetric history, could still be recovered in Iceland.²¹

 Finnur Jónsson argues in his literary history that the poem cannot be older than the twelfth cen-

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Important for this early reception of Icelandic poetry in Denmark was also the Catalogue of Poets (Skáldatal), which Worm had found in Peder Claussøn Friis’ (1545 – 1614) Danish translation of the Heimskringla and printed together with the whole in 1633. In this list Ragnar Loðbrók is featured among the first poets. Worm included the Catalogue of Poets in his Literatura Runica, where it was placed after the two Icelandic poems and provided with a Latin translation. The Catalogue, which as a text is closely related to the Heimskringla, arranges Icelandic skalds or poets according to the kings and dynasts for whom they composed their poetry.²² In his edition Worm reordered the first group of the original (which consisted of undifferentiated Danish and Swedish rulers) by removing the Swedes and placing them at the back in a separate category after the kings and earls of Norway. Worm also presented the Catalogue as a list representing Danorum celebriores Scaldri [sic] (›the famous skalds of the Danes‹). In accordance with Danish imperial ambitions, Worm sometimes used »Danes« and »Danish« as a term to refer to all Scandinavians and to the whole spectrum of medieval Scandinavian dialects respectively. In calling the Icelandic vernacular »Danish« Worm nevertheless agrees with the practice of some medieval Icelandic texts, such as the twelfth-century First Grammatical Treatise (transmitted in Codex Wormianus, AM 242 fol., c. 1350) and the prologue to the Heimskringla (which he had in Danish translation). However, the Icelandic humanist Arngrímur Jónsson in his seminal discussion of the importance of the Icelandic language, in a chapter of his general history of Iceland, Crymogæa (Hamburg 1609), a major source for Worm’s Literatura Runica, had made a point of not collapsing all contemporary Scandinavian idioms into one, but differentiating the unique case of Icelandic from the »corruption« suffered by the ancient Scandinavian tongue in Norway and Denmark.²³

tury, because h in an initial position, before l and r, was not dropped in earlier spelling, either in Iceland or Norway. Some of the poetic paraphrases argue for a similar dating, e. g. »ægis asne« (›the donkey of the sea‹ = ship) and »odda messa« (›the mass of the points‹ = battle) which cannot be older than the twelfth century, and may well be later. Word forms such as »rendr«, for the older »randir«, reveal the same late composition. As for the place of composition, a skillfully made poem like this was most likely made where the poetic tradition stood strong, i. e. in Iceland, or possibly Norway, but excluding Denmark, where no evidence supports the supposition that there was a strong vernacular skaldic tradition. The provenance of the manuscripts is Iceland, where the fascination with past history, and the art of making historical poetry and sagas in the vernacular was particularly developed. The occasional missing h before l and r could speak for a Norwegian poet, but although this particular phonetic development was not Icelandic, there are numerous examples of this spelling in Icelandic manuscripts, in imitation of Norwegian spelling, probably because it was considered more sophisticated and courtly, Jónsson (1923), 154.  Worm also knew the »Catalogue« from the famous Kringla manuscript, the primary witness to the Heimskringla text, which was destroyed in the fire of Copenhagen in 1728 (copies were made which survive). On the »Catalogue« and its significance in Heimskringla, see Nordal (2001), 120 – 130, Petersen (1944), 287.  On Arngrímur Jónsson’s sources and the details of his hypothesis about the singularly close relation of contemporary Icelandic with Gothic and runes, see Jensson (2008).

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In his Literatura Runica Worm thus in a way indulged in a conception of the great antiquity of modern Danish, and the unification of Scandinavians under a Danish identity, while suppressing any mention of Sweden or Swedish in this context.²⁴ Stephen Hansen Stephanius (1599 – 1650) was Worm’s close collaborator in antiquarian studies. Stephanius had like Worm traveled widely in his youth and worked in Leiden with the illustrious classical scholars Gerhard Johann Vossius (1577– 1649) and Daniel Heinsius, who in 1618 was hired as historiographer of Sweden by King Gustavus Adolphus, as was mentioned already. From 1630 Stephanius was professor at Sorø Academy and was fully engaged in work on a new edition of Saxo’s Gesta Danorum, including a detailed commentary, which drew for the first time on Icelandic sources to explain Saxo’s Latin text. Among Stephanius’ Icelandic collaborators was the learned Brynjólfur Sveinsson (1605 – 1675), later bishop of Skálholt, who from 1632 to 1638 was conrector of Roskilde cathedral school. With his help Stephanius was able in his Saxo commentary of 1645 to print several pieces of runic poetry, among them a short fragment of the original skaldic verses of one of Saxo’s best loved classicizing Latin poems, »Bjarkamál hin fornu« (›The Ancient Lay of Bjarki‹). In book 2 (ch. 7) Saxo narrates the downfall of King Hrólfr Kraki at Lejre (Hleðra), the Danish royal seat in Zealand, through a stratagem – certain »evil contrivances« (diris commentis) invented by a woman no less – perpetrated by a Swedish vassal of the Danes, Hjartuar, and his men. Under the guise of bringing Swedish tax to the Danes they load their wagons with weapons instead of valuables and take care not to drink too much at the lavish feast offered them by King Hrólfr, the better to be able to attack and kill the Danes as they sleep after the drinking feast. Saxo’s poem, which has no title in Latin (incipit: Ocius evigilet), consists of 298 hexameters. It is cast as a dialogue between two of Hrólfr Kraki’s best warriors, Hjalti (Hilt) and Böðvar Bjarki (hence the title of the poem, »Bjarkamál«). It opens with Hjalti realizing that they are under attack, and attempting to rouse his fellow berserkers from their slumbers. The Icelandic fragment of »Bjarkamál«, taken from the opening of the lost original, runs as follows: »Vekka yðr at víni / né at vífs rúnum, / heldr vekk yðr at hörðum / Hildar leiki« (›I wake you not to wine / nor to women’s runes [i. e. converse], / but rather to the hard / game of Hild [i. e. battle]‹). The contents of the poem »Bjarkamál« are paraphrased in Hrólfs saga kraka, where they correspond well with Saxo’s fine Latin epyllion, if we reckon with the additions of classicizing elements in the Latin text.²⁵ The lost vernacular, which is nev-

 That the Icelandic language and literature are »Danish« in the eyes of Worm no doubt reflects the contemporary scholarly rivalries between the Danes and the Swedes. For a discussion of Worm’s Icelandic sources and his Danish bias, see Wills (2004).  Saxo has apparently combined motifs from the original Icelandic poem with motifs from Book 2 of the Aeneid, where Aeneas tells Dido about the battle between the Greeks and the Trojans. The section of the Latin epic is roughly the same length as »Bjarkamál«, and has some of the same narrative situations: the employment of guileful trickery; a sort of Trojan horse, through the concealment of

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ertheless referred to in several sagas, was apparently well known in the twelfth and thirteenth century. According to Fóstbrœðra saga (the thirteenth-century ›Saga of the Sworn Brothers‹) the national saint of Norway, King Ólafr Haraldsson, had his Icelandic bard Þormóðr Kolbrúnarskáld recite »Bjarkamál« to rouse the martial spirit of his outnumbered army on the morning of the Battle of Stiklastaðir (29 July 1030), where both men fell. Compared to the Icelandic fragment and the complete Icelandic paraphrase, Saxo embellished the original but did not otherwise transform its contents. In Saxo’s account the Swedes are at first successful in their stratagem but afterwards the Zealanders are quick to regroup, and slaughter Hjartvar and his men. In the context of the seventeenth century the poem would have been read as a historical allegory, revealing the treacherous character of the Swedes, while the Danes could now claim to have confirmed its authenticity, based on the Icelandic fragment. The discovery of such fragments of Danish poetry in Iceland played into the hands of the Danes in their feud with the Swedes. »Bjarkamál« seemed to provide unambiguous support for Saxo’s veracity, and »Krákumál«, an even greater sensation in Denmark, was understood as the authentic composition of one of the great Danish kings of old. »Ragnar Loðbrók’s Death Song«, as it came to be known, had greater influence on how the ancient »Danes« (later Vikings) were characterized by posterity than most other works of literature. As it was printed in Worm’s edition, this short text defined the notion of the fearless Danish warrior for centuries to come. The dying Ragnar recalls his lifelong proficiency in armed struggle and at the end invokes Odin’s Valkyries, whom he expects to welcome him to Valhalla, where he fancies that he will drink mead from the skulls of his dead enemies. The idea that there were skull cups in the »Palace of the Dead« appealed greatly to generations of scholars.²⁶ The discovery of »Krákumál« had repercussions even beyond the narrow circle of antiquarians who could read Worm’s Literatura Runica, which has never been translated into a modern language. In connection with its revision and republication in 1651 Worm enlisted Christen Berntsen Viborg (d. 1670), chaplain at Aarhus cathedral, to translate »Krákumál« into contemporary Danish based on the Latin translation. Viborg’s metrical rendering appeared in 1652 as Bildur Danskum, det er, den danske bilde eller Kaarde presenterende en gamle Kiempe Vise om danske Mands tapperhed oc mandelige gierninger, dictet aff Regner Lodbrog (›The Danish Blade, that is, the Danish Blade or Sword representing a giant-ballad [i. e. folk song] about the fortitude

armed men / weapons; and when attacked the victims (Trojans, Danes) are fast asleep after drunken festivities. Friis-Jensen (1987), 64– 101.  It was only in 1814, in a commentary on the poems of Ossian, that the Copenhagen-based Icelandic scholar Finnur Magnússon (1781– 1847) was able to clarify that the underlying poetic kenning, »bjúgviðir hausa«, which in Worm’s runic study had been translated as concavi crateres craniorum (the hollow drinking cups of skulls) was more accurately understood as denoting common drinking horns, i. e. »curved trees of heads«.

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and manly deeds of the Danes, composed by Regner Lodbrog‹), a title which underscores its patrotic reception.

3 Torfæus’ Icelandic Hypothesis The runic poetry of Worm and the Saxo commentary of Stephanius inaugurated the new discipline of Antiquitates Danicae, which developed into a full-blown academic field as the seventeenth century progressed, especially during the reign of the first absolute monarch, King Frederick III (1648 – 1670), who was greatly interested in antiquarianism. The king and his counselors were no doubt willing to exploit the potentials of the antiquarian revolution for monarchical propaganda. Frederick III founded his own antiquarian collection, which was later to become the Royal Library, and he was the first to establish the position of royal antiquarian (antiquarius regius) in Denmark. The Dano-Swedish War, and the popularity of Frederick III with the clergy and the burghers after the Danish success in the siege of Copenhagen by the Swedes, enabled the king and his ministers to carry out a constitutional revolution in Denmark. The prerogatives of the oligarchic Council of the Realm, which in 1648 had elected the king while at the same time severely limiting his powers, were completely revoked and all political powers were transferred onto the person of the hereditary and absolute monarch of Denmark and Norway. In the Royal Law (Lex Regia) of 1665 he was decreed to be in the eyes of his subjects »the most perfect and supreme person on earth […] standing above all human laws and having no judge above his person, neither in spiritual nor temporal matters, except God alone«.²⁷ The man who first occupied the office of royal antiquarian for the government of King Frederick III of Denmark was Þórarinn Eiríksson (d. 1659), a former priest from Iceland, who had been deprived of his ministry for fathering a child out of wedlock. He was sent back to Iceland to deliver orders from the king to hand over manuscripts for preservation in the new royal library. Þórarinn Eiríksson translated a short text from one of these manuscripts into Latin for publication in Copenhagen in 1658 under the title Historia de Haldano cognomento Nigro, Rege Oplandorum in Norego (i. e. Hálfdanar þáttr svarta). The manuscript in question was the stately codex in folio, Flateyjarbók (Reykjavík, The Árni Magnússon Institute, GKS 1005 fol., 1387– 1394), which had been shipped to the king two years before by Brynjólfur Sveinsson, whom we have already met above. This former conrector of Roskilde, now appointed bishop of Skálholt, the southern diocese of Iceland, was considered the greatest antiquarian of Iceland. He had ambitions to publish Old Norse-Icelandic monuments,  The author of the law, Peder Schumacher Griffenfeld (1635 – 1699), was in France when Louis XIV assumed absolute power. Bizarrely the Royal Law, the first written law of its kind, was kept a state secret until 1670, when it was read to the Privy Council (Gehejmeraad) upon the succession of Frederick’s heir, Christian V. The whole text was not made public until 1709, Ekman, (1957).

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but was refused permission by the king to set up a printing press at the episcopal see in Iceland, apparently because of the jealous protectionism of the other Icelandic bishop, Þorlákur Skúlason (1656 – 1628), who already had a printing press at his disposal, which however was used only for printing religious literature and books for the Latin trivial schools. Soon after receiving the refusal of permission to print antiquities in Iceland, Bishop Brynjólfur Sveinsson began to receive demands from the king to furnish the new Royal Library with manuscripts. Some of the greatest Icelandic codices of the Royal Library were sent to it by Bishop Brynjólfur Sveinsson, such as the abovementioned Flateyjarbók, which probably came to Copenhagen in 1656 together with Copenhagen, The Royal Library, NkS 1824b 4to (c. 1400), the main witness to »Krákumál«. Later, in 1662, the bishop sent the Codex Regius of the Elder Edda (Reykjavík, The Árni Magnússon Institute, GKS 2365 4to, c. 1270), the single source of most of Icelandic eddic poetry. When Þórarinn Eiríksson, who in addition to his lustfulness struggled with a drinking problem, was sadly found drowned in a defensive ditch in Copenhagen 1659, another young Icelander by the name of Þormóður Torfason or Torfæus (1636 – 1719) succeded him as antiquarius regius. This is the man who would later become famous as the most important historian of Norway after Snorri Sturluson. Torfæus was recommended to the king by the royal huntsmaster (jægermester), who had taken a liking to him, and he also enjoyed the goodwill and recommendation of the Norwegian-born Danish State Admiral and governor of Iceland, Henrik Bielke (1615 – 1683). Torfæus was 24 years old when he was taken into the royal palace to translate the Icelandic manuscripts in the Royal Collection into a more readable language for the court. He was educated in Skálholt, where he had the erudite Bishop Brynjólfur Sveinsson as one of his teachers, who confirmed the young man’s natural talent for literary studies by giving him excellent recommendations. But he was only 18 when he left Iceland for Denmark to study theology in Copenhagen, and his knowledge of the medieval language, especially the difficult diction of skaldic poetry, was therefore limited. Accordingly, later in life he burnt many of his early translations, on the recommendation and with the assistance of Árni Magnússon, who had become a close associate of his from the time they first met in Copenhagen in the autumn of 1688. Regardless of the fact that Torfæus’ translations later did not meet the high standard of Árni Magnússon, he was well liked at the palace, and King Frederick III showed great interest in his work, personally supervising and directing it. In addition to theology and Tycho Brahe’s (d. 1601) writings on astronomy, the king was in this important period, when he was bringing about constitutional changes in the DanishNorwegian state, most interested in Danish antiquities, and was passionate about his collection of art and rarities, especially books. The king visited Torfæus’ study in the palace regularly to discuss Danish antiquities, and on these occasions Torfæus discussed the progress of his work and expounded his ideas about early Danish history based on Icelandic sources. According to Árni Magnússon, who did not waste his praise on the undeserving, Torfæus had a felicitous sense of genealogy and chronology, as well as an energetic genius for plotting the contemporaneity of events related

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in different sagas and weaving them into a proper historical narrative. Besides, he was a likable fellow, tall and vigorous, pleasant in appearance and manners, and, although rather over-confident, very industrious, loyal, and helpful to his friends. Thus he once used his considerable influence at court to help his father out of difficult legal problems. This royal goodwill towards him was even inherited by King Christian V, the first anointed hereditary monarch of Denmark. Torfæus had not long been engaged in translating the texts preserved in the manuscript Flateyjarbók, the abovementioned great compilation of sagas and poetry centered around Norwegian history, when he noticed, in the right hand column on folio 4r, two Icelandic genealogies involving Danish kings which assigned another name than had Saxo to the first king of Denmark. The king’s gracious treatment of Torfæus had given him access to the rest of court. In an idle moment, when discussing Danish antiquities with one of the king’s ministers, Torfæus came to state liberally that the ancient histories of the Icelanders demonstrated quite reliably that the first king of Denmark was not called Dan, as Saxo had maintained, but Skjold. The minister brought the matter up in conversations with the king, and at first the statement was considered heretical, or rather it was viewed as absurd to use any other basis for the succession of rulers in Denmark than Saxo, whose history was accepted as canonical. Such matters were by no means idle concerns in the seventeenth century, since the cornerstone of hereditary monarchy was the royal succession, which was fundamental to the king’s claim to have inherited his right to rule. At stake was the whole absolutist ideology (if not theology) and the new constitution under construction. However, Torfæus could cite the Danish historian Sven Aggesen, an older contemporary of Saxo, who agreed with the Icelandic historians that Skjold was the first king of Denmark. Sven Aggesen also knew the name of the earliest dynasty of Denmark as the Skjoldungs, and had this knowledge from Icelandic poetry, he says, while Saxo himself claimed in his preface to have gained much of his historical knowledge from the Icelanders. Given such apparently strong evidence, some doubts began to arise about Saxo’s account of the origin of the Danish monarchy.²⁸ It has further been argued that Torfæus claimed that his evidence from the Icelandic sources showed that Denmark had been a hereditary kingdom from the earliest times, a

 The succession of Danish kings according to Icelandic sources had actually been presented to Danish scholars seventy years earlier by the Icelandic humanist Arngrímur Jónsson in his Rerum Danicarum Fragmenta (1594), a work that was first printed in the twentieth century, but was found in 1662 in manuscript copy at the University Library, as may be seen from the library catalogue of that year. As mentioned above, Arngrímur Jónsson’s survey of the early history of Denmark according to Icelandic sources was mainly based on the now lost Skjöldunga saga, incomplete already at that point in history, as well as the Knýtlinga saga, which survives in copies. Although known to such early historiographers as Niels Krag and Arild Huitfeldt, it had had very little impact on the canonical account of Danish history by the time of Torfæus. Arngrímur’s manuscript was destroyed in the fire of 1728, and would have been lost entirely, had it not been for Thomas Bartholin Jr. (1659 – 1690), whose copies are the basis of the modern edition, Jakob Benediktsson (ed.), Arngrimi Jonae opera latine conscripta, 181– 185.

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hypothesis which if proven would obviously have added grist to the absolutist mill.²⁹ The outcome was that King Frederick III commissioned Torfæus to write in Latin a treatise on the royal succession of Denmark according to the Icelandic sources. To begin with, all went well for Torfæus. He was shipped off to Iceland to consult Bishop Brynjólfur Sveinsson on the problem of the diverging royal successions of Denmark and to collect material for his research by buying or otherwise acquiring more Icelandic literary monuments for the royal collection. He had an intimate knowledge of Bishop Brynjólfur Sveinsson’s book holdings, and, equipped with letters to Icelandic state officials and authorized to act as a royal representative, he was able to hoard great treasures of Icelandic literature for the king. He arrived in Iceland on the same warship that brought the State Admiral Henrik Bielke to Iceland to demand homage from the Icelanders in acknowledgement of the hereditary rights of the royal house of Denmark to rule Iceland. The meeting in Iceland was held on 28 July 1662 in Kópavogur, and the point was to have the Icelanders accept any heir of the royal family as their king, without prior election by the Council of the Realm, which had until then been required. Icelandic annals remember this event for the great festivities that followed, including fireworks and cannon shots. Absolutism required more effort than elective monarchy, both in constructing ideological justification and in shrouding the arrogation of political power in spectacle and theater. Back in Denmark, via Glückstad, Hamburg, and Lübeck, Torfæus finished his work and presented a clean copy to King Fredrick III: Series dynastarum et regum Daniæ a Skioldo Othini filio ad Svenonem Estridium juxta monumentorum Islandicorum harmoniam deducta & concinnata. Opera et studio Thormodi Thorfæi Islandi. Hafniæ. Anno MDCLXIV (›The succession of dynasts and kings of Denmark from Skjold the son of Odin to Svend Estridsen, drawn from and arranged in accordance with Icelandic historical works. The work and research of the Icelander Þormóður Torfæus. Copenhagen 1664‹). With energy and enthusiasm Torfæus argues that the Icelandic tradition, like the Icelandic language, is of great antiquity and therefore highly reliable, while the tradition of Adam of Bremen and Saxo Grammaticus is more recent and shaky. Against the royal succession of Saxo, starting with Dan, he sets that of the Icelandic sources, beginning with Skjold, and then discusses the succession, generation by generation, all the way to the historical Svend Estridsen (c. 1019 – 1076), presenting his reflections on the diverging versions of the two sets of sources, e. g. on King Gorm and Queen Tyre.³⁰ The manuscript copy of the Series made specially for the king (Reykjavík, The Árni Magnússon Institute, GkS 2449 4to) was bound in fine leather with a silk lace, gilded, and adorned with the insignia of King Frederick

 Hermannsson (1954), 82; Jørgensen (1931), 143 – 144.  Jørgensen (1931), 143.

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III, who received it graciously, according to Árni Magnússon’s uncharacteristically fulsome biography of Torfæus.³¹ This was at the beginning of 1664, but then something went wrong for Torfæus and caused him to fall from grace with the king and be expelled from court. With a royal letter, dated 10 July 1664, he was appointed a provincial accounts checker (cammerarius) in the district of Stafanger, and shipped off to Norway. None of Torfæus’ biographers can explain exactly what happened. The most common account is that he was involved in a tavern brawl and, to defend a fellow Icelander, he accidentally killed a Dane, while there are others who blame his fall primarily on the slander of envious elements at court. Both versions may be true, or their telling could be colored by the better documented disaster that befell him in 1671, when he certainly did kill a Danish innkeeper on the island of Samsø, running him through with the blade of his sword, for which he was summarily sentenced to death. After two years, the job as tax collector had become tiresome to Torfæus, which led him to seek rehabilitation from Frederick III who, being well disposed towards him after their many friendly conversations about Danish antiquities at the palace, in July 1667 appointed him antiquarius regius to continue his translations of Icelandic sources. He was also to write a historical study on the constitution of Denmark, most likely to argue for the hereditary nature of the ancient monarchy of Denmark according to Icelandic sources. Torfæus, however, who resided far away from Copenhagen and the manuscripts, did not achieve anything in this appointment, and when King Frederick III died in February 1670 the arrangement was automatically annulled and Torfæus was out of a job.³² A strong reason for his reinstatement as antiquarius in 1667 was no doubt the establishment of the Antiquities College in Stockholm in 1666, and the first publications in Sweden of Icelandic sagas, beginning with Gautreks saga and Hrólfs saga Gautrekssonar (Gothrici & Rolfi Westrogothiæ Regum Historia Lingua antiqua Gothica conscripta, Uppsala 1664), which were the work of Olof Verelius (1618 – 1682) and his Icelandic assistant Jón Rugman (1636 – 1679). Torfæus had in the meantime married a wealthy widow in Norway, a woman whose second marriage had been to the maternal granduncle of the Norwegianborn historian and professor of Copenhagen University, Ludvig Holberg (1684 – 1754). When he became unemployed, Torfæus sailed to Iceland to collect his inheritance from his affluent father and brother, who had recently died. On his way back to Norway, via Amsterdam, he suffered shipwreck off Skagen, the northernmost tip of Jutland. Crew and passengers were saved, but upon continuing across to Zealand, another ship he sailed on was forced to seek shelter from bad weather on the island of Samsø. There Torfæus spent the night at an inn, where a drunken Icelander threat Jónsson (ed.), Árni Magnússons Levned og Skrifter, vol. 2, 131– 132. Hermannsson (1954), 82 and 93, argues that the biography was written as supportive documentation to Torfæus’ application to get his salary paid by the Royal Treasurer.  Eiríksson, Thormod Torfesens Levnetsbeskrivelse (2009), 70 – 75. The biography was first published in the journal Minerva in installments from November 1786 to January 1788.

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ened to kill him and his companion. He then sought protection from the innkeeper, who instead of helping him reputedly joined the drunken Icelander in harassing him. Next Torfæus fled to the innkeeper’s bedchamber, where his wife was sleeping, and locked himself in. But the Icelander and the innkeeper broke into the bedchamber, and when the latter attacked Torfæus, he was run through by Torfæus’ sword. At least this was the account of events given by Torfæus, who was nevertheless sentenced for murder in February 1672. However, the case was appealed to the High Court and to King Christian V, who accepted the argument of the defence that Torfæus had acted in self-defence, and altered his sentence to a moderate fine, including a public penance in a church. After sitting in jail on Samsø for a year, Torfæus on 3 October 1673 performed the penance in the church of the Christianshavn quarter of Copenhagen. As the story goes, he later requested an audience with the king, who is purported to have said to him: »You are quite murderous«; to which the other replied: »I’ve always preferred killing others to being killed by them.«³³ For a whole decade Torfæus now lived with his wife in Norway as a simple farmer.³⁴ The rampageous and destructive lifestyle of Torfæus and his predecessor, Þórarinn Eiríksson, at court may well have undermined for a while the positive reception of Icelandic medieval literature in Denmark, but another factor was certainly the unwillingness of Danish historians even to entertain the idea that the history of the realm could be based on anything other than Saxo’s Gesta Danorum. For almost forty years Torfæus’ revolutionary hypothesis concerning a new list of Danish kings and regents, based on Icelandic sources, circulated in multiple manuscript copies. It was even translated into Danish by Frands Mikkelsen Vogelius (1640 – 1702).³⁵ It was finally printed under a modified title in Copenhagen in 1702, by then heavily edited by Árni Magnússon, and became known as the »Icelandic hypothesis« (hypothesis Islandica). Although Torfæus had concluded his preface to the king by reassuring him that his intention in the pamphlet was not to render suspect the authority of the most celebrated of historians (hoc qualecunque Opusculum, quod non eo fine conscripsi, ut celeberrimorum scriptorum fidem suspectam redderem), the difficult fate that awaited the work may be taken as a reliable indication of how bitter a pill its message must have been for many Danish officials and patriots. Even as a printed book, commissioned by King Frederick III and printed under the auspices of his grandson Fredrick IV, as the title page declared in oversized red typeface, its message took almost thirty years to win general approval among Danish historians. The acceptance in Denmark of the Icelandic hypothesis was first possible after the death

 Hermannsson (1954), 76.  At least, this is how Torfæus himself liked to refer to these years in his life, when he lived without an office of any kind. In 1681, however, he defended the last woman in Norway accused of witchcraft, and managed to get her acquitted of all charges, Mauland (1911), 137– 145.  It was read in Danish by Peder Dyrskøt (1630 – 1707), a literate Danish farmer, whose great outrage it provoked. Klitgaard (1979 – 1984), http://denstoredanske.dk/index.php?sideId=288998 (last viewed: 28 June 2017).

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of the militant King Charles XII of Sweden in 1718, and the Treaties of Stockholm 1719 – 1721, which marked the conclusion of the Great Northern War. In 1731 one of the main authorities on historical matters in Denmark, Professor Ludvig Holberg, successor to Árni Magnússon at the University of Copenhagen, gave a public lecture at the University of Copenhagen, where he stated his approval of Torfæus’ thesis with modifications: he follows Torfæus until King Sigvard Ring, and thereafter Saxo to Gorm the Old.³⁶ This meant rejecting about half of the fifty kings that Saxo narrates in the first nine books of the Gesta Danorum. In the late eighteenth century the Icelandic hypothesis became the prevalent account of early Danish history, a state of affairs that lasted until the latter half of the nineteenth century, when the weaknesses of the Icelandic sagas as sources of early history were exposed with the rise of modern source criticism.³⁷ But by that time Saxo’s early books had long been written off as fabrication and medieval fables, though his narrative of the eleventh and twelfth centuries was still believed.

4 Resen’s Edda Islandorum While the discovery and publication of the poems »Krákumál« and »Bjarkamál« by Ole Worm and Stephen Hansen Stephanius in the first half of the seventeenth century had seemed to give unqualified support to the historicity of Gesta Danorum, further publications of Icelandic poetry by Peder Hansen Resen (1625 – 1688) and by Thomas Bartholin Jr. (1659 – 1690) now began to debase the metal of Saxo’s currency as an independent source of history. Unlike the medieval historian, the new editions and treatises both cited the original texts and made them attractively intelligible to learned men by printing beside them fairly accurate parallel translations in Latin, translations which were in turn used as the basis of new translations into modern languages. In contrast, Saxo’s heavily stylized, almost baroque mediation of Icelandic poems, which had appealed to the Renaissance, now seemed only to accentuate the derivative nature of his text. Peder Hansen Resen (1625 – 1688) inherited from Stephanius an almost readymade edition of Snorri’s Edda in manuscript, including translations into Danish  Holberg, Solutio Problematis de hypothesibus Historiæ Danicæ, in Collatione honorum Baccalaureatus publice recitata in Dom: Consistor: 1731, 430: »Relicto igitur Saxone, sequor hypothesin Islandicam à Regni conditore Skioldo usque ad Siguardum Ring, et rursus relicta hypothesi Islandica, redeo ad Saxonem à Siguardo Ring usque ad tempora Gormonis Truculenti, ubi terminatur schisma historicum.«  According to Hermannsson (1954), 85, the final blow to Torfæus’ hypothesis was inflicted by Edwin Jessen (a descendant of Jón Eiríksson) in his 1862 University of Copenhagen doctoral dissertation, Undersøgelser til nordisk Oldhistorie. Whether it was Jessen who dealt Torfæus’ hypothesis the decisive blow may be questioned, but it is certain that the early history of Denmark, according to Saxo and the Icelandic sources, came to be seen as unprovable and unscientific in academic circles around this time.

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and Latin mostly by the Reverend Magnús Ólafsson of Laufás (1573 – 1636) but also partly by Þormóður Torfæus. Basically, Resen only needed to write his longwinded and extremely erudite ›Introduction‹ to the Edda Islandorum (Copenhagen 1665).³⁸ Bartholin, for his part, with the aid of his expert Icelandic amanuensis Árni Magnússon was able to turn his Antiquitates Danicae de causis contemptæ a Danis adhuc gentilibus mortis, in three books (more on this work below), into a veritable storehouse of authentic samples of Icelandic poetry and sagas, which offered everything an antiquarian could dream of in terms of prototypes from antiquity to strengthen the moral stamina of an exhausted cerebral class living in a condition of absolutist servility. Building on the theme of the »Krákumál«, i. e. ›The Death Song of Ragnar Loðbrók‹, the disease-ridden young author (Bartholin died of turberculosis a year after the publication, 31 years old), struck a chord in northern European hearts with his widely read and highly praised study of death-worship, a self-help book for a war-torn Scandinavia, which had been at swords’ points for well over a century and a half. Resen had, like Stephanius, sojourned in Leiden, where he studied philology and law. He was a scholar with international connections. When he left the Netherlands he traveled to France and Spain, and only stopped short of crossing over from Gibraltar to Africa out of fear of being kidnapped by the »Turks«. He continued back along the Mediterranean coast, reaching Padua, where he studied law for a year. He even at one time represented Padua before the Doge and Council of Venice. His educational touring of Europe is reminiscent of Worm’s before him. Resen then traveled to Rome, Naples, and Florence, and intended to visit the Orient, when after six years abroad he was called back by his father’s death. With this European background Resen would color his antiquarianism and transform the Icelandic literature he published into something much more universal than had been envisioned by Worm and Stephanius. Stephanius’ fascination with Icelandic poetry had prompted him, a classical philologist, to attempt to learn the poetic language. In his letters to Worm, Stephanius complained about the utter lack of tools to do this, and to ameliorate the situation Worm urged his Icelandic friends to produce wordlists that would focus on the difficult poetic diction. The Reverend Magnús Ólafsson began the work, which after his death was finished by his successor at the Laufás church-farm in northern Iceland. The results were published by Worm in Copenhagen in 1650 as Specimen Lexici Runici Obscuriorum quarundam vocum, quæ in priscis occurrunt Historiis & Poëtis Danicis, enodationem exhibens (›A sample of a runic dictionary with some obscure words, found in Danish histories and poems, including a demonstration of their de-

 It is worth noting that the same year as the Old Norse-Icelandic mythology was rediscovered by Resen, the Dutchman Franciscus Junius issued an edition of the Codex Argenteus, the editio princeps in Dordrecht 1665, containing Wulfila’s Gothic Gospel translation. For the first time the learned world could get acquainted with true Gothic, in Junius’ newly made Gothic fonts, and discover that this was something other than the Icelandic texts Danish and Swedish antiquarians had been mistaking for Gothic.

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cipherment‹).³⁹ Only a year later, Worm had the first Icelandic grammar printed, Recentissima antiquissimæ Linguæ Septentrionalis incunabula (›A brand-new cradle of the very ancient language of the north‹). It was the work of Runólfur Jónsson (1620 – 1654), a recent Icelandic graduate of the University of Copenhagen, who about this time was the appointed rector of the Latin trivial school of Kristianstad (now in Sweden). These schoolbooks for studying Icelandic that Worm took care to publish were basically the only aids available for the purpose until the early 1800s. The initial plans to publish Snorri’s Edda, an early thirteenth-century source book and manual for understanding the difficult poetic language of the skalds, should be seen in the context of these attempts to make tools available for the study of the diction of Icelandic poetry. Originally it was Arngrímur Jónsson who in 1608 – 1609 had requested from Magnús Ólafsson that he produce a modern and rationalized edition of Snorri’s Edda, for the purpose of facilitating its practical use for antiquarians, but also for the use of contemporary Icelandic poets. As a basis for this new and improved Edda, which came to be known as Laufás-Edda after the church-farm where Magnús Ólafsson was minister, they used the Codex Wormianus (Copenhagen, the Arnamagnæan Institute, AM 242 folio, ca. 1350), a manuscript belonging to Arngrímur Jónsson himself.⁴⁰ Magnús Ólafsson’s redaction consisted primarily in providing the medieval text with new headings, dubbing the works apologi or dæmisögur (in Resen’s printed Latin and Danish translations they are referred to as mythologiæ and fabler respectively), as well as giving them numbers. In addition, the rather chaotically arranged kennings (poetic paraphrases) and heiti (alternative names) in the second section of the original, »Skáldskaparmál«, were now reordered by him and alphabetized.⁴¹ In Resen’s printed text, each dæmisaga is followed first by its Danish translation and then by its Latin translation. It was likely not Stephanius’ intention to publish Snorri’s Edda critically, as an »ancient« text, but rather to treat it as a still viable handbook and tool for studying Icelandic poetic diction. But this initially practical and rationalizing aim of the Laufás-Edda, which suited Stephanius’ needs, underwent alterations in the hands of Resen, whose erudition and cultural ambitions were different.⁴²  The lemmata in this unique dictionary were impressively, but not very practically, set in runes, though they were transcribed into Latin letters immediately after the runic display, see Magnús Ólafsson of Laufás. Specimen Lexici Runici and Glossarium Priscæ Linguæ Danicæ.  In 1628 Arngrímur Jónsson lent the ms. to Worm, who interpreted this as a permanent loan and never returned it, hence its name.  Two versions of Snorra Edda from the 17th century, vol. 1, 17, 26.  Magnús Ólafsson‘s Edda, because of its more accessible arrangement, had a lively transmission in Icelandic manuscript copies, and it is today extant in many more exemplars than any medieval redaction. Stephanius’ preference for the Laufás-Edda over the medieval redactions is evident from the fact that the latter were also available to him when he was preparing his edition: Uppsala Edda or Codex Upsaliensis (Uppsala, Uppsala University Library, DG 11 4to, beg. of fourteenth

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As Resen himself explains, Stephanius’ manuscript was lent to him by the royal historiographer Vitus Bering. When Stephanius died in 1650 his entire library had been sold to Sweden, but for some reason this particular manuscript had been deposited at the University Library. This was then the same as the Royal Library, because at the time the king was considered the owner of the University Library, which accordingly was at the time generally known as the Bibliotheca Regia. Although Frederick III started a new royal collection about 1661, the buildings to house it were not completed until 1673.⁴³ Þormóður Torfæus, who at this moment in history was experiencing his first rise and fall in favor at the Danish court, was also involved in preparing the manuscript for publication. He translated dæmisögur 68 – 78 into Latin, probably worked on the notes, and according to Árni Magnússon’s catalogue of Torfæus’ manuscripts (Copenhagen, the Arnamagnæan Institute, AM 435 b 4to, 1712) he also had a hand in the Danish translation. However, Torfæus’ role in the project is somewhat eclipsed in the final printed text, perhaps because at the time of printing he had recently fallen out of favor at court. Resen’s original contribution to Edda Islandorum lies, as mentioned, mainly in the introduction, which is divided into two parts, if we exclude the 12-page addenda at the end, containing a mixed bag of additional material acquired after the sheets with the introduction had been printed. The first part is an erudite and very long dedication, of 54 pages, addressed to the bibliophile absolute monarch Frederick III. It is best characterized as an essay on comparative literature, a discussion of ancient wisdom literature, and the forms in which ethics and moral teaching appear in literature, packed with references and citations to mostly Greek and Latin texts, but also to Hebrew, Arabic, and Egyptian sources, although only rarely to Old Norse-Icelandic material. The point of the demonstration is to argue that, ever since the ancient classics, wisdom literature has served to teach ethical principles by imbuing humanity with figures of thought, mental concepts, and illustrative parables. This contextualization of Icelandic poetry is partly governed by the circumstance that Resen was a professor of ethics at the University of Copenhagen, but partly also

cent.) arrived in Denmark soon after the Codex Wormianus, together with the later Icelandic bishop Brynjólfur Sveinsson, conrector of the cathedral school of Roskilde (1632– 1638). When he left Denmark in 1639, he gave the manuscript to his friend Stephanius, who was professor at the nearby Sorø Akademi. Despite this, Stephanius was in 1642 nonetheless engaged in preparing an edition of Laufás-Edda. The ms. of Snorri’s Edda that is today considered the most important from a text-critical point of view, Codex Regius (Reykjavík, Stofnun Árna Magnússonar, GKS 2367 4to, beginning of the fourteenth cent.), came to Denmark with Torfæus in 1662, when Bishop Brynjólfur Sveinsson gave it as a present to Frederick III. It has been argued that Worm, who was otherwise not the best of critical editors, could see the limitations of the Laufás-Edda as the basis of an edition, compared to his own Codex Wormianus, with which he collated it, because he advised Stephanius in a letter dated 18 May 1642, »to publish the second book [i. e. Skáldskaparmál] on the basis of his own exemplar«, Worm, Breve fra og til Ole Worm, 354– 355.  See Two versions of Snorra Edda from the 17th century, vol. 2, 71, Birket-Smith (1882) and Kålund (1900), vii – viii, xxxvi.

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by the fact that for learned men in the seventeenth century there could be no other route into the strange new world of Old Norse-Icelandic mythology than through Greco-Roman or Oriental antiquity. By chosing to take Snorri’s mythologiæ seriously as ethics and religion worthy of comparison with the ancient classics and Scripture, Resen can be said to have founded the discipline of Old Norse mythology, which would have an explosive development in the following centuries, even before classical mythology became a recognized area of study. To the Renaissance humanists, in contrast, myths had been seen either as pagan fables or philosophical allegories. Resen’s introductory essay was also intended to provide an ethical background for the publication of two pagan poems from Iceland, »Hávamál« and »Völuspá«, printed there for the first time. The proper introduction to these poems, however, comes in the somewhat shorter second part of the introduction, entitled Præfatio ad lectorem. Here Resen almost comically sets out by assuring the reader that he has no liking for verbose prefaces (non quia velim verbosas facere præfationes), but because the knowledge of names precedes the knowledge of things, he says, he must begin with the etymology of the word »edda«. Presenting all the hypotheses, starting with Magnús Ólafsson’s derivation from the Latin verb ›edo, edere‹, which is now accepted by many scholars, he concludes by opting for all of them combined as an explanation of the meaning of the word here: »Edda« is the name of a particular book, which relates the poetic mythology of the Northern people in the Icelandic language, the book being given this name because it is, as it were, the womb or source of Poetry, i. e. a kind of first mother or grandmother of poetic names and paraphrases (Nomen libri peculiaris, qui Mythologiam Arctoæ Gentis vel Nationis Poëticam in linguâ Islandicâ tradit: ita dicta quasi matrix & origo Poëseos, atque prima Mater vel Atavia verborum copiæ & paraphrasium, g4v). Thus Resen does not select among the possibilities but includes all that are known to him, which is quite characteristic of his general method. He proceeds to explain that there are two Eddas, an older and genuine Edda in poetic form by Sæmundur Sigfússon, and a younger or vulgar Edda by Snorri Sturluson. In giving an account of the Elder Edda, he discusses »Völuspá« and »Hávamál«, which are indeed cited repeatedly in Snorri’s Edda. Resen published these poems under the titles Philosophia antiquissima Norvego-Danica and Ethica Odini respectively. While the Laufás-Edda in its entirety was dedicated to King Frederick III, each of the poems was, rather avuncularly, dedicated to one of the king’s two legitimate sons, the princes Christian and George. The poems are translated into Latin but, unlike the main text of Snorri’s Edda, not into Danish. The Icelandic poet Stefán Ólafsson (1619 – 1688) translated »Völuspá« and an unknown Icelander »Hávamál«.⁴⁴  Faulkes, Two versions of Snorra Edda from the 17th century, vol. 2, 82, does not exclude the possibility (»it is conceivable«) that the Latin translation of »Hávamál«, apart from the section »Runa Capitule«, was made by Guðmundur Andrésson (1614– 1654), who is the author of the notes. »Völuspá« was again published in 1673, on the basis of a manuscript from Resen’s collection, with Guðmundur Andrésson’s Latin translation and notes. In 1683 Resen published another work by Guðmun-

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According to Árni Magnússon, Torfæus, too, worked on the edition of »Völuspá«, when he was employed by the king to translate Icelandic texts.⁴⁵ Resen reads »Völuspá« as the utterances of the well-known Erythraean Sibyl of classical antiquity, but »Hávamál« he understands as an example of ancient gnomic poetry, which is the subject of the longish first part of his introduction, dedicated to the king. In accord with the title, »Hávamál« (›Sayings of Hár‹, an alternative name of Odin), the poem was thought to have been composed by a magician called Odin, who was not the original Odin. The poem has a final section on runes, Runa Capitule, as it was called, which made it especially interesting in the seventeenth century. Here the speaker »Odin« recounts how he attained wisdom and discovered the runes; he also lists eighteen magical verses and explains their effects. This gives Resen an occasion to explain the arrival of Odin and the Asians in the North. According to Resen, the original Trojan Odin was beset by a desire to leave Turkey. Traveling with a great army of men and women, and taking along great treasures, he first arrived in Saxony, which he subjugated to a large extent and left to his sons Vegder, Beldeg, and Hengir. Then he moved north to Cimbria (i. e. Denmark), which it pleased him to subjugate entirely. He made his son, named Skjold, the ruler of this Cimbria / Denmark, and

dur Andrésson, a new attempt at producing an Icelandic-Latin dictionary, entitled Lexicon Islandicum. This publication was, like the Edda, based on a manuscript Resen had acquired from others, probably Guðmundur Andrésson’s own manuscript, now lost, and not the still extant copy Resen bought at an auction in 1665, Andrésson, Deilurit, xx – xxi, Andrésson, Lexicon Islandicum, xi–xix. Guðmundur Andrésson experienced the ups and downs of fortune like many of the Icelanders who became amanuenses to Danish and Swedish antiquarians in the seventeenth century, and his biography held such fascination that it was printed at the front of both the second, revised »Völuspá« edition (1673) and the Lexicon Islandicum (1683). In 1649 this talented graduate from the trivial school of Hólar in northern Iceland had been released from the notorious prison of the Blue Tower in Copenhagen, where he was held as a political prisoner because of a dissertation he wrote, Discursus Oppositionis, criticizing the so-called »Storedom« (›Ultimate Judgment‹) in Iceland, i. e. an extremely harsh set of laws specifying punishments for incestuous relationships and begetting children out of wedlock. While a prisoner in the Blue Tower, a building adjacent to the royal palace, Guðmundur Andrésson was apparently forgotten by the authorities, until he accidentally fell from the tower (he was reputedly inspecting the stars from one of the windows) and landed on the balcony of the royal nursery, into which he wandered confused, filthy, and dressed in rags. The mishap gave his friends in Copenhagen an opportunity to appeal to Ole Worm to intercede in his case, and Worm was able to procure his pardon from King Frederick III. From then on Guðmundur Andrésson lived in Copenhagen as Worm’s assistant – he was freed from prison on the condition that he refrain from further criticizing the authorities and not return to Iceland – and for five years he worked for Worm as an antiquarian, until he died in the epidemic of 1654, as did in fact Worm himself and Runólfur Jónsson. Guðmundur Andrésson’s papers ended up with Resen, who donated them with his large collection (including several important Icelandic manuscripts) to the University Library, where it was destroyed in the fire of Copenhagen 1728. A large catalogue was printed in 1685, a 385-page monument to this great loss: Resen, Petri Johannis Resenii Bibliotheca Regiæ Academiæ Hafniensi donata, Wad/Knudsen (1940), 402, Two versions of Snorra Edda from the 17th century, vol. 2, 10.  Jónsson (ed.), Árni Magnússons Levned og Skrifter, vol. 2, 94; a modern Icelandic translation in Magnússon, Ævi Sæmundar fóða (1690), 148.

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from him the family of the Skjoldungs is descended, the kings of Denmark (Tunc Odinus iter Septentrionem versus direxit & venit in Cimbriam, sibique totam illam terram pro lubitu subjugavit. Huic præfecit filium Skiold dictum; unde orta est familia Skioldungorum, qui sunt Regum Danorum). From here, then, Odin migrated to Sweden, which is the setting of the »Gylfaginning« section of Snorri’s Edda. Resen goes on to discuss Saxo Grammaticus’ account of Odin, explaining how Saxo’s Odin is not the same as the Odin he has just told the reader about, but another one, the so-called Middle Odin, and on this account he refers to the explications of Bishop Brynjólfur Sveinsson of Skálholt. Much of this is taken directly from Stephanius’ Notæ Uberiores in historiam Danicam Saxonis Grammatici (Sorø 1645), and Arngrímur Jónsson’s printed writings and Worm’s runic publications are also mined by Resen for his introductory essay. For Resen there appears to be no conflict or contradiction between Saxo’s account and the Icelandic narrative he relates about Odin’s arrival in the North. Indeed, he seems to shun any reference to the polemics of Torfæus’ hypothesis Islandica. Even though he presents the basic tenets of Torfæus’ hypothesis, i. e. Skjold not Dan was the first king of Denmark, Resen has chosen to suppress any mention of Saxo’s first Danish king, the eponymous Dan, so that the contradiction between the Icelandic source and Saxo never comes up. Resen’s manner of presenting this controversial material seems curiously lacking in critical or analytical consistency. Rather, he comes across as an antiquarian omnivore, for whom everything can be harmonized with everything else, either through polyglot etymologizing or the excavation of exotic parallels from obscure ancient sources. With the communicative fluency of early absolutism, Resen drops Worm’s and Stephanius’ cumbersome attempts to represent old texts with runic typefaces, and uses common Fraktur (blackletter) to display Icelandic. There is an exuberance of learning in Resen’s introduction, and its amassing of data becomes almost decorative, as if there was an underlying indifference to the facts of the matter and the point was to indulge the reader in a parade of erudite associations for the sake of showing off the academic capital of the monarchy, generously made available to the subjects by the well-schooled minions of a superhuman, absolute ruler. In 1666, a year after the publication of Edda Islandorum, the Danish historian Jens Dolmer (c. 1611– 1670), together with a protegé of Bishop Brynjólfur Sveinsson of Skálholt by the name of Oddur Eyjólfsson (1632– 1702), later rector of the cathedral school of Skálholt, published the thirteenth-century Norwegian codex of court rules, Hird-Skraa (Hirðskrá), accompanied by an almost verbatim Danish translation.⁴⁶ The

 The point of the word-for-word translation seems to have been to emphasize the closeness of the Danish and Norwegian languages, even to deny, as it were, the status of Old Norse as an independent language, different from Danish, suggesting instead that it was just an older stage of the same language, thus to strengthen the claim of the Danish monarch to rule Norway on the grounds that these peoples were essentially the same (i. e. as evidenced by the language). This seems in any case to have been the understanding of the Icelandic scholar Jón Eiríksson, professor at Sorø Academy, in drawing

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aim of this edition was to give ideological support to the Lex Regia of 1665, and to impart royal propaganda about Norway’s character as a hereditary monarchy (corresponding to the contents of the first section of the Hirðskrá), as is explained in Dolmer’s dedicatory letter to Frederick III at the beginning of the edition. Subsequently Dolmer translated the text of Hirðskrá into Latin in order to promote its message to an international readership of learned men, but this translation was first published by Resen in 1673, when he had the Old Norse text reprinted with both it and the Danish translation (Jus Aulicum Antiquum Norvagicum). The occasion for Resen’s re-publication was the activation in 1670 of the Royal Law of 1665, when Christian V was anointed as the first hereditary monarch of Denmark-Norway. This edition shows how Old Norse-Icelandic literature became relevant to the Danish authorities in this period because it could contribute to the ideological underpinnings of absolutism and legitimize the Danish monarchy’s ambitions for power. However, there were very few medieval texts in existence that seemed as supportive of the institution of unrestrained monarchy as Hirðskrá. Accordingly, despite the great collections of manuscripts in Denmark, virtually no medieval Icelandic texts were published for a whole century. Danish absolutism was Europe’s most thoroughly carried out; there were no societal institutions independent of the monarchy, no aristocratic or other milieus which could formulate corrective criticism of the regime. As many functions of state as possible were centralized in Copenhagen. The only discourse tolerated was hyperbolic praise of the king and the church. All printed matter was strictly controlled, the subjects were bombarded with the message that the king’s wisdom was unsurpassed; this was regularly proclaimed and preached, most extensively in the churches, the royal Lutheran evangelical church being highly effective in indoctrinating subservience in the subjects towards the government. When antiquarian publication finally began again in 1768, the text chosen for print was the Norwegian work that most closely resembled in spirit the Hirðsskrá, viz. the thirteenth-century Konungs skuggsjá or Speculum Regale, a didactic dialogue largely concerned with the proper conduct of different social classes in the Norwegian monarchy. The initiative for this came from far away Hólar in Iceland, from Rector Hálfdan Einarsson (1732– 1785), while the work was almost entirely carried out by an Icelandic professor at Sorø Academy, Jón Eiríksson (1728 – 1787). It was not until the prolonged political depression of absolutism culminated in the execution in 1772 of the German intellectual Johann Friedrich Struensee (1737– 1772), who had briefly attained dictatorial power in Denmark in his capacity as private doctor to the mentally ill Christian VII, that Danish political culture began to recover, and the publication of Old Norse-Icelandic medieval literature became possible again, in particular after the foundation of the Arnamagnæan Commission in 1772.

a parallel to his own very close translation of a related text from the Norwegian court, Konungs skuggsjá or Speculum Regale (1768).

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5 Meanwhile in Sweden and Iceland … The early publication of Old Norse-Icelandic texts in Denmark stopped abruptly soon after it began, but in Sweden and Iceland new texts continued to be edited. In connection with the invasion of Zealand in 1658, the Swedes were not only interested in military gains. At least one large library, that of the judge Jørgen Seefeldt (1594– 1662), located at the former monastery of Ringsted, Zealand, was taken and transported to Sweden. This was facilitated by the Danish nobleman Corfitz Ulfeldt (1606 – 1664), who opposed Frederick III’s plans to abolish the Council of the Realm and was therefore willing to aid King Carl Gustav of Sweden. The collection included an important Icelandic manuscript (Holm perg 5 fol., 1350 – 1365), now in Stockholm, which Seefeldt had received as a gift from Bishop Brynjólfur Sveinsson of Skálholt. Another related incident that happened under the Swedish invasion of Zealand involved a Danish merchantman sailing from Iceland, which was taken captive and brought to Gothenburg. Onboard was a young Icelander, Jón Jónsson of Rúgstaðir in northern Iceland, who was traveling with handwritten copies of Icelandic sagas in his luggage, amongst them Hervarar saga ok Heiðreks, Bósa saga ok Herrauðs, Gautreks saga, and Hrólfs saga Gautrekssonar. The Icelandic captive, who in Sweden would call himself Rugman after the farm where he grew up, was eventually sent to the University of Uppsala, where the Swedish antiquarian Olof Verelius (1618 – 1682) needed assistance to comprehend Icelandic. Rugman was employed as his copyist and translator at the College of Antiquities (Antikvitetskollegium), which was then in the process of being established. In 1662 Verelius was appointed professor antiquitatum patriæ and two years later he initiated the Swedish publications of medieval Icelandic texts with an edition of Gautreks saga and Hrólfs saga Gautrekssonar (Gothrici & Rolfi Westrogothiæ Regum Historia Lingua antiqua Gothica conscripta) with the Icelandic text set in Antiqua, the Swedish translation in Fraktur in a parallel column to the right of the original, and Latin endnotes, which set a standard for the early Swedish editions. In 1665 Verelius and his Icelandic assistant again published a short fragment of Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar, and in 1666 Bósa saga ok Herrauðs with the original in the left column and the Swedish translation in the parallel right columns, and at the end an index of names and Latin notes.Finally, in 1672, they published in a similar style Hervarar saga ok Heiðreks (Hervarar saga på Gammal Gøtska). Verelius also compiled an Icelandic wordlist with translations, aided of course by Rugman, which was published under the title Index linguæ veteris scytho-scandicæ sivæ gothicæ (1691). In choosing texts for publication, the Swedish antiquarians were primarily interested in narratives about the early history of Scandinavia, which they used to support their own version of who had ruled in these regions in ancient times and what they had been up to.⁴⁷ According to Jón Ólafsson of Grunnavík (1705 – 1779), who as a  Jón Rúgman and / or Olof Verelius probably also had a hand in preparing the edition of Þorsteins

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young man worked for Árni Magnússon in Copenhagen, his master believed that the Swedes were only interested in Icelandic sagas because they were looking for precedents in the territorial possessions of ancient Swedish kings in Scandinavia, in order to be able to renew their claims on districts belonging to Norway and Denmark.⁴⁸ Although Jón Ólafsson does not wish to speculate whether Árni Magnússon held this opinion of the Swedes in earnest, the comment at least shows that such political use of literature was by no means considered absurd in Scandinavian antiquarianism. Jón Ólafsson’s reservation probably relates only to the question of whether the Icelandic professor thought that the Swedish interest in Icelandic sagas was motivated by land-grabbing ambitions alone (ea tantum de causa), not whether it was in some way politically motivated, which seems to have been almost self-evident for both parties in this period. By the mid-eighteenth century Swedish antiquarians had published most of the thirty or so extant ›legendary‹ or ›viking‹ sagas, a group of texts which later became known as Fornaldar sögur Norðrlanda after the title of Carl Christian Rafn’s (1795 – 1864) three-volume edition of 1829 – 1830. These sagas about the early history of Scandinavia have a clear connection with the narratives of Saxo’s Gesta Danorum, in particular three of them, Hrólfs saga kraka, Völsunga saga, and Ragnars saga loðbrókar, and as such they should have held a great interest for the Danish antiquarians. The most important Swedish edition of this genre was the large one-volume collection of Erik Julius Biörners (1696 – 1750), Nordiska Kämpa dater (Stockholm 1737), which made thirteen such texts available in print for the first time, among them the three »Danish« sagas. The publishing of such ancient texts (they were considered extremely old) in Sweden strengthened

saga Víkingssonar (Thorstens Viikings-sons Saga på Gammal Gøthska, Uppsala 1680), which was published by the royal antiquarian Jacob Reenhielm (1644– 1691) with a Swedish translation, wordlist, and notes in Latin. Reenhielm published Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar by Oddr of Þingeyrar with a Swedish translation in a parallel column and a Latin translation at the foot of the page, and Latin notes (Saga Om K. Oloff Tryggwaszon i Norrege […] af Odde Munck, Uppsala 1691). In 1693 Petter Salan (1670 – 1697) and Olof Rudbeck (1630 – 1702) published in Uppsala Egils saga einhenda ok Ásmundar berserkjabana (Fostbrödernas, Eigles och Asmunds saga af Gamla Gøtiskan Uttolkad), and soon after the Icelandic antiquarian Guðmundur Ólafsson (1652– 1695) was responsible for the publication of Sturlaugs saga starfsama (Sagann af Sturlauge hinum Starf-sama, Uppsala 1694) and Illuga saga Gríðarfóstra (Sagan af Illuga Grydar fostra, Uppsala 1695); each with a parallel Swedish translation but without notes. During what remained of the seventeenth century, Ketils saga hængs, ÖrvarOdds saga, Gríms saga loðinkinna, and Héðins saga ok Högna came out under the auspices of Olof Rudbeck (1630 – 1702), most of them with Latin translations by Ísleifur Þorleifsson, a former protegé of Jón Eggertsson, who was never in Sweden. These editions were made in Rudbeck’s private printing workshop, and they are now extremely rare, Busch (2004), https://opus4.kobv.de/opus4-fau/front door/index/index/docId/45 (last viewed: 27 June 2017), Gödel (1897), Wallette (2004), Lindroth (1975).  Reykjavík, Stofnun Árna Magnússonar, AM 434 fol., 29v: »Sed varius esse censeo assertum b. Arnæ Magnæi quod Sveci ea tantum de causa desiderassent perspecta habere contenta Historiarum Islandicarum, si forte pervestigare quædam possent occasiones prætentionum in loca quædam, ac regiones Norvegiæ vel Daniæ, quæ avita possessione ad Regnum Sveciæ quondam pertinuissent. Sed huic asserto fides sua sit, nec id intensius rimari volupe est.«

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the impression in Denmark that through Icelandic sagas one could get direct access to historical sources that predated Saxo. As text editions the early Swedish publications were of very poor quality, usually based on a single late manuscript copy, and printed with contemporary Icelandic orthography. It could not have been otherwise, when the best manuscripts were in Copenhagen. A major part of the Icelandic paper manuscripts still in Stockholm derives from the Icelanders who in the 1600s sojourned in Sweden to prepare text editions there. The accompanying translations, however, are correct for the most part, except for the verse, which was often corrupt, and in any case from the outset difficult to decipher. There is, however, at least one exception to this rule of poor textual quality in the Swedish editions, and that is Johan Peringskiöld’s (1654– 1720) deservedly famous editio prima of the original text of Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla (Stockholm 1697– 1700) in two monumental folio volumes with both Swedish and Latin translations. For this edition Peringskiöld used a manuscript copy made in Copenhagen by Jón Eggertsson (1643 – 1689) of the important Kringla manuscript, which was kept at the University Library. The manuscript was later destroyed in the fire of 1728, apart from a single leaf (now at the National Library in Iceland). Peringskiöld’s Heimskringla edition thus preserves readings from a lost manuscript of great text-critical value, although its importance as textual witness is somewhat undermined by the fact that to constitute the text Peringskiöld also used other sources.⁴⁹ In translating the text into Latin Peringskiöld could build on the earlier Danish translations as well as on a recent Swedish translation made by Guðmundur Ólafsson. In Iceland Bishop Þórður Þorláksson (1637– 1697), Brynjólfur Sveinsson’s successor, was able to establish his own printing press at the see in Skálholt with a privilege he obtained in 1688 from Christian V to print historical texts. Þórður Þorláksson was a well educated man, widely traveled for his time, and had been the rector of the cathedral school of Hólar from 1660 to 1663. He was interested in natural sciences, geology, and geography, and the considerable wealth of his family enabled him to study abroad in Copenhagen, Rostock, Strasbourg, and Wittenberg, and to visit Paris and travel to Belgium and Holland on his way back to Copenhagen. In 1669 he sojourned with his kinsman Þormóður Torfæus at Karmøy in Stangeland, Norway. In 1688, when he had been bishop of Skálholt for 14 years, he acquired his licence to publish antiquarian works, and in the same year issued three fundamental texts for Icelandic history: Landnáma, the book of origins on the settlement of Iceland, Ari Sigfússon’s Islendingabók, the first vernacular history of Iceland from the 1130s, and Kristni saga, on the introduction of Christianity to Iceland. In the following two years, he published in two volumes Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar en mesta, the copiously expanded saga of King Olav Tryggvason of Norway, the first part in 1689 and the second part in 1690. This last publication is deceptive, because, although they are not named on the title page, it contained four other important sagas, whose

 Jónsson (1918), 29 – 34.

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texts were published together with it, in part or whole: Grænlendinga saga (about the Norse settlers of Greenland), Færeyinga saga (on the early history of the Faroe Islands), Jómsvíkinga saga (on the foundation of Jomsborg / Wolin, now in Poland, by the Danish viking Palnatoke), and Orkneyinga saga (on the Norse history of Orkney), in addition to 26 shorter narratives (so-called þættir); the reason for these bonus texts, as it were, is that the long redaction of Ólafs saga Tryggvasonar en mesta is expansively interpolated, especially the redaction used by the Bishop Þórður Þorláksson and his assistant, Einar Eyjólfsson (c. 1642– 1695), which was a copy at some removes of the famous codex Flateyjarbók. The text quality of the Skálholt editions was superior to anything that had been seen before in print – the bishop had for instance cast new letter types in order to reproduce more precisely the archaic language of the early twelfth-century Íslendingabók – but since the Skálholt editions were intended for the domestic market they were not accompanied by Danish or Latin translations. This was criticized in Denmark, but the speed and high quality of the Skálholt editions nevertheless did not fail to impress antiquarians in Denmark and Sweden.

6 Thomas Bartholin’s Antiquitates Danicæ The early publications of the Swedish antiquarians provoked only irritation and envy in Danish patriots. Despite some good intentions, expressed in official letters and the tasks assigned to royal antiquarians, the Danish consternation did not translate into new efforts to publish antiquarian texts in Copenhagen. Apart from the country’s suffering the combined effects of war and absolutist oppression, it seems to have dawned on Danish antiquarians that medieval Icelandic literature was giving Saxo Grammaticus some competition for the last word on ancient history. Danish conservatives wanted Saxo to remain fundamental, and these were difficult times for the Danes, with great territorial losses to Sweden on the east side of the Øresund. Thus there were pressing reasons to long for a return to the good old days of Worm and Stephanius. Against the naive exuberance of the – in their opinion – hyperactive Swedish antiquarians, the Danes began to cultivate their intellectual negativity, or, depending on how one views it, their critical acumen. Historical skepticism developed, influenced by the new school of French diplomatics and paleography – but coupled with a sense of nostalgia and, worst of all, morbidity.⁵⁰

 Bartholin and Árni Magnússon were well aware of the new French school of source criticism, an important development of this period, e. g. Pierre Bayle (1647– 1706), professor of philosophy and history at Amsterdam, who in 1684 started the review journal Nouvelles de la république des lettres, to which Bartholin subscribed. A significant inspiration was the French Benedictine Jean Mabillon (1632– 1707), who with his De re diplomatica libri sex (Paris 1681) established methods for paleography and diplomatics. Bartholin had Mabillon’s books in his library and refers to him in the Antiquitates, as does Árni Magnússon in the introduction to his Sjællandske Krønike (1695). Ólafur Halldórs-

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These are indeed the paradoxical sentiments that characterized the next great achievement of Danish antiquarianism, Thomas Bartholin Jr’s (1659 – 1690) Antiquitates Danicæ de Causis Contemptæ a Danis adhuc Gentilibus Mortis […] ex vetustis codicibus & monumentis hactenus ineditis congesti (Copenhagen 1689), which can be translated as ›Danish antiquities concerning the causes for why the Danes disdained death, while they were still pagan‹, a more than 700-page monograph in three Latin libri. Bartholin, who was something of a Wunderkind, finished Latin school at fourteen and had published two books already as an eighteen-year-old, when he was designated professor politices et historiæ patriæ, which meant that he was promised the position of professor in due time, when a fitting chair would become vacant. In the following years he prepared himself by visiting universities in Leiden, Oxford, London, Paris, and elsewhere. When his father died in 1680 he was called back to Denmark, but was taken ill and in order to recover he was forced to remain in Flensburg for an extended period. Once he had reached Copenhagen, he again took to traveling and spent some time in Leipzig in 1682. Bartholin was appointed professor of law and philosophy at the University of Copenhagen in 1684, by then only 25 years of age, and, more importantly for our purposes, he was made secretary of the royal archives (Gehejmearkiv), which at that time were located in Rosenburg Castle in Copenhagen. He was also appointed antiquarius regius, thus succeeding the Icelander Hannes Þorleifsson, who had only held the office for a year when he perished off Langanes in 1682. He had imprudently chosen to transport an unknown number of manuscripts, which he had collected for the king in Iceland, by sea in October, when the weather in the North Atlantic is unpredictable. For seventeen years, ever since Torfæus was expelled from the royal palace in 1664, there had been no significant work done on the Icelandic codices in the Danish king’s possession. The worries of Bishop Brynjólfur Sveinsson seemed to be coming true, which he voiced in a letter, dated 10 July 1656, to the royal librarian Villum Lange (1624– 1682), that there was a real danger (after his application to the king for a licence to print antiquities in Skálholt had been rejected and many important manuscripts sent to Copenhagen) that the Icelandic manuscripts would be rendered

son writes: »Wherever Árni traveled, he searched in libraries for sources about the ecclesiastical history of the North and the history of the North in general, and he noted everything that he found on the subject, both printed and in manucript. His notes are preserved in [Copenhagen, the Arnamagnæan Institute,] AM 909 4to A – E. He not only gathered information about texts useful to the history of the northern countries, but he also made a point of learning how Europan scholars dealt with these materials. Árni seems to have been especially impressed by the way in which the French Benedictines (the Maurists), especially Jean Mabillon (1632– 1707), created a scientific basis for the gathering of sources and historical research, and he used them as a model«, Halldórsson (1998), 38. The related movement in Germany, Pyrrhonismus Historicus, was named after the Greek skeptic Pyrrhon of Elis (c. 365 – 272 B.C.); its most important representative in the second half of the 1600s was the polyhistor Hermann Conring (1606 – 1681), see Völkel (1987), 110ff. Conring was an advisor to King Frederick III, and had published Tacitus’ Germania in 1678, an edition which Árni Magnússon collated line for line with the editio prima of 1470, Jónsson (2012), 110.

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into mute objects in foreign libraries (in bibliothecas exteras codices mutos compingere) when removed from their competent readers, to the greatest detriment of science – indeed, the Icelandic bishop added, this would not be to safeguard them but to annihilate them (id vero antiquitates non conservare sed extinguere est)! The bishop emphasizes in the same letter that what had been achieved so far in the field of antiquarian studies (he refers to Worm and Stephanius) was owed to the assistance of Icelanders, and that they alone, indeed a select few among them, could publish Icelandic antiquities. But, he adds on a more upbeat note, when antiquarians throughout Europe get the opportunity to read the contents of the Icelandic manuscripts – he assures the royal librarian that there will be plenty of buyers for their editions – the fame of the monarchy will spread far and wide.⁵¹ Then, in the early 1680s, the Danish authorities were finally provoked out of their lethargy by what was happening in Sweden. The catalyst was no doubt primarily the potent mixture of the mythomaniacal Atlantica (Atland eller Manheim) by Professor Olof Rudbeck (1630 – 1702) of Uppsala University, the first volume of which came out in 1679. Something just had to be done about Rudbeck’s claims that Sweden was the cradle of civilization and Swedish the original language of Adam, and his fantastical identification of his patria with Plato’s Atlantis! With the boisterous frivolity and ease of association created in a consciousness almost never weighed down by the complexity of historical facts, Rudbeck treated the Icelandic Eddas, recently published by Resen, as his sandbox and playground, like an allegorical puzzle waiting to be cracked by a great scientist such as himself. His lively imagination may even have been triggered a little by Resen’s impressive tour de force through comparative World Literature in the ›Introduction‹ to the Edda Islandorum, although, if so, the outcome proved quite different. Rudbeck’s treatise certainly attracted criticism and ridicule both in and out of Sweden,⁵² but its effect on the Danish authorities was to give a new boost to antiquarianism. In practice, this meant employing some Icelanders to match up to the Swedes. But when Hannes Þorleifsson was appointed royal antiquarian and sent to Iceland in the summer of 1682 to collect manuscripts, the Swedes already had a reply ready, because they sent their own agent, Jón

 Úr bréfabókum Brynjólfs biskups Sveinssonar, 72.  Danish and Icelandic antiquarians and historians (e. g. Þormóður Torfæus, Thomas Bartholin, Árni Magnússon, Hans Gram, Ludvig Holberg) were of course highly critical of Rudbeck’s writings, and although he had many followers in Sweden he was also ridiculed there as early as the seventeenth century by the philosopher and philologist Andreas Kempe (1622– 1689), and in the eighteenth century by such Swedish scientists as Olof Celsius (1670 – 1756) and Carl Gustaf Nordin (1749 – 1812). Rudbeck’s ideas were rejected as fraudulent from the outset by Italian and French intellectuals, e. g. the learned Italian diplomat Lorenzo Magolotti (1637– 1712), and the French intellectual and playwright poet Jean-François Regnard (1655 – 1709), who visited Sweden around the time when Rudbeck began his Atlantica project. Most famously, perhaps, Rudbeck was scorned by Denis Diderot in an entry on »Etymologie« in the Encyclopédie, where Diderot used Rudbeck as a negative example to point out the deceptive association of etymology with historicizing mythography, Bandle et al. (2002), 109.

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Eggertsson, a disgruntled Icelander who had fought a prolonged legal battle against the corrupt Icelandic authorities. Indeed, he was more resourceful than his countryman Hannes Þorleifsson and mangaged both to buy valuable manuscripts in Iceland and to deliver them to Sweden – actually by handing them over upon landing in Helsingør / Elsinore, Denmark, to a couple of other Icelandic agents for the Swedes. This was in the autumn of 1683, and for it (and / or some other offences against the authorities) he was thrown into prison in Denmark.⁵³ Þormóður Torfæus, who by his own account was rotting away as a peasant in Norway, was now rehabilitated through an appointment as royal historian of Norway. The arrangement, which was made on 23 September 1682, should also be seen as part of the Danish response to the continued successes of Verelius, Rudbeck, and their Icelandic assistants.⁵⁴ Torfæus, who had a nose for politics, knew how to play on the fears of the Danish government in his application to the king, dated 18 August 1682.⁵⁵ A part of his assignment, according to Jón Eiríksson’s biography of Torfæus, was to prove that Christian V was descended from the Norwegian royal family, and was thus a rightful heir to the crown of Norway according to the laws of royal succession. What now happened was unexpected, because Torfæus virtually emptied the collections in Copenhagen of Icelandic manuscripts (the Flateyjarbók, Morkinskinna, Hrokkinskinna, Tómasskinna, both the Eddas, Konungsannáll etc.), which he took with him to Karmøy, Norway, at great risk of losing them, and kept them there for over two decades to write the history of Norway. Indeed, Torfæus

 He was only released after procuring a letter from the Swedish Antiquities Collegium stating that he had not handed over any manuscripts to them. The letter is dated 29 September 1686. He never returned to Iceland, and finally went to Stockholm in 1689, even then bringing Icelandic manuscripts to the Swedes: Ólason (1950), 86 – 87.  A brief history of the Icelandic antiquarians working in Sweden was written already in the early eighteenth century: Dal, Specimen biographicum de antiquariis Sveciae.  He pointed out that, since he had last worked as an antiquarian for the king, the Swedes had established the Antiquities Collegium with a free printing press, and they had hired an Icelander, whom they paid well; they hunted down whatever they could find of Icelandic antiquities, and had already published several books for which they had won great fame. Even he would have to correct his book on the Danish royal succession in several places, so superior had the Swedes’ access become to the sources of Danish and Norwegian history. Thus it was beginning to seem that the honor which in the greatest part ought to belong to the Fatherland was being appropriated by Sweden alone. He himself had even been approached by the Swedish king with an offer to join his service, which he had rejected out of sheer love of the Fatherland, though he had not during the last twelve years enjoyed any relief beyond the livelihood of a simple peasant. He therefore applied for the position of historiographer of Norway, including a special permission to borrow the necessary Icelandic manuscripts in the king’s collections in Copenhagen, to take with him to Norway where he would write in Latin the history of Norway. To make his Norwegian history presentable abroad, he had to acquire a research library of the most important works on the history of the neighboring countries Denmark, Germany, Sweden, England, and Russia, but especially France; in addition he needed to hire an Icelandic copyist. All of this would require a double salary, compared to what he had been given earlier, Eiríksson, Thormod Torfesens Levnetsbeskrivelse (2009), 88 – 89.

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was unwilling to return the Icelandic manuscripts to Copenhagen, and postponed their delivery repeatedly until King Frederick IV in person paid him a visit at the farm in Norway, in the summer of 1704, and politely took the manuscripts from him and transported them back to Copenhagen. Many of the names that the Icelandic parchment books go under to this day were given them by Torfæus, whose systematic copying of manuscripts turned out to be invaluable, especially when some of them were destroyed in the fire of Copenhagen in 1728. Although Torfæus’ private antiquarian workshop in Norway was not exactly what Bishop Brynjólfur Sveinsson had envisioned in his letter to the royal librarian, especially since Torfæus’ aim was not to edit the texts for publication as such, but to use them as sources for historiography, at least this way the manuscripts were being read and studied by those who could comprehend their contents. As a historian Torfæus also turned out to be no less productive than he had been as a translator in the king’s service in Copenhagen.⁵⁶ Indeed, a considerable part of his historical writings consists of retellings and translations of Icelandic sagas, the contents of which were thus made available. When Thomas Bartholin was appointed antiquarius regius in 1684 his formal assignment was to »collect all the most important Icelandic historical writings, which could be had, and to prepare them for printing« (›at samle alle de fornemste Islandske Historiske skrifter, som ere at bekomme og dennem til trøken at forfærdige‹), as is stated in a letter from Christian V, which is dated 4 April 1685 and addressed to Governor Christopher Heideman (c.1653 – 1703) in Iceland. At the same time, Icelandic-Swedish antiquarianism was to be stifled at source by issuing a ban against »written histories or other such treatises about the country [Denmark] being sold to foreigners or exported« (›skrefne historier eller andre deslige Tractater om landet, vorder der fra til fremmede forhandlede eller udførte‹); with the justification that it had been brought to the king’s attention »how a great deal of manuscripts from our country, Iceland, reputedly have already been exported, which foreigners have

 Some of his more important publications include the histories of the north Atlantic colonies of the Norsemen: Commentatio historica de rebus gestis Færeyansium seu Færøensium (Copenhagen 1695), Orcades seu rerum Orcadensium historiæ (Copenhagen 1697), Historia Vinlandiæ antiquæ (Copenhagen 1705), Gronlandia antiqua (Copenhagen 1706; new ed. 1947). These works were originally intended as sections of his magnum opus on the history of Norway, which grew too voluminous under his pen. The main text was finally published in four volumes under the title Historia rerum Norvegicarum (Copenhagen 1711). Two of these publications have an explicit political agenda: In the Orcades Torfæus argues for the Danish king’s continued right to redeem Orkney, which was pledged in the times of Christian I, despite the fact that this right had been waived already in 1590. In Historia Vinlandiæ antiquæ Torfæus goes even further and claims Canada on behalf of the Danish crown, though he may not have been backed by the Danish government in making such a claim. As for his book on Greenland, Gronlandia antiqua, he was in the middle of writing it when the king visited him on Karmøy in 1704, and his discussions with the king and the state official who arranged the visit, Governor-General Frederick Gabel (d. 1708), may well have stimulated interest among them in the rediscovery of Greenland, which was recolonized by the Norwegian priest Hans Egede (1686 – 1758) in 1721, Petersen (1929), 799.

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repeatedly published in print« (›hvorledis een stoer deel Manuscripter fra vort land Island allerede skal vere udførte, hvilche fremmede i trochen tid efter anden lader udgaae‹).⁵⁷ There is hardly any question of the irritation in the tone of this royal letter, i. e. that the envy aroused by the Swedish publications of Icelandic antiquities had eclipsed any acknowledgement of the scientific achievements of a rival people, so the Swedish text editions were seen solely as infringing on Danish interests.⁵⁸ Thomas Bartholin Jr. died of tuberculosis at the age of 31, but while struggling with his fatal disease he, together with his not much younger Icelandic assistant Árni Magnússon, was able to publish the book that would make him famous. Into the morbid central argument of Bartholin’s Antiquitates Danicæ were embedded numerous bits and pieces of texts from unpublished Icelandic sagas and poetry, both eddic and skaldic, made available here in a hitherto unseen variety and richness, both in original texts and accompanying Latin translations. This work set a new standard for how medieval Icelandic and Norwegian texts ought to be published.⁵⁹ At the end of the book we find a list of the source material, naming about 90 works, including 21 eddic poems. A good deal of the philological excavation of text examples and their translation into Latin was no doubt carried out by Árni Magnússon, whose expertise in this area is demonstrated at the beginning of the volume with 22 strophes of skaldic verse, in the meter dróttkvætt, typical of Icelandic court poetry. The piece is

 Kongelige Allernaadigste Forordninger og aabne Breve, som til Island ere udgivne af de Høist-priselige Konger af den Oldenborgiske Stamme, 220.  The resentment is even more obvious in the letter of the young antiquarius himself that he sent to the king to request the royal injunction. In the letter, which bears the same date as the king’s letter, and was first printed in Eiríksson, Thormod Torfesens Levnetsbeskrivelse (1788), 22– 23, Bartholin writes: »Since Your Royal Highness has most graciously appointed me as royal antiquary, and I am entrusted in my letter of assignment with preparing for printing the best of Icelandic historical writings; to which end I have not only with me here industrious Icelandic students, who are accomplished in the old language, but have even dispatched one to Iceland, whose assignment it is to collect old documents; and since it is well known that our neighbors have acquired from there a good deal of beautiful manuscripts, which they publish in print every year to our greatest disadvantage; therefore I most humbly request that Your Royal Majesty instruct his governor in Iceland […] to issue orders that he not only prohibit and oversee that no written histories and documents from that country be handed over to foreigners, but also that he collect what manuscripts he can get, and send them hither for Your Majesty’s services« (»Eftersom Eders Kongelige Majestæt mig allernaadigst har antaget til at være Antiqvarius Regius, og det i min Bestallings-Brev mig bliver befalet, til Trykken at forfærdige de fornemste Islandske historiske Skrifter; til hvilken Ende jeg ei allene her haver hos mig dygtige Islandske Studentere, i det gamle Sprog velforfarne, men endog een affærdiget til Island, som gamle Documenter der skal indsanke. Men saasom det vitterligt er, at vores Naboer en stor Deel skiønne Manuscripter derfra haver bekommet, hvilke de aarligen til vores største Nachdeel i Trykken lader undgaae; da beder jeg allerunderdanigst Eders Kongelige Majestæt vilde lade sin Landsfoged paa Island […] befale, at han ei alleneste forbyder og tilseer, at ingen skrevne historier og Documenter der af Landet til fremmede bliver afhandlede, men ogsaa indsanker hvis [dvs. hvad] Manuscripter han kan bekomme og hidsende til Eders Majestæts Tieneste«), Gödel (1897), 176, Petersen (1929), 777, Kristjánsson (1975), 377– 378, Jónsson (2012), 63.  Jónsson (ed.), Árni Magnússons Levned og Skrifter, vol 1, 1, 14, Jónsson (2012), 85.

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a panegyric to Bartholin, who is praised to the skies for his philological achievements through the whole gamut of syntactical artifice, kennings, and alternative names (heiti) so characteristic of skaldic poetry. Árni Magnússon would later, with a fair bit of ironic self-deprecation, tell his amanuensis Jón Ólafsson of Grunnavík (1705 – 1779) that this modern drápa was so learned that he himself would no longer immediately be able to decipher its meaning without some research. Following Verelius’ example, the Icelandic texts are printed in Antiqua, as is the Latin main text, with only a few citations in Danish represented in Fraktur. The use of Icelandic poetry as a proof of erudition resembles the use of Latin poetry in the learned Neo-Latin treatises and text editions of the period, indicating that Icelandic had now been accepted as the Nordic equivalent of the classical languages.⁶⁰ Bartholin criticized Rudbeck’s fabulous misreadings of Old Norse-Icelandic literature and his poor historical research, but he himself enjoyed a greatly superior access to the sources in Copenhagen, which enabled him to represent accurately the poetry and sagas he had selected to prop up his essentially chauvinistic argument in the Antiquitates Danicæ about the Stoic fearlessness of the Ancient Danish warriors.⁶¹ Despite his hands-on intimacy with the medieval sources,⁶² Bartholin can hardly be considered an innovator in constructing this argument, or to have opened up new avenues in the interpretation of Icelandic literature. On the contrary, he adopts as his premise a reading of Icelandic literature developed by a generation of scholars

 See Jensson (2008).  Another controversy may have played a role in the mutual dislike of Bartholin and Rudbeck, who worked at two universities that had competed with one another ever since they were founded in almost the same year 1477 / 1479. In 1652 Thomas Bartholin Sr. (1616 – 1680), the father of Bartholin Jr., had published his findings about the lymphatic system, which he in fact was first to name (vasa lymphatica in homine nuper inventa). A year later Rudbeck, who also did medical research, claimed that he, too, had made the discovery of the peripheral lymphatic vessels, and wrote an accusatory letter to claim the honor of the discovery. In Sweden Rudbeck was subsequently credited with the discovery, which he is supposed to have presented at the court of Queen Christina of Sweden in the spring of 1652, although he only published his findings after he had had access to Bartholin’s study in print, Natale/Bocci/Ribatti (2017), http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/joa.12644 (last viewed: 30 June 2017).  Bartholin is also remembered for preserving Danish historical documents. In 1687 he used his influence with the king to demand from officials of church and state throughout Denmark that they deliver old documents to him. Thus he received various medieval diplomas, annals, monastic chronicles, and liturgical books; at the same time he searched out and copied documents in collections both private (e. g. that of Resen) and public in Copenhagen, especially at the University Library, where documents from generations of royal historians had been deposited. In this manner he compiled a great collection of copies, 25 large volumes in folio, Bartholin’s Collectanea, nine of which contained ecclesiastical history, arranged by years, the Annales Bartholiniani, reaching to 1552. Considering his poor health, this was quite an achievement, though he certainly enjoyed the assistance of others, among them his Icelandic amanuensis Árni Magnússon. Fortunately, the Collectanea had not yet been deposited in the University Library when it burnt down in 1728. They first came there in 1739, when purchased from the Bartholin family. They became the main source of Erich Pontoppidan’s Annales Ecclesiæ Danicæ Diplomatici (1741– 1752), in 4 vols., and the historical series Scriptores rerum Danicarum (1772– 1878), in 9 vols., begun by Jacob Langebek.

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who might have been his granduncles, revealing a conservative streak in his approach to the sources, which would become almost embarrassingly old-fashioned and irrelevant as time went on. The very title of Bartholin’s seminal work is inspired by the success of Worm’s publication of the »Krákumál« of Ragnar Loðbrók. In fact, Bartholin may be seen to have squandered his advantage over Worm, Stephanius, Resen, Verelius, and Rudbeck on amassing support for an essentially patriotic postulate with limited value as history or literature. Perhaps the most influential texts, often published here for the first time, were a selection of retrospective, autobiographical ›Death Songs‹, although here and there, together with the predominant theme, some erotic and comic passages also occur: »Gamanvísur Haralds harðráða« (›The Comic Verses of Haraldur harðráði‹), 155 – 157, »Ævikviða Ásbjörns prúða« (›Ballad of the Life of Ásbjörn the Gentle‹), 158 – 162; »Bjarkamál hin fornu« (›Ancient Lay of Bjarki‹), 178 – 182; a selection from »Hákonarmál« (›Lay of Hákon‹), 520 – 528, by Eyvindur skáldaspillir; »Darraðarljóð« (›The Poem of Dörruður‹), 617– 624; and »Baldurs draumar« (›The Dreams of Baldur‹), also called »Vegtamskviða«, 632– 640.⁶³ The view of Ancient Danish society indirectly drawn up by this one-sided selection of poems, in accordance with the argument of Antiquitates Danicae, is that of happily suicidal pagan warriors, who in many points resemble contemporary Danes and Swedes in their Protestant zealotry and self-sacrificing, militant patriotism. These poems, which aim to rekindle the spirit, conjured up by the poems in Worm’s Literatura Runica, were later translated into several languages, translations rarely based on the original texts but most often on Bartholin’s Latin translations, which must have been made by Árni Magnússon or at least have been dependent on his readings of the poems. These texts became the core of a new canon of about a dozen poems which were known in the eighteenth century as especially characteristic of the literary spirit of the North.⁶⁴ The fate of Bartholin’s monograph, together with Worm’s Literatura runica and Resen’s Edda Islandorum, was to become a source book for the eighteenth century’s fascination with the Nordic sublime, mixed up with the libertarianism of Montesquieu and the primitivism of Rousseau.⁶⁵

 Page numbers refer to Bartholin’s Antiquitates Danicæ, Copenhagen 1689.  See e. g. Heinrichs (1991), Gunnlaugsson (2011).  A highly influential work, which disseminated knowledge from the seventeenth-century publications of Icelandic material beyond Scandinavia, was Monuments de la mythologie et de la poésie des Celtes, et particulièrement des anciens Scandinaves (1756) by the professor of belles lettres in Copenhagen, Paul Henri Mallet (1730 – 1807), a text which in turn was translated into several other European languages, into German by Gottfried Schiltze (1765) and English by Thomas Percy (1770). In translating the Old Norse-Icelandic texts into French, Mallet enjoyed the assistance of Jón Eiríksson (1728 – 1787), who may be called the first modern Old Norse-Icelandic philologist in Copenhagen on account of his edition of Konungs skuggsjá / Speculum regale (Sorø 1768). Resen’s Edda and Bartholin’s Antiquitates were used as sources by Mallet, but continued nevertheless to be read and studied in their own right. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 – 1832) relates in Wahrheit und Dichtung that his first taste of the Edda was from the German translation of Mallet, but that he first learnt to appreciate

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7 Conclusion When Thomas Bartholin Jr. died in 1690, Árni Magnússon lost his patron. The royal historiographer Þormóður Torfæus, together with the powerful Danish nobleman Matthias Moth (1649 – 1719), supported him in the initial stages of establishing an independent career as an antiquarian in Copenhagen. Árni Magnússon traveled to Germany (1694– 1696) and was soon after designated professor at the University of Copenhagen, an office he received officially in 1701 with the apt title of professor antiquitatum Danicarum. He was the first Icelander promoted to professor in Copenhagen; four years earlier he had been made secretary of the royal archive at the Gehejmearkiv. In 1710 he was granted a seat on the University Consistorium, and from 1721 he was also in charge of running the University Library, which made Árni Magnússon for a time the most prominent antiquarian in Copenhagen.⁶⁶ In the preserved letters exchanged between Árni Magnússon and Þormóður Torfæus from 1688 to 1716, it is clear that publishing the manuscript of Torfæus’ Series dynastarum et regum Daniæ was considered by them to be a risky endeavor.⁶⁷ Nevertheless they reached the agreement that, if Árni Magnússon would edit the work for publication, Torfæus would in return bequeath his library to him. Árni Magnússon took the assignment very seriously, and labored on revising the work for years on end. The manuscript underwent major changes, and from the letters we can see that Torfæus is not always happy with the revisions, though he had full confidence in Árni Magnússon as his editor and ghost writer. However, there was a world of difference in the attitudes of the two men towards the sources and their reliablity. In the it when »Herder gave me Resenius in hand« (cited by Petersen, 1929, 776). Johann Gottfried Herder (1744– 1803) derived much inspiration from these publications and came to prefer Old Norse mythology to the Greco-Roman variety. He praises Bartholin in high terms for his erudition, and he translated a whole series of poems in his Volkslieder (1778 – 1779) from the Antiquitates. Bartholin’s work also had a great impact on the German circle in Copenhagen, i. e. the Nordic mythological poetry of Heinrich Wilhelm von Gerstenberg (1737– 1823) and Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock (1724– 1803). When Montesquieu (1689 – 1755) in L’esprit des lois (1748) mentions the Northerners’ belief in the afterlife, his source is the Antiquitates Danicæ, and the same holds true of Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729 – 1781), at the beginning of his Laocoon (1766), where he unfavorably contrasts the aloofness of northern heroism with the tearful expressiveness of Ancient Greek heroes. In England the reception of the Antiquitates was intense, involving such poets as Thomas Gray (1716 – 1771) and Thomas Percy (1729 – 1811), who published Five Pieces of Runic Poetry (1763), most of which are renderings of the Latin translations of poems in Antiquitates; he also translated Mallet into English as Northern Antiquities (1779). Sir Walter Scott (1771– 1832) also deeply immersed himself in Bartholin as a young man in order to imbibe the solitude and gloom of the northern spirit, which would later mark his work as a novelist. On the dissemination of Resen and Bartholin, see e. g. the succinct survey of Petersen (1929), 774– 782. On the general reception of Icelandic literature in this period, see Blanck (1911), Clunies Ross (1998), Shippey (1998), Henningsen (2007).  Bekker-Nielsen/Widding (1963), 36.  The correspondence is published in Arne Magnusson, brevveksling med Torfaeus (Þormóður Torfason).

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end Torfæus suggests to Árni Magnússon that he should write the introduction, because by now he knows the work much better; he himself can hardly recognize the book in the revised form. The work was finally printed in 1702, by then many times the original length, yet Árni Magnússon had forced Torfæus to remove whole sections from the text, especially the retelling of Hrólfs saga kraka, which was printed separately later as Historia Hrolfi Kraki (Copenhagen 1705), and the whole final section on King Gorm the Old, Harald Bluetooth, and Svend Forkbeard, which were later also published separately as Trifolium historicum (Copenhagen 1707). In the printed work, which bears the full title of Series dynastarum et regum Daniæ, a primo eorum Skioldo Odini filio, ad Gormum Grandævum, Haraldi Cærulidentis patrem: Antea anno Christi MDCLXIV jussu Gloriosissimæ memoriæ Regis Friderici Tertii, secundum monumentorum Islandicorum harmoniam deducta & concinnata: Nunc recognita, multum aucta, et Augustissimi illius Nepotis Friderici Quarti auspiciis in publicam lucem emissa per Tormodum Torfæum Historiographum Regium (›The succession of dynasts and kings of Denmark from Skjold the son of Odin to Gorm the Old, father of Harald Bluetooth: Previously, in the year of the Lord 1664, at the demand of King Frederick III of most glorious memory, drawn from and arranged in accordance with Icelandic historical monuments: Now revised, and greatly enlarged, and published under the auspices of his grandson Frederick IV, written by Royal Historiographer Tormod Torfæus‹), the discussion spans the Danish royal line from Skjold to Gorm the Old, i. e. the whole series of pagan kings, while the Christian kings have been left out. As well as the extent of the royal succession, many sections of the text had changed greatly from the manuscript that Torfæus had presented to Frederick III thirty-eight years earlier. The first part, where we find an extensive survey of Icelandic sagas and a systematic evaluation of their usefulness as sources for the writing of history, together with a similar evaluation of Danish and Swedish historical sources, has undergone major revisions by Árni Magnússon. This part has justifiably been called the first ever attempt at historical source criticism in Denmark.⁶⁸ In sorting out the sagas, the ones that may be deemed reliable historical sources are distilled from the great mass of Icelandic literature; while the historical authority of this select group of texts is confirmed in no uncertain terms, an attack is launched on other historians, whether Danish or Swedish, who do not live up to the benchmark standard of historicity. Among the unworthy we find the notorious Danish mythomaniac Claus Christoffersen Lyschander, but the main offender is not unpredicably the Swedish historian Johannes Magnus, to whom Torfæus (and Árni Magnússon lurking behind his authorial persona) dedicates an entire Appendix, »Ad Seriem Regum Daniæ Appendix I. De Johannis Magni in describendo Daniæ Sveciæque Regum ordine callida Saxonis imitatione« (›On the clever imitation of Saxo in Johannes Magnus’ account of the royal lines of Denmark and Sweden‹, 447– 475), a devastating critique of the fa-

 Petersen (1929), 797.

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ther of Swedish history which demonstrates how dependent Magnus was on Saxo, but also that antiquarianism in the seventeenth century was not always naive and uncritical. No comparable section is found in Torfæus’ original of 1664. The attack on Johannes Magnus was no doubt deemed necessary by Árni Magnússon in order to make the harsh critique of Saxo presented here more palatable to his learned Danish readership. He and Torfæus were anxious about the reception of the printed text, and Árni Magnússon argued that it was not wise to publish it in two parts, out of fear that the second part would not be allowed to come out, once the contents of the first one were known. Torfæus was also nervous because of a dream he had that the book would be badly received. In the preface, Torfæus assures the reader that his argument in many ways confirms Saxo’s account of history, and that his purpose is by no means to undermine the authority of respectable writers. But the truth was that Saxo’s early history was turned upside down in Torfæus’ treatment, yet no attempts were made to suppress the work or ban it. On the contrary, Torfæus won great renown for his work. A French reviewer expressed his surprise that »a Dane, who loves his country and serves his king as a historiographer, should strive only to discover the truth and break with old prejudice«.⁶⁹ Although the reviewer has a point, and one can certainly admire the scientific integrity of Danish antiquarians’ overthrow of their most revered historical authority, it should not be forgotten that Icelandic literature, too, was considered the possession of the king of Denmark (»our land Iceland« is how he refers to the country), and in any case most of the Icelandic manuscripts were already in Copenhagen. It had taken a long time, but the newly reestablished authority of medieval Icelandic literary texts, whether in published editions or as sources used in fanciful studies such as those by Rudbeck and Bartholin, could not fail to contribute indirectly to undermining the status of Saxo Grammaticus as the ultimate voice of Denmark’s ancient history. Already Resen and Bartholin had revealed the richness of the Icelandic corpus of historical poetry, which Saxo had accessed partly in oral form (as he explains in the preface to his 8th book) and partly in runic inscriptions.⁷⁰ As for

 The first historian of Denmark to fully accept Torfæus’ Icelandic hypothesis for the period before the introduction of Christianity to Denmark was Andreas Hojer, who in 1718 published his Kurtzgefaszte Dännemärckische Geschichte, which for more than half a century was the only usable handbook covering the whole of Danish history. Ludvig Holberg, who is criticized by Hojer, eventually accepted Torfæus’ premise as well, and in Danmarks Riges Historie (Copenhagen 1732) he reluctantly joined Torfæus and Hojer, because the former’s hypothesis »has found approval with most of our learned men«. Accordingly, Holberg rejects with great satisfaction Saxo’s »bizarre and inhuman fables« and follows Torfæus and the Icelandic sources, unless they conflict with European historians at large, Petersen (1929), 798.  In book 1, chapter 11, Bartholin had cited Snorri Sturluson’s prologue to the Heimskringla in support of the author’s faith in skaldic poetry as a historical source, a view which, as he pointed out, was shared by the Norwegian historian Theodoricus, before him. Bartholin then states that the majority of the skaldic poets came from Iceland, and this circumstance, he says, accounts for Saxo’s praise of the Icelanders for their historical knowledge.

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rune stones, admittedly they are not found primarily in Iceland, but, as Bartholin adds, even though Worm and Stephanius had eagerly explored the runic material they did not gain much from it in terms of data for the study of Danish history – and neither had Saxo himself, for that matter, derived any significant historical information directly from the rune stones. Runic inscriptions are murky and unintelligible, despite the great efforts made by learned men to decipher them, and even if they can be read, they rarely turn out to contain anything of value for the writing of history. As for the vernacular poetry that Saxo had translated into Latin, this only amounts to a handful of poems, very little indeed compared to the copiousness of the Icelandic corpus, and because of their artful mediation in Latin verses they contribute but little to the study of history and absolutely nothing to the dating of historical individuals and events, according to Bartholin. Saxo himself had admitted that he built a large part of his Gesta Danorum on Icelandic sources, which underscored the authority of the Icelanders as the original historians of Scandinavia. Worm’s and Stephanius’ search for the sources of the Gesta Danorum in Icelandic literature had ultimately had the opposite result to what they had originally intended, viz. it had not strengthened the perception that Saxo was the fundamental source of Danish history; on the contrary, it had made Saxo into a secondary and derivative author in comparison with the vernacular poems and sagas on which he relied. It was these that had won the unassailable honor that belongs to originals alone.⁷¹

 Ludvig Holberg describes the dogmatic belief in Saxo among Danish historians, points out the paradox of Saxo’s authority with respect to the Icelanders, and finally summarizes the impact of Bartholin on Saxo’s authority in his 1731 speech at the university: Holberg, Solutio Problematis de hypothesibus Historiæ Danicæ, in Collatione honorum Baccalaureatus publice recitata in Dom: Consistor: 1731, 413 – 415: »Sed tantæ auctoritatis erat Saxo Grammaticus, vel potius Archiepiscopus Absalon, sub cujus ductu et auspiciis historiam gentis Danicæ contexuit, ut omnes qui secuti sunt historici sc. Crantzius, Hvitfeldius, Pontanus, Svaningius, Meursius, aliique maximi nominis viri ne unguem quidem latum ab hypothesi ejus recedere ausi sint. Huc adde, quod cum tot tantisque subsidiis in præfamine Operis instructum sese testetur ipse Saxo, temeraria visa sit plerisque tanti fortiterque adeo armati viri censura. Sed id quod maxime invictum et inexpugnabilem historicum nostrum reddidisse visum est, autoritatem ejus maxime labefactavit. Nam cum ipse in proœmio operis sui testetur, se fidem veterum Thylensium sive scriptorum Islandicorum secutum, ac antiquarii nonnulli temporis nostri, examine monumentorum Islandicorum curatius habito, viderent toto ab iisdem distare cœlo historiam Saxonis, satis patuit, nunquam autores istos inspexisse, quorum vestigiis se insistere profitetur, quocirca credebant etiam idem judicium ferri posse de reliquis adminiculis, quorum magnifica apud eundem Saxonem fit mentio. E lapidibus Runnicis exiguum solatium hauriri posse docuit in Thesauro Antiquitatum Danicarum celeberrimus Thomas Bartholinus, cum obscuræ adeo sint pleræque inscriptiones, ut nulla ope et sagacitate humana sensus aliquis inde erui possit, Veteresque, quas Saxo latinè reddidit cantilenas paucas esse, parumque ad historiam, et nihil omnino ad doctrinam temporum facere.«

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Bibliography Primary Literature Árni Magnússon, »Ævi Sæmundar fróða (1690)«, in: Í garði Sæmundar fróða, tr. by Gottskálk Jensson, ed. by Gunnar Harðarson / Sverrir Tómasson, Reykjavík 2008, 143 – 170. Bartholin, Thomas, Antiquitates Danicæ de Causis Contemptæ a Danis adhuc Gentilibus Mortis […] ex vetustis codicibus & monumentis hactenus ineditis congesti, Copenhagen 1689. Biörners, Erik Julius (ed.), Nordiska Kämpa dater, Stockholm 1737. Dal, Niels Hufvedsson, Specimen biographicum de antiquariis Sveciae: in quo Johannis Hadorphii, Eliae Brenneri & Islandorum curae enarrantur, Stockholm 1724. Dolmer, Jens / Oddur Eyjólfsson (ed. / tr.) Hird-Skraa Udi ded gamle Norske Sprok / retteligen ofversat paa Danske, Copenhagen 1666. Dolmer, Jens / Oddur Eyjólfsson / Peder Hansen Resen (ed. / tr.), Jus aulicum antiqvum Norvagicum Lingvâ antiqvâ Norvagicâ vocatum à Jano Dolmero Dano in Lingvam Danicam & Latinam translatum notisqve Danicis & Latinis illustratum, Copenhagen 1673. Faulkes, Anthony (ed.), Two versions of Snorra Edda from the 17th century. Rit Stofnunar Árna Magnússonar á Íslandi 13 – 14 (2 vols.), Reykjavík 1977 – 1979. Id. / Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson (eds.), Magnús Ólafsson of Laufás. Specimen Lexici Runici and Glossarium Priscæ Linguæ Danicæ. Orðfræðirit fyrri alda 5, London 2010. Finnur Jónsson (ed.), Árni Magnússons Levned og Skrifter (2 vols.), ed. by Finnur Jónsson, Copenhagen 1930. Guðmundur Andrésson, Deilurit. Íslenzk rit síðari alda 2, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, Copenhagen 1948. Id., Lexicon Islandicum. Orðabók Guðmundar Andréssonar. Ný útgáfa. Orðfræðirit fyrri alda 4, ed. by Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson / Jakob Benediktsson, Reykjavík 1999. Guðmundur Ólafsson (ed.), Sagann af Sturlauge hinum Starf-sama, Uppsala 1694. Id. (ed.), Sagan af Illuga Grydar fostra, Uppsala 1695. Holberg, Ludvig, Danmarks Riges Historie, Copenhagen 1732. Id., »Solutio Problematis de hypothesibus Historiæ Danicæ, in Collatione honorum Baccalaureatus publice recitata in Dom: Consistor: 1731«, in: Kjøbenhavnske Samlinger af rare trykte og utrykte Piecer, ed. by Wille Høyberg, vol. 1, Copenhagen 1755, 403 – 434. Jakob Benediktsson (ed.), Arngrimi Jonae opera latine conscripta (4 vols.), Copenhagen 1957. Jón Eiríksson (ed.), Konungs skuggsjá / Speculum regale, Sorø 1768. Id., Thormod Torfesens Levnetsbeskrivelse, Copenhagen 1788. Id., Thormod Torfesens Levnetsbeskrivelse, Stavanger 2009. Jón Helgason (ed.), Úr bréfabókum Brynjólfs biskups Sveinssonar. Safn Fræðafélagsins um Ísland og Íslendinga 12, København 1942. Kålund, Kristian (ed.), Arne Magnusson, brevveksling med Torfaeus (Þormóður Torfason), Copenhagen 1916. Magnús Ketilsson (ed.), Kongelige Allernaadigste Forordninger og aabne Breve, som til Island ere udgivne af de Høist-priselige Konger af den Oldenborgiske Stamme, vol. 3, Hrappsey / Copenhagen 1787. Reenhielm, Jacob (ed.), Thorstens Viikings-sons Saga på Gammal Gøthska, Uppsala 1680. Id. (ed.), Saga Om K. Oloff Tryggwaszon i Norrege […] af Odde Munck, Uppsala 1691. Resen, Peder Hansen (ed.), Edda Islandorum, Copenhagen 1665. Id., Petri Johannis Resenii Bibliotheca Regiæ Academiæ Hafniensi donata, Copenhagen 1685. Salan, Petter / Rudbeck, Olof (eds.), Fostbrödernas, Eigles och Asmunds saga af Gamla Gøtiskan Uttolkad, Uppsala 1693.

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Saxo Grammaticus, Danorum Regum Heroumque Historiae, Paris 1514. Id., Gesta Danorum. The History of the Danes (2 vols.), ed. by Karsten Friis-Jensen, tr. by Peter Fisher, Oxford 2015. Snorri Sturluson, Heims Kringla Eller Snorre Sturlusons Nordländske Konunga Sagor (2 vols.), ed. by Johan Peringskiöld, Stockholm 1697 – 1700. Stephanius, Stephen Hansen, Notæ Uberiores in historiam Danicam Saxonis Grammatici, Sorø 1645. Þormóður Torfæus, Commentatio historica de rebus gestis Færeyansium seu Færøensium, Copenhagen 1695. Id., Orcades seu rerum Orcadensium historiæ, Copenhagen 1697. Id., Series dynastarum et regum Daniæ, a primo eorum Skioldo Odini filio, ad Gormum Grandævum, Haraldi Cærulidentis patrem, Copenhagen 1702. Id., Historia Hrolfi Kraki, Copenhagen 1705. Id., Historia Vinlandiæ antiquæ, Copenhagen 1705. Id., Gronlandia antiqua, Copenhagen 1706. Id., Trifolium historicum, Copenhagen 1707. Id., Historia rerum Norvegicarum (4 vols.), Copenhagen 1711. Þórarinn Eiríksson (tr.), Historia de Haldano cognomento Nigro, Rege Oplandorum in Norego [Hálfdanar þáttr svarta], Copenhagen 1658. Verelius, Olof / Rugman, Jón (eds.), Gothrici & Rolfi Westrogothiæ Regum Historia Lingua antiqua Gothica conscripta, Uppsala 1664. Worm, Ole (ed.), Specimen Lexici Runici Obscuriorum quarundam vocum, quæ in priscis occurunt Historiis & Poëtis Danicis, enodationem exhibens, Copenhagen 1650. Id., Olai Wormii et ad eum doctorum virorum epistolae: medici, anatomici, botanici, physici & historici argumenti: rem vero literariam, linguasque & antiquitates boreales potissimum illustrantes, vol. 1, Copenhagen 1751. Id., Ole Worm’s Correspondence with Icelanders. Bibliotheca Arnamagnæana 7, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, København 1948. Id., Breve fra og til Ole Worm, tr. by H. D. Schepelern with the aid of Holger Friis Johansen, vol. 2, Copenhagen 1967. Þórður Þorláksson (ed.), Sagan Landnama, Skálholt 1688. Id. (ed.), Schedæ Ara Prestz Froda Um Island, Skálholt 1688. Id. (ed.), Christendoms Saga, Skálholt 1688 Id. (ed.), Saga Þess Haloflega Herra Olafs Tryggvasonar Noregs Kongs (2 vols.), Skálholt 1689 – 1690.

Secondary Literature Bandle, Oskar, et al. (eds.), The Nordic Languages: An International Handbook of the History of the North Germanic Languages. Handbücher zur Sprach- und Kommunikationswissenschaft 22 / 1, vol. 1, Berlin 2002. Bekker-Nielsen, Hans / Ole Widding, Arne Magnusson, den store håndskrifsamler, København 1963. Birket-Smith, Sophus, Om Kjøbenhavns Universitetsbibliothek før 1728, Copenhagen 1882. Blanck, Anton, Den nordiska renässansen i sjuttonhundratalets litteratur. En undersökning av den »götiska« poesiens allmänna och inhemska förutsättningar, Stockholm 1911.

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Busch, Kay, Grossmachtstatus und Sagainterpretation – die schwedischen Vorzeitsagaeditionen des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts, Diss. Erlangen-Nürnberg 2004. https://opus4.kobv.de/opus4fau/frontdoor/index/index/docId/45. Clunies Ross, Margaret, The Norse Muse in Britain 1750 – 1820. Hesperides, litterature e culture occidentali 9, Trieste 1998. Ekman, Ernst, »The Danish Royal Law of 1665«, in: The Journal of Modern History 29 / 2 (1957), 102 – 107. Friis-Jensen, Karsten, Saxo Grammaticus as Latin poet: Studies in the verse passages of the Gesta Danorum. Analecta Romana Instituti Danici 14, Rome 1987. Id., »Humanism and politics. The Paris edition of Saxo Grammaticus’s Gesta Danorum 1514«, in: T. Nielsen (ed.), Analecta Romana Instituti Danici 17 – 18 (1989), 149 – 162. Guðnason, Bjarni, »The Icelandic Sources of Saxo Grammaticus«, in: Karsten Friis-Jensen (ed.), Saxo Grammaticus: A Medieval Author Between Norse and Latin Culture, Copenhagen 1981, 79 – 93. Gunnlaugsson, Gylfi, »Old Norse poetry and new beginnings in late 18th- and early 19th-century literature«, in: Sumarliði Ísleifsson (ed.), Iceland and Images of the North, Québec 2011, 115 – 156. Gödel, Wilhelm, Fornnorsk-isländsk litteratur i Sverige, Stockholm 1897. Halldórsson, Ólafur, »Árni Magnússon (1663 – 1730)«, in: Helen Damico / Donald Fennema / Karmen Lenz (eds.), Medieval Scholarship. Biographical Studies on the Formation of a Discipline. Vol. 2: Literature and philology, New York / London 1998, 33 – 45. Heinrichs, Anne, »Der Kanon altnordischer Poesie im 18. Jhd.«, in: The Audience of the Sagas. Preprints of the Eighth International Saga Conference, vol. 1, Gothenburg 1991, 201 – 211. Henningsen, Bernd, »Johann Gottfried Herder and the North. Elements of a Process of Construction«, in: Karen Klitgaard Povlsen (ed.), Northbound. Travels, Encounters, and Constructions 1700 – 1830, Aarhus 2007, 89 – 107. Hermannsson, Halldór, »Þormóður Torfason«, in: Skírnir 128 (1954), 65 – 94. Jensson, Gottskálk, »The Latin of the North: Arngrímur Jo´nsson’s Crymogæa (1609) and the Discovery of Icelandic as a Classical Language«, in: Renæssanceforum 5 (2008). http://www. renaessanceforum.dk/rf_5_2008.htm. Johannesson, Kurt, Saxo Grammaticus: Komposition och världsbild i Gesta Danorum, Stockholm 1978. Jørgensen, Ellen, Historieforskning og historieskrivning i Danmark indtil aar 1800, København 1931. Id., Gotisk renä ssans. Johannes och Olaus Magnus som politiker och historiker, Stockholm 1982 (English translation: The Renaissance of the Goths in Sixteenth-Century Sweden, tr. by J. Larson, Berkeley / Oxford 1991). Jónsson, Finnur, Udsigt over den norsk-islandske filologis historie. Festskrift udgivet af Københavns Universitet i anledning af hans Majestæt Kongens fødselsdag den 26. september 1918, København 1918. Id., Den oldnorske og oldislandske litteraturs historie, 2. rev. ed., vol. 2, Copenhagen 1923. Jónsson, Már, Arnas Magnæus philologus (1663 – 1730), Odense 2012. Klitgaard Carl, »Peder Dyrskjøt«, in: Dansk Biografisk Leksikon, 3. ed., Copenhagen 1979 – 1984. http://denstoredanske.dk/index.php?sideId=288998. Knudsen, Anders Leegaard, »Absalon and Danish Policy towards the Holy Roman Empire«, in: Karsten Friis-Jensen / Inge Skovgaard-Petersen (eds.), Archbishop Absalon of Lund and his World, Roskilde 2000. Kristjánsson, Aðalgeir, »Upphaf handritasöfnunar Árna Magnússonar«, in: Opuscula 5 (1975), 377 – 382.

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Kålund, Kristian, Katalog over de oldnorsk-islandske håndskrifter i det store kongelige bibliotek, Copenhagen 1900. Lindroth, Sten, »Göticismen«, in: John Danstrup et al. (eds.), Kulturhistorisk leksikon for nordisk middelalder fra vikingetid til reformationstid, vol. 6, Copenhagen 1961, 35 – 38. Id., Svensk lärdomshistoria, vol. 2: Stormaktstiden, Stockholm 1975. Malm, Mats, Minervas äpple. Om diktsyn, tolkning och bildspråk inom nordisk göticism, Stockholm 1996. Mauland, Thorkill, Trolldom, Oslo 1911. Natale, Gianfranco / Bocci, Guido / Ribatti, Domenico, »Scholars and scientists in the history of the lymphatic system«, in: Journal of Anatomy (14 June 2017). http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/joa. 12644. Nilsson, Astrid, Johannes Magnus and the Composition of Truth: Historia de omnibus Gothorum Sueonumque regibus, Diss. Lund 2016. Nordal, Guðrún, Tools of Literacy: The Role of Skaldic Verse in Icelandic Textual Culture of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, Toronto / London 2001. Ólason, Páll Eggert, Íslenskar æviskrár frá landnámstímum til ársloka 1940, vol. 3, Reykjavík 1950. Petersen, Carl S., Illustreret dansk litteraturhistorie, vol. 1, Copenhagen 1929. Id., »Worm, Ole«, in: Povl Engelstoft / Svend Dahl (eds.), Dansk Biografisk Leksikon, 2. ed., vol. 26, Copenhagen 1944, 279 – 289. Ride´, Jacques, L’image du Germain dans la pense´e et la litte´rature allemandes de la rede´couverte de Tacite a` la fin du XVIe`me sie`cle (3 vols.), Lille / Paris 1977. Shippey, Tom, »›The Death-Song of Ragnar Lodbrog‹: A Study in Sensibilities«, in: Richard Utz / Tom Shippey (eds.), Medievalism in the Modern World. Essays in Honour of Leslie J. Workman. Making the Middle Ages 1, Turnhout 1998, 155 – 172. Skovgaard-Petersen, Karen, »The Literary Feud between Denmark and Sweden in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century and the Development of Danish Historical Scholarship«, in: Jean R. Brink / William F. Gentrup (eds.), Renaissance Culture in Context. Theory and Practice, Aldershot 1993, 114 – 120. Skovgaard-Petersen, Karen, Historiography at the Court of Christian IV (1588 – 1648). Studies in the Latin Histories of Denmark by Johannes Pontanus and Johannes Meursius, Copenhagen 2002. Id., »Arguments against barbarism. Early native, literary culture in three Scandinavian national histories. Johannes Magnus’s History of Sweden (1554), Johannes Pontanus’s History of Denmark (1631), and Tormod Torfæus’s History of Norway (1711)«, in: Renæssanceforum 5 (2008). http://www.renaessanceforum.dk/rf_5_2008.htm. Svennung, Josef, Zur Geschichte des Goticismus, Stockholm 1967. Völkel, Markus, Pyrrhonismus historicus und fides historica: Die Entwicklung der deutschen historischen Methodologie unter dem Gesichtspunkt der historischen Skepsis, Frankfurt am Main 1987. Wad, G. L. / Gunnar Knudsen, »Resen, Peder Hansen«, in: Povl Engelstoft / Svend Dahl (eds.), Dansk biografisk leksikon, 2. ed., vol. 19, Copenhagen 1940, 399 – 403. Wallette, Anna, Sagans svenskar. Synen på vikingatiden och de islänska sagorna under 300 år, Malmø 2004. Wills, Tarrin, »The Third Grammatical Treatise and Ole Worm’s Literatura Runica«, in: Scandinavian Studies 76 / 4 (2004), 439 – 458.

Raija Sarasti-Wilenius

Praises of Towns and Provinces at the Academy of Turku in the Seventeenth Century The aim of this paper is to examine how seventeenth-century students’ speeches praising native towns and provinces delivered at the Academy of Turku in the Grand Duchy of Finland, then part of Sweden, contributed to Swedish national policy of the time. As the culmination of their rhetorical studies, several students at Turku delivered a public speech in Latin in front of an audience. The university constitution ordered that professors give their students topics that, among other things, concerned the history of ancient Swedish kings in order to promote patriotic enthusiasm.¹ Among the 181 known students’ speeches printed in the seventeenth century at the Academy of Turku, however, speeches on the ancient past and kings are relatively rare, and several of those that do exist deal with moral philosophy rather than the heroic past.² Religious, theological, and moral philosophical topics predominate, but praises of hometowns, native regions, and the fatherland also form a notable group, constituting more than 10 percent of the material.³ These prose and verse orations represent a type of topographical literature that also includes dissertations and other treatises on cities, towns, regions and provinces, and countries. Orations describing Swedish towns and regions were published not only at all the Swedish universities (Uppsala, Lund, Tartu, Turku), but also at some German universities in the seventeenth century.⁴ In Turku, speeches praising towns and provinces were also given at the meetings and festive occasions of nationes, the associations of students from a particular region, but these speeches have not been preserved. Evoking self-awareness based on the local past and present, the descriptions and encomia of towns and regions fitted well with the seventeenth-century Swedish national policy and Gothicist movement, which aimed to create a past that suited Sweden’s position as a contemporary European great power.⁵ As an integral part of this

 Constitutiones Academiae 1655, 168 (manuscript Cᵒ.III.30, the National Library of Finland). The Academy of Turku had their same constitution as the University of Uppsala. Hansson (1984), 14– 16, Ödman (1995), 198.  Kajanto (2000), 174– 175.  Laine (1997), 33. For a general survey of the student orations at the Academy of Turku, see Laine (1997), 28 – 44.  For a general survey on orations on native towns and regions published in Sweden, see Korhonen/ Oksala/Sironen (2000), 145 – 149. For a more exhaustive list of laus patriae texts published in Sweden in the seventeenth century, see Korhonen/Sironen/Oksala (2000), 220 – 226. For statistics concerning the orations published by Finnish students extra patriam, see Laine (1997), 25, Leinberg (1902). For Olof Hermelin’s Hecatompolis Suionum, a verse description on a hundred Swedish towns, see Hermelin (2010).  Lindroth (1989), 254. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638042-004

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process, the Crown and the government administration promoted and supported the use of Swedish as a literary language.⁶ The cultural medium of the students’ speeches, written in Latin, was, however, firmly rooted in the international academic and Renaissance humanistic rhetorical tradition; they advanced the national policy by using Latin and, to a considerable extent, drew inspiration and evidence for their arguments from ancient history and literature.⁷ The material studied for this paper consists of twenty-four Latin orations in prose and one in verse, delivered and printed between 1644 and 1695 at the Academy of Turku. The speeches praise ten different cities and towns,⁸ five provinces,⁹ two islands,¹⁰ and the whole fatherland, Sweden, in general. Moreover, there is one speech dealing with the military history of the Goths and one describing the Falun copper mine.¹¹ The orators regularly use the word patria to designate the various places they describe. Cicero distinguished two different meanings of patria: patria naturae (his native Arpinum) and patria civitatis (Rome); the latter, he says, is more important and is called patria maior. ¹² In the seventeenth-century texts, the word patria was used in various senses. It could refer to the whole of Sweden, or to its old principal parts (Suecia, Gothia, Fenningia), as distinct from the areas that were annexed to it more recently, such as Livonia and Pomerania. From the standpoint of a Turku student who was a native Finn, patria could also refer to Finland alone. Besides an administrative district, such as a province or county (e. g. Bothnia, Småland), or ecclesiastical district (parish, bishopric), patria could also refer to regions defined by older tribal tradition.¹³ The various meanings of patria seem not to have been in any kind of conflict with each other in the students’ speeches. No matter the category of the object the writers praised in their speeches, they never hesitated to call it patria; patria was anything they wanted to relate to or felt they belonged to. It has been stated that, compared to the Universities of Uppsala and Tartu, in which there were more foreign teachers and students, the Academy of Turku was essentially a domestic university with a mission to highlight the special characteristics of Finland as an integral part of the Swedish realm.¹⁴ If this is true, then the students’ speeches praising Finnish native towns and regions certainly contributed to this aim too. Before students were allowed to give their speeches in front of an audience, the language of their speeches had to be revised and the contents censored by one of the

 Hansson (1984), 114.  Hansson (1984), 13 – 14.  Arboga, Kalmar, Laitila (a parish, to put it more accurately), Narva, Norköping, Nyköping, Stockholm, Turku (4), Uusikaupunki, Wexjö.  East Bothnia (2), Östergötland, Vestergötland, Södermanland (2), Småland.  Åland (2), Visingsö.  All the orations are listed in the Bibliography, under Primary Sources.  Cic. Leg. 2, 5.  Nordin (2000), 42– 47, Klinge et al. (1987), 616 – 617.  Klinge et al. (1987), 617– 618.

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professors, either by the professor to whose field the topic of the speech belonged or, most often, by the professor of eloquence or poetry. Professors of eloquence were in the first place responsible for the supervision of students’ speeches, but were occasionally assisted by adjuncts of the Academy. Censorship was directed against statements that would be politically controversial or outrage public decency, and, most importantly, against statements that could be considered heretical or offensive to the doctrine of orthodox Lutheranism. Professors had to ensure that references were made to scripture and appropriate classical authors and attention paid to the due use of addresses and titles, which was a sensitive issue carefully dealt with in contemporary rhetoric textbooks and letter-writing manuals. Sometimes students were too busy to wait for the censorship to be completed and committed their texts to print before the official imprimatur. This irritated the Senate of the Academy, which in the 1660s seriously cautioned students against taking short cuts in the censorship process.¹⁵ The length and duration of students’ speeches were defined by the regulations: the speeches were not supposed to exceed half an hour when delivered, nor one printed sheet when published.¹⁶ Generally speaking, the speeches seem to have fallen within these limits, but a couple of them are considerably longer. Since the duration of half an hour was strictly observed, it is possible that the oral version of the speech was in some cases rewritten or expanded before it was submitted to print. From the press the speeches emerged as thin booklets. Eventually only a small proportion of the speeches were printed, and the number of the students’ speeches delivered at Turku in the seventeenth century was greater than the 181 printed speeches we now know of. The students who were awarded the scholarship of the king (or queen)¹⁷ often figure as writers of the published speeches; some writers were of noble birth, but the majority of the writers of the printed speeches were not. The printing costs were generally paid by students themselves or their supporters or patrons. In 1651 the Senate of the Academy decided to contribute paper for the printing of dissertations and orations, which may have helped some students but did not increase the number of printed orations considerably.¹⁸ The delivery of the speeches usually took place in the larger auditorium of the Academy of Turku on Wednesdays and Saturdays at eight o’clock in the morning. Other days – except for Sundays of course – were dedicated to lectures. However, in 1680 the Senate of the Academy decided to increase the number of presentation

 Laine (1997), 28 – 29.  This becomes clear at either the beginning or the end of several speeches as the students excuse themselves for their inadequate style (topos of modestia) and ask or give thanks for the audience’s benevolent attention (captatio benevolentiae). E. g., Wetter 1683, D2r.  S(erenissimae)R(egiae)M(ajestatis) Alumnus or Stipendarius.  CAAP 5 November 1651. The number of printed orations probably bears some relation to the number of printed dissertations. Towards the end of the century, there was a sharp decline in the number of printed orations. Laine (1997), 41– 44.

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days to three, assigning Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays for that purpose.¹⁹ The speeches were supposed to be recited from memory. The audience was invited to the delivery of the oration by an academic program, which the professor composed after having censored and approved the text, praising the importance and attractiveness of the subject matter chosen and briefly introducing the speaker. The academic programs themselves were often brief, rhetorically elaborate encomia on the topic, and they were usually attached at the start of the printed speeches. The printed booklets also contained dedications by the orators and short congratulatory pieces of prose and poetry (gratulationes) addressed to them by teachers, fellow students, relatives, etc. Dedications and congratulatory writings are instrumental to studying orators’ social networks and career plans. Local eminences, such as noblemen, governors, bishops, high military authorities, majors, and vicars, who could use their influence to support the orators’ future career, figured prominently in the dedications of the eulogies of native towns and regions.²⁰ The topic of the fatherland had played an important role in epideictic oratory, that is, the oratory of praise and blame, since Athenian funeral oratory, in which it often received more attention than the addressees of the orations, the anonymous victims of the war.²¹ Among extant Roman sources, Quintilian was the first to give instructions on how to praise cities, buildings, and places.²² περὶ ἐπιδεικτικῶν from the late third or early fourth century A.D., consisting of two treatises traditionally attributed to Menander Rhetor (of Laodicea), gives detailed advice on encomia of cities and countries.²³ From Greek and Roman rhetorical theory the topic of birthplace was passed on to late antique rhetorical treatises.²⁴ Medieval Latin poetry describing cities (laudes) deals with topical elements (loci), many of which are familiar from ancient praises of cities: the constitution, the site, the name, the origins, the nature of the city, pursuits and manners of the citizens, laws, and administration.²⁵ With Christianity some new considerations were naturally introduced: for example, emphasis was placed on churches instead of temples, and martyr’s relics were praised as a firm protection of the city.²⁶ Early Renaissance writers praising cities and homelands could draw on two currents of tradition: the medieval city laudes, and classical epideictic oratory, which began to have a great impact on Latin epideictic literature when Italian humanists  CAAP 24 October 1640; CAAP 8 December 1680.  Klinge et al. (1987), 448.  McManamon (1989), 38; Kennedy (1963), 154– 155.  Quintilian, Institutio oratoria 3, 7, 26 – 27.  Russell / Wilson (1981), 32– 75.  E. g. Praeexercitamina (ca. 500), a free translation by Priscian of the progymnasmata attributed to Hermogenes (second century A.D.); Rhetores latini minores, published in the nineteenth century by Karl Halm, Teubner 1863, 557 and 587.  Robey / Law (1975), 23. One of the most popular and influential of all medieval city-descriptions was Mirabilia urbis Romae (twelfth century). Hyde (1966), 320.  Classen (1980), 36.

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learned Greek and familiarized themselves with ancient sources. Pier Paolo Vergerio’s history of the Republic of Venice (De republica Veneta) at the beginning of the fifteenth century (1400 – 1403) represents the indigenous tradition of Italian medieval city-descriptions.²⁷ Leonardo Bruni, who wrote his famous Praise of the City of Florence (Laudatio Florentinae urbis) almost at the same time (ca. 1403 – 1404) as Vergerio wrote his work, modeled his panegyric on Aelius Aristides’ brief history of classical Athens, Panathenaicus, which was widely used as a schoolbook in Byzantine times.²⁸ Humanist histories or eulogies of city-states and praises for an individual’s birthplace were used to foster civic consciousness and civic myths, an aspect that is eminently visible in orations praising the two great Renaissance republics, Venice and Florence. Praise of a subject’s birthplace and / or homeland was also one of the standard topics in Renaissance epideictic oratory in praise of individuals. In funeral orations, together with ancestry and education, it usually formed the third topic of external goods (bona externa), as distinct from the deceased’s own deeds and qualities of mind.²⁹ When we come to the seventeenth century, praise of cities, towns, and regions was a conventional rhetorical genre prescribed in a great number of rhetorical handbooks. With a slightly different emphasis, the basic elements used in medieval citydescriptions still figured, but the classical epideictic tradition and humanist histories and eulogies had left an indelible imprint on the contents and style of the genre. Martin Miltopaeus, Professor of Eloquence at Turku 1660 – 1679, could make use of a great number of earlier rhetorical works when he described the topical elements (loci of invention) suitable for encomia of towns, regions, various buildings, and other objects both natural and man-made in his rhetorical handbook Institutiones oratoriae (1669).³⁰ In connection with the praise of cities he refers particularly to Quintilian, Gerhard Johannes Vossius, Nicolas Caussinus, and Julius Caesar Scaliger.³¹ Following Quintilian’s discussion he describes how cities can be praised in a similar

 Robey / Law (1975), 23 – 24. Vergerio’s style is described as concise, restrained, and lacking of hyperbole.  McManamon (1989), 127.  Daub (1996), 129; McManamon (1989), 38 – 39.  Miltopaeus (1669), 354– 375: »De ratione laudandi regiones, urbes, arces, castella, templa, collegia et cetera aedificia tum publica tum privata, item flumina, fontes, hortos, praedia, montes, villas, agros«. According to Miltopaeus, the loci for the praise of regions and islands are the following: »origo, antiquitas, primi cultores, reges, principes, situs amoenitas, locorum vicinia, aeris clementia et salubritas, natura coeli et soli (quo refer fertilitatem, flumina, maria, fontes, montes, silvas, metalla, feras, etc.), urbium nitor et frequentia, genus imperij, leges, mores incolarum veterum et recentiorum, eorundem cultus divinus, studia sublimium disciplinarum (ubi de scholis et Academijs), virtus bellica, res praeclare gestae, humanitas, socij exteri, principes foederati, maximorum virorum praeclara judicia de hac vel illa regione, etc.«, Miltopaeus (1669), 355 – 356.  Concerning the treatise ascribed to Menander Rhetor, it is not clear whether Miltopaeus and others had the opportunity to read it in Turku themselves or if it was known to them only through other sources, e. g., Scaliger and Vossius.

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way as persons, drawing a parallel between loci of laudation of persons and those of laudation of cities: persons are praised for parents and ancestors, cities for their founders; persons for children, cities for citizens; persons for physical assets, cities for their sites; persons for education, cities for schools and other educational institutes; persons for honor, cities for churches; etc.³² It is likely that Miltopaeus suggested the topic of encomium on a place to several of his students; during his period of office he supervised more students’ speeches praising towns and provinces than any of his colleagues at Turku before or after him.³³ Previous historiographical, geographical, and ethnographical literature were important sources for the students’ speeches praising native towns, regions, and homelands. Johannes Magnus’ work on ancient Swedish kings and Olaus Magnus’ history of the Nordic peoples are often referred to but there were several others.³⁴ Epitome descriptionis Sueciae, Gothiae, Fenningiae et subjectarum provinciarum (1650), published by the Turku professor, Michael Wexionius-Gyldenstolpe, was one of the most widely used by students at Turku.³⁵ At the beginning of the oration (proemium), the students usually gave reasons for praising one’s birthplace or homeland. This section was almost without exception loaded with exempla and quotations from ancient authors. Commonplace books, florilegia, and various collections of sentences offered students ready-to-use phrases, often conveniently gathered under the head patria. Odysseus was a ubiquitous reference here; he was commonly associated with the attachment that individuals feel for their birthplace or native soil. Odysseus appeared particularly often in a quotation from Ovid’s Ex Ponto, which belonged to the students’ standard reader and provided suitable quotations for describing nostalgia for one’s birthplace: »None doubt the Ithacan’s wisdom, but yet he prays that he may see the smoke from his native

 Miltopaeus (1669), 362: »Urbes, arces, castella: Laudantur ab antiquitate et conditoribus vel ut Fabius ait Inst.or. 3, 6, 7. Laudantur urbes similiter atque homines. Nam pro parente est conditor et multum aucthoritatis affert vetustas, ut ijs qui terra dicuntur orti et virtutes ac vitia circa res gestas eademque in singulis […].« Cf. Quintilian, Institutio oratoria 3, 7, 26 – 27.  Laine (1997), 33.  Johannes Magnus, Historia de omnibus Gothorum Sueonumque regibus (1554); Olaus Magnus, Historia de gentibus septentrionalibus (1555); Ericus Olai, Historia Svecorum Gothorumque (1615); Johannes Messenius’ works, such as Chronicon (1611), Sveopentapropolis (1611); Andreas Bureus, Orbis Arctoi descriptio; Laurentius Paulinus Gothus, Historiae arctoae libri tres (1636); Johannes Loccenius, Antiquitates sveo-gothicae (1647). Messenius wrote his history of Finland, Livonia, and Courland, Scondia illustrata, while imprisoned in Kajaaninlinna (Cajaneborg) (1616 – 1635) but the work was not published before 1700. Only five of the present speeches were printed after Olof Rudbeck’s Atlantica was published in 1679. The Gothicist ideas were, of course, already known before that through other sources. See also Hermelin (2010), 128 – 131.  Wexionius-Gyldenstolpe’s Epitome was still reprinted in the 1720s in Germany. Only two of the present speeches were printed before the Epitome was published in 1650.

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hearth.«³⁶ More than once the orators combined a couple of Ovid’s famous verses into one quotation: »Once again my love for the fatherland, stronger than any reasoning, […] and I do not know by what sweet charm the native land draws all men and does not allow them to forget her.«³⁷ The orators often argued that it was disgraceful to ignore one’s native country.³⁸ They typically combined quotations excerpted from various ancient authors, more often than not through collections of sentences that adduced different aspects of the issue. Usually such compilations began by referring to ancient philosophers’ reflections on homeland (e. g., Socrates, Plato, Cicero) and concluded with a few verses (e. g., Ovid). In between there were various quotations or paraphrases which developed the idea. One speech begins with the claim that Socrates considered himself a citizen of the world and that, according to Cicero’s much-used motto, »home is everywhere where it is good«.³⁹ »Every land is a homeland for a brave man just like the sea is for fishes«, from Ovid’s Fasti, further confirms the idea that an individual’s own mind alone determines what he considers his patria. ⁴⁰ Nevertheless, the orator continues, those who, like Odysseus, spend long periods of their lives abroad can lose their mental balance if they do not recall their native soil or home city from time to time. This leads the orator to the conclusion that in the whole universe there is no love more ardent than an individual’s love towards his fatherland; it charms him in an inexpressible way, not allowing him to forget that he belongs to it.⁴¹ Not surprisingly, the tractatio of the speeches is largely based on the standard loci of laudation used already in ancient and medieval praises of cities: site and na-

 E. g., Acander (1654), preface, Broberg (1664), A2r, Dahlin (1680), Eneberg (1660), A1v, Leander (1664), A4v. Cf. Ov. Pont. 1, 3, 33 – 34: »Non dubia est Ithaci prudentia: sed tamen optat / Fumum de patriis posse videre focis.«  E. g., Acander (1654), A1r. Cf. Ov. Pont. 1, 3, 29 and 1, 3, 35 – 36: »Rursus amor patriae ratione valentior omni / et, nescio qua natale solum dulcedine cunctos / ducit et immemores, non sinit esse sui.«  E. g., Broberg (1664), A2r–A2v: »Recte igitur cum Eloquentiae Parente Cicerone dixero: Quod Patria nihil debet esse charius, nullus quippe locus est sede domestica jucundior. Patriam itaque suam ignorare turpe atque infame.« It is likely that the orator took this combination of Cicero’s sentences directly from some commonplace book.  Cic. Tusc. 5, 108: »patria est ubicunque bene est.«  Ov. Fast. 1, 493: »Omne solum forti patria est; ut piscibus aequor; / Ut volucri vacuo quidquid in orbe patet.«  Enebergh (1660), A1r – A1v: »Tritum id Ciceronianum Patria est ubicunque bene est, quod arridet isti Poetae: Omne solum forti patria est ut piscibus aequor […]. Attamen nihilo minus Ulyssis exemplo in exteris vitam degentes natale solum vel patriam civitatem ad rectae rationis aequilibrium revocantes […] nulla igitur in toto universo ea, qua quilibet erga patriam parentem est, ardentior esse putatur dilectio. Secundum illud Musarum sacerdotis: Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine cunctos / ducit et immemores non sinit esse sui.« Cf. Cic. Tusc. 5, 108; Ov. Pont. 1, 3, 29 and 1, 3, 35 – 36. For a similar explication and combination of references to ancient literature, see Hult (1661), A2r – A2v, Arnerus (1664), A1r, Broberg (1664), A2r – A2v.

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ture, first inhabitants, the coming of Christianity, qualities of the people, occupations, local products, sources of livelihood, the Christian faith, built environment, institutions,⁴² laws, regime. In what follows I merely try to trace some of the students’ ideas and a glimpse of their reasoning by presenting a few issues concerning history, site, natural environment, and qualities of the people. Orators generally traced the origins of the city to its founder, usually a king or governor general.⁴³ Confusion about the historical terms is not rare in the references to the place’s first literary mentions. Martin Wargius, defining the location of Ostrobothnia, Eastern Bothnia, a historical province comprising a large part of western and northern Finland, lumps together all the names he knows that had been related to the region at any stage of history, without discussing the terms he mentions: This part (of Bothnia), anciently called Caiana, is situated in […] this part of Europe, on an island Scania that Pliny says to be of unexplored size, or rather Schytia or Sarmatia Europaea, which is where Finland and Eastern Bothnia, as part of Finland, belong.⁴⁴

In his dissertation on Eastern Bothnia (1734), Petrus Mathesius agreed with Wargius that Caiana (Kajaani) precisely meant Eastern Bothnia; however, the two different names meant that they were sometimes treated, not as synonyms, but as complementary, for example, in administrative connections.⁴⁵ According to Hans Helander, Sarmatia was used in several senses by seventeenth-century authors, either referring quite generally to nations in eastern Europe and parts of Asia, or to the Poles.⁴⁶ Another confusion that is frequently found in the students’ speeches relates to the name of the Goths. The word Getae, the name of a Thracian tribe who settled on the Danube to the east of the Carpathians, is often used as a synonym for the Goths. This

 Among the students’ speeches published in Turku, there are three encomia on institutions: Carolus Nicolai Alanus, Sermo encomiasticus sive oratio in laudem regii quod est Finlandiae dicasterii (Aboae 1695), praising the Turku Court of Appeal; Elias Andreae Alegren, Oratio de academicarum & scholarum encomio, antiquitate et utilitate (Aboae 1645), praising educational institutions in general; Laurentius Jonae Forsselius, Regiae Academiae Aboensis […] metrica commendatio (Aboae 1677), praising the Academy of Turku.  According to Menander Rhetor, the causes of the foundation of cities are either divine, heroic, or human, of which the human are more convincing. Russell / Wilson (1981), 54– 59.  Wargius (1643), A3v: »Dicta est haec pars quondam Caiana, quae sita est in potissimae cultissimaeque universitatis hujus partis Europae famosissima insula Scandia, quam Plinius insulsam incompertae magnitudinis vocat, vel potius Schytia seu Sarmatia Europaea, cujus portionem quandam Finlandiae cui & Bothnia orientalis annumeratur, assignari certum est.«  Mathesius (2008), 47– 49.  In ancient literature, Sarmatia was used to refer to the part of eastern Europe between the Vistula and the Don. In Renaissance times, the border between Sarmatia Europaea and Sarmatia Asiana was the Don. The dominant nations of the European part of Sarmatia were the Russians and Lithuanians. Helander (2004), 274– 275.

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confusion had been common since Late Antiquity, although the two have nothing in common.⁴⁷ Several orators also repeated the origins of ancient Goths, starting with Magog, son of Japhet and grandson of Noah, who was regarded as the founder of the Swedish realm.⁴⁸ Many of them based their knowledge on the works of Johannes and Olaus Magnus and Johannes Messenius. Henrik Lanzenfelt’s panegyric on the military history of the Goths (1664) described the Goths’ conquest of the world. For a student speech, the oration is impressive, covering a long timeline and discussing the topic thoroughly and in a controlled way.⁴⁹ According to Lanzenfelt, the Goths, in the conquest of the world, pinned their faith on arms and courage. Aeneas, a foreign newcomer to Italy, first fought against the natives but then married Lavinia to ensure peace and establish an alliance with the local inhabitants; the Goths, however, had had to fight for everything and pursue everything with arms. It was their military strategy and morale that made it possible for them to gain a firm foothold and settle down in a foreign country.⁵⁰ Like the eulogists of Venice and Florence in the fifteenth century, Lanzenfelt attributed the growth of the Swedish realm to a Roman combination of arms and virtue.⁵¹ The realm had expanded only because her citizens had courageously met all military threats. He and several other orators describe the Swedes as peace-loving and hesitant to become involved in wars, but valiant in defense against aggression. The orator praising Ostrogothia (Östergötland) thought that the dragonfly was a suitable symbol for the province because of its abundant natural resources. He admitted that it might be puerile to concern himself with several explanations concerning the name Gothia but could not help noting this: Since nature here presents good things so abundantly, I almost believe that the name of Gothia and Ostrogothia comes from goodness because our [Swedish] word for good is ›god‹, from which Gothia can easily be derived by changing d into th. ⁵²

 Chronander (1646), B1v; Dahlin (1680), B2v – B3v. Anttila (2014), 50 – 53; Helander (2004), 252.  Helander (2004), 295.  Henrik Lanzenfelt, originally Kemmerer, was adopted by his uncle, Per Brahe’s chamberlain in Visingsö castle; became a student at Turku in 1660; delivered the oration in 1664; and died in 1673. Lagus (1891), 88.  Lanzenfelt (1664), B1v: »Aeneas in pignus pacis et amicitiae etsi armis quia advena primum experiri coactus est, Laviniam, Latini regis gnatam, accepit uxorem. At Gothis patria effusis in terram hostilem, nec voluntaria hostium deditio nec foedus affinitatis nec simplicioris aevi ruditas ad resistendum […] verum sola virtus animi et scientia armorum viam fecit, ut firmum in alieno pedem figerent.«  McManamon (1989), 39 – 40.  Dahlin (1680), A4r: »nam dum bonitatem suam hic effundat natura fere credo Gothiam et Ostrogothiam a bonitate nomen accepisse. Quippe nostri godh bonum dicunt, unde Gothiam derivari facile posse d in th mutato.«

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Imagination was freely used in the etymological explanations popular in the students’ speeches; the made-up etymologies and associations were not, however, necessarily their inventions but were commonly used by contemporaries. One of the orators who praised Turku paid attention to the seal and coat of arms of Turku, with the letter A, which comes from the Latin name of Turku, Aboa (Swedish Åbo). The orator stated that the letter A signified that Turku was the first among cities, just as the letter A comes first in the alphabet.⁵³ In contemporary Finland this held true but, not surprisingly, the orator did not qualify the statement in any way. Hyperbole was naturally inherent in these encomia; the audience expected to hear exaggerated statements and fanciful analogies and, in most cases, it got what it wanted. Cities had prestigious ancient counterparts, Turku was equal with Athens, Narva with ancient Nicaea in Bithynia, etc.⁵⁴ Bernhard Lohrmann described the copper mine of Falun as the eighth wonder of the world. He described the machinery and advanced technology used at the mine; Archimedes, he said, would not believe his eyes, if he saw all that ingenuity.⁵⁵ The Falun mine was the most popular destination when noble young men, in particular, started to undertake educational visits in their own country in the seventeenth century. The utility of domestic travel began to be emphasized to a greater extent in the early eighteenth century, when it was strongly recommended for young men who were preparing for administrative and military offices.⁵⁶ The landscapes of the native regions boasted an ideal climate and salubrious air without the noxious exhalations that caused disease elsewhere. They had a plethora of flora and fauna, a great variety of useful plants, beautiful flowers and versatile trees, lovely choirs of singing birds, game animals, fresh streams, fast-flowing rivers, fertile fields, fish-filled waters – even healing⁵⁷ waters – and the land was rich in minerals. Forests were, of course, everywhere, but there were no robbers in them.⁵⁸ This idealized overall image of native regions has much in common with the topos of the locus amoenus in the Neo-Latin poetry of the Renaissance.⁵⁹ These descriptions of nature always combine the aspects of pleasure and utility. In Menander Rhetor, they are the two heads under which the praise of a country should be arranged.⁶⁰

 Justander (1679), A3v: »Insigne Civitatis Aboae est litera A quae pro sigillo Civitatis usurpatur sine dubio quod A est prima litera in nomine Civitatis aut quod etiam illa prima sit inter omnes sicut in alphabeto est A primum.«  Lilliegren (1691), 18.  Lohrman (1659), B1r. The Falun mine was designated a Unesco world heritage site at the beginning of this millennium.  Klinge et al. (1987), 623 – 625.  Wetter (1683), A2r–A2v.  Wargius (1643), A4v–B1r: »et licet ita earundem [silvarum] frequentia abundet numquam tamen latrones et infesti viarum obsessores illic reperiuntur.«  Séris (2013), 18 – 31.  Russell / Wilson (1981), 28 – 31.

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In one of the speeches the charm of the local natural world in Laitila, a parish not far from Turku in southern Finland, was described by means of mythological figures. With his singing Orpheus attracted beasts, trees, and stones and was able to charm anyone. Amphion drew the stones for the wall of Thebes after him by the magical music of his lyre. A similar kind of magic could be felt in Laitila where birds sing blissfully and hares hop round and round.⁶¹ Like many others, the orator also emphasized the significance of agriculture by quoting Cicero’s passage in De officiis: »of all the occupations in which gain is secured, none is better than agriculture, none more profitable, none more delightful, none more becoming to a free man«.⁶² In connection with agriculture, a couple of orators conceded one noteworthy shortcoming of the region, namely the lack of wine. Noting that, at these latitudes, the cultivation of barley took the place of winegrowing, they tried to assure the audience that beer was just as good as any other drink.⁶³ Orators praised the site of the towns and provinces as unique and appropriate for living. The site of Stockholm was described as follows: Stockholm is situated almost in the middle of the famous realm of Sweden just like a ruby in a golden ring, on lagoons of the sea in a similar way as Venice, between salty and sweet waters so that it can be called the port of all Sweden.⁶⁴

The analogy with Venice, already used in earlier literature, emphasized the trade and international character of the city. The orator also noted that the houses owned by magnates and noble families in Stockholm manifested Spanish splendour and Italian elegance, and that the houses of the other ranks of society were at least equal in worth to similar houses in any other city in Europe.⁶⁵ Other writers too noted that private houses in their hometowns could compare favorably with houses in other countries because they were pleasant in their own way.⁶⁶ The climate not only influences agricultural production and nature but also the people of the region. Some orators argued that climate helped produce a race of men

 Leander (1664), B4v: »Orphaeus cantu fidium persvavi lapides movisse, impetus bestiarum feroces fregisse fertur, nec non Amphionis, filij Mercurij, cantum […] lapides in muris Thebanis ultro coijsse antiquitas testatur. Verum non abs re Lethala hujus rarioris suavitas exempli […] hic enim dulcissimus avium cantus est et frequens leporum saltus.«  Cic. Off. 1, 151. Contrary to what the orator says, Amphion was the son of Antiope and Zeus to whom Hermes (Mercurius) gave a lyre and who became a wonderful musician.  Myricius (1647), B3v: »cervisia, potus bonitate aliorum potuum haud multum secundus.«  Hesling (1669), A2r: »Posita est Holmia in inclyti regni Sueciae fere meditullio, quasi pyropus in annulo aureo, in stagnis marinis instar Venetiarum inter aquam salsam et dulcem, ut porta totius Regni Sueciae appellari possit.«  Hesling (1669), A3r: »Magnificentian redolent Hispanicam, elegantiam spirant Italicam; Quid de aliorum civium domibus nitore, structura, pulchritudine sumtuosa dicam?«  Cf. Riikonen (2008), 11.

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who were virtuous and resilient. They had ingeniously tapped the resources their environment offered, no matter how hard the task. Several orators emphasized that people’s manners did not originate as much from their parents as from the conditions provided by nature and the local way of life. Therefore, one of the orators noted, the various nations within the Swedish realm had different aims and natural inclinations.⁶⁷ The orator, who praised the qualities of Nyköping inhabitants, heaped up a pleonastic accumulation of expressions, a typical feature of baroque literature:⁶⁸ The air above Nyköping nourishes the inhabitants’ innate character and manners. The people show firmness of character, they are friendly, honest, harmonious, kind, and fair-minded. Moreover, they are firm, loyal, and hard-working like Germans, they are persistent, hardy, and constantly active like the Spaniards, they are nobly pre-eminent like Italians. They are religious and trustful, they easily get excited about new things, and at war they are passionate, like Frenchmen. They are eager like Picardi, decent like Pictavi (or Pictones), trustworthy like Narbonenses and noble-minded like Senones. ⁶⁹

The last four analogies refer to different Gallic tribes; Pictones and Senones were already mentioned by Caesar, but it is more likely that the orator picked out the names of the tribes from more recent sources.⁷⁰ The Nyköping people even learned various foreign languages, which were described using verbs that may be more expressive in Latin than in English. Altogether the passage is rhetorically elaborate and it is not quite clear whether the verbs were really meant to characterize the respective languages, or are used just for the assonance, especially the two first ones: This one chatters (Lat. garriat) in German, that one snarls (ganniat) in French, this one sings trala-la (lallet) in Finnish, that one croaks (cornicetur) out in Dutch, this one speaks Livonian, that one Polish. They are not, however, as talkative as pigeons, nor do they let barbaric languages influence their agreeable Swedish which they speak in a moderate, proper, and polished manner.⁷¹

 Haglinus (1675), A2r: »in dulcissima patria regno Sveo-Gothico, in quo nationes variae varijs delectantur studijs et ad certos mores inclinant […] non igitur ingenerantur hominibus mores tam a stirpe generis et seminis, ut eleganter disputant Tullius, quam ex ijs rebus, quae ab ipsa natura loci et a vitae consuetudine suppeditantur, quibus alimur et vivimus.«  Helander (2004), 49 (hypercharacterization).  Enebergh (1660), C1r–C1v: »Aura insuper Nycopiana aetherea vescentium indolem ac mores aequiore mentis bilance pensitare si volupe fuerit, ultro sese offerunt constantia, comitas, probitas, concordia, candor et justitia: Sunt enim ingenui et humaniores. Imo constantes, fidi et laboriosi: ut Germani; Sunt laborum patientes, duri et inquietati ut Hispani; Sunt nobilitate praefulgidi ut Itali: Sunt religiosi, creduli rerum novarum studiosi, in bello maxime ferventes ut Galli; Sunt alacres ut Picardi; frugi ut Pictavi, fideles ut Narbonenses, magnanimi ut Senones esse solent.« Often the Spaniards were described as being the worst among the Catholic nations, see Helander (2004), 357– 359.  Caes. BGall. 3, 11, 5; 7, 4, 6.  Enebergh (1660), C2r: »Unde quamvis et in peregrinationibus aliqui exterarum linguarum sunt peritiam consecuti, ut diversis quandoque linguis utantur: garriat hic germanice; gallice ille ganniat;

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The orator who praised the city of Narva repeated the idea that the natural environment of the site shaped the temperament of the people; they were ingenious not only in enduring difficulties but also in inventing new solutions and techniques.⁷² Orators also observed that the local food had the ability to nourish the people’s effort of will. What grew near you was best for your body and mind. Luxury products were frowned upon in general and several orators observed that the people also dressed, not sumptuously, but unpretentiously.⁷³ They did not hold extravagant funerals or weddings, nor lavish birthday parties – everything was done in a modest and appropriate way according to the local manners and customs. Their success was based on piety, honesty, and a simple way of life.⁷⁴ The orator praising Turku noted that its citizens did not have the vices that inhabitants of big cities tend to have, such as haughtiness, harmful emulation, envy, slander, and luxury; instead, they were welcoming and generous by nature.⁷⁵ Hospitality towards strangers could be found in all the towns and provinces discussed in these speeches. The people of the Laitila parish were depicted as orphanotrophi, who take care of orphans, procotrophi, who help the poor and beggars, and xenodochi, who are welcoming and kind towards strangers and the distressed.⁷⁶ Foreigners were welcome especially as self-employed merchants and craftsmen, but it is clear that certain positions and administrative employments were meant to be reserved for natives: »the administration of Swedish provinces is conducted by noble and energetic men who are not strangers but native residents of the Swedish realm«.⁷⁷ This is an issue that popped up every now and then elsewhere in contemporary materials, sometimes in public documents, sometimes in private letters, for example, when a vacancy was being filled at the Academy of Turku or Turku Court of Appeal.⁷⁸

lallet hic finnoice; ille batavice cornicetur: loquatur hic Livonice; ille polonicum quid sermoni infarciat; non tamen turture loquaciores sunt, nec barbarie infuscantur, sed grata colloquia instituunt Svetice, moderate, decenter et tersissime loquuntur.«  Lilliegren (1691), 28: »temperamentum sequitur naturae ductum, quem hauserunt a loci indole atque sic non solum ad penetranda difficilia verum invenienda artificiosa acutissimi reperiuntur.«  E. g., Wetter (1683), D1r. Cf. Robey / Law (1975), 21.  Cf. Korhonen / Oksala / Sironen (2000), 150 – 151.  Rauthelius (1657), B2r–B2v: »Procul hinc est omnis fastus, mala aemulatio, invidia, obtrectatio, luxuria & quae plerumque magnas urbes inhabitare solent vitia.«  Leander (1664), C1r: »Quod vero civium mores, virtutes et studia spectat, sunt Orphanotrophi, i. e. sunt pupillorum parentibus destitutorum educatores, sunt Procotrophi nutritij pauperum et mendicorum opitulatores, sunt Xenodochi, advenarum et exoticorum ut et debilium, aliorumque necessarium sibi victum parare cupientium receptores atque fautores.« For Greek compound neologisms, see Helander (2004), 70 – 72.  Myricius (1647), C2r–C2v: »per certas Toparchias quibus qui praesunt omnes sunt viri Nobiles & strenui non advenas sed indigenae in patria nostra charissima nati & educati omnibus virtutibus eisque addictissimi.«  In these connections, from the standpoint of Turku inhabitants, ›stranger‹ often also referred to Swedish citizens other than Finns.

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As usual in contemporary Swedish Neo-Latin literature, the Finns were described as brave soldiers.⁷⁹ One of the orators recalled the Battle of Wallhof in 1626 during the Polish-Swedish War (1626 – 1629) in which, according to the orator, two Finnish troops of cavalry fought successfully against a strong Polish-Lithuanian army on an open battle-field, killing many enemies. The Finnish soldiers fought so effectively that the infantry and the rest of the Swedish army did not need to take part in the battle but stood idle and watched the scene. The orator considered it worth comparing with the Spartans and their king Leonidas, who did well at Thermopylae but when forced to fight on a battle-field fell with all his Spartan soldiers.⁸⁰ The fact that the city of Turku was not surrounded by proper walls was also a sign of its people’s bravery. In fact, said one of the orators, walls would manifest weakness. He based his argument on Theopompus, King of Sparta, who said that walls were effeminate; the best guarantee of security was when a city was protected solely by its men’s courage.⁸¹ Victories over enemies and survival in wars helped to support Swedish selfawareness.⁸² The criticizing of enemies was a common device in the students’ speeches and, for instance, the struggle between Denmark and Sweden was mentioned in several speeches. According to one of the orators, the actions of Christian IV of Denmark (1588 – 1648) on Swedish territory bore comparison with Phalaris’ bull. Phalaris, tyrant of Acragas (Latin Agrigentum), became legendary for the hollow brazen bull into which he put men for punishment, setting a fire under it so that the victims were roasted alive. King Christian, the orator said, belonged to the same category of tyrant as the Tarquinii in Rome, the Dionysii in Sicily, and the Ptolemies in Egypt, and he was a »bloodthirsty Nero« whose troops, luckily enough, the Swedish King, Gustavus Adolphus (Gustav II Adolf) managed to drive away.⁸³

 Sironen (2012), 90 – 91; Hermelin (2010), 78; Helander (2004), 349 – 350.  Rauthelius (1657), B3r–B3v: »praelium Walhovianum […] ubi duae turmae sive centuriae Finnicorum equitum pene solae fortissimum & maximum Polonorum Exercitum, Ducesque exercitatissimos aperto campo fuderunt, fugaverunt & maximam partem straverunt, omni pedite & reliquo exercitu otiose spectante.« The Battle of Wallhof was fought between Sweden and Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth on 7 January 1626. The Swedish force under Gustavus II Adolphus ambushed and surprised a Polish-Lithuanian force. The Swedes suffered very low casualties, whereas a great number of Polish-Lithuanian soldiers were killed, wounded, or captured.  Rauthelius (1657), B2r: »cujus civium anus Theopompus nomine a quodam propriae suae civitatis ostentatore interrogatus num mille moenia sibi satis alta et valida viderentur? minime responderit siquidem sunt mulierum, existimans virorum virtutem oppidis maximorum munimentum esse.«  Robey / Law (1975), 7. There are two students’ speeches published at Turku that address a particular victory: Andreas Ulstadius, Svecia triumphans sive oratio de capta classe Danica (Aboae 1644) and Andreas Oselius, Oratiuncula in victoriam Dei Opt. Max. auspiciis de Turca reportatam armis Christianorum (Aboae 1684), praising the victory that the Holy Roman Empire won under the command of King Jan Sobieski at the Battle of Vienna in 1683 in the Great Turkish War (1683 – 1687).  Hesling (1669), A4v: »Facinus dignum Phalaridis Tauro! ut non sola Roma suos Tarquinios aut Sicilia suos Dionysios vel Aegyptus suos Ptolemaeos habuisse videatur. Sed Neronis hujus sanguinem sitientis manus Gustavus fuga feliciter elapsus est […] Tyranno fortiter Regno expulso victoriam

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In the tractatio of many of the speeches the Swedish realm stayed in the background, but in the epilogue (peroratio) orators regularly referred to it as the ultimate patria, and monarchy was always praised as the best form of government. All speeches ended up with the votum, a prayer for the ruler, the city, or province and the whole fatherland.⁸⁴ Some orators broke off to address the town or province itself (apostrophe), wishing it continuous success and prosperity.⁸⁵ Now ready to leave the Academy of Turku, or, as some of the orators called it, »the belly of the Trojan horse«,⁸⁶ the students were careful to use only expressions that coincided with prevailing ideas in all respects. A printed speech was not only a thesis giving proof of their rhetorical skills but also, and more importantly, a means of appealing to persons who had the power to further their career plans. The moral philosophy in the background of the encomia can be seen to crystallize into Cicero’s motto »not for us alone we are born; our country, our friends, and parents have a share in us«, which is used by some of the orators.⁸⁷ One of them continued: »we must serve our fatherland; after God, the King, and our parents and teachers we have to love it more than anything else […] so that we are able to live decently and learn good things«.⁸⁸ Using conventional topics – the origin of the town or province, its favorable site, innate virtue, and religious commitment of its people, the excellence of its customs and institutions – orators strengthened their consciousness of their own cultural her-

summa civium cum laetitia reportavit, Rempublicam restauravit.« Cf. Cic. Verr. 4, 73. For descriptions of Danes in Swedish Neo-Latin literature, see Helander (2004), 352– 353, Sironen (2012), 94– 97.  Cf. the arrangement of topical elements in Johannes Paulinus’ Greek verse oration Magnus Principatus Finlandia, see Korhonen / Oksala / Sironen (2000), 149 – 153; Classen (1980), 34– 35.  Cf. Riikonen (2008), 12– 13.  A simile repeated in a couple of the speeches, saying that a certain university or school was like the Trojan horse; educated men came out of it like the Greeks out of the Trojan horse. Justander 1679, B2r: »ut alios insignes viros taceam, qui e Schola Aboensi tanquam ex Equo Trojano prodierunt«, Simonius 1659, B3r – B3v: »vigeat & floreat haec Academia perpetuo; ex eadem tanquam equo Trojano reipublicae organa salutaria plurima prodeant, clarum quo nomen vestrum in viridi sit maneatque memoria semper.« This image is borrowed from Cicero, De oratore 2,94, who uses it of Isocrates’ school of rhetoric at Athens, to claim that »only leaders« (meri principes) emerged from it: »Ecce tibi exortus est Isocrates, magister istorum omnium, cuius e ludo, tanquam ex equo Troiano, meri principes exierunt.«  Cic. Off. 1, 22.  Justander (1679), A2v: »Non minus scite quam rite et perite insignis quondam Poeta, quanquam Ethicus, cecinit: Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine cunctos ducit, et immemores non sinit esse sui. Quibus verbis sapiens ille Poeta, tamquam vivis coloribus depinxit insitum illum naturalem amorem, quo quisque tenetur erga Patriam suam in qua natus est, sicut etiam Tullius Romanae Eloquentiae Parens Cicero dixit. Non nobis solum nati sumus, sed partem ortus nostri vendicat sibi Patria, partem amici, partem parentes; eo ipso innuens nos debere nostrae Charissimae patriae inservire, et diligere illam, prae caeteris omnibus, secundum Deum et Clementissimum Regem nostrum, Parentes, Praeceptores et ludimagistros, quia habemus a Parentibus naturalem hanc vitam et Essentiam, sed a Praeceptoribus virtutum nostrarum culturam ac morum. Hoc est, ut bene possimus esse et discere aliquid boni.«

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itage and its important position in Europe. By employing historical and mythological exempla they sought to weave particular aspects of the ancient myth of Rome, or of other prestigious places, into their own narratives and, if possible, to create pivotal roles for their hometowns and provinces. The status of Venice as a sea-power and her presence in the Adriatic adapted particularly well to Sweden’s contemporary position as a great power, which dominated the Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Finland. Panegyrists of Venice had tried to show that Venice had inherited the mantle of Rome as urbs aeterna or patria communis. ⁸⁹ Johannes Hesling, who praised Stockholm in 1669, ventured to compare Stockholm with both Rome and Venice: Anyone wandering around Rome, which once was the capital of the whole world, or looking at the sumptuous wealth of Venice, let him compare them to this city in piety, justice, abundance, fertility, and grace of location and the utility of the sea, and he will find that it excels them in many respects or, in any case, is equal to them. What, did I say equal? Nothing, nothing whatsoever can be equal to this city, not even if you visited each of the most prominent cities and most flourishing trading sites of Europe.⁹⁰

Comparing Stockholm with Rome and Venice worked well in an epideictic oration. It is, however, noteworthy that the epideictic hyperbole is generally moderate, and the orators showed at least some kind of judgement and sense of proportion in the encomia of towns that were not famous or distinguished. The humble parish of Laitila was not regarded as equal to ancient cities, but its relation to antiquity was created by comparing the charm of its natural setting with the magical influence of ancient mythological figures. As is shown in Menander Rhetor, by varying the starting-point it is possible to compose an encomium of any place, no matter what its site, history, or present importance.⁹¹ Latin encomia of places became fewer in the eighteenth century due to the weakening status of Latin, on the one hand, and to a shift in intellectual atmosphere on the other. Topographical literature, dissertations, and treatises increasingly began to focus on utility, industry, and economic matters. A historical-antiquarian viewpoint was still dominant during the first decades of the eighteenth century, but from 1740 onwards more and more attention was paid to contemporary society and its economy in particular.⁹² Gothicism and Rudbeckianism lost its evidentiary value when topo-

 Robey / Law (1975), 4– 5.  Helsing (1669), B2v: »Perambulet quis cogitatione sumtuosam Romae magnificentiam, quae totius quondam orbis caput extitit; inspiciat Regales Venetiarum opes! conferat illas cum hac pietate, justitia, agri ubertate, fertilitate, voluptate sive denique maris usu; illis longe superiorem aut certe per omnia parem deprehendet. Sed quid dixi? parem? imo par huic Urbi nihil, nihil secundum, etiam si singulas Europae Urbes praecipuas perlustraveris ac emporia florentissima.«  E. g., Russell / Wilson (1981), 35.  Legnér (2004), 48.

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graphical literature began to rest on new kinds of sources: documents and statistics, as well as observations that writers themselves made during their visits.⁹³

Bibliography Primary Literature Acander, Petrus Nicolai, Commendatio Wexioniae, Aboae 1656. Alander, Christiernus Caroli, Oratiuncula encomia et laudes districtus insularis, maris Balthici ejusque incolarum mores et descriptionem totius Alandiae complexa, Aboae 1677. Arnerus, Laurentius Olai, Encomium celeberrimae Urbis Norcopiae, Aboae 1662. Brobergh, Gustavus Erici, Oratiuncula complectens breviter Sudermanniae descriptionem ejusque vera dignaque repraestans encomia, Aboae 1664. Chronander, Jacobus Petri, Oratio amplissimae regionis Westrogothiae descriptionem […], Aboae 1646. Da(h)lin, Petrus Andreae, Encomium Ostrogothiae, Aboae 1680. Enebergh, Salomon, Oratio celebris emporij Nycopensis encomium simpliciter adumbrans, Aboae 1660. Gallenius, Andreas Swenonis, Oratio topographica de encomio Calmariae, Aboae 1658. Granberg, Wilhelmus, Oratio laudem et delineationem Smolandiae continens, Aboae 1671. Haglinus, Jonas Leonhardi, Oratio de priscorum quondam regum postea comitum Brahaeorum […] insula Wisingiana, Aboae 1675. Hasselgreen, E. P. Oratiuncula Alandiae, Aboae 1662. Hesling, Johannes Johannis, Declamatio in laudem Holmiae, Aboae 1669. Hult (Hultingius), Elias Andreae, Oratio continens Sudermanniae laudem ac delineationem, Aboae 1661. Julenius, J. Z. Carmine succincto recitata oratio simplex in laudes Ost-Bothniacae regionis, Aboae 1686. Justander, Samuel Erici, Oratio brevis de quibusdam antiquitatibus Abogicis, Aboae 1679. Lagus (Lepus), Gabriel, Oratiuncula Neostadii descriptionem […], Aboae 1663 Lantzenfeldt (Kemmerer), Henrik, Panegyricus de fortitudine bellica Gothorum, Aboae 1664. Leander, Gabriel Erici, Declamatio succincta paroeciae Lethala […] encomia, Aboae 1664. Lilljegren (Lilliegren), Efraim Axelsson, Urbis inclytae ac memorabilis Narvae ortus, situs, aedificia solenni oratione descripta, Aboae 1691. Lohrman, Bernhard Gertsson, Oratio illius celeberrimae fodinae metallicae prope Falhunam in Dalecarlia orientali, laudem ac descriptionem continens, Aboae 1659. Miltopaeus, Martin, Institutiones oratoriae, Aboae 1669. Myricius, Ericus Christophori, Oratio de Sveciae patriae nostrae dulcissimae amore, Aboae 1647. Rauthelius, Johannes Danielis, Oratio de encomio Aboae, Aboae 1657. Simonius, Isaacus Roslagius, Encomium Arbogiae, Aboae 1659. Wargius, Martinus Andreae, Brevis et succincta commendatio Bothniae orientalis, Aboae 1643. Wetter, Sveno Nicolai, Oratio laudes et encomia inclytae insulae Wisingianae nec non ejusdem lacus Wetter […] complectens, Aboae 1682.

 Nordin (2000), 225 – 229; Klinge et al. (1987), 623.

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Secondary Literature Anttila, Tero, The power of antiquity: the Hyperborean research tradition in early modern Swedish research on national antiquity. Acta Universitatis Ouluensis B Humaniora 125, University of Oulu 2014. http://urn.fi/urn:isbn:9789526207148. CAAP = Consistorii Academici Aboensis Äldre Protokoller. Utgifna af Finska Historiska Samfundet, Helsingfors 1884 – 1940. Classen, C. J., Die Stadt im Spiegel der Descriptiones und Laudes urbium. Beiträge zur Altertumswissenschaft, vol. 2, Hildesheim / New York 1980. Daub, Susanne, Leonardo Brunis Rede auf Nanni Strozzi, Stuttgart / Leipzig 1996. Hansson, Stina, Svenskans nytta, Sveriges ära. Litteratur och kulturpolitik under 1600-talet. Skrifter utgivna av Litteraturvetenskapliga institutionen vid Göteborgs universitet 11, Göteborg 1984. Helander, Hans, Neo-Latin Literature in Sweden in the Period 1620 – 1720. Stylistics, Vocabulary and Characteristic Ideas. Studia Latina Upsaliensia 29, Uppsala 2004. Hermelin, Olof, Hecatompolis Suionum. Svenskarnas hundra städer. Översättning av Tore Wretö; Latinsk textetablering av Bengt E. Thomasson; Kommentar av Hans Helander, Stockholm 2010. Hyde, J. K., »Medieval Descriptions of Cities«, in: Bulletin of the John Rylands Library 48 (1966), 308 – 340. Kajanto, Iiro, Latina, kreikka ja klassinen humanismi Suomessa keskiajalta vuoteen 1828, Helsinki 2000. Kennedy, George, The Art of Persuasion in Greece, London 1963. Korhonen, Tua / Oksala, Teivas / Sironen, Erkki, Johannes Paulinus (Lillienstedt), Magnus Principatus Finlandia (1678). Ed. and tr. with commentary, Helsinki 2000. Lagus, V., Åbo akademis studentmatrikel. Förra afdelningen 1640 – 1740. Skrifter utgifna af Svenska Litteratursällskapet i Finland XI, 1, Helsingfors 1891. Laine, Esko M., »Turun akatemian oraatiokirjallisuus 1600-luvulla«, in: Tuija Laine (ed.), Vanhimman suomalaisen kirjallisuuden käsikirja. Helsinki 1997, 24 – 44. Legnér, Mattias, Fäderneslandets rätta beskrivning. Mötet mellan antikvarisk forskning och ekonomisk nyttokult i 1700-talets Sverige. Helsingfors 2004. Leinberg, K. G., Orationes Academiae Fennorum extra patriam habitae. Bidrag till kännedom av Finlands natur och folk 62, s.l. 1902. Lindroth, Sten, Svensk lärdomshistoria. Stormaktstiden, Södertälje 1989 (1975). Mathesius, Petrus Nicolai, Maantieteellinen väitöskirja Pohjanmaasta. Dissertatio geographica de Ostrobothnia 1734. Maija Kallinen / Päivi Kytömäki / Kirsti Nurkkala / Paula Rossi / Timo Sironen / Jouko Vahtola (eds.), Oulu / Hämeenlinna 2008. McManamon, John M., Funeral Oratory and the Cultural Ideals of Italian Humanism, Chapel Hill / London 1989. Nordin, Jonas, Ett fattigt men fritt folk. Nationell och politisk självbild i Sverige från sen stormaktstid till slutet av frihetstiden, Stockholm 2000. Riikonen, Hannu K., »Laus Urbis in Seventeenth-Century Finland: Georg Haveman’s Oratio de Wiburgo and Olof Hermelin’s Viburgum«, in: Pernille Harsting / Jon Viklund (eds.), Rhetoric and Literature in Finland and Sweden, 1600 – 1900. Nordic Studies in the History of Rhetoric 2, Copenhagen 2008. http://www.nnrh.dk/NSHR/nshr2/index.html. Robey, David / Law John, »The Venetian Myth and the ›De republica Veneta‹ of Pier Paolo Vergerio«, in: Rinascimento, Rivista dell’Istituto Nazionale di Studi sul Rinascimento XV (1975), 3 – 59. Russell, D. A. / Wilson, N. G. (eds.), Menander Rhetor. Ed. with translation and commentary, Oxford 1981.

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Séris, Émilie, »La reverdie dans la poésie latine de la Renaissance: Topos poétique et ancrage régional«, in: Sylvie Laigneau-Fontaine (ed.), »Petite patrie« L’image de la région natale chez les écrivains de la Renaissance. Actes du colloque de Dijon, mars 2013, Genève 2013. Sironen, Timo, »›Sopuisa ja urhea suomalainen, hurja lappalainen ja bjarmi koillisessa, kurissa pidettävä karjalainen, kateellinen ja ilkeä kimbri lounaassa ja aina petollinen sarmaatti idässä.‹ Vieraiden rajoilla Olof Hermelinin Hectompolis Suionum -kaupunkirunossa«, in: Kari Alenius / Olavi K. Fält (eds.), Vieraan rajalla. Societas historica Finlandiae septentrionalis, Tornio 2012, 87 – 102. Ödman, Per-Johan, Kontrasternas spel. En svensk mentalitets- och pedagogikhistoria I, Stockholm 1995.

Kristoffer Neville

Antiquarianism without Antiques. Topographical Evidence and the Formation of the Past Antiquarianism has become a major field of study in the last half-century. To describe a big and complex field far too simply, it is basically concerned with the early modern practice of incorporating material objects into the study of history. In a classic article that did much to define the developing field, Arnaldo Momigliano defined the antiquarian as someone who uses as historical evidence coins, ruins, inscriptions, and other material remains, while the historian was primarily concerned with texts.¹ For ancient history, texts by Greek and Roman writers such as Livy, Pliny, Suetonius, and others were the fundamental, canonical sources, and could not be rewritten. Any historian concerned with ancient history had to deal first of all with these sources, and then with secondary sources of various kinds. Antiquarians were well-versed in these texts as well, but were inclined to see them as complementary to material evidence. This distinction between the historian and the antiquarian was magnified by other methodological differences. For instance, historians wrote in chronological order, while antiquarians wrote in systematic order determined largely by the nature of the objects at hand. This led to different systems of classification, but had the overall effect that antiquarians were less concerned with chronology, or with presenting a linear historical development. Historians tended to read their ancient authors with reverence rather than skepticism, and so were not very receptive to challenges from material evidence. This attitude was magnified by a tendency to regard ruins as too fragmentary and imperfect to be reliable records of the past. Thus, although both groups were basically concerned with understanding the ancient world, their approaches were different, and so were their concerns. Momigliano points to the end of the seventeenth century as the moment when the authority of ancient texts was first challenged directly by the evidence of ancient physical remains. Specifically, he points to Francesco Bianchini’s La Istoria Universale provata con monumenti e figurata con simboli degli antichi (1697), which argues explicitly against the use of literary evidence alone, pointing out that archaeological evidence is both a source for and proof of what happened.² Momigliano proceeds to suggest that antiquarianism fell away because of its own success; in the course of the

 I have benefitted from discussing this material with a number of colleagues in different contexts. I would like to thank Konrad Ottenheym, Utrecht, Bernd Roling, Berlin, and especially Bernhard Schirg, Berlin, who suggested a broader approach to Rudbeck’s methods outlined here. For reasons of space and time, this has been limited to a short indication of the nearly endless possibilities for exploring the topographically based historical writing in Atlantica. Momigliano (1950).  Bianchini, La Istoria Universale. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638042-005

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eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the value of material evidence became so selfevident that it was fundamentally integrated into historical study, and thus ceased to exist as a separate endeavor. Momigliano was concerned primarily with Italy, but his observations on the interplay of textual and material evidence are in some ways relevant for far-northern Europe as well. Specifically, debates about Gothic ancestry in Scandinavia that will be presented here in the context of two works – Erik Dahlbergh’s Suecia antiqua et hodierna and Olof Rudbeck’s Atlantica, each begun a generation or so before Bianchini’s book appeared – substantially elaborate on and revise the more familiar view from southern Europe. Moreover, as this essay will argue, both works expanded on the conventional view that material evidence was comprised exclusively of manmade objects, and applied similar methods to natural features, which were considered comparable material evidence. The Gothicism debates posited that different groups of northern peoples – variously Swedes, Danes, and others from different regions of the Holy Roman Empire – were descended from the ancient Gothic peoples who overcame Rome.³ These accounts were essentially literary, and largely fall into what Momigliano would call the historian’s work. The basic sources were ancient texts, most specifically Tacitus’ Germania and Jordanes’ Getica, although Rudbeck would introduce as evidence Plato and many others not typically cited in this context.⁴ These texts carried tremendous authority in northern Europe, as they did in Italy, but they were also problematic. They were often contradictory, allowing any number of competing arguments about the original location of the Gothic (or other) peoples, which in turn fueled disputes about who was descended from whom.⁵ This confusion led Sebastian Münster to complain in the mid-sixteenth century that the ancient authors were hopelessly inaccurate. He wrote that »up till now there have been many, both under the heathens and the Christians, who have undertaken to describe Germany. But there has been no one, so far as I know, who has reported the cities or lands or the people of the German nation correctly […] the ancients and foreigners have described it almost by hearsay, but have not come«.⁶ This is hardly the reverence for ancient textual authority that Momigliano describes! If the historian’s task of drawing a narrative from conflicting ancient texts was thus fraught with problems, the work of the Scandinavian antiquarian was also challenging. Antiquarians interested in Roman monuments had a great deal of material with which to work. To take only one example roughly contemporary to Dahlbergh and Rudbeck, Giovan Pietro Bellori published large-scale folios on Trajan’s column, the

   

Schmidt-Voges (2004). Tacitus, Germania; Jordanes, Getica. Neville (2009). Münster, Cosmographia, 296.

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column of Marcus Aurelius, the triumphal arches of the Augustans, and more.⁷ These present their subjects both in their entirety as intact monuments and also in detail through engravings of the reliefs and inscriptions that cover them. The scale and beauty of the plates impress on the reader the significance of the monuments represented in them. But what was one to do as an antiquarian promoting a sanctioned official history in a kingdom with no monuments comparable to imperial arches and columns? This was a substantial problem in Scandinavia, for there were very few objects that qualified as ancient material evidence, and fewer still that were visually impressive. More importantly, even greater problems arose in using them as historical evidence for what was essentially an imagined Gothic history. Beginning in the later sixteenth century, there were a number of efforts to collect and publish different kinds of antiquarian materials. When a gold horn was excavated in Denmark in 1639, the medical doctor Ole Worm published an elaborate presentation of its form and ornament.⁸ Worm also published the first academic study of rune stones, which remained a standard work for generations.⁹ This work was made possible in large part by a royal decree of 1622 that required all priests to record runic inscriptions in their parishes and deliver them to Worm in Copenhagen.¹⁰ In Sweden, too, government intervention aided and guided antiquarian study. Here, it was bound up with the State Board of Antiquities, established in 1630 with the appointment of Johannes Bureus as State Antiquarian.¹¹ It was invigorated in the 1660s with a reorganization and expanded mission. A foundational document for this from 1667 lays out eleven areas or fields of inquiry for the new body, divided between documentary (or text-based) and antiquarian. These include any early manuscripts useful for the study of the early »Swedish and Gothic« language; early legal texts; theological texts; and rune stones, which were to be cataloged comprehensively and published. The latter project was to include prints of each stone to a uniform scale, thus recognizing both their epigraphic and their material value. Tombs and monuments throughout the kingdom were also to be documented, and the most significant published in a work to be called De sepultura veterum Suecorum. The board also took responsibility for documenting and studying coins, seals, and church furnishings of all kinds, and a miscellaneous category was included to encompass virtually any other old object found in the kingdom.¹² The Board was thus charged with a more or less comprehensive cataloging of overlooked historical

 Bellori, Columna Antoniniana; Bellori, Colonna Traiana; Bellori, Veteres arcus Augustorum. See inter alia Bell/Willette (2002), Herklotz (2012).  Worm, De aureo […] cornu dissertatio.  Worm, Danicorum monumentorum.  Bach-Nielsen (2004).  For Bureus, see Norris (2016). Essential documents and a general historical narrative are collected in Schück (1932), vol. 1.  Schück (1933), vol. 2, 8 – 12.

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items scattered around the kingdom. As with Worm’s rune stones, this was to be achieved at a local level, by priests ordered to survey the objects and documents in their parishes.

I Erik Dahlbergh, the State Board of Antiquities, and Suecia antiqua et hodierna Little of this ambitious program was achieved. The catalog of rune stones never appeared, and seems not to have been begun in earnest. However, some of the goals were encompassed in a different form in Suecia antiqua et hodierna, a topographical survey of the kingdom begun in 1661 and published in 1715.¹³ In some ways, this is a provocative claim. From the beginning, Suecia antiqua was a rather personal project of Erik Dahlbergh, a fortifications engineer, quartermaster general, and amateur architect. However, it was simultaneously a state-run project, with the Antiquities Board playing an important role. In 1661, on the same day that Dahlbergh received a royal privilege for the work, Johannes Loccenius, the state historiographer and future member of the Board, received a royal command to compose an accompanying text. Although Dahlbergh remained closely involved until his death in 1703, the state took on an ever-larger share in the work. In 1664, the crown took on full responsibility for funding the engravings. In 1684, it accepted financial responsibility for the production of the text as well, with the stipulation that the new author – Loccenius had died in 1677 – should be chosen by the Board of Antiquities.¹⁴ The state’s growing stake in Suecia antiqua introduced a political and ideological problem: to what degree should it reflect the ideological historiography of the court, and specifically the Gothic narrative? More specifically, should the text reflect the more careful historical work of the Uppsala professor Johannes Schefferus, for instance, or the more grandiose, creative, and polemical theories of another professor at the university, Olof Rudbeck, who saw Uppsala as the cradle of western civilization? This question was raised directly in a 1691 letter by Anders Spole, an Uppsala mathematician and astronomer.¹⁵ This was ultimately less of a problem than it seemed, because the text seems to have been a fatal assignment. A number of authors took it on, but all died before producing a finished work. The book was ultimately published without the intended textual accompaniment.¹⁶ Moreover, the antiquarian content was gradually marginalized as the portion of plates presenting

 Dahlbergh, Suecia antiqua (1715); Vennberg (1924), 1– 149; Bring (1937), 1– 67; Magnusson (1986); Magnusson/Nordin (2015).  Bring (1937), 10, 25.  Björnstierna (1808), vol. 8, 44– 51.  Bring (1937), 1– 67; Magnusson/Nordin (2015), 137– 147, 195 – 223.

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modern architecture grew in order to take account of a building boom in the kingdom. The letter of royal privilege for Suecia antiqua closed with a note that local pastors, mayors, and provincial governors should take stock of any interesting antiquities or other monuments that might be of interest, and show them to Dahlbergh when he passed through to draw the cityscape and important buildings for the topography. Dahlbergh or his assistants would draw and describe whatever pieces they were shown in each place, and these would be incorporated in the work.¹⁷ This was echoed in other royal orders. Although only a few of the objects that turned up in this way might actually be illustrated in print, the larger effect was a kingdom-wide catalog of antiquities fully in line with the goals of the Board of Antiquities. In its finished form, Suecia antiqua includes a number of these kinds of antiquarian objects. Thus, for example, we find a plate of coins from the kingdom, and a fragmentary statue identified in the plate as an idol of Thor. Other objects are essentially Christian relics and tombs more or less comparable to those found in any cathedral or important church. However, it is important that there are very few of these kinds of objects in Suecia antiqua – a conservative count yields about 30 out of the 353 images in the book – and certainly they are vastly outnumbered by the contemporary buildings that largely represent the modern content of the book. Moreover, on closer inspection, a number of these objects make no real claims about the antiquity of the kingdom. For instance, most of the coins bear dates from 1019 to 1363, and many of the tombs are of medieval notables. Even with a flexible conception of antiquity, these were likely considered old, rather than ancient.¹⁸ The statue described as the god Thor is potentially more significant in this context. However, nothing about the statue justifies the caption identifying it as an ancient cult figure, and it is now generally considered a mangled medieval statue of a saint. Moreover, it is almost unique in Suecia antiqua, and its significance in promoting a larger thesis is thus limited. Given the paucity of viable antiquarian objects in Sweden, what other possibilities were there to demonstrate the ancient history of the kingdom announced in the title of Suecia antiqua, and promoted more generally by the intellectual milieu in which it was produced? A number of the plates in Suecia antiqua present two scenes. In some cases this appears to be little more than an efficient way to include more images in the book. In other instances, however, these sets present instructive comparisons. One such pairing combines a view of Old Uppsala, an ancient site near modern Uppsala, with a presentation of the Mora Stones on which early Swedish kings were chosen (Fig. 1). Below, we see fragments of stones with runic inscriptions. To some degree,  That this was enacted is clear from a 1661 letter from Loccenius to Archibishop Johannes Lenaeus, see Bring (1937), 5.  For an in-depth view of various ways in which medieval works could be considered antique, see Wood (2008).

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they are presented or posed for us, but they are not laid out in a legible way to record or show each stone’s text, and thus would not meet the goals set out by the Antiquities Board in 1667. The plate’s inscription also exhibits little interest in recording the stones. It reads: »Representation of the beautiful and venerable place where the old Swedes and Goths chose their kings and commemorated the occasions with carved stones, which in the vernacular are called Mora stones.«¹⁹

Fig. 1: Old Uppsala with ancient earthen mounds (above); Mora Stones near Old Uppsala. From Erik Dahlbergh, Suecia antiqua et hodierna. Royal Library, Stockholm.

This inscription is important. The print is not primarily concerned with the stones themselves, which are shown in a fragmentary form and, crucially, as part of the landscape. As the text indicates, it is more specifically concerned with showing the place, the site of these historical events, which was commemorated with the stones. The landscape is the main subject, rather than a setting for the stones. The stones in turn serve as proof of the significance of the site. For this reason, it is en-

 »Delineatio loci amoeni et antiquitate venerabilis ubi veteres Sueci et Gothi Reges suos eligebant et in facti memoriam lapides incisos relinquebant Vulgo dicti Moorasteen« Dahlbergh made a separate drawing of the Mora Stones that conforms more or less closely to conventions for documenting antiquities, but this was not published. Stockholm, Royal Library, KoB Dahlb. Handt. 2: 30a.

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tirely appropriate that they are not recorded with the detail that the Board of Antiquities specified in its proposed catalog of rune stones. The upper image is also important in this context. It shows a group of earthen mounds at Old Uppsala that were of tremendous importance in demonstrating the antiquity and historical significance of Old Uppsala (they are identified on the plate as the tombs of the earliest kings of Sweden)²⁰. The church seen on the left would also become evidence for this, particularly in the hands of Olof Rudbeck, but here the mounds themselves are the central focus, with the church playing a peripheral role. They are a unique feature in this context, for they were universally recognized as man-made, and thus as ancient structures, while simultaneously constituting a kind of topographical feature. This plate was subject to one of the Antiquities Board’s few recorded interventions in the pictorial contents of the book. It objected that the mounds were shown too grandly, and would disappoint visitors who compared the graphic view with the actual site.²¹ They thus required the same precision demanded by the Board for the representation of other kinds of antiquarian material, and which we expect to find in the views of buildings and cities that represent modern Sweden. In a group of plates on Bråvalla, in Småland province in southern Sweden, we find a different interaction of antiquarian artifacts and setting (Fig. 2). A group of daggers, spear fragments, and other military artifacts are shown as if in a display case, with keyed descriptions for each. These are paired with a vibrant scene of a battle on the same site that gives them an imagined life and context. The inscription above one group of artifacts says very simply that these are »antiquities recently found and taken from the earth at Bråvalla heath«.²² The inscription for a second group on the same plate elaborates on this, and says »Antiquities in Asa parish and estate in Småland [from] under an enormous mound, in the middle of which was a sarcophagus made of six stones, in which, according to an old and generally accepted tradition, [the Norse god] Odin was buried«.²³ This mound is not shown, but we do find two burial mounds in the suite of four plates for Bråvalla. The first is described as a royal tomb-mound at Bråvalla heath in which Ladur, King Angantyr’s brother, was buried after his death in battle. The sec-

 »Tumuli Vetustissimorum Sueciae Regum dimidium miliare Ubsalia distantes ad Paraeciam Ubsaliam Veterem Gambla Ubsala högar.«  Magnusson (1986), 14; Magnusson/Nordin (2015), 124– 125.  »Delineatio Antiquitatum et Monumentorum quae effossae humo nuper repertae sunt in Campis Bravallinis«  »Delineatio Antiquitatum repertarum in Smolandiæ paroecia ac praedio Asa, sub ingenti tumulo, in cuius medio erat tumba e sex lapidibus coagmentata in qua conditum esse Odinum vetus, vulgo persuasissima traditio est.«

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Fig. 2: Artifacts from Bråvalla. From Erik Dahlbergh, Suecia antiqua et hodierna. Photo courtesy Royal Library, Stockholm.

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ond is described as »Humle’s tomb, where the king of the Huns with that name, killed at Bråvalla heath, was buried«.²⁴ These identifications are of course somewhere between fanciful and entirely imagined, depending on how much the reader chooses to humor this line of history writing. But the producers’ approach allows the tangible materials to resonate with and support grander themes. We are shown a few fragments of weapons from some unspecified time. The stated site in a burial mound serves as evidence of something more than medieval origins, and the non-committal statement that oral tradition places Odin’s tomb in this mound links it to a narrative of much greater historical and ideological importance. In the actual views of burial mounds, this is then linked to Ladur, brother of Angantyr, and Humle (all figures from Norse mythology), joining otherwise essentially disparate traditions in the way found so often in the early written sources on the Goths and early Scandinavian history in general. Bråvalla carries a presence in Suecia antiqua quite out of proportion to its significance either for the seventeenth-century state or the history writing produced by it. Rather, its presence here is to be explained by the persistent and enthusiastic efforts of a local antiquarian named Petter Rudebeck, who developed arguments that Bråvalla was the site of major ancient events, and pushed these views on Erik Dahlbergh with some success.²⁵ The presentation of Bråvalla derived a substantial degree of its effectiveness from the mounds at Old Uppsala, which were much-studied and carried an enormous authority in the history writing of the Swedish kingdom. Their perceived significance for the Gothic history of the kingdom lent credibility to claims that other mounds had similar significance. Within the context of Suecia antiqua, all of these mounds contribute to an important group of images in which landscapes – some topographically remarkable, some not – are described as the sites of ancient historical events or cultural rituals. At Skurugata gorge, for instance, bold claims are not accompanied by any effort to present what we would consider viable material evidence, such as the recovered artifacts from Bråvalla (Fig. 3). Here, presumably because it is a gorge, and thus difficult to show in a landscape view, we encounter it in a set of four sections. Aside from some indeterminate staffage – the prints do not make clear who these people are or what they are doing, although the drawings show that these were in fact seventeenth-century surveyors or investigators – this plate shows only a group of dry, documentary sections of a remarkable natural formation. The inscriptions present a quite different interpretation, however. They inform us that this was the place

 »Tumulus Regius in campo Bravallino Smolandiae ubi Laudur frater Regis Angantyr praelio caesus tumulatus est = Tumulus Humbli, ubi hujus nominis Hunnorum Rex in Campis Bravallinis occisus sepultusque est.«  Magnusson/Nordin, (2015), 129 – 135.

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Fig. 3: Skurugata Gorge. From Erik Dahlbergh, Suecia antiqua et hodierna. Photo courtesy Royal Library, Stockholm.

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where, according to legend, the ancient Goths made offerings to their gods.²⁶ The descriptions for the first three of these sections give nothing more than specifications: dimensions and the direction from which each is seen. The fourth identifies the space as »the interior going back, commonly called the sacristy, where (the) idols were kept«.²⁷ Beyond local lore, no textual or material evidence is offered. However, the producers went to considerable trouble to demonstrate the uniqueness of the physical location, and this itself serves as the main evidence for its historical significance. The presentation of these sites stands in stark contrast to a written description of other objects found at Bråvalla that survives among the papers for Suecia antiqua. Written after 1710, and so after the death of Dahlbergh (1703) and Rudebeck (1710), this internal document is a dry, factual description of the physical properties of the objects.²⁸ This very sober documentary data reflects the precision evident in the visual presentation of the images, but without the inflection of the text-based historical narratives introduced to make sense of this information. (No ancient text could be associated specifically with the site, so these plates and their inscriptions represent instead a generalized historical model applied to the recorded phenomena.) Put another way, at Bråvalla we see especially clearly the way in which textual and material evidence had to accommodate one another to produce a unified historical vision. Other examples in Suecia antiqua are essentially comparable to those of Old Uppsala and Bråvalla. Many of these plates are often seen as more or less straightforward landscapes in a topographical work, or overlooked entirely in what is often – and mistakenly – seen of as a book primarily about architecture. However, very often the Latin inscriptions show that these plates were intended to make a very different historical point.

II Olof Rudbeck and Atlantica Suecia antiqua was a much-appreciated work that generated copies, variants, and interest across a broad public.²⁹ However, it was far from alone in presenting the kingdom’s history through topographical arguments. To a substantial extent, it competed with an another monumental history of Sweden and its ancient origins: Olof Rudbeck’s Atlantica.

 »Delineatio Ingentis admirandique Specus, ab accolis Skurugata dicti, in nemorosa rupe, non procule Urbe Ekesioe in Smolandia ubi fama est antiquos Gothos idolis sacra fecisse. Longitudo Specus per quartam milliaris Suecici partem recta linea a Notapeliote ad Borrolibycum extenditur«  »Interior recessus, vulgo sacristia dictus, ubi Idola recondebantur«  Stockholm, Royal Library, HS M 11: 8: 1, Handlingar rörande Dahlberghs Suecia antiqua et hodierna. 8. Topografiska anteckningar. Småland. (Bråvalla hed.)  Neville (2013).

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Atlantica is one of the more extraordinary historical works produced around 1700.³⁰ In three massive volumes published between 1679 and 1702, Rudbeck set out to prove that, far from being peripheral in the ancient Greek and Roman sources, Sweden is everywhere in these texts, although misidentified. Among others, he identifies it as the land of the Hyperboreans and, most importantly, as Plato’s lost island of Atlantis, from which he derived the work’s title. This theme is represented visually on the frontispiece (Fig. 4). Here we encounter a geographical / historical version of an anatomical dissection in which Rudbeck, assisted by an allegory of time, peels up the top level of »terrestrial history«, if we may call it that, in order to reveal the past to a group of confused ancient authorities: Plato, Aristotle, and Hesiod stand to the right; Plutarch, Ptolemy, and Tacitus, among others, stand elsewhere around the globe. All stand in awe and disorder as Rudbeck reveals the truth.³¹ Significantly, Rudbeck announces in this image that he will use the evidence provided by the earth’s skin, in part through topography – a study of its external features – and in part through an early archaeological examination of the evidence concealed beneath its surface. Rudbeck’s goal was not simply to give Sweden or Scandinavia a place in the classical literature, but to give it a leading place as the source of all antiquity. He was very clear about this. He wrote that »all philosophy or worldly wisdom, which has been written and found with the Egyptians, Asians, and Europeans, comes wholly from our Hyperborean Northerners […] first to the Greeks, and then from them to the Romans«.³² Rudbeck uses an extraordinary mix of methods to support his various identifications for the Scandinavian peninsula. Very often, he relies on linguistic evidence, and especially toponyms and etymologies, to justify his tenuous and spun-out arguments. These approaches are frequently complemented by the use of ancient coins and other forms of material evidence. These methods are quite comparable to those employed by antiquarians elsewhere. For instance, his use of ancient coins with buildings on the reverse as material visual evidence for ruined or entirely lost structures was shared by, among others, Pirro Ligorio in the sixteenth century, Giovan Pietro Bellori in the seventeenth, and Johann Bernhard Fischer von Erlach in the eighteenth. However, his conclusions were often remarkable and idiosyncratic, even within the context of the Swedish scholarly community. Rudbeck uses variations on this form of linguistic and antiquarian evidence in combination with topographical evidence to support an extended argument that the church in Old Uppsala was in fact the Temple of Poseidon on Atlantis, described

 Rudbeck, Atland; Eriksson (1994); Eriksson (2002); Vidal-Naquet (2007); and the forthcoming major studies by Bernhard Schirg and Bernd Roling. Atlantica has also recently found a popular presentation in King (2005).  Ellenius (1959).  Rudbeck, Atland, vol. 2, 2, 692.

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Fig. 4: Frontispiece to Olof Rudbeck, Atlantica. After Rudbeck, Atland, ed. Axel Nelson, Uppsala 1937 – 1939.

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by Plato in the Timaeus and Critias. ³³ He acknowledges the many alterations that had been made to the structure by the seventeenth century. These become part of an elaborate and indeed ingenious structural history that takes into account the visible seams in the fabric of the building to reconstruct an approximately square original form with arched openings on each side, which he compares with various Roman structures, thus placing the church within the Greco-Roman tradition. He marshals other structural evidence – not least the simplicity of the design – to place it very early in this tradition, and thus in a pioneering position.³⁴ We will not examine Rudbeck’s use of the architecture of the church as evidence here. Rather, we will look briefly the ways that he uses the land around it to support this argument. This is to some degree an arbitrary distinction, since the building exists in the topographical environment of the site, and we have already seen that at Old Uppsala some of that topography was man-made, and thus effectively what would later come to be known as landscape architecture. Nonetheless, Rudbeck paid very close attention to the natural environment around Old Uppsala (and Uppsala more generally), extending well beyond the raised mounds. This is a substantial methodological elaboration and expansion on what we find in Suecia antiqua, or in virtually any other historical tract of the period. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, historical works of all sorts – biographies, genealogies, chronicles – frequently included a map near the beginning to situate the content for the reader. Rudbeck includes a number of maps in Atlantica that serve a variety of purposes. Among them we find a map of the region around Uppsala (Fig. 5). It is an early form of topographical map. It does not include contour lines, which would be developed later, but nonetheless shows Uppsala on a raised plateau, with three burial mounds shown immediately nearby. This map is not for the general orientation of the reader. Rather, it works in tandem with a passage in volume one of Atlantica. Rudbeck cites Plato, saying that »upon the middle of the plain, there was a hill that was 50 stadia from the sea. Upon this was the temple and royal hall [of Atlantis]. This hill is none other than that we see in Plate 19, upon which Old Uppsala stands«.³⁵ Plato describes this hill as three stadia, which Rudbeck converts to 1500 Swedish ells (or alnar). He then challenges the reader to take a compass or calipers and measure the hill using the scale provided at the top right corner of the woodcut. The map thus becomes an interactive means for the reader to prove to his or her satisfaction that Rudbeck’s measurements match the textual evidence. Lacking contour lines or another viable way to indicate elevation above sea level or another standardized starting point, Rudbeck provides a second set of measurements and woodcuts of the region around Uppsala to complete his arguments.  Plato’s Critias is the essential source.  For a more detailed account of Rudbeck’s historical presentation of the church at Old Uppsala, see Neville (forthcoming), with further references.  Rudbeck, Atland, vol. 1, 107, 114.

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Fig. 5: Map of the region around Uppsala. From Olof Rudbeck, Atlantica. After Rudbeck, Atland, ed. Axel Nelson, Uppsala 1937 – 1939.

Like Dahlbergh’s plates of Skurugata gorge, these are quite technical, with a generally schematic character that incorporates some elements of the architectural convention of section and elevation. However, this is applied both to natural features and to built architecture (Fig. 6). This allows Rudbeck to exploit fully Plato’s dimensions for the hill on which the Temple of Poseidon stood, which included not only the breadth, but also the height. Plato gave this as 100 feet, which Rudbeck renders as 50 Swedish ells. He claims to have measured the height of all hills in the area before settling on the site of the temple / church in Old Uppsala as the only possible match for Plato’s dimensions. His Figure 22 / 23 presents the elevation of the region, rising from the stream that runs through Uppsala. In the figures below we see profiles of the hill, which he uses to show that both the extent and the height of the hill match Plato’s description.³⁶

 Rudbeck, Atland, vol. 1, 108 – 115.

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Fig. 6: Topographical elevation of the region around Uppsala. From Olof Rudbeck, Atlantica. After Rudbeck, Atland, ed. Axel Nelson, Uppsala 1937 – 1939.

A second woodcut presents related information, but in a more specifically architectural context (Fig. 7). This compressed elevation of the churches around Uppsala (including the late-medieval cathedral and also the castle) does not show them in the spatial relationship that a map would – laid out on a representation of the landmass, to a uniform scale, but with little means to tell us if one location is higher above sea level than another. Rather, it shows them in comparative elevation. In other words, they are clustered together artificially, but carefully laid out so that the consistent element is their relationship in height, or elevation above sea level. This supports Rudbeck’s reading of Plato’s description of Atlantis, and also rebuts an alternative view espoused by Johannes Schefferus, that the pagan temple described by Adam of Bremen was not to be identified with the church at Old Uppsala, but had stood at the site of the present-day cathedral in Uppsala, which had replaced it after a destructive fire.³⁷ Rudbeck’s image of the cathedral – shown in the center of the image and distinguished by its dramatically different form – is crossed by a line (marked »B«) just below the roofline. This line, which also lies above the roofline of all other churches in the print save that at Old Uppsala, marks the elevation specified by Plato for the temple on Atlantis. The castle, shown at right, also sits at this elevation, but Rudbeck argues through other means that this cannot have been the site of Plato’s temple. This method is not limited to the fundamentally important site at Old Uppsala. Rudbeck develops a similar topographical argument for other aspects of his overarching thesis. To look at one further example that is developed quite fully in Atlantica, we will turn briefly to southwestern Sweden and northeastern Denmark. Plato wrote that Atlantis lay beyond the Pillars of Hercules. This has traditionally been  Schefferus, Upsalia.

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Fig. 7: Topographical elevation with the churches in the region around Uppsala. From Olof Rudbeck, Atlantica. After Rudbeck, Atland, ed. Axel Nelson, Uppsala 1937 – 1939.

identified as the Strait of Gibraltar separating southern Spain from northern Morocco. In keeping with his larger interpretation, Rudbeck presents a revisionist argument that this had long been misidentified, and was instead the strait separating Denmark from southwestern Sweden, which links the North Sea and the Baltic. The sea beyond the Pillars of Hercules thus refers to the Baltic, which accommodates his presentation of Old Uppsala.³⁸ Overturning this longstanding tradition required a substantial argument, and the geographical descriptions of the late-Roman writer Rufus Festus Avienus provide the basis for this, although they are complemented by other writers and by further linguistic linkages.³⁹ Thus, Avienus’ notes on the length of the sea passage are translated into northern units, and shown to match the length of the Scandinavian sound. The topographical features of the adjoining land are matched with the northern strait, and the prominent temple of Hercules accounted for. (We are told that it, too, was in Uppsala, and thus somewhat farther past the strait than earlier sources had thought.) Although the details and sources differ, on all of these points the argument follows the same logic as the discussion of Old Uppsala. Here, too, Rudbeck incorporates a comparative topographical elevation showing both Gibraltar and Helsingborg, on the Swedish side of the sound (Fig. 8). Although architecture is included in both images – Tarifa in Spain, and the few houses and churches of Helsingborg – these are almost incidental to the prints. Tarifa is shown indistinctly, and serves primarily to give a sense of scale and monumentality to the rock of Gibraltar. The churches of Helsingborg are shown as steeples peeking out from behind hills, and serve rather to show the low rise of the hills on the shores of the sound. As with the elevations of Uppsala presented above, these are compared to textual descriptions, and serve simultaneously to show visually how the northern sound fits ancient descriptions, and how Gibraltar does not.

 Rudbeck, Atland, vol. 2, 105 – 123.  Cf. Rufus Festus Avienus, L’Orbis terrae di Avieno.

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Fig. 8: Topographical elevations of Gibraltar and Helsingborg. From Olof Rudbeck, Atlantica. After Rudbeck, Atland, ed. Axel Nelson, Uppsala 1937 – 1939.

III Conclusion For Rudbeck’s topographical evidence to be believable, the reader must accept that his maps and measurements are correct. Indeed, he purports to have done a proper topographical survey of the region with a team of assistants. If so, this was likely in the context of a program he developed at Uppsala University to provide practical, technical training in architecture and engineering.⁴⁰ In the Swedish military state of the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, the greatest demand for architects and engineers was in fortifications and military construction, which required a greater degree of topographical and surveying work than did civil architecture. Although less explicitly presented, this precision and expertise was also essential to the success of Suecia antiqua. Erik Dahlbergh, its producer, was a fortifications engineer and surveyor by profession, and a civil architect by avocation. His drawings for Suecia antiqua reflect his military background in numerous ways.⁴¹ Dahlbergh and his team used this facility with topography and its possibilities for historical writing to different ends. However, both Dahlbergh and Rudbeck recognized the value of the land itself as material evidence, and both sought to ensure its accurate representation as a means to retain its validity. Rudbeck’s extraordinary findings reflect his grandiose goals, but they also reflect his more expansive methods. His topographical methods did not exist in isolation. Compared to Dahlbergh, Schefferus, or others involved in the presentation of the

 Dahl (1995).  This is explained in depth in Magnusson (1986). For the Swedish fortifications office, see Munthe (1901– 1916), Runnberg, ed. (1986).

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kingdom’s past – or that of any other region – his approach was always more inclusive, bringing together different forms of evidence and argument and binding them together in a rope made of wildly different threads that, somehow, complement one another. His topographical arguments are inseparable from his archaeological and architectural observations – interests that have since become separate (if somewhat loosely linked) fields – and also from his linguistic arguments, which now seem out of place.⁴² Although it runs fundamentally counter to modern professional historical methods, it reflects both the broader, encyclopedic interests of seventeenth-century intellectuals and the realities of pursuing antiquarian studies of an ancient past that never existed. Topography as an aspect of history writing was not new. For instance, we may think of the importance of the Tiber and the seven hills of Rome for historical writing on that city. This is certainly true of many of Rudbeck’s sources, which provided him both with information and with a model. Plato’s Critias is in large part a topographical description of an imagined island, and Avienus’ geographical writings contain many historical observations. But in Suecia antiqua and Atlantica those topographical elements take on added weight, not just as context or setting for historical events and for various monuments, but as essential material evidence used to prove the truth of those historical events. To a significant extent, what we think of as an antiquarian approach or method was conflated with careful study and presentation of the topography. This in turn had to meet high standards of precision in description and identifiability in ancient texts that would grant it authority as evidence. Thus, the kinds of study and critical analysis more typically associated with the study of Roman ruins were extended to the natural topographical environment as well. This was necessary, given the paucity of other kinds of antiquarian evidence (aside from rune stones) to support the claims of a great past that seemed necessary for a present-day great power.

Bibliography Manuscripts Stockholm, Royal Library, HS M 11:8:1, Handlingar rörande Dahlberghs Suecia antiqua et hodierna. 8. Topografiska anteckningar. Småland. (Bråvalla hed.). Stockholm, Royal Library, KoB Dahlb. Handt. 2:30a.

 See inter alia Kelley, ed. (1997).

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Primary Literature Avienus, Rufus Festus, L’Orbis terrae di Avieno, ed. Amedeo Alessandro Raschieri, Acireale 2010. Bellori, Giovan Pietro, Columna Antoniniana Marci Avrelii Antonini Avgvsti, Rome [1672?]. Bellori, Giovan Pietro, Colonna Traiana Eretta Dal Senato, E Popolo Romano All’Imperatore Traiano Augusto Nel Suo Foro In Roma, Rome [ca. 1673]. Bellori, Giovan Pietro, Veteres arcus Augustorum triumphis insignes, Rome 1690. Bianchini, Francesco, La Istoria Universale provata con monumenti e figurata con simboli degli antichi, Rome 1697. Dahlbergh, Erik, Suecia antiqua et hodierna, Stockholm 1715. Jordanes, Getica, tr. by Charles Christopher Mierow, Princeton 1915. Münster, Sebastian, Cosmographia, Basle 1550. Plato, Timaeus and Critias: Translated into English with Introductions and Notes on the Text, tr. and ed. by A. E. Taylor, London 2013. Rudbeck, Olof, Atland eller Manheim, 3 vols., Uppsala, 1679 – 1702; reprint ed. Axel Nelson, Uppsala 1937 – 1939. Schefferus, Johannes, Upsalia, cujus occasione plurima in religione, sacris, festis […] illustrantur, Uppsala 1666. Tacitus. Germania, tr. by J. B. Rives, Oxford 1999. Worm, Ole, De aureo Domini Christiani Quinti, Daniae, Norvegiae etc. electi principis, cornu dissertatio, Copenhagen 1641. Worm, Ole, Danicorum monumentorum libri sex, Copenhagen 1643.

Secondary Literature Bach-Nielsen, Carsten, »The Runes: Hieroglyphs of the North«, in: Die Domänen des Emblems: Außerliterarische Anwendungen der Emblematik, ed. by Gerhard F. Strasser / Mara R. Wade, Wiesbaden 2004, 157 – 172. Bell, Janis / Willette, Thomas (eds.), Art History in the Age of Bellori, Cambridge 2002. Björnstierna, Johan, »Berättelse om Arbetet med det så kallade Sueciæ-Verket, Eller det i Koppar stuckna Verket Svecia antiqua & hodierna, samt den därtill ämnade Historika och Topografiska Beskrifningen; Efter Authentike Handlingar därom«, in: Kongl. Vitterhets historie och antiquitets academiens handlingar, vol. 8, Stockholm 1808, 35 – 95. Bring, Samuel, »Sueciaverket och dess text«, in: Lychnos (1937), 1 – 67. Dahl, Per, Svensk ingenjörskonst under stormaktstiden. Olof Rudbecks tekniska undervisning och praktiska verksamhet, Uppsala 1995. Ellenius, Allan, »Olaus Rudbecks atlantiska anatomi«, in: Lychnos (1959), 40 – 54. Eriksson, Gunnar, The Atlantic Vision. Olaus Rudbeck and Baroque Science, Canton (MA) 1994. Eriksson, Gunnar, Rudbeck 1630 – 1702. Liv, lärdom, dröm i barockens Sverige, Stockholm 2002. Herklotz, Ingo, La Roma degli Antiquari: Cultura e erudizione tra Cinquecento e Settecento, Rome 2012. Kelley, Donald R. (ed.), History and the Disciplines. The Reclassification of Knowledge in Early Modern Europe, Rochester 1997. King, David, Finding Atlantis: A True Story of Genius, Madness, and an Extraordinary Quest for a Lost World, New York 2005. Magnusson, Börje, Att illustrera fäderneslandet – en studie i Erik Dahlbergs verksamhet som tecknare, Uppsala 1986.

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Magnusson, Börje / Nordin, Jonas, Drömmen om stormakten. Erik Dahlberghs Sverige, Stockholm 2015. Momigliano, Arnaldo, »Ancient History and the Antiquarian«, in: Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 13 (1950), 285 – 315. Munthe, Ludvig W[ilhelm]son, Kongl. Fortifikationens historia, 6 vols., Stockholm 1901 – 1916. Neville, Kristoffer, »Gothicism and Early Modern Historical Ethnography«, in: Journal of the History of Ideas 70 (2009), 213 – 34. Neville, Kristoffer, »Suecia antiqua et hodierna. A Topographical Viewbook in the Eighteenth Century«, in: Print Quarterly 30 (2013), 395 – 408. Neville, Kristoffer, »History and Architecture in Pursuit of a Gothic Heritage«, in: The Quest for an Appropriate Past in Literature, Art and Architecture, ed. by Konrad Ottenheym / Karl Enenkel, Leiden 2018, 619 – 648. Norris, Matthew, A Pilgrimage to the Past. Johannes Bureus and the Rise of Swedish Antiquarian Scholarship, 1600 – 1650, Lund 2016. Runnberg, Bertil (ed.), Fortifikationen 350 år, 1635 – 1935, Stockholm 1986. Schmidt-Voges, Inken, De antiqua claritate et clara antiquitate Gothorum. Gotizismus als Identitätsmodell im frühneuzeitlichen Schweden, Frankfurt 2004. Schück, Henrik, Kgl. Vitterhets historie och antikvitets akademien, 8 vols., Stockholm 1932 – 1944. Vennberg, Erik, »Verkets historia«, in: Suecia antiqua et hodierna, Stockholm 1924, reprint Stockholm 1983, 1 – 149. Vidal-Naquet, Pierre, The Atlantis Story. A Short History of Plato’s Myth, Exeter 2007. Wood, Christopher S., Forgery, Replica, Fiction. Temporalities of German Renaissance Art, Chicago 2008.

Jonas Nordin

Spirit of the Age. Erik Dahlbergh’s Images of Sweden’s Past¹ Erik Dahlbergh’s Sweden, Ancient and Modern (Suecia antiqua et hodierna) is one of the most influential books ever to have been published in Sweden. It is a collection of copper engravings prepared between 1661 and 1715. Although never being finished according to plan, the work consists of 353 engravings with 469 motifs representing the essence of the seventeenth-century realm. It is the first source able to provide a systematic and reasonably accurate topographical impression of the Scandinavian kingdom.² Sweden before Dahlbergh’s work is a visual void, and his engravings have contributed significantly to our mental image of the past.³ The man behind the work, Erik Dahlbergh (1625 – 1703), was a military officer and an engineer. He was born a commoner and died a count, and he pursued a marvelous career thanks to his apparent abilities. Among other things, he advanced to being the head of the Swedish Fortifications Administration, counselor to the king, and governor general in, first, Bremen, then Riga. His life encompassed the better part of the Swedish Age of Imperial Greatness. At the time he was born, King Gustavus Adolphus (1594– 1632) was already preparing to engage in the great German war, later to be labeled the Thirty Years’ War. At the time of his death, Charles XII (1682– 1718) was still reaping victories on the battlefield. Dahlbergh never lived to experience the years of defeat and downfall. To him the Swedish great-power status was a matter of course, but he also wanted his native country’s political ascendancy to be reinforced by cultural renown. Despite being a soldier for most of his life, Dahlbergh’s private interests lay in the fine arts and, especially, architecture. In the spring of 1661, he approached the regency council of Charles XI and asked for a privilege or license to publish a topographical work displaying all the splendors of Sweden. He devoted the rest of his life, or more than four decades, to this endeavor. Today more than 600 of the master drawings to Suecia antiqua survive, mainly in the National Library of Sweden, in part also in Uppsala University Library.⁴ Nearly 70 percent of these drawings are by Dahlbergh himself, while a minor part was the

 I wish to thank Dr. Janis Kreslins for valuable comments on an earlier draft of this article.  The only older source of rival significance is the nearly 800 woodcuts in Olaus Magnus (1555). They are of great folkloristic importance, whereas their topographical value is limited.  The literature on Erik Dahlbergh and Suecia antiqua is vast. The most recent and up-to-date survey is Magnusson/Nordin (2015). Other works of particular importance are Vennberg (1924), Bring (1937), Magnusson (1986), Stormaktstid (1992). For a presentation in English, see Neville (2013).  All engravings and identified preparatory drawings kept at The National Library of Sweden and Uppsala University Library are available and free to download through Kungliga biblioteket/The National Library of Sweden at: https://suecia.kb.se. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638042-006

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work of various collaborators, often officers of the fortifications corps.⁵ Dahlbergh executed his drawings principally in two campaigns, in 1661– 1667 and 1687– 1694, when he was partly released from other duties. His ambition was to encompass the entire Swedish empire, including the overseas provinces, but he was never able to finish his work. The part that comprises contemporary Sweden, except the southern province of Scania (Skåne), was documented almost according to plan. Finland – at that time an integral part of the Swedish realm – is represented only by a handful of engravings, whereas the Baltic and German provinces are omitted completely. After Dahlbergh’s death in 1703, the work was carried on under the auspices of the Chancelery of the Realm before it was finally discontinued for a combination of reasons in 1715, when Swedish imperial greatness was in rapid decline. The motifs of Suecia antiqua fall mainly within three categories: palaces and gardens; cities and towns; and ancient monuments. Without doubt, the first category received preferential treatment. Dahlbergh had a passion for modern architecture. However, I shall concentrate on the smaller category of antiquities. Distribution of motifs in Erik Dahlbergh’s Suecia antiqua et hodierna Palaces, gardens etc. Cities and towns Ancient remains Frontispieces, coats of arms Churches Maps, plans Other Sum total:

230 90 58 37 32 13 9 469

Although the title Suecia antiqua et hodierna suggests an interest in historical remains, these motifs make up a mere 12 percent of Dahlbergh’s images.⁶ In spite of this, Suecia antiqua has been associated with and derided by posterity for its alleged Gothicist exaggerations. »Gothicism« was not a unified theory of the past; the term is used as a unifying designation for much of Swedish historical scholarship in the early-modern period, which repeatedly claimed that the Goths, who had roamed the Continent in ancient times, were originally descended from Sweden. This belief had as its most elaborate apologist the polymath Olof Rudbeck (1630 – 1702), professor of medicine at Uppsala University. For the purposes of this text, I shall treat Gothicism as a legitimate historical theory among others at the time. While Rudbeck is often ridiculed today, he was re-

 Cf. list of attributions in Magnusson (1986), 182– 208.  This is an educated estimate; it is impossible to give an exact number due to problems of definition.

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garded with respect, even though often refuted, by renowned scholars well into the late eighteenth century. In De l’Esprit des loix, Montesquieu (1689 – 1755) referred to Rudbeck in a favorable way, but it is not clear whether he had actually read him: I do not know whether the famous Rudbeck, who, in his Atlantica, has bestowed such praises on Scandinavia, has made mention of that great prerogative which ought to set this people above all the nations upon earth; namely, this country having been the source of all liberties of Europe, that is, of almost all the freedom which at present subsists among mankind.⁷

In so far as Rudbeck paid attention to this topic, he would certainly have agreed. The notion of an innate Swedish sense of liberty was a theme which constantly resurfaced in the national self-image throughout the early-modern era.⁸ The historian Edward Gibbon (1737– 1794) made a scientifically dismissive assessment of »the learned Rudbeck«, but setting him in his historical context Gibbon still appreciated Rudbeck’s erudition: The last century abounded with antiquarians of profound learning and easy faith, who, by the dim light of legends and traditions, of conjectures and etymologies, conducted the great grandchildren of Noah from the Tower of Babel to the extremities of the globe. Of these judicious critics one of the most entertaining was Olaus Rudbeck, professor in the university of Upsal.⁹

Other scholars who referred to him in both positive and negative terms include Pierre Bayle, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz and Jean Sylvain Bailly.¹⁰ In his own work on Atlantis, the latter complimented Rudbeck: His book is opulent and [written] in the spirit of the age, and of the most profound erudition; one sees that it has made me great service. I pay him the tribute of gratitude that I owe him.¹¹

His own endeavors were far easier than Rudbeck’s, Bailly contended. He could benefit from the advances of learning since Rudbeck’s time, and he had the advantage of being able to communicate with more enlightened and philosophic readers.¹² It should be mentioned, however, that although Gothicism was dominant it was never uncontested or universally accepted even in Sweden. Erik Dahlbergh and Suecia antiqua serve to prove this point. Certainly, there are Gothicist motifs in the

 Montesquieu (1777 [1748]), 355 (17: 5).  Nordin (2000).  Gibbon (1909 [1776]), 234– 235 (c. IX).  On Bayle and Leibniz, see Eriksson (2002), 343 – 347, 427– 429. Bayle’s long review with equal amount of praise and blame published by Axel Nelson, in Atlantica (1950), 4, 220 – 231 (originally published in Nouvelles de la République des Lettres, Amsterdam 1685).  »Mais son ouvrage est orné et de l’esprit du tems, et de la plus profonde érudition; on voit qu’il m’a beaucoup servi. Je lui rends le tribut de reconnaissance que je lui dois«, Bailly (1805 [1777]), 389.  Bailly (1805 [1777]), 389.

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book, but a closer examination of its conception testifies that the work is more multifaceted than is generally recognized. In what follows I shall analyze the historical motifs in Suecia antiqua to see if they can reveal anything of Dahlbergh’s views on the past. I will also try to say something about the sincerity of Gothicist convictions; these ideas are so easily dismissed today that many doubt that they were embraced in earnest even in the seventeenth century. My aim is to reflect on the evolution of Gothicism.

Image-making under difficult circumstances As already mentioned, Dahlbergh’s Suecia antiqua remains unfinished, but the engravings for the first volume – presenting the province of Uppland – were executed according to plan. Uppland is the traditional heartland of the Swedish realm. It is rich in archaeological remains, and, not least in the seventeenth century, it was considered to be the cradle of the Kingdom of Sweden. One would therefore expect Dahlbergh to underscore this aspect. However, out of the 131 motifs from Uppland outside Stockholm no more than 19 exhibit historical sights. Furthermore, only half of these date from prehistoric times and can be labeled Gothicist in any useful sense of the term. Most of them are, in fact, from the Viking era or Middle Ages, though this was not universally accepted knowledge at the time.¹³ We have the effigy of Thor (Fig. 1), for example, which is, in reality, a mutilated medieval wooden sculpture still preserved in Uppsala Cathedral, most probably depicting Saint Bartholomew.¹⁴ The Danish student Corfitz Braem, who visited Uppsala in 1672, dismissed the attribution to Thor as a scam invented by the parish clerk to fool visitors. Traces of oil paint on the sculpture proved that it could not be very old.¹⁵ Another example is the island of Björkö – or Birka – (Fig. 2) which in well-regarded written sources (e. g. Adam of Bremen) was identified as a Viking site, though some claimed that its history reached back even further, to the Gothic past. In Suecia antiqua (plate I: 69) it was referred to as »sedis regiæ veterum Gothorum«, the seat of the old Gothic kings.

 Pre AD 1000 (believed to be): the effigy of Thor; the temple of Old Uppsala; the burial mounds of Old Uppsala; the well of Svinngarn; the »keystone« near Sigtuna; Birka; antiquities near Finsta (two motifs); Gröneborg. Post AD 1000: Gustav Vasa’s Chapel; Catherine Jagellonica’s Chapel; the tombstone of Saint Bridget’s parents; the church of Old Uppsala; Mora Stones; Sigtuna; the ruins of Almare Stäket; Finsta manor; »Saint Bridget’s chapel« at Finsta (two motifs). I exclude Uppsala Cathedral from the category of »historical sights«, but include its burial monuments. The church of Old Uppsala, Mora Stones, and possibly the town of Sigtuna may, at least in part, have been considered prehistoric at the time.  Bengtsson/Estham/Unnerbäck (2010), 67– 70.  Braem (1916), 42.

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Fig. 1: »Faithful representation of the god Thor, who in former times was solemnly revered in the famous temple of Old Uppsala by Swedes, Goths, and other Nordic people, such as it is to be seen today in the Archbishop’s chamber in the Cathedral.« Engraving by F. Campion in 1668, after an original by Erik Dahlbergh (Suecia antiqua, I:62).

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Fig. 2: »Faithful geometrical depiction of the renowned island and royal residence of the old Goths Björkö, situated in the famous lake Mälaren, correctly showing its present state.« Drawing by Erik Dahlbergh, second half of seventeenth century (Master drawing for Suecia antiqua, I:69. KoB Dahlb. Handt. 3:31. KB).

In other instances, Dahlbergh showed his reliance on what he believed to be trustworthy and accepted sources. The depiction of the heathen temple of Uppsala (Fig. 3) was made from a drawing that was kept in Casa di Santa Brigida in Rome. A woodcut (Fig. 4) of similar appearance was included in Olaus Magnus’ (1490 – 1557) history of the Nordic peoples from the mid-sixteenth century, probably made from the same original.¹⁶ It seems likely that Dahlbergh was unaware of their interdependence. Together they were therefore sufficient proof of the accuracy of the description. An interesting case is Dahlbergh’s image of the so-called Mora Stones (Fig. 5) outside Uppsala. They have been regarded as a form of memorial plaques (»record stones«, »coronation stones«) from the elections of Swedish kings in the Middle Ages. According to a recent theory, proposed by archaeologist Mats G. Larsson, they are even fragments of the Mora Stone (Fig. 6), in the singular – that is, the

 Olaus Magnus (1555), III: 6. Olaus Magnus had been the head of the Casa di Santa Brigida where he set up a printing office.

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Fig. 3: »The old temple of the Goths in Uppsala, such as it is depicted in a drawing in the house of Saint Bridget in Rome. This temple was erected around 246 years after the deluge.« Drawing by Erik Dahlbergh, before 1691. The towers are consecrated to the main gods. Note the chain of gold that runs around the building (Master drawing for Suecia antiqua, I:63. KoB Dahlb. Handt. 3:18, KB).

Fig. 4: »The magnificent temple of the Nordic gods.« Woodcut from Olaus Magnus, Historia de gentibvs septentrionalibvs (1555), III:6. Both the holy tree Yggdrasil and the sacrificial well are included in the finished engraving of Suecia antiqua.

very stone on which the elections had taken place.¹⁷ This important monument mysteriously disappeared at some point in history, probably the late fifteenth century.¹⁸ In 1667 Dahlbergh traveled to Paris to have a selection of his drawings transferred to copperplates by French engravers. Mora Stones was the first historical

 Larsson (2010).  Holmgren (1954); Mora sten och Mora stenar (1993).

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Fig. 5: »Depiction of the place, rich in beauty and memories, where the old Swedes and Goths elected their kings, and the stones they cut in memory thereof; called Mora sten in the vernacular.« Proof-sheet of Suecia antiqua, I:64, engraved by Adam Perelle in 1668. Erik Dahlbergh has marked the sheet in red pencil and adjustments were made to the finished print (KoB Dahlb. AL B.33, KB, detail).

Fig. 6: Mora Stone according to Olaus Magnus (1555, VIII:1). The woodcut shows a newly elected king and representatives of the people. The runes read »Mora sten«.

image to be executed.¹⁹ Dahlbergh had not yet acquired financial support for his work and in an effort to attract the interest of the regency council he sent the engraving to Chancelor Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (1622– 1686) in the summer of 1668. To get an expert opinion, De la Gardie, in turn, forwarded the print to the newly established Board of Antiquities (Antikvitetsarkivet) in Uppsala. The Board found the en-

 It forms the lower part of a plate which also includes the gravemounds of Old Uppsala, the alleged center of the heathen cult in ancient Sweden.

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graving to be inaccurate on several points. If the work was to attract an international audience it had to be reliable, the Board of Antiquities argued. In Dahlbergh’s presentation there were simply too many stones that were not to be found on the actual site, and obvious exaggerations of this kind threatened to invite questions about the accuracy of Swedish antiquarian scholarship. In reality, the remains at Mora looked more like their depiction in the historian Johannes Schefferus’ (1621– 1679) drawing (Fig. 7) of 1669 – a rather modest pile of stones.²⁰

Fig. 7: Johannes Schefferus, Mora Stones in June 1669, eight years after Dahlbergh visited the location. The drawing seems to give a more accurate representation of the appearance of the site than any of Dahlbergh’s illustrations, but Schefferus has paid less interest to details and in contrast to the sketches for Suecia antiqua the inscriptions are illegible (KoB, F.e. 7a, KB).

 Klemming (1883 – 1886), 213 – 214. Schefferus, »Upsalia«, F.e. 7a, Kungliga biblioteket / National Library of Sweden (KB). This drawing is engraved in Schefferus (1678), fig. XLIII. Cf. Lindqvist (1925), 74– 75; Sveriges runinskrifter, 7: 2 (1943 – 46), 315 – 320.

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Was Dahlbergh’s print simply a piece of unabashed historical forgery? His preparatory drawings allow us to make a closer assessment. In an early outline (Fig. 8) we can recognize many of the stones from Schefferus’ drawing, viewed from another angle. These stones can be easily identified even today (Fig. 9). On the other hand, some of the more elaborate tablets visible in Dahlbergh’s print are conspicuous by their absence today. However, if we turn to the adjoining sketches (Fig. 10, 11) a number of these stones turn up. Several of the slabs and blocks that are displayed in the final engraving can be found among Dahlbergh’s preserved sketches, and they all carefully reproduce the inscriptions (as Schefferus’ drawing does not). There is even an instruction scribbled in the margin of one of the depictions, saying:

Fig. 8: Early compositional draft for Suecia antiqua, I:64, made by Erik Dahlbergh in 1664 (KoB Dahlb. Handt. 3:22r, KB, detail). Nota bene: The stones have to be transcribed, each one separately, and incorporated into Loccenius’ description.²¹

Johannes Loccenius (1598 – 1677), professor of political science at Uppsala University and official historiographer of the realm, was at that time employed to write the text to be appended to Dahlbergh’s engravings. His unfinished manuscript is still preserved, but it was never published.²²

 »NB: Stenarna måste skrifwas Af hwar sär deles för sigh sielf och setties J loxenij relation«, KoB Dahlb. Handt. 3: 22v, KB.  »Loccenius’ specialbeskrivning över Suecia-verket«, M 11: 4, KB. Mora Stones are unfortunately not among the objects he described.

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Fig. 9: Modern photograph showing the preserved Mora Stones, and pointing out those that can be identified in Dahlbergh’s drawings (Photograph: author).

The inscriptions on all the stones are perfectly readable in Dahlbergh’s preparatory drawings, which reveal a high degree of accuracy. He has equipped one of the stones with the image of a seated king. This shape cannot be distinguished on any of the stones today, but it is recorded in written accounts. The same is true of the stone bearing a cross within a shield. The relics have fared badly through the ages, and measures were being taken to protect them already in the sixteenth century. Another sketch displays a stone bearing obscure symbols (what looks like a swastika, an orb, etc.). It is no longer possible to identify this stone, but it was described by a French traveler in 1716. He added that the inscriptions in general were so feebly carved and in such poor condition that it took a lot of imagination to read or even detect them.²³ It is reasonable to believe that Dahlbergh sometimes over-interpreted indistinct marks, and it is not improbable that he also incorporated rune stones and other monuments from the nearby district which he considered to be connected to Mora Meadow. A report from the 1570s recorded only five stones and claimed that local peasants had removed the other stones and used them as blocks in their chim-

 »On voit sur une des principales [de les pierres] un Globe avec une Croix; […] Toutes les figures & tous ces caracteres sont si barbarement tracez qu’ils semblent faits avec la pointe d’un couteau, dont la plus grande partie est tellement effacée, qu’on n’y peut presque rien lire ni voir qu’avec le secours ou les yeux de la foi«, La Motraye (Haag 1727), 318 – 319 (II: 15).

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Fig. 10: Sketches of details to Suecia antiqua, I:64. (a) Stone recording the election of King Erik of Pomerania in 1396. (b) Stone carved to celebrate Karl Knutsson being elected king in 1448. (e) A stone with a seated king holding a scepter and orb is recorded in a written testimony from the 1570s, but has since been lost. The same source speaks of a similar figure having originally been carved into the upper side of stone (a) as well. (d) The stone is still preserved, but the shield with a cross is barely discernible (KoB Dahlb. Handt. 3:22v, KB, detail).

neys and ovens.²⁴ Investigations were made to locate these stones and according to the same source some of them had also been moved to Uppsala, where the inscriptions had been copied. In Schefferus’ drawing at least sixteen stones are clearly visible, whereas a description written by Gerhard Stalhoff in 1660 maintained that there were about twenty stones on the site.²⁵ Several of the old testimonies are irreconcilable and it seems evident that there was room for various interpretations as to the exact quantity of stones – in the Suecia engraving there seem to be over forty. Whatever the case may be, much of what appears to be pure invention in Dahlbergh’s images can be substantiated through other  »Män the Stener ther borttagne äri, will man seije, att bönderne them vdj sine Skorstener och Vgner haffuer inmure och settie latid«, Rasmus Ludvigsson’s report to Johan III, cit. Sveriges runinskrifter, 7: 2 (1943 – 46), 317; cp. Holmgren (1954), 38 – 40.  Sveriges runinskrifter, 7: 2 (1943 – 46), 320.

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Fig. 11: Sketch of Mora Meadow with details to Suecia antiqua, I:64. The rune stone fragment (g) was transferred to Historiska museet in the twentieth century (U 486; SHM 25555). The stone (f) can no longer be identified. Some of the symbols may be a result of wishful interpretation of faint remnants of inscriptions, or even of natural cracks (KoB Dahlb. Handt. 10:43, KB, somewhat pared).

sources. Still, he must at least have allowed himself the artistic licence of assembling in one image stones that were no longer preserved together, but had been dispersed through the surrounding area.²⁶ He may even have added a fictional stone or two for the sake of composition. The fact that the French engraver Adam Perelle further distorted Dahlbergh’s drawings, misinterpreted some of the inscriptions and showed no concern for the characteristics of Swedish landscape, was not something about which Dahlbergh could do much, considering the circumstances. The Board of Antiquities’ unfavorable judgement was sent from Uppsala eleven days before Dahlbergh left Paris, and when he heard of the letter it was already too late to make any adjustments. Furthermore, bearing in mind his own original considerations, he may well have deemed the objections irrelevant. It is possible that Dahlbergh payed heed to the criticism in other ways, however. The sheet with Mora Stones is the most fanciful of all the historical plates, even if many of the irregularities can be explained. He subsequently displayed extreme care in most representations of historical sites. Many of the contemporary buildings

 In 1672 Corfitz Braem reported that a fence with a locked gate had been erected around the stones to protect the site from further thefts, Braem (1916), 46.

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he drew were still under construction, and Dahlbergh had to devise an imagined end result from plans. This was rarely the case with the antiquities. To the best of his ability, he tried to get things right, although the outcome was affected by the fact that many years, sometimes decades, could pass from when Dahlbergh originally visited a site until the execution of the final print; some amateurishness with the pen played its part as well. Further misrepresentations originated in the complicated production process, with Dahlbergh giving instructions by letter from Sweden to the printmakers in Paris, who, of course, had never even seen the places they were to reproduce in copper engravings. As in a game of Chinese whispers, there were inevitably several distortions on the way to the final result. Another thing worth noting is that all the old sites Dahlbergh chose to reproduce were genuine historical monuments. Most of them, in fact, were from the Middle Ages. There was nothing Gothicist or fictitious about the stones on Mora Meadow. Furthermore, Loccenius, engaged to write the accompanying text, was from Germany and not at all interested in seasoning his presentation with Gothic embellishment. Dahlbergh did not care much about the nature of the interpretations, but relied on the integrity of the experts he employed. He was as conscientious as he could be when illustrating historical sites, but being, at best, an amateur historian, he was sometimes misled by the specialists on whom he relied, and who might promote more or less fanciful theories. This became more apparent over time.

No rune stones A perhaps surprising fact is that Dahlbergh’s work contains practically no rune stones. These are possibly the most striking remnants of an ancient past in Sweden, and one would expect them to be central in a work displaying all the remarkable historical monuments which the kingdom could boast of. During his early travels, Dahlbergh had made drawings of rune stones, but he soon decided to exclude them from his work. The Vikings were no object of admiration or source of pride in the seventeenth century. There were too many well-known continental sources from the early Middle Ages that described the Vikings as the scourge of Christianity: they had been murderers, plunderers, and rapists. The Goths, in contrast, were a safer and less controversial bet. According to some writers, they had even predicted the coming of Christ. This often led to a curious discontinuity between the Goths and the Early Middle Ages in old narratives.²⁷ However, to assume that the low appraisal of the Vikings was what guided Dahlbergh’s decision to exclude the rune stones would be to presume that he and his contemporaries attributed them to that era, which is far from certain. By including a

 Further on this topic: Nordin (2000), 225 – 229; Wallette (2004).

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table (Fig. 12) copied from the work of antiquarian Johan Peringskiöld (1654– 1720), Dahlbergh in fact corroborated the opinion that runes were the oldest form of letters, because of their crude form. Peringskiöld championed the view that everything develops from the simple to the more elaborate, and thus runes must pre-date the more slender letters of Ulfila’s Bible, a Gothic manuscript which could be securely dated to the fourth century AD. The idea that the runes were the oldest alphabet in the world had already been propagated by the brothers Johannes (1488 – 1544) and Olaus Magnus, and was further developed by the antiquarian Johannes Bureus (1568 – 1652).²⁸ Dahlbergh’s main reason for excluding the rune stones seems to have been different. In correspondence with Chancelor Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie in 1668, Dahlbergh noted that the Board of Antiquities in Uppsala were in the process of preparing a separate work with descriptions of all Swedish rune stones. Since this work was supported by the Chancelor himself, Dahlbergh found it prudent to skirt this subject. He therefore resolved to hand over his sketches to the Board of Antiquities to help them in their efforts. Dahlbergh acknowledged that these remains were of such importance that they deserved a work of their own.²⁹ The instruction to examine and depict all Swedish rune stones had originally been given to Johannes Bureus by King Gustavus Adolphus in 1630. He managed to prepare a couple of hundred engravings but never completed the project. Subsequently, the antiquarians Johan Hadorph (1630 – 1693) and Olof Verelius (1618 – 1682) were assigned this task in 1667. Their efforts, together with those of their successor Johan Peringskiöld, resulted in more than one thousand woodcuts, which remain largely unpublished. The archives of the Board of Antiquities (today at the National Library of Sweden) hold extensive collections from these investigations.

Gothicist collaborators Due to the war with Denmark and other circumstances, work on Suecia antiqua was suspended in the mid-1670s and was not resumed until the late 1680s. At that point, Dalbergh for the first time received proper funding and was able to engage an engraver to move to Sweden and work by his side. This made his work a lot easier and the pace of production increased substantially. In 1687 Dahlbergh was promoted governor of Jönköping County in southern Sweden. In this capacity he came into contact with a local foundry proprietor, Petter Rudebeck (1660 – 1710), who turned out to be a valuable informant for his undertakings. Dalbergh was interested in discovering the location of Bråvalla Moor, where, accord Johannes Magnus (1554) I: 7, Olaus Magnus (1555), I: 36, Eriksson (2002), 332– 334, Håkansson (2014), c. 5.  Dahlbergh’s letter to De la Gardie, 18 May 1668: De la Gardieska samlingen, E 1380. Riksarkivet / Swedish National Arcivhes.

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Fig. 12: »Sueo-Gothic letters.« Old runes; Ulfila’s recent letters; new monastic letters. Table prepared for Johan Peringskiöld’s Monumentorum Sveo-Gothicorum (printed 1710), and used as original for Suecia antiqua, I:10 (KoB Dahlb. Handt. 1:11, KB).

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ing to »the Prosaic Chronicle« (Prosaiska krönikan) and »the Little Rhymed Chronicle« (Lilla rimkrönikan) as well as other late-medieval sources, several battles of historical significance were supposed to have taken place.³⁰ He was also curious to know more about some remarkable ruins which Rudebeck was said to have discovered near Vetlanda.³¹ In his initial letter to Rudebeck in 1691, Dahlbergh mentioned the criticism that the antiquarian Claudius Örnhielm (1627– 1695) had voiced about Johannes Loccenius’ text. Örnhielm had been appointed the year before to work on the commentary and did so with great determination and resourcefulness. He disapproved of Loccenius’ manuscript, claiming that it was too rhapsodic and it did not pay enough attention to the »antiqua« in the material at hand. Even though he was merely responding to Örnhielm’s suggestions, it seems Dahlbergh was soon carried away himself by the quality and character of Rudebeck’s astonishing findings. For instance, Rudebeck asserted that he had located the true Valhalla, where old Gothic warriors had withdrawn to seek their own death when they were no longer able to fight. He claimed to have identified the original Troy – not the Troy of the Iliad, but the primordial town from which the colonizers who founded the Homeric metropolis originated. He delivered a description of the grave of Odin, who, according to an accepted belief, had in reality been an old Gothic ruler by the name of Sigge Fridulfson, who had duped his subjects into believing that he was actually a god. The tomb had been unearthed in 1669 by the local squire Per Ulfsparre when excavating for building material. Drawing upon local informants, on sources such as Snorri Sturluson and Olof Verelius, and by invoking etymological verification, Rudebeck claimed to have convincing evidence that this discovery actually was Odin’s grave (Fig. 13). Two knives were encountered, which confirmed old narratives that Odin had cut himself before his death. According to the local vicar, the tomb had even been illuminated by an eternal flame, ignis perpetuus, which unfortunately was extinguished when the tomb was opened. Dahlbergh handed over these objects to the Board of Antiquities in 1695.³² Credibility was important to Dahlbergh, and his enthusiasm was heightened by the degree of accuracy in Rudebeck’s reports, which brought together a host of sources. He consulted old and new written testimonies, talked to locals, and personally inspected all the findings. Modern examinations have corroborated the accuracy of Rudebeck’s maps, which bore the signature of the surveyor Anders Ekebohm.³³

 »The Prosaic Chronicle« and its sources are published in Klemming (1868 – 1881), 217– 295. »The Rhymed Chronicle« with appendices, in Klemming (1865), 215 – 288.  Dahlbergh’s initial letters to Petter Rudebeck 9 March, 9 April, 14 May, and 20 July 1691, printed in Småländska archifvet, [1] (1858), 150 – 154. On Rudebeck as antiquarian amateur, see Lindblad (1938). The ruins at Vetlanda were identified as Vittalia in Suecia antiqua, pl. III: 99.  Rudebeck’s letters to Dahlbergh (esp. 1692.03.29), and Vicar Nicoalus Lundbergius’ report (no date), »Rudera Antiquitatis, uthi Småland«, on the discovery of Odin’s tomb; M 11: 8: 1, KB.  Lindblad (1938), 148.

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Fig. 13: »Antiquities discovered in Småland, Asa parish, under a huge burial-mound, in whose center was found a stone cist, in which, according to an old and trustworthy legend, Odin was buried.« Master drawing by Johannes van den Aveelen to Suecia antiqua, III:85. The findings are identified as human bones, a lamp, a sword-hilt, two knives, and a piece of flint shaped as a thunderbolt (!) (KoB Dahlb. Handt. 10:12, KB, detail).

Through archeological evidence, Rudebeck believed he could confirm many old legends and elevate them to the status of historical fact.³⁴ The collaboration between the two continued for the rest of Dahlbergh’s life. As a result, Småland, and especially the district of Värend, are the most meticulously prepared historical section of the Suecia antiqua, with an overriding number of Gothicist motifs.

 Consistent with Dahlbergh’s general principle, the only rune stone in the vicinity, called »Ruter’s stone«, was left out of Suecia antiqua in spite of Rudebeck delivering master drawings; Rudebeck to Dahlbergh, not dated, M 12: 4, KB.

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The spirit of the age Notwithstanding the lack of rune stones, the Gothicist strain became ever more pronounced in Suecia antiqua. What were the reasons for this? It is quite obvious that Dahlbergh was more interested in contemporary architecture than in historical monuments. On the other hand, in his ambition to raise Sweden’s cultural status he had to demonstrate that the country was not a newcomer on the European stage. But to prove that point he was initially satisfied with presenting historical monuments from the Middle Ages. Although sometimes bearing witness to former Papist delusions, they nevertheless attested to Sweden’s unmistakable role in European culture for centuries. For this reason, Saint Bridget was given ample attention – nine whole images. The disturbing circumstance that she was a Catholic had to yield to her universal renown when the Protestant great power presented itself to an international audience. There are several testimonies that confirm the rising interest in historical relics at this time. A royal decree on ancient monuments and antiquities (generally referred to as Fornminnesplakatet) was issued in November 1666 and is held to be the oldest ordinance in the world for the protection of archaeological remains still buried in the ground.³⁵ Simultaneously with this decree a plan was submitted for the establishment of a Board of Antiquities, which was realized one year later. This is proof that the efforts of scholars had begun to affect policy makers. Dahlbergh, with a keen sense for trends and innovation, was fiercely aware of developments in this area. His familiarity with the doings of Olof Rudbeck, five years his junior, bears this out. There is no evidence that they ever actually met, and historians have argued that Rudbeck had little or no influence on Dahlbergh’s work. This is demonstrably wrong. A vignette (Fig. 14) prepared for the Suecia antiqua with the words et nos homines, »we too are humans« is proof of Dalbergh’s knowledge of Rudbeck’s oeuvre. The motto was borrowed from the frontispiece of Rudbeck’s Atlantica (Fig. 15). King Charles XI (r. 1672– 1697) was not a man of learning or culture, but he knew that imperial greatness demanded at least a minimum of representational court culture and royal splendor (Fig. 16). He also understood the significance of scholarship. Rudbeck’s historical writing was straightforward and bold enough to be appreciated even by the illiterate king. Rudbeck was also strongly supported by Chancelor Bengt Gabrielsson Oxenstierna (1623 – 1702), who eagerly read every new sheet of the Atlantica as soon it was delivered from the printer.³⁶ Oxenstierna was a man of great importance for Dahlbergh’s career. As Chancelor he was, in effect, both minister of culture and chief censor of all book-printing in the

 Kongl. Mayst:tz placat och påbudh, om gamble monumenter och antiquiteter, 28 November 1666 ([Stockholm] 1666).  Eriksson (2002), 431, 475.

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Fig. 14: Vignette created for the introduction to the first part of the text to Suecia antiqua. The angels supporting the coats of arms of Sweden, Gothia, and Wendia will trumpet the message Et nos homines! »We too are humans!« (F1700 Fol. 256, KB, no. 15).

realm. Dahlbergh cultivated his relation with him by including no less than thirteen motifs from Oxenstierna’s manor Rosersberg, outnumbering the views of any of the royal palaces. Even if the spirit of the age had not been sufficient to persuade Dahlbergh to make a Gothic turn, the inclinations of the king and the Chancelor certainly would. In the 1690s Dahlbergh therefore commissioned an increasing number of engravings showing remains from Sweden’s glorious ancient past.

Conclusion I would like to conclude these observations in a few simple points. Firstly, Gothicism was not a mere propaganda ploy designed to legitimize Sweden’s continental wars, as has often been suggested.³⁷ Rather, it was a perhaps naïve but nevertheless legitimate historical theory among many others, and it was based on scientific method

 E. g. Wallette (2004), 378.

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Fig. 15: Olaus Rudbeck, supported by Chronos, reveals the hidden secrets of the ancient world to Plato, Aristotle, Plutarchos, and other early historians (Frontispiece to the Tabulae volume of the Atlantica, 1679, engraved by Dionysius Padt Brugge after Petrus Törnewall’s drawing).

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Fig. 16: King Charles XI performing as the »Knight of Honour« on the day of his accession in 1672. In contrast to the great kingdoms of the Continent Sweden could not boast of an organic connection to the Roman Empire. But as descendant of the Gothic rulers who had conquered Rome, the Swedish king could appear as an equal to the emperors of Antiquity (Engraving by Georg Christoph Eimmart, made after an original by David Klöcker Ehrenstrahl; Certamen equestre, 1686).

and scholarly evidence. Rudbeck, for example, was one of the first to apply procedures borrowed from the natural sciences to archaeological material. A modern titan within the field, Professor Mårten Stenberger (1898 – 1973), pronounced an unambiguous judgement: Even as an antiquarian he was ahead of his time. Through excavations of »burial mounds« in Uppland Rudbeck stands out as Sweden’s first field archaeologist.³⁸

In a way similar to his contemporary, the French philosopher René Descartes (1596 – 1650), Rudbeck may have been wrong in a purely empirical sense, but he nevertheless presaged the future in his use of scientific method. His demonstration of etymological evidence may have been bold, but the method as such is long since an accepted instrument in the historian’s toolbox. In the seventeenth century, it marked an important step away from simple reliance on ancient sources. Secondly, the Gothic influence increased over time, but never became hegemonic. There were diverging opinions as to how to interpret historical evidence. Dahlbergh seemed to be rather uninterested in these questions for a long time until he  »Också som fornforskare var denne före sin tid. Genom undersökningar av ›ättebackar‹ i Uppland framträder Rudbeck som Sveriges förste fältarkeolog«, Stenberger (1979 [1964]), 532, cf. 605, 707.

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noticed he could use Gothicism as a tool to promote his work on modern architecture. Johannes Loccenius, who produced the first manuscript draft for the Suecia antiqua, refused to succumb to Gothic speculation. Claudius Örnhielm and Petrus Lagerlöf (1648 – 1699), who succeeded him, had strongly diverging opinions on how to interpret Sweden’s earliest history. These differences of opinion may hold the key to why the text remained unfinished: every new author rejected the inferences made by his predecessors and was compelled to start all over again. Swedish scholars discovered their history by writing it. They eagerly gathered material which they interpreted with great fervor. But the more they learned, the clearer the picture became, and the more they realized the need for revision. This was neatly put by the writer Olof von Dalin, who in 1747 published the first volume of an official chronicle commissioned by the Diet. He did not hesitate to compose small satires upon contemporary authors who still clung to Gothic fictions,³⁹ but in preparing his own history he refered to Olof Rudbeck with great reverence: The many great and learned men, who have treated this subject before me, I humbly and with gratitude consider to be my teachers. They have encountered more darkness than I have, so if I had been in their position, I had been even more lost. They have perhaps stranded on rocks, which those who have come later have been able to avoid; but they have thus broken the ice and paved the way for me. Even their mistakes, in case they have made any, have hence served to correct me. One cannot read an ingenious Rudbeck’s Atlantica without being amazed by the author’s brilliance. To follow it with historic certainty is really not feasible; for where Plato’s Atlantis was situated […] is and remains for ever undecided […]⁴⁰

In the seventeenth century, Gothicist historiography was supported by much erudition, great enthusiasm, and even greater ingenuity. In the eighteenth century, historians were already backing away from the earlier excitement. Erik Dahlbergh does not seem to have bothered much about the rather fundamental disagreements of the authors whom he employed. He lacked sufficient knowledge to settle their disputes and had to put his trust in the discretion of his collaborators. Dahlbergh’s only interest was in having a text ready for print as soon as possible – something that he never lived to experience.

 See, e. g., [Dalin], (1739).  »De månge Store och Lärde Män, som mig föregådt i detta ämne, anser jag för mine Läromästare med all wördnad och erkänsla: De hafva funnit för sig mer mörker, än jag, så at om jag warit i deras ställe, torde jag långt mer hafva farit wilse: De hafva kan hända fastnat på klippor, för hvilka en annan, som kommit senare, kunnat akta sig; men de hafva dermed brutit isen och banat mig wägen: Sielfva deras felsteg, om de några giordt, hafva således kunnat tiena mig til rättelse. Man kan ej läsa en Sinrik Rudbecks Atlantica utan förundran öfver Auctorens Snille: At följa den med en Historisk säkerhet, låter sig wäl icke giöra; ty hvar Platonis Atland legat […] blifver i alla tider en oafgjord Sak«, Dalin (1747), Foreword.

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Bibliography Manuscripts Kungliga biblioteket / The National Library of Sweden (KB) KoB Dahlb. Handt. M M M M

11:1, »Brev från författarna av Sueciaverket till E. Dahlbergh«. 11:4, »Loccenius’ specialbeskrivning över Suecia-verket«. 11:8, »Topografiska anteckningar och skrivelser för texten till Sueciaverket«. 12:4, »Partier ur Sueciasamlingarna, ›Nescher 75‹«.

Schefferus, Johannes, »Upsalia«, F.e. 7a. Riksarkivet / Swedish National Archives De la Gardieska samlingen, E 1380.

Primary Literature Bailly, Jean Sylvain, Lettres sur l’Atlantide de Platon et sur l’ancienne histoire de l’Asie. Nouvelle édition, Paris 1805 [1777]. Braem, Corfitz, Dagbok under en resa i Sverige åren 1671 och 1672, Stockholm 1916. Certamen equestre cæteraqve solemnia celebrata Holmiæ Svecorum anno M.DC.LXXII. mense decembri cum serenissimus & potentissimus princeps ac dominus Carolus XI aviti regni regimen omnium cum applausu capesseret, Stockholm [1686]. Dalin, Olof von, [anon.], Wisdoms-prof eller Herr Arngrim Berserks förträffelige tankar öfwer et fynd i jorden intet långt från Stockholm, Stockholm 1739. Id., Svea rikes historia ifrån des begynnelse til wåra tider, efter Hans Kongl. Maj:ts nådiga behag på riksens höglofliga ständers åstundan författad, 1, Stockholm 1747. Gibbon, Edward, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, 1. Ed. by J. B. Bury, London 1909 [1776]. Klemming, Gustaf Edvard (ed.), Svenska medeltidens rim-krönikor, 1, Stockholm 1865. Id. (ed.), Småstycken på forn svenska, Stockholm 1868 – 1881. Kongl. Mayst:tz placat och påbudh, om gamble monumenter och antiquiteter, 28 November 1666, [Stockholm] 1666. La Motraye, Aubry de, Voyages du Sr. A. de La Motraye, en Europe, Asie & Afrique, 2, Haag 1727. Magnus, Johannes, Historia Ioannis Magni Gothi sedis apostolicae legati Svetiae et Gotiae primatis ac archiepiscopi Vpsalensis de omnibvs Gothorvm Sveonvmqve regibvs qui vnquam ab initio nationis extitere, eorúmque memorabilibus bellis late varieqve per orbem gestis, opera Olai Magni Gothi fratris eiusdem autoris ac etiam archiepiscopi Vpsalensis in lucem e̜dita, Rome 1554. Magnus, Olaus, Historia de gentibvs septentrionalibvs, earvmqve diversis statibvs, conditionibvs, moribvs, ritibvs, svperstitionibus, disciplinis, exercitiis, regimine, victu, bellis, structuris, instrumentis, ac mineris metallicis, & rebus mirabilibus, necnon vniuersis penè animalibus in septentrione degentibus, eorumq´; natura. Opvs vt varivm, plvrimarvmqve rervm cognitione refertvm, atqve cvm exemplis externis, tum expressis rerum internarum picturis illustratum, ita delectatione iucunditatéque plenum, maxima lectoris animum voluptate facilè perfundens, Rome 1555.

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Montesquieu, Charles Louis de Secondat de, »The Spirit of Laws«, in: The Complete Works of M. de Montesquieu, tr. from the French, 1, London 1777 [1748]. Schefferus, Johannes, Antiqvis verisqve regni Sveciae insignibus, liber singularis, Stockholm 1678. Sjöborg, Nils Henric, Samlingar för Nordens fornälskare, innehållande inskrifter, figurer, ruiner, verktyg, högar och stensättningar i Sverige och Norrige, med plancher, 1, Stockholm 1822. Småländska archifvet, [1], Växjö 1858.

Electronic Sources Erik Dahlbergh’s Suecia antiqua et hodierna, the complete engravings and master drawings, hosted by Kungliga biblioteket/The National Library of Sweden: suecia.kb.se

Secondary Literature Bengtsson, Herman / Estham, Inger / Unnerbäck, R. Axel, Uppsala domkyrka, 5: Inredning och inventarier, Uppsala 2010. Bring, Samuel E., »Sueciaverket och dess text«, in: Lychnos. Lärdomshistoriska samfundets årsbok 1937, Uppsala / Stockholm 1937, 1 – 67. Eriksson, Gunnar, Rudbeck 1630 – 1702. Liv, lärdom, dröm i barockens Sverige, Stockholm 2002. Holmgren, Gustaf, »När försvann Mora sten?«, in: Historisk tidskrift 74 (1954), 1 – 43. Håkansson, Håkan, Vid tidens ände. Om stormaktstidens vidunderliga drömvärld och en profet vid dess yttersta rand, Göteborg 2014. Klemming, Gustaf Edvard, »Om kopparsticken i Suecia antiqva et hodierna«, in: id., Ur en samlares anteckningar, Stockholm / Uppsala 1883 – 1886, XX–XX. Larsson, Mats G., »Mora sten och Mora ting«, in: Fornvännen. Journal of Swedish Antiquarian Research 105 (2010), 291 – 303. Lindblad, Sven, »Petter Rudebeck som fornforskare«, in: Hyltén Cavallius-föreningen för hembygdskunskap och hembygdsvård, årsbok 1938, 105 – 150. Lindqvist, Sune, »Erik Dahlbergs teckning av Mora sten«, in: Fornvännen. Journal of Swedish Antiquarian Research 20 (1925), 74 – 76. Magnusson, Börje, Att illustrera fäderneslandet. En studie i Erik Dahlberghs verksamhet som tecknare, Uppsala 1986. Magnusson, Börje / Nordin, Jonas, Drömmen om stormakten. Erik Dahlberghs Sverige, Stockholm 2015. Mora sten och Mora stenar. En vägledning till ett märkligt nationalmonument, Stockholm 1993. Neville, Kristoffer, »Suecia antiqua et hodierna. An architectural viewbook in the eighteenth century«, in: Print quarterly 30 / 4 (2013), 395 – 408. Nordin, Jonas, Ett fattigt men fritt folk. Nationell och politisk självbild i Sverige från sen stormaktstid till slutet av frihetstiden, Eslöv 2000. Stenberger, Mårten, Det forntida Sverige. 3d ed., Lund 1979 [1964]. Stormaktsid. Erik Dahlbergh och bilden av Sverige. Ed. by Leif Jonsson, Lidköping 1992. Sveriges runinskrifter, 7: 2: Upplands runinskrifter. Ed. by Elias Wessén / Sven B. F. Jansson, Stockholm 1943 – 46. Vennberg, Erik, »Verkets historia«, in: Svecia antiqua et hodierna, Stockholm 1924. Wallette, Anna, Sagans svenskar. Synen på vikingatiden och de isländska sagorna under 300 år, Lund 2004.

Elena Dahlberg

Antiquarianism, politics, and self-fashioning in Magnus Rönnow’s poem Scanicae Runae cum Ense Thorsiöensi (1716)¹ Can objects talk? Can a nation’s ancient remains narrate its historical past? Can they foretell its future fate? The answer to all these questions is yes, if we choose to believe the 300-year-old poem Scanicae Runae cum Ense Thorsiöensi Augustissimo donatae Regi Carolo XII. This rather short poem ‒ it consists of twenty-one elegiac couplets ‒ was penned in 1716 by the Swedish poet and scholar Magnus Rönnow (1665? ‒ 1735). It describes several runic stones from the Swedish province of Scania (Sw. Skåne) and a medieval sword found in the lake of Thor (Sw. Torsjö) in the same region. Already in the second distich the poet declares that these Scanian runic stones are loquacious rocks: Scanenses Saxa loquacia Runae. In the next couplets Rönnow ›reads aloud‹ what these cultural relics from the Viking era have to say. He interprets them for the Swedish King Charles XII and explains that their images relate Sweden’s noble past. He also contends that these artifacts forebode a lucky outcome for Sweden in the ongoing war. Rönnow thus acts both as a political poet and an antiquary. In 1719 he was actually proposed for the prestigious post of assessor at the Antikvitetsarkivet. Recent scholarship has shown that early modern antiquarianism was an ideological enterprise and that the creation of institutions such as the Swedish National Heritage Board was a highly political project.² Researchers have also revealed that antiquarianism could be manifested in different forms. Nevertheless, they have tended to ignore poetry as one of these manifestations. By analyzing the Scanicae Runae, the present article will demonstrate that this form of literature, too, could be used as a means to explore history and to approach it ideologically. In addition, it will be shown that Rönnow through his Latin poem constructs an image of himself as the Swedish Horace.

 I would like to express my profound thanks to Dr. Poul Grinder-Hansen and Dr. Lisbeth Imer from the National Museum of Denmark for their kind assistance with my attempts to identify the runic stones that constitute the topic of this article. I am also grateful to Dr. Krister Östlund from Uppsala University Library for sharing his vast knowledge in the area of runic scholarship. My special thanks to The Calgary Institute for the Humanities at the University of Calgary for providing the perfect environment for writing.  One of the most recent collective volumes in the field is Miller / François (2012). See also Enenkel (2012). Antiquarianism as a political enterprise during Sweden’s period of greatness is the subject of Widenberg (2006). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638042-007

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I The Swedish Empire under Threat: The Final Stage of the Great Northern War 1716 was a difficult year for Sweden. Since the early spring of 1700 it had been waging war against several powerful enemies, a conflict that later came to be labeled the Great Northern War. The situation had been precarious ever since the dramatic defeat of the Swedish army at Poltava in the Ukraine in July 1709.³ After the fiasco in the Ukraine, Charles XII as commander in chief and the remnants of his army managed to flee to the Ottoman Empire. But, even though the Swedish king succeeded in returning to his country in 1714, the situation was to worsen. Sweden’s archenemies Denmark and Russia had renewed their military collaboration in order to invade the province of Scania, while George Ludwig of Hanover and Frederick Wilhelm I of Prussia formed a brand new anti-Swedish coalition. Though the Danish-Russian plan to invade Scania failed, Denmark and Prussia succeed in occupying Rügen and Stralsund, the two Swedish outposts in Germany. It was now obvious that Sweden was weakened and if immediate action were not taken, several other parts of its territories would be lost. Contemporary writings richly reflect this strenuous state of affairs. At the end of 1715 Andreas Rydelius, Professor of Logic and Metaphysics at Lund, contended in a speech that there was now no hope for peace: PAX, A[udite] A[uditores], inter homines terrae incolas, plena quidem numquam speranda est, ac ne induciae quidem diuturnae. ⁴ (Listen, o listeners! Peace in full between the men who inhabit earth should indeed never be hoped for, nor even a truce of any length.)

Some months later, in June 1716, Emanuel Swedenborg expressed his worry about Sweden in a letter to Erik Benzelius the Younger: Kanske man hafwer tå flera Potentater in uti lander och mehr än Sverigie årckar med, mig tyckes at Svecia legges nu ned at komma snart in agone, tå hon lärer sparcka sidsta gången, mongen lärer önska at plågan må bli kort och wj förlossade, doch bettre lära wj intet hafwa at wenta, Si Spiritus Illum maneat. (Perhaps one will then have many Potentates in the country and more than Sweden can stand. It seems to me that Sweden is now laid low, soon to be in agone, when she will probably kick for the last time. Probably many desire that the torment may be short and we be delivered; yet we have hardly anything better to expect, Si Spiritus Illum maneat.)⁵

The Scanicae Runae was written in September 1716, i. e. just shortly after Swedenborg’s lament. As indicated above, Rönnow’s poem offers quite an optimistic picture

 For a thorough description of this phase of the Great Northern War, see Hatton (1968), book 6.  Rydelius (1778 [1715]), 179.  Swedenborg (1985 [1716]), 21.

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of what the poet was witnessing. The poem’s tone and content should be understood through the literary conventions of that time: for Neo-Latin writers, poetry was their tool to convey a number of ideological standpoints.⁶ The Scanicae Runae is no exception to this practice. Rönnow thus fashions himself as a new Horace and draws clear parallels between the Roman Empire and Charles XII’s Sweden. Throughout the poem the Swedish writer alludes to his ancient model over and over again, proclaiming that Sweden could learn from the lesson taught by Augustus’ Rome. To convince his king, he offers prophetic readings of several runic stones from the province of Scania and an interpretation of the image on a late medieval sword found in the same region. In his verse, Rönnow provides a fascinating picture of Sweden’s past and contends that these artifacts contain hidden messages. But is his poem an expression of a fanciful mind? Do Rönnow’s readings exhibit any scholarly endeavors at all? A comparative analysis of contemporary antiquarian texts, among them dissertations on antiquarian topics, has proved to be extremely fruitful for answering these questions. As will be shown, Rönnow’s ›creative‹ interpretations are in fact in line with the theories and ideas about Swedish history discussed in academic treatises produced at his alma mater Uppsala University and in antiquarian and historiographical scholarship carried out by Scandinavian authors prior to Rönnow. And, in the mode of these early modern antiquaries, Rönnow too uses the past to glorify his own time.

II A Humanist Bard and Scholar in Caroline Sweden: Biographical Notes on Magnus Rönnow Though known primarily as a prolific writer of Latin verse, Magnus Rönnow, after 1714 Rönnow Dunbar, was also an aspiring scholar in his youth.⁷ His learned peregrinations had taken him to renowned seats of learning such as Leiden, Utrecht, and Wittenberg, to name a few. One of the first texts that Rönnow produced in an academic context seems to be a congratulatory poem printed in a 1686 dissertation. Chaired by Georg Kaspar Kirchmayer and defended by Rönnow’s fellow-countryman Andreas Jäger, the dissertation has the following title: De lingua vetustissima Europae Scytho-Celtica et Gothica. It treats the language of the Scyths and Goths as the oldest language on earth. In his congratulatory verses to Andreas Jäger, Rönnow supports this idea by saying that this language with its venerable age is superior to all other

 The ideological and political applications of Neo-Latin literature, both in prose and poetry, are the theme of Laureys (2015), 345 – 361. For further references, see Laurey’s extensive bibliography.  The following section is based on the introduction to my doctoral dissertation, Dahlberg (2014), 18 – 24. The earliest appraisal of Rönnow as a Latin poet is found in the early modern dissertation De poëtis in Sviogothia Latinis, pars II (1740) with Johan Ihre as presider and defended by Ihre’s student Johannes Wåhlberg, see Ihre / Wåhlberg (1740), 43 – 46.

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tongues, as it traces its origin back to Magog, the son of Japheth.⁸ In his own scholarly work, Rönnow concentrated on Talmudic studies. His reputation as a talented Hebraist gained him a place in the committee that conducted the famous revision of the Swedish translation of the Bible.⁹ As an experienced Latinist he was also considered for the arduous tasks of the historiographus regni. The office implied that he would have to compose explanatory texts for the images in Erik Dahlbergh’s topographical catalog Suecia antiqua et hodierna. Rönnow never obtained the position. Nevertheless, he showed a keen interest in the visual arts on several other occasions. This interest is evident in his poems’ emblem-like contents, short poetic ekphrases on royal portraits, and in his drawings of such remains as rune stones.¹⁰ The most obvious expression of Rönnow’s engagement with the interaction between the visual and the verbal is without doubt his plan to produce texts and perhaps also images for a series of medals to celebrate Charles XII’s life. This project was inspired by the famous Histoire métallique that commemorated Louis XIV’s reign.¹¹ Rönnow did not have the wind in his sail this time either. The project was never funded, perhaps due to the fact that the country’s finances had been drained by the war. After Charles’ return to Sweden, we find Rönnow working in the king’s chancelery in Lund. It was during this stay that he penned his Scanicae Runae. We know that Rönnow also produced depictions of some of the artifacts that he describes in his poem. One is inclined to believe that the poet showed these reproductions to Charles together with the verses. In 1719 Rönnow was presented with an opportunity to combine his literary erudition and his interest in visual culture: he was suggested for a post at the Antikvitetsarkivet. Once again, the prospect was not realized. Also on this occasion, the on-

 The introductory lines to Rönnow’s congratulatory verses in Jäger’s dissertation reject the claim of all those nations that contend that their mother tongue is the oldest one: »Extollant alii populi primordia linguae / Quisque suae, certent, qua ratione velint; / Contendat Phoenix, Graecus, Chaldaeus Arabsve / Ut siet Hebraeae proxima lingua sua; / Ut taceam Gallos, Belgas aliosque, suorum / Antiquam linguam qui celebrare solent. / Salva tamen res est: Scythicae Gothicaeque vetustas / Praevalet, a Magog quae sata, prole Japheth.« (Let other nations extol the origin of their languages, each one his own; let them compete on whatever grounds they wish! / Let the Phoenician, the Greek, the Chaldean, or the Arab claim that his tongue is closest to Hebrew! / How can I leave unsaid the French, the Dutch, and the others who usually celebrate the antiquity of their tongue? / But this fact is beyond dispute: the old age of the Scythian and Gothic tongue ranks first, as it was that one that was planted by Magog, the son of Japheth.) Rönnow models the poem’s first verse on Verg. Aen. 6, 847, where Aeneas’ father Anchises describes Rome’s future rulers: »excudent alii spirantia mollius aera«.  Montgomery (2002), 165.  An almost complete corpus of Magnus Rönnow’s poetry can be found in Samuel Älf’s collection, vol. W25: XV, in the Diocesan Library of Linköping. On allegories and emblem-like language in Rönnow’s poetry, see Dahlberg (2014), 111– 125. Rönnow’s drawings of old remains from Scania are discussed below, in the section Text and Analysis.  In a letter from 1714 Rönnow asks the royal chancelor Gustaf Henrik von Müllern to sponsor his ambitious project and explicitly mentions the Histoire métallique as his source of inspiration; see von Müllern’s collection, E 4837, at Riksarkivet, Stockholm.

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Fig. 1: Scanicae Runae cum Ense Thorsiöensi Augustissimo donatae Regi Carolo XII Lundini Scanorum die XVI. Septembris MDCCXVI (The Scanian rune stones which together with a sword from the Lake of Thor were given to the most venerable King Charles XII in Lund on 16 September 1716). Apograph by Johan Adolph Stechau in Samuel Älf’s collection, vol. W25: XV, fol. 334r. Meter: elegiac couplet. Photo: The Diocesan Library of Linköping.

going war must have been the main reason. We know, however, that some of Rönnow’s depictions of the old remains from Scania were used for the illustrations in Johan Göransson’s Bautil (1750), the first more-or-less complete catalog of Sweden’s runic stones known at the time.¹² Among these items is also the sword from Torsjö. The Scanicae Runae is preserved in two apographs, both of which are kept in the Diocesan Library of Linköping as part of Samuel Älf’s collection. Apograph 1 (vol. W25: XV fols. 332r ‒ 333r) is based on a copy from the collection of Gjörwell the Elder. Apograph 2 (vol. W25: XV fols. 334r ‒ 334v) was produced by Johan Adolph Stechau, who was a secretary at the Antikvitetsarkivet (see Fig. 1). According to a note to apograph 2, Stechau’s copy follows Rönnow’s autograph. Both apographs have been used to reproduce Rönnow’s text here. All the variant readings are reported in the footnotes; but variant capitalization is not reported, and the ligatures æ and œ are transcribed as ae and oe respectively. The punctuation has been adjusted to

 Rönnow’s depictions reproduced in the Bautil contain the author’s initials, »MRD«, see Göransson (1750), nos. 1156 – 1173.

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modern punctuation rules, and the abbreviations in the title and in the date have been expanded. Apograph 2 contains marginal notes, which are discussed in the analysis below.

III Text and Analysis  – .

E Nerigone redux, belli variante theatro Rex, mea cura, meas respice mitis opes. O King, my care, who are now returning home from Norway, when the theater of war is shifting! Look at my riches with your mild gaze.)

The first line introduces the historical scene: the Swedish king has just returned from his military campaign in Norway, an enterprise that failed. Nerigos as a territory in Northern Europe occurs for the first time in Pliny the Elder, who uses this place name to denote the islands in the north of Britain: “Sunt qui et alias prodant, Scandias, Dumnam, Bergos, maximamque omnium Nerigon, ex qua in Thulen nauigetur.” (There are some writers who speak of other islands as well, the Scandiae, Dumna, Bergos, and Nerigos, the largest of all, from which one crosses to Thule.)¹³ The second line of the distich is a programmatic recusatio, in which the poet offers Charles his humble gifts. Rönnow’s direct appeal to the king as his dedicatee echoes Horace’s address to Maecenas in carm. 1, 2: »o et praesidium et dulce decus meum«. It is clear that Rönnow is seeking Charles’ patronage.  – .

En! Ut Scanenses Te Saxa loquacia Runae Nunc adeunt, vatis munera lecta ¹⁴ Tui. (Behold! How the Scanian runes, talking rocks, are now approaching you reverently, these gifts from your poet that are read aloud.)

Rönnow specifies his gifts: these are runic stones from Scania, rocks that can talk, Saxa loquacia. The visual cue (En!) suggests that the poet may on the same occasion also have presented the King with the images of the runic stones. The two remaining apographs offer varying readings of line 4. The epigraphic context of the rune stones justifies the reading lecta, as these artifacts actually contained inscriptions to be read by the stranger passing by. For lego as ›to read aloud‹, cf. Plin. ep. 9, 34: »audio me male legere, dumtaxat uersus, orationes enim commodius.« Scanenses […] Runae] Scania was one of the former Danish provinces. It was ceded to Sweden in 1658, a concession that was done in agreement with the Treaty of Roskilde signed that year. The runic stones from this particular province were the subject of several heated debates between Swedish and Danish antiquaries. From the day the Danish polymath Ole Worm (1588 – 1654) had claimed that the runes were a  Plin. Nat. 4, 16.  lecta apogr. 1] laeta apogr. 2.

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Danish invention, Swedish scholars had been eager to prove the opposite.¹⁵ The first Swedish scholar to oppose Worm’s statement was Johannes Bureus (1568 – 1652), who was also the first professional antiquary in the service of the Swedish state.¹⁶ Both Nordic countries, then, saw runic stones from Scania as part of their national cultural heritage and as an instrument to justify the superiority of their respective nation.  – .

Se Leo prosternit coram Te iactus; adorat Te, qui Sacra premit terga Draconis, eques. (The lion bows, prostrate before you. The horseman, who presses down the accursed dragon’s back, worships you.)

The poet embarks on the description of several runic stones from Scania and a sword found in the same province. His ekphrases in miniature stretch from the poem’s fifth line to line twenty. As we are not able to see the actual stones and are only equipped with Rönnow’s verses, we will inevitably be led into various speculations as to what stones the poet describes. We know that Rönnow had actually produced drawings of several runic stones from Scania. Some of these depictions were later reproduced in the famous Bautil to illustrate the section Scania’s Runic Stones (see Fig. 2). It thus seems justifiable to confront these surviving images with the poet’s text. Rönnow’s fifth line informs us about a lion that prostrates itself before the Swedish king. Apograph 2 contains a marginal note that links this line with Bautil image no. 1168.¹⁷ The item depicted under this number is a runic stone from Skårby. Indeed, it contains an image of a lion. But we also see that Rönnow’s other Scanian depictions illustrate some parts of the so called Hunnestad Monument (Sw. Hunnestadmonumentet). This complex originally consisted of eight runic stones.¹⁸ Several of its rocks are now lost, but the whole monument is thoroughly described, both in text and with a careful woodcut, in Ole Worm’s Danicorum monumentorum libri sex (1643). Worm’s assessment of the stones is telling: »Spectatu dignum monumentum« (»A monument worth seeing«). On Worm’s plate we see three of the eight rocks lying flat (see Fig. 3). Two of them exhibit images of animals, one of which is also used as the Bautil’s first illustration to the Scanian section, no. 1156.¹⁹ Worm identifies the animal as a wolf (Danicorum monumentorum libri sex, no. 6). Considering the fact that many of Worm’s interpretations have now been discarded, and that the copyist’s note in the apograph

 Lindroth (1975), 240 – 241, 244– 245.  For a short survey of the history of runology in Sweden, see Östlund (2000), 26 – 30. On Bureus’ antiquarianism, see Norris (2016).  Älf’s collection, vol. W25: XV, fol. 334r.  The most comprehensive study on the Hunnestad Monument is Göran Olsson’s article from 2005.  According to Samnordisk runtextdatabas, it now has the following number: DR 285. See also http://runer.ku.dk/VisGenstand.aspx?Titel=Hunnestad-sten_4.

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Fig. 2: Magnus Rönnow’s drawings illustrating the section on Scanian runic stones in Johan Göransson, Bautil (1750), 318 – 319. The depictions contain Rönnow’s initials, »MRD«, i. e. »by Magnus Rönnow Dunbar«. Photo: Uppsala University Library. According to the modern catalog of Samnordisk runtextdatabas, the images have now the following numbers: DR282 – 286.

is not supported by any further references, we can assume that it is the figure mentioned in Rönnow’s fifth line.²⁰ This runic stone is now lost. The next figure to worship Charles XII is a knight, eques, who presses a dragon’s back down with his weight. The horseman is easy to identify as stone no. 4 on Worm’s woodcut. This is also the second figure in the Bautil’s section on Scania.²¹ The epithet of the dragon’s back as sacra must be understood as negatively connoted, and thus to remind us of the numerous medieval fables about Christian heroes fighting a dragon as the representation of evil. In 1685 Uppsala professor Petrus Lagerlöf explored the subject in his dissertation De draconibus. In its very first chapter, the Swedish scholar tracks different etymological explanations of the word draco, paying special attention to Joseph Scaliger’s interpretation: Scaliger derives the word from the Greek expression ›τὸ δρᾶν ἄχος‹, which means ›to cause pain‹ and thus to be negative.²²  Cf. Olsson (2005), 10 – 11.  Samnordisk runtextdatabas, DR 284. See also http://runer.ku.dk/VisGenstand.aspx?Titel=Hun nestad-sten_3. The stone is now stored at the museum Kulturen, Lund.  Lagerlöf / Nordlindh (resp.) (1685), 2– 3.

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Fig. 3: Reproduction of the Hunnestad Monument in Ole Worm, Danicorum monumentorum libri sex (1643), lib. 3, cap. 13. Photo: Uppsala University Library.  – .

Restat ad augustos humerum munita securi, Tecta caput galea, fortis Amazo pedes. (The brave amazon, equipped with an ax on her shoulder, her head covered with a helmet, stands before your venerable feet.)

This distich is devoted to the figure on the most prominent rock according to Worm’s woodcut, stone no. 1. Rönnow sees there an Amazon. For his own reproduction of this stone, see the Bautil no. 159.²³ Apograph 2 refers to it in the margin. The Amazons constituted an important part of the Gothic historiographical tradition. The idea that the Amazons originated from the same region that was considered to be the land of the old Goths was first elaborated in the sixth-century writer Jordanes’ Getica. A Goth himself, Jordanes promoted the notion of the Gothic people.²⁴ In the sixteenth century, his theory about the Amazons was picked up by  Samnordisk runtextdatabas, DR 282. See also http://runer.ku.dk/VisGenstand.aspx?Titel=Hun nestad-sten_1. The stone is now at the museum Kulturen, Lund.  Swain (2014) shows that previous studies of Jordanes viewed him as a pro-Roman writer, and so misinterpreted his Getica, a work that has a clear Gothic voice, see Swain (2014), chap. 5.

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the Swedish writer Johannes Magnus in his Historia de omnibus Gothorum Sveonumque regibus, published posthumously in 1554. Johannes’ work immediately became a source of inspiration to a whole generation of historiographers and antiquaries, including Olof Rudbeck the Elder and Rönnow.²⁵ The Amazons were also the subject of several early modern dissertations in Sweden. Among these, we find Fabian Törner’s Exercitium academicum de patria Amazonum (1716), which draws heavily on Olof Rudbeck’s hypothesis that the land of Jotunheim in Norse mythology was the original home of the Amazons.²⁶ At the same time, we find scholars who question the very existence of the Amazon state. In 1678 Johannes Columbus delivered such a statement in his Disputatio de imperio Amazonum: there never existed any republic of only females.²⁷ In the case of the Hunnestad Monument, scholars have now recognized that the gowned person represents a male soldier.²⁸ It is obvious that Rönnow is here relying on Worm’s text, according to which stone no. 1 represents a woman. After the description of its size and shape, Worm mentions the two lines of text that surround the figure and accounts for this person’s outfit: Ad Monumentum ipsum ut accedamus; primum ejus saxum longitudine est trium ulnarum, latitudine duarum, conum habens obtusum, ferme semicircularem; qua Boream spectat planius, limbos literatos duos in summitate circulariter incurvatos et ambitu suo effigiem foeminae, ut videtur chlamidatae, cassidem in capite et securim humero dextro gestantis, cingentes. ²⁹ (Let us approach the monument itself. Its first rock is three ells long, two [ells] wide, and with a blunt top, which is almost semicircular. On the side where it faces the north, it is flatter, and it has two borders of text curving round on the top and surrounding with their curve a female figure, as it appears, in a military cloak and carrying a helmet on her head and an ax on her right shoulder.)

Three sections below, the author goes further and suggests that the figure represents a Danish warrioress. What leads him to believe this is the figure’s manner of carrying the ax, a practice that is thoroughly accounted for in Saxo Grammaticus’ Gesta Danorum (twelfth century).³⁰ Worm’s misinterpretation is also apparent in his Latin translation of the runic text, which he thinks contains a female name and a feminine noun: »Esbernus et Tume lapidem hunc posuerunt Rui et Leigfrud nurui suae« (»Esbern and Tomme put this stone in memory of Roi and their daughter-inlaw Lekfröjd«).³¹

 Johannes Magnus’ description of the Gothic women occupies eight chapters of his Historia, viz. lib. 1, cap. 25 – 32.  Törner / Sundius (resp.) (1716), 25 – 26.  Columbus (praeses) / Kolthoff (auctor) (1678), cap. 4– 5.  Olsson (2005), 7– 9.  Worm (1643), 188.  Worm (1643), 189 – 190.  Worm (1643), 188.

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The correct translation of the runic text is as follows: »Esbern and Tomme they placed this stone in memory of Roi and Lekfröjd, Gunne Hand’s sons.«³²  – .

Terga Tibi praebet Draco corniger ocyor Euro, Ocyor aligero Bellerophontis equo. (The horned Dragon that is swifter than Eurus, swifter than the winged horse of Bellerophon, offers you its back.)

Rönnow is reusing Horace’s carm. 2, 16, 23 – 24: »ocior ceruis et agente nimbos / ocior Euro.« In this ode, Horace praises tranquillity and advises the reader against setting targets in her life. Horace describes Care as swifter than a deer and the East Wind that drives clouds.³³ In Rönnow’s poem, the dragon is swifter than the horse of the Greek hero Bellerophon. The allusion to Horace’s ode not only trumpets Rönnow’s model, but also aims to recreate the sense of movement expressed in Horace’s verses. It is unclear, however, which dragon is cited here. One apt assumption is that it is one of the figures on the Tullstorp Stone (Sw. Tullstorpsstenen) in South Scania, the image of a feline animal (see Fig. 4).³⁴  – . Tum diadema crucis, seu mavis malleus olim Culti hic Thoronis, vult cor obire Tuum. (Then the diadem of the cross, or, if you prefer, the hammer of Thor, who was once worshipped here, wants to reach your heart.)

The poet is confronted with the problem of interpreting the cross on one of the runic stones. This is stone no. 2 on Worm’s woodcut.³⁵ Is it the Christian cross or does it represent the hammer of the god Thor? The debate regarding the origin of the crossshaped signs on runic stones had begun some years prior to Rönnow’s poem. Thus, Johan Peringskiöld explored this issue in his 1699 edition of Johannes Cochlaeus’ Vita Theoderici: in his commentary on Cochlaeus’ work the Swedish scholar illustrates how the cross was used to symbolize a number of pagan gods.³⁶ But even many decades after Rönnow’s time the question was still considered problematic. The Swedish philologist Johan Ihre (1707– 1780) discusses it in his 1770 dissertation De signo crucis in cippis runis ambigua Christianismi nota (see Fig. 5).³⁷ In order to find out whether the sign is of Christian origin or not, Ihre dives into the realm of

 For transcription and translation see http://runer.ku.dk/VisGenstand.aspx?Titel=Hunnestadsten_1. Cf. Olsson (2005), 7.  Hubbard / Nisbet (1978), 252– 256, 265 – 266.  Samnordisk runtextdatabas, Sk 94. See also http://runer.ku.dk/VisGenstand.aspx?Titel=Tullstorpsten.  Samnordisk runtextdatabas, DR 283. See also http://runer.ku.dk/VisGenstand.aspx?Titel=Hun nestad-sten_2. The stone is now stored at Kulturen, Lund.  Peringskiöld (1699), 582– 583.  For an in-depth study of Johan Ihre’s runic scholarship, see Östlund (2000).

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Fig. 4: The Tullstorp Stone in South Scania. Photo: Sven-Olle R. Olsson, former Director of Skånska Akademien. Reproduced with kind permission of Skånska Akademien.

Icelandic sagas and early historiography. He refers to several old texts that narrate how the pagans in the Nordic regions used a similar sign in different contexts. He reports that the use of the cross as the symbol of Thor’s hammer was one of them. Among his sources, Ihre quotes the saga of Olaf Tryggvason, more precisely the passage on Hakon the Good who is misunderstood at a pagan feast when he makes the sign of the cross over a beaker of ale dedicated to Odin and declines to drink it. The pagan earl who is Hakon’s host thinks that his guest made the sign

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of Thor’s hammer.³⁸ Ihre adds that the sign has been used by a number of other foreign peoples that have nothing to do with Christianity, among them the Egyptians. In the conclusion of his treatise, Ihre contends that it is difficult to say exactly what the pagan Runographi depicted when they used the cross on their stones. It is thus not surprising that Rönnow still believed that it might be a pre-Christian sign.³⁹  – . Vult canis, Hunnorum loca qui conservat avita, Nutibus intentus fidus adesse comes. (The dog that guards the ancestral places of the Huns, wants to be your faithful companion, eager to obey your nods.)

Rönnow interprets the image of one of the stones as representing a dog. It is tempting to assume that it is image no. 5 in Worm’s reproduction, a picture that seems to represent the mythological wolf Sköll.⁴⁰ According to the story of Ragnarök, Sköll would swallow the Sun.⁴¹ It is clear that Rönnow wants to link the name of Hunnestad to the old story of the mysterious Huns. Some of the contemporary theories traced the Huns back to various places in Sweden. Johannes Magnus treats the problem in his history and his brother Olaus Magnus explores it in his Historia de gentibus septentrionalibus (1555). Olaus contends that the people of Medelpad are called Huni, because they once defeated the Huns.⁴² In 1791 Jacob Fredrik Neikter mentioned this and other hypotheses in his Dissertatio de vestigiis Hunorum in Svecia. ⁴³  – . Praeses et urgentis septem quater ⁴⁴ ordine remos Navis submittit se Tibi praedo lupus. (Commanding the ship that urges on its twenty-eight oars, the pirate wolf yields itself to you.)

In the following lines the poet describes a Viking ship with a wolf on its stem. Here the Vikings are portrayed as maritime pirates. The naval history of the old Swedes gained a renewed scholarly attention with the publication of Olof Rudbeck’s Atlantica, the four volumes of which appeared between 1679 and 1702. In the first volume of his work (1679), Rudbeck dedicates many sections to the Vikings’ experience of seafaring.⁴⁵ In Rönnow’s case, the most plausible interpretation is to suggest that

 Ihre / Graffman (resp.) (1770), § V.  Cf. Olsson (2005), 9.  The stone is now lost, see Samnordisk runtextdatabas, DR 286 †. See also http://runer.ku.dk/ VisGenstand.aspx?Titel=Hunnestad-sten_5.  Cf. Olsson (2005), 10.  Olaus Magnus (1555), lib. 2, cap. 18.  Neikter / Törner (resp.) (1791), 22. In 1794, Sven Bergmanson defended the dissertation’s second part, Disquisitiones ulteriores de vestigiis Hunicae gentis in plagis Europae septentrionalibus.  quater apogr. 1] quatuor apogr. 2.  See Index to Atlantica, vol. 2, s.v. naves (1689).

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Fig. 5: Title-page of Johan Ihre’s dissertation De signo crucis in cippis runis ambigua Christianismi nota (1770). In § V, Ihre describes Hakon the Good’s participation in a pagan feast, where the Christian King makes the sign of the cross when declining to drink a beaker of ale dedicated to Odin. Photo: Uppsala University Library.

the poet is referring to the other image on the spectacular Tullstorp Stone (see fig. 4). Besides the images, this tenth-century artifact contains a runic text. The text records that the rock was raised in honor of an individual by the name of Ulf. The figure at the bottom of the stone represents a ship with small shields on its starboard side.

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Today, the ship is identified as a Byzantine galley and not a Viking construction.⁴⁶ Depending on how we count the number of shields, we can choose to see anywhere from twelve to fourteen circles. Thus, Rönnow could have counted them as fourteen, which would give twenty-eight shields covering both the starboard and the port side of the ship.  – . Assurguntque Tibi patrium Svidiodia regnum Ubsala prisca tuens, Gottica ⁴⁷ busta Themis. (They are drawing themselves up in your honor, ancient Uppsala that is watching over Svitjod, the country of our fathers, and Themis, who is watching over the Gothic tombs.)

The distich refers to the two historical cores of the Swedish realm, Svealand (or Svitjod) and Götaland. Svealand denotes the region around the Lake of Mälaren, where we also find Uppsala. Authors like Rönnow were familiar with the name of Svitjod through Snorre Sturalsson’s Edda, which was published in 1665 by the Danish historian Peder Resenius.⁴⁸ The Danish scholar provided the edition with translations into Latin and Danish. Uppsala as the place where the old ancestors of the Swedes worshipped their gods was also treated in the above-mentioned Atlantica. ⁴⁹ The epithet prisca refers to that pagan time in Swedish history. Götaland is referred to as Themis, the goddess of divine order and law, as it was there that the earliest provincial laws of the region, Östgötalagen, were written down. This Östgötalagen, together with Upplandslagen, was one of the first medieval laws to be published by the Swedish National Heritage Board.⁵⁰ The Swedish official and poet Olof Hermelin praises the city of Linköping, the cultural and political center of East Götaland, for its Themis in his collection of poems Hecatompolis Suionum (The hundred cities of the Swedes): Nondum coelesti radiabat luce Bootes, Cum fixit sedes hic Themis alma suas. Juraque dictavit dubio non caeca recessu, Et vidit finem jam nova rixa suum. ⁵¹ (The North did not yet shine with celestial light, when Themis had kindly installed her seat here. Clear-sighted she dictated the laws when the situation was unclear, and then brought new brawls to their end.)

 Olsson / Rosborn (2014), [2].  Gottica apogr. 2] Gotthica apogr. 1.  Lindroth (1975), 277.  Uppsala’s foundation is mentioned in Johannes Magnus’ Historia, lib. 1, cap. 6. Its great age is discussed throughout the first volume of Rudbeck’s Atlantica. Pre-Christian sacrifices at Uppsala River are treated in several of its books, e. g. in tom. 3, cap. 10, § 2.  Widenberg (2006), 174.  For a Swedish translation of Hermelin’s poem and commentary, see Hermelin (2010), 52– 53, 160 – 161.

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 – . Denique tot monstrat serpens intortus in orbes Tot mensuram orbes ⁵² nominis esse Tui. (Next, the serpent, twisted into circles, shows that the circles are as many as the number contained in your name.)

One of Rönnow’s drawings in the Bautil, no. 1166, represents an image of a largescale serpent, surrounded by the following text: »Björnger lät resa denna sten efter sin broder Ravn, sven hos Gunnulv i Svitjod« (»Björnger built this stone after his brother Ravn, a man at Gunnulv’s in Svitjod«). The rock is one of the so called Simris Stones in South Scania.⁵³ The serpent’s coils are easily counted as twelve, which gives Rönnow a wonderful chance to connect this image to Charles XII’s name and so to supply the stone with a prodigious message.  – . Quo venerabilius cum nulla audiverit aetas, Occupet osorum turpior ora pudor; Pallori mixtus nigricanti, Cynthia qualem Terris ostendit luminis orba, pudor. (As no other age has heard of a more venerable name than yours, the more disgraceful may be the shame that seizes the faces of your jealous haters. This shame is blended with blackish paleness, such paleness as the Moon, when it is bereft of light, exhibits to the world.)

Rönnow wants the enemies to be ashamed. To produce these two distiches, he reuses the phrase ora pudor that ends the pentameter line in Ov. Am. 2, 5, 33, and Am. 3, 6, 78. By repeating the word pudor in the second pentameter, Rönnow creates a powerful anaphora. Pallori mixtus nigricanti, Cynthia qualem] The line is inevitably inspired by Prop. el. 2, 5, 29 – 30: »crede mihi, quamuis contemnas murmura famae, / hic tibi pallori, Cynthia, uersus erit.« For the image of the Moon as pale, cf. Ov. Met. 14, 367: »niveae vultum confundere Lunae.«  – . Insuper hunc Tibi do non parvi ponderis Ensem Extractum e Thori, CAROLE MAGNE, lacu. (Moreover, I am giving you this sword, not of slight weight, that is drawn out of the lake of Thor, o great Charles.)

The poet describes a sword found in the lake of Thor. The note preserved in apograph 2 reports that the sword is also reproduced in the Bautil: »Ensis hic Thorsiöensis delineatus cernitur in Bautil Jöransonii p. 319.« (»This sword from Torsjö is seen delineated in Göransson’s Bautil on page 319.«).⁵⁴ It is an unusual image for this catalog, as the drawing represents an item that is not a runic stone.

 orbes apogr. 2] orbis apogr. 1.  Samnordisk textdatabas, DK 344. See also http://runer.ku.dk/VisGenstand.aspx?Titel=Simrissten_1.  Samuel Älf’s collection, vol. W25: XV, fol. 334v.

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 – . Ex ferro et fulvo fabrefactus longior aere Majoris mundi signa verenda gerit. (Made of steel and yellow copper and rather long, it carries the revered signs of a greater civilization.)

After having described the sword’s material side, Rönnow mentions that it carries a portentous sign. The Bautil offers an enlarged picture of the symbol found on its handle. There, the Christian cross is represented twice. The poet finishes the distich with a new reference to the glorious past of his nation’s forefathers.  – . Hic, reor, occulta pollet virtute. Triumphos Hic Tibi promittit, tempora laeta Solo. (It exercises power – I think – through its hidden virtue, and it promises you triumphs in war and happy times to the country.)

Rönnow makes it clear that he has a prophetic role. In his opinion, the recently discovered sword will bring luck to Charles and to Sweden.  – . O fugite hinc hostes: procul hinc avertite puppes. In capulo Terror, cuspide Morta ⁵⁵ sedet. (Flee away from here, enemies. Turn your ships far away from here. Terror sits on the sword’s handle, and Morta at its point.)

The reader meets personified Terror and Morta. According to Greek mythology, the god of terror, Deimos, was the son of Ares, the god of war, and his figure was usually associated with warlike activities. In Roman mythology, Morta is one of the three Fates and the goddess of death. Cf. Gell. 3, 16, 11: »tria sunt nomina Parcarum, Nona, Decima, Morta.« procul hinc avertite] Cf. Verg. Aen. 6, 258: »›procul o, procul este, profani,‹ / conclamat uates«, Sil. Pun. 17, 28 – 29: »et procul hinc, moneo, procul hinc, quaecumque profanae, / ferte gradus […].«  – . Circumstat Nemesis. Sequitur Discordia. Virgas Quae fert ultrices Gorgonis, atra praeit. (Nemesis stands around. Discord follows after. In front goes the black one, who carries Gorgon’s vengeful whips.)

Rönnow predicts a gloomy future for the enemy. They will be punished by three avenging goddesses, all three personified here too. Nemesis is the goddess of retribution. Discordia, Eris in Greek mythology, is the goddess of strife. Atra, the black one, is used here to represent the fury Tisiphone. Cf. Sil. Pun. 2, 529 – 530: »atram / Tisiphonem«, and Stat. Theb. 11, 75: »atra soror«. Whips are Tisiphone’s usual equipment.

 Morta apogr. 2] Morfa apogr. 1.

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Cf. Verg. Aen. 6, 570 – 572: »continuo sontis ultrix accinta flagello / Tisiphone quatit insultans, toruosque sinistra / intentans anguis uocat agmina saeua sororum.«  – . Bella dolosa Deus punit graviore ruina. Seraque perjuris est nocitura dies. (God avenges with a truly great disaster the wars that are caused by deceit. The day, late as it may be, will prove harmful to those who break their oath.)

For the idea of divine punishment as crime’s consequence, cf. Hor. carm. 3, 2, 31– 32: »raro antecedentem scelestum / deseruit pede Poena claudo.« ⁵⁶ Like Horace, Rönnow contends that the punishment may be slow but it will be sure. Justice as slow-footed is proverbial in ancient literature. Cf. Val. Max. 1, 1, ext. 3, 26 – 27: »lento enim gradu ad vindictam sui divina procedit ira, tarditatemque supplicii grauitate pensat.«  – . Consilio tamen est opus, o fortissime Regum! Res sine consilio certa subinde ruit. (Yet, there is need for wise judgement, o you bravest among kings! Without wise judgement, sound affairs will suddenly fall apart.)

Horace’s influence on Rönnow is now even more apparent. The necessity of wise judgement is the theme of Horace’s third Roman Ode, see carm. 3, 4, 65: »uis consili expers mole ruit sua«. ⁵⁷ With his allusion, Rönnow forebodes destruction to the enemies who use force without wisdom.  – . Quod si certa fides nostra haec adstruxerit arma, Sublimi tangam ⁵⁸ vertice Solis equos. (But if my sound loyalty shall have added more strength to your armory, I would touch the Sun’s horses with my upraised head.)

The distich is a direct reference to Hor. carm. 1, 1, 35 – 36: »quodsi me lyricis uatibus inseris, / sublimi feriam sidera uertice.« Rönnow’s wish to obtain Charles’ support uttered in the poem’s opening is now explained in the most explicit way: the poet desires to be counted among the best lyric poets. Ovid alludes to these lines in Horace when he claims immortality for his own work in the final book of his Metamorphoses. Moreover, the closing part of the Metamorphoses, 15, 871– 879, resembles Horace’s self-reflective ode 3, 30 (»exegi monumentum […]«): Iamque opus exegi, quod nec Iouis ira nec ignis nec poterit ferrum nec edax abolere uetustas. cum uolet, illa dies, quae nil nisi corporis huius ius habet, incerti spatium mihi finiat aeui:

 For a commentary, see Nisbet / Rudd (2004), 34– 35.  For a thorough analysis of this verse in Horace, see Nisbet / Rudd (2004), 75 – 76.  tangam apogr. 1] tanquam apogr. 2; tangam is suggested in the margin of apogr. 2.

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parte tamen meliore mei super alta perennis astra ferar, nomenque erit indelebile nostrum, quaque patet domitis Romana potentia terris, ore legar populi, perque omnia saecula fama, siquid habent ueri uatum praesagia, uiuam. (And now my work is done, which neither the wrath of Jove, nor fire, nor sword, nor the gnawing tooth of time shall ever be able to undo. When it will, let that day come which has no power save over this mortal frame, and end the span of my uncertain years. Still in my better part I shall be borne immortal far beyond the lofty stars and I shall have an undying name. Wherever Rome’s power extends over the conquered world, I shall have mention on men’s lips, and, if the prophecies of bards have any truth, through all the ages shall I live in fame.)⁵⁹

As Rönnow is about to close his work too, this open reference to Horace, and perhaps also to Ovid, must be seen as an expression of his hope of future fame. The phrase certa fides in line 39 is used to create an antithesis to the phrase res sine consilio certa subinde ruit in the previous distich. The uncertainty of affairs that are not controlled wisely is opposed to the poet’s determined loyalty to his king and country.  – . Vastaque coerulei convexi lumina clarus Auspice Te ⁶⁰ cogam legibus ire novis. (Under your leadership and with my brilliant fame I would force azure heaven’s vast brightness to move according to new laws.)

Rönnow announces his ambitious project: as Charles’ protégé, he will make the celestial bodies move according to new regulations. This is the bard’s way to introduce a new historical shift: the Swedish empire will recover from its military setbacks and regain its former glory. Scripsi Ystadii die 1. Sept[embris]. MDCCXVI. (I wrote this in Ystad on 1 September 1716.)

IV Conclusion The Scanicae Runae has several clear purposes. These purposes are grounded in Rönnow’s professional, ideological, and political interests. First of all, Rönnow constructs an image of himself as Charles’ own prophet and political adviser. He achieves this by appropriating Horace’s lyric poetry: he alludes both to Horace’s verses

 Ovid (2014), translated by Frank Justus Miller, revised by G. P. Goold for the Loeb Classical Library.  Te apogr. 1] The word is missing in apogr. 2, but is added by the copyist in the margin.

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on moral issues and to the Augustan poet’s self-promotion in carm. 1, 1. These strategies of self-advancement are Rönnow’s instrument to seek Charles XII’s patronage. Secondly, Rönnow glorifies Sweden as a country with an extraordinary history. He does this by interpreting the images of several runic stones from the province of Scania and a medieval sword found in the same region. According to Rönnow, these old artifacts contain narratives of the glorious past of the Swedish nation. The poet’s interpretations of the old remains may at the first sight seem to be forgeries, but on closer inspection they turn out to be a piece of early modern antiquarianism: Rönnow looks at these artifacts as a comparatist, who in his explanations relies on the work of contemporary antiquaries and historiographers. Thirdly, the Scanicae Runae communicates a political message: even though Sweden’s circumstances are challenging, the anti-Swedish coalition will split up and Charles will come out of the war as its victor. Once again, the imaginative uses of the past help Rönnow propagate his patriotic agenda. There is one more perspective to be added to our analysis, the emotional one. Rönnow was himself a Scanian. He was born in the town of Åhus that had recently been taken from Denmark. His father, Casten Rönnow (ca. 1630 – 1691/92), was a vicar of Åhus and one of those Scanian clergymen who contributed to making Scania Swedish. For his loyalty to the Swedish crown, Casten Rönnow was richly rewarded by Charles XI, who enlarged the pastor’s benefices.⁶¹ The king’s gift also included a generous grant for Magnus Rönnow’s university studies. It now becomes clear that Rönnow’s ekphrastic verses on the Scanian runic stones are also a poetic tribute to his home region. Satisfying so many different needs, Rönnow’s poem is both an extraordinary piece of antiquarian work and an individual literary creation. The Scanicae Runae offers proof that the role of the early modern scholar could easily merge with that of the humanist bard. In fact, the practitioners of both professions saw ancient and medieval sources as the main prerequisite for their work, and they regularly used ancient cultures to justify the ideas and ideals of their own society.

Bibliography Manuscript Collections Gustaf Henrik von Müllern’s Collection, E 4837, Riksarkivet, Stockholm Samuel Älf’s Collection, vol. W25: XV, The Diocesan Library of Linköping

 Dahlberg (2014), 19.

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Primary Literature Columbus, Johannes (praeses) / Henrik Kolthoff (auctor), Disputatio de imperio Amazonum, Stockholm 1678. Göransson, Johan, Bautil, det är: alle Svea ok Götha rikens runstenar, upreste ifrån verldenes år 2000 til Christi år 1000, Stockholm 1750. Ihre, Johan / Johannes Wåhlberg (resp.), Dissertatio historica-literaria, de poëtis in Svio-Gothia Latinis, pars II, Uppsala 1740. Ihre, Johan / Jahannes Graffman (resp.), Specimen academicum de signo crucis in cippis Runicis ambigua Christianismi nota, Uppsala 1770. Kirchmayer, Georg Kaspar / Andreas Jäger (resp.), De lingua vetustissima Europae Scytho-Celtica et Gothica, Wittenberg 1686. Lagerlöf, Petrus / Daniel Norlindh (resp.), Dissertatio de draconibus, [Stockholm] 1685. Magnus, Johannes, Historia de omnibus Gothorum Sveonumque regibus, Rome 1554. Magnus, Olaus, Historia de gentibus septentrionalibus, Rome 1555. Neikter, Jacob Fredrik / Samuel Törner (resp.), Dissertatio de vestigiis Hunorum in Svecia, Uppsala 1791. Peringskiöld, Johan, Vita Theoderici Regis Ostrogothorum et Italiae, Stockholm 1699. Rudbeck, Olof, Atlantica sive Manheim (4 vols.), Uppsala 1679 – 1702. Rydelius, Andreas, »Oratio habita die Carolino 1715«, in: Andreæ Rydelii […] opuscula Latina. Collecta et edita a Joh. Henr. Lidén, Norrköping 1778. Swedenborg, Emanuel, Festivus Applausus in Caroli XII in Pomeraniam suam adventum. Edited, with Introduction, Translation and Commentary by Hans Helander, Uppsala 1985. Törner, Fabian / Andreas Sundius (resp.), Exercitium academicum de patria Amazonum, Uppsala 1716. Worm, Ole, Danicorum monumentorum libri sex, Copenhagen 1643.

Secondary Literature Antiquarianism and Intellectual Life in Europe and China, 1500 – 1800, ed. by Peter N. Miller / François Louis, Ann Arbor 2012. Dahlberg, Elena, The Voice of a Waning Empire: Selected Latin Poetry of Magnus Rönnow from the Great Northern War. Edited, with Introduction, Translation and Commentary, Uppsala 2014. Enenkel, Karl A. E., »The politics of antiquarianism: Neo-Latin treatises on cultural history as ideology and propaganda«, in: Discourses of Power: Ideology and Politics in Neo-Latin Literature, ed. by Karl A. E. Enenkel / Marc Laureys / Christoph Pieper, Hildesheim / Zürich / New York 2012. Hatton, Ragnhild, Charles XII of Sweden, London 1968. Hubbard, Margaret / R. G. M. Nisbet, A Commentary on Horace: Odes Book II, Oxford 1978. Laureys, Marc, »Political Action«, in: The Oxford Handbook of Neo-Latin, ed. by Sarah Knight / Stefan Tilg, Oxford 2015, 345 – 361. Lindroth, Sten, Svensk lärdomshistoria, vol. 2: Stormaktstiden, Stockholm 1975. Montgomery, Ingun, Sveriges kyrkohistoria, vol. 4: Enhetskyrkans tid, Stockholm 2002. Nisbet, R. G. M. / Niall Rudd, A Commentary on Horace: Odes Book III, Oxford 2004. Norris, Matthew, A Pilgrimage to the Past: Johannes Bureus and the Rise of Swedish Antiquarian Scholarship, 1600 – 1650, Lund 2016. Olsson, Göran, »Hunnestadsmonumentet – ett fornminne på tusenårsresa«, in: Ale: Historisk tidskrift från Skåne, Halland och Blekinge 4 (2005), 1 – 20.

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Olsson, Sven-Olle R. / Sven Rosborn, »Tullstorpsstenen: En av Skånelands omisteliga företeelser på Söderslätt«, published in 2014 at http://skanskaakademien.se/images/Allmant/Tullstorps stenen.pdf Östlund, Krister, Johan Ihre on the Origins and History of the Runes: Three Latin Dissertations from the mid 18th Century, Uppsala 2000. Ovid, Metamorphoses, tr. by Frank Justus Miller, rev. by G. P. Goold for the Loeb Classical Library, Cambridge, Mass. 2014. Sveriges runinskrifter, ed. by Kungl. Vitterhets Historie- och Antikvitets akademien, Stockholm 1900 ‒ today. Swain, Brian, Empire of Hope and Tragedy: Jordanes and the Invention of Roman-Gothic History, unpublished doctoral thesis, The Ohio State University 2014. Widenberg, Johanna, Fäderneslandets antikviteter: etnoterritoriella historiebruk och integrationssträvanden i den svenska statsmaktens antikvariska verksamhet ca 1600 – 1720, Uppsala 2006.

Websites and Databases Samnordisk runtextdatabas at http://www.nordiska.uu.se/forskn/samnord.htm Danske runeindskrifter at http://runer.ku.dk/

Bernhard Schirg

The Northern Face of January. Roman narratives of early cultural history (Janus, Saturn, Numa) and their appropriation in Swedish antiquarianism To visitors from the south, traveling to Sweden in the late seventeenth century meant a remarkable confrontation with alterity. For the Italian diplomat Lorenzo Magalotti (1637– 1712), visiting the courts, people, and universities of the North held an enormous potential for very curious observations. For many years Magalotti had traveled the length and breadth of Europe as ambassador of Cosimo III de’ Medici (r. 1670 – 1723). In 1674 his service to the Grand Duke of Tuscany eventually permitted him to travel as far as the northern limits of the continent, including regions such as Denmark, Sweden, and Finland.¹ Previously at the periphery of European perception, in the aftermath of the Thirty Years’ War (1618 – 1648) the Kingdom of Sweden had made an impressive rise to supremacy around the Baltic Sea. The travel journal Magalotti kept during his journey in Scandinavia constitutes an important testimony to the impressions made on the traveling diplomat by the increasing self-awareness of the late seventeenth-century Swedish Empire. At court in Stockholm and at universities around the Baltic Sea the nation’s artistic and academic life was now flourishing, after the significant boost it had received under Queen Christina (r. 1632– 1654) and her successors Charles X to XII, whose reigns mark a period known as ›Karolinska tiden‹ (›the Caroline Era‹, 1654– 1718). Despite Magalotti’s involvement in academies all across Europe, Swedish academia features only marginally in the travel journal that has been preserved.² Given this scarcity of references, however, one passage stands out as all the more notable. When describing his visit to Uppsala in the summer of 1674, the Italian diplomat reports in great detail an academic project that struck him as most peculiar. The famous Swedish polymath Olof Rudbeck (1630 – 1702), known to his contemporaries as an accomplished anatomist, botanist, and one of the discoverers of the lymphatic cycle, was currently engaged on a work of encyclopedic extent that made very curious claims on behalf of his nation: Note: An early version of this paper was presented in November 2015 in the salone of the Villa Lante in Rome (on which more below). I would like to thank Simo Örmä and the Villa’s staff for their hospitality.  As an introduction to Magalotti’s journey to Sweden see Olmi (1997). For a more recent biographical overview see Preti/Matt (2006).  Olmi (1997), 57– 59. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638042-008

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This man [sc. Rudbeck] is currently working on a book, and is already well on with it. He has first written it in Swedish and is now translating it into Latin. I am told this book is intended to show clearly that Scandinavia was the first land lived in after the division of the earth by the children of Noah, and that all the races had their origins there. He believes that the Gauls or French come from the centre of Lapland, where he finds a river named Gallus, and he wants the Salian Law to have been devised in Uppsala or at Salberg, because these are situated at the Sala river. He claims to provide evidence that the temple of Janus in Rome was modeled on the old temple in Uppsala, as there are not two in the entire world that resemble each other like these. He traces back to the Gothic language, or Swedish if you will, the etymology of all the names of the Greek gods, something that Plato by his own confession could not achieve in his own Greek language. And finally he claims that the voyages of Ulysses, Aeneas, and the Argonauts took place in the Baltic Sea, thus locating the Cumaean Sibyl in the Gothic gulf and the Pillars of Hercules in the Sundt straits.³

These curious arguments, interwoven with hundreds of others here left unmentioned, would be fully unfolded in a massive work of approximately 900 pages in Swedish and Latin translation. Five years after Magalotti’s visit, it eventually appeared as the Atlantica (1679).⁴ The title of the volume relates to the work’s signature claim (omitted in Magalotti’s outline): according to the key paragraph of the Atlantica setting out its central theses, the legendary island of Atlantis described in Plato’s dialogues can be identified as the Scandinavian peninsula, while Rudbeck’s hometown Uppsala was the Atlantean metropolis, described by the Greek philosopher as an early centre of high civilization. Over some decades, the comprehensive reading of classical mythology that Rudbeck promoted rose to become an integral part of Sweden’s national narrative. As well as providing a cross-section of some of the more staggering claims found in the Atlantica, Magalotti also hints at the variety of methods its author applied in their support: with painstaking effort and by applying the meticulous precision of a leading anatomist, Rudbeck engaged in comparative linguistics and farflung ety-

 I mainly follow the English translation provided in Olmi (1997), 60, but fill his omissions with my own translation. For the original see Magalotti, Relazione di Svezia, 291: »Questo va componendo un libro e lo ha ridotto a buon termine: l’ha prima scritto in svezzese ed ora lo traduce in latino; con il quale mi dicono che intenda provare chiaramente la Scandinavia essere stata la prima terra abitata dopo la divisione che fecero i figliuoli di Noè, e dalla medesima esser uscite tutte le altre nazioni. Fa venire i Galli o Franzesi dal mezzo della Lapponia, ove trova un fiume che si chiama Gallus, e vuole che la legge Salica sia stata fatta a Upsalia ovvero a Salberg, perché sono situati sul fiume Sala. Pretende mostrare con evidenza che il tempio di Giano posto in Roma sia stato fatto sul modello di quel del vecchio tempo d’Upsalia, non ve n’essendo in tutto il mondo due che si somiglino quanto questi. Egli trova nella lingua gotica, o svezzese che dir vogliamo, l’etimologia di tutti i nomi delli dei della Grecia, cosa che non poté fare, per confessione di lui medesimo, Platone nella stessa lingua greca. Infine pretende che i viaggi d’Ulisse, d’Enea e degli stessi Argonauti sieno stati fatti nel mar Baltico, ponendo la Sibilla Cumea sul golfo gotico e le colonne d’Ercole allo stretto del Sundt.«  For introductions to Rudbeck and the Atlantica see King (2005), Eriksson (2002), Eriksson (1994). For a recent overview of contemporary scholarship see Roling (2017) and the introduction to the present volume.

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mological studies, in antiquarian research and archaeological fieldwork at the outskirts of modern Uppsala, in order to buttress his readings. All this fed into an extensive appropriation of classical mythology as a source for the glorious history of an early Swedish empire. For the Swede, the origin of ancient Greek and Latin texts lay in the North, whose natural and cultural phenomena constitute the basis for mythology. The purest reflexes of their earliest forms, Rudbeck claims, can be found in the Norse texts that were gradually being reintroduced into scholarship in his own century.⁵ Much of the content of Greek and Latin sources, he argues, had been subject to linguistic deterioration or misunderstandings, as mythologemes first narrated in the Gothic language – that is, for Rudbeck, ancient Swedish – were transferred into recipient cultures further south when the first military expeditions left Sweden. By duly allowing for inevitable transformations – a process famously emblematized in the image of Rudbeck dissecting the globe that precedes the Atlantica’s volume of plates (Fig. 4 in Kristoffer Neville’s contribution to this volume) – these texts were able to form a central pillar in study of the obscure early history of ancient Swedish civilization; the material heritage now being unearthed and explored constituted another. Published at the peak of Swedish dominance in the Baltic region and in Europe, Rudbeck’s monumental work pursued no less a claim than that the empire had now returned to a territorial extent, military power, and cultural splendor that it had already possessed thousands of years ago. By the time of Rudbeck’s death in 1702, the Atlantica had grown into a total of four volumes, exhibiting an increasingly complex structure that baffled contemporaries as well as modern scholars. The structure of the work is notoriously problematic. Within and across volumes, a large number of individual arguments (some of them already reported by Magalotti) are closely intertwined and further expanded to illuminate each other. While this aimed to render the Swedish reading of classical mythology even more compelling, it made it increasingly complicated to single out individual arguments for explanation or criticism.⁶ The work’s baroque outline and interwovenness make it a substantial challenge to pick out arguments from its capillary structure and describe them in a linear narrative. Yet such limitation is necessary if we are to gain an insight into its line of argument and the author’s methods, as well as how the Atlantica relates to contemporary debates and how its self-confident claims were received in Rudbeck’s lifetime and beyond. With the aim of providing a representative example in this article, I will here examine the Swedish appropriation of narratives that the Romans told about their early cultural history. Beginning from the god Janus, whose temple is mentioned already in Magalotti’s journal, and including Saturn, King Numa, and his consort Egeria, this will provide a case study for Rudbeck’s attempt to reverse the vectors  On this process see the magisterial contribution by Gottskálk Jenssen to the present volume.  It was a standard response of Rudbeck to his critics that his arguments cannot be read (or attacked) in an isolated manner. As he repeatedly emphasizes, only a complete reading could unfold the harmony resulting from the many interlocking parts.

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of cultural migration between the Mediterranean and the Baltic Sea, and its reception in contemporary scholarship. Although ground-breaking studies were presented by Swedish scholars in the twentieth-century, fresh perspectives on the Atlantica and its longue durée have frequently been inhibited by bias and reservations about the work’s peculiar nature. This is already perceptible in the preview provided Lorenzo Magalotti, as described above.⁷ After Arnaldo Momigliano (1908 – 1987) renewed scholarly interest in antiquarian studies around the middle of the twentieth century,⁸ the Swedish scholar Alan Ellenius introduced seventeenth-century Sweden to international scholarship on antiquarianism in a seminal article published in the Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes. However, revisiting the Atlantica, he dismisses Rudbeck’s work as a scientific dead end. For Ellenius, the true champion who linked seventeenth-century antiquarian practice and early archaeology in Sweden with the discipline in a more modern sense was the Uppsala professor Johannes Scheffer (1621– 1679), a fierce opponent of Rudbeck whom Ellenius praises as a critical spirit who offered exemplary resistance to the nationalistic folly raging in contemporary scholarship.⁹

Janus as pivotal figure in early Roman cultural history Such assessments have long inhibited a fruitful exploration of the actual impact the Atlantica exerted in its own time as a scientific paradigm in Swedish academia, of the debates its manifold claims sparked at home and abroad, and of how these fit into the wider framework of the history of science. The figure of Janus and his temple, being closely related both to Roman narratives of the early history of their civilization and culture and also to pivotal debates in contemporary academic discourse, provides a particularly suitable vantage point from which to approach these questions. The god Janus may be best known as an emblem for rites of passage or transitions of time or status, emblematized by his two-faced iconography, and by the closing and opening of the doors in his Roman temple marking the change between times of peace and war. For the Romans, however, Janus was also a pivotal figure in their narrative of Rome’s cultural heritage.¹⁰ One of the central testimonies to

 See below, n. 89.  See the overview by Kristoffer Neville in the present volume.  See Ellenius (1957), esp. p. 77: »In this situation Schefferus developed into a fighting humanist; he follows his critical line without being diverted by political pressure or by the overwhelming trend of historical romanticism.«  As an introduction see Graf (1998).

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his cultural significance is found in the Fasti of the Roman poet Ovid, which features prominently in Rudbeck’s appropriation. Organized according to the Roman calendar, the Fasti’s opening book on January mainly revolves around »two-labeled Janus, opener of the softly gliding year«, whose name the poet derives from the god himself.¹¹ As Ovid relates, Romulus, the founder of Rome, had originally devised a calendar comprising ten months only. Only under King Numa (the next in line among the legendary Roman kings) were two more added, one of them honoring Janus, whose cult and temple originated under Numa.¹² Introducing the god’s general history, Ovid emphasizes the unique status of Janus as a truly Roman deity with no Greek antecedent.¹³ Offering a euhemeristic reading, the poet explains that, when the gods still roamed freely among mortals, Janus originally resided on the slopes rising from the Tiber that bear his name (Janiculum, now the Gianicolo),¹⁴ thus literally watching over the site across the river where Rome would later rise under the kings from Romulus onward. Over a long passage of approximately 150 hexameters the Fasti take the form of a dialogue between the speaker of the poem and the god Janus.¹⁵ After a first introduction, the poet dares to ask the god why the Romans decided to shift the beginning of the New Year from the date in blossoming spring it originally held in the Romulean Calendar to the wintery month now named after him. Responding, Janus points to the renewal of the sun after the winter solstice as the phenomenon responsible for this change. A further passage introduces material evidence to the discussion of early Roman history, raising the question why ancient coins depicting Janus’ two faces show a ship on their verso.¹⁶ As the god reveals, the vessel alludes to the arrival of Saturn under the reign of Janus: fleeing from Jupiter, this god of the sickle eventually hid in Latium (which is thus derived from ›latere‹: ›to hide‹), and sought asylum with Janus, who was residing on the Gianicolo at that time.¹⁷ Other central writings by Roman authors reinforce the link between Janus and the arrival of Saturn in Latium as a key episode in the City’s pre-history. Virgil in his Aeneid, for example, has King Evander guide the refugees arriving from Troy through the remains of the residences established by Janus and Saturn on the western slopes rising from the Tiber: »the relics and memorials of men of old. This fort Father Janus built, that Saturn; Janiculum was this called, that Saturnia.«¹⁸

 Ovid, Fasti, 1, 65: »Iane biceps, anni tacite labentis origo«. I quote James G. Frazer’s translation.  Ovid, Fasti, 1, 27– 44. See also Pliny, Natural History, 34, 33.  See Ovid, Fasti, 1, 89 – 90: »quem tamen esse deum te dicam, Iane biformis? / nam tibi par nullum Graecia numen habet.«  See Ovid, Fasti, 1, 241– 8.  See Ovid, Fasti, 1, 95 – 288.  An as from the middle or late Republic; see Graf (1998), col. 860.  See Ovid, Fasti, 1, 229 – 254.  Virgil, Aeneid, 8, 357– 358: »hanc Ianus pater, hanc Saturnus condidit arcem; / Ianiculum huic, illi fuerat Saturnia nomen«. I quote Henry Rushton Fairclough’s translation.

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On this basis, too, the humanist Francesco Petrarca (1304 – 1374) would fashion the Gianicolo as a cradle of early Rome in his epic Africa. ¹⁹ Furthermore, Roman authors from post-classical times similarly emphasized the encounter of Saturn and Janus as marking a new level of culture in the early history of Italy, that of agriculture. According to Macrobius (ca. 385 – 430), Janus decided to share his empire with the newly arrived Saturn in gratitude for the latter’s introduction of husbandry to Italy. »So when Saturn arrived with his fleet«, Macrobius relates in his Saturnalia, »he was received hospitably by Janus and taught him agriculture; and when Janus improved his way of life, which had been wild and uncouth before the fruits of the earth were discovered, he rewarded Saturn by making him a partner in his rule«.²⁰ In his Life of Numa (the Roman king who is said to have installed the cult of Janus in the Eternal City), already the Greek author Plutarch (ca. 45 – 125) had related this episode of agricultural transition to the god’s two-faced iconography, which for Plutarch symbolizes the passage from a savage state to the time of agriculture in the Latium area.²¹

The Swedes sneak into Janus’ sanctuary: the antiquarian debate on the pagan temple of Uppsala Saturn’s arrival in Italy and his joint reign with Janus over the territories northwest of the Tiber thus form a central strand in the narrative the Romans maintained about their early cultural history. Against this background, the massive intrusion into its key episodes on which Rudbeck would embark must have been even more irritating for contemporaries such as Lorenzo Magalotti, who was born in the Eternal City and received his first education at the local Collegium of the Jesuits.²² In his report, the Italian traveler briefly mentions the claim Rudbeck intends to stake to the architectural origins of Janus’ temple in his forthcoming volume, which he declares to have been modeled on the old pagan temple at Uppsala. In the 1679 volume, we find this line of argument embedded in the Atlantica’s core paragraph (c. 7.5), in which Rudbeck adduces more than a hundred arguments in support of his identification of Scandinavia with Atlantis as described in Plato’s Critias and Timaeus and other sources. Considerable attention here is given to the

 See Petrarch, Africa, 8, 925 – 937: »Iam Tybridis alti / Gurgite transmisso, dextre super aggere ripe / Etruscum tetigere latus […] Iam flumina preter / Descendunt, collemque vident ubi regia Iani / Prisca fuit, iuxtaque domus Saturnia quondam: / Ausonie hic regum et Latie primordia gentis / Ultima condiscunt et nomina clara virorum.«  Macrobius, Saturnalia, 1, 7, 21: »hic igitur Ianus, cum Saturnum classe pervectum excepisset hospitio et ab eo edoctus peritiam ruris ferum illum et rudem ante fruges cognitas victum in melius redegisset, regni eum societate muneravit.« I have adapted Robert A. Kaster’s translation.  Plutarch, Life of Numa, 19, 6.  Preti/Matt (2006), 300.

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site of Gamla Uppsala, located only few kilometers outside the modern city (see Fig. 77 in Fig. 1 for a historical panorama as well as Kristoffer Neville’s contribution to this volume). Introducing the results of geographical surveys and archaeological fieldwork, Rudbeck brings the site’s geography and physical remains into line with the complex water channels and temples of the Atlantean metropolis described in Plato’s dialogues. At the center of the concentric system of water channels, as we read in the Greek philosopher, stood a lavishly decorated temple dedicated to the sea-god Poseidon and his consort.²³ For Rudbeck, a careful examination of objects found in situ at Gamla Uppsala and surveys of the foundation walls of the local church, which he had conducted on various occasions, revealed that this site once boasted the same central and lavishly decorated sanctuary that is also described as the famous pagan temple of Uppsala in other sources.²⁴ In his view, the medieval church extant at Gamla Uppsala incorporates this building, which is square in outline (Fig. 2) at its center crossing (Fig. 1). In consequence, the Atlantica aimed at no less a goal than to make the administrative and religious heart of the naval empire of ancient Sweden physically tangible – the site where, according to Rudbeck, the queens of Atlantis gave birth to new kings and where justice was dispensed. Presuming a square floor plan was essential in order to blend in with the physical findings and the archaeological hypotheses about Gamla Uppala. Furthermore, this allowed a connection with the etymology that Rudbeck advocated for his hometown. For Rudbeck, the name Uppsala should be translated as ›open hall‹, thus referring to a specific temple-type of open form and square outline.²⁵ As the author concedes on this occasion, a contemporary reader may judge a square outline as rather improbable for the pagan temple mentioned in literary sources, given the rarity of extant buildings of that type. Among the many Roman temples, only the one dedicated to Janus at Rome still attests to this ›penetrable and open form‹ (›pervium et apertum‹), which for him is also reflected in the name Uppsala. In support of this reading, the author even adduces a most authoritative witness on the ancient Swedish language: the famous codex Argenteus (›silver bible‹, also known as Wulfila’s bible) kept at the local library, a book Magalotti ranks among the main sights of the university city.²⁶ Rudbeck claims that an essential passage has been treated incorrectly by the two editors who had previously worked on this

 See the description of the temple in Plato, Critias, 116C – E.  For example, a rusted nail with traces of precious metals as found in his excavations (depicted as Fig. 78 in Fig. 1) testified to the ancient splendor of the building as described in the literary sources; see Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 1, 261.  See Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 1, c. 7.5.73.  See Magalotti, Relazione di Svezia, 290.

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Fig. 1: The ancient church of Gamla Uppsala depicted as integrating the old pagan temple at its crossing. From the volume of plates accompanying the first volume of the Atlantica (1679). Courtesy of Uppsala University Library.

premier source for the Gothic language (that is, for the Rudbeckians, ancient Swedish).²⁷ Antiquarian scholarship is introduced to make up for the lack of tangible material evidence in further support of this notion. The Atlantica’s volume of plates features several reconstructions of the Roman site from Roman antiquarians (Fig. 2), while coins copied from Hubert Goltzius (1526 – 1583) and Guillaume Du Choul (1496 – 1560) illustrate the temple with the gates closed (Fig. 3 and Fig. 4).²⁸ This, Rudbeck underlines, has to be considered the most ancient form of sacred architecture, which originated with the pagan temple in Sweden. From here it later spread to other regions. It is only because of the decay and despoliation of pagan temples in

 His argument hinges on John 10:23 (»And Jesus walked in the temple in Solomon’s porch«); cf. Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 1, 244.  Comparison with the Swedish original shows that the reference to the volume of plates in the Latin translation is erroneous. On Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 1, 252, the Latin text refers to tab. 41 D (non-existent); the Swedish text to tab. 22 D. This, however, shows a temple of Mars Ultor instead of the temple of Janus mentioned in the text. The intended reference is probably tab. 22 C, which has been reproduced from Goltzius, Imperatoris Augusti Caesaris Nomismata, LVII.

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Fig. 2: Facing reconstructions of the temple of Janus (left) and the old pagan temple of Uppsala (right). From the volume of plates accompanying the first volume of the Atlantica (1679). Courtesy of Uppsala University Library.

Christian times, the author concludes, that there are no additional extant testimonies of this type. Originally, however, this had been widespread across the Mediterranean area.²⁹ Subsequently, Rudbeck goes to great lengths to place his very specific assumption about the original outline of the temple, which ties in with his etymological hypothesis for the name of Uppsala, among similar temple types, here reconstructed from authorities such as Vitruvius and his commentator Guillaume Philandrier (1505 – 1563), as well as further numismatic evidence.³⁰

 Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 1, 249: »Aetate igitur Philandri oppido pauca superfuisse necesse est templa ad modum illum omnium antiquissimum extructa. Romae quoque multa nunc visuntur templa, quae incendiis olim vastata et postmodum restaurata quandam murorum inter columnas interpolationem nacta sunt, ut usibus et institutis hominum Christianorum inservire possent adeo ut praeter unum illud Jani templum ab omni parte pervium et apertum, cujus iconem Tab. 13 Fig. 47 [see Fig. 2 in this article] dedimus; aliud Romae reperiatur nullum.«  These forms include: »1) rotunda et undique sine cellis, 2) rotunda cum cellis, 3) quadrata et undique aperta sine cellis, 4) quadrata cum cellis, 5) sex vel octo angulorum templa undique aperta sine

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Fig. 3: Reproductions of Roman coins depicting sacred buildings. From the volume of plates accompanying the first volume of the Atlantica (1679). Courtesy of Uppsala University Library.

Fig. 4: Model of the temple of Janus as reproduced (by tracing and therefore appearing in reverse) in the Atlantica’s volume of plates (fig. 22 Q). From Du Choul, Discours de la religion, 17.

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How can we explain the considerable effort the author invests to pinpoint the shape of the ancient sanctuary at Uppsala and to link it to the temple at Rome that was still ascribed to Janus back then? It is important to keep in mind that already around the time when Rudbeck was visited by Magalotti the location of the ancient pagan temple at Uppsala had shifted to the center of an escalating dispute among Swedish antiquarians, who had speculated about its relationship with the Hyperborean priests of Apollo as described by Hecataeus.³¹ Two years earlier, in 1672, Rudbeck’s loyal friend and colleague Olof Verelius (1618 – 1682) – a translator of Icelandic sources and a key figure for the inception of the Atlantica –³² had also dwelled extensively on the pagan temple in his commentary on the Hervarar saga ok Heiðreks, since the Norse text featured a passage »At Upsaulum«. In this context, Verelius had already presented a graphic reconstruction of the putatively square building and advocated a localization at Gamla Uppsala.³³ The view maintained by Verelius, then adopted and elaborated by Rudbeck in the first volume of the Atlantica, was vehemently rejected by the aforementioned Johannes Scheffer.³⁴ The form and location of the pagan temple described in sources such as Adam of Bremen rose to become a touchstone in increasing rivalries that flared among Swedish antiquarians in the 1670s. The implications of its localization and reconstruction as refined in the Atlantica were serious for the party of Verelius and Rudbeck. In consequence, they resorted to backing their views with documents of doubtful origin. In addition to dubious sources appearing out of nowhere, modern scholars now agree that either Rudbeck himself or his brother-in-law, the ill-reputed Carl Lundius, personally tampered with the venerable manuscript of the Silver Bible to streamline its wording, in order to prepare the ground for Rudbeck’s interpretation: by changing just a few strokes on the fourth-century parchment, the Gothic translation of the Gospels had been turned into linguistic evidence in perfect harmony with the Rudbeckians’ architectural etymology of their hometown.³⁵

The reign of Janus and Saturn and the early cultural history of Latium The Rudbeckians’ resort to the falsification of evidence underlines the implications of the god Janus and his temple for their argument. At a most prominent position in the Atlantica it had been presented as a striking example of the cultural dependency cellis, 6) sexangula templa cum cellis, 7) templa cum cellis et in harum fronte collocatis porticibus.« See Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 1, (249 – 252). The temple of Janus is identified as type four.  On this debate see already Ellenius (1957), 62.  See Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 1, 3.  See Verelius, Hervarar saga, 62– 66.  See Ellenius (1957).  See Johansson (1955).

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of the Mediterranean area upon the North: together with Janus’ temple extant at Rome, the remains of the structure at Gamla Uppsala – which its author revealed to be integrated into the medieval church – constituted tangible fixed points of a vector that describes a massive cultural export southwards initiated by the early kings of Atlantis. A large number of episodes in classical mythology, Rudbeck argues, relate to the tremendous impact of the Swedish Atlantean military expeditions and the subsequent intercultural contacts around the Mediterranean Sea. Saturn is a key figure in this process, as is further elucidated towards the end of the Atlantica’s first volume (c. 27). The god is here identified as the first king of Atlantis and declared to be the same as names such as ›Sadur‹, ›Attin‹ or ›Bore‹ that feature in Nordic sources. On this occasion, Rudbeck points to Saturn and Janus as central figures in the ›classical‹ narrative of early cultural achievements in Italy, a status that made them a bridgehead for his further appropriations. According to Rudbeck, a large number of authors – among them Diodorus Siculus, Herodotus, Plato, Hesiod, and Jordanes – had already indicated that Saturn, the cultural hero of early Italy, set out from the North. Backing up his argument with the Edda, he maintains that when the first expedition was imminent, this first Atlantean king deliberately adopted ›Niord‹ (that is ›North‹) as another of his many names in order to signify his northern origin to those encountered en route. ³⁶ For the god Janus, however, an individual discussion was postponed to the second volume, which appeared a decade later (1689). This volume, as the author announces in the opening chapters, aims to explore more systematically the Nordic origins underlying the narratives found in classical mythology. Having first presented a list of more than a hundred myths and their Nordic antecedents, Rudbeck delves into the cultural and astronomical phenomena of the North, interpreting them as the natural-historical substrates that had first given birth to the mythologemes encountered in skaldic texts. For him, these compositions by the northern poets were the premier literary accounts of these myths, but they had been transformed considerably in a process of transcultural reception, occasionally changing the original beyond recognition. For example, the myth of phoenix – that legendary bird that goes up in flames and is born again from its ashes – is here explained as a poetic account based on the course that the sun takes in the High North. Its disappearance behind and re-emergence from the reddish horizon around the winter solstice, Rudbeck argues in the second volume, is poetically described in the Eddic narration of the ›Fanin‹, a legendary bird that flies south in winter. Once it has arrived at that hemisphere, it soon dies, resurrects, and returns to the North after a fixed timespan. Already in a 1674 treatise addressed to his friend Rudbeck, the learned Verelius had gone to great lengths to reveal that the word ›Fan‹ – a swear-word still common in modern Swed-

 See Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 1, 699 – 700.

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ish – and hence also the Fanin encountered in Norse mythology – originally referred to the highest god venerated by the ancient Swedes, that is the sun. In a comparative reading of Norse and classical sources, Rudbeck now revealed that the narrative of a bird spending 300 days alive and 65 dead in fact refers to the realities of the northern natural world, that is, respectively, the number of days during which the sun shines on these territories, and the period during which it disappears under the horizon in winter. For him, the phoenix – soon mistaken by the Greeks for a real bird due to their ignorance of the Gothic language and the northern natural world – thus constituted one form among many in which the ancient heliolatry of the Swedish pagans had found poetic expression.³⁷ The process by which Rudbeck reveals the ›northern face‹ of the Roman Janus can be described in analogy to this rationale, which he also applies to numerous myths in his extensive chapter on ancient Swedish heliolatry. Towards its end, the name ›Jon‹ is also included among the many synonyms the ancient Swedes used for their foremost deity, the sun. For Rudbeck, both Janus’ name and his iconography – if read correctly – provide clear evidence of a northern pedigree. He argues that the Roman claim that ›Januarius‹ derives from ›Janus‹ cannot be maintained, in particular since it leaves the second part of the word unexplained. Here too, ancient Swedish provides the missing link: as Rudbeck triumphantly concludes, ›Januarius‹ must in fact be considered a slightly corrupted rendering of »Jonurs-Åre«, here introduced as a conflation of the ancient Swedish genitive of ›Jon‹ and the word for year.³⁸ Yet not only the month-name, but also the entire reorganization of the deficient Romulean calendar – that is, its extension by two months and the shifting of New Year to wintertime, as related by Ovid – must be considered the result of a process that had brought early Italian civilization into contact with the achievements of Swedish high culture. In Sweden, Rudbeck argues, the beginning of the New Year coincided with the winter solstice from the earliest times onward, and was celebrated with the feast of Yul. Under Janus’ reign in Latium, Italy as well as the entire Mediterranean region saw a unification of their backward calendar systems when a supreme model arrived from Sweden.³⁹ In the chapter on heliolatry, a comparative ap-

 I have treated this myth extensively in Schirg (2017).  Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 2, 432.  See Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 2, 433: »Nec inutile fuerit hoc in loco monere nihil nobis officere diversa illa annorum Graecorum, Romanorum, Chaldaicorum et Aegyptiacorum initia, de quorum discrimine partis huius pagina 296 scripsimus. Nam praeter annos suos annum quoque singuli populorum horum habuerunt ad motum solis more nostro redactum, i[d] est sic ordinatum, ut initio et fine suo solem accedentem et abeuntem sequeretur, quem proinde solarem vocaverunt […].« The argument in which Rudbeck reveals the dependency of the Roman calendar from a Swedish model is highly interesting also for his discussion of contemporary authorities such as Scaliger, yet it cannot be reproduced here due to its extent. However, as he concludes on one occasion, there are three main grounds that prove the Swedish pedigree of the Roman calendar: its use of Gothic words, its modification according to the beginning of the year as in the runic calendar, and Saturn teaching Janus

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proach to the god’s iconography is introduced as further evidence of the figure’s Nordic pedigree. Details from old runic calendars conserved on parchment depict a twoheaded figure in front of a laid table, holding a horn to each of its mouths (Fig. 5). In these images, which are reproduced in the Atlantica, Rudbeck saw a clear reference to the highest king of the true Atlanteans as he announces to his entourage the passage into the New Year, an event that was celebrated each year at Yul by taking a good sip from the horns, which are here interpreted as drinking vessels.⁴⁰ Pictorial details from Janus’ appearance as related by Macrobius provided further vantage points for Rudbeck’s Swedish appropriation. Quoting from the Saturnalia, he relates: Hence, too, his likeness is commonly represented keeping the number 300 in its right hand and 65 in its left, to indicate the measure of the year, which is the sun’s chief function.⁴¹

For the Atlantica’s author, this was clear evidence. Just as in his reading of the phoenix, these numbers again reflect the solar conditions in the High North, where darkness reigns for several weeks around winter solstice.⁴² Together with central cultural achievements, the calendar had hence reached the Romans through the first Swedish military expedition under King Saturn. But how were the decades bridged between his reign and the emergence of Rome under Romulus? According to Rudbeck, the intermediaries connecting this origin of Italian civilization with the later Roman Em-

about the measuring of the year (see Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 2, 181– 182). In this context, Rudbeck for example traces the name ›Mercedonius‹ – the month that was added to remedy major discrepancies between the early Roman calendar and the actual movement of the celestial bodies – to the Gothic / ancient Swedish ›merka‹, a word he counts among the many that, according to Macrobius, had passed into the Roman calendar from uncertain origin, and which the Swede hence traces ambitiously through the remains of Roman calendars. Rudbeck’s line of argument also includes long elaborations on Egyptian chronology, whose dependency on the Swedish model is also demonstrated.  See Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 2, 175: »In calendario veteri depictum cernere licebit hominem, imo regem bicipitem, frontibus aversis admotisque ad ora cornibus sive poculis, quorum omnium delineationem hic exhibemus, qua nihil aliud quam summam regis populique universi in veteris novique anni confinio hilaritatem veteres adumbratam voluerunt.« For the same reason, the letter known as ›Fro’s letter‹ (that is Saturn’s; see above) marks the corresponding event in runic calendars. On Rudbeck’s identification of this letter as ›aureus numerus‹ see ibid., 186 – 188.  Macrobius, Saturnalia, 1, 9, 10: »inde et simulacrum eius plerumque fingitur manu dextera trecentorum et sinistra sexaginta et quinque numerum tenens ad demonstrandam anni dimensionem, quae praecipua est solis potestas.« I quote Robert A. Kaster’s translation. Cf. Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 2, 433.  See Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 2, 433 – 434: »Haec autem plane conveniunt cum fabula 5 partis huius pagina 245 de Phaenice (Fanin Fogelen) dies 300 in vivis agente, dies autem 65 mortuo, cumque fabula 9 de Atino sive sole castrato rursusque virilibus redditis sanato, ac praeterea cum Freja uxore sua sive Terra foedus faciente de dierum 300 aut mensium 10 consuetudine faecunditatis causa, deque dierum 65 absentia, quo tempore sub terra latitare teneretur. […] Janus igitur manu dextra dierum 300 notam gestans septentrionalem orbis partem, cui sol totidem diebus affulget, indicat, et manu sinistra dierum 65 notam praeferens partem orbis australem, in qua sol totidem diebus Septentrioni nostro sub terra condi videtur, commonstrat […].«

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Fig. 5: Two-faced figure blowing the horn. From Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 2, 175.

pire were the Etruscans, who preserved the Swedish cultural exports until the rise of Rome. And didn’t authorities such as Strabo, Florus, Livy, Servius, and Diodorus Siculus all agree that the Romans owed central cultural achievements to this tribe, including the calendar, laws, haruspicy, the cult of Janus, and other gods?⁴³

 See Rudbeck, Atlantica, vol. 2, 179 – 180.

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Janus, Saturn, and the origins of Rome – myths and their political use Across the Atlantica’s first two volumes, Rudbeck thus established a cultural link between early Sweden, the Italian aborigines, and the later Romans via Saturn, Janus, and the Etruscans. Before taking a closer look at the question of how this narrative was received in Swedish scholarship, I would like to place Rudbeck’s appropriation of classical mythology in a wider context. In a broader perspective, the Atlantica constitutes a comparatively late – though enormously substantial and comprehensive – attempt to reinterpret a vast body of classical mythology with the goal of turning it into a favorable origin narrative. Alternative interpretations of Janus and Saturn had already been discussed by Christian authors of late antiquity, who condemned the fictional accounts of Roman writers and the colorful stories of their gods, and proposed euhemeristic readings instead. Authors such as Paulus Diaconus, for example, revisited the Roman texts and their pantheon of gods and revealed biblical truths lying hidden under them. This tradition of biblical interpretations of ancient mythology – and Janus in particular – is still reflected, for example, in the mediaeval Mirabilia Urbis Romae. This widely read introduction to the sights and marvels of Rome opens with a chapter on Janus and Saturn as key figures in the early history of the Eternal City. In a euhemeristic reading, the former is introduced and identified as a grandson of Noah, while Saturn is explained as the biblical figure Nimrod.⁴⁴ In their substantial works on mythography, titans of seventeenth-century learning such as Samuel Bochart (1599 – 1667) or Gerardus Vossius (1577– 1649) further elaborated on the biblical interpretations of these figures.⁴⁵ In early modern Rome, we can observe how the narrative revolving around Janus and Saturn had already been appropriated in a political interest. A telling example of this process is provided by the frescoes that the prelate Baldassare Turini (1486 – 1543) had displayed in the salone of his residence.⁴⁶ Originally commissioned for his residence constructed by Giulio Romano (1499 – 1546) on the Gianicolo,⁴⁷ the main frescoes were removed in 1837 and are now on display in the Palazzo Zuccari.⁴⁸ Among the various episodes revolving around the ancient history of the Gianicolo, the original ceiling included the encounter between Janus and Saturn, and the rediscovery of the grave of King Numa: the king’s tomb – and with it books containing his

 For an overview see Erasmus (1962), 40 – 44.  See Erasmus (1962), 102.  On Turini see Conforti (1996). The authorship of the frescoes (Giulio Romano, Polidoro da Caravaggio) is discussed by Sricchia Santoro (1996) and Gnann (1996).  On the building and its construction see Frommel (1996).  See Richter (1928), 1– 20.

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writings on the pontificate and passing on ancient wisdom – had allegedly been rediscovered on the hill after a landslide (Fig. 6).⁴⁹

Fig. 6: Scenes from the Gianicolo: Discovery of Numa’s grave on the Gianicolo (bottom left); encounter between Janus and Saturn (top right). Detail from a reconstruction of the original ceiling of the salone in Villa Lante. Photo: Bibliotheca Hertziana – Max-Planck-Institut für Kunstgeschichte, Rome.

The pictorial program originally unfolded in Turini’s residence has been interpreted as closely connected to the political situation in early Cinquecento Rome. As art historians such as Henrik Lilius have argued, Turini deliberately chose these

 See Plutarch, Life of Numa, 22, 2; Livy, History of Rome, 40, 29, 3 – 11. On his grave see also Piccaluga (1996).

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topics to honor the patronage he received from the powerful Medici family.⁵⁰ When still a cardinal, Giovanni de’ Medici – a compatriot of his from Tuscany – supported Turini’s ecclesiastical career. In 1513 Giovanni ascended the papal throne as Leo X (r. 1513 – 1521), whom Turini served as papal datary from 1518 onward. By the time Turini’s villa was finished in the 1520s, Giulio di Giuliano de’ Medici had been elected Pope Clement VII (r. 1523 – 1534). He, too, was served by Turini in well-paid positions, who eventually supervised the construction of the tombs of the two Medici popes in Santa Maria sopra Minerva.⁵¹ In this case from Cincequento Rome, too, the political interpretation of the salone’s pictorial program as supporting the Medici ties in with contemporary readings of mythical early Roman history as promoted by writers such as Egidio da Viterbo (1469 – 1532) and Annio da Viterbo (1437– 1502). In his notorious writings, the latter – a monk born in Latium – rekindled the tradition of euhemeristic interpretation.⁵² In doing so, Annio repeatedly emphasizes the influence the Etrurians exerted at the eve of the birth of Rome. As he argues, their early realm stretched from the northern slopes above the Tiber across Latium – prominently including Annio’s home town – up to Tuscany. Drawing on the spurious Berosius, Janus is identified with Noah and described as the bringer of a Golden Age to Etruria, allowing the region to boast a direct link to a central biblical figure. Both he and Saturn are presented as early kings of a vast realm which at that time reached the right bank of the Tiber.⁵³ When the Medici returned from exile to Florence (1512) and ascended to the pontificate in the subsequent year, ›Etrurian‹ rule once again expanded from Tuscany to the Tiber. What is more, it now even comprehended the Eternal City itself. In public representations staged at the Florentine Carnival or at Rome when the pope’s brother received Roman citizenship (1513), the family fashioned itself as a bringer of a Golden Age. On these occasions they drew prominently on the figure of Janus or Saturn, whom Virgil in the famous lines from his fourth Eclogue associated with this splendid era.⁵⁴ King Numa, ranked as the first Roman pontiff and originator of religion, similarly invited parallel readings under Leo X.⁵⁵

 See Lilius (1981), summarized in Lilius (1996).  See Conforti (1996), 190.  See Erasmus (1962), 41.  See Lilius (1981), vol. 1, 251– 257, Lilius (1996), 215.  The topic of the Golden Age under Medici rule has been discussed extensively. See for example Cummings (2015), 11– 41, Cox-Rearick (1984), 15 – 40, Lilius (1981), vol. 1, 253 – 255. For the association of Saturn as bringer of the Golden Age see Virgil, Eclogues, 4, 6 – 10: »iam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna; / iam nova progenies caelo demittitur alto. / tu modo nascenti puero, quo ferrea primum / desinet ac toto surget gens aurea mundo, / casta fave Lucina: tuus iam regnat Apollo.« The ephemeral theater erected in honor of Giuliano de’ Medici on the Capitoline Hill was decorated with the scene of Janus receiving Saturn; see Cox-Rearick (1984), 98.  See Plutarch, Life of Numa, 9, 1. In addition, the Gianicolo had become venerated in the meantime as the alleged site of Peter’s martyrdom. The parallel between Numa and Leo X was advocated by John Shearman; see Lilius (1996), 217.

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Expanding Sweden’s claims to early Roman cultural history: integrating Numa and Egeria This brief example illustrates the roles key figures from early Roman mythology / history could assume – if equipped with suitable reinterpretations – in forms of self-representation honoring the Medici after their return to power in the early Cinquecento and stressing the link between Latium and Tuscany.⁵⁶ In different circumstances, the Roman narrative appropriated in the Atlantica, which buttressed the early relationship between Sweden and Italy, would lend prestige to the Swedish Empire in the decades around 1700. With his monumental work, Rudbeck provided his kingdom, which had become a central power in Scandinavia if not Europe, with an ideology that satisfied a yearning for historical legitimation after an extraordinary ascent to rule. In doing so, he literally made Etruria – the cultural incubator of the later Roman Empire – a colony of Sweden. It is a peculiar twist of fate in this regard that Turini’s residence – the original home of the frescoes evoking the City’s earliest beginnings – today hosts the Finnish Institute at Rome, also known as the Villa Lante al Gianicolo. Following the marriage between the princess of Denmark, Ulrika Eleonora (1656 – 1693) and the Swedish king Charles XI in 1680, Sweden entered a short period of unrivaled political dominance. In a cultural climate favored by Rudbeck’s excellent ties with the Swedish rulers as well as members of their court, the Atlantica gained considerable momentum in national academia and imperial self-representation. Yet, despite remarkable protection by the crown, the work was far from uncontested. Rudbeck’s massive intrusions into narratives of origins as maintained by other European nations did not escape criticism abroad. As the debate on the pagan temple has already indicated, Swedish antiquarians, too, were far from unanimous. During the author’s lifetime as well as in the decades following his death, a number of scholars engaged in the considerable debate sparked by the Atlantica. Dozens of dissertations presented at Swedish universities all around the Baltic Sea followed up this work which called forth opposition, yet also constituted a remarkable source of inspiration for an aspiring generation of scholars.⁵⁷ A massive number of these treatises aimed to expand as well as protect the intellectual cathedral Rudbeck had erected as a monument to his nation’s primordiality. Furthermore, Rudbeck himself continuously refined the argument of the Atlantica until his death in 1702, resulting in a third and fourth volume.

 Furthermore, Medici devices feature prominently in the pictorial program, which lends further support to a Medicean reading of the original ceiling. See Lilius (1996), 213.  For a recent introduction to Rudbeckian dissertations see Roling (2016).

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These volumes, published in 1699 and 1702 (published in unfinished form), can be summarized as a commentary on the military expeditions of the early Swedish kings. In great detail Rudbeck further explores their exploits and the echoes they left in classical mythology under names such as Saturn or Jupiter.⁵⁸ However, one figure who features prominently in the Roman narrative of early history is not treated substantially in the volumes of the Atlantica: the Roman king Numa, whom we have encountered as a central link between the cultural achievements of the Etruscans (e. g. calendar, law, religion, cult of Janus) and the budding city of Rome. According to tradition, this successor of Romulus and builder of the temple of Janus had received his wisdom and instruction on religion in nocturnal meetings with Egeria, a nymph residing in the groves around Rome.⁵⁹ Left untreated by Rudbeck, this mythistorical episode was, however, revisited and embedded in the framework of the Atlantica by a dissertation presented at Uppsala as late as 1694. This treatise, presented under the professor of logic Andreas Goeding,⁶⁰ provides a telling example of how aspiring scholars seized on Rudbeck’s approach to classical mythology in order to expand Sweden’s bridgehead into early Roman history. As already indicated by the dissertation’s title, the respondent Petrus Salanus (1670 – 1697) argues »that the nymph Egeria is of Atlantean, not of Roman origin«.⁶¹ In its mere ten pages, this slim yet original treatise reveals the nymph to be a metaphor for the Swedish origin of Roman religion. As the respondent points out, there is a consensus among recent mythographers that the accounts provided by the Romans smacks of being a fictional tale. This, he explains, is due to the ancient custom of presenting events of earliest history under the cover of pleasant but often obscure allegories.⁶² It was Olof Rudbeck, Salanus acknowledges with notable veneration, who had demonstrated how even the most intricate knots in such narratives can be disentangled.⁶³ Adopting the Atlantica’s approach, Salanus hence embarks on a proof that Numa’s explanations owe their form to the king’s wish to appear to his fellow Romans as the founder of a novel religion inspired by divine influence. Admitting to the true origin of the cults he installed, the respondent indicates, might have resulted in a loss of authority for the ruler of the budding kingdom. However, Salanus claims,

 For summaries of the individual volumes see Eriksson (1994), 13 – 86.  See e. g. Livy, History of Rome, 1, 19; Valerius Maximus, Memorable Sayings and Doings, 1, 2, 1; Plutarch, Life of Numa, 4, 1.  On Goeding see Eriksson (2002), 604– 606.  The full title runs »Aegeriam Nympham Atlanticam non Romanam dissertatione graduali […] asserere nititur […]«.  Goeding/Salanus (resp.), Aegeriam nympham, § 2.  Goeding/Salanus (resp.), Aegeriam nympham, § 3.

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Numa left clues in his account so that the serious reader may detect whence the Roman gods actually came.⁶⁴ Salanus’ line of argument closely follows the methods we have already observed in Rudbeck’s readings of Phoenix or Janus, comprising astronomical as well as etymological reasoning. In Salanus’ view, the nocturnal conferences in which Numa allegedly received his inspiration from Egeria stand for the long periods of darkness during winter in the North, and so allude to the region where the gods, whose cults the Roman king subsequently installed, had first originated.⁶⁵ Numa’s connections with early Sweden are supported by further observations. For example, as Salanus underlines, Numa is known to have been descended from the Sabines, a tribe that Roman historiographers describe as very close to the Tuscans / Etruscans. These were in fact the people whom Rudbeck had described as literally »a most religious Gothic colony«, which had been significantly affected by King Saturn’s expedition. From here, catalyzed by exponents such as Numa, the cultural achievements of ancient Swedish civilization had been passed on to the later Romans.⁶⁶ Furthermore, the respondent continues, the rites themselves that King Numa instituted in Rome testify to their Gothic origin, as Rudbeck had already shown on other occasions: not only had he demonstrated this for the Vestal virgins, but also for the two-faced Janus and the entire calendar adopted by the Romans.⁶⁷ Etymology provides a further point of attack in the appropriation carried out by Salanus: just as Janus’ name bears a reference to his Nordic pedigree, so also the nymph’s name points to Scandinavia.⁶⁸ The name Egeria, he explains, was invented by Numa to render his story more credible by means of a Roman-sounding name. In doing so, however, he made sure »that the origin of their gods and rites would not be concealed to those who seriously seek for the truth«.⁶⁹ Drawing on preliminary linguistic observations provided by Rudbeck and Verelius, Salanus presents Egeria’s name as a conflation of »äger« (a word referring to all kinds of waters) and »Eiia«  See Goeding/Salanus (resp.), Aegeriam nympham, § 6: »Quare Numae, ne sinceros veritatis scrutatores deorum et rituum patria lateret, vocabulo non Romanae genti obvio et figmento praesentis cujusdam numinis (quod vulgus maxime devotum facit) aptissimo illam testari placuit. Et insuper, cum alienae gentis religio libero utpote populo contemptui semper esse solet, ne divinae eius majestati quidquam deferatur, Romanae instituendae religionis cum divino numine auctor potius quam peregrinae receptor audiri voluit.«  Goeding/Salanus (resp.), Aegeriam nympham, § 6.  Goeding/Salanus (resp.), Aegeriam nympham, § 7: »Numam e Sabina Gente ortum, quae si non Scandica (quod argumentis nihilominus probari potest), tamen cum religiosissima Gothica colonia, Thuscorum videlicet populo, amicitia et affinitate prorsus eadem.«  Goeding/Salanus (resp.), Aegeriam nympham, § 7.  On a previous occasion, the respondent indicates that Rudbeck had proved the Atlantean pedigree of other nymphs encountered in Ovid and other authors; see Goeding/Salanus (resp.), Aegeriam nympham, § 4.  Goeding/Salanus (resp.), Aegeriam nympham, § 6: »Quare Numae, ne sinceros veritatis scrutatores Deorum et rituum patria lateret, vocabulo non Romanae genti obvio et figmento praesentis cujusdam numinis (quod vulgus maxime devotum facit) aptissimo illam testari placuit.«

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(for ›island‹).⁷⁰ Based on the Edda, he continues, this name must be considered a reference to the Scandinavian peninsula: together with other Nordic sources, the Edda refers to Neptune as »Aeger« or as »Faudur aeges dättra« (here translated as »father of the Aegidae or the nymphs, that is the minor waters«). On this basis, Salanus concludes, Egeria’s name can loosely be translated as ›Island of Neptune‹, the chief deity of the true Atlantis venerated in the ancient temple of Uppsala. On this ground, then, her name can be added to the many synonyms from classical mythology that refer to Scandinavia.⁷¹

Loyalty and indifference to the Atlantica in dissertations from the Swedish Empire The 1694 dissertation by Petrus Salanus may stand for a considerable number of treatises that practiced Rudbeck’s approach to mythology in order to accommodate additional episodes within the Atlantica’s framework, or, in less original forms, simply to keep his ideas present in contemporary academic discourse.⁷² The full extent of the cultural, social, and intellectual implications of this work still remains to be explored. At the same time, these dimensions of ›Rudbeckianism‹ have to be considered against contemporary treatises that did not engage at all with the framework provided by the Atlantica. In the remaining part of this article, I therefore intend to provide a first outline of how complex this issue is. The case of Turku is instructive in outlining the ambivalence that was also provoked by Rudbeckianism.⁷³ Two years after Rudbeck’s death (d. 1702), Samuel Möller presented a dissertation at the local university, announcing as its topic »the temples of the ancients«. Like Salanus, the respondent argues clearly in favor of Rudbeck, and vocally rehearses the Atlantica’s views: the first pagan temple had been constructed at Uppsala; from there, this archetype of sacred architecture had spread, together with sacred cults, to many regions such as Egypt, Troy, and Rome; the Swedish military expeditions led by Saturn arrived in Italy during

 Goeding/Salanus (resp.), Aegeriam nympham, § 5.  Cf. Goeding/Salanus (resp.), Aegeriam nympham, § 5: »Porro Ogygiam nostram [add »faciles credimus« from § 4] non modo aquarum e montibus procur[r]entium feliciorem quam ulla alia tellus progenitricem, sed etiam fluctibus cinctam et exaratam, classibus alioqui potentem hanc esse Aegeriam (Aegereja) quasi.« Upon claiming the Homeric Ogygia as another reference to Sweden in the Atlantica’s first volume (c. 1, 8), Rudbeck promoted a translation of this toponym that is very similar to Salanus’ Egeria.  See Roling (2016).  As a more general introduction see the contribution by Raija Sarasti-Wilenius to the present volume.

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the realm of Janus, and at Rome the form of his temple, which Numa erected in his honor, still testifies to the massive northern influence.⁷⁴ What can we say about the social surroundings that formed the conditions for such intellectual loyalty beyond Rudbeck’s death? In Möller’s case, the professor presiding over the disputation – Torsten Rudeen (1661– 1729), who held the local chair of poetry – was certainly a major factor for its outline. Rudeen’s name is connected to a number of dissertations that clearly follow Rudbeckian lines.⁷⁵ Yet, a closer look at similar Turku dissertations adivses caution when considering the factor of the praeses’ personal influence.⁷⁶ In 1712, for example, a local treatise discussed the question »if Saturn was the king of the original inhabitants [sc. of Italy]«.⁷⁷ Although touching on a key episode in the Atlantica, the respondent treats the question without any reference at all to the elaborate narrative Rudbeck had advanced across several volumes. Given the praeses in 1712, this may come as a surprise, since this function was assumed by Rudeen’s successor Anders Prysz (1671– 1746). In 1708 Prysz had supervised the defence of a mythological treatise that rehearsed (and partly extended) the Atlantica’s approach to the figure of Phaeton: in a perfectly Rudbeckian line of argument, the dissertation revealed that the myth of the Sun God crashing in the Eridanus (here identified as the Baltic Sea) was in fact just another poetic rendering of the northern sun disappearing below the horizon in winter, and that the event underlying this account could have only been witnessed from the Finnish shore of the Baltic, as the respondent Johannes Franseen from Karelia proudly argues.⁷⁸ In the 1712 dissertation on Saturn, however, Prysz’s respondent Petrus Ignatius does not mention – or deliberately shuns? – the massive Swedish appropriation of Saturn that Rudbeck had developed over several volumes. The same phenomenon can be observed in a dissertation on Kronos (the Greek name for Saturn)⁷⁹ which was presented at Turku already in 1707: in this case, too, the respondent leaves Rudbeck’s comprehensive lectio Nordica of this central figure entirely unmentioned.⁸⁰ How are we to interpret this inconsistent image and the striking absence of Rudbeckian references? Given the complexity of individual constellations, and the current state of research, in which we have to rely on fragmentary insights into the bi-

 See e. g. Rudeen/Möller (resp.), Templa veterum, § 8 – 9, esp. pp. 6 – 7: »Magnis vero multisque rationibus probat celeberrimus Rudbeck Svecos celebre suum templum Upsalense primos struxisse, et factis crebris migrationibus ac expeditionibus in totum terrarum orbem, multos suam religionem, cultum, ritus et templa ponenda docuisse.«  One of the few figures of Rudbeckian academia to have been treated in a monographic study; see Hultin (1902).  For Turku a full list of historical dissertations has been provided by Vallinkoski (1962– 1966).  See Prysz/Ignatius (resp.), Dissertatio qua de Saturno.  Christian Peters has recently provided an extensive study of this dissertation including an edition of the Latin text; see Peters (2017).  See Zannini Querini (1996), 68, with further references.  See Nesselius/Herkepaeus (resp.), Dissertationem περὶ τοῦ Κρόνου.

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ographies of aspiring scholars, into mechanisms of career and patronage, and the individual contexts under which they presented their dissertations, we must resort to conjecture. The death of Rudbeck in 1702 marks a notable rupture, as the demise of one of the most dominant (and also controversial) figures in Swedish academia. Furthermore, the reign of Charles XII (r. 1697– 1718), marked by continuous absences of the king and long wars, entailed significant changes to the patterns of royal patronage, of political and financial support, and eventually to Sweden’s territorial claims around the Baltic Sea. This, joined with the unfortunate developments in the Great Northern War against Russia (1700 – 1721), created a climate in which subscribing to Rudbeck’s glorious narrative may have appeared less opportune to scholars, and a note of moderation may have seemed more appropriate.⁸¹ Although these factors gained increasing momentum after 1700, they did not mark a sudden end to Rudbeckian dissertations. Adding to the complexity, even in the decades before Rudbeck’s death we can observe the coexistence of genuinely Rudbeckian and ›neutral‹ or ›conservative‹ treatments of mythological topics. As regards the case of Petrus Salanus’ dissertation on Egeria, personal relationships and strong family ties must be considered as a factor that determined loyalty to Rudbeck’s paradigm. Petrus was the youngest of four brothers in a family that enthusiastically engaged in Rudbeckian scholarship. Following the 1694 dissertation that he defended for graduation, Petrus himself continuously contributed to the exploration of Nordic heritage by translating sagas into Swedish.⁸² By the time of Salanus’ death in 1697, Rudbeck’s influence had earned him a steady position in return.⁸³ Furthermore, one of his brothers, Nicolaus Salanus (1667– 1716), has been thought to have translated the third volume of the Atlantica into Latin. Adding to the family’s ties, their eldest brother Jonas Salanus was even married to a daughter of the Atlantica’s author. Where shared interests emerged, Rudbeckian scholarship also transcended national borders. Jonas Salanus is an interesting figure in this regard, since he acted as an international hub of contemporary Swedish scholarship. Together with a catalogue of the manuscripts in the possession of Uppsala professors (including Olof Rudbeck, here referred to as »that acme of our antiquities«),⁸⁴ he forwarded the latest work of the Salanus brothers, fully Rudbeckian in its outline,⁸⁵ to avid readers abroad. In England, which saw an increasing interest in a northern antiquity and in Anglo-Saxon language studies and faced a similar void as regards historiographical sources, the exploration of Nordic antiquity fueled by Rudbeckian scholarship

 On this phase in Swedish history see the contribution by Elena Dahlberg to the present volume.  In addition to his 1694 dissertation, Petrus previously defended a historical (and truly Rudbeckian) treatise on the early settlements of the Goths; see Grape (1914), 209.  See Grape (1914), 211.  Hickes, Antiquae literaturae, lib. 2, 314: »Magnum illud antiquitatum nostrarum columen Celeb. Olaus Rudbeckius […].«  See Grape (1914), 208 – 210.

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thus fell on fertile ground, even though these studies were closely tied to a major, self-conscious narrative of Swedish primordiality. The Oxford linguist George Hickes (1642– 1715), for example, eagerly embraced Sweden’s latest productions on Nordic antiquity inspired by the enthusiasm that followed the Atlantica. The materials sent by Jonas Salanus’ to Hickes included his brother Petrus’ congenial interpretation of the nymph Egeria as well as Nicolaus’ antiquarian dissertation on the Scythian sword.⁸⁶ Almost a century after Rudbeck’s death, his ideas on the astronomical achievements of the early Swedes would still find an ardent champion in the French astronomer Jean-Sylvain Bailly (1736 – 1793), who built his theories of early cultural migration on the Swede’s appropriations of central figures from classical mythology.⁸⁷ Yet in the decades around 1700 many scholars from nations that had been robbed of their ancient glory by the Atlantica exhibited more reserve towards Rudbeck’s ideas. This is, for example, the case with the Italian Lorenzo Magalotti, whose national pride in Italian and Roman cultural achievements was injured by the substantial curtailment of their originality in the Swedish narrative. And yet, despite Rudbeck’s massive interventions, Magalotti – like many of his contemporaries – pays respect to the massive erudition that the Swede deployed to make his point.⁸⁸ Nevertheless, as the Italian felt obliged to note in his 1674 account (and not without the slight indignation of a shaken cultural superiority), one has to admit a certain naiveté in the Swedes: in his view, this particular nation is prone to a remarkable credulity that is manifest also in the excessive superstitions encountered all across the northern provinces, and which may even exceed the superstition common to the Germanic nations in general.⁸⁹ Magalotti’s notion testifies to the exceptionally favorable climate in Sweden in which Rudbeck’s vast work was received. The Atlantica met with approval in particular in nations whose obscure history was illuminated in its nimbus, and where its individual claims did not clash with established narratives, such as those maintained about the Cimbrians in Denmark and Northern Germany.⁹⁰ At the same time, Magalotti’s statement and his off-hand reference to Swedish credulity simplifies the complex dynamics in which Rudbeck’s opus maximum was received at home and abroad. The case studies from Sweden have outlined a few specific social, intellectual, and

 Jonas’ missives to England also included material left unpublished after Petrus’ death in 1697. For the English dimension of Rudbeckianism see Seaton (1935), ad indicem, and Poole/Williams (2010).  See the contribution by Bernd Roling to the present volume.  See n. 89. For further echos see the contribution by Jonas Nordin to the present volume.  Magalotti, Relazione di Svezia, 291: »Se sia per riuscir questo libro mi rimetto alla cieca venerazione d’un uomo tanto stimato e dotto: ma non lascio di riflettere separatamente da questo, quanto gli Svezzesi in generale sieno facili a credere, e forse più de’ Tedeschi; testimonio ne può essere l’opinione che vi corre delle tante stregoniere che in quelle parti si facciano […].«  I will illustrate aspects of the Cimbrian debate between Denmark and Sweden in a forthcoming case study on the German antiquarian Johann Daniel Major.

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political constellations – microclimates, as it were – in which Rudbeck’s ideas could either flourish, or simply be ignored. Yet, as curious or misleading as his claims may have seemed to contemporaries such as Magalotti or modern scholars such as Ellenius, the Atlantica fueled an extensive exploration of Nordic antiquity by all means available, creating milestones of learning which it embedded in a comprehensive narrative of Swedish cultural primordiality. What still remains to be studied is the momentum Rudbeckian scholarship provided in the long run for a substantial archaeological, linguistic, cultural-historical, geographical, botanical, and ethnological re-assessment of Scandinavia according to contemporary standards, and its effects on scholarship, careers, patterns of patronage, and the formation of individual disciplines.

Bibliography Primary Literature Du Choul, Guillaume, Discours de la religion des anciens Romains, Lyon 1556. Goeding, Andreas / Salanus, Petrus (resp.), Aegeriam Nympham Atlanticam non Romanam dissertatione graduali […] asserere nititur […], Stockholm 1694. Goltzius, Hubert, Imperatoris Augusti Caesaris Nomismata, Bruges 1574. Hickes, George, Antiquae literaturae Septentrionalis libri duo, Oxford 1705. Livy, History of Rome, Volume 1: Books I and II, ed. and tr. by B. O. Foster, repr. Cambridge (MA) 1988. Livy, History of Rome, Volume 11: Books 38 – 40, ed. and tr. by J. C. Yardley, Cambridge (MA) 2018. Macrobius, Saturnalia, Volume I: Books 1 – 2, ed. and tr. by Robert A. Kaster, Cambridge (MA) 2011. Magalotti, Lorenzo, Relazione del Regno di Svezia dell’anno 1674, in: Relazoni di viaggio, ed. Walter Moretti, Bari 1968, 221 – 333. Nesselius, Israel Johannes / Herkepaeus, Ericus C. (resp.), Dissertationem περὶ τοῦ Κρόνου ἀγκυλομήτεω[ς], Turku 1707. Ovid, Fasti, ed. and tr. by James G. Frazer, rev. by George P. Goold, Cambridge (MA) 1931. Petrarch, L’Africa, ed. by Nicola Festa, Florence 1926. Plato, Timaeus. Critias. Cleitophon. Menexenus. Epistles, ed. and tr. by Robert G. Bury, Cambridge (MA) 1929. Pliny, Natural History, Volume 9: Books XXXII – XXXV, ed. and tr. by H. Rackham, repr. Cambridge (MA) 1999. Plutarch, Lives, Volume I: Theseus and Romulus. Lycurgus and Numa. Solon and Publicola, ed. and tr. by Bernadotte Perrin, Cambridge (MA) 1914. Prysz, Anders / Ignatius, Petrus (resp.), Dissertatio qua de Saturno an rex fuerit Aboriginum disquiritur […], Turku 1712. Rudbeck, Olof, Atland eller Manheim, 4 vols, Uppsala 1679 – 1702. Rudeen, Torsten / Möller, Samuel (resp.), Templa veterum, Turku 1704. Verelius, Olof, Hervara saga på gammal goetska, Uppsala 1672. Virgil, Eclogues. Georgics. Aeneid: Books 1 – 6, ed. and tr. by Henry Rushton Fairclough, rev. by George P. Goold, Cambridge (MA) 1916.

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Virgil, Aeneid. Books 7 – 12. Appendix Vergiliana, ed. and tr. by Henry Rushton Fairclough, rev. by George P. Goold, Cambridge (MA) 1918.

Secondary Literature Conforti, Claudia, »Baldassare Turini. Funzionario mediceo e committente di architettura«, in: Steinby (1996), 189 – 204. Cox-Rearick, Janet, Dynasty and Destiny in Medici Art. Pontormo, Leo X, and the two Cosismos, Princeton 1984. Cummings, Anthony M., The politicized Muse. Music for Medici festivals, 1512 – 1537, Princeton 2015. Ellenius, Alan, »Johannes Schefferus and Swedish Antiquity«, in: Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 20 (1957), 59 – 74. Erasmus, Hendrik Johannes, The Origins of Rome in Historiography from Petrarch to Perizonius, Assen 1962. Eriksson, Gunnar, Olaus Rudbeck 1630 – 1702. Liv, lärdom, dröm i barockens Sverige, Stockholm 2002. Eriksson, Gunnar, The Atlantic Vision. Olaus Rudbeck and Baroque Science, Canton (MA) 1994. Gnann, Achim, »Zur Beteiligung des Polidoro da Caravaggio an der Ausmalung des Salone der Villa Lante«, in: Steinby (1996), 237 – 259. Graf, Fritz, »Ianus«, in: Der Neue Pauly. Enzyklopädie der Antike, ed. by Hubert Cancik / Helmuth Schneider, vol. 5, Stuttgart-Weimar 1998, coll. 858 – 861. Grape, Anders, »Om bröderna Salanus och deras handskriftsamling«, in: Nordisk tidskrift för bokoch biblioteksväsen 1 (1914), 207 – 238. Johansson, Johan Viktor, »De rudbeckianska fö rfalskningarna i Codex Argenteus«, Nordisk tidskrift fö r bok- och biblioteksvä sen 42 (1955), 12 – 27. Frommel, Christoph Luitpold, »Giulio Romano e la progettazione di Villa Lante«, in: Steinby (1996), 119 – 140. King, David, Finding Atlantis. A True Story of Genius, Madness, and an Extraordinary Quest for a Lost World, New York 2005. Lilius, Henrik, »Genius loci. I miti dell’antico Ianiculum nelle pitture e negli stucchi del Casino Turini«, in: Steinby (1996), 205 – 217. Lilius, Henrik, Villa Lante al Gianicolo. L’architettura e la decorazione pittorica, 2 vols, Helsinki 1981. Momigliano, Arnaldo, »Ancient History and the Antiquarian«, in: Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 13 / 3 – 4 (1950), 285 – 315. Olmi, Giuseppe, »Sweden in the Travel Journals of Lorenzo Magalotti and Francesco Negri«, in: Sidereus Nuncius & Stella Polaris. The Scientific Relations between Italy and Sweden in Early Modern History, ed. Marco Beretta / Tore Frängsmyr, Canton (MA) 1997, 57 – 78. Peters, Christian, »Ablaze in the Northern Sky Tears of Amber and the Relocation of Ovidian Myth to the Baltic Sea«, in: Roling / Schirg / Bauhaus (2017), 137 – 173. Piccaluga, Giulia, »›Sub Ianiculo arca inventa est‹ (Nepotian. 1.14). Perché proprio qui la tomba di Numa?«, in: Steinby (1996), 71 – 76. Poole, William / Williams, Kelsey Jackson, »A Swede in Restoration Oxford: Gothic Patriots, Swedish Books, English Scholars«, in: Lias 39 (2012), 1 – 66. Preti, Cesare / Matt, Luigi, »Magalotti, Lorenzo«, in: Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, vol. 67, Rome 2006, 300 – 305.

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Richter, Jean Paul, La collezione Hertz e gli affreschi di Giulio Romano nel Palazzo Zuccari, Dresden 1928. Roling, Bernd / Schirg, Bernhard / Bauhaus, Stefan Heinrich (eds.), Apotheosis of the North. The Swedish Appropriation of Classical Antiquity around the Baltic Sea and Beyond (1650 to 1800), Berlin 2017. Roling, Bernd, »Introduction«, in: Roling/Schirg/Bauhaus (2017), 1 – 15. Roling, Bernd, »Akademischer Hyperboreer-Kult. Rudbeckianische Disputationen zwischen Netzwerkbildung und nationaler Überhöhung«, in: Robert Seidel / Marion Gindhart / Hanspeter Marti (eds.), Frühneuzeitliche Disputationen – polyvalente Produktionsapparate gelehrten Wissens, Cologne 2016, 199 – 216. Schirg, Bernhard, »Phoenix going Bananas. The Swedish Appropriation of a Classical Myth, and its Demise in Botanical Scholarship (Engelbert Kaempfer, Carl Linnaeus)«, in: Roling / Schirg / Bauhaus (2017), 17 – 46. Seaton, Ethel, Relations of England and Scandinavia in the seventeenth century, Oxford 1935. Sricchia Santoro, Fiorella, »Villa Lante. La decorazione del salone. Problemi di attribuzione«, in: Steinby (1996), 225 – 236. Steinby, Eva Margareta (ed.), Ianiculum – Gianicolo. Storia, topografia, monumenti, leggende dall’antichità al rinascimento, Rome 1996. Zannini Querini, Bruno, »Ianiculum. Il luogo e la dimensione cronologica ad esso connessa nella tradizione romana«, in: Steinby (1996), 63 – 70.

Poul Grinder-Hansen

Søren Abildgaard – a Patriotic Antiquarian Draftsman from Eighteenth-century Denmark Søren Abildgaard (1718 – 1791) was a Danish antiquarian and draftsman, but he was much more than that: a natural scientist, an agricultural author, a topographer, and a miniature painter.¹ He is, however, not one of the famous figures of Danish history, and never held any prestigious social positions. Yet considering his broad interests and active engagement in society he may rightly be described as a typical representative of the Age of Enlightenment. All his seemingly widespread and incoherent activities may be united under the heading ›patriotism‹, which in the second half of the eighteenth century implied something quite different than the almost militant nationalism of later days. A patriot of the eighteenth century felt a profound obligation to use his abilities in the best possible ways to the benefit of his king and nation. When Abildgaard wrote his articles about better methods in agriculture it is easily recognizable as a patriotic activity, but in my view his work as an antiquarian draftsman must also be seen in a patriotic light. In this article I shall focus on his antiquarian work in Denmark and the Baltic area, with only a brief presentation of his other patriotic endeavors.

I How Søren Abildgaard became an antiquarian draftsman Søren Abildgaard was born in 1718 in the south Norwegian town of Flekkefjord, where his father was a customs officer. After attending the grammar school at Kristianssand he arrived in Copenhagen in 1737 in order to begin his studies at the university, but here he met the one year older Anne Margrethe Bastholm (1717– 1793), whom he married in the spring of 1739, presumably while she was pregnant with their first child. The problems connected with supporting a family did not leave much energy to finish his studies. Even so he continued to call himself an undergraduate for the next fifteen years, without ever graduating. The couple had seven children, of whom three died in infancy. Two sons and two daughters survived. Ever since the 1740s Abildgaard had earned a little money by working for the landowner and prefect Christian Frederik Raben (1693 – 1773), an ardent researcher of butterflies and since 1744 a member of the Royal Danish Academy of Sciences

 Grinder-Hansen (2010) is the standard biography of Søren Abildgaard as well as an illustrated catalogue of all his antiquarian drawings. Grinder-Hansen (2008) is a publication of various written sources connected to Abildgaard’s work, mostly his own reports. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638042-009

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and Letters. He owned the manor of Bramsløkke on the island of Lolland, and this was where his collections of living butterflies were kept. Abildgaard was employed to document the development of every single butterfly species in watercolors from egg to butterfly; fourteen volumes and three collections of loose leaves filled with neat, dainty drawings, beautifully colored, of more than 500 butterfly species still exist.² Raben corresponded with the French scientist Réaumur (1683 – 1757) and was preparing a publication, in which some of Abildgaard’s drawings were to be included, but this plan was never realized (Fig. 1). Raben presented his intended publication at the Academy of Sciences and Letters. This interested another member, the historian and archivist of the State Archives Jacob Langebek (1710 – 75), who could himself use the assistance of a precise draftsman. Langebek was a highly energetic and enterprising man. In 1745 he was prime mover in the creation of the learned society, which still exists, »Det Kongelige Danske Selskab til den nordiske Histories og Sprogs Forbedring« (i. e. The Royal Society for the Promotion of Nordic History and Language), which was later renamed »Det Kongelige Danske Selskab for Fædrelandets Historie« (i. e. The Royal Danish Society for the History of the Fatherland), which had and still has as its obligation the publication of sources for Danish history in its journal »Danske Magazin«. In 1748 he succeeded the historian Hans Gram (1685 – 1748) as archivist of the State Archives and carried on Gram’s efforts in collecting medieval letters to be published in a Danish-Norwegian diplomatarium. He succeeded in collecting a huge amount of material, which, however, was still unpublished when he died, but he did manage to publish before his death the first volumes of his work Scriptores rerum Danicarum, which include the most important descriptive sources for Danish medieval history. Beside Langebek’s focus on the philological-historical retrieval and publication of written sources for Danish history, he also took an interest in coins, seals, and other sources not written on paper or parchment.³ Langebek thus attached himself to the Danish antiquarian-topographical traditions, which aimed to find, describe, and examine physical remnants from the past, and which had their roots in the work of the Danish physician and collector Ole Worm (1588 – 1654). Worm had had in mind the first Swedish Keeper of National Antiquities, Johann Bureus (1568 – 1652), when he himself in the 1620s began a project of extensive collecting and publishing material on the rune stones, antiquities, and documents of Denmark, Norway, and Gotland. The material collected was indeed extensive, but apart from the rune stones nothing was published. Later Danish antiquarian projects likewise went unfinished and unpublished. In his youth, Langebek, like a good antiquarian, had been fascinated by barrows and moated sites, churches, monasteries, and holy springs as well as the stories of old people in his childhood county,⁴ but later as an archivist his approach

 Kaaber et al. (2008).  Bech (1981); Jørgensen (1931), 203 – 209.  Jørgensen (1931), 203.

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Fig. 1: Formative stages of the Danish butterfly »Sømplet« (Aglia Tau). The watercolor by Søren Abildgaard was used as illustration for a paper read by C. F. Raben in 1750, acording to a lettter from Raben to Réaumur 28. November 1750. Photo: The Royal Library, Copenhagen.

to antiquarianism was dominated by his interest in texts. Monuments and objects were interesting for the study of Danish history only to the extent that they communicated some sort of textual or heraldic information on persons or historical events.

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It would seem as if in the very name antiquarian there was inherent a caricature of a man with a taste for useless and unimportant studies, combined with a weakness for ill-founded theories. The English author John Earle had already in 1628 described an antiquarian: »Hee is one that hath that unnaturall disease to bee enamour’d of old age, and wrinckles, and loves all things (as Dutchmen doe Cheese) the better for being mouldy and worme-eaten. He is of our Religion, because we say it is most ancient; and yet a broken Statue would almost make him an Idolater. A great admirer hee is of the rust of old Monuments, and reades onely those characters, where time hath eaten out the letters. Hee will goe you forty miles to see a Saint’s Well, or a ruin’d Abbey: and if there be but a Crosse or stone footstoole in the way, hee’l be considering it so long, till he forget his journey.«⁵ Langebek’s angle on antiquarianism was, however, sufficiently historical to protect him against the critical remarks of the Danish historian and author Ludvig Holberg (1684 – 1754), who expressed a skeptical attitude in an essay from 1750: »The study of one’s country’s unknown antiquities, on which many spend all their time and energy, is as tiresome as useless. For what can be more tiresome and what will demand more patience than searching in darkness for things that remain invisible to other people even by daylight. And what do you gain if you, upon careful searching, find broken needles or other things of similar value in a dunghill.«⁶ Holberg was not as critical as this quotation might imply. His essay continues: »I do not, however, judge those who stress the study of antiquities of the fatherland, but only those who set aside all other useful studies […] I read myself all good old books, and I am just as much a lover of reasonable antiquities as I am against unreasonable fables.« The first sign of a contact between Søren Abildgaard and Langebek is a miniature portrait of Langebek painted by Abildgaard in 1751 (Fig. 2). In the summer of the same year Langebek had received a royal grant of a substantial annual sum to be used for the publication of the Danish-Norwegian diplomatarium, and it was stipulated that he would need assistance in making facsimile copies of select pages from the manuscripts, together with copies of impressions of seals attached to the documents. Søren Abildgaard’s illustrations of butterflies had proven his ability to document observations by means of precise drawings. The drawings of coins, documents, and seals became his first assignments for Langebek.

II The Baltic Voyage As part of the work with the diplomatarium, Langebek planned an antiquarian research voyage along the Baltic coastline in order to track down and copy sources for Danish history. In his application to the Danish king Frederick V, dated 15 January

 Sweet (2004), XIII.  Holberg (1947), 38.

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Fig. 2: Jacob Langebek, miniature portrait painted by Søren Abildgaard in 1751. Photo: Det Nationalhistoriske Museum på Frederiksborg Slot.

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1753, Langebek described how his work with the diplomatarium had proceeded.⁷ He had copies of most documents concerning Denmark, Norway, and the other Danish provinces before 1300, altogether about two thousand letters, and he had finished depictions of 200 seals, as well as sketches of a further 800.⁸ Langebek had been informed that many good sources for Danish history were to be found in Sweden and the countries around the Baltic, and since it would not yield sufficiently reliable results to ask local people to copy the texts, and since the manuscripts could not be sent to Denmark, a qualified person should be sent on an expedition to all the relevant places, and Langebek humbly suggested himself for the task. He hoped that the king would cover all costs of the journey, which would without doubt be of immortal honor to the king and the country. He predicted that he would probably have to bring his own draftsman. A royal resolution of 23 February 1753 stated that the king would pay all costs for the expedition. In this way the Baltic Tour happened to become the first non-commercial and purely scientific expedition financed by the Danish king, seven years before the much more famous and undeniably much more ambitious and exotic expedition to the Middle East in 1761– 1767, from which only Carsten Niebuhr returned.⁹ Langebek needed an illustrator who must be able to paint painstakingly the monuments and documents that they came across, and for this job Søren Abildgaard was the perfect choice. On the 17 April 1753 Langebek together with his servant Christian Marcussen and Abildgaard crossed the Sound to Scania to begin a journey that went right up into central Sweden, with a detour to the Swedish islands Oland and Gotland.¹⁰ Abildgaard was busy illustrating all through the journey, but, as regards his drawings, the stays at Visby on Gotland (Fig. 3) and Vadstena in central Sweden were the antiquarian highlights, for here they found multitudes of medieval tombstones. At the town of Lund Langebek met the young Swedish antiquarian Niels Reinhold Brocman (1731– 1770), who joined them for the rest of the journey and ever after remained a close friend. The traveling companions had a long stay at Norrköping, and in October 1753 Langebek managed to go to Denmark to celebrate his engagement. On 3 November he was appointed a councilor, and he then returned to Norrköping, where he found his companions and his clothes, as he wrote in his diary. This time he left Copenhagen in the company of Christen Findt Klarup (1737– 1779), a young relative of Langebek’s fiancée.

 Letter to Frederick V, 15 January 1753, in: Rørdam 1895, number 83.  Most of these had probably been drawn by Abildgaard since 1751.  Niebuhr (2003).  Grinder-Hansen (2010), 39 – 68; Grinder-Hansen (2011). Langebek’s diary from the journey 17 April 1753 – 10 August 1754 was published by Nyerup (1794), 123 – 248. The diary can be compared to KglBibl. NKS 386, kvarto, which is Langebek’s diary from 27 June 1754 until 20 December 1754. In the latter, Langebek seems merely to have made an abbreviated version of the diary kept by Niels Reinhold Brockman, which is preserved in Stockholm, cf. Loit (1954). The journey is also described in several letters from Langebek.

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Fig. 3: The medieval memorial cross at Korsbetningen outside Visby on the Swedish island of Gotland, commemorating the men who died in the Battle of Visby in 1361, drawn by Søren Abildgaard in June 1753. Photo: The National Museum of Denmark.

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The following winter and spring were spent in Stockholm, where Langebek established very good relations with the staff of the Swedish Archive of Antiquities (»Antikvitetsarkivet«). Sweden had a long tradition of officially financed antiquarian institutions, since the creation of an office as State Antiquarian (»Riksantikvarie«) in 1630 and the founding of the College of Antiquities (»Antikvitetskollegiet«) in 1667, the forerunner of the »Antikvitetsarkivet«. The archive had a staff of no less than six or seven men, which greatly impressed Langebek. In a letter of 1 January 1754 Langebek described the institution: »The Royal Library and the Archive of Antiquities, which is going to be contained in one room in the new palace when it is finished, is taken care of by no less than 6 – 7, yet in such a way that each has, so to speak, his own department: Dalin and Celsius have the printed books, which are hardly more than 15000 volumes all in all, the Secretary Berch has the manuscripts for Nordic history plus the antiquities, Assessor Wessman has the codices Islandicos, Assessor Richardsson, who has recently published a description of Halland, has the foreign codices manuscriptos, and Assessor Hagelberg, who works on a dictionary of Icelandic, which they here call old Gothic, has diplomata or letters on parchment.«¹¹ Besides the scientific staff there were a couple of secretaries and servants, plus the archive draftsman Jacob Wendelius (1695?–1754).¹² The mere existence of such a job at the archive was a great inspiration to the Danish delegation, both Langebek as well as, no doubt, also Søren Abildgaard. Langebek worked at the archive and often ended up in a coffee house with either Hagelberg or Wessman. Abildgaard was busy copying texts and in some cases creating an exact facsimile of an important manuscript (Fig. 4). He also copied some of the unpublished drawings that had been made by the Swedish antiquarian draftsman Elias Brenner, who had documented monuments in, for example, Vadstena in 1669 and Finland in 1670 – 1671. Abildgaard had made his own drawings in Vadstena, so in that case he had no interest in copying Brenner’s drawings, but he copied several of the Finnish drawings and in each case carefully noted that this drawing was copied after Brenner. Not until 27 June 1754 did the actual Baltic Sea journey begin, when the five travelers crossed the Gulf of Bothnia from Uppsala and Grisslehamn and via the Ålandislands reached Turku (Åbo); from here they traveled via Helsingfors and Viborg to St Petersburg, and after a stay there carried on from Narva to Tallinn and then home through present-day Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, and northern Germany. Abildgaard made a few new drawings to supplement his copies after Brenner, most notably a large drawing of the Thott memorial in Åbo / Turku Cathedral (Fig. 5).¹³ In Reval / Tallinn he drew several of the »Beischlagsteine« in front of the houses, with special

 Letter from Langebek to Johan Ludvig Holstein, 1 January 1754, in: Rørdam (1895), number 97. The men in question are Olof von Dalin (1708 – 1763), Magnus Celsius (1709 – 1784), Carl Reinhold Berch (1706 – 1777), Nils Wessman (1712– 1763), Jacob Richardsson (1687– 1759), and Carl Hagelberg (1699 – 1758).  Schück (1936), 36 – 37.  Grinder-Hansen (2010), Fig. 26 and catalogue number 833.

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Fig. 4: Søren Abildgaard’s 1754 facsimile of an illumination in an Icelandic manuscript in the Antiquities Archive in Stockholm. The comment written by Langebek reads: »Ex Cod. Membran. Islandico, Antiqvit. Archivi Holmens. in fol. 1754. / Saga Gudmundar biskops goda. Capp. 91 / Sagan af Jone Helga Hola biskupi. Capp. 49. / Denne Maling staaer paa første Side I Bogen« This painting is on the first page of the book. Photo: The National Museum of Denmark.

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Fig. 5: Epitaph from c. 1640 in Åbo / Turku Cathedral, Finland, for Åke Henriksson Thott, died 1640, and his wife Sigrid Bielke, died 1634. Unsigned and unannotated large-scale drawing by Søren Abildgaard. Photo: The National Museum of Denmark.

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interest in the stones at the St Canute Guild Hall, since the guild was named after the royal Danish saint Canute (Fig. 6).¹⁴ According to Langebek they traveled 5000 kilometers in six months. The outcome of the voyage amounted to more than 100 drawings of monuments and seals, as well as copies of a great many documents, in 1753 alone between six and seven hundred from Swedish collections. An important result was the new contacts between Danish and Swedish antiquarians and historians. Brocman and Langebek kept up a lively mail correspondence, and Brocman supplied Langebek with copies of manuscripts and drawings of monuments, for example from Lund Cathedral. The Danish expedition in the Baltic region also meant that Denmark, for a change, inspired Swedish antiquarians. In 1756 Nils Wessman from the Antiquities Archive got a royal Swedish grant to visit Scania and Denmark in order to collect antiquarian material. The Swedes noted that Langebek had recently visited Stockholm, where he had had free access to all sources for Danish history, and therefore it was important that someone from Sweden visit Copenhagen in return while the Danes still remembered the friendly welcome and would behave in the same way.¹⁵ That was certainly not a problem, since Wessman and Langebek had become good friends during Langebek’s and Abildgaard’s visit to Stockholm.

III Archive Illustrator and Traveling Draftsman In the course of the journey Abildgaard and Langebek naturally became quite close, although of course Langebek was always the boss. They discussed whether it would be possible to secure for Abildgaard a regular employment in the recording of historical monuments, for which all through the journey he had demonstrated such obvious talents, and which Langebek was keen to continue on Danish soil. A first application of 14 May 1754, accompanied by letters from both Langebek and Abildgaard, produced no result,¹⁶ but after his return to Denmark Abildgaard tried again – in his application of 10 June 1755 he mentioned that he had traveled with Langebek for almost two years, drawing diplomas, seals, and monuments, and for that reason had lost his former jobs. He therefore hoped that he might be given a public, if at first unpaid position as master archive illustrator at the Royal State Archives until the day when he might be set up in a proper vacancy. Thus he would be able to assist in illustrating whatever »might occur in connection with the diplomatic work or other incidents at the Archives«.¹⁷

 Grinder-Hansen (2010), Fig. 31 or catalogue number 845. On recent investigations Kurisoo / AasoZahradnikova (2012).  Schück (1936), 447– 462.  Letter from Langebek to Johan Ludvig Holstein, 14 May 1754, in: Rørdam (1895), number 103.  Two applications from Søren Abildgaard and Langebek’s recommandation published in Wad (1886).

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Fig. 6: Entrance stones (»Beischlagsteine«) from St Canute Guild Hall in Tallinn, drawn by Søren Abildgaard in 1754. Photo: The National Museum of Denmark.

Langebek recommended the application, emphasizing Abildgaard’s talents as an archive illustrator and the significance of a job that had not existed before at the Danish archives. It was important and also necessary to have illustrations of existing old seal impressions and other “memorabilia” before they disappeared. Langebek’s (and Abildgaard’s) inspiration originated in Sweden, which they now knew so well,

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and their hope was that in the long run the job as draftsman at the archives might be salaried, as the case was in Sweden. For the time being it was only an application to be permitted to work gratis, which was approved. On the 12 September 1755 Abildgaard received a royal appointmenton as master illustrator at the State Archives,¹⁸ and he was to hold this position for more than 35 years until his death at an advanced age in 1791.¹⁹ This was, however, only one step forward, and at the time did nothing to improve his financial problems. Early the next year a new application appeared from the draftsman, recommended by Langebek, this time for a national project. On the 16 January 1756 he asked to be employed as illustrator of memorable monumentsin Copenhagen and in the provinces. So far only the illustrations he had made during the Baltic Sea journey were available, but it would be just as important to register all items worthy of note in Denmark. The plan was for Abildgaard to trace and copy these during the summer and then make working drawings during the winter under Langebek’s supervision. In addition to this he offered to examine matters of natural science and agronomy.²⁰ On 27 February Søren Abildgaard was granted the desired 300 rigsdaler annually plus free transport.²¹ From a Danish point of view, this was the beginning of a pioneer antiquarian activity, which was to go on for more than 20 years (1756 – 1777). Every summer he was on his way to new parts of the realm to copy monuments, and every winter he was busy redrafting and inking the summer’s production (Fig. 7), concurrently with attending to his work as an archival illustrator. Langebek died in 1775, but his draftsman continued to work a few more years. On the 10 June 1778 a royal chancellery instruction released the elderly Søren Abildgaard henceforth from the travels he had undertaken as an archival illustrator in the provinces every summer. In appreciation of his industry he was promised a lifelong annual pension corresponding to the annual amount he had received until then.²² In his preserved notebooks and in letters to Langebek he described unsentimentally, though not without a certain dry humor, his traveling experiences and hardships.²³ He was a very unsentimental observer and did not in any way behave like the antiquarians whom Ludvig Holberg had criticized for seeing things that were quite invisble. Langebek each year gave Abildgaard a long list with all the monuments that he wanted him to examine and eventually draw, and in some cases Abildgaard reveals a certain sarcastic joy in puncturing Langebek’s somewhat folkloristic expectations. Langebek had asked him to investigate a head carved in stone on the church wall in Bjergby

 Wad (1886); Grinder-Hansen (2010), 73.  Grinder-Hansen (2010), 169  Wad (1886), 150 – 152.  Letter to Jacob Langebek from J. L. Holstein, 27 February 1756, published in Grinder-Hansen (2008), number 1.  Grinder-Hansen (2010), 73 – 74.  Grinder-Hansen (2008), sources number 2– 14, 16.

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Fig. 7: Gravestone from Sneslev Church in Denmark of Mourits Skave, died 1583, his wife Eline Bilde, died 1559, and their daughter Anne Skave, died 1560. Søren Abildgaards own text is: »This grave stone, which is of a white, ash-colored marble, lies in Sneslev Church, Ringsted County, in the chancel. One corner is hidden by a brickwork platform, in which a gray stone font has been fixed. Drawn 1757 by Søren Abildgaard.« In the manuscript collection of the Royal Library, Thott 750 fol. Photo: The Royal Library, Copenhagen.

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in North Jutland. Abildgaard reported to Langebek: »Here is like on so many other churches a head or a human face carved in granite stone. The fables fantasized about that might fill a whole book.«²⁴ In Hillerslev there were also some heads carved on the stone walls of the church but that did not impress Søren Abildgaard: »On the east side of the church is a shapeless human head carved in stone, also on the north side, it is uncertain whether it mean saint or ghost.«²⁵ When Langebek asked him about the holy spring of St Margaret in the hills of Flade Parish in north Jutland, Abildgaard dryly remarked: »There are two so-called springs which look more like wells or puddles.«²⁶ From the lists given to Abildgaard it is evident what primarily interested Langebek, namely genealogy and biography, heraldry, inscriptions, and datings. Antiquities, however, were also to be studied, and the instructions concerning the individual parishes include questions about ancient monuments like dolmens and passage graves. Unlike earlier Danish questionnaires it was no longer the vicars in these parishes who were obliged to copy inscriptions and make drawings: now there was a recurrent professional draftsman. Thanks to his Baltic voyage Abildgaard had acquired a certain antiquarian knowledge, and in the course of his more than twenty years as professional illustrator he became an expert in evaluating antiquarian questions. He was well able to inspect a church and select features of potential interest. His drawings were of course of a far higher quality than what various country parsons might do. In locating objects outside the churches he was dependent on locals, and there are cases in his notebooks and reports where he failed to find certain castle mounds or monuments because there was no one locally to guide him. Though Abildgaard was of course carrying his lists of tasks, he was well able to use his own eyes when traveling.²⁷ Thus he described and copied monuments that Langebek did not know. This was of course outside his duties, but especially in the first years he was unable to resist it when there was a chance of examining hidden or forgotten – or particularly interesting – antiquities. However, he also made notes of things he himself found interesting without their having been requested by Langebek. He was in fact anything but indifferent to the project. Characteristically, not only for Abildgaard’s self-image but also for the class prejudices typical of the time, he was reluctant to undertake any heavy physical work if necessary. In such cases he would hire a man, for example if a stone was partly covered by earth. But he was always diligent and persistent in those cases for which he himself was best qualified. On his travels Abildgaard not only drew, he also collected antiquarian information and described church fittings, castle mounds, and other matters of interest. This part of his activities has only been partially preserved, presumably because it mostly    

Grinder-Hansen Grinder-Hansen Grinder-Hansen Grinder-Hansen

(2008), source 14. (2008), source 14. (2008), source 14. (2010), 85 – 108.

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consisted in letters and seemingly insignificant reports. Very few of Langebek’s detailed questionnaires with comments added by Abildgaard have survived, but thirteen of Abildgaard’s travel notebooks are preserved in the National Museum, and these hold many important topographical details and sketches.²⁸

Fig. 8: Rune stone from Gunderup Churchyard, south of Aalborg, Denmark. The stone lay flat on the ground so the inscription was hidden, but Abildgaard had the stone lifted far enough for him to copy the inscription. Photo: The National Museum of Denmark.

Besides this material, about 860 finished antiquarian drawings are preserved from the hand of Søren Abildgaard.²⁹ The drawings were in many cases sketched in pencil and then drawn in ink afterwards. In some cases a slight gray shading has been added, giving the drawings of medieval and renaissance gravestones and epitaphs a certain classicizing flavor. Most of them depict gravestones, but he also drew rune stones (Fig. 8). Only rarely did he draw smaller objects, as he did in Flens-

 Søren Abildgaard’s notebooks are preserved in the Antiquarian-Topographical Archive of the National Museum of Denmark.  Almost all the drawings are preserved in the Antiquarian-Topographical Archive of the National Museum of Denmark, they are published in Grinder-Hansen (2010), number 1– 855. A few additional drawings have been found since the publication of that book.

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burg when depicting some old drinking horns at the town hall (Fig. 9).³⁰ Prehistoric monuments were normally not drawn with ink but only sketched or described in his notebooks, since they did not contain the sort of information that would be useful for Langebek in his diplomatarium.

Fig. 9: Drinking horn from Flensborg, Abildgaard’s text reads: »This is the full inscription as it is engraved on the upper ring which lines the mouth of the horn. In the monastery in Flensborg in the so-called Herren Saahl is kept this depicted drinking horn, which is decorated with gilded copper rings. The mayor Mr. Clæder does not mention this horn, but only two other horns which are kept in the so-called Burgemeister Schrank in the town hall. The drawing above is only half the size of the horn of which the drawing has been made. S. Abildgaard 1777.« The horn is now in the medieval collection of the National Museum, inventory number D7. The drawing is preserved in the archive of the collection. Photo: The National Museum of Denmark.

IV Other activities In his application to become a traveling antiquarian draftsman Abildgaard had suggested that, during his travels, besides the monuments he might record or copy any other curiosity within the spheres of historia naturalis or oeconomica that he might come across, but such topographical studies were soon abandoned due to lack of

 By mistake the four drawings of drinking horns were not published in the catalogue of GrinderHansen (2010). I am glad to present one of them as an illustration to this article.

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time to collect sufficient material.³¹ He did, however, publish two genuinely topographical descriptions on his own account, an article about the Skaw (»Skagen«) at the northernmost point of Denmark, and one about his native town Flekkefjord in southwestern Norway.³² The article about the Skaw was a pioneer work, as it is the oldest topographical description of this spot. It is almost ethnological, including a close study of tools and fishing methods based on questioning the fishermen as well as on his own observations. His own professional interests were agronomy and geology, two subjects which might easily be combined. For Abildgaard as well as for his contemporaries it was a question of wrenching from nature its secrets and understanding the rules that govern it, the better to be able to benefit from its resources. From the middle of the 1750s he wrote a number of articles in the newly founded economic magazine »DanmarkNorges Oeconomiske Magazin« (Denmark’s and Norway’s Economic Magazine), eight volumes of which appeared in the years 1757– 1764.³³ The initiator and protector was the Lord Steward A. G. Moltke. Moltke guaranteed that this magazine and its content was in accord with the ideology of the absolute yet enlightened monarchy which he governed in close co-operation with J. H. E. Bernstorff – in the name of the weak and alcoholic King Frederick V. The authors who were encouraged to come forward in the invitation of 1755 were expressly called »patriots«, a title that appears in Danish territory in the 1750s and flourished in the latter half of the century. The basic idea was that all citizens were of like value for the realm and that all would be able to contribute to the country’s growth. Abildgaard was the most frequent contributor to this magazine, the early volumes of which are rightly considered the first breakthrough for a patriotic ideology under the absolute monarchy. The purpose of the magazine was to utilize whatever knowledge lay hidden in the population. The editors suggested prize questions, the solution to which might result in a gold medal, equivalent to ten gold ducats. Søren Abildgaard won this prize three times, which was more than any other contributor during the six years the magazine rewarded contributions. The Royal Danish Agricultural Society, founded in 1769, copied the practice of the magazine. Already in its first year it offered prizes for papers as well as presentations of new inventions. Abildgaard’s paper on soil improvement by means of marling was accorded the Society’s minor gold medal. This paper is a very systematic and thorough piece of work, which was published under the simple, very patriotic motto: »Rivers stem from small springs«.³⁴ It is difficult to distinguish between Abildgaard’s agricultural analyses and his activities as a scientific writer, and during his lifetime there was no clear dividing line. The usefulness of natural science was certainly recognized, and many scientific surveys not only aimed to identify and explain a phenomenon, but rather endea   

Grinder-Hansen (2010), 119. Abildgaard (1761), Abildgaard (1781). Abildgaard (1757, 1759b, 1759c, 1761a, 1761b, 1763). Abildgaard (1776).

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Fig. 10: Fossils from the cliffs of Stevns, drawn by Søren Abildgaard. Engraving in his book about the cliffs of Stevns (Abildgaard [1759]).

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vored to clarify its functional potential.³⁵ Abildgaard wrote and illustrated two books, also issued in German, which place him among the natural scientists of the time. The first book, published in Danish in 1759 and in German in 1764, in Copenhagen and Leipzig (Fig. 10 – 11), was »a description of the cliff of Stevns and its natural curiosities, commented on and executed with mineralogical and chemical observations and equipped with the necessary engravings«.³⁶ His long-planned book on the cliff of Møn was not completed until 1781.³⁷ He concluded that the cliff of Møn had not taken its present shape at the Creation, but must be the result of later events in the history of the earth. Søren Abildgaard put forward the rather exciting idea that displacements of the center of gravity of the earth must have caused both the demonstrated climatic changes (tropical fossils in Denmark) and the astounding landslides caused by fire and water. In Denmark his publications were pioneer works, in which precise observations are combined with some plausible interpretations. The engravings of the works once more display his artistic talents in a scientific connection.

Fig. 11: The cliffs of Stevns, drawn by Søren Abildgaard. On top of the cliffs can be seen the church of Højerup. Engraving in Abildgaard’s book about the cliffs of Stevns (Abildgaard [1759]).

 Rappaport (2003), 417– 35.  Abildgaard (1759a, 1764).  Abildgaard (1781, 1783).

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At the same time as he practiced natural science, Søren Abildgaard produced miniature portraits, painted on paper, parchment, or ivory.³⁸ This was a very popular form of art in the 1700s, the more so because of the new possibilities afforded by miniatures on ivory. His diligence and sense for details made it an obvious choice to use his artistic talent on miniatures. The oldest preserved work from his hand is the portrait of Jacob Langebek from 1751, but from time to time he produced such tiny works of art in a precise and delicate maner. That was yet another way to help the always strained finances of the Abildgaard family. Søren Abildgaard’s letters bear witness to a man who cared for his family in all details and was willing to work for their well-being as far as he was able. His wife, Anne Margrethe, was responsible for keeping the family together while Søren had so many irons in the fire. The family was used to their father’s never being at home during the summer. From the beginning of the 1740s until 1777 he was absent for several months every summer, first on Lolland drawing butterflies, later on his antiquarian travels, not to forget his absence from home for a year and a half on his Baltic Sea voyage in 1753 – 1754. Much must have rested on Anne Margrethe, but she seems to have been a strong woman. As to Søren he seems to have liked his traveling life, even, according to his wife, to have been happier traveling than when he was at home. He seems to have preserved his inquisitiveness and power of observation to the end. 29 April 1789 Søren and Anne Margrethe celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary, looking back over a long life together. In the first half of 1791 Søren fell seriously ill, and when, in the middle of the summer, he felt death approaching, he told his son, the painter Nicolai Abildgaard, to take care of his mother. A few days later, on Saturday, 2 July, he died, 73 years old. His widow died two years later.³⁹ His two surviving sons each in his own way carried on the interests of their father. Peter Christian Abildgaard (1740 – 1801) studied natural sciences and became a veterinary. He founded the Royal Veterinary High School, where he became the professor, while Nicolai Abildgaard (1743 – 1809) became a painter specializing in historical topics and professor at the Academy of Fine Arts in Copenhagen.

V Conclusion Søren Abildgaard was a genuine representative of the patriotic movement that flourished in Denmark and many other parts of western Europe in the second half of the 1700s. The prizes given for Søren’s economic treatises prove that his efforts were appreciated among the rulers of Danish absolutism, first among them the Lord Steward A. G. Moltke. Even so, his life was a continuous struggle to secure himself and his

 Grinder-Hansen (2010), 143 – 148.  Grinder-Hansen (2010), 165 – 167.

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family. Seen from a modern viewpoint it must have felt like an upheaval when instead of butterflies he was told to occupy himself with tombstones and epitaphs at the same time as he was studying economy and geology. But to Abildgaard and his contemporaries it all hung together. Nearly everything that he did was aimed at recording, documenting, and understanding natural science, which, as people in the 1700s understood it, might also comprise traces of the activities of mankind on earth. The demands made of a recording draftsman agreed well with the meticulousness that a miniature painter needed in order to master his materials in such a limited space. The objectivity that characterizes all his recording drawings also appears in the preserved miniatures. Abildgaard’s ideals were moderation, objectivity, responsibility, and honesty, all representing decent middle-class virtues. Luckily these ideals were combined with the artist’s powers of observation and the scientist’s curiosity and sober judgements.

Bibliography Primary Literature Abildgaard, Søren: »Anmærkninger om Kalkens Beredning til bestandig og stærk Muur-Arbeid«, in: Danmarks og Norges Oeconomiske Magazin 1 (1757), 283 – 290. Abildgaard, Søren: »En märkvärdig förändring på jordens superficies i Finland, förnämligast kring landsvägen emellan Åbo och Wiborg, anmärkt under en resa år 1754«, in: Kungl. Vetenskaps academiens handlingar för år 1757, vol. XVIII, Stockholm 1757, 222 – 225. Abildgaard, Søren: Beskrivelse over Stevens Klint og dens naturlige Mærkværdigheder, oplyst og udførdt med Mineralogiske og Chymiske Betragtninger, Copenhagen 1759 (1759a). Abildgaard, Søren: »Anviisning paa beste Maade at udrydde af Agrene Morgenfruer, Ager-Kaal, Klinte og Heyre, som gemeenligt frem for andet Ukrud meget hindrer Kornets Væxt, item hvorledes Landmanden kand forskaffe sig reent og godt Sæde-Korn«, in: Danmarks og Norges Oeconomiske Magazin 3 (1759), 157 – 166 (1759b). Abildgaard, Søren: »Undersøgning om hvad som nu meere end i de ældre Tider hindrer de Danske Stutteriers Fremgang, og hvad Middel der er det beste til at ophielpe samme«, in: Danmarks og Norges Oeconomiske Magazin 3 (1759), 255 – 262 (1759c). Abildgaard, Søren: »Afhandling over hvad, som befordrer eller hindrer Fiskeriernes Drift til Besvarelse paa det der om foresatte Problema«, in: Danmarks og Norges Oeconomiske Magazin 5 (1761), 327 – 342 (1761a). Abildgaard, Søren: »Beskrivelse over Kiøbstæden Skagen, dens nærværende oeconomiske Tilstand, og Fiskeriets Beskaffenhed sammesteds«, in: Danmarks og Norges Oeconomiske Magazin 5 (1761), 343 – 360 (1761b). Abildgaard, Søren: »Underretning om et mineralsk besynderligt Kilde-Væld ved Antvorskov, kaldet Kalle Kilde«, in: Danmarks og Norges Oeconomiske Magazin 7 (1763), 21 – 28. Abildgaard, Søren: Beschreibung von Stevens Klint und dessen natürlichen Merkwürdigkeiten, Copenhagen / Leipzig 1764. Abildgaard, Søren: Abhandlung vom Torf. Aus dem Dänischen übersetzt, Copenhagen 1765. Abildgaard, Søren: »Afhandling om Mergel. I Anledning af Selskabets Priis-Spørgsmaal om Mergels Brug i Ager-Dyrkningen«, in: Det Kongelige Danske Landhusholdningsselskabs Skrifter 1776, 147 – 286.

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Abildgaard, Søren: Physisk-mineralogisk Beskrivelse over Møens Klint, Copenhagen 1781 (1781a). Abildgaard, Søren: »Extract af Abildgaards Beskrivelse over Flechefiords Told-District«, in: Christiansandske Uge-Blade (1781), 44 – 46 (1781b). Abildgaard, Søren: Physikalisch-mineralogische Beschreibung des Vorgebirges auf der Insel Möen. Aus dem Dänischen, nach den neuesten Berichtungen und Verbesserungen des Verfassers, tr. by Chistian Heinrich Reichel, Copenhagen 1783. Holberg, Ludvig, Epistler III, published and annotated by F. J. Billeskov Jansen, Copenhagen 1947. Niebuhr, Carsten, Carsten Niebuhrs Rejsebeskrivelse fra Arabien og andre omliggende Lande, Copenhagen 2003. Nyerup, Rasmus (ed.), Langebekiana, Copenhagen 1794. Rørdam, H. (ed.), Breve fra Langebek, Copenhagen 1895.

Secondary Literature Bech, Sven Cedergreen, »Jacob Langebek«, in: Dansk biografisk Leksikon, 3. ed., Copenhagen 1981. Grinder-Hansen, Poul, »Den antikvariske tegner og geheimearkivaren. Søren Abildgaards breve til Jacob Langebek 1756 – 61 – og andre kilder om Søren Abildgaards antikvariske virksomhed«, in: Danske Magazin 50 / 2 (2008), 359 – 390. Grinder-Hansen, Poul, Søren Abildgaard (1718 – 1791). Fortiden på tegnebrættet, Copenhagen 2010. Grinder-Hansen, Poul, »Østersørejsen«, in Skalk 1 (2011), 18 – 28. Jørgensen, Ellen, Historieforskning og Historieskrivning i Danmark indtil Aar 1800, Copenhagen 1931, 203 – 209. Kaaber, Svend / Boy Overgaard Nielsen / Thorkild Munk, Geheimeraad C. F. Rabens Danske Insektindsamlinger, Copenhagen 2008. Kurisoo, Merike / Isabel Aaso-Zahradnikova, »The Stone King Canute. Late medieval stone relief from St Canute’s Guild Hall in Tallinn and its technical Investigations«, in: Proceedings of the Art Museum of Estonia (2012), 173 – 183 plus 12 Figs. Loit, Aleksander, »En resa genom Östersjöprovinserna år 1754. Magister N. R. Brocmans reseanteckningar utgivna och inledda av […]«, in: Svio-Estonica, Studier utgivna av Svenska-Estoniska Samfundet, vol. 12, 1954, 82 – 138. Rappaport, R., »The Earth Sciences«, in: Cambridge History of Science, vol. 4, Cambridge 2003, 417 – 435. Schück, Henrik, Kgl. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademien. Dess Förhistoria och Historia, vol. V, Stockholm 1936. Sweet, Rosemary, Antiquaries. The Discovery of the Past in Eighteenth-Century Britain, London 2004. Wad, Gustav Ludvig (ed.), »To ansøgninger fra Søren Abildgaard«, in Personalhistorisk Tidsskrift 2. series, vol. 1, 1886, 148 – 152.

Stefan Heinrich Bauhaus

Etymologized space: Olof Rudbeck the Elder and the Phrygian language I Olof Rudbeck the Younger Even though Gothicism was mainly a Swedish phenomenon, speculations concerning the prehistory of Sweden encompassed Finland as well.¹ The position of the Finns and the Sami within Olof Rudbeck the Elder’s Atlantica was a special problem. It was hard to reconcile the priority of the Geats with the obvious ancientness of the Sami and the Finns.² In 1727 a letter from Olof Rudbeck the Younger (1660 – 1740) to Fabian Törner (1666 – 1731) was published in the Acta Literaria Sveciae. The letter’s promising title was »De esthonum, fennonum, laponumque origine«. Rudbeck the Younger assumed that these three peoples were to be identified with the Ten Lost Tribes of Israel, whom, according to 2 Esdras 13, the Assyrian king Shalmaneser had carried off and ordered to settle in a new and uninhabited land called Arsareth.³ The idea that the Sami could derive from the Ten Lost Tribes had already been implied in a poetic dedication by Lars Norrman (1651– 1703) in the preface to Rudbeck the Younger’s Laponia Illustrata (Nora Samolad eller uplyste Lapland) of 1701. In his Specimen (Specimen usus linguae Gothicae) of 1717 Rudbeck the Younger himself had picked up that idea, referring to 2 Esdras 13, the Fourth Book of Ezra according to the Vulgate, and explicitly to the country Arsareth, which plays a major role in his 1727 letter on the Estonians, Finns, and Lapps.⁴ It seems to me that until then he had been uncertain about how well he could prove his assumption. In earlier years Rudbeck the Younger had discussed the idea that the native North Americans in New Sweden could be the offspring of the Ten Lost Tribes.⁵ The proof he offered for his ultimate conclusion, viz. that the Sami as well as the Finns and Estonians were the descend-

 The following article elaborates on topics that I have treated in my thesis (in print).  For Rudbeck the Elder’s ideas on the origin of the Finns and Sami cf. Anttila (2009). For a discussion of the Finnish ethnogenesis and the role of Rudbeckianism cf. Roling (2010).  Rudbeck the Younger, »De esthonum, fennonum, laponumque origine«, 301. Rudbeck quotes the passage in question from the Vulgate in an abbreviated form: »Hae sunt decem tribus, quae captivae sunt de terra sua in diebus Oseae regis, quem captivum duxit Salmanassar, rex Assyriorum, et transtulit eos trans flumen; & translati sunt in terram aliam. Ipsi autem dederunt sibi consilium hoc, ut derelinquerent multitudinem gentium, & proficiscerentur in ulteriorem regionem, ubi nunquam inhabitavit genus humanum: & ibi observarent legitima sua &c. Per eam enim regionem erat via multa, itineris anni unius & dimidii. Nam regio illa vocatur Arsareth. Tunc inhabitaverunt ibi ad tempus usque ultimum.«  Rudbeck the Younger, Specimen, 83.  Cf. Bauhaus (2017). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638042-010

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ants of the Ten Lost Tribes, is quite remarkable. In most of Rudbeck the Younger’s works language comparison plays an important role. His system is too complex to summarize in a few sentences here, but the main point is the special affinity of Swedish / Geatic to Hebrew as the oldest language.⁶ The primordiality of Hebrew, of course, was a quite common view in his time, but rather orthodox compared to his father who, in accord with the Gothicist view of language, claimed supremacy for the Swedes and their language. Rudbeck the Younger’s letter was reprinted a year later in Gabriel Arctopolitanus’ dissertation De origine ac religione Fennonum, supervised by Fabian Törner. Both the original letter and its reprint are in Latin, but there is an early English translation which appeared in 1742 in the Acta Germanica. The name of the country Arsareth was of particular interest to Rudbeck.⁷ It was composed, he writes, of two Hebrew words ‫ ארץ‬arez and ‫ ארז‬äres. ⁸ The first word meant ›country‹, while the latter is usually translated ›cedar‹ but, according to Rudbeck, could also refer to similar kinds of trees such as pines or firs. Rudbeck’s transcription of Hebrew is often deficient. This is also the case with his etymology of Arsareth. From a modern linguist’s perspective, the ›Auslaut‹ of the name in -th cannot be reconciled with the final voiced ‫ז‬- (‐z) of the word ‫ארז‬. But Rudbeck’s system of consonantal permutation was comparatively flexible. The Hebrew word for ›cedar‹, ‫ארז‬, is also the subject of a manuscript by Rudbeck that most likely predates this letter,⁹ and he has left several other manuscripts and publications dedicated to biblical zoology and botany, all of which are adorned by etymological speculations. As Arsareth was hence to be translated as ›land of the cedars‹ or ›land of the pines‹, what remote country could the Ten Lost Tribes have settled in, other than Scandinavia? Rudbeck mentioned the shared similarity of the cedar and the juniper, quoting Valentin Schindler (1543 – 1604). It is obvious that this is a first ›nordification‹ of the Hebrew term, as Scandinavia was known for its richness in junipers.¹⁰ Another supporting argument was the island Oserichta, as Pliny had called it, which was located at the German coast. It must have been obvious for Rudbeck the Younger that this island was identical with Arsareth, as both names were phonetically very similar. The younger Rudbeck also considered the name Arsaratha, which appears in Pseudo-Berossos. The strongest argument for the identification of the three northern peoples with the Ten Lost Tribes was the fact that, except for Syriac, Arabic, or Chaldaic, no other peoples’ language showed as much affinity with Hebrew as Finnish, Estonian, and Sami.¹¹ It is interesting that Rudbeck here does not explicitly mention the Swedish language. In his works it never becomes totally clear whether Swedish was

 I use the term ›Geatic‹ to render Rudbeck the Younger’s ›Göthiska‹. Similarly to his father’s ›Geatic‹ or ›Scythian‹, it was composed of Swedish, Old Norse, and Gothic language material.  Rudbeck the Younger, »De esthonum, fennonum, laponumque origine«, 301– 302.  The transcription is according to Rudbeck the Younger’s orthography.  MS R 12 b in Uppsala Universitetsbiblioteket.  Rudbeck the Younger, »De esthonum, fennonum, laponumque origine«, 302.  Rudbeck the Younger, »De esthonum, fennonum, laponumque origine«, 302.

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in fact the language closest to Hebrew, or rather some kind of ›aliud‹, an independent language rivaling Hebrew in rank and age. However, the value of Hebrew itself is never questioned. His concern was rather with the flawed contemporary biblical hermeneutics. One could easily see the similarity between Hebrew and these Scandinavian languages by comparing the Hebrew word for ›child‹ or ›boy‹ ‫ נער‬naar with Sami nuor or Finnish nuori with the same meaning.¹² As was common in proto-linguistic works of that period, etymologies were primarily based on analogies in sound. Rudbeck the Younger also had a certain concept of consonantal permutation according to the place of articulation, though it was far from any scientifically based system of regular sound change. The analogy of Hebrew ‫ נער‬with Finnish nuori shows that he was happy to ignore the Hebrew ›letter‹ -‫ע‬- in his etymology. The voiced pharyngeal fricative (ʕ) was unknown in Swedish, and Rudbeck most likely considered this sound unstable. But his letter of 1727 also shows that Rudbeck the Younger’s idea of language relation was a little more elaborate than it may appear at first sight, as he does also adduce morphological evidence. The morphological evidence here consisted of shared features of the languages in question, for instance the use of affixes but also the manner of conjugating verbs. As is commonly accepted, Hebrew belongs to the Semitic language family, together with Arabic, Aramaic, and some other languages that Rudbeck the Younger could not have known. Semitic itself is part of the Afro-Asiatic macro-family, which further comprises Egyptian, Hausa, and several other languages.¹³ Finnish, Estonian, and Sami on the other hand are Finno-Ugric languages. The Finno-Ugric languages, which also include Hungarian, are part of the Uralic language family, along with the Samoyed languages in Siberia.¹⁴ The seventeenth and eighteenth century uncovered several of the smaller Finno-Ugric languages.¹⁵ Rudbeck the Younger himself is best known for his Hungarian-Finnish wordlist, which he presented in his Specimen but which has to be regarded as the continuation of his father’s ideas upon that topic.¹⁶ From a linguistic point of view both language families, Semitic and Uralic, do share certain features. He explicitly mentioned ›separable‹ and ›inseparable‹ pronouns referring to Eric Cajanus’ De convenientia linguae Hebraicae et Fennicae from 1697. Both language families do indeed have possessive suffixes, that is, suffixes that incorporate the function of our possessive pronouns, as becomes apparent from the following table:

 Rudbeck the Younger, »De esthonum, fennonum, laponumque origine«, 303.  For the taxonomy of the Semitic languages cf. Moscati (1980).  De´csy (1965) provides an ever useful overview of the Finno-Ugric languages.  Stipa (1990) provides the interested reader with a most elaborate history of Finno-Ugric linguistics.  Cf. Hormia (1964).

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Hebrew ‫› בית‬house‹¹⁷

Finnish talo ›house‹¹⁸

. Singular

‫ ביתי‬bêt̠î

taloni

. Singular (masc.) . Singular (fem.)

‫ ביתך‬bêt̠ək̠ā ‫ ביתך‬bêt̠ek̠

talosi

. Singular (masc.) . Singular (fem.)

‫ ביתו‬bêt̠ô ‫ ביתה‬bêt̠āh

talonsa

. Plural

‫ ביתנו‬bêt̠ēnū

talomme

. Plural (masc.) . Plural (fem.)

‫ ביתכם‬bêt̠ək̠æm ‫ ביתכן‬bêt̠ək̠æn

talonne

. Plural (masc.) . Person (fem.)

‫ ביתם‬bêt̠ām ‫ ביתן‬bêt̠ān

talonsa

However, possessive suffixes are not uncommon in the world’s languages. We find them for instance in most Turkic languages (cf. Turkish evim ›my house‹, evimiz ›our house‹), but also in Indo-European languages like Persian. Speaking from a modern linguist’s perspective, there are in fact more differences between the two language groups than similarities. Uralic is an agglutinating language like the Turkic languages; both also display vowel harmony. Neither of those features is shared by Semitic, which is more or less synthetic. On the other hand, Semitic has grammatical gender (masculine vs. feminine), which Finno-Ugric lacks. Despite all that, it is still remarkable that Rudbeck the Younger takes typological aspects into account. It shows that he was aware of Finnish morphology to a certain extent. The most interesting aspect of his letter is his attempt to find evidence for his theory by comparing Finnish and oriental place names. On the journey to Scandinavia, the Ten Lost Tribes must have remained in Persia for some time. Rudbeck the Younger consequently tried to find toponyms in the Middle East that matched Scandinavian place names.¹⁹ For instance, the Finnish town Oulou (Oulu) was paralleled with a Persian place name Ollau near the river Kurr, while Jumalai, in the province of Tavastia, had an oriental analogy in the place name Jumalech. The list comprises seven main analogies:²⁰ Oriental toponym . Hallola . Jumalech / Jumalen . Chaja

Finnish toponym Hallola Jumalai Caja

 My transcription is slightly different from the one used by the Society of Biblical Literature. I hereby thank Mr. David Kiltz for sharing his expertise in the standards of Semitic studies in the Englishspeaking world.  Note that Estonian lacks possessive suffixes.  Rudbeck the Younger, »De esthonum, fennonum, laponumque origine«, 303 – 304.  This list is abbreviated. Some toponyms refer to both a city and a river or lake.

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Continued Oriental toponym . Ollau . Checmechu . Rasalain . Vassa

(lake)

Finnish toponym Oulou Kekimech Rozelain Vassa

(Karelian lake)

Rudbeck the Younger seems to imply that modern place names in Scandinavia give proof of their inhabitants’ origin. The Ten Lost Tribes took their previous place names with them, as it were, comparable to place names like ›New Amsterdam‹. In my thesis I have called that method ›etymologized space‹ (in German ›etymologisierter Raum‹). Etymologized space means that space itself is conceptualized by the languages spoken in it, in this case the place names, but also the designation of its inhabitants, which could offer proof of their origin. Rudbeck concluded his letter by referring to some shared aspects of Hebrew and Sami culture. For instance, the Hebrew origin of the Sami was apparent in the way they worshipped their deities, viz. by anointing themselves; and the fact that they counted their months from March onwards was inherited from the Hebrew²¹. Six years later, the same list of place names appears as an extended version of 32 toponymic analogies in Rudbeck the Younger’s Atlantica Illustrata of 1733.²² The whole book is full of Hebrew etymologies for several ethnonyms and picks up topics that had been discussed by his father. The origin of the Sami, Estonians, and Finns was still to be found with among the Ten Lost Tribes, as could be proved by additional toponymic material. Some striking examples in the new list are: Oriental toponym . Ola . Salmas . Jumilen . Gonga . Chiere . Rasalain . Bigiar . Kars . Lachis . Terki . Abâ

(Arabia) (Persia) (Armenia) (Persian Gulf) (Persia) (Turkey) (Persia) (Turkey) (Canaan) (Dagestan) (Persia)

Nordic toponym Oulou Salmi Jumilai Könge Kieri Rozelain Bager Karis Lachis Turku Abo

(Finland) (Finland) (Karelia) (Lapland) (Ostrobothnia) (Karelia) (Lapland) (Finland) (Finland) (Finland) (Finland)

Compared to the previous list, the focus is much wider. Not only are Finnish place names cited, but also those from the Sami-speaking provinces of northern Sweden are paralleled with toponyms in Turkey, Dagestan, and ultimately Canaan. The original analogies from the list of 1727 are repeated, but have found additional cognates.  Rudbeck the Younger, »De esthonum, fennonum, laponumque origine«, 304– 306.  Rudbeck the Younger, Atlantica Illustrata, 65 – 67.

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The Finnish city of Oulou (Oulu), for instance, now has a second counterpart in Arabia, a place name Ola. The new analogies are not less interesting. Turku, once Finland’s most important city, is paralleled with a place Terki in Dagestan. At the same time, its Swedish name Abo (Åbo) had a counterpart Abâ, a Persian city. This method of multiple etymologies is characteristic for Rudbeck the Younger’s system of language comparison. All these place names show the route the Ten Lost Tribes had taken on their journey to the north. Rudbeck the Younger’s letter to Fabian Törner seems to have been an attempt to reconcile the position of the Swedes in his father’s paradigm with that of the remaining ethnic groups native to Sweden²³. According to the Atlantica of his father, the Geats themselves were of oriental origin, with Japheth’s son Magog as their progenitor. The Finns, Sami, and Estonians could also claim a biblical heritage, but as descendants of the Ten Lost Tribes they could claim the second, but still privileged rank in the history of Atlantis.

II Olof Rudbeck the Elder Rudbeck the Younger’s famous father, Olof Rudbeck the Elder (1630 – 1702), had also tried to demonstrate his assumptions by etymologizing space²⁴. Generally, Rudbeck the Elder used linguistic methods merely as argumentative tools to back up his vision, in a similar way to archaeology, whereas Rudbeck the Younger could claim to have an intrinsic interest in languages, though still within the framework of the Rudbeckian paradigm. Nevertheless, Rudbeck the Elder also offered some clear ideas about what we would call historical linguistics. There are some parts of his Atlantica (Atland eller Manheim dedan Japhetz afkomne slechter ut till hela werlden utgångne äro) in which he goes into the language materials more deeply, one of which is his treatise on the Phrygians and their language in chapter 36 of part I of the work.²⁵ The purpose of the treatise is clear: Rudbeck wanted to include the Trojans in his paradigm. The inhabitants of Troy were identified as Geats and Halfgeats. Consequently, their language, Phrygian as Rudbeck believed, must be a derivate of Geatic and thus ultimately Swedish. Alongside Rudbeck the Elder’s ideas on Phrygian, two other languages are treated in the Atlantica, namely Phoenician and the Mari language. Rudbeck the Elder’s summary about Phoenician is of special importance, since he provides the reader with his own interpretation of the opaque Punic text in Plautus’ Poenulus, showing that his Gothicist approach could compete with the interpretations of contemporary scholarship. Whereas Phoenician is a Semitic language and Mari part of the Uralic language family, Swedish and Phrygian are  Cf. also Stipa (1983), 144.  Rudbeck’s system of language comparison is discussed in Burman (2017) and in my thesis (in print).  Rudbeck, Atlantica, 788 – 809.

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in fact related: Swedish, a member of the Germanic language family, and Phrygian both belong to the Indo-European language family. So the chance that Rudbeck was accidentally able to find some genuine analogies is not excluded. Phrygian belongs to a group of languages that Indo-Europeanists call the ›Trümmersprachen‹; they are believed to be Indo-European, but the corpus of their attestation is so limited that it is hard to establish more than that. Other fragmentary languages are Messapian, Thracian, or Dacian. Among these, Phrygian is comparatively well attested. The sources of Phrygian are twofold.²⁶ First, we have glosses and single words, reported mainly by Hesychius of Alexandria and, as is well known, by Herodotus. These attestations were the only kind that Rudbeck the Elder could have been aware of. The other sources are inscriptions, which Rudbeck could not have known. Phrygian shows a striking similarity to Greek, in contrast to other Indo-European languages in Anatolia, such as Hittite or Luwian. However, it is not considered a Greek dialect, as is sometimes assumed for Macedonian, but a language of its own. One of the main differences is the treatment of some IE phonemes. Where aspirated p, t, and k are found in Greek (φ, θ, χ), we usually find plain and voiced b, d, g in Phrygian (β, δ, γ).²⁷ Right at the beginning of the chapter, Rudbeck claims that certain place names, as reported by Ptolemy and Strabo, were of Geatic origin, but augmented by endings like -us and -os, in the Greek and Latin manner.²⁸ That was particularly true of the mountain Ida as reported by Strabo, below which Ilium was built: the name was clearly Swedish. What Rudbeck did, then, was to offer a list of Phrygian words with their Swedish / Geatic cognates, a large part of which are names rather than common nouns.²⁹ I will give an abbreviated overview of these etymologies:³⁰ Phrygian word / name . becka ›bread‹ . Bergamum . pyr ›fire‹ . Bryges ›Phrygians‹ . Frutis . Frutin-al . Ma . Kappir / Kappar . gler / glyr ›gold‹

(TN, Pergamon)

(PN, goddess Venadis) (her temple) (PN, Sif’s maid) (names of three Gods)

Geatic Analogy baka ›to bake‹ Berghem fyra ›to burn‹ goddess Frigga Fru Disa al / hal ›temple‹ ma ›maid, virgin‹ keppas / kippas ›valiant‹ glisa ›to shine‹

 Cf. Haas (1966) and Sowa (2008), who give a detailed overview of the attestations as well as the peculiarities of the Phrygian language.  For the phonology of Phrygian and its IE origin cf. Sowa (2008), 26 – 31.  Rudbeck, Atlantica, 794.  Rudbeck, Atlantica, 805 – 809.  I quote only the most prominent and enlightening of Rudbeck’s words. The English translations of both the Phrygian and Geatic / Swedish words and names are my own. I use the abbreviations PN (Personal name) and TN (toponym). Numbers 17 and 19 in the list have been omitted as they do not use actual language material but rather semantic concepts.

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Continued Phrygian word / name . lytversus ›odes‹ . arman ›war‹ . Siggin . bedu ›water ‹ . selg ›herbs‹ . Azanu . Baldur . julla ›boats‹ . Alfen . Oen . Troos . Troja

(PN)

(TN, name of a town) (PN, name of a king) (TN, name of a river) (TN, name of an island) (PN, Erik’s son) (TN, Troy)

Geatic Analogy liuda ›to sing‹ arman ›warrior‹ segra ›to win‹ bada ›to wash‹ selg ›salad‹ as ›god‹ ~ ›boats‹ in childish speech ~ oe ›island‹ truin ›faithful‹ träggia ›well-guarded place‹

Rudbeck relied mostly on classical authors such as Herodotus, Homer, and Hesychius of Alexandria, but he also referred to the French scholar Samuel Bochart (1599 – 1667), best known for his Sacred Geography (Geographia sacra) of 1646. Not all the words and names can be identified as actual Phrygian, but for our purpose they will all be treated alike. In fact, some of the analogies can be proved right by modern linguistics. I shall limit myself to discussing some interesting examples. As in the table above, I generally refer to the words of Rudbeck’s original Swedish text if there is no important variation in the Latin version. Rudbeck claimed to have found the Phrygian word becka (1), ›bread‹, in Herodotus. However, when we consult the source we find βεκός rather than becka. ³¹ Rudbeck had obviously changed the form of the word to make it more similar to Swedish.³² He wanted to prove that the word came from Swedish baka ›to bake‹ and its derivatives, similarly to what Johannes Aventinus had already tried to demonstrate for German. As confusing as his method was, in this case he was perhaps even right. Swedish baka, English bake, German backen may be formations from the same Indo-European root, *bheh3g- ›to fry, roast‹, which according to some scholars is reflected in Phrygian βεκός.³³ Space is etymologized when Rudbeck explains the city of Pergamon as derived from Swedish borg but also berg. The ›Phrygian‹ toponym is quoted by Rudbeck as Bergamum (2). Once again Rudbeck has changed the name in order to make it sound similar to the Geatic words. This way it could easily be

 Cf. Herodotus, Histories, 2, 2: »τὰ μὲν δὴ πρῶτα ἀκούσας ἥσυχος ἦν ὁ ποιμήν· ὡς δὲ πολλάκις φοιτέοντι καὶ ἐπιμελομένῳ πολλὸν ἦν τοῦτο τὸ ἔπος, οὕτω δὴ σημήνας τῷ δεσπότῃ ἤγαγε τὰ παιδία κελεύσαντος ἐς ὄψιν τὴν ἐκείνου. ἀκούσας δὲ καὶ αὐτὸς ὁ Ψαμμήτιχος ἐπυνθάνετο οἵτινες ἀνθρώπων βεκός τι καλέουσι, πυνθανόμενος δὲ εὕρισκε Φρύγας καλέοντας τὸν ἄρτον.« I have used Heinrich Stein’s edition (page 5). Emphasis mine.  I always quote Rudbeck’s words in his own orthography. Phrygian words, for instance, he usually writes in the Latin alphabet rather than Greek. Rudbeck’s rendering of Swedish words displays the orthography of the seventeenth century, which was much less consistent than the modern one.  Cf. Haas (1966), 139 and Sowa (2008), 49.

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linked to the Swedish city Berghem in the province of Västergötland. Whereas the Swedish pair borg and berg, which we find also in German Burg and Berg, is not a mere coincidence but indeed displays the same PIE root *bherg̑h- ›to rise‹, a connection to Pergamon cannot be confirmed. No matter whether the word was actually Phrygian or Greek, Germanic b- cannot be represented by p- or π- in either language. The same method was applied to the word for fire, which Rudbeck had found in Plato’s Cratylos. Phrygian pyr (3), which Indo-Europeanists quote as pur,³⁴ was related to the Swedish cognate for ›to burn‹, fyra, and fyr / fur, a word for ›fire‹, which Rudbeck believed to have found in the Edda. This etymology too can be confirmed. Greek πῦρ, Phrygian pur, and, for instance German Feuer and English ›fire‹, all go back to the same PIE stem, *peh2ur. The word Bryges (4) was the Phrygian form of the Greek exonym Φρύγες according to Herodotus, to whom Rudbeck referred. Rudbeck wanted to connect that self-designation to the Geatic goddess Frigga. That explanation made perfect sense within his paradigm, but Germanic f- at the beginning of a word cannot be paralleled to either Phrygian b or Greek φ. The relation of the Phrygian endonym to the Greek exonym, on the other hand, displays the regular development of PIE sounds. The Phrygian pantheon was of special interest to Rudbeck. The personal name Frutis (5) was the rendering of the Goddess Venus according to Solinus. It had a match in the Geatic title Fru Disa. The goddess’s temple, Frutin-al (6), could be linked to the Geatic word al or hal;. Rudbeck seems to have been thinking of Swedish hall (cf. German Halle, English hall), but he does not explain the loss of the anlauting h-. Also the Phrygian name of Sif’s maid Ma (7) was of Geatic origin; it simply denoted her function. She was not only a maid, her name was ›Maid‹. Strabo had mentioned the Kappir or Kappar (8), three Phrygian Gods. The variant kabires in Rudbeck’s Latin text comes closer to the original source and shows that Rudbeck had altered the name of the Cabiri in order to make his analogy neater.³⁵ As becomes apparent from the list, the Geats had an adjective suitable for qualifying both gods and kings, namely keppas / kippas ›valiant‹. Rudbeck found Geatic cognates not only in personal names, but also regular nouns, for instance he cites the Phrygian word(s) gler / glyr ›gold‹ (9) and Geatic glisa ›to shine‹; the Latin version of his work gives them as gleros / gliros. Again, Rudbeck has altered the structure of the words, as he generally regarded monosyllables as primordial. But even the words of the Latin version are artificial. The Phrygian word for ›gold‹ actually attested in the lexicon of Hesychius of Alexandria is

 Cf. Haas (1966), 170.  Cf. Strabo, Geography, 10, 3, 7: »[…] τοσαύτη δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἐν τοῖς λόγοις τούτοις ποικιλία, τῶν μὲν τοὺς αὐτοὺς τοῖς Κουρῆσι τοὺς Κορύβαντας καὶ Καβείρους καὶ Ἰδαίους Δακτύλους καὶ Τελχῖνας ἀποφαινόντων, τῶν δὲ συγγενεῖς ἀλλήλων καὶ μικράς τινας αὐτῶν πρὸς ἀλλήλους διαφορὰς διαστελλομένων – ὡς δὲ τύπῳ εἰπεῖν καὶ κατὰ τὸ πλέον, ἅπαντες ἐνθουσιαστικούς τινας καὶ Βακχικοὺς καὶ ἐνοπλίῳ κινήσει μετὰ θορύβου καὶ ψόφου καὶ κυμβάλων καὶ τυμπάνων καὶ ὅπλων, […].« I have used Stefan Radt’s edition (page 216 – 219). Emphasis mine.

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γλουρός.³⁶ Rudbeck had taken over the word lytversus ›odes‹ (10) from Samuel Bochart. According to Rudbeck, the word was derived from the Swedish word liuda ›sing‹ and liud / lyd ›song‹ (cf. German Lied). He linked the word for ›war‹, arman (11), again referring to Bochart, to Geatic arman ›warrior‹ among others. Evidently, he was thinking of a composition of the old-fashioned word här ›army‹ (cf. German Heer) and man ›man‹. Phrygian siggin (12), a random word that had not yet been explained, found its cognate in Swedish segra ›to win‹ and the noun sigge ›winner‹: it clearly indicated the glory of the Geatic kings. Rudbeck’s concept of consonantal permutation becomes apparent when he links the Phrygian word for ›water‹, bedu, with both the Swedish words watn (cf. modern vatten) and bada ›wash‹. Hesychius had reported a word selg (14) which meant ›herbs‹. Without doubt it had to be connected to a Swedish plant, namely the word for ›lettuce‹, selg. A similar idea is provided for the Phrygian toponym Azanu (15). Rudbeck does not cite any source for that word, but says it was a city in Phrygia. Similarly to the examples discussed above, he finds the origin of that city in the Germanic gods, the Æsir, since the Geatic word as meant ›god‹. The name of a Phrygian king, Baldur (16), could be easily linked to the Nordic god Baldr, who according to Rudbeck’s euhemerism was a Geatic king. The Geatic heritage in Troy was also displayed by the word jullar ›boats‹ (18), which Rudbeck had taken over and ›gothicised‹ from Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica. ³⁷ In Rudbeck’s times, that word was still in use by Swedish children. Hydronyms, too, could be cited as a reliable trace of the Geatic presence in Troy. A Phrygian river Alfen (20) was described in the Iliad, he claims. Here again we see that Rudbeck changed the structure of the actual attestation, as the word in Homer’s Iliad, L, 721 is ᾿Aλφειοῖο;³⁸ thus his Phrygian word could evidently even acquire the Swedish definite article -en. Geatic could come up with a word that was most likely the base of that hydronym: even if Rudbeck did not explicitly quote Swedish älv ›river‹, it is most likely that he was thinking of it as a cognate to the supposedly Phrygian name. Very similarly, the name of an island, Oen (21), was paralleled to Swedish oe (ö) ›island‹. These two analogies imply a change from common nouns to proper nouns. The original meaning had been forgotten, but the Geatic words survived as opaque names. At the end of the list Troy herself is etymologized. The name of the city’s Geatic founder, Erik’s son Troos (20), incor-

 Cf. Sowa (2008), 49 – 50.  Valerius Flaccus, Argonautica, 1, 5 – 15: »Phoebe, mone, si Cumaeae mihi conscia vatis / stat casta cortina domo, si laurea digna / fronte viret, tuque o pelagi cui maior aperti / fama, Caledonius postquam tua carbasa vexit / Oceanus Phrygios prius indignatus Iulos, / eripe me populis et habenti nubila terrae, / sancte pater, veterumque fave veneranda canenti / facta virum. […].« I have used Paul Dräger’s edition (page 14). Emphasis mine.  Homer, Iliad, L, 722: »ἔστι δέ τις ποταμὸς Μινυήϊος εἰς ἅλα βάλλων / ἐγγύθεν ᾿Aρήνης, ὅθι μείναμεν Ἠῶ δῖαν / Πυλίων, τὰ δ’ ἐπέῤῥεον ἔθνεα πεζῶν. / ἔνθεν πανσυδίῃ σὺν τεύχεσι θωρηχθέντες / ἔνδιοι ἱκόμεσθ’ ἱερὸν ῥόον ᾿Aλφειοῖο.« I have used Heinrich Voß’s edition (page 364– 365). Emphasis mine.

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porated and reflected his faithfulness, a quality expressed by Geatic truin ›faithful‹. The city itself derived its name from Swedish träggia and had to be translated as ›well-guarded place‹. We see that a large part of the Phrygian material treated consists of names, especially personal names and toponyms. The reason is that names were easily available material in any kind of language. Rudbeck did not have to be an expert in Phrygian to use them. For his purpose, it was enough to etymologize names rather than regular nouns. In addition, toponyms were best suited to demonstrate the wider implications, namely that the Geats had built Troy and several other places. Their glorious cultural impact could still be found in the designations of certain rivers, islands, and other place names. Rudbeck’s word list may have been inspired by a manuscript by Georg Stiernhielm (1598 – 1672), who also treated the Phrygian language.³⁹ Stiernhielm, the well-known Gothicist, had had a certain impact on Rudbeck, even though he is almost never quoted by him. Beginning from the assumption that Swedish was the primordial language, and in this case the base for the Phrygian words, Rudbeck deliberately changed the structure of the words to support his argument and anticipate their etymology, as if he were trying to restore the original, Geatic appearance. This was done in other parts of his Atlantica too, for instance in his Phoenician-Swedish wordlist.

III Conclusion Rudbeck the Elder did have a concept of the permutation of sounds, although he did not clearly distinguish between sound and letter. It goes without saying that he could not yet have known of the crucial difference between phone and phoneme. In the second chapter of the first part of his Atlantica he observed how Swedish letters were represented for instance in Danish, quoting examples like Swedish mycket ›much‹ and Danish megit, Swedish gripa ›catch‹ and Danish gribe, or Swedish låta ›let‹ and Danish lade. ⁴⁰ But the same sound-analogies could also be found by comparing Swedish äta ›eat‹ and Latin edere. His concept of sound-analogies and the permutation of sounds was not diachronic. He described, rather, the analogies that were possible in general. There is hardly any reference to structural facts beyond mere phonetics. However, the fact that he was, next to Johannes Aventinus or Georg Stiernhielm, one of the first academics to compare Phrygian with an Indo-European language other than Greek, before any postulation of the IE language family, is a remarkable fact that should be considered in surveys of the history of (Indo-European) linguistics. Rudbeck the Younger dug deeper into the language material than his father did. On phonetic permutation there is no great difference from his father, and

 MS R 21 in Uppsala Universitetsbiblioteket.  Rudbeck, Atlantica, 19.

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neither he nor his father distinguished between inherited words and loanwords. Yet, besides sound-resemblances, he cited structural or typological evidence. For instance, he analyzed words by interpreting them as composites of different elements. He was an expert on Middle Eastern languages and not only worked with Hebrew words, but referred to Aramaic, Arabic, Ethiopian, Coptic, several Uralic languages, and also some very remote languages such as Japanese, Vietnamese, Georgian, and even Native American languages. Especially after his father’s death, it becomes obvious that he developed his own ideas, method, and focus of observations. Even though he did not manage to break out of the Rudbeckian paradigm, he must be regarded as a comparatively independent researcher. Both Olof Rudbeck the Elder and his son ›etymologized‹ space, and so performed a double transformation in two opposite directions. Whereas Rudbeck the Elder transformed the regions of classical antiquity, making them part of his ›Atlantic‹ paradigm, Rudbeck the Younger transformed the remote regions of the north by linking its inhabitants and their place names to biblical antiquity. Toponyms were not random. They could give proof of the Geatic heritage of the Trojans, but they could also show that the Finns, Sami, and Estonians were descended from the Ten Lost Tribes.

Bibliography Manuscripts MS R 12 b, Uppsala Universitetsbiblioteket. MS R 21, Uppsala Universitetsbiblioteket.

Primary literature Arctopolitanus, Gabriel, De origine ac religione Fennonum, Uppsala 1728. Herodotus, Histories, ed. by Heinrich Stein, Berlin 1872. Homer, Iliad, ed. and tr. by Heinrich Voß, Frankfurt a. M. 2008. Rudbeck the Younger, Olof, Nora Samolad eller uplyste Lapland, Uppsala 1701. Rudbeck the Younger, Olof, Specimen usus linguae Gothicae, Uppsala 1717. Rudbeck the Younger, Olof, »De esthonum, fennonum, laponumque origine«, in: Acta literariae Sveciae, Uppsala 1927, 300 – 306. Rudbeck the Younger, Olof, Atlantica Illustrata, Uppsala 1733. Rudbeck the Younger, Olof, »Of the Origin of the Esthonians, Finns and Laplanders«, in: Acta Germanica, London 1742, 306 – 309. Rudbeck, Olof, Atlantica (Atland eller Manheim dedan Japhetz afkomne slechter ut till hela werlden utgångne äro), Uppsala 1679. Strabo, Geography, ed. by Stefan Radt, Göttingen 2004. Valerius Flaccus, Argonautica, ed. and tr. by Paul Dräger, Frankfurt a. M. 2003.

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Secondary literature Anttila, Tero, »East of Atlantis: Ancient Finland and its Inhabitants in Olof Rudbeck the Elder’s (1630 – 1702) Atlantica«, in: Itämeren Itälaidalla II, ed. Kari Alenius / Anita Honkala / Sinikka Wunsch, Rovaniemi 2009, 39 – 56. Bauhaus, Stefan Heinrich, »Olof Rudbeck the Younger’s Oförgripelige tankar om amerikanska språket«, in: Apotheosis of the North: The Swedish Appropriation of Classical Antiquity around the Baltic Sea and Beyond (1650 – 1800), ed. Bernd Roling / Bernhard Schirg / Stefan Heinrich Bauhaus, Berlin / Boston 2017, 47 – 62. Bauhaus, Stefan Heinrich, Olof Rudbeck der Jüngere und die Sprachen des Nordens: Zwischen Gotizismus und Orthodoxie, in print. Burman, Annie, »Language Comparison before Comparative Linguistics: Theories of Language Change and Classification in Olof Rudbeck’s Atlantica«, in: Apotheosis of the North: The Swedish Appropriation of Classical Antiquity, ed. Bernd Roling / Bernhard Schirg / Stefan Heinrich Bauhaus, Berlin / Boston 2017, 77 – 93. De´csy, Gyula, Einfü hrung in die finnisch-ugrische Sprachwissenschaft, Wiesbaden 1965. Haas, Otto, Die phrygischen Sprachdenkmäler, Sofia 1966. Hormia, Osmo, »Über die fenno-ugristischen Interessen von Olof Rudbeck d. Ä.«, in: Finnisch-Ugrische Forschungen 35 (1964), 1 – 43. Moscati, Sabatino, An introduction to the comparative grammar of the Semitic languages: Phonology and morphology, Wiesbaden 1980. Roling, Bernd, »Von der Magie zur Poesie: Universalmythen in der finnischen Ethnogenese des 18. Jahrhunderts«, in: Die Enzyklopädie der Esoterik, ed. Andreas Kilcher / Philipp Theison, München 2010, 213 – 256. Sowa, Wojciech, Studien zum Phrygischen, Göttingen 2008. Stipa, Günter, »Die Stellung des Lappischen in Skandinavien in sprachkundlicher Sicht«, in: Sprache und Volk im 18. Jahrhundert: Symposium in Reinhausen bei Göttingen, 3. – 6. Juli 1979, ed. Hans-Hermann Bartens, Frankfurt 1983, 139 – 152. Stipa, Günter: Finnisch-ugrische Sprachforschung: Von der Renaissance bis zum Neupositivismus, Helsinki 1990.

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De usu diversitatis linguarum. Linguistic past (and present) in the dissertations supervised by Carl Abraham Clewberg (1712 – 1765) at the Academia Aboensis With the rise of Sweden to the status of a superpower of the Baltic Sea area in the first half of the seventeenth century, a series of institutions of higher education were established in the periphery of the realm, i. e. the Academia Gustaviana in Tartu, Livonia (German Dorpat) in 1632, the Academia Aboensis / Auraica in Turku, Finland (Swedish Åbo) in 1640, and the Academia Carolina in Lund, Scania (1668), complementing the old university of Uppsala founded in 1477. An essential task of these universities was to educate clergy and civil servants. As the knowledge of Latin, Greek, and Hebrew was an essential element of the formation of Lutheran ecclesiastics, the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries saw a significant development not only of Classical but also Oriental Studies at these institutions. From early on, such figures as Enevaldus Svenonius (1617– 1688), a Turku, Uppsala, and Wittenberg graduate, who established an extensive international academic network during his 1654 academic peregrination and served as Professor of Eloquence, then of Theology at Turku,¹ or Daniel Juslenius (1676 – 1752), Professor of Oriental Languages and subsequently of Theology² at the same institution, combined academic excellence with far-reaching social and political influence, firmly connecting the periphery with the international Res Publica Litterarum. This paper will analyze the comments on the linguistic past and present contained in a series of dissertations supervised by Carl Abraham Clewberg (1712– 1765), Professor of Sacred Languages and later third professor of Theology at the Royal Academy of Turku (Sw. Åbo), Finland, between 1746 and 1765. Born in mainland Sweden, he graduated from Uppsala University and undertook a long peregrination in continental Europe as tutor to the young noblemen Ulrik Gustav (1727– 1809) and Carl Julius De La Gardie (1729 – 1786). Powerful patronage and excellent family contacts – he was second cousin to the Uppsala orientalist Carl Aurivillius – combined with remarkable talent and thirst for knowledge made it possible for him to acquire a deep knowledge not only of classical languages but of oriental ones, both ancient and modern. In the course of this European tour he studied Ara-

 See Pitkäranta (2000).  See Merisalo (2017), 96. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638042-011

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bic,³ Persian, and Turkish in Paris and came into contact with such scholarly celebrities as Tiberius Hemsterhuys, Frans Oudendorp, Albert Schultens, Johann David Michaëlis, and Johann Matthias Gesner, the pioneer of Neo-Humanism himself. Upon taking up his position as Professor of Sacred Languages in Turku in 1749, he had already been purchasing books both on behalf of the Academy library and for his large private one, which was to play a significant role in his teaching. Though his teaching revolutionized the Classics at Turku, it was his contribution to Oriental Studies that may be considered the most original feature of his work. In academic politics, the Opinion that he drafted in 1754 for the Academy of Turku on the proposal, forcefully promoted by Bishop Browallius, to transform the universities of the realm into a kind of polytechnic serving immediate practical purposes, helped enhance the role of research at Swedish institutions of higher education and introduce Neo-Humanism to Turku. Having also taught himself Finnish, he was a member of the team that produced a new Finnish translation of the Bible in the 1750s. Clewberg’s extensive network of academic and social contacts, efficiently put to use, once again demonstrates the integration of the universities of the Realm of Sweden into the international Res publica litterarum. Among the roughly fifty dissertations supervised by Clewberg between 1747 and 1765, we shall concentrate on three that contain a conspicuous number of observations on languages in general (Hebrew and Arabic in particular), and which deal with the past as well as the present uses. These texts are entitled 1) On the necessity of an earlier start for the study of the Hebrew language (De studio linguae Hebraeae maturius inchoando, resp. A. Edblad, 10 July 1754), 2) On the usefulness of linguistic diversity (De usu diversitatis linguarum, resp. A. Gottskalk, 20 July 1754), and 3) A philological study on the usefulness of the Arabic language in complementing the lexicon of the Hebrew language (Specimen philologicum, usum lingvae Arabicae, in perficiendo lexico hebraeo, sistens, resp. M. Avellan, 18 May 1757).⁴

1 De studio linguae Hebraeae maturius inchoando (1754) This pro gradu treatise forcefully argues for inverting the order of study of the three sacred languages, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. First of all, language study should precede the study of other subjects since it mainly requires memory, whereas history,  The Arabic language, the merits of Arabic culture, and even Arabic numismatics, are well represented in the dissertations, e. g. De nummis arabicis in patria repertis (1755, respondens M. Lundbeck), studying a series of coins belonging to the Antikvitetskollegiet (Board of Antiquities, established in 1666) and the Academy library. The text forcefully argues for the merits of Arabs in securing the ancient heritage: »Dum ex procellis iactabantur Graecanis litterae, ad tutissimum hujus refugiebant portum […]« (p. ).  Vallinkoski (1962), 113, no. 813. For Clewberg, see Merisalo (2002), 756 – 760.

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philosophy, etc. require judgement, which can only be expected of more mature youngsters.⁵ The only explicit citation is found on p. 6, where the authors give a direct quotation from Melanchthon’s Declamatio de eloquentia. ⁶ Hebrew should come first for several reasons: 1) Hebrew is the original language of the world;⁷ 2) it is completely free of loan-words apart those from other Oriental languages;⁸ 3) Hebrew is lexically incredibly rich;⁹ 4) Hebrew has no rhetorical complications but is dignified, simple, and exhibits the proper sobriety of God’s language.¹⁰ Consequently, Hebrew should be studied first, before Greek and Latin. It is morphologically simple, unrhetorical, masculine (mascula eloquentia).¹¹ The authors then refute further arguments, such as the difficulty of Hebrew vocabulary, which could partly only be understood through related languages and which would entail much work – this is the case for not only Latin and Greek, but German, Danish, and Swedish as well.¹² Contrary to

 Clewberg/Edblad (resp.), De studio, 5 – 6, ch. 3 : »Omnes hos canones insuper habent, qui studium Scientiarum culturae Lingvarum praeferunt, illud teneriori, hanc robustiori adsignantes aetati. Nam primum quidem naturalem discendi ordinem pervertunt, &, ut Svethicum habet proverbium, jumentum plostello postponunt. […] Lingvas plus memoriae & Scientias plus judicii postulare; arbitra ipsa natura, confectum existimamus, illis a teneris inde ungviculis, his vero robustiore demum aetate incumbendum esse.«  Clewberg/Edblad (resp.), De studio, 6, ch. 3: »Qui contrarium sequuntur institutum, similes sunt morioni Melanchthonis, qui, ex more ligna in culinam Heri ferens, solitus est ex ima strue ea revellere, quae sine magno negotio moveri non poterant, interrogatusque, cur id faceret, respondit, se difficillimam laboris partem primum confecturum, summa illa facilius moveri, nec vidit quantum referret ordine singula tollere. Vide tom. 1. sel. Decl. p. 421.«  Clewberg/Edblad (resp.), De studio, 9, ch. 5: »Apertis enim indiciis constat, quod mundo vix creato primis Parentibus nostris cum ipsa vita, & quidem a Summo rerum Arbitro, inspirata sit.«  Clewberg/Edblad (resp.), De studio, 9, ch. 5: »adeo ut ne unicam quidem voculam agnoscat, quae extraneis debeatur incunabulis.«  Clewberg/Edblad (resp.), De studio, 9, ch. 5: »Porro incomparabilem quoque ubertatem per omnia ostendit. Hoc vel unicum evincit exemplum. Solam frangendi ideam octodecim distinctis verbis exprimunt Hebraei, & quidem ita, ut singulis determinationem quandam specialem insinuent. Plura enumerare non vacat.«  Clewberg/Edblad (resp.), De studio, 10, ch. 5: »amabilem servat simplicitatem, cui Veneres prorsus singulares, quasi fragrantissimo quodam condimento, miram conciliant gratiam. […] Nam sancta Dei eloquia sancto proponit modo, repudiatis paganismi sordibus, quae ceteras omnes Linguas inquinarunt, adeoque castissimam animi sanctimoniam omnibus sui cultoribus largissime propinat.«  Clewberg/Edblad (resp.), De studio, 10 – 11, ch. 6: »Si vero integras loquendi formulas consideraveris, incomparabilem animadvertes concinnitatem. Antiqui enim Hebraei masculam sequebantur eloquentiam. Hinc omnes eorum locutiones tam ineptas Sophistarum illecebras, quam vapidas Scholasticorum tricas refugiebant.«  Clewberg/Edblad (resp.), De studio, 12, ch. 7: »Sic Latina suis & Graeca suis [spaníos legouménois] obnoxia est, quibus lucem aliunde foenerari necesse habet. Quid? quod Linguae etjam vivae quaedam ejusmodi vocabula possideant, quae ex dialectis cognatis necessario illustranda sunt, si peculiarem significandi potestatem ostendere valebunt. Hoc omnibus / p. 13: patere putamus, qui Svecanam, Danicam, & Germanicam debita cum diligentia conferre volunt.«

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what many maintain, Latin is not needed as a vehicular language used in grammars etc., since it is often easier to translate Hebrew directly into Swedish.¹³ Consequently, Swedish should be the language of instruction of Hebrew, not Latin. This interestingly reflects the promotion of vernaculars in academic contexts typical of the Age of Utility. The authors underline the stylistic and rhetorical similarities between the two languages.¹⁴ The word cognatio, which may mean either blood kinship or simply resemblance, is used of the relationship of the two peoples in connection with the lack of corruption in the genius of the languages.¹⁵ No other statement on a possibly common origin of Hebrew and Swedish is presented, however. Simplicity, as opposed to rhetorical complications, is advanced as an ideal in both Hebrew and Swedish.

2 De usu diversitatis linguarum (1754) The De usu diversitatis linguarum draws heavily – to the point of word-for-word quotation, though very seldom acknowledged (see below) – on a 1747 treatise published in Jena by the Danish theologian Albertus Christophorus Holst¹⁶ entitled […] On the necessary but in many ways useful diversity of languages (De linguarum diversitate necessaria, sed multis modis proficua […]).¹⁷ Holst starts with the usefulness of lan-

 Clewberg/Edblad (resp.), De studio, 16, ch. 8: »Praeterea vere possumus adfirmare, quod plerique Hebraeorum idiotismi multo facilius Svecano, quam Latino idiomate repraesentari, si non exhauriri, possint. Ratio in promtu. Nam primum quidem vernacula nostra arctiorem quandam familiaritatem cum antiqua Hebraeorum Lingua colit, ob veterem gentis utriusque cognationem & incorruptum idiomatum genium. Nam Svecana, nullis Sophistarum tricis depravata, naturalem spirat simplicitatem more Hebraicae, contra vero Latina, ab ineptis his magistellis luxata, inconsultum quoddam artificium redolet.«  Clewberg/Edblad (resp.), De studio, 16, ch. 8: »Nostra vero Lingua, etsi recentioribus his temporibus edocta sit adfectatas aliarum argutias imitari, usus tamen quotidianus amabilem servat ingenuitatem, cui multi viri docti eximium statuunt pretium, nulli parcentes labori, ut svaviorem ejus saporem omnibus commendent. Nullum igitur dubium superesse potest, quominus plurima, quae ad Hebraismum rite propinandum faciunt, Svetice, quam Latine, commodius inculcari queant ab omnibus istis doctoribus, qui Patriae nostrae natales debent.«  Clewberg/Edblad (resp.), De studio, 16, ch. 8: »ob veterem utriusque gentis cognationem & incorruptum idiomatum genium«.  Albert (Albrecht) Christopher Holst (c. 1717– 1787), son of Peder Nielsen and Sophie Jørgensdatter Holst, husband since 1751 of Mette Cathrine Pedersdatter Hasse, brother of Else Marie Pedersdatter Holst, Lucie Emerentse Pedersdatter Holst, and Karen Pedersdatter Holst. He was employed at the Latin school of Viborg and became head of the school at Vordingborg. He had obtained the grade of magister in 1749, https://www.geni.com/people/Albert-Christopher-Holst/6000000021707200381, 10 July 2018 (dates and family members); date of marriage and degree, Dansk demografisk database, http://www.ddd.dda.dk/nygaard/visning_billed.asp?id=154630&sort=f, 10 July 2018. He does not seem to have enrolled at the university of Jena at any point, Köhler/Menz (1986).  The work is a gratulatio on the occasion of the Jena graduation in theology of Johann Georg Musäus (1719 – ?). According to the frontispiece it was offered to Musäus by his fellow Latin students

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guage for humans, then passes to the language of Adam; the Babelic confusion is touched upon at a later stage. Holst annotates his text, using classical authors, the Bible of course, and also modern scholarship, such as Buffier’s French Grammar (Grammaire françoise) and the World History (Welthistorie) translated by Baumgarten.¹⁸ There is none of this in Clewberg / Gottskalk, except a sweeping reference to Holst at the end of ch. 8.¹⁹ The De usu diversitatis linguarum opens with a panegyric of speech (ch. 1) quite on the same lines as Holst:²⁰ without language human life would be truly miserable, indeed worse than the life of animals.²¹ The key question of the dissertation is, however: is linguistic diversity a good thing? The author sketches the background of the Babelic confusion: God wanted to punish mankind for its arrogance.²² The Babelic confusion might look like a punishment, but, according to Clewberg / Gottskalk, it actually brought happiness to mankind. Men would have dispersed over the earth even if they had spoken one language, and this would have created diversity.²³ Linguistic diversity is caused by different personalities,²⁴ new, delightful things encountered,²⁵ and the effect of climate, food etc.²⁶

(»qui in societate cum eo operam Latinis litteris dedere«); see also Köhler/Mentz (1986), 355, line 127 and n. 14. For Musäus’ life and career, see Kessler von Sprengseisen (1781), 199.  Baumgarten, Uebersetzung der Algemeinen Welthistorie; Canz, Grammaticae universalis tenuia rudimenta; Buffier, Grammaire.  Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 10, ch. 8: »Conf. Albertum Holst, De diversitate L.L.«  Holst, De linguarum diversitate, 3: »Non loquelam tantum simul cum ratione impertitus est Deus, sed cum primo homine, ne, sociorum sermone deficiente, deficerent hinc oriturae voluptatis occasiones, ipse instituit miscuitque colloquia«.  Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 2, ch. 1: »Quis enim ignorat, quod vitam, quam beneficio lingvae optimam ducimus, hac deficiente, miserrimam, brutorum conditioni fere simillimam, imo ob imbecillitatem nativam, qua brutis etiam inferiores sumus, atque molestam educationem, nullam duceremus.«  Gen. 11, 4– 8.  Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 4, ch. 3: »omnes homines, etjamsi nulla ejusmodi exstititisset confusio, ne sic quidem usque in hodiernum diem unitatem lingvae fuisse retenturos. Necessum enim erat, ut, multiplicato genere humano, cum eadem non omnibus sufficeret tellus, in varias discederent terrae plagas mortales. Jam vero ea est abundantia rerum in regnis naturae, ut quocunque nos vertamus, aliae semper occurrant, ne de eo dicam, quod plures, antea non cognitae, adhuc tempore detegantur«.  Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 4, ch. 3: »mira ingeniorum varietas«.  Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 4– 5, ch. 3: »jucundae novitatis studium«.  Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 5, ch. 3: »coeli temperies aut intemperies, climatum ratio diversa, alimentorum potionumque conditio dissimilis«. The passage is nearly a word-for-word quotation from Holst, De linguarum diversitate, 6: »Coeli quoque temperies aut intemperies, climatum ratio diuersa, atque adeo alimentorum potionumque conditio dissimilis, haec omnia nihilne conferrent ad linguae discrepantiam«.

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The daring plans of humans were no doubt also due to their enjoyment of, for example, the lovely valley that they were living in.²⁷ Humanity would no doubt have been dispersed over the earth even without God’s drastic measure, but much more slowly.²⁸ The benefits of dispersion and linguistic diversity are multiple. Firstly, mankind did not starve, as it would have, had it stayed in one place; secondly, poverty invites envy and conflict; thirdly, linguistic diversity also contributed to lessening envy and conflict.²⁹ Dispersion imposed curiosity and brought about discoveries.³⁰ Due to diversity, the Book of Nature is indeed perfectly legible to mankind.³¹ Linguistic diversity also serves to censure dangerous ideas.³² If there were only one language, everybody could read any texts whatever; now, the use of a lingua eruditorum protects society at large.³³ This is again an idea also present in Holst,³⁴ who refers here (in footnote y) to Johann Lorenz von Mosheim’s preface to the second edition of Nolte’s An Antibarbarus of the Latin Language in four parts (Lexicon Latinae linguae antibarbarum quadripartitum […]),³⁵ and Mosheim’s preface to the 1723 Hamburg edition of Oberto Foglietta, On the use and excellence of the Latin language (De linguae Latinae usu et praestantia) originally published in 1574.³⁶ Through Holst, Clewberg / Gottskalk connect with contemporary discussions on the use of Latin, part of the Querelle des Anciens et des Modernes in which Clewberg was heavily involved in 1754, as we have seen above.

 Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 5, ch. 3: »[…] adeoque dispersui per terram, quantum fieri potuit, praecavisse […] non ultro a proposito resiliissent, sed variis modis, utpote amoenitate & foecunditate vallis […]«. Cf. Holst, De linguarum diversitate, 10: »amoenitate huius vallis […] dispersui […] cauere molirentur«.  Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 5, ch. 3: »hoc tamen non fecissent nisi cum maxima mora & spatio temporis«.  Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 6 – 7, ch. 4: »per peculiarem loquelae confusionem, introducta sermonis discrepantia validus positus fuit obex«.  Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 7, ch. 5: »Hac tandem via diversorum terrae tractuum opulentia in mutuos usus commode converti potuit.«  Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 8, ch. 6.  Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 8 – 9, ch. 7.  Holst, De linguarum diversitate, 14: »Diuersitas linguarum saepius, ni fallor, obstaculo est, quo minus opiniones profanae et noxii errores, qui quidem prorsus coerceri non possunt, ne vsquam innotescerent, tam effuso impetu, ac alias fieri potuit, diuulgari, et in vulgus exire queant, imo facilius nonnunquam obliterantur penitus. […] Si omnia populari, et vbique intelligibili sermone cunctis legenda exhiberentur, facilius fieret, vt dubiis nihil profuturis, et sexcentis difficultatum implexibus minus necessariis […] irretirentur imperitorum animi, aut alia detrimenta caperent, quibus […] arbitror, cauetur, si aliam linguam eruditis propriam adhibere licuerit.« For Foglietta, see Bitossi (1997). The 1744 edition of Nolte’s work figures in Clewberg’s own library auctioned in 1767, see Anonymous, Förtekning, 78.  Holst, De linguarum diversitate, 14.  Nolte, Lexicon, 20 – 21.  Foglietta, De linguae Latinae usu, 38.

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The Gift of Tongues on Whitsun is another manifestation of the blessings of diversity. There follow two passages borrowed from Holst.³⁷ It is only here that Clewberg / Gottskalk explicitly acknowledge Holst’s contribution.³⁸ At the end, and without support from Holst, Clewberg / Gottskalk refute the argument³⁹ that learning several languages is a waste of time.⁴⁰ The knowledge of other languages also helps to develop linguistic skills in one’s mother tongue (here, Swedish).⁴¹

3 Specimen philologicum, usum lingvae Arabicae, in perficiendo lexico hebraeo, sistens (1757) This treatise, which deals with the similarities of Hebrew and Arabic, is comparative in approach. Unlike the preceding dissertations it is (sparsely) annotated. The text starts with the Babelic confusion, which explains on the one hand the existence of different languages and, on the other, their resemblances.⁴² The authors then pass in medias res: though Hebrew was the first language on earth, the Arabic language is indeed extremely ancient and most helpful for a better comprehension of Hebrew. The authors first refer to two works by Albert Schultens, the First discourse on the most ancient origin of the Arabic language as well as its near and sisterly relation with the Hebrew language (Oratio prima de linguae arabicae antiquissima origine, intima ac sororia cum lingua hebraea affinitate […]), where the author forcefully argues

 The passages are to be found in Holst, De linguarum diversitate, 13.  Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 10, ch. 8: »Dici enim non potest, quot quantaeque ex hoc miraculo, in tanta celebritate hominum eveniente, scaturierunt atque redundarunt in seram posteritatem sequelae optimae gravissimaeque. Si eodem sermonis genere convenisset orbis, caruisset eventu gloriosissimo, qui divulgandae probandaeque religioni nostrae sanctissimae tantopere profuit. Conf. Albertum Holst, de diversitate L.L.«  A view somewhat later shared e. g. by King Frederick II of Prussia: »Et maintenant cette langue [= French] est devenue un passe-par-tout qui vous introduit dans toutes les maisons et dans toutes les villes. Voyagez de Lisbonne à Pétersbourg, et de Stockholm à Naples en parlant le françois, vous vous faites entendre par-tout. Par ce seul idiome vous vous épargnez quantité de langues qu’il vous faudroit savoir, qui surchargeroient votre mémoire de mots à la place desquels vous pouvez la remplir de choses, ce qui est bien préférable«, Frederick II, De la littérature allemande, 404.  Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 11, ch. 9: »Porro difficultas, si quam adferunt lingvae variae, non tam retardat, quam acuit erecta ingenia, exstimulat, alacriora reddit, quae torperent alioquin & langvidius fortasse etiam scientias artesque tractarent.«  Clewberg/Gottskalk (resp.), De usu, 12, ch. 9.  Clewberg/Avellan (resp.), Specimen, 1, ch. 1: »Omnes in universum homines, primis temporibus, eadem lingva locutos esse, clare admodum tradunt Sacrae Paginae (a: Gen. XI, v. I). Facta autem, propter aedificationem turris Babelicae, confusione labii, tot diversa paulatim orta sunt idiomata, ut sit omnino vel numerum saltem illorum inire difficile. Hinc itaque est, quod tanta inter multas lingvas intercedat adfinitas & nexus, ut ad bene discendam & intelligendam unam, plurimum saepenumero conferat altera.«

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for the antiquity and conformity to Hebrew of Arabic, and The origins of the Hebrew language (Origines linguae hebraeae, vol. 2, published at Franeker in 1738).⁴³ Schultens, who had also published a treatise on De defectibus hodiernis linguae hebraeae at Franeker in 1731, will even be quoted word-for-word on the well-known difficulties of text comprehension due to the frequent cases of hapax and spanios legomena of the Hebrew parts of the Bible. In the specific passage of De defectibus, Schultens illustrates the dearth of textual material available for Hebrew by hypothesizing a Greek-language tradition only including Thucydides and Euripides.⁴⁴ The interesting point, however, is that Schultens’ innovative claim that Arabic is the sister and not the daughter of Hebrew is not adopted at any point.⁴⁵ The authors then tackle linguistic change. Nothing is more variable than language.⁴⁶ To prop up this statement, the authors quote Homer, Il. 6, 146⁴⁷ on the generations of leaves and men, and Horace, AP 68 – 72⁴⁸ on lexical change. In the study and interpretation of Hebrew there is a great variety of approaches, including the hi-

 Schultens, Origines Hebraeae.  Clewberg/Avellan (resp.), Specimen, 4– 5, ch. 2: »Quo angustius habitatur, h.e. quo minus scriptorum habetur, eo majoribus difficultatibus, ac tenebris laborari / necesse est. Ponamus, ait porro, casum cujus fingendi & ad propositum meum deducendi necessitatem imponit commune praejudicium, quo status quaestionis nostrae vix cognitus nedum perspectus gravatur. Supersint modo ex illa Graecorum affluente opulentia Thucydidis & Euripidis praeclari labores, omni reliqua lingva penitus deleta & extincta. Quisquamne mortalium sibi persvadebit, aut aliis persvadere conabitur, se ex indefessa & adtentissima volutatione illorum auctorum, tum specialius, cujusque sententiae pondus ac decus esse eruturum, cum omni illo lumine quod ad primitivam indolem thematum desiderari potest.« Note: »(c) in Libro de Defectibus Hodiernis Lingvae Hebreae eorundemque resarciendorum tutissima via ac ratione. Edit. Franequerae A(nn)o MDCCXXXI.« The passage is taken from Schultens, De defectibus, 114 par. 125: »[…] Quo ergo angustius habitatur, hoc est, quo minus Scriptorum habetur, eo majoribus difficultatibus ac tenebris laborari necesse est«, and par. 126: »Ponamus casum, cujus fingendi, & ad propositum meum deducendi, necessitatem […] conabitur? se ex indefessa & attentissima volutatione illorum Auctorum, tum generalius sensum Universi contextus assecuturum esse, tum specialius cujusque sententiae pondus ac decus esse eruturum, cum omni illo lumine quod ad primitivam indolem thematum, naturam metaphorarum, profundosque recessus totius orationis reserandos desiderari potest.« Note the absence of page indication in the reference and the tacit omission of »generalius […] esse«.  I thank Jan Loop (University of Kent) for pointing out Schultens’ idea of the status of Arabic (Berlin, May 2016).  Clewberg/Avellan (resp.), Specimen, 6, ch. 3: »Hoc vero tanto minus mirum cuipiam videri debet, quanto certius constat, eam esse lingvarum indolem & naturam, ut primariae significationes in secundarias successu temporis abeant, & ab his quasi suffocentur. Nihil enim volubilius & ad diversos flexus pronius est quam lingva«.  »Even as are the generations of leaves, such are those also of men. As for the leaves, the wind scattereth some upon the earth, but the forest, as it bourgeons, putteth forth others when the season of spring is come; even so of men one generation springeth up and another passeth away«, tr. Murray (1924).  »Mortalia facta peribunt / Nedum sermonum stet honos & gratia vivax, / Multa renascentur, quae jam cecidere, cadentque, / Quae nunc sunt in honore vocabula, si volet usus: / Quem penes arbitrium est, & jus & norma loquendi«.

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eroglyphic hypothesis of Caspar Neumann (1658 – 1715);⁴⁹ among these approaches the use of Arabic is clearly preferred by the authors.⁵⁰ Since Arabic derives from Hebrew (the original language of mankind) and since it has changed very little in the course of time, it provides ample information on the older language.⁵¹ It is also very well documented.⁵² These characteristics are so evident and well-demonstrated by earlier scholarship that the authors refer in a note to Bochart, Hottinger,⁵³ and Schultens without further specification.⁵⁴ At the end of the chapter, there is a generic reference to Schultens on the resemblances between Hebrew and Arabic.⁵⁵ Despite the sweeping statement, a demonstration follows, with references to Christian Stock’s dictionary, no doubt the Dictionarium breve Chaldaeo-Rabinicum published together with his Clavis, and to the dictionary of Johann Leonhard Reckenberger (1702– 1773), no doubt the Liber radicum, sive Lexicon Hebraicum, published in Jena in 1749. For further corroboration of the utility of Arabic in Hebrew studies, the authors quote Bochart’s slightly anti-Talmudic statement on the extraordinary value of Arabic.⁵⁶ The authors add a short list of Finnish words that apparently show similarities to Arabic, though without any kind of speculation on common origins.⁵⁷

 Strongly rejected by the authors: »absurdam esse, ac lubrico valde fundamento«, Clewberg/Avellan (resp.), Specimen, 8, ch. 4. The authors refer to Carpzov’s Critica and the authors quoted there, as well as Krook/Längman, Hypothesin.  Clewberg/Avellan (resp.), Specimen, 7, ch. 4: »maxime tamen opulentam & adhuc florentem illam Lingvam Arabicam consulendam volunt. Huic ultimo adlatae sententiae etiam nos adsensum nostrum denegare non possumus.«  Clewberg/Avellan (resp.), Specimen, 9, ch. 5: »Jam vero ostendi potest, Arabicam ab Ebraea ortam, matrem, per totum fere lingvae ambitum, arctissima cognatione ac necessitudine referre […] parum vel nihil communibus illis lingvarum vicissitudinibus expositam, pristinam ac nullis seculis praefloratam servasse puritatem.«  Clewberg/Avellan (resp.), Specimen, 9, ch. 5: »ingenti copia ac ubertate ceteras Ebreae filias longius antecellat […].«  For Hottinger, see now Loop (2013).  Clewberg/Avellan (resp.), Specimen, 9, ch. 5 and 10, n: e: »testes solum modo locupletissimos adpellamus Bochartum, Hottingerum, Schultensium, aliosque LL. OO. Coryphaeos, qui hanc veritatem passim inculcarunt & ita dedere demonstratam, ut talpa caeciorem esse oporteat, qui eam in dubium vocare sustineat.«  Clewberg/Avellan (resp.), Specimen, 10, ch. 5: »Lectoremque nostrum hoc scire cupidum ad Cel(ebrem) Schultens mittimus.«  Clewberg/Avellan (resp.), Specimen, 18, ch. 8, produces a direct quotation from Bochart’s preface, perhaps from the edition of 1692, 62: »Nihil mihi tam profuit quam Arabicae lingvae qualiscunque cognitio, & paucis interjectis: itaque si quis Arabum Scrinia sedulo compilaret, plura ex iis eliceret ad solidam Sacrae Lingvae cognitionem, quam vel ex vasta illa Talmudicorum farragine, vel Magistrorum commentariis omnibus (f) [In Praef. ad Hjer.]« Note here the omission of pertinentia after cognitionem and of ex before Magistrorum, as well as minor spelling differences. The 1692 third edition by Leusden was available in Clewberg’s library, Anonymous, Förtekning, 6: »Sam. Bocharti Phaleg & Hierozoicon. Edit. tertia. a. 1692. Voll. II.«

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Conclusion The dissertations supervised by Clewberg, a scholar extremely well-connected both socially and academically, whose own extensive library complemented the university collection, reveal an up-to-date contemporary orientalistic bibliography, in some treatises well-documented, in others referred to only implicitly. Apart from expected assumptions, such as the status of Hebrew as the first language of the world, there are interesting observations, quite in accordance with modern thought, on linguistic development, language learning, and the uses of multilingualism. Swedish and Finnish are compared with Hebrew and Arabic but no common genesis is postulated. No foundation myths à la Rudbeck and Juslenius are presented. The multitude of languages is attributable to and consistent with the jucundae novitatis studium that already inspired the post-Babelic peoples scattered all over the earth, enjoying the benefits of what at first sight might have seemed a catastrophe but in fact turned out to be essential for human development.

Bibliography Primary sources Anonymous, Förtekning På den Wackra och talrika Boksamling, som, För detta Theologiae Professoren wid Åbo Academie, Herr Carl Abraham Clewberg, Ägt […], Åbo 1767. Baumgarten, Siegmund Jakob, Uebersetzung der Algemeinen Welthistorie die in Engeland durch eine Geselschaft von Gelehrten ausgefertiget worden 1 – 18, Halle 1744 – 1759. Bochart, Samuel, Hierozoicon Sive bipertitum opus De Animalibus Sacræ Scripturæ […], Editio tertia […], ed. by Johannes Leusden, Lugduni Batavorum 1692. Buffier, Claude, Grammaire françoise sur un plan nouveau […], Paris 1709. Canz, Israel Gottlieb, Grammaticae universalis tenuia rudimenta, Tubingae 1737. Carpzov, Johann Gottlob, Critica Sacra Veteris Testamenti […], Lipsiae 1748. Clewberg, Carl Abraham / Edblad, Anders (resp.), De studio linguae Hebraeae maturius inchoando […], Aboae 1754. Clewberg, Carl Abraham / Gottskalk, Anders (resp.), De usu diversitatis linguarum […], Aboae 1754. Clewberg, Carl Abraham / Avellan, Michael (resp.), Specimen philologicum, usum lingvae Arabicae, in perficiendo lexico hebraeo, sistens […], Aboae 1757. Foglietta, Oberto, De linguae Latinae usu et praestantia libri tres […], ed. by Lorenz von Mosheim, Hamburgi 1723. Frederick II, De la littérature allemande 1780, Postdam [sic] 1805 (= Œuvres primitives ou collection des ouvrages qu’il publia durant son règne XX). Holst, Albert Kristoffer, De linguarum diversitate necessaria, sed multis modis proficua […], Jenae 1747.

 Clewberg/Avellan (resp.), Specimen, 19, ch. 9: »brevem subnectere catalogum vocum Fennicarum cum Arabicis amice convenientium adgrediar.« For Finnish Rudbeckianism, see Merisalo (2016).

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Homer, The Iliad with an English Translation by A.T. Murray, Ph.D. […] (2 vols.), London 1924. Krook, Benedict / Längman, Matthias, Hypothesin hieroglyphicam […], Aboae 1749. Nolte, Johann Friedrich, Lexicon Latinae linguae antibarbarum quadripartitum […], 2nd ed., Lipsiae / Helmstadii 1744. Reckenberger, Johann Leonhard, Liber radicum, sive Lexicon Hebraicum […], Jenae 1749. Schultens, Albert, Oratio prima de linguae Arabicae Antiquissima Origine, Intima ac sororia cum Lingua Hebraea affinitate […] habita Franequerae quum fasces academicos interum deponeret […], Franequerae 1729. Schultens, Albert, De defectibus hodiernis lingvae Hebreae eorundemque resarciendorum tutissima via ac ratione […], Franequerae 1731. Schultens, Albert, Origines Hebraeae, s. Hebr. linguae antiquissima natura et indoles ex Arabiae penetralibus revocata, vol. 2: Cum vindiciis tomi primi, nec non libri de defectibus hodiernis linguae Hebraeae, Franequerae 1738. Stock, Christian, Clavis Lingvae Sanctae Veteris Testamenti […] cui accedit breve Dictionarium Chaldeo-Rabbinicum, 3. ed., Jenae 1735.

Secondary literature Bitossi, Carlo, »Foglietta, Oberto«, in: Dizionario biografico degli italiani, vol. 48, http://www.trec cani.it/enciclopedia/oberto-foglietta_(Dizionario-Biografico), 10 July 2018. Kessler von Sprengseisen, Christian Friedrich, Topographie des herzoglich-Sachsen-Koburg-Meiningischen Antheils an dem Herzogthum Koburg […], Sonnenberg 1781. Die Matrikel der Universität Jena 3. 1723 bis 1764, ed. by Otto Köhler / Georg Mentz, Halle 1986. Loop, Jan, Johann Heinrich Hottinger, Arabic and Islamic studies in the seventeenth century, Oxford 2013. Merisalo, Outi »The Querelle des Anciens et des Modernes at the Academia Aboensis in the Eighteenth Century«, Germania Latina – Latinitas Teutonica […], 2, ed. by Eckhard Kessler / Heinrich C. Kuhn, München 2002, 751 – 768 (= Humanistische Bibliothek, I, Abhandlungen, 54). Merisalo, Outi, »›Musta minä muiden nähden / walkia oman emännän, id est niger ego aliis, candidus propriae uxori videor‹. Daniel Juslenius zur finnischen Kulturgeschichte«, in: Apotheosis of the North, The Swedish Appropriation of Classical Antiquity around the Baltic Sea and Beyond (1650 to 1800), ed. by Bernd Roling / Bernhard Schirg / Stefan Heinrich Bauhaus, Berlin / Boston 2017, 95 – 105 (= Transformationen der Antike, 48). Pitkäranta, Reijo, »Svenonius, Enevaldus (1617 – 1688)«, in: Kansallisbiografia, https://kansallis biografia-fi.ezproxy.jyu.fi/kansallisbiografia/henkilo/459, 10 July 2018. Vallinkoski, Jorma, Turun akatemian väitöskirjat 1642 – 1828, Die Dissertationen der alten Universität Turku (Academia Aboë nsis) 1642 – 1828 1, Helsinki 1962.

Benjamin Hübbe

Trapped and Lost in Translation – The Moose in Early Modern Zoology and Biblical Philology in Northern and East-Central Europe I The Moose¹ in the Bible? Scope and Method In the history of science many animals have been discussed as being mentioned in the Bible and thus as being a part of the ancient biblical fauna. The Moose (German ›Elch‹), this huge and majestic animal from the North,² is perhaps one of the oddest examples discussed by early modern scholarship in the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth century. On many occasions early modern scholars gave their attention to this mysterious animal. Most prominently, not least in the context of this volume, these scholars included such outstanding figures of Northern European scholarship as Olaus Rudbeck, who, of course, numbers the moose among the domestic fauna of Scandinavia and resolves in his Atlantica the moose’s ancient confusion with the elephant.³ Also among the numerous Northern European scholars who refer to the moose we find – and this too is no surprise – the famous naturalist Carl Linnaeus. He concedes to the moose, appropriate to its majestic appeal, first place among the species of deer.⁴ Here and elsewhere the moose is always presented as a typical creature of the North and as a creature endemic to Scandinavia. For a long time European scholarship found it hard to believe that the moose might even have reached the locations and regions considered to be the ancient geographical setting of the Holy Land and Scripture in the Orient. Not even Rudbeck had dared to inquire further into the biblical history of the moose when he resolved its ancient misinterpretation as the elephant. Early modern scholars, for several reasons, often ignored the question of whether the moose might have been mentioned in the Bible. The present paper considers some scholars who did ask this question, and why. According to (European, Christian) religious thought, not only in the Middle Ages and the early modern period, God’s creation was considered to have been complete. Hence each and every animal was potentially capable of being identified as biblical, even if it was never specifically mentioned in the Bible. Moreover, many different, contradictory, and sometimes very unclear terms for animals occur in the Hebrew

 I have chosen the term ›moose‹ in American English rather than ›elk‹ in British English to indicate clearly that this paper concerns Alces alces and not the Wapiti. See also Enenkel (2014), 64. I would like to thank Orla Mullholland for useful annotations and remarks on the manuscript of my paper.  The notion of the moose as majestic and fascinating is very old, cf. Merrill (1916).  Rudbeck (1675), I, cap. 9, § 2, 391; Rudbeck (1698), III, cap. 12, § 3, 546 – 548.  See just entry 37 in Linnaeus (1746), 13. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638042-012

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Bible. It was especially in the early modern period that Christian and European scholars began to ask – at times quite contentiously – which animals were actually part of the biblical fauna and explicitly mentioned in the Bible. This paper will illustrate some of these discussions and debates by picking out the example of the moose interpreted as a biblical creature in early modern scholarship. I will therefore take a look into early modern academic discourses (mainly in their manifestation in the form of zoological descriptions, dissertations, and Bible translations) centered on this creature, and try to analyze and describe the arguments of the translators, biblical philologists, and zoologists who engaged with the question whether or not the moose was mentioned in the Bible. Several research publications and studies have mentioned that the moose became part of the Bible through the translations of Luther, but until now not much has been done to explain why this translation first entered the Bible, or how it was able to remain a stable element of some Bible translations far into the eighteenth century. Modern research still lacks any kind of diachronic analysis of how the moose traveled so far, and how early modern scholarship tried to confirm or disconfirm its place in the ancient biblical fauna.⁵ In trying to sketch out some of the notable stages of that discussion from the sixteenth to the late seventeenth century, I will first give a diachronic overview of the controversies over the moose within certain European scholarly communities, and will discuss how the moose may have got into the Bible, including such a prominent version as the Lutherbibel. Secondly, I will focus on specific early modern zoological descriptions (in the broadest sense) of the moose, and try to contextualize their arguments within early modern debates about the moose as part of the biblical fauna. I will briefly show the main arguments and approaches used, and how they contributed to biblical zoology on this particular question. For this purpose, I will first focus on some prominent Latin and vernacular translations of the Bible (Münster, Dietenberger, and especially Luther and other Lutheran translations), and the prominent passage Deut 14:5, where the moose is commonly placed. I will also briefly discuss some medical and folk beliefs from medieval times into the early sixteenth century, in order to illustrate the approach the Lutheran translators may have taken towards the moose. Secondly, I will explore how zoological descriptions of the sixteenth and seventeenth century contributed to the discussion and helped the moose to stay, as it were, trapped in translations of the Bible. In a next step, I will take up one case study and focus in detail on a dissertation entitled Dissertatio historico-zoologica de Alce, published in 1681 under the names Ul-

 Indispensable studies such as those of Björklöf (1994), Helander, Hans / Odelberg, Wilhelm / Brusewitz, Gunnar / Tunón, Kåkan (1996), Jackson (2008), and Smith (2014) provide – according to their respective scope – very important material for the interpretation of the moose in early modern times. Yet their reflexions on the moose and its status as biblical animal from the sixteenth to the seventeenth century are often very brief, and are far from offering a systematic description.

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rich Heinsius and Pantaleon Lentner and printed in Jena.⁶ The paper will center on this text. On the basis of it, I will discuss the several traditions in the exegesis of Deut 14:5 in which, besides the moose, we also encounter the famous Camelopardalis or the Rupicapra. Finally, I will draw some conclusions about the development of this historical controversy concerning the moose and Deut 14:5, and will illustrate briefly how and why the idea of the moose as a biblical animal became ever less persuasive in several scholarly communities, especially as biblical and zoological scholarship reached the eighteenth century. By this I hope to provide a small survey of how the moose got caught and then lost again in vernacular translations of the Hebrew Bible, namely of the Dietary Laws, in early modern times. I aim to show – in only a very selective way – how scholarship on the Bible (i. e. biblical philologists, antiquarians, and zoologists) in the sixteenth, seventeenth, and early eighteenth centuries tried to establish or disqualify the moose as a part of the biblical fauna with the aid of their own specific contemporary hermeneutic and zoological concepts.

II How the Moose got into the Bible: The Lutheran Translation of the Dietary Laws (Deut 14:5) In translations of the Bible we encounter the earliest traces of the moose, it seems, in the German-speaking Lutheran translation of the Dietary Laws (Deut 14:5): »Dis ist aber das Thier das ir essen solt / Ochsen / Schaf / Zigen / Hirs / Rehe / Püffel / Steinbock / Tendlen / Urochs / und Elend.«⁷ »Elend« is here to be taken as an old German expression for ›moose‹ and it appears to have linguistic cognates, for example in French, where the moose is called ›élan‹. Also in later early modern times we find in German-speaking texts the term »Elen(n)« for ›moose‹. However, the more interesting question for us here is: How did the moose even get into the (Lutheran) translation of the Bible? What made the animal and the specific biblical passage apt for each other in the view of the translators? Does it not – from many different perspectives – seem totally strange to find a moose, an animal of the far North, in a translation of the Dietary Laws that Moses gave to the Hebrew people in the Holy Land? On this point, it is necessary to keep the wider context of Deut 14:5 and the Dietary Laws in mind:  Heinsius/Lentner (resp.), Dissertatio historico-zoologica de Alce, Jena 1681 [reprinted without changes in the text, but with pagination, in Jena in 1697]. In the following I will therefore quote from the second edition from Jena 1697.  Luther (1545), Deut 14:5. Despite the changes that the translation of this passage underwent over time and in other vernacular languages, the »Elend« / ›moose‹ has been, since the start of Luther and his team’s work on the German translation of Bible, a stable inventory item in Deut 14:5. Even in the versions preceding the Lutherbibel (1545) from 1534 and 1541 we find the moose in Deut 14:5. See, for instance Luther (1534), vol. 1, CXX, Deut 14:5.

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Du solt keinen Grewel essen. Dis ist aber das Thier das ir essen solt / Ochsen / Schaf / Zigen / Hirs / Rehe / Püffel / Steinbock / Tendlen / Urochs / und Elend. Und alles Thier / das seine Klawen spaltet und widerkewet / solt ihr essen.⁸

The key Hebrew term here is ‫( זמר‬zemer), which the German team of translators around Luther (namely Melanchthon and Aurogallus) translated as »Elend« (›moose‹). It seems to have been the Dietary Laws’ permission to eat animals with cloven hoofs and all animals that are ruminants⁹ – known zoological characteristics of the moose too in Luther’s times – that made it possible for them to identify the word ‫( זמר‬zemer) in the original Hebrew Bible with the animal they knew as ›moose‹. At the least, the characteristic of cloven hoofs is something that could have been known to the German translators as a feature also of the moose, though specific treatises about ruminant animals came only at a later time. Nonetheless, it is very unclear how the translators of the Lutherbibel came to this decision. Several points may be relevant here. First of all, as acknowledged by the majority of scholars on the Lutherbibel, Luther and his team were trying to deliver a vernacular version of Scripture that would appeal to the intended readership of the translation and their Central European environment. The moose, even though it might not be seen so often within the German territories, clearly fit well enough into the context of Deut 14:5, i. e. among the deer, ox, and goats. That seems to cohere with Luther’s own views on translating the Bible into German, as Scott H. Hendrix has paraphrased him in 2010: »A translation should speak German, not Greek or Latin, and a translator should not ask the Latin text how to speak good German but instead be guided by ›the mother in the home, children on the street, and ordinary people in the marketplace‹«.¹⁰ The moose as such was certainly an animal known to Luther and his team, if not at first hand, then surely through iconographic sources such as Dürer’s The Fall of Man (1504), where the presence of a moose appears totally natural within a biblical setting, or else they could have known the moose from other textual sources, or from folklore and medical traditions, which can be assumed as current cultural knowledge among learned scholars of the early sixteenth century. As in the case of Dürer’s The Fall of Man, we can even assume that the moose had already attained a certain reli-

 Luther (1545), Deut 14:5. See also in the earlier translation: Luther (1534), vol. 1, CXX, Deut 14:5: »Du solt keinen grewel essen. Dis ist aber das Thier das ir essen solt / Ochsen / Schaf / Zigen / Hirs / Rehe / Püffel / Steinbock / Tendlen / Urochs / und Elend. / Und alles Thier / das seine klawen spaltet und widder kewet / solt ir essen.«  Deut 14.  Hendrix (2010), 38; Luther treated the problem of translating the Bible into German in various publications and in some extant manuscripts. Here just one selection: Martin Luther, Summarien über die Psalmen und die Ursachen des Dolmetschens, Wittenberg 1533. For recent publications on this matter see also Lange/Rösel (2014).

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Fig. 1: Albrecht Dürer, The Fall of Man (1504), copper etching. (@Trustees oft the British Museum)

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Fig. 2: Draft of a moose by Albrecht Dürer (~1501 – 1504), probably in preparation for his copper etching The Fall of Man (1504). A later hand, probably from 1509, wrote »heilennt« under the illustration. London, British Museum, SL, 5261.101. (@Trustees of the British Museum)

gious tone and was at home in a biblical scene next to Adam and Eve.¹¹ In this light, it does not seem so strange that Luther and his translators should have chosen the moose to translate the rather mysterious term ‫( זמר‬zemer). The moose had already become part of theological and christological interpretation established before Luther and the work of his translating team. As Paul Smith in his article on Dürer’s The Fall of Man states, in German the moose was also called »heilennt«, which was none other than ›Heiland‹, i. e. »savior«, »redeemer«.¹² In this interpretation it was not too difficult to align the moose with Christ, and so to establish this animal as a christological symbol. Responding to the interpretation of Panofsky, who identified the moose as one of the four humors (melancholic gloom), Smith notes that the  See Smith (2014) for a quite convincing interpretation of Dürer’s The Fall of Man and the role of the moose within its iconographic program. See Fig. 1.  See Fig 2. Smith (2014), 312– 313. An earlier draft of the same moose that appears in Dürer’s The Fall of Man (probably between 1501– 1504) is preserved in the British Library. On it a later hand (probably from 1509) added underneath the word »heilennt« (London, British Museum, SL, 5261.101).

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German word »Elend« for moose not only implies the ›Heiland‹ (›redeemer‹), but is of course also another word for »misery«. Thus the moose, Smith suggests, may also prefigure the sorrow after the Fall in Dürer’s painting. This image as redeemer (and thus as christological symbol) coheres with other, earlier accounts that we have of the moose: Macarius of Unzha in his hagiography of 1439 relates a story where he and his fellow monks were starving, and part of the left ear of a divinely appointed moose gave them respite from hunger for three days; after the three days, Macarius says, the moose returned with a group of its kind and they all selflessly offered themselves for slaughter and feasting.¹³ But there is more. The moose, because of the connotation of its name (›Elend‹ or ›misery‹), was often – we do not know since when exactly – identified with the socalled ›falling disease‹ or ›Fallsucht‹, later also known and treated as epilepsy. As Smith argues in his article on Dürer’s The Fall of Man, the moose had a long history in folklore and medical traditions and beliefs in late medieval times. Thus, for instance, parts of the moose were used to cure or prevent epilepsy. To that end, it was even quite common to eat or consume parts of the moose, though some opinions advised otherwise. But it seems plausible, following the argument of Smith, that the moose in Dürer’s The Fall of Man anticipates the Fall of Adam and Eve, because of its connection to folk beliefs on epilepsy at the beginning of the sixteenth century.¹⁴ These points together suffice to show that the moose already held a certain place in folklore and medical beliefs and in Christian religious thought before Luther, and that Luther and his team may hence have been inclined to choose this animal for their translation of the Dietary Laws because of this specific nimbus. Yet, on the other hand, Luther and his team may equally have chosen the moose from a merely philological impulse. The word ‫( זמר‬zemer) itself is a hapax legomenon in the Hebrew Bible, appearing only in this prominent passage of the Dietary Laws in Deut 14:5 and nowhere else. This seems quite apt for an animal like the moose, which, although endemic also in (East) Central Europe, was still, as today, a rather shy animal that prefers to be solitary and to dwell alone or with its calf in the forests, not unlike in the painting of Dürer, where the lonely male moose seems to be hiding behind the trees in a shady forest.¹⁵ Already before Luther descriptions such as that

 Jackson (2008). There is also a mosaic that displays this miracle in the Pechersky Ascension Monastery in Nizhny Novgorod.  Smith (2014), 312– 313.  One example providing these and similar characteristics of the moose (rarity, ruminant, cloven hoofs, healing qualities, etc.) before Luther is Erasmus Stella (1518), who in his treatise De Borussiae Antiquitatibus, lib. I, 21– 22 had already delivered a rather specific description of the animal: »Gignit et Alces (quos falso sylvestres asinos quidam autumant, quum hos Asia tantum ac Africa procreet) specie media inter cervinam et iumenti, nisi quantum aurium proceritas, ipsaque cervix distinguit. Magnitudine inter camelum et cervum, maribus in superciliis cornua nascuntur, quae quotannis amittunt, latiora quam cervinis, ramosa tamen et per totum concreta ac solida. Ungulae bifidae coloreque cervum imitatur. Venatorem e longinquo sensit, animal certe simplex, et quod plus latebris quam fugae fidat. Si vi canum urgetur, magis in cavea se calce quam cornibus tueatur, in locis pal-

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of Erasmus Stella (1518) had delivered fairly comprehensive information sources on the main characteristics of the moose. It is likely that Luther and his translators faced a problem encountered also by other translators: how to translate the Hebrew word zemer? Perhaps they found inspiration in accounts like that of Erasmus Stella. It seems likely (although not completely verifiable) that it was their way of finding a translation that was apt for the German tongue and environment while also matching the specific features of this animal term in to the Dietary Laws (i. e. rareness, ruminant, cloven hoofs, etc.).¹⁶ Luther and his translators may have opted here for the uncommon and shy moose in order to echo the uncommon and rare Hebrew term that the sacred text offered them in ‫( זמר‬zemer): an, indeed, unusual and rare word for a ruminant animal that coheres well enough in series with the ox, deer, and goats allowed in Deut 14:5. It should therefore not seem odd that in some translations of Deut 14:5 we find the unicorn and the moose teaming up at the end of the line. In later treatises, such as those of Andrea Bacci (1587, 1598), we often find treatments of the magnum animal or magna bestia from the North, i. e. the moose, added to treatises mainly centered around the unicorn. These and other similar treatises on these two different animals may also have their roots far back before the time of Luther and his translating team, making it easy for them to give the moose a place within the Bible and its fauna.

III How the Moose got trapped in the Bible: The magnum animal from the North as zoological and biblical object from the sixteenth to the seventeenth century In the wake of Latin and vernacular translations influenced by the Lutheran one, it did not take long for the moose also to enter the major zoological handbooks and descriptions of the mid-sixteenth to the early seventeenth century. Among the first larger treatments we have the accounts of Sebastian Münster (1544, 1552), Conrad Gesner (1551), Olaus Magnus (1555), Ulysse Aldrovandi (1587, 1621), Jan Jonston (1650), Ole Worm / Willum Worm (1655), and single treatises such as those by Apollonius Menabenus (1581), Rembertus Dodonaeus (1581), Andrea Bacci (1587, 1598), Johannes Wigand

ustribus sese plurimum condit, illic et partus aedit [sic; i. e. edit, »to give birth«] suos, formidinis eius argumentum esse aiunt quod rarenter [Adv. to rarus] solitarius, in armento multum appareat. Ungulis eius comitialem morbum, iam spumantem abigi creditum est, si cute attingitur.«  Other contemporary translators choose similarly uncommon solutions for uncommon terms, as is shown by a glance at the other animals in Deut 14:5. Thus in some translations we even find the unicorn, for instance in the translation of the Catholic Johannes Dietenberger. Surprisingly, Dietenberger also has the moose.

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(1590), and Severin Goebel (1595).¹⁷ Over several stages, as we will see, the discussion of the moose also as a biblical animal came to be a common feature. The first step here was to consult the main sources from Latin and Greek antiquity that had discussed the moose here and there under the term ἄλκη / Alces. Authors such as Pausanias, Caesar, Pliny the Elder, or Tacitus often delivered the key sources here for scholarly arguments in the sixteenth and seventeenth century, even though some of the ancient authors did not mention the moose at all or did not use exactly the same name; nonetheless, the moose – that much was clear to early modern scholars – had a long history that reached far back into the ancient (and even biblical) world.

Fig. 3: Moose (Alces). In: Münster 1552, lib. III, 785. Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel, HAB: T 14.2° Helmst.

Sebastian Münster in his Cosmographia provides two different descriptions of the moose, one in the Latin edition of 1552 and another in the earlier German edition of 1544.¹⁸ These differ in their illustrations and slightly in their accompanying texts de-

 For full bibliographical data please consult the bibliography at the end of this article.  Münster (1552), lib. III, 784– 785; Münster (1544), lib. III, ccccxcix.

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scribing the moose, of which the Latin is the larger and more detailed one.¹⁹ There, Münster names the following key points for the moose, which are also interesting for the question of how the moose got into the German translation of the Dietary Laws and from there into other vernacular translations. First of all, Münster’s localization of the moose (alces) in Borussia / Prussia confirms the idea that the moose was to some degree present in the cultural and zoological knowledge shared in broader circles among Central and Eastern European (scholarly) communities. The moose (alces), Münster says, is the size of a donkey or a small horse, and is called in German also »Elend«, which of course recalls the term from the Lutherbibel in Deut 14:5. Its claws or hoofs, Münster continues, are said to cure the falling disease (caducus morbus), which, as we saw in the previous section, was connected to certain christological interpretations of the moose as redeemer or savior according to folk beliefs. Also – and this seems important for why the moose was able to appear in vernacular translations of the Dietary Laws in particular – the flesh of the animal, Münster says, is a noble object to hunt (Caro […] ex nobiliore venatione / »[…] ein gut wildprät zu essen«). All in all, these are features of the moose that were found in the previous chapter to be relevant for the practice of important and influential vernacular translations of the Dietary Laws. From here on, the Latin and German editions of Münster’s Cosmographia begin to differ, due to adjustments that he made to the later Latin text, i. e. another illustration of a moose with antlers and longer descriptive text.²⁰ The moose, he says, is not – as he had claimed before – the size of a donkey or small horse, but is even bigger than normal deer (cervix). It has a deformed physique (deformis staturae), a stout, bulky body, and a debilitated nature (obeso corpore et debilis natura), and it has cloven hoofs (Habent etiam fissas ungulas), a central feature needed for an animal to appear in the Dietary Laws in Deut 14:5. All these features together resemble common views on the moose that we have already noted in the previous section. The comparison with deer, donkeys, and horses, the folk belief about its healing qualities, its unhappy appearance, the point that its flesh is noble and edible, and that it has cloven hoofs become fairly fixed characteristics of the moose. Given these characteristics, it was not hard for translators and scholars to discuss the moose also as a part of the biblical fauna displayed in the Dietary Laws. Many of the moose’s features therefore seemed to cohere easily with the context of Deut 14:5.

 Apparently, as Münster himself confirms, the later Latin description of the moose was improved by the correspondence that Münster exchanged with a certain Johannes Leporicida. See Münster (1552), lib. III, 784.  His new illustration, Münster (1552), 785 says, is based on an illustration brought to him from the region of Prutenia, i. e. Borussia/Prussia. See Fig 3.

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For this reason, at the same time, Conrad Gesner could plausibly refer in his Historia Animalium (1551)²¹ to the opinion that the moose in particular should be seen as mentioned in Deut 14:5, even though he himself rejects the idea.²² Gesner, perhaps in his sympathy for Huldrych Zwingli and not for Luther, contradicts this theory and is more inclined to interpret the ‫( זמר‬zamer [sic]) in the Hebrew text with the traditional Camelopardalis. The main point that Gesner contradicts is that, according to his knowledge, the moose appears to be endemic only in Scandinavia and nowhere else (peregrinum omnibus sit praeterquam Scandinaviae).²³ Interesting here is that Gesner refers to the idea that the moose is mentioned in the Bible as an opinion from Jewish scholarship in particular and its views on Deut 14:5 (non assentior Iudaeis illis), rather than as a genuine invention of the Lutheran translation.²⁴ But, without aiming to do so, Gesner provides even more material for the idea that the moose was perhaps mentioned by Moses in the Dietary Laws. If we take a closer look at Gesner’s and Münster’s accounts, of which Gesner’s is by far the more detailed, we see that he and Münster do not differ much in the basic tenor of their views on the moose. According to Gesner, too, the moose possesses all the features that we have already pointed out from earlier or contemporary sources: its place in folk medical beliefs, its names and connotations, the basic elements of its appearance, the cloven hoofs, its meat, and so on. Especially the observation that the moose appears under several polysemous names may also have made it attractive to identify it with the Hebrew ‫( זמר‬zemer / zamer). However, Gesner also provides a lot more ancient and contemporary sources for the identification of the moose, sources that speak in particular for the creature’s antiquity. Thus, Gesner does not fail to mention Pausanias, Caesar, or Pliny, and tries to extract and collect all relevant information about the moose in ancient times.²⁵ He then also mentions Erasmus Stella and his De Borussiae Antiquitatibus, under the heading De Origine Borussorum, and reports that Stella says that the moose (alces) also exists in Africa and Asia.²⁶ This statement by Erasmus Stella, of course, even though it contradicts Gesner’s own view that the moose was endemic only to Scandinavia, will later deliver key arguments for biblical scholars in locating the moose

 Gesner (1551), lib. I, 1. It is remarkable that Gesner begins his treatments of the quadrupeds, on the very first page, with the moose and hence accords it a rather prominent position.  Gesner (1551), lib. I, 1: Gesner treats the moose again with even more illustrations in his Icones Animalium (Gesner (1560), 52– 57), but without specific discussion of its apparently controversial status as biblical animal.  Gesner (1551), lib. I, 1: »proinde non assentior Iudaeis illis, qui Deuteronomii cap. 14. ‫ זמר‬zamer alcen interpretantur: quamquam alii pro eadem rupicapram, alii camelopardalin reddunt: mihi ad postremam animus magis inclinat.«  The point that the tradition of Jewish commentaries claimed that the word ‫( זמר‬zemer) could perhaps refer to the presence of the moose in a biblical context would become important later for several defenders of this idea.  Gesner (1551), lib. I, 1– 2.  Id. lib. I, 2.

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within the ancient biblical environment at the time when Moses presented the Dietary Laws to the Hebrew people. Nevertheless, the idea did not win through during the sixteenth century, a fact illustrated by Johannes Wigand in De Alce vera Historia (1590) and Severin Goebel in his Historia seu brevis descriptio animalis Alcis (1595) at the end of the sixteenth century. There, it is only briefly said that some scholars believe that the biblical zemer / zamer and moose are one and the same.²⁷ Many scholars, it seems, were still questioning this idea, even though the moose had already made its way into renowned and widely read translations of the Bible. It seems that the medicinal and folk aspects of the moose, and a fairly accurate description of its appearance, were more interesting and debated in early modern scholarship of the sixteenth and early seventeenth century. Texts such as those of Olaus Magnus (1555), Apollonius Menabenus (1581), and Andrea Bacci (1587, 1598) were interested in particular only in the medical use of the moose and its use for other human needs such as transportation, for example.²⁸ Nevertheless, among Northern and (East) Central European communities there apparently remained a certain need to incorporate the moose into the fauna of the Bible. Translations influenced by the Lutheran one, such as the Swedish Gustav Vasas bibel (1541), or the first complete Finnish one (1642), also name the moose (»älg« / »hirwi«) in Deut 14:5:²⁹ Tu skalt ingen styygelse äta / men thetta äro the diwr som i äta skolen: / fää / fåår / geet / hiortt / rää / buffel / steenbock / Urnööt / och älgen.³⁰ (Deut 14:3 – 5) Ei sinun pidä mitäkän cauhistawaista syömän. Mutta nämät owat ne eläimet / joita te saatte syödä: Härkä, Lammas, Wuohi, Peura, Medzäwuohi, Medzähärkä, Medzäcauris, Disohn, Medzänauta ja Hirwi.³¹ (Deut 14:3 – 5)

 Wigand (1590), 38: »An sit Zamer, de quo Deutero. 14. dicitur, plerique, ut ipse Lutherus, Alcen interpretantur, in medio relinquo.« Goebel (1595), 4: »Aliqui ex genere Cervorum hoc animal esse censent ‫ זמר‬zamer Deut. 14. Alcen interpretantur quod in dubio doctissimi Viri relinquunt.«  For instance there is an illustration in Olaus Magnus’ Historia de gentibus septentrionalibus of an – apparently domesticated – moose dragging a sleigh over the ice (Olaus Magnus (1555), lib. XI, cap. 36, 392). A similar case is found in the correspondence of Wilhelm IV, Landgrave of Hessen, and the Danish polyhistor Tycho Brahe in 1591 (Tychonis Brahe Dani Opera omnia, ed. I. L. Dreyer, Tom. VI, 223 – 249). Apparently Wilhelm IV was for a certain time in possession of a domesticated moose that even walked alongside his carriage and which he got from Tycho Brahe. Brahe himself tells a story that gives the impression that he once even kept a moose like a pet in his castle Uraniborg.  Cf. Björklöf (1994), 176.  »You should not eat what is an aversion, but these are the animals that you shall eat: oxes, sheep, goats, stags, deer, buffalos, ibex, aurochs, and moose.« (Deut 14:3 – 5. Biblia, Thet är All then Helgha Scrifft på Swensko, Uppsala 1541). Cf. also Biblia, Thet är, hela then Helga Skrifft på Swenska, Stockholm 1674, Deut 14:3 – 5, 205: »Tu skalt ingen styygelse äta / men thetta äro the diwr som i äta skolen: / Fää / fåår / geet / hiort / Rää / Buffel / Steenbock / Eenhörning [unicorn] / Urnööt / och Älgen.«

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These examples illustrate also how prominent the moose became for the passage of Deut 14:5 in other Lutheran translations all over Central and Northern Europe, and how easily these European regions accepted the moose into their Bible translations. It was now time for baroque scholarship to inquire with a deeper antiquarian agenda into the place the moose might really have held in the ancient biblical fauna, and in particular in a specifically oriental environment. Under which circumstances, then, was it plausible for baroque scholars to defend the moose as an animal mentioned by Moses in the Dietary Laws, and so as a part of the ancient biblical fauna?

IV Dissertatio Historico-Zoologica de Alce (Jena 1681, 1697) – some remarks on the authorship, preface, and context of the dissertation As we saw, the moose already had a fairly secure place in some renowned and influential translations of the Bible in early modern times. Nevertheless, its identification with the ‫( זמר‬zemer) of the Hebrew Bible was still questioned. Ulrich Heinsius’ and Pantaleon Lentner’s dissertation Dissertatio Historico-Zoologica de Alce, first published in Jena in 1681,³² can be considered the first important, larger defence in the late seventeenth century to take the side of the moose as the creature mentioned in the Bible under the term ‫( זמר‬zemer) in Deut 14:5. It is an ongoing problem in studies of early modern dissertations to determine who was the author of a written dissertation. We have cases in which the praeses (supervisor) is fully responsible for the content, but also cases in which it is the respondent. And there are also cases in which the praeses and the respondent interacted in some sort of collaboration (acquiring material, the writing process, etc.) and both have to be considered to a certain extent as authors of the published dissertation. We have the same problem here with our praeses, Ulrich Heinsius,³³ and re-

 »You should not eat what is an aversion, but these are the animals that you shall eat: ox, sheep, goat, (rein)deer, goat of the forest, ox and deer of the forest, wisent, the cow of the forest, and the moose.« (Deut 14:3 – 5. Biblia, se on coco pyhä Raamattu suomexi, Stockholm 1642).  Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1681, 1697 [with added pagination, but without changes in the text]). In the following I will quote from the second, paginated edition of 1697. The first edition also has a major printing error and lacks some text parts from § 2– 3, which have been corrected in the second edition of 1697 (in Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697) this largely concerns pages 6 – 8). See Fig 4.  His name appears in several forms: Ulrich, Uldaricus, Udarich, Udaricus Heinsius (? – 1684). He was assistant (adjunctus) at the faculty of philosophy at the University of Jena and was born in Ance in Latvia (Curonus / ›Courlander‹ as the dissertation states). He had strong interests in Aristotle and astronomy, but also in history. A fairly complete bibliography of his works and a very short list of further literature is provided by von Recke / Napiersky (1829), 216 – 217.

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Fig. 4: Title page, Ulrich Heinsius/Pantaleon Lentner (resp.), Dissertatio historico-zoologica de Alce, Jena 1681, 52 pp., 4° [print: Johann Jakob Bauhofer]. The illustration of the moose is, as a note at the margin states, a sketch taken from Aldrovandi. Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel, HAB: Xb 8487.

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spondent, Pantaleon Lentner,³⁴ two barely studied figures of the learned and academic milieux between Jena and Wrocław (›Breslau‹). It is not easy to decide which or both of them was responsible for the content of the Dissertatio Historico-Zoologica de Alce. ³⁵ The subscription on the title page reads: Praeside M. Uldarico Heinsio, Curono, Ampliss. Facult. Philos. Adjuncto, Eruditorum publicae censurae offert Pantaleon Lentnerus, Olav. Silesius, A. P. S., M. DC. LXXXI d. Octobr. We are thus clearly informed that Ulrich Heinsius was the praeses of the dissertation. However, the expression Eruditorum publicae censurae offert Pantaleon Lentnerus, though rare, does not clearly reveal the status of Pantaleon Lentner. It marks his formal status as respondent, but makes it on the other hand harder to answer the question of authorship. Since the term respondens or the formula respondens et autor is avoided, we have no solid ground to consider Pantaleon Lentner as to some extent the author of the dissertation.³⁶ The expression Eruditorum publicae censurae offert occurs several times in early modern dissertations, but is also quite vague. It seems to be just another expression to indicate the formal status of a respondent while leaving open the question of the exact authorship.³⁷ However, if we look right at the end of the dissertation De Alce, we find an epigram written in Greek and signed by the praeses Ulrich Heinsius.³⁸ It praises the work, effort, and renowned scholarship of Pantaleon Lentner by attributing to him too a solid share in the dissertation: While having now searched eloquently after the strong moose, / you have used fine words as well to illustrate the strength of your mind. / And this is what I call hard work; I profess loudly the victory of your pleading! / If you keep going this way, you will be even stronger.³⁹

 Pantaleon Lentner (? – ?) was born in Oława (Olavia / ›Ohlau‹ in Silesia) and his family, it seems, was closely connected to the ›Elisabethanisches Gymnasium‹ in Wrocław / ›Breslau‹.  For the whole problem of early modern dissertations and the question of their authorship and agenda, I name only a few of the many representative publications: Chang (2004), Sjökvist (2012), 11– 13 and 22, and most recently: Gindhart, Marion / Marti, Hanspeter / Seidel, Robert (2016).  For instance, one year earlier in another dissertation under the aegis of Johannes Andreas Schmidt, also in Jena, Pantaleon Lentner was named on the title page as autor et respondens (Johannes Andreas Schmidt / Pantaleon Lentner (resp.), Discursus Physicus de termino vitae an possit produci vel abbreviari, Jena 1680.). However, this does not in fact confirm the authorship of Pantaleon Lentner, because many times formulas like autor et respondens simply stand for a claim to authorship, since it is never clear whether the respondent actually was fully responsible for the content or had just been involved in the writing process somehow, cf. Gindhart / Marti / Seidel (2016), 8.  These questions of authorship and the question of its importance for the analysis of dissertations have been treated several times. Gindhart, Marion / Marti, Hanspeter / Seidel, Robert (2016), 10 – 12 give a good overview and introduction to the main problems (also with further literature).  Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697), 52.  Ibid., 52: »Συζητῶν λογίως ἤδη κρατερᾶς περὶ Ἄλκης / Σεῖο νόου ἀλκὴν σεμνολογεῖς κρατεροῦ. / Τόνδε πόνον προσερῶ; τοῦ μώλου εὔχομαι ἆθλον! / οὕτως ἤν σπεύδεις, πλεῖον ἔσῃ κρατερός;« All abbreviations have been expanded.

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It is important to note that this epigram to Pantaleon Lentner is written by the praeses himself, Ulrich Heinsius, and not a fellow student, opponent, or other learned scholar. The fact that the praeses is honouring the effort of the respondent in this way makes it at least possible that Lentner’s role in the content of the dissertation was more than merely formal and rhetorical in nature. All in all, the direct address to Lentner, his praise as one of Heinsius’ dearest students (φίλῳ μου φιλτάτῳ) in the heading of the epigram, his praise as a well-versed student, and the apparent reputation (ἐυφημίας ἕνεκα) that Heinsius attributes to Lentner, argues for some sort of collaborative work. Nevertheless, it has to remain open which of the two men was responsible for which parts or ideas of the dissertation. Specifically for the idea of the moose as a biblical animal, the text allows no firm conclusion about the authorship.⁴⁰ It is still possible that Lentner’s role was no more than to declaim the dissertation of the professor Heinsius at the official act of defence at the university in Jena. Interesting and illuminating, however, is the preface to the dissertation.⁴¹ Heinsius and Lentner (i. e. probably just one of them, but we cannot confirm which) begin by saying that they were in search of some rare material to offer the audience (cogitaremus de materia […] rariore offerenda). And what they found was some strange news (novellas, quae dum varia ex variis locis referebant nova). Some eye-witnesses reported from Regiomontum Borussorum (Kaliningrad / ›Königsberg‹) that in July 1681 – and so only a few months before the defence of the dissertation in October – an animal of the forest (animal quoddam Sylvestre), which was immediately identified as a moose, had strangely and unexpectedly entered the suburbs of the town. In their preface they tell us that the appearance of the moose had provoked some worried voices and was interpreted by some fearful citizens as an augurium, a bad omen or sign of the return of such events as during the Treaty of Königsberg in 1656, which Heinsius and Lentner discard as vanum. ⁴² Instead, they say, they  Hence I have decided to refer always to Heinsius and Lentner together in discussing and analyzing the ideas in the dissertation on the moose.  Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697), 3 – 4.  Cf. Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697), praef., 3 – 4: »Mense enim Julio annis currentis, animum quoddam Sylvestre, (praeter morum huiusmodi ferarum, quippe quae conspectum hominum admodum extimescunt, prout experientia edocemur) Alcen, intrasse suburbia laudatae Civitatis perhibebant, saepiusque per literas publicas dicta reiterabant. Quod portentum non parum in sui admirationem Spectatores duxit, cum insolitum id, ipsisque antehac vix visum fuerit. Unde quoque nonnulli rerum futurarum non minus, quam praeteritarum, scrutatores anxii, ibi locorum infausta minusque fortunata incolis ominati, atque simili exemplo fortunae pristinae iam ante quinque lustra irruptione hostili insignis inductos retulerunt: Tum enim simile quid accidisse ibidem, Alcemque Regiomontanos visitasse attestantur. Nos, ut omini isti subscribamus, a nobis impetrare vix possumus, quin potius alia de causa animal hocce (fugatum forsitan) sibi per Civitatem aditum parasse suspicamur: Nec non vanum ut sit augurium, incolis optimis apprecamur. Quicquid tandem de ingressu ferae huius sit, plura namque de eo nunc recitare nec juvat, nec attinet, animum hoc occasione induximus (quo haberemus et in hoc studiorum genere Historico-Zoologico vires nostras periclitari) aliqua de ipso animali bruto, nostris hic locis parum cognito, in medium afferre, ac Dissertatione brevi in naturam Alcis penitus inquirere; […].«

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would like to try their skills in hoc studiorum genere Historico-Zoologico, i. e. in historical and zoological research, in order to say something about this rare brute animal (de ipso animali bruto, nostris hic locis parum cognito), and to treat in a short dissertation the nature of the moose (Dissertatione brevi in naturam Alcis penitus inquirere).⁴³ If we consider this, one interest in writing this dissertation appears to have been the particular incident at Königsberg and the consequent need to say something against certain folk beliefs of a – in Heinsius’ and Lentner’s view – rather speculative kind. This view of Heinsius and Lentner against unfounded folk beliefs becomes clear too if we consider their previous works, such as on the solar eclipse, or whether life could be prolonged or shortened by certain means or not.⁴⁴ And the moose, as we have seen before, was in this regard already loaded with various folk narratives that could be compared or criticized with zoological data from the natural history practiced by baroque scholarship. Also, anticipating the ideas and points they will raise in their dissertation, it may have seemed a good idea for Heinsius and Lentner to address the moose as a biblical creature, in order to relativize some of the, in their view, merely speculative folk beliefs. The moose, in their view, was not to be interpreted as a bad omen, but instead to be described more precisely as part of natural history and zoology, as reflected also in the Bible. A clear aim of Heinsius and Lentner, it seems, was the rehabilitation of the moose’s image by reconnecting this animal with the natural world of the Bible.

V Dissertatio Historico-Zoologica de Alce (Jena 1681, 1697) – Ulrich Heinsius and Pantaleon Lentner on the Moose and its place within biblical zoology This brings us back to our main topic: what Heinsius and Lentner have to say about the antiquity of the moose and – connected to that – its status as biblical fauna. Heinsius and Lentner begin by emphasizing the antiquity of the moose’s name. Quoting one of the key points from Plato’s Cratylus they argue: he who has an understanding of names (ὀνόματα / nomina) knows also the exact things (πράγματα / res) hidden behind their several names (qui nomina novit, res suo nominibus latentes haud ignorabit).⁴⁵ According to the Greek philosopher Plutarch, Heinsius and Lentner argue, words and names are συγκεχυμένα τινα (something that is combined or min-

 Ibid.  Heinsius/Hüll (1681); Schmidt / Lentner (1680).  Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697), § I, 4.

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gled together), i. e. words and names contain certain characteristics of the thing (res) that is named by one or more terms.⁴⁶ One good example, Heinsius and Lentner say, is the moose (as a res) and its name (Alces). Alces, they say, is by origin not a Latin word, which shows that this animal may have been unknown to the ancient Romans (priscis Romanis ignotum), as Gerhard Johannes Vossius had previously mentioned in his Etymologicum Linguae Latinae. ⁴⁷ But it seems likely, they argue, that the term Alces has its source in Ancient Greek, which has a word ἀλκή (= »strength to defend«), congruent with Latin equivalents like fortitudo, auxilium, remedium, and which also has a word – different only in its accentuation – ἄλκη (= »moose, elk«), which occurs in Pausanias for instance.⁴⁸ So Heinsius and Lentner argue that there is a clear reason why the moose is named similarly, after the Greek word for strength: it simply is a strengthful animal (Idque nomen ferae nostrae apprime convenire nulli dubitamus), a fact that they confirm with descriptions such as those of Olaus Magnus, where the strength of a moose is described by saying that one blow of this animal’s hoof can knock down and kill a wolf instantly.⁴⁹ But Heinsius and Lentner leave open whether the name of the moose is derived from the Ancient Greek word for bare physical strength, or the strength to avert danger and to cure (also a possibility in Ancient Greek), a point that would match well with the existing folk beliefs regarding the moose as a remedy in medicine. They also leave open to discussion whether the name of the moose is derived from one of its possible places of endemic origin, such as earlier Germany or Belgia, as they quote from Vossius, who confirmed that the moose is there called »eelland, elent, or ellent«,⁵⁰ or whether the origin of the moose’s name lies much farther north, in Prussia, Latvia, or Scandinavia, regions that by communis opinio have never been influenced strongly by the Latin language and which have created their own expressions for the moose. Another, completely different possibility, they say, could be that the name of the moose might have been derived and corrupted from a much

 Id., § I, 5: »At vero nomina sunt ipsi συγκεχυμένα τινα, cum nomina ad definitionem eo se habeant modo quo se habet totum ad partes.«  Id., § I, 5; Gerhard Johannes Vossius, Etymologicum Linguae Latinae, Amsterdam 1662, 17.  Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697), § II, 6. See also Id., § IV, 8, where Heinsius and Lentner try to show how even Pausanias, a Greek native speaker, uses ἀλκή and ἄλκη interchangeably for »strength«/ robur: »[…] non apparet, an tuto distinctionis ratio praeferri debeat usui loquendi, quin potius reperimus in Pausania, ipso Graeco, promiscue adhibitum esse mox Oxytonon, mox Paroxytonon.« This is a reason for Heinsius and Lentner to identify a semantic connection between »strength« and »moose«, i. e. between ἀλκή and ἄλκη.  Id., § II, 6: »[…] est enim Alces animal robustum satis, procerum, nervis atque membris solidioribus; unde et fortitudinem eidem inesse non obscure colligimus.« Olaus Magnus (1555), lib. XVIII, cap. I – III, 599 – 602. Even though the descriptions of the moose quite often differ already in Antiquity (Caesar, Pliny, Pausanias) the strength of the animal has always been an omnipresent feature.  Gerhard Johannes Vossius, Etymologicum Linguae Latinae, Amsterdam 1662, 17.

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older, exotic language (ex dialecto linguae alicuius exotica),⁵¹ that is to say: a non-European one. This point prepares the ground for the main idea of their dissertation, i. e. that the moose may have long been present in the Hebrew language, which would be even older, of course, than Ancient Greek or Latin and the history of classical antiquity. Next, we will see how Heinsius and Lentner set about making the moose a part of ancient biblical history and zoology. Heinsius and Lentner broach this topic by asking if there might not be a term in Hebrew for the strong moose. Even though influential scholars like Conrad Gesner have stated that the moose was barely known in other languages, because it was endemic in northern Europe and out of reach to many cultures, Heinsius and Lentner are sceptical. Could it not be that the Hebrew people at least knew the name of the moose, even if not the animal? Certainly, they admit, those who do not have a firsthand understanding of an animal might not even know its real name, but, they continue, many passages of the Bible contain enigmatic catalogues of creatures that even the Hebrew people (the Gens Hebraea) barely knew.⁵² One of these well-known passages, they say, is the Dietary Laws, especially the part in Deut 14:4– 5, which they quote as: ⁵³‫איל וצבי ויחמיר ואקו ורשׁון וחאו וזמר‬: ‫זאת הכהמה אשׁר חאכלו שׁור שׂה כשׁבים ושׂה עזים‬

It seems possible here to identify the very last term in the line, ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer), Heinsius and Lentner say, as none other than the moose (Alces). And they immediately explain why they come to this conclusion: Namely this animal belongs to those which are allowed to be eaten, because it has cloven hoofs and is also a ruminant. But surely we cannot deny that one faces an enormous mistrust here among the interpreters, since some translate it as moose – and these are the fewest! –, but many as chamois [rupicapra] and most as camelopard [camelopardalis].⁵⁴ And also it is not an easy matter to provide something solid for very rare words [hapax legomena] like this, or words that only appear once in the original script of the Hebrew Bible, as is the case with the word ‫ָזָמר‬ [zemer]. Meanwhile, for now, we would like to stay with the minority who translate with ›moose‹ [Alces], and to embark on the very same opinion.⁵⁵

 Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697), § 3, 8.  Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697), § 5, 9.  Id., § 5, 9; it more or less resembles the text of our present-day Stuttgartensia edition of Deut 14: 4– 5. The King James Version translates the passage as: »(4) These are the beasts which ye shall eat: the ox, the sheep, and the goat, (5) the hart, and the roebuck, and the fallow deer, and the wild goat, and the pygarg, and the wild ox, and the chamois.«  As the name reveals, this is a hybrid creature with an appearance half camel, half leopard. Many contemporaries identified it as the Giraffe. See, for instance, the discussion of the Arabic term Zurapha in Bochart 1663, p. I, lib. III, cap. 21, 904– 906.  Id., § 5, 9.

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As we see, Heinsius and Lentner develop their argument out of the text of the Hebrew Bible. Just as this particular passage in the Dietary Laws demands, they argue that the moose fits in this catalogue of animals because it is a ruminant and has cloven hoofs, and could therefore be classified as allowed to be eaten.⁵⁶ They admit that this is the opinion of the minority of interpreters, but try to make it a strength of their argument: the word ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) and the animal behind it is very rare and uncommon, even for the Hebrew language. The argument of Heinsius and Lentner, we see, is a combination of biblical philology and zoology: a sort of interpretatio difficilior (the interpretation of the word ‫ ) ָזָמר‬speaks both for the rareness of the animal and of the word in Hebrew itself. In what follows, Heinsius and Lentner therefore immediately try to deconstruct the common exegetical traditions of Deut 14:5, and thus also the value of the majority of its interpretations, in order to strengthen their own position. First, they turn against those who voted for the Camelopard (camelopardalis). The main target here for Hensius and Lentner is Conrad Gesner, who treated the moose at the beginning of his Historia Animalium (1551). Heinsius and Lentner doubt some of Gesner’s points regarding the identification of ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) as Camelopard. First, they say, other oriental translations of Deut 14:5, such as the Aramaic, Persian, or Arabic, or medieval commentaries, such as that of the Jewish grammarian David Kimchi, do not necessarily deliver better insights into the specific Hebrew term ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer). Heinsius and Lentner doubt that the Aramaic ‫( דיבא‬Deba), the Arabic ‫( זראפא‬Sarapha), or the Persian ‫( זרפא‬Saraphah)⁵⁷ denote the same as the καμηλοπάρδαλις / camelopardalis of the Septuagint tradition. Here, they say, one is far from any consensum interpretum, as claimed by Gesner.⁵⁸ Nonetheless, the majority of authorities have been pleased to vote for the camelopardalis, and, since the other possibility (rupicapra) is named also by many other words in Hebrew, the argument is therefore not strong enough for Heinsius and Lentner to withdraw the moose hypothesis. In the end their argument regarding the rupicapra (chamois) is: why would Moses use the rare term ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) to express the chamois in Hebrew when there are many other, more common, ways to express it? Moreover, they say, it is not consistent to argue that the Hebrew ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) is the Arabic ‫( זראפא‬Sarapha), and that ergo automatically ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) is the Camelopard.⁵⁹ The second argument is a geographical rather than a philological one. Heinsius and Lentner quote from Gesner: Zamer non notat Alcem, quia Alces syriae peregrinae

 Something that had also been stated explicitly by Sebastian Münster: Caro […] ex nobiliore venatione / »[…] ein gut wildprät zu essen« (Münster (1552), lib. III, 784– 785; Münster (1544), lib. III, ccccxcix).  Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697), § 5, 10 quoting directly from Gesner’s entry on the camelopardalis in his Historia Animalium. The terms in Arabic and Persian are displayed in Hebrew script, because neither Gesner nor Heinsius and Lentner apparently had the appropriate types.  Id., § 5, 10.  Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697), § 6, 10. For an illustration in Gesner (1560) see Fig. 5.

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Fig. 5: Camelopard (camelopardalis). In: Gesner (1560), lib. I, 42. Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel, HAB: A: 4 – 6 Phys. 2°.

sunt. ⁶⁰ The ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer), such is the argument of Gesner, could not be part of the biblical fauna, because it is not endemic to the Holy Land. Heinsius and Lentner instead

 Id., § 7, 10.

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Fig. 6: Chamois (rupicapra). In: Gesner (1560), lib. I, 36. Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel, HAB: A: 4 – 6 Phys. 2°.

argue: It cannot be said securely that the moose was completely unknown to the Hebrew people or at least not known by name. Gesner’s conviction that the moose was unknown to most parts of the world except Scandinavia collapses, Heinsius and Lentner claim, because firstly many other regions knew the moose (if not directly then at least by name), and secondly why should the moose not have migrated to Syria from other places, since God designed the creation for the whole world and not for the historical landscape of the Holy Land alone? Finally, they even reverse the argument of Gesner: if the moose is not endemic to Syria, then the same is true of the Camelopard, an animal that is not endemic to Palestine;⁶¹ and if the rareness of the Camelopard in the Holy Land, an animal endemic to equatorial Africa, argues in its favor, because the passage of Deut 14:5 would require a rare animal and a hapax legomenon, then, Heinsius and Lentner maintain, the same would have to count for the moose, this rare animal from the North.⁶² In the next step, after they have devalued the exegetical tradition about the Camelopard, Heinsius and Lentner turn to defend their moose hypothesis against the chamois hypothesis (rupicapra in Latin), another exegetical tradition of the word

 Id., § 7, 10 – 11.  Id., § 7, 10 – 11.

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‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) in Deut 14:5. The most prominent supporter they found for the chamois (rupicapra) was none other than the great authority on biblical zoology in the late seventeenth century and beyond: Samuel Bochart (1599 – 1667), who in his masterpiece Hierozoïcon (1663) wrote an entry dedicated to the ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) of Deut 14:5 and what kind of animal it might have been in biblical times.⁶³ Bochart, as quoted by Heinsius and Lentner, defines ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) as aliquod animal capreis aut cervis congener, i. e. an animal that belongs to the family of goats or deer (cervidae).⁶⁴ Bochart deduces ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) entirely from the Arabic. The word ramaza, and in reversed letters zamara, would denote ›to leap / jump‹, and not just any jumping, but precisely the kind of jumping goats do (Arabice Ramaza et inversis litteris Zamara salire est, idque non saltu quovis, sed saltu capreae).⁶⁵ For Bochart, so Heinsius and Lentner report, it seems absolutely clear that ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) is a word deduced from the Arabic zamara, a word for leaping or jumping, and that the species of Arabic goat (Arabicae capreae genus) is to be taken as the most versed in jumping (maxime ἁλτικὸν et πηδητικὸν).⁶⁶ It follows that, according to Bochart, no animal is more likely for ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) than the chamois (rupicapra). Heinsius and Lentner admit that Bochart himself classified his interpretation as only a conjecture (coniectura)⁶⁷ based on some etymologizing and comparative linguistic grounds, and thus not to be taken as a completely solid hypothesis (non cuiusdam verioris sententiam).⁶⁸ Since Heinsius and Lentner know that competing with the famous Bochart needs good grounds, they adopt the following strategy of argument: First, they say, the moose is, just like the chamois, an animal capreis aut cervis congener, i. e. an animal belonging to the family of goats or deer. And secondly, in order to devalue Bochart’s etymologizing approach, Heinsius and Lentner return to the sole consideration of the Hebrew radical ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer), without taking Arabic into account in a comparative approach. According to their ratio Etymologica, as they call it, one could find in the Lexicon heptaglottum of Edmund Castell (1606 – 1685), an English orientalist, that the Hebrew radical of ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) derives from ›to lop off / to cut off‹ (amputare / praescidere).⁶⁹ Especially this second point would, in the view of Heinsius and Lentner, argue perfectly for the interpretation of ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) as moose (Alces). And why? Does not the moose, they say, have widely ramified antlers (cornua gerat sarmentosa) and also have to cast them off from time to time ([…] adeoque amputanda. Vites enim quoties sarmentis sylvescunt, amputationi merito cedere solent)? And once again, if we examine Heinsius’ and Lentner’s strategy of argument closely, we see that they favor phi-

      

Bochart (1663), I, lib. III, cap. 21, 904– 909. For an illustration taken from Gesner (1560) see Fig. 6. Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697), § 8, 13; cf. Bochart (1663), p. I, lib. III, cap. 21, 909. Ibid. Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697), § 8, 14; Bochart (1663), p. I, lib. III, cap. 21, 909. Bochart (1663), I, lib. III, cap. 21, 909. Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697), § 8, 14. Id, § 8, 14.

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lological work with Hebrew, the sacred language itself, without treating other oriental languages in a comparative account. The meaning of Hebrew has to be found in the Hebrew words themselves – this is the credo of Heinsius and Lentner. There is a close relation between things (res) and their names (nomina) in Hebrew, just as they claimed at the beginning of their dissertation. The sacred language would be the very essence of the clarity of God’s language and has to be taken as the perfect language to express a thing by a name. God, so they argue, created all things on earth, including Adam, who named all the animals. And Adam – a common view among baroque scholars – no doubt spoke Hebrew. From this point of view it does not seem surprising that Heinsius and Lentner, in agreement with other lexicographical works by scholars such as Edmund Castell found an etymology for ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) that for them proved the presence of the moose in Deut 14:5. And the tradition of Bible translations based in or originating from the German territories after Luther seemed to be on their side. This also appears to be one of the strongest arguments for Heinsius and Lentner: other renowned translators of the Bible were of the same opinion that the moose must indeed have been part of the biblical fauna and occurs in this particular passage of Deut 14:5. Be it the Lutherbibel itself or even the version of Johannes Dietenberger (a Catholic!), or – influenced by both – the version of Sebastian Münster: they all have the moose. Heinsius and Lentner therefore do not hesitate to quote all three in a row, in order to strengthen their own argument on the moose by embedding it in a strong, multi-confessional exegetical tradition of translating the Bible: Du solt keinen Grewel essen. Dis ist aber das Thier das ir essen solt / Ochsen / Schaf / Zigen / Hirs / Rehe / Püffel / Steinbock / Tendlen / Urochs / und Elend.⁷⁰ Diß ist das Viehe das ihr essen solt: Ochsen / Schaf / Gemsen / Hirtz / Rehe / Steinbock / AuerOchsen / Einhorn und Elend.⁷¹ Hoc est pecus, quod comeditis: bovem, pecus ovium et pecus caprarum. Cervorum, capream et bubalum: Capricornum, Unicornu, bovem sylvestrem et Alcen. ⁷²

All in all this was a triumph for the moose and its place in the biblical fauna as reflected in Lutheran and other translations. So, for instance, the moose appears in the Swedish versions of the Bible of 1541, 1635 (»aelg«), and 1674 (»aelg«), or the later one of 1720 (»elg«).⁷³ And so it does too in the Finnish version of the Bible, starting with

 Heinsius/Lentner, De Alce, § 9, 14.  Id., § 9, 14.  Id., § 9, 15.  Biblia, Thet är All then Helgha Scrifft på Swensko, Uppsala 1541, Deut 14:3 – 5; Biblia, Thet är, hela then Helga Skrifft på Swenska, Stockholm 1674, Deut 14:3 – 5, 205.

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the complete translation from Stockholm in 1642 and a subsequent edition in 1685, where in both cases we find the »hirwi«.⁷⁴ Such is the merely philological or, better, etymologizing side of Heinsius and Lentner’s argument. But despite these speculations and considerations there remained one obstacle to making their opinion plausible for their learned audience and readership: How could the moose, an animal of the far North, fit into the fauna of the Holy Land? How could one make it plausible that this animal could also have been endemic to the Orient, or could at least have been known to the Hebrew people by name? From our modern perspective it would be easy here to assume simply that practices of translation like this have a strong connection also to patriotic tendencies in the sixteenth and seventeenth century all over Europe. For Central and Northern Europe, of course, the moose belongs in the Bible. There was no reason to doubt that, especially when there was a need for a popular vernacular translation. But how to answer the question in a scholarly milieu? How to convince fellow academics at the universities, academies, and higher schools? In order to settle this question, Heinsius and Lentner at first give an overview of the names of the moose in several languages (§§ 10 – 12), and secondly provide some arguments from ancient, medieval, and early modern geographical and zoological works in order to solve the question of the moose’s habitat and its place within God’s creation, its locus natalis (§§ 13 – 18). The whole remainder of the dissertation is focused in detail on the parts and aspects of the moose, i. e. its shape, character, qualities, features, and its use for mankind and its diseases, and so on (§§ 19 – 34). From these paragraphs we will only mention briefly some points that fall within the scope of this paper, i. e. the argumentation of Heinsius and Lentner about how the moose belongs in the biblical fauna as mentioned in the Bible. Heinsius and Lentner – and it is far more likely to attribute this part of the dissertation in particular to Heinsius – start by stressing that they also have specific knowledge about the moose thanks to their own home country and mother tongue: A Curonis nostris et Livonis lingua propria, ⁷⁵ i. e. the historical region of Courland (today’s Latvian Kurzeme) and the Livonian language, a Finno-Ugric language. According to this language, Heinsius explains, the moose is properly named by the word »Brehdis« which stands for robustum, pingue, procerum, i. e. »strong, plump, and tall«.⁷⁶ Heinsius and Lentner also stress that none other than the physician, alchemist, and professor at the university of Jena, Georg Wolfgang Wedel (1645 – 1721), made them aware of the treatise on the moose by Andrea Bacci, which had been translated by Wolfgang Gabelkover by the end of the sixteenth century. That is to say: Heinsius and Lentner firstly demonstrate to their learned readership that they have unques-

 Biblia, se on coco pyhä Raamattu suomexi, Stockholm 1642, Deut 14:3 – 5.  Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697), § 11, 16.  Ibid. Note that »Brehdis«, actually, is a Lithuanian word.

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tionable expertise in the matter thanks to their knowledge of Baltic antiquities and zoological matters, and that they, secondly, are in contact with learned scholars from the German territories and universities, institutions to which they themselves are have connections. This short insert in the text functions as a bridge to the next part: the habitat or natural environment of the moose in the North and how that fits into the hypothesis of its status as part of the biblical fauna. Therefore, in the next part of the dissertation, after discussing the moose’s names in Scandinavia and the Baltic region,⁷⁷ Heinsius and Lentner arrive at the discussion of the locus natalis, the historical and natural environment of the moose (§§ 14– 21, 18 – 27). This will be, at least for this paper, the last part to be analyzed of Heinsius’ and Lentner’s argument for why the moose could be an animal mentioned in the Bible. As we may recall, Heinsius and Lentner, if they are not to be forced to abandon their hypothesis, will have to make it plausible that the dissemination of the moose could already have reached near enough to the Holy Land to have perhaps been known or even seen by the Hebrew people. Therefore, they turn to ancient and contemporary authorities on the matter. The consensus is, they say, that the moose belongs in northern part of the world (Locum natalem ferae nostrae plerique septentrionalem mundi plagam assignant).⁷⁸ Further, they add, Jan Jonston localized the moose in Scandinavia in Skåne, Pausanias in the land of the Celts, and Caesar in the Hercynian Forest, who was followed by Vincent of Beauvais and Andrea Bacci. Albertus Magnus even, they go on, states that some moose are also to be found in the forests of Prussia, Hungary, and Illyria.⁷⁹ When, they say, authorities like Pliny use the expression loca Septentrionis, what in fact do they mean? Who used the term loca Septentrionis, in which part of the world, and which regions exactly did they mean by it, Heinsius and Lentner now ask.⁸⁰ In the case of Pliny, Heinsius and Lentner say, it is obvious that, from a geographical point of view, the term Septentrio is rather vague. It even seems, they say, that Pliny chose the term Septentrionalis loca merely to indicate that the moose lives only in a rather cold climate. But, to the contrary, Heinsius and Lentner intervene: the number of moose in fact gets lower the closer one gets to the Arctic Circle, while the animal is more common in the adjacent, slightly warmer climate zones, as they argue citing Johannes Scheffer’s (1621– 1679) Lapponia (1673) and Olaus Magnus’ (1490 – 1557) Historia de gentibus septentrionalibus (1555).⁸¹ The short conclusion of Heinsius and Lentner on this point and its exact phrasing is also interesting for their theory that the moose was known to the Hebrew people: the moose cannot bear intense cold, but has no problem withstanding warmer tem-

    

Id., § 12, 17. Id., § 14, 18. Id., § 14, 18 – 19. Heinsius/Lentner (resp.) (1697), § 15, 19. Id., § 15, 19 – 21.

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peratures.⁸² An argument shaped in this way is of course useful in leaving open the possibility that a moose might actually have reached the Holy Land, or that this animal would at least be able to do so, since its constitution and general natural habitat (no extreme cold) could cause it to happen. It is hard to evaluate the effort of Heinsius and Lentner at this point, because it seems at times that they are arguing just for the sake of argument. Grosso modo, Heinsius and Lentner argue, all ancient geographers – be it Pliny, Solinus, or Pausanias – are not wholly trustworthy. They all differ extremely in their definition of the extent of Scandia or Scandinavia and therefore in defining the origin of the moose, which in ancient sources is often connected to that term. With the help of Joachim Vadian’s (1484– 1551) commentary on Pomponius Mela and the geographical works of Jakob Ziegler (1470 – 1549) and Philipp Clüver (1580 – 1622), they argue that the ancient geographers may have had other, completely different regions in mind when they speak of Scandinavia. Men like Ziegler or Clüver even argued that the moose is frequent in the Hercynian Forest, which extends far into Bohemia, even though today (that is, in the present day of Heinsius and Lentner) there are barely traces of moose in Central Europe.⁸³ But is it not possible – this seems to be the unspoken idea that Heinsius and Lentner have in mind here – that in earlier times the moose was much more common and widely distributed over the earth?⁸⁴ Nevertheless, Heinsius and Lentner do not argue here (as they did earlier) that the moose may have been prevalent for some time also in Syria, i. e. the Holy Land. But, on the other hand, they leave the point open and do not specify which regions exactly are covered by plura alia loca as habitat for the moose. Their final argument, that the moose is even prevalent in America (as they know from Jesuit travel accounts),⁸⁵ seems also be meant to illustrate how extremely widespread this species is on earth and that it is by no means limited to Scandinavia only. What readers should take from this information is left open by Heinsius and Lentner. It could be – in accord with their general concept – that they want to suggest that the moose actually could have been mentioned by Moses in the Bible, because in ancient times it may have been much more frequent in other regions south of Scandinavia. And perhaps shaping the argument like that was the only way for Heinsius and Lentner to proceed, if they were both to maintain the idea of a complete

 Id., § 15, 21: »Unde colligere facile est, quod Alce nostra non ferre queat intensum frigus, frigoris interim remissioris, alias enim in locis calidioribus subsisteret, patiens sit.« Cf. also the illustration by Jacopo Ligozzi: Groom (2015), 159. Groom reports that Ligozzi may have had real moose at hand in Italy that were sent there as a gift to Francesco I de’ Medici by a Florentine marchant from Norway, but died after only a year.  Id., §§ 16 – 17, 21– 24.  Id., § 16, 22: »Neque hi ab omni errore liberandi, qui soli Scandinaviae cum Plinio et Solino Alces nostras mancipare vellent, quoniam et plura alia loca de natalibus ferae sibi gratulantur.«  Id., § 18, 24.

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creation in general, on the one hand, and to argue, on the other, that the moose may not always have been limited to its contemporary habitats.

VI Conclusion: From translation to fact? – the aftermath of Heinsius’ and Lentner’s biblical moose The Dissertatio historico-zoologica de Alce (1681, 1697) of Heinsius and Lentner did not fail to find resonance. Shortly after the publication other scholars followed in debating for or against Heinsius and Lentner on whether the moose is mentioned in the Bible or not. These include: Johann Conrad Dieterich (1612– 1667) and his Antiquitates Biblicae (1671); Johann Conrad Peyer (1653 – 1712) and his Merycologica sive de Ruminantibus et Ruminatione Commentarius (1685); Johann Heinrich Mai (1653 – 1719) and his Brevis et accurata Animalium in Sacro cumprimis Codice memoratorum Historia (1686); Johannis Cyprian (1642– 1723) and his continuation of Wolfgang Franz’s (1564– 1628) Historiae Animalium (1688); Johann Friedrich Leopold’s Dissertatio inauguralis medica de Alce (1700); or later Johann Jakob Scheuchzer in his Physica sacra (1732); and Johannes Beckmann in his De praecipuis Germaniae Antiquae Animalibus Dissertatio (1765).⁸⁶ Gradually, with the beginning of the eighteenth century the moose theory lost more and more ground, and many learned treatises and translations of the Bible failed to identify the ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) of Deut 14:5 with the moose. It seems that scientific expeditions into the Orient in the course of the eighteenth century, had made it ever clearer to European scholars and explorers that the moose could never have been a part of the Orient’s fauna as known to mankind, not even in ancient (biblical) times. Johann David Michaelis (1717– 1791), for instance, while inquiring into some animals in Deut 14:5 in his Fragen an eine Gesellschaft gelehrter Männer (1762), a catalogue of questions for the scientific travelers of the Danish Arabic Expedition (1761– 1767), did not find it worthwhile even to ask after traces of a perhaps moose-like creature in the Orient.⁸⁷ The moose, so it seems to have become clear, could not possibly be treated as part of oriental and biblical fauna. The findings of Linnean disciples such as Pehr Kalm and others had shown that the most likely species in that context must have been the chamois (rupicapra) which was, unlike the moose, widely disseminated in the Orient.⁸⁸ At the same time, the practice of translating of Deut 14:5 had undergone some sort of reversal. Translators preferred to leave the word ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) as it is, and  Dieterich (1671), 421– 422, Peyer (1685), lib. I, cap. 5, 33 – 34, Mai (1686), sect. II, cap. 13, 915 – 934, Cyprian (1688), p. I, cap. 10, 242– 254 Leopold (1700), Scheuchzer (1732), vol. 2, 415 and tab. cccxl.b., Beckmann (1765).  Michaelis (1762), Quest. 85, 234– 241.  Cf. Kalm/Gyllenstein (resp.) (1769), 8 – 9 and the discussion of Prov 5:19.

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even speak of the »Samer« or »Zemer«, for want of a better term for the enigma of the last animal in Deut 14:5.⁸⁹ To analyze this development of responses to the moose theory in a fully diachronic perspective would exceed the scope of this paper. Much more literature would be noteworthy here. Instead, it will be useful here to draw together the several aspects of this paper’s analysis and sum up its main findings. In the form of a case study centered around the historical debates on the moose as a biblical animal, mainly focused on the sixteenth and late seventeenth century, I have tried to highlight some important stages of this controversy within early modern scholarship by focusing in particular on the Dissertatio historico-zoologica de Alce (1681, 1697) of Ulrich Heinsius and Pantaleon Lentner. As I have tried to show, this dissertation had a key position in the exegetical history of Deut 14:5 and the place of the moose in this passage in some early modern translations of the Bible and in academic debates in the form of dissertations as well as major zoological and philological treatises. Through the example of Heinsius’ and Lentner’s Dissertatio we have encountered several hermeneutic tools that were, on the one hand, typical of baroque biblical philology, but on the other hand also very particular to their specific interpretation of the word ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) as moose in Deut 14:5. Some of Heinsius’ and Lentner’s hermeneutic tools for this may be listed: The constant higher evaluation of Hebrew over other oriental languages such as Arabic or Aramaic – as we saw, for Heinsius and Lentner Hebrew was seen to have a nomenclatural force in its own right within the hermeneutics of biblical philology. That is to say, a Hebrew word is best explained by Hebrew and not by another oriental language. Further, Heinsius and Lentner also argued about the geographical dissemination of the moose by consulting ancient as well as contemporary zoological and geographical treatises in order to place the moose within the Bible’s natural history. Since God’s Creation was assumed to be complete – a baroque communis opinio – there was no reason for Heinsius and Lentner to doubt that the moose could have been mentioned by Moses in the Dietary Laws. They tried to make a persuasive case that the word ‫( ָזָמר‬zemer) should be interpreted as moose with the help of etymologizing from Hebrew words and by referring to certain methods of baroque antiquarian scholarship (i. e. using zoological data from natural history, and so on). In their particular style of argument they combined philological, geographical, and zoological considerations in order to solve the question of whether the moose was mentioned in the Bible or not, and to identify what might argue for or against that theory. The special feature of Heinsius’ and Lentner’s discussion of the moose as biblical animal is that they were trying to demonstrate a reading of the Bible that, on the one hand, was already established through the Lutheran Bible, but on the other must have seemed very strange to any zoologist. It is always the case in their dissertation that Heinsius and Lentner had to mediate

 Prof-O̊fwersattning af then Heliga Skrift, Stockholm 1774, Deuteronomion, Femte Boken Mose, 25.

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between the tradition of translation and typical baroque methods of knowledge gathering. Ultimately, with their dissertation on the moose Heinsius and Lentner created a kind of first highlight among systematic approaches to the moose as a biblical animal. All later scholars who turned their attention to the moose and its status as part of the biblical fauna could not evade the arguments and points discussed in Heinsius’ and Lentner’s small treatise. And all this was even though the moose in the Bible had remained – broadly speaking – no more than an academic whisper during the late seventeenth and the whole eighteenth century: mostly unheard, oddly displaced, and lost in translation.

Bibliography Primary Literature Aldrovandi, Ulysse, Quadrupedum omnium bisulcorum historia. Ioannes Cornelius Vteruerius Belga colligere incaepit, Thomas Dempsterus Baro a Muresk Scotus i. e. perfecte absoluit, Hieronymus Tamburinus in lucem edidit […] cum indice copiossimo, Bologna 1621. Bacci, Andrea, Historia della Gran Bestia aggiunta all’ Alicorno, Dove si discorre delle sue proprietà occulte contra il mal Caduco et di molte sorti d’animali estrani, in: id., Le XII. Pietre Pretiose, […] Discorso dell’ Alicorno et delle sue singularissime virtù, Et della gran Bestia detta Alce da gli Antiche, Rome 1587. Bacci, Andrea / Gabelkover, Wolfgang, De Magna Bestia, a nonnullis Alce, Germanis ›Ellend‹ appellata, eiusque occultis proprietatibus, Epilepsiae resistentibus; Variis item diversorum animalium Tractatus […] in Latinum sermonem conversus a Wolfgango Habelchover Artium et Medicinae Doctore, Stuttgart 1598. Beckmann, Johannes, De praecipuis Germaniae Antiquae Animalibus Dissertatio, Leipzig / Kaliningrad / Jelgava 1765. Bochart, Samuel, Hierozoïcon, sive Bipertitum opus de animalibus Sacrae Scripturae, London 1663. Bochart, Samuel, Geographia sacra, cuius pars prior Phaleg De dispersione gentium et terrarum divisione facta in aedificatione turris Babel, pars posterior Chanaan De coloniis et sermone Phoenicum agit, Frankfurt am Main 1681 (first edition: Caen 1646). Clewberg, Carl Abrahahm, Specimen academicum, Emphasin similitudinum nonnullarum Sacri Codicis e regno animali exhibens, Turku 1755. Cyprian, Johannes, Historiae Animalium, a Wolfgango Franzio, Theologo Witebergensi olim scriptae, continuatio in commentario et supplemento observationum ex recentiori historia naturali, similitudinum, Emblematum, Hieroglyphicorum, ad usum Oratoriae tum civilis tum Ecclesiasticae, accedunt Indices necessarii et inter eos Hodego-homileticus in gratiam Ministrorum Verbi et Theologiae studiosorum, Leipzig / Frankfurt 1688. Dieterich, Johann Conrad / Pistorius, Johann Justus, Antiquitates Biblicae, in quibus decreta, propheticae, sermones, consuetudines, ritusque ac dicta Veteris Testamenti de rebus Judaeorum et Gentilium, qua sacris, qua profanis, expeduntur, Giessen / Frankfurt am Main 1671. Dodonaeus, Rembertus, De Alce epistola, in: Menabenus, Apollonius, Tractatus de magno Animali, Cologne 1581. Gesner, Conrad, Historia Animalium, Liber I de Quadrupedibus viviparis, Zürich 1551.

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Gesner, Conrad, Icones Animalium Quadrupedum Viviparorum et Oviparorum, quae in Historiae Animalium Conradi Gesneri libro I et II describuntur, cum nomenclaturis singulorum Latinis, Graecis, Italicis, Gallicis et Germanicis plerunque et aliarum quoque linguarum, certis ordinibus digestae, Zürich 1560. Goebel, Severin, Historia seu brevis descriptio animalis Alcis, quod vulgo vocant Gran bestia, deque illius partium facultatibus, in literatorum et praesertim occultae naturae indagatorum gratiam, edita, Venice 1595. Ulrich Heinsius / David Heinrich Hüll (resp.), Eclipsin Solis praesentis seculi ac ultra, maximam A.O.R. M.DC.LXXXIV. Mens. Jul. die 2/12 celebrandam, ex Hypothesibus Recentiorum Astronomorum demonstratam Dissertatione Astronomica, Jena 1681. Heinsius, Ulrich / Lentner, Pantaleon (resp.), Dissertatio historico-zoologica de Alce, Jena 1697 (first without pagination: Jena 1681). Jonston, Jan, Historia naturalis de quadrupedibus, Frankfurt am Main 1650. Kalm, Petrus / Gyllenstein, Ericus (resp.), Dissertatio gradualis de usu, quem praestat Zoologia in Hermeneutica Sacra, Åbo / Turku 1769. Leopold, Johann Friedrich, Dissertatio inauguralis medica de Alce, magno illo septentrionis animali eiusque virtutibus, Basel 1700. Linnaeus, Carl, Fauna Suecica, sistens animalia Sueciae Regni: quadrupedia, aves, amphibia, pisces, insecta, vermes, distributa per classes et ordines, genera et species, Stockholm 1746. Luther, Martin, Biblia, das ist, die gantze Heilige Schrifft Deudsch, Wittenberg 1534. Luther, Martin, Biblia, das ist, die gantze Heilige Schrifft, Deudsch, Auffs new zugericht, Leipzig 1541. Luther, Martin, Biblia, das ist: Die gantze Heilige Schrifft, Deudsch, Auffs new zugericht, Wittenberg 1545. Magnus, Olaus, Historia de gentibus septentrionalibus, Rome 1555. Mai, Johann Heinrich, Brevis et accurata Animalium in Sacro cumprimis Codice memoratorum Historia, Frankfurt / Speyer 1686. Menabenus, Apollonius, Tractatus de Magno Animali, quod Alcen nonnulli vocant, Germani vero Elend, et de ipsius partium in re medica facultatibus; item Historia cervi Rangiferi et Gulonius Filfros vocati, Cologne 1581. Michaelis, Johann David, Fragen an eine Gesellschaft gelehrter Männer, die auf Befehl Ihro Majestät des Königs von Dänemark nach Arabien reisen, Frankfurt am Main 1762. Münster, Sebastian, Cosmographia: in welcher begriffen aller Völcker Herschafften, Stetten und namhafftiger Flecken Herkommen, Sitten, Gebreüch, Ordnung, Glauben, Secten und Hantierung durch die gantze Welt und fürnemlich Teütsche Nation, Basel 1544. Münster, Sebastian, Cosmographia universalis libri VI, Basel 1552. Peyer, Johann Conrad, Merycologia sive de Ruminantibus et Ruminatione Commentarius, quo primum exponuntur Ruminantium species et differentia, per omnia animalium genera, deinde organorum ruminantione inservientium admiranda structura detegitur et iconibus ari incisis ante oculos ponitur; deinde de ruminatione ipsa eiusque causis ac utilitate deseritur, Basel 1685. Johann Friedrich von Recke / Karl Eduard Napiersky (eds.), Allgemeines Schriftsteller- und Gelehrten-Lexikon der Provinzen Livland, Esthland und Kurland, vol. 2 (G ‒ K), Jelgava / Mitau 1829. Rudbeck, Olaus, Atland eller Manheim, dedan Japhetz afkomme, de förnemste Keyserlige och Kungelige Slecht. Atlantica sive Manheim, vera Japheti posterorum sedes ac patria, 4 vols., Uppsala 1679 – 1702. Scheffer, Johannes, Lapponia, id est Regionis Lapponum et Gentis nova et verissima Descriptio, Frankfurt am Main 1673. Scheuchzer, Johann Jakob, Physica sacra, iconibus aeneis illustrata, vol. 2, Augsburg / Ulm 1732.

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Johannes Andreas Schmidt / Pantaleon Lentner (resp.), Discursus Physicus de termino vitae an posit produci vel abbreviari, Jena 1680. Schott, Caspar, Physicae curiosae, correctae et auctae, pars II, Nuremberg 1662. Stella, Erasmus, De Borussiae Antiquitatibus libri duo, Basel 1518. Wigand, Johannes, Vera Historia de Succino Borussico, De Alce Borussica, et de Herbis in Borussica nascentibus, item De sale creatura Dei saluberrima, consideratio Methodica et Theologica, Jena 1590. Worm, Willum, Musaeum Wormianum, seu Historia rerum rariorum tam naturalium, tam artificialium, tam domesticarum, quam exoticarum, quae Hafniae Danorum in aedibus authoris servantur, Leiden 1655.

Secondary Literature Anderson, John G. T., Deep Things out of Darkness. A History of Natural History, Berkeley / Los Angeles / London 2013. Björklöf, Sune, Älgen i vår historia och vardag, Milano 1994. Chang, Ku-ming (Kevin): »From Oral Disputation to Written Text. The Transformation of the Dissertation in Early Modern Europe«, in: History of Universities 19 / 2 (2004), 129 – 187. Danneberg, Lutz, »Hermeneutik zwischen Theologie und Naturphilosophie: der sensus accomodatus am Beginn des 17. Jahrhunderts«, in: Philologie als Wissensmodell / La philologie comme modèle de savoir, ed. by Denis Thouard / Friedrich Vollhardt / Fosca Mariani Zini, Berlin / New York 2010, 231 – 283. Enenkel, Karl A. E. / Paul J. Smith (eds.), Early Modern Zoology. The Construction of Animals in Science, Literature and the Visual Arts, 2 vols., Leiden / Boston 2007. Enenkel, Karl A. E. / Paul J. Smith (eds.), Zoology in Early Modern Culture. Intersections of Science, Theology, Philology and Political and Religious Education, Leiden / Boston 2014. Enenkel, Karl A. E., »The Species and Beyond: Classification and the Place of Hybrids in Early Modern Zoology«, in: Zoology in Early Modern Culture. Intersections of Science, Theology, Philology and Politcal and Religious Education, ed. by Karl A. E. Enenkel / Paul J. Smith, Leiden / Boston 2014, 57 – 148. Gindhart, Marion / Marti, Hanspeter / Seidel, Robert (eds.): Frühneuzeitliche Disputationen – polyvalente Produktionsapparate gelehrten Wissens, Wien 2016. Groom, Angelica, »Early Modern Natural Science as an Agent for Change in Naturalist Painting: Jacopo Ligozzi’s Zoological Illustrations as a case study«, in: Knowing Nature in Early Modern Europe, ed. by David Beck, London 2015, 139 – 163. Harris, Thaddeus Mason, The Natural History of the Bible; or, A Description of all the Quadrupeds, Birds, Fishes, Reptiles and Inscets, Trees, Plants, Flowers, Gums, and precious Stones mentioned in the Sacred Scriptures, London 1824. Helander, Hans / Odelberg, Wilhelm / Brusewitz, Gunnar / Tunón, Kåkan (eds.): Apollonius Menabenus: Det stora djuret. En 1500-talsskrift om älgen. Översättning, inledning oc noter, Stockholm 1996. www.literaturbanken.de. Hendrix, Scott H.: Martin Luther: A very short introduction, Oxford 2010. Jackson, Kevin, Moose, London 2008. Lange, Melanie / Rösel, Martin (eds.): »Was Dolmetschen für Kunst und Arbeit sei«. Die Lutherbibel und andere deutsche Übersetzungen, Leipzig / Stuttgart 2014. Lindroth, Sten, »Apollonius Menabenus oc Hans Tractatus de magno animali (1581). En studie i humanisk zoologi«, in: Festskrift tillägnad Nils von Hofsten, Zoologiska Bidrag från Uppsala, vol. XXV, ed. by Sven Hörstadius, Uppsala / Stockholm 1947, 33 – 59. Merrill, Samuel, The Moose Book. Facts and Stories from Northern Forests, New York 1916.

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Momigliano, Arnaldo, »Ancient History and the Antiquarian«, in: Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 13 / 3 – 4 (1950). Roling, Bernd, Physica sacra. Wunder, Naturwissenschaft und historischer Schriftsinn zwischen Mittelalter und Früher Neuzeit, Leiden / Boston 2013. Roling, Bernd, »The Matrix of Taxonomy: Carl von Linné and Folklore«, in: The Emergence of Impartiality, ed. by Kathryn Murphy / Anita Traninger, Leiden / Boston 2014, 379 – 407. Shalev, Zur, Sacred Words and Worlds. Geography, Religion, and Scholarship, 1550 – 1700, Leiden / Boston 2012. Sjö kvist, Peter, The Music Theory of Harald Vallerius. Three Dissertations from seventeenth-century Sweden, Uppsala 2012. Smith, Paul, »Reading Dürer’s Representations of the Fall of Man«, in: Zoology in Early Modern Culture. Intersections of Science, Theology, Philology and Political and Religious Education, ed. Enenkel, Karl A. E. / Paul J. Smith, Leiden / Boston 2014, 301 – 328.

Bernd Roling

Hyperboreans in Tibet: Transformations of the Atlantica of Olaus Rudbeck in the eighteenth and nineteenth century I Introduction

In the mid-eighteenth century the national mythology of Sweden, at least in the form in which it had been composed at the end of the seventeenth century by Olaus Rudbeck in his Atlantica, suffered a serious crisis. It was not just that Sweden’s expansionist drive had finally come to a halt, as is well known, after the Northern War and that rule over the eastern half of the Caroline empire, from Livonia to Stettin, had changed hands to another power; massive doubts had arisen, too, about key pillars of the grand ideology that had been aired for so long at Swedish universities. Was Sweden really as ancient as Rudbeck and his followers had always claimed? Were the runes really the world’s oldest writing? Were the ancient Swedes the same as the Hyperboreans of the ancient historians and was their homeland the real Atlantis once described by Plato in his Critias? The new generation of professors led by scholars such as Johan Ihre, Jacob Wilde, and Sven Lagerbring, who took their models from Germany, Denmark, and England, were no longer able to accept the grand edifice of Rudbeck’s Atlantica. ¹ Although none of them was ready to question the Edda and its events, nor did any of them doubt the historicity of Odin and his migration from Asia Minor to Sweden, yet the idea that already when Noah’s Ark landed in Armenia the descendants of Japhet had made their way west, and there founded the ancient Atlantis, as Rudbeck had claimed, had become questionable to this generation of scholars, though there was still no lack of defenders of this thesis.² Sweden’s national mythology would follow new paths in these years, as I wish to trace in what follows. Allied with Finno-Ugric and Oriental Studies, as well as with the ethnography of Central Asia, some researchers, at least, were able to find strategies that permitted the old ideology to be formulated anew. They were able to give it a form that, while no longer obliged to identify Sweden with Atlantis, was still able to assure Sweden a distinctive and dominant position in history. Here I

 * Translated from German by Orla Mulholland. On the reception of Rudbeck at the Swedish universities see the survey of Frängsmyr (2000), vol. 1, 323 – 325, Lindroth (1975), vol. 3, 643 – 653, and Roling (2016). On Lagerbring’s work on early Swedish history and Rudbeck see esp. Eriksson (1973), 33 – 40, 52– 53, 61– 68, 83 – 85, 98 – 100.  Rudbeck, Atland eller Manheim. For a colorful biography of Rudbeck see King (2005). For a good survey of the Atlantica see Eriksson (1994), 13 – 86, and Eriksson (2002), 279 – 496. For further literature on Rudbeckianism see the Introduction to this volume. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638042-013

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wish to present just one variant of such a transformation of the old model, tracing its sources, genesis, and effects, namely the theory that the true primordial culture, and so also Sweden’s own mother-culture, had lain in Siberia or Central Asia north of the Himalayas. It will become clear that this hypothesis was only made possible by engagement with oriental studies in Russia.

II The topography of Siberia and Swedish Orientalism 1 Philipp von Strahlenberg and the first Swedish explorers in Siberia It was almost inevitable that Sweden would have to turn its eye towards Russia and Central Asia, including in ethnography; this widening of horizons was due to the prisoners of war who had ended up in Siberia after the defeat of Charles XII by Peter the Great.³ Among these scattered survivors of the Northern War were men like the traveler to China Lorenz Lange, Johann Bernhard Müller, a dragoon captain in the Swedish army who had traveled in the territory of the Ostyaks,⁴ Philipp Tabbert von Strahlenberg, or Johann Christian Schnitscher and Johan Gustav Renat, who had both ended up in the area inhabited by the Kalmyks.⁵ But thousands of ordinary soldiers, too, had sent numerous letters recounting their exile in Siberia, above all in the area of Tobolsk.⁶ Many of them entered the service of the tsar as explorers and began to pursue intensive geographical and ethnographic studies in the expanses of Russia. At their side stood a first generation of Germans whom Peter the Great had managed to recruit to map his empire, men such as Daniel Gottlieb Messerschmidt and Johann Eberhard Fischer. Step by step their studies opened up to the Swedish public the ethnic panorama of Siberia. At the heart of the new exploration efforts were Messerschmidt and von Strahlenberg. The two men’s writings would have very different fates.⁷ Although the observa-

 For a recent study of the Swedish officers in Siberia see Sjebaldina (2009). For a selection of reports regarding the battle itself and its aftermath see Englund (1998).  Müller, Leben und Gewohnheiten der Ostiacken, on the religion of the Ostyaks c. 3, 43 – 63.  Schnitscher, Berättelse om Ajuckiniska Calmuckiet, there on the Buddhism of the Kalmyks c. 3, 28 – 49, the same text later in German as »Nachricht von den Ajuckischen Calmücken«, in: Müller, Sammlung rußischer Geschichte, vol. 4/4, 275 – 360, there 312– 338.  The reports of the many captives had already been collected in the eighteenth century, see e. g. Eberhard (Alethophilus), Der Innere und Äußere Zustand, or von Wreech, Wahrhaffte und umständliche Historie.  For a short general account of the cartography of Siberia see e. g. Forsyth (1992), 28 – 83. On Messerschmidt see esp. the brilliant and magisterial study of Vermeulen (2015), 87– 130, and already Vermeulen (2008), 63 – 98.

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tions of Daniel Gottlieb Messerschmidt were eagerly pillaged by his companion Strahlenberg, they themselves were only published in the twentieth century.⁸ In contrast, Strahlenberg’s work circulated in manuscript in Sweden already well before its first real printing;⁹ Strahlenberg’s principal work, from the year 1730, would be broadcast even further by translation into many languages.¹⁰ What is important here is that neither Messerschmidt nor Strahlenberg had entirely freed themselves from the Rudbeckian dreams. To give just one example, Strahlenberg still believed that he had found Rudbeck’s pygmies in Siberia, and he also believed he could locate the Riphaean Mountains, the mysterious northern mountain range reported by Pliny, which he placed at the mouth of the Ob River. The Tatar word rifaet meant ›mountain‹, so Strahlenberg argued, and had been the original model.¹¹ In the footsteps of the younger Rudbeck, Messerschmidt sought traces of Hebrew in Mongolia in order to demonstrate that remnants of the Lost Tribes of Israel had found their way to Central Asia, and he actually believed he had found them, in the language of the Mongolian Buryats.¹² Messerschmidt was able to provide empirical support for his descriptions of the indigenous peoples of Siberia and his extensive collections of Samoyedic languages, including Motor, Koibal, and Kamas.¹³ That these languages must be related to Finnish seemed worthy of discussion for Messerschmidt; it was an obvious conclusion that the Finns and Estonians must therefore be the most westerly representatives of a language family originating in Asia.¹⁴ Like his traveling companion Messerschmidt, Philipp Johann Tabbert, too, whom the regent had raised to the nobility as Von Strahlenberg on his return from captivity, documented the shamanic rituals of various Siberian peoples; he too did not fail to note how the ecstatic techniques, the use of drums, the protective spirits invoked, and the underlying pantheon of these ethnic groups closely matched the information that Scheffer and his informants had provided on the customs of the Sami.¹⁵ At the heart of his work stood an extensive table of languages that ranked Vogul, Mordvin, Mari, Pemyak, Votyak, and Ostyak alongside

 Messerschmidt, Forschungsreise durch Sibirien 1720 – 1727.  See e. g. as an unauthorized version Ladau, Kurtzer Auszug einiger Nachrichten, passim.  Strahlenberg, Das Nord- und Ostliche Theil von Europa. The English translation appeared in 1736, the French in 1757.  Strahlenberg, Das Nord- und Ostliche Theil von Europa und Asia, on the Riphaean Mountains close to the Ob 106, on the Pygmies 125 – 126.  Messerschmidt, Forschungsreise durch Sibirien, vol. 4, 24– 25, 135.  Generally on Strahlenberg’s report on Siberia see Nol’vanskaja (1966), 25 – 91.  Messerschmidt, Forschungsreise durch Sibirien, vol. 1, 58 – 60, 65 – 68, 153 – 154, 155 – 156, 160 – 161, 179 – 180, vol. 2, 66 – 67, 70 – 71, vol. 4, 254– 255, 267– 270. Messerschmidt’s extensive notes on the Votyaks are collected by Napol’skich (2001), passim.  Strahlenberg, Das Nord- und Ostliche Theil von Europa und Asia, there on the drums of the Sami and their relatives in Siberia, Einleitung, 104– 105, and 321– 322, 336 – 339, 375, 439.

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the Finns and Hungarians, followed by the Samoyedic peoples and finally peoples such as the Chuvash and Tungus.¹⁶

2 Gottlieb Siegfried Bayer and the Scythian migrations Through Strahlenberg and Messerschmidt Swedish interest in Russia increased decisively after the Northern War. In the following years, the founding of the Academy in St Petersburg produced on the Russian side the first scholarly society that could rival those of the West. The key figure in Oriental Studies and Ancient History in the initial phase of the Academy was the Königsberger Gottlieb Siegfried Bayer.¹⁷ On the Swedish side the archbishop of Uppsala, the orientalist Eric Benzelius, was the first representative of the universities of the Caroline empire to make contact with his colleagues in St Petersburg, and he began a busy correspondence with them. Whereas initially it was still the figures of Strahlenberg and Messerschmidt whose fate and further studies had motivated both these scholars – Bayer also reports to Benzelius Messerschmidt’s huge difficulties in fitting back into urban life – the horizon would soon widen.¹⁸ From Benzelius Bayer learned of the works of Stiernhielm and Rudbeck the Elder and his followers, which at first impressed the Petersburg scholar;¹⁹ in return the founder of Russian Sinology gave the Swede plenty of opportunity to take an interest in his pioneering researches. The two of them shared an interest in the first reports about lamaistic Buddhism in Tibet and in the Dalai Lama, who was at this point an entirely obscure figure and would remain so for another century.²⁰ Through contact with the Buddhist Kalmyks, and through letters exchanged with the first Danish missionaries to India, Bayer nonetheless succeeded already by 1728 in gaining a first glimpse of the culture of Tibet and of the Buddhism of the Diamond Vehicle, though he was unable to do more than print a copy of the Tibetan alphabet and drawings of some Buddha figures, the meaning of which remained entirely hidden from him.²¹ However, Bayer also soon let Benzelius know that he took a rather skeptical view of the supposed achievements of Swedish antiquarianism;²² a Swedish-Atlantean ur-culture in Scandinavia, as Rudbeck had claimed, could not have any

 Ibid., 56 – 72.  On Bayer’s life and writings see the preliminary surveys of Babinger (1918), and esp. Lundbaek (1986), passim. Further research on Bayer, a key figure of early modern Oriental Studies, is needed.  Benzelius, Letters to his Learned Friends, No. 69, 92– 93, here 92, No. 75, 99 – 101, here 100, Benzelius, Letters to Erik Benzelius the Younger, vol. 2, No. 245, 287– 288, No. 279, 322– 324, No. 283, 326 – 330, here 328.  Benzelius, Letters to his Learned Friends, No. 75, 99, Benzelius, Letters to Erik Benzelius, vol. 2, No. 280, 324– 325.  Benzelius, Letters to his Learned Friends, No. 69, 93, No. 75, 99 – 100, Benzelius, Letters to Erik Benzelius, vol. 2, No. 255, 297– 298, No. 283, 328 – 330, No. 298, 352– 356, here 353.  Benzelius, Letters to Erik Benzelius, vol. 2, No. 287, 335 – 338, No. 306, 368 – 370.  Benzelius, Letters to Erik Benzelius, vol. 2, No. 255, 298, No. 283, 327.

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correspondence to reality; but to seek it further east might turn out to be very promising.²³ In his published works for the Academy in St Petersburg, Bayer developed a theory of the Scythian migrations that revised the interpretation of them made by the Swedes, but without rejecting the historicity of the migratory movements suggested by the Edda. ²⁴ In this Bayer could not at first find much to be said in favor of either a Cimbrian ur-nation, which the Danes had preferred, or the supposedly protoSwedish Hyperboreans. The latter were just an old legend and the attempts to locate them a result of the eruditio intemperans of men like Rudbeck, Verelius, and Peringskiöld the Elder,²⁵ while the former were figmenta: if you tried to pin them down, so Bayer, the result would inevitably be to grasp nubem pro Junone. ²⁶ What could be pinned down, however, were the Scythians, and along with them, so Bayer believed, also the Finns and Swedes who had developed out of them. The ancient reports on their military campaigns and regions of settlement could still be a help in saving some of the Swedish national myths at least at a superficial level. The Scythians, he argued, had been one of the oldest peoples in history, who had once inhabited a region that ranges from the Caspian Sea to the coast of the Baltic. In the name Tchud, the term for Finns in the Old Russian chronicles, their name could still be heard as T-schud, sounding almost like ›Scythian‹. Could it be mere chance, Bayer asked, that in Lithuanian too the word szauti still meant the ›slinger‹, like the name ›Scythi‹ itself?²⁷ Was there not good evidence for the long ethnic continuity of the Scythians in the fact that the same Lithuanians still wore fur belts, just like what Herodotus had described among the Scythians?²⁸ Some of Herodotus’ information, as Bayer repeatedly points out, could be linked up with the wanderings of Odin as described in the Edda and Heimskringla. When Darius I drove some of the Scythians from their ancestral settlements during his great expedition around the Black Sea it was, so Herodotus reports, above all the Neuri and Budini who had set off westwards in reaction. Could these Scythian Budini not be the parent-people of the Finns, Bayer proposed, who had arrived in Scandinavia led by the first Odin, the hero of the Edda and the Heimskringla around 500 years before Christ? Could the mother-people of Sweden not have originated from Central Asia and be of Finno-Ugric descent?²⁹ For the second Odinic migration, which, if one believed the Edda, had happened just under 500 years later, there was evidence to be found in the ancient historians, too. In 56 B.C. during the Third Mithradatic War, as

 Bayer, Museum Sinicum, vol. 1, Praefatio, 30 – 32.  For a survey of the debates on Herodotus’ chapters on the Scythians esp. in Russia see Nejchardt (1982), passim.  Bayer, De Hyperboreis, here 345 – 347.  Bayer, De Cimmeriis, here 425 – 426, 431– 432.  Bayer, De origine et priscis sedibus Scythiae, here 390 – 391.  Bayer, Chronologia Scythiae vetus, here 300 – 301.  Ibid., 349 – 350, and id., De Scythiae situ, qualis fuit sub aetatem Herodoti, here 418.

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Strabo knew, contingents of Scythians had been forced westwards by the Roman troops and Getic tribal confederacies. Why should these Scythians not be the mother-people of the Swedes, which had been led by the second Odin on his journey through the Volga region to Lapland? Bayer concedes that many centuries lay between the composition of the Edda and the lifetime of Snorri and, hence, so did countless layers of possible traditions, too. But why should this tradition not have been passed on orally in songs? What image would we have of Odin’s contemporary, Ptolemy Philadelphus, Bayer asked, if all we had was the praise poetry that Theocritus had written for him?³⁰ As can be clearly seen, Gottlieb Siegfried Bayer had been unable to distinguish Finns, Goths, and Scythians from each other with any great precision, but he was aware that further investigations were needed in this.³¹ Another figure from Russia, who was able to give a far more exact answer to similar questions in the ethnography of this period, deserves mention as well as Bayer. At roughly the same time as Messerschmidt and Strahlenberg, Johann Eberhard Fischer, a German who had volunteered into the service of the tsar, was pursuing the study of the Finno-Ugric and Samoyedic languages. Picking up where Strahlenberg left off, Fischer established even more clearly that shamanism must have been the crucial foundation and common element of the religion of the indigenous peoples of Siberia;³² at the same time he shared with Bayer and Benzelius an interest in the Dalai Lama, believing that he had found a clear echo of this figure in Christian para-history, in the priest-king Prester John.³³ Fischer’s Vocabularium sibiricum, compiled around 1740, provided the first serious etymological dictionary of the Finno-Ugric and Samoyedic languages and expanded the number of languages to 35. Their interrelation was now finally no longer in doubt.³⁴ A comparative investigation by Fischer was then able to show, further, that there must be a distinct Ugric language group which existed as a block alongside the Finnic group.³⁵ That in one language of this Ugric sub-family, the language of the Kondinian Votyaks, the Mansi of the northeastern Urals, there was a word raep for ›mountain‹ could even, so Fischer believed, be rated as possible evidence that the long-sought ›Riphaean‹ mountains had finally been discovered;

 Bayer, Conversiones rerum Scythicarum temporibus Mithradatis Magni et paullo post Mithradatem, here 325 – 330, 348 – 349.  Benzelius, Letters to Erik Benzelius, vol. 2, No. 309, 375 – 377, here 377.  Fischer, Sibirische Geschichte, vol. 1, Einleitung, § 31, 55 – 61, and id., Recherches historiques sur les principales nations, établies en Sibirie, 88 – 90.  Fischer, Recherches historiques sur les principales nations, établies en Sibirie, 111– 128.  A first selection is given by Fischer, Sibirische Geschichte, vol. 1, Einleitung, §§ 90 – 95, 161– 174. The Vocabularium sibiricum remained unprinted, but was used in its manuscript version. The original version Fischer later gave to Schlözer. The Vocabularium contained extinct languages like ›Arinian‹, ›Kottinian‹ or ›Assanian‹, but also took examples from Tibetan and Low German. The wordlists and the linguistic part is printed in Fischer, Vocabularium sibiricum, passim.  Fischer, Quaestiones Petropolitanae, I. De origine Ungrorum, 1– 40, and id., Recherches historiques sur les principales nations, 246 – 258.

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they had been located far beyond Lapland in the form of the Urals. Did that also mean that the Hyperboreans, and with them the Scandinavian ur-nation, were to be sought far beyond the Urals, too?³⁶ Some years later Fischer, like Bayer before him, dismissed all attempts to locate either the Hyperboreans or the Riphaean Mountains as a waste of effort. Neither the followers of Rudbeck nor the proposals of Strahlenberg, who had etymologized ›out of mere boredom‹, so Fischer, and which ›were able to turn black white‹, had made any serious headway in getting closer to the Apolline ur-nation.³⁷ The Hyperboreans were a projection, Fischer underlined in 1755, which from epoch to epoch had been shifted ever further north and whose supposed attributes could unproblematically be applied just as well to peoples to the north of Thrace or to the remote Tungus peoples.³⁸ At first sight it seemed that the legend of the Hyperboreans was, with that, over. In the same year Fischer’s work appeared, the Göttingen scholar Johannes Matthias Gesner was still trying to place the Hyperboreans on the Spanish or West African coast,³⁹ but his Göttingen colleague Christian Gottlob Heyne later adopted Fischer’s deconstruction of the myth without hesitation: Hecataeus’ imaginary construction, which had for so long been filled with significance, had never been anything more than stories the Greeks had told to pass the time in the evenings.⁴⁰ In Sweden, too, Fischer’s reflections were already being cited soon after they were published. Gabriel Tidgren, to name just one example, a professor who in 1786 in Turku discussed the peoples named in Herodotus, weighed Fischer’s hypothesis against that of Rudbeck as at least worthy of debate, though he was still cautious about accepting it as a whole.⁴¹

III The Hyperborean Atlantis in Siberia 1 Jean-Sylvain Bailly From being seen as two peoples on the margin of an empire, the Finns and the Sami had through Strahlenberg, Messerschmidt and Fischer in the space of a few years become representatives of a family of peoples whose geographical and historical limits were so wide they could hardly be guessed; at the same time Odin, unlike the Hyperboreans, was saved for Swedish history, though it was now beyond doubt that, in his Swedish variant, he had reached Sweden long after the Finns had already done so.

 Fischer, Quaestiones Petropolitana, I. De origine Ungrorum, 29.  Ibid., IV. Von den Hyperboreern, 99 – 119, here 104– 110.  Ibid., IV. Von den Hyperboreern, 114– 119. A direct reply to Fischer was given by Penzel, Über die Hyperboreer, and proclaims, 15, Bukhara or Tibet as the true home of the Hyperboreans.  Gesner, De Phoenicum navigationibus extra columnas, Praelectio II, c. 2, § 8, 474– 481.  Heyne, De fontibus et auctoribus historiarum Diodori, here Pars I, 81– 82.  Tidgren/Lithell (resp.), Dissertatio de populis Herodoto memoratis, § 1, 2– 8.

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However, the thesis that an ur-Scythian empire of strongly Finno-Ugric cast was to be located in the East would develop an impact that outran the criticism which similar ideas had earned from the Göttingen enlightenment. If the great mother-culture and true Atlantis was not Sweden, could it not perhaps be found further east, but still in the North? This idea made it possible to link Bayer’s web of theses both to Fischer and Strahlenberg’s researches, and also to Rudbeck’s old model of a Scandinavian–North-European Atlantis, and it received a massive boost from 1770 onwards from France, through the French astronomer Jean-Sylvain Bailly.⁴² This French revolutionary proposed a theory of the origin of culture that shifted its origin to the North, in an Atlantis that was to be located in northern central Asia, in a vaguely identified Siberia north of the Urals. Almost by necessity Bailly therefore had to engage with Rudbeck’s Atlantica. And in fact here we encounter once again all those theories that were already so common among the Rudbeckians: The Atlanteans had been identical to the Hyperboreans of classical antiquity, Bailly makes clear, and the passages from Diodorus or Strabo were written about them.⁴³ Atlas, Saturn, and Uranus, as Rudbeck too had shown, were historical figures, mathematicians and astronomers whose discoveries marked the start of all science.⁴⁴ In 3000 BC the scholarly caste of these peoples beyond the 49th parallel had already known the circumference of the earth, the exact length of the solar year in relation to the lunar year, and of the recurring cycles of the zodiac in the heavens. If, Bailly stressed, one took into consideration how many years must previously have been needed to confirm these discoveries through observations, it was plausible that the first Atlantean astronomers had begun their work in the North more than 7000 years ago, more than 1500 years before the Flood.⁴⁵ Bailly collects an abundance of evidence for his hypothesis of a Nordic-Siberian civilization, which can here only be sketched.⁴⁶ Was it not a suspicious coincidence that other peoples, such as the Chinese, also knew of founding heroes, such as Nanka the first princess of Nanking, who in the year 639 after the Flood had allegedly come to them from the farthest North? Was it not curious that Zarathustra in his writings describes 16-hour midsummer days, which he himself could never have experienced first-hand in Persia? Was it not an argument in favor of the theory of an ur-nation beyond the Urals that many of the Siberian peoples had been able to harvest

 For a general picture of Bailly see still the brilliant biography of Smith (1954), passim.  Bailly, Essai sur les fables et sur leur histoire, vol. 2, c. 11, 1– 38.  Bailly, Histoire de l’astronomie ancienne, Histoire, Livre I, §§ 4– 5, 6 – 9, and in German Bailly, Geschichte der Sternkunde, vol. 1, Erster Abschnitt, §§ 4– 5, 21– 25.  Bailly, Histoire de l’astronomie ancienne, Histoire, Livre I, § 11, 16 – 18, § 14, 21– 22, in German Bailly, Geschichte der Sternkunde, vol. 1, Erster Abschnitt, § 11, 34– 35, § 14, 37– 38.  Bailly, Lettres sur l’origine des sciences, Lettre VIII, 224– 269. German as Bailly, Briefe über den Ursprung der Wissenschaften, Achter Brief, 164– 195. And see, posthumously, Bailly, Recueil de pièces intéressantes, there »Lettre a un savant de ses amis, sur l’astronomie, l’Atlantide et les peuples étrangers«, 149 – 157.

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pulses such as wild rye without sowing them, whereas Europeans and Indians had to rely on sown crops? Bailly recalled that Carl Linnaeus had for this reason rightly assumed that after the Flood the first peoples had migrated first to Siberia, and had from there brought the practice of agriculture south in the following centuries.⁴⁷ Could it be mere chance that the circumference of the earth transmitted by Aristotle, namely 400,000 stadia, which differed so significantly from the calculations of Eratosthenes, could be explained only if one took into account the source of the error, namely the flattening of the earth towards the poles, and assumed that this circumference had been calculated beyond the 49th parallel?⁴⁸ Did that not mean that the basis of all astronomy lay in the North? For Bailly further arguments were presented by classical mythology, whose genesis could only be explained on the basis of a stellar mythology situated in the North. According to Bailly’s History of Astronomy, which went through many editions and was also translated into German, many insights had been anticipated by Rudbeck, the Titan of Uppsala; his reflections just needed to be turned in the right direction.⁴⁹ The phoenix, which symbolized the winter sun, could only be made plausible in its attributes if its parallel in the northern tradition, Rudbeck’s Fanin, is also adduced as an analogy. In its supposed Egyptian homeland a bird that embodied the death and resurrection of the light of the sun would have made no sense.⁵⁰ The Pillars of Hercules, which Rudbeck had used as an indication of Swedish civilization and as insignia of a solar cult, had in reality been located further east; they were attributes of the astronomical skills of the Siberian Atlanteans. The myth of Demeter and Persephone, too, had to be decoded as an illustration of the winter solstice, as a concretization of a primeval experience that could only be located in the darkness of the North.⁵¹ Many cultural achievements that Rudbeck had attributed to the Swedish Atlanteans were therefore correctly identified by the scholar from Uppsala as achievements of the North, but in truth they belonged to the Siberian ur-nation. Doubtless the prehistoric Swedes had been one of the first cultures to calculate the solar year with the help of the rune stick, but, Bailly added, they had received this information from their northeastern neighbors, the heirs of Atlantis and Uranus.⁵² And Rudbeck had been correct in establishing that the myths of Isis and Osiris could not have arisen in Egypt, but only in a part of the Earth affected by polar night. Rudbeck had realized that the col Linné/Karamyschew, Dissertatio academica demonstrans necessitatem promovendae Historiae naturalis in Rossia, § 12, 19 – 20.  Aristoteles, De coelo, Liber II, c. 14, 297b–298a, Greek and French, 101– 102.  The close interrelation of Rudbeck’s and Bailly’s models did not escape the Swedish scholars, see e.g Ferrner, Inträdes-Tal om Menniskosnillets nuvarande gasning, here 184– 186.  Bailly, Histoire de l’astronomie ancienne, Eclaircissements, Livre III, § 4, 326, German Bailly, Geschichte der Sternkunde, vol. 2, Dritter Abschnitt, § 4, 79 – 80.  Bailly, Histoire de l’astronomie ancienne, Eclaircissements, Livre I, § 3, 284– 286, German Bailly, Geschichte der Sternkunde, vol. 2, Erster Abschnitt, § 3, 8 – 11.  Bailly, Histoire de l’astronomie ancienne, Eclaircissements, Livre III, §§ 1– 3, 323 – 325, German Bailly, Geschichte der Sternkunde, vol. 2, Dritter Abschnitt, §§ 1– 3, 73 – 78.

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ors of the garment of Isis or Freya – white, black, and green – corresponded to the three seasons of the North, the snow of spring, the darkness of winter, and the green of summer, and that these three seasons could in turn be set alongside the three seasons that Adonis had once owed to Jupiter, Venus, and Persephone respectively.⁵³ But this calculation only made sense, according to Bailly, if one located the origin of these myths in a region in which polar night in reality lasted as long as both summer and spring together, in northern Siberia.⁵⁴ It was necessary to give a new life to Rudbeck’s results and followers, Bailly underlines, by shifting the chain of transfers back beyond its supposed beginning in Sweden and further into northern Central Asia. There was of course no shortage of responses to Bailly’s monumental sketch. August Ludwig Schlözer observed dryly in his Weltgeschichte (›World History‹), which appeared in Göttingen in 1785, that Bailly’s hypothesis of a Siberian ur-nation was a magnificent but in every respect ungelertes Märchen (›unscholarly fairytale‹) that did not merit any further attention.⁵⁵ In Russia research into Tibet, the region that still seemed most likely to be the site of the ancient Scythian civilization, was advancing in these years above all thanks to Peter Simon Pallas. Pallas had, in Bayer’s footsteps, likewise tried to penetrate via the Kalmyks to Tibetan Buddhism.⁵⁶ In the train of the British Empire, the English army officer Samuel Turner then, through an adventurous expedition, in 1801 managed to provide Europe with at least a first more exact sketch of the culture of Tibet.⁵⁷ But major progress came only with Isaak Jakob Schmidt, a German from Amsterdam who had likewise found his way to Tibet via Kalmyk and Mongolian literature. After some first exploratory researches on ›Lamaism‹ in Tibet, in a short space of time he presented dauntingly well-informed studies that gave a plausible picture of the principal ideas of Tibetan Buddhism.⁵⁸ In 1845 Schmidt was even able to present the first translations from Tibetan, which set the picture of Tibetan Buddhism on a whole new footing.⁵⁹ The dream of finding a Hyperborean ur-culture in the Himalayas or further north, perhaps represented by the Finno-Ugric Tchud, had not been fulfilled by these expeditions and the studies that they were to produce.

 Bailly is quoting directly the large chain of myths listed in the Atlantica, see Rudbeck, Atland eller Manheim, vol. 2, c. 5, Latin and Swedish, 27– 32.  Bailly, Histoire de l’astronomie ancienne, Eclaircissements, Livre III, §§ 4– 5, 325 – 327, German Bailly, Geschichte der Sternkunde, vol. 2, Dritter Abschnitt, §§ 4– 5, 78 – 82.  Schlözer, Weltgeschichte nach ihren Haupttheilen, Urwelt, 136.  Pallas, Sammlung historischer Nachrichten von den mongolischen Völkerschaften, there on religion in Tibet vol. 2, Erster Abschnitt, 3 – 108, and earlier id., Nachricht von Tybet, passim.  Turner, An Account of an Embassy.  Schmidt, Forschungen im Gebiete der älteren religiösen, politischen und literärischen Bildungsgeschichte, there esp. 166 – 209, or e. g. Schmidt, Über die tausend Buddhas einer Weltperiode, passim, or id., Über einige Grundlehren des Buddhismus, there on Nirvana 228 – 236.  Schmidt, Dzaṅg-blun oder Der Weise und der Thor, Tibetan text vol. 1, translation vol. 2.

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2 Magnus Graf Björnstjerna Was that the end of the dream? Already Strahlenberg had claimed to have found remains of a runic script in Siberia, and Peter Simon Pallas had given more detailed descriptions of similar scripts in the Yenisei region in 1793 and near Tomsk. Jointly with the Rostock orientalist Olof Tychsen, Pallas had at least left open the possibility of whether these runes in Siberia might not, after all, represent the cultural remains of an ancient Scythian empire.⁶⁰ With that his study would have offered a direct reference to the culture of the Skalds, and so would have formed a link to Sweden. These writings are today known from their findspots as the Orkhon and Yenisei Runes, but in the late nineteenth century the language that they represent was definitively identified by Vilhelm Thomsen as Old Turkic. Early in that century, however, Neo-Rudbeckians such as Nils Henrik Sjöborg in Lund were only too ready to detach all the skepticism from this suggestion by the Russian scholar and treat it as straightforward fact.⁶¹ That Odin had come to Sweden from the east was never doubted by this circle, but perhaps, as these finds in Russia showed, Central Asia had also been the site of that ancient Scythian empire which already possessed writing and advanced education, and which thinkers such as Bailly had likewise placed in that region. It would thus be the true homeland of Swedish civilization. Yet, given the advances mentioned above in the study of Central Asia and Tibet and in Mongolian and Turkic studies, by the early nineteenth century theories like these were already an expression of Sweden’s intellectual Sonderweg and its distinctive variety of romantic nationalism. How far this romanticism could nonetheless still go, can be illustrated by one example, which takes us up to the year 1840. Magnus Graf Björnstjerna had been an officer in the Swedish-Russian War that ended with Sweden’s loss of Finland, and thereafter he served the Swedish crown as a diplomat; his grandfather had been the archbishop Magnus Beronius, a scholar of the Edda who had worked on Nordic antiquities in the mid-eighteenth century.⁶² During a long period as ambassador to London Björnstjerna had discovered Sanskrit studies. In his writings, above all in his principal work, the Theogony of the Hindus, which appeared in 1843 and was translated into numerous languages, we find once again all the motifs that we have come to recognize – a belief in the cultural superiority of the East, to which Sweden was directly linked, the ur-philosophy that was the

 On the ›runic‹ inscriptions in Sibiria see Pallas, Von einer in Sibirien gefundenen unbekannten Steinschrift, and earlier already Gmelin, Reise durch Sibirien von dem Jahre 1733 – 43, vol. 1, 305, 379. And see also on the same objects Meiners, De antiquis monumentis in Sibiria australi existentibus, there esp. 55 – 58, and id., Beschreibung alter Denkmäler in allen Theilen der Erde, 79 – 90.  Sjöborg/Lagerheim, Litterae gothicae ab Asia oriundae, § 9, 25 – 26.  On his adventures see his colorful autobiography Björnstierna, Anteckningar.

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key to decoding all myths as ciphers, Rudbeck’s Atlantis, and Bailly’s attempt to move it further into the North.⁶³ Björnstjerna cites his predecessors already in his introduction: alongside English scholars of Sanskrit, he wanted to take his orientation above all from Bailly.⁶⁴ The Swedish general underlines that India was the civilization out of which all Western philosophies and mythologies were to be explained; the Indians had known pantheism, as well as ›Hegelianism‹, long before the Greeks; all attempts to declare Egypt, instead, to be the land where culture originated would necessarily fail.⁶⁵ Björnstjerna provided an admiring survey of the Indian social order and Indian literature, philosophy, and art, but with Buddhism he quickly reaches his real theme, namely the cultural interconnection of all western peoples.⁶⁶ When the Buddhists were expelled from India their teachings had been scattered westwards over an enormously wide area into the regions beyond Afghanistan and Tibet. In Egypt the followers of Buddha had founded the austere philosophy of hermeticism, in the Holy Land the no less ascetic Essenes had developed out of them. In the form of the Druids they had reached Gaul, Britain, and Ireland.⁶⁷ When he came to speak of the religious world of the Edda, Björnstjerna repeats the familiar theories one more time. Even if the skalds would have had to adapt the mythology of India to the inhospitable climate of Scandinavia in their imagery, the basic elements of Old Norse religion – the immortality of the soul, the creator god, the triad of first gods, the doctrine of the ages of the world, and the Midgard Snake – all matched Buddhist-Indian belief. Even an unremarkable mythologeme such as the Swedish scarab, the Thordyvel, described by Rudbeck, found their ultimate origin in India.⁶⁸ Yet Björnstjerna nonetheless tried to revivify the old theory of an Atlantean-Siberian ur-culture one more time. All the earliest documents of human history were in agreement about the Flood, as he underlines with a long comparison of Chinese, Persian, Judeo-Christian, and Indian traditions.⁶⁹ George Cuvier and many other geologists had been able to date with scientific thoroughness a massive flood to around 5000 BC, which would not have been able to destroy the whole of humanity.⁷⁰ But where had the human homeland been before this catastrophe? As Björnstjerna recalled once again, Rudbeck had elevated Sweden to Atlantis and made it the cradle of the Hyperboreans, but Bailly had to the contrary made Siberia the true Atlantis and  Björnstjerna, Die Theogonie (first in Swedish in 1843). There was also an English translation, published in 1844. A few ideas were also presented in an earlier treatise, see Björnstjerna, Das Britische Reich in Ostindien (first published in Swedish 1839), there esp. 19 – 23, 74– 89, 329 – 334. An English translation appeared in 1840.  Björnstjerna, Die Theogonie, X.  Ibid., 30 – 32, 46 – 48.  Ibid., 53 – 96.  Ibid., 111– 118.  Ibid., 118 – 125.  Ibid., 118 – 125.  Cuvier, Discours sur les révolutions, 283 – 284.

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starting-point of all cultures.⁷¹ Björnstjerna had no difficulty accepting the majority of the French astronomer’s evidence, but Bailly had, so the general believed, left a decisive factor out of consideration, namely the climatic changes of the past millennia. As many fossil finds, especially the mammals excavated in Siberia, could demonstrate, in past eras of the Earth’s history the climatic zones, and with them also the inhabitable regions, had shifted drastically southwards. Long before the Flood the polar regions must have been a salubrious territory with a mild climate. This was where the ur-population of Hyperboreans had lived; as temperatures dropped in the northern hemisphere, they had at first migrated to the warmer parts of Siberia, Central Asia, and Tibet, and then to more southerly latitudes, into India.⁷² The rest of the history of their journey to the western hemisphere, which had also brought forth the Norse pantheon, was known. Thus, Björnstjerna claimed, Sweden had become the heir, via Tibet, to an ancient Atlantean civilization whose seat lay in Siberia.

IV The Fall of the Hyperboreans: Science and Satire One possible answer to this thesis was scientific in character. Olof Tychsen’s student in Rostock, Christian Martin Frähn, one of the great German orientalists in St Petersburg, in 1837 once again magisterially dismissed all attempts to link Central Asian script types to prehistoric Scandinavia.⁷³ But another kind of answer was also possible – a literary and satirical one. Also working in these years as an orientalist at the Academy in St Petersburg was the Lithuanian-born Pole, Osip Senkovsky, who after a long journey through Arabia and Africa had since 1820 been making a name for himself in Russia as an expert in various oriental languages. Since the mid-1820s Senkovsky had also won attention with publications in Mongolian and Tibetan studies; he must have been one of the most multifaceted figures in his field, though with a slight tendency to miscellaneous erudition.⁷⁴ In 1833 a volume appeared in Russian with fantastic stories by the professor that soon became a bestseller in the tsarist empire, the Fantastical Journeys of Baron Brambeus. Half a century before Jules Verne, Senkovsky had already anticipated the French novelist’s central motifs. One of the journeys bears the title »The expedition to Bear Island« and brings the narrator in 1828 to

 Björnstjerna, Die Theogonie, 173 – 185.  Ibid., 188 – 202.  Frähn, Über alt-südsibirische Gräberfunde, 2– 4, and see also earlier e. g. Levesques, Histoire de Russie, vol. 7, 429 – 435.  Senkovskij’s collected writings appeared as Senkovskij, Собрание сочинение Барона Брамвеуса, there e. g. id., Тибеть, сго жители и сго исторя (first published in 1828). As a French paper see e. g. id., Supplément à l’histoire générale des Huns.

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a territory populated by nomads north of Irkutsk.⁷⁵ Accompanied by a German fossil collector from Göttingen called Dr Spartzmann and a deeply skeptical geologist of Russian origin, Ivan Strabinskich, the travelers are tempted by a legendary cave on this island, of which, so we are told, Peter Simon Pallas had reported that its walls were inscribed with a mysterious script. It is not hard to see that Senkovsky had current debates in mind.⁷⁶ And indeed the narrator Brambeus, who we are told had even studied under Champollion in Paris, manages to decipher the curious writing on the cave walls. It was, according to Brambeus, an early form of hieroglyphics and so also an archaic variant of the Egyptian language. Now it had finally been proved, so the explorers believe, that the first civilization, long before the Ancient Near East and the Pyramids on the Nile, and still before the cataclysm of the great Deluge that Cuvier had described, would have to be located in Siberia, and had only moved south when it was forced out of there. The life story they decipher, which had decorated the rock face in the cave, had been scored into the wall by the last survivor of this civilization, an inhabitant of the huge metropolis which, even though it dated to the era of the mastodons, had already possessed a number of technical advances. For pages the inscription recounts not only how the inhabitants of the pre-deluge city had observed the flight path of a comet which came ever closer to their homeland, but primarily how the writer of the inscription had in the meantime become entangled in endless dalliances with his flighty girlfriend who, so we are told, was no less fickle than the ladies of the present day. A frustrating impression is thus given by the scholars of the pre-Deluge culture, Bailly’s legendary astronomers, who get embroiled in countless debates, publications, and pamphlets on the nature of the comet instead of taking steps to flee. The glorious elite of the pre-Egyptian culture do not appear in a good light in Senkovsky’s presentation. Naturally the report on the cave wall ends with the city’s downfall, a massive flood, the destruction of the Egyptian-Polar metropolis, and the extinction of its inhabitants, all of whom perish except the writer. After they have copied out the remarkable inscription in full and translated it, Brambeus and his Göttingen companion decide to set out for home, with the euphoric feeling of having finally discovered the decisive evidence for the first, if somewhat ambivalent civilization in human history. Unfortunately the Russian, Strabinskich, decides to take another look at the hieroglyphs on the cave wall. And in fact, as the geologist sees at once, the marks on the wall are nothing but a grain in the Siberian stone, crystallized stalagmites, and not writing at all. The deeply frustrated scholars had fallen for a massive illusion. They both make the decision not to undertake any more expeditions in future.  Senkovskij, Ученое путешествıе на Медвежıй Островъ. There is a commented English translation as Senkovskij, The Fantastic Journeys of Baron Brambeus, there id., »The Scientific Journey to the Bear Island«, 41– 130.  For a general survey of ›Boreomania‹ in Russia see Boele (1996), 40 – 43, and the Introduction to this volume, for Senkovskij’s ›Brambeus‹ in particular see e. g. Grob (2001), passim.

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With a certain tendency to heavy-handed jokes, Senkovsky had nonetheless shown how the whole Atlantean dream and the search for an ur-culture ought to be rated. As nothing at all. The magnificent illusion that had for so long motivated Swedish and French scholars, and which even threatened to draw in Russia too, had been a fantasy, to which the spirit of the Enlightenment had to give an answer.

Bibliography Primary literature Aristoteles, De coelo, ed. by Paul Moraux, Paris 1965. Bailly, Jean-Sylvain, Histoire de l’astronomie ancienne depuis son origine jusqu’a l’établissement de l’ecole d’Alexandrie, Paris 1775. Id., Lettres sur l’origine des sciences et sur celle des peuples d l’Asie, adressèes à M. de Voltaire, Paris 1777. Id., Geschichte der Sternkunde des Alterthums bis auf die Errichtung der Schule zu Alexandrien (2 vols.), Leipzig 1777. Id., Briefe über den Ursprung der Wissenschaften und der asiatischen Völker, Leipzig 1778. Id., Essai sur les fables et sur leur histoire (2 vols.), Paris 1799. Id., Recueil de pièces intéressantes sur les arts, les sciences et la littérature, Paris 1810. Bayer, Gottlieb Siegfried, »De origine et priscis sedibus Scythiae«, in: Commentarii Academiae Scientiarum Imperialis Petropolitanae 1 (1728), 385 – 399. Id., »De Scythiae situ, qualis fuit sub aetatem Herodoti«, in: Commentarii Academiae Scientiarum Imperialis Petropolitanae 1 (1728), 400 – 424. Id., »De Cimmeriis«, in: Commentarii Academiae Scientiarum Imperialis Petropolitanae 2 (1729), 419 – 433. Id., Museum Sinicum, in quo Sinicae linguae et literaturae ratio explicatur (2 vols.), St. Petersburg 1730. Id., »Chronologia Scythiae vetus«, in: Commentarii Academiae Scientiarum Imperialis Petropolitanae 3 (1732), 295 – 350. Id., »Conversiones rerum Scythicarum temporibus Mithradatis Magni et paullo post Mithradatem«, in: Commentarii Academiae Scientiarum Imperialis Petropolitanae 5 (1738), 297 – 360. Id., »De Hyperboreis«, in: Commentarii Academiae Scientiarum Imperialis Petropolitanae 11 (1750), 330 – 348. Benzelius, Eric, Letters to his Learned Friends, ed. by Alvar Erikson / Eva Nilsson Nylander, Göteborg 1983. Id., Letters to Erik Benzelius the Younger from Learned Foreigners (2 vols.), ed. by Alvar Erikson, Göteborg 1979. Björnstjerna, Magnus Frederik, Das Britische Reich in Ostindien, Stockholm 1839. Id., Die Theogonie, Philosophie und Kosmogonie der Hindus, Stockholm 1843. Id., Anteckningar, utgifne efter hand död (2 vols.), Stockholm 1851 – 52. Cuvier, Georges, Discours sur les révolutions de la surface du globe, Paris 1830. Eberhard (Alethophilus), Christoph, Der Innere und Äußere Zustand derer Schwedischen Gefangenen in Rußland (8 vols.), Frankfurt 1718 – 21. Ferrner, Bengt, »Inträdes-Tal om Menniskosnillets nuvarande gasning och verksamhet til nya uptäkter«, in: Kungl. Vitterhets, Historie och Antikvitets Akademiens handlingar 1 (1789), 178 – 191.

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Fischer, Johann Eberhard, Sibirische Geschichte: Von der Entdekkung Sibiriens bis auf die Eroberung dieses Landes durch die russische Waffen (2 vols.), St. Petersburg 1768. Id., Quaestiones Petropolitanae, ed. by August Ludwig Schlözer, Göttingen 1770. Id., Recherches historiques sur les principales nations, établies en Sibirie et dans les pays adjacens, lors de la conquête des Russes, Paris 1801. Id., Vocabularium sibiricum (1747). Der etymologisch-vergleichende Anteil, ed. by János Galya, Frankfurt 1995. Frähn, Christian Martin, Über alt-südsibirische Gräberfunde mit Inschriften von gewissem Datum, St. Petersburg 1837. Gesner, Johannes Matthias, »De Phoenicum navigationibus extra columnas Herculis (1755)«, in: id., Orphei Argonautica Hymni, Libellus de lapidibus et Fragmenta, ed. by Johannes Matthias Gesner, Leipzig 1764. Gmelin, Johann Georg, Reise durch Sibirien von dem Jahre 1733 – 43 (4 vols.), Göttingen 1751 – 52. Heyne, Christian Gottlob, »De fontibus et auctoribus historiarum Diodori« (2 parts), in: Commentationes Societatis Regiae Scientiarum Gottingensis recentiores 7 (1784/85), 75 – 120. Ladau, Christopher, Kurtzer Auszug einiger Nachrichten aus der in der Syberischen Haupt-Stadt Tobolesko verfaßten, und nun zum Druck in Holland beförderten, auch mit einer sehr accuraten Karte versehenen genealogischen Historia Principum von Asien, Stockholm 1723. Levesques, Pierre Charles, Histoire de Russie (7 vols.), Paris 1800. Linné, Carl von / Alexander de Karamyschew (resp.), Dissertatio academica demonstrans necessitatem promovendae Historiae naturalis in Rossia, Uppsala 1766. Meiners, Christoph, »De antiquis monumentis in Sibiria australi existentibus«, in: Novi Commentarii Societatis Regia Scientiarum Gottingensis 13 (1799), 53 – 78. Id., Beschreibung alter Denkmäler in allen Theilen der Erde, deren Urheber und Errichtung unbekannt, oder ungewiß sind, Nürnberg 1786. Messerschmidt, Daniel Gottlieb, Forschungsreise durch Sibirien 1720 – 1727, ed. by Eduard Winter / Nikolaj Figurovskij (5 vols.), Berlin 1962 – 77. Müller, Gerhard Friedrich, Sammlung rußischer Geschichte (9 vols.), St. Petersburg 1732 – 64. Müller, Johann Bernhard, Leben und Gewohnheiten der Ostiacken, eines Volcks, das biß unter dem Polo Arctio wohnet, wie selbiges aus dem Heydenthum in diesen Zeiten zur Christl. Griechischen Religion gebracht, mit etlichen curieusen Anmerckungen vom Königreich Siberien und seinem Freto Nassovio oder Weigats, in der Gefangenschafft darselbst beschrieben, Berlin 1726. Rudbeck, Olof, Atland eller Manheim, dedan Japhetz afkomne, de förnemste Keyserlige och Kungelige Slecht. Atlantica sive Manheim, vera Japheti posterorum sedes ac patria (4 vols.), Uppsala 1679 – 1702. Pallas, Peter Simon, Sammlung historischer Nachrichten von den mongolischen Völkerschaften (2 vols.), St Petersburg 1776 – 1801. Id., »Nachricht von Tybet, aus den Erzählungen tangutischer Lamen unter den Selenginskischen Mongolen«, in: Neue Nordische Beyträge 1 (1781), 201 – 222. Id., »Von einer in Sibirien gefundenen unbekannten Steinschrift«, in: Neue Nordische Beyträge 5 (1793), 237 – 245. Penzel, Abraham Jacob, Über die Hyperboreer: Eine Abhandlung, mit welcher M. Abraham Jacob Penzel seine, in diesem Winterhalbjahr zu haltenden Vorlesungen anzeigt, gegen Herrn Professor Fischer in Petersburg, Halle 1771. Schlözer, August Ludwig, Weltgeschichte nach ihren Haupttheilen im Auszuge und Zusammenhange. Erster Theil: Einleitung. I. Urwelt. II. Dunkle Welt. III. Vorwelt, Göttingen 1785.

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Schmidt, Isaak Jacob, Forschungen im Gebiete der älteren religiösen, politischen und literärischen Bildungsgeschichte der Völker Mittel-Asiens vorzüglich der Mongolen und Tibeter, Leipzig 1824. Id., »Über die tausend Buddhas einer Weltperiode«, in: Mémoires de l’Academie impériale des sciences de St. Pétersbourg, VIe série, 2 (1834), 41 – 80. Id., »Über einige Grundlehren des Buddhismus«, in: Mémoires de l’Academie impériale des sciences de St. Pétersbourg, VIe série, 1 (1832), 89 – 120, 221 – 262. Id., Dzaṅg-blun oder Der Weise und der Thor (2 vols.), St Petersburg 1845 – 46. Schnitscher, Johann Christian, Berättelse om Ajuckiniska Calmuckiet, eller om detta Folkets Ursprung, huru de kommit under Ryskarnas Lydno, deras Gudar, Gudsdyrkan och Prester, Stockholm 1744. Senkovskij, Osip, Supplément à l’histoire générale des Huns, des Turcs et des Mogols, contenant un abrégé de l’histoire de la domination des Uzbèks dans la Grande Bukharie, depuis leur établissement dans ce pays jusqu’à l’an 1709, et une continuation de l’histoire de Kharèzm, depuis la mort d’Aboul Ghazi-Khan jusqu’à la même époque, St. Petersburg 1824. Id., Собрание сочинение Барона Брамвеуса (9 vols.), St. Petersburg 1858 – 59. Id., Ученое путешествıе на Медвежıй Островъ, in: Собрание сочинение, vol. 2, 69 – 197. Id., Тибеть, сго жители и сго исторя (zuerst 1828), in: Собрание сочинение, vol. 5, 380 – 420. Id., The Fantastic Journeys of Baron Brambeus, tr. by Louis Pedrotti, New York 1993. Sjöborg, Nils Henrik / Lars Magnus Lagerheim (resp.), Litterae gothicae ab Asia oriundae ad Scandinavos hospites deductae, Lund 1805. Strahlenberg, Philipp Johann Tabbert von, Das Nord- und Ostliche Theil von Europa und Asia, in soweit solches das gantze Rußische Reich und mit Siberien und der großen Tartarey in sich begreiffet, Stockholm 1730, Reprint Szeged 1975. Tidgren, Gabriel / Johann Lithell (resp.), Dissertatio de populis Herodoto memoratis, qui Scandiam habitasse feruntur, Turku 1786. Turner, Samuel, An Account of an Embassy to the Court of the Teshoo Lama in Tibet, London 1800. Wreech, Curt Friedrich von, Wahrhaffte und umständliche Historie von denen Schwedischen Gefangenen in Rußland und Siberien, welchergestalt dieselbe nach dem A. 1709 bey Pultawa in der Ukraine mit denen Rußen gehaltenen unglücklichen Treffen in ihrer Gefangenschafft (…) begeben hat, Sorau 1728.

Secondary literature Babinger, Franz, Gottlieb Siegfried Bayer (1694 – 1738). Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der morgenländischen Sprachen im 18. Jahrhundert, Leipzig 1918. Boele, Otto, The North in Russian Romantic Literature, Amsterdam 1996. Englund, Peter, Minnet af Poltava. Ögomvittnesskildringar från Karl II:s ryska fälttåg, Stockholm 1998. Eriksson, Gunnar, The Atlantic Vision. Olaus Rudbeck and Baroque Science, Canton 1994. Id., Olaus Rudbeck 1630 – 1702. Liv, lärdom, dröm i barockens Sverige, Stockholm 2002. Eriksson, Nils, Dalin – Botin – Lagerbring. Historieforskning och historieskrivning i Sverige 1747 – 1787, Diss. Göteborg 1973. Frängsmyr, Tore, Svensk idéhistoria. Bildning och vetenskap under tusen år (2 vols.), Stockholm 2000. Forsyth, James, A History of the Peoples of Siberia. Russia’s North Asian Colony 1581 – 1990, Cambridge 1992. Grob, Thomas, »Autormystifikation, kommunikatives Framing und gespaltener Diskurs. Baron Brambeus als ›postromantische‹ metadiskursive Konstruktion«, in: Susi K. Frank / Renate

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Lachmann / Sylvia Sasse (eds.), Mystifikation. Autorschaft. Original, Tübingen 2001, 107 – 134. King, David, A True Story of Genius, Madness, and an Extraordinary Quest for Lost World, New York 2005. Lindroth, Sten, Svensk Lärdomshistoria (4 vols.), Stockholm 1975. Lundbaek, Knud, T. S. Bayer (1694 – 1738). Pioneer sinologist, London 1986. Napol’skich, Vladimir V., Удмуртские материалы Д. Г. Мессершмидта. Дневниковые записи, декабр 1726, Ižwesk 2001. Nejchardt, Aleksandra, Skifskij rasskaz Gerodota v otečestvennoj istoriografii, Leningrad 1982. Nol’vanskaja, Marija Grigor’evna, Филипп Иоганн Страленберг. Его работы по исследованию Сибири, Moskau 1966. Roling, Bernd, »Akademischer Hyperboreer-Kult: Rudbeckianische Disputationen zwischen Netzwerkbildung und nationaler Überhöhung«, in: Robert Seidel / Marion Gindhart / Hanspeter Marti (eds.), Frühneuzeitliche Disputationen – polyvalente Produktionsapparate gelehrten Wissens, Köln 2016, 199 – 216. Sjebaldina, Galina, »Karolinernas sibiriska dagböcker – om de egna och de andra«, in: Lena Jonson / Tamara Torstendahl Salytjeva (eds.), Poltava: krigsfångar och kulturutbyte, Stockholm 2009, 43 – 62. Smith, Edwin Burrows, Jean-Sylvain Bailly, Astronomer, mystic, revolutionary. 1736 – 1793, Philadelphia 1954. Vermeulen, Han F., Early history of ethnography and ethnology in the German Enlightenment. Anthropological discourse in Europe and Asia, 1710 – 1808, Leiden 2008. Id., Before Boas. The Genesis of Ethnography and Ethnology in the German Enlightment, Lincoln 2015.

Index of Names Abildgaard, Nicolai Abraham 7, 179 f., 182, 184, 186, 189 – 191, 193 – 200 Abildgaard, Peter Christian 7, 179 f., 182, 184, 186, 189 – 191, 193 – 200 Abildgaard, Søren 7, 179 – 200 Absalon of Lund 16 f. Adam of Bremen 30, 96, 106, 161 Aeneas 25, 69, 132, 152 Aggesen, Sven 29 Aldrovandi, Ulysse 236, 242 Älf, Samuel 132 f., 135, 144 Amphion 71 Anchises 132 Apollo 1, 161, 168 Archimedes 70 Arctopolitanus, Gabriel 204 Ares 145 Aristides, Aelius 65 Aristotle 92, 123, 241, 271 Augustus 17, 131 Aurivillius, Carl 217 Aurogallus, Matthäus 232 Aveelen, Johannes van den 120 Avellan, Michael 218, 223 – 226 Aventinus, Johannes 2, 210, 213 Bacci, Andrea 236, 240, 253 f. Bailly, Jean-Sylvain 8, 105, 175, 269 – 276 Bartholin, Thomas 3, 6, 29, 33 f., 44 – 46, 48 – 52, 54 f. Bastholm, Anne Margrethe 179 Bayer, Gottlieb Siegfried 266 – 270, 272 Beckmann, Johannes 256 Bellerophon 139 Bellori, Giovan Pietro 82 f., 92 Benzelius, Eric 130, 266, 268 Berch, Carl Reinhold 186 Bergmanson, Sven 141 Bernstorff, Johann Hartwig Ernst 196 Bianchini, Francesco 81 f. Bielke, Henrik 28, 30, 188 Biörners, Erik Julius 42 Björnstierna, Magnus Graf 84, 273 Bochart, Samuel 166, 210, 212, 225, 247, 251 Brenner, Elias 186 Brocman, Niels Reinhold 184, 189

Bruni, Leonardo 65 Bureus, Johannes 66, 83, 117, 135, 180 Caesar 72, 237, 239, 246, 254 Castell, Edmund 251 f. Caussinus, Nicolaus 65 Charles XI 103, 121, 124, 148, 169 Charles XII 7, 33, 103, 129 – 133, 136, 144, 148, 174, 264 Choul, Guillaume Du 158, 160 Christian I 15, 48 Christian II 17 Christian IV 20 f., 74 Christian V 14, 27, 29, 32, 40, 43, 47 f. Cicero 62, 67, 71, 75 Clewberg, Carl Abraham 8, 217 – 226 Clüver, Philipp 255 Columbus, Johannes 4, 138 Cuvier, George 274, 276 Cyprian, Johannis 256 Dahlbergh, Erik 7, 82, 84 – 86, 88 – 91, 95, 98, 103 – 117, 119 – 122, 124 f., 132 Dalai Lama 266, 268 Dalin, Olof von 125, 186 Dan 6, 15 – 19, 21 f., 24 – 27, 29 – 31, 39, 44 f., 51, 54, 75, 82, 189, 267 De La Gardie, Carl Julius 217 De la Gardie, Magnus Gabriel 110, 117 Deimos 145 Descartes, René 124 Dietenberger, Johannes 230, 236, 252 Dieterich, Johann Conrad 256 Discordia 145 Dodonaeus, Rembertus 236 Dolmer, Jens 39 f. Dürer, Albrecht 232 – 235 Earle, John 182 Egeria 153, 169 – 172, 174 f. Eggertsson, Jón 14, 42 f., 47 Eimmart, Georg Christoph 124 Eiríksson, Jón 31, 33, 39 f., 47, 49, 51 Eiríksson, Þórarinn 27 f., 31 f., 47, 49 Ellenius, Alan 4, 92, 154, 161, 176 Erik I 19

282

Index of Names

Fischer, Johann Eberhard 264, 268 – 270 Fischer von Erlach, Johann Bernhard 92 Frähn, Christian Martin 275 Franz, Wolfgang 256 Frederick II 223 Frederick III 19, 27 f., 30 – 32, 36 – 38, 40 f., 45, 53 Frederick IV 48, 53 Frederick V 182, 184, 196 Frederick Wilhelm I 130 Friis, Christian 16 f., 21 f., 24, 26 Gabelkover, Wolfgang 253 Georg Ludwig of Hanover 130 Gesner, Conrad 218, 236, 239, 247 – 251, 269 Gesner, Johannes Matthias 218, 239, 248 – 251, 269 Gibbon, Edward 105 Gjörwell the Elder, Carl Christoffer 133 Goebel, Severin 237, 240 Goeding, Andreas 170 – 172 Goltzius, Hubert 158 Göransson, Johan 133, 136, 144 Gorm the Old 17, 33, 53 Gottskalk, Anders 218, 221 – 223 Gram, Hans 46, 180 Gustavus Adolphus 3, 20, 25, 74, 103, 117 Hadorph, Johan 117 Hagelberg, Carl 186 Hakon the Good 140, 142 Harald Bluetooth 22, 53 Heinsius, Daniel 20, 25, 231, 241, 243 – 258 Heinsius, Ulrich 231, 241 – 258 Helander, Hans 68 f., 72 – 75, 230 Hemsterhuys, Tiberius 218 Hermelin, Olof 61, 66, 74, 143 Herodotus 1, 162, 209 – 211, 267, 269 Hesiod 92, 162 Hesling, Johannes 71, 74, 76 Heyne, Christian Gottlob 269 Hickes, George 174 f. Hjalti 25 Holberg, Ludvig 31, 33, 46, 54 f., 182, 191 Holst, Albert Kristoffer 220 – 223 Horace 16, 129, 131, 134, 139, 146 f., 224 Hottinger, Johann Heinrich 225 Hrólfr Kraki 25 Huitfeldt, Arild 19 f., 22, 29 Humle 89

Ignatius, Petrus 173 Ihre, Johan 131, 139 – 142, 263 Isis 271 f. Jäger, Andreas 131 f. Janus 7, 151 – 168, 170 f., 173 Japhet 69, 263 Jónsson, Arngrímur 3, 13, 22 – 24, 29, 31, 35, 38 f., 41, 43, 45, 49 Jónsson, Runólfur 13, 23 f., 31, 35, 38, 41, 43, 45, 49 Jonston, Jan 236, 254 Jordanes 18, 82, 137, 162 Jupiter 155, 170, 272 Kalm, Pehr 256 Kapnist, Vassilij 1 Kirchmayer, Georg Kaspar 131 Klarup, Christen Findt 184 Ladur 87, 89 Lagerbring, Sven 263 Lagerlöf, Petrus 125, 136 Langebek, Jacob 7, 50, 180, 182 – 184, 186 f., 189 – 191, 193 – 195, 199 Lanzenfelt, Henrik 69 Lentner, Pantaleon 231, 241 – 258 Leonidas 74 Leopold, Johann Friedrich 256 Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim 2, 52 Ligorio, Pirro 92 Lilius, Henrik 167 – 169 Linnaeus, Carl 229, 271 Livy 81, 165, 167, 170 Loccenius, Johannes 66, 84 f., 112, 116, 119, 125 Lohrmann, Bernhard 70 Louis XIV 27, 132 Luther, Martin 230 – 232, 234 – 236, 239, 252 Lyschander, Claus Christoffersen 3, 21, 53 Macarius of Unzha 235 Macrobius 156, 164 Maecenas 134 Magalotti, Lorenzo 151 – 154, 156 f., 161, 175 f. Magnus, Johannes 3, 18 – 21, 23, 53 f., 66, 75, 117, 138, 141, 143, 186, 254, 273 Magnus, Olaus 3, 18 – 21, 54, 66, 69, 75, 103, 108 – 110, 117, 141, 186, 236, 240, 246, 254, 273

Index of Names

Magnússon, Árni 3, 14, 26 – 28, 30 – 34, 36, 38, 42, 44 – 46, 49 – 54 Magog 18, 69, 132, 208 Marcussen, Christian 184 Mathesius, Petrus 68 Medici, Giovanni de’ 151, 168 f., 255 Melanchthon, Philipp 219, 232 Menabenus, Apollonius 236, 240 Menander Rhetor 64 f., 68, 70, 76 Messenius, Johannes 66, 69 Messerschmidt, Daniel Gottlieb 264 – 266, 268 f. Michaelis, Johann David 6, 256 Miltopaeus, Martin 65 f. Möller, Samuel 172 f. Moltke, Adan Gottlob 196, 199 Momigliano, Arnaldo 81 f., 154 Montesquieu, Charles Louis de Secondat de 51 f., 105 Morta 145 Moses 231, 239 – 241, 248, 255, 257 Müller, Johann Bernhard 264 Müllern, Gustaf Henrik von 132 Münster, Sebastian 82, 230, 236 – 239, 248, 252 Musäus, Johann Georg 220 f.

283

Pausanias 237, 239, 246, 254 f. Peringer, Gustaf 4 Peringskiöld, Johan 43, 117 f., 139, 267 Persephone 271 f. Peter the Great 1, 264 Peutinger, Conrad 2, 18 Peyer, Johann Conrad 256 Phalaris 74 Phoenix 132, 171 Plato 4, 46, 67, 82, 92, 94 – 96, 99, 123, 125, 152, 156 f., 162, 211, 245, 263 Pliny the Elder 134, 237 Plutarch 92, 156, 167 f., 170, 245 Pontanus, Johannes 19 – 22, 55 Prysz, Anders 173 Ptolemy 92, 209, 268 Quintilian

64 – 66

Odin

Raben, Christian Frederik 179 – 181 Rafn, Carl Christian 14, 42 Ramus, Jonas Danielsson 6 Réaumur, René-Antoine de 180 f. Resen, Peder Hansen 33 – 40, 46, 50 – 52, 54 Richardsson, Jacob 186 Romano, Giulio 166 Romulus 17, 155, 164, 170 Rönnow, Casten 7, 129 – 139, 141, 143 – 148 Rönnow, Magnus 4, 7, 129 – 139, 141, 143 – 148 Rudbeck the Elder, Olof 8, 138, 203, 208 f., 213 f., 266 Rudbeck the Younger, Olof 5 f., 8, 203 – 208, 213 f. Rudebeck, Petter 89, 91, 117, 119 f. Rudeen, Torsten 173 Rugman, Jón 31, 41 Rydelius, Andreas 130

Padt Brugge, Dionysius 123 Pallas, Peter Simon 272 f., 276

Salanus, Jonas 170 – 172, 174 f. Salanus, Nicolaus 170 – 172, 174 Salanus, Petrus 3, 170 – 172, 174 Saturn 7, 151, 153, 155 f., 161 – 164, 166 – 168, 170 – 173, 270 Saxo Grammaticus 7, 13, 16 f., 30, 39, 44, 54 f., 138 Scaliger, Joseph 65, 136, 163 Scaliger, Julius Caesar 65, 136, 163 Scheffer, Johannes 154, 161, 254, 265 Scheuchzer, Johann Jakob 256 Schindler, Valentin 204

Neikter, Jacob Fredrik 141 Nemesis 145 Neptune 172 Nero 74 Neumann, Caspar 225 Noah 3, 18, 69, 105, 152, 166, 168, 263 Norrman, Lars 203 Numa 7, 151, 153, 155 f., 166 – 171, 173 3, 5, 26, 30, 38 f., 53, 87, 89, 119 f., 140, 142, 263, 267 – 269, 273 Odysseus 66 f. Ólafsson, Guðmundur 37, 42 f. Ólafsson, Jón 37, 41 f., 50 Ólafsson, Magnús 22, 34 f., 37 Örnhielm, Claudius 119, 125 Orpheus 71 Oudendorp, Frans 218 Ovid 66 f., 146 f., 155, 163, 171 Oxenstierna, Bengt Gabrielsson 121 f.

284

Index of Names

Schlözer, August Ludwig 6, 268, 272 Schmidt, Isaak Jakob 3, 82, 243, 245, 272 Schnitscher, Johann Christian 264 Schwab, Raymond 1 f. Seefeldt, Jørgen 41 Senkovsky, Osip 275 – 277 Siculus, Diodorus 162, 165 Sigfússon, Sæmundur 17, 37, 43 Sjöborg, Nils Henrik 273 Skjold 29 f., 38 f., 53 Socrates 67 Spole, Anders 84 Stechau, Johan Adolph 133 Stella, Erasmus 2, 235 f., 239 Stephanius, Stephen Hansen 6, 14, 25, 27, 33 – 36, 39, 44, 46, 51, 55 Stiernhielm, Georg 3, 5, 213, 266 Strabo 165, 209, 211, 268, 270 Strahlenberg, Philipp von 5, 264 – 266, 268 – 270, 273 Sturluson, Snorri 17, 21, 28, 37, 43, 54, 119 Sveinsson, Brynjólfur 25, 27 f., 30, 36, 39, 41, 43, 45, 48 Swedenborg, Emanuel 130 Tacitus 18, 45, 82, 92, 237 Theopompus 74 Thor 3, 85, 106 f., 129, 133, 139 – 141, 144, 272 Tidgren, Gabriel 269 Tisiphone 145 f.

Þorláksson, Þórður 43 f. Þorleifsson, Hannes 42, 45 – 47 Törner, Fabian 138, 141, 203 f., 208 Törnewall, Petrus 123 Tryggvason, Olav 43, 140 Turini, Baldassare 166 – 169 Turner, Samuel 272 Tychsen, Olof 4, 273, 275 Uranus

270 f.

Valerius Maximus 16, 170 Vasa, Gustav 18, 106, 240 Verelius, Olof 3, 6, 31, 41, 47, 50 f., 117, 119, 161 f., 171, 267 Vergerio, Pier Paolo 65 Virgil 155, 168 Vossius, Gerhard Johannes 25, 65, 166, 246 Wåhlberg, Johannes 131 Wargius, Martin 68, 70 Wendelius, Jacob 186 Wessman, Nils 186, 189 Wexionius-Gyldenstolpe, Michael 66 Wigand, Johannes 236, 240 Worm, Ole 3, 6, 13, 21 – 27, 33 – 36, 38 f., 44, 46, 51, 55, 83 f., 134 – 139, 141, 180, 236 Ziegler, Jakob 255 Zwingli, Huldrych 239