National, Nordic or European? : Nineteenth-Century University Jubilees and Nordic Cooperation [1 ed.] 9789004218307, 9789004216945

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National, Nordic or European?

History of Science and Medicine Library VOLUME 25

Scientific and Learned Cultures and Their Institutions Editor

M. Feingold California Institute of Technology

VOLUME 4

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.nl/hsml

National, Nordic or European? Nineteenth-Century University Jubilees and Nordic Cooperation

Edited by

Pieter Dhondt

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2011

Cover illustration: “Dinner in the banqueting hall in the botanic garden after the promotion ceremony”, Illustreret Tidende 18 (30-09-1877), no. 940: 544. This publication is supported by the Joint Committee for Nordic Research Councils for the Humanities and Social Sciences (NOS-HS). Joel Halcomb copy-edited this volume. This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data National, Nordic or European? : nineteenth-century university jubilees and Nordic cooperation / edited by Pieter Dhondt. p. cm. — (History of science and medicine library ; v. 25) (Scientific and learned cultures and their institutions ; v. 4) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-21694-5 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Universities and colleges—Scandinavia—History—19th century. 2. Anniversaries— Scandinavia—History—19th century. 3. University cooperation—Scandinavia. I. Dhondt, Pieter. II. Title. III. Series. LA868.7.N38 2011 378.4809034—dc23 2011037004

ISSN 1872-0684 ISBN 978 90 04 21694 5 Copyright 2011 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Global Oriental, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change.

CONTENTS List of Illustrations ............................................................................ Notes on Contributors ......................................................................

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Introduction: Nineteenth-Century University Jubilees as the Driving Force of Increasing Nordic Cooperation ................... Pieter Dhondt

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PART I

NON-NORDIC JUBILEES IN A NORDIC CONTEXT 1. The Bicentenary of Helsinki University in 1840. The Jubilee of a Russian University in a Nordic Context ..... Pieter Dhondt

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2. The University of Dorpat as a(n) (Inter)National Institution at its 50th Anniversary in 1852 .................................................. Pieter Dhondt and Sirje Tamul

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PART II

A DIFFERENT IMPACT OF THE GERMAN UNIFICATION WARS IN NORWAY, SWEDEN AND DENMARK 3. The Christiana University’s 50 Years Celebration in 1861. National Pride and Scandinavian Solidarity ............................ John Peter Collett

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4. The Bicentenary of the University of Lund in 1868. A Low Point in Scandinavian Cooperation, or a Rebirth? ................. Fredrik Tersmeden and Pieter Dhondt (as contributor)

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5. The Echo of the Quartercentenary of Uppsala University in 1877 across Scandinavia .............................................................. Pieter Dhondt

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6. Once Again, a Celebration in Uppsala. The European Dimension of the Anniversary of the Death of Carl Linnaeus in 1878 ......................................................................... Carl Frängsmyr 7. The Quartercentenary of the University of Copenhagen in 1879. Denmark Between Europe and the Nordic Countries ...................................................................................... Ejvind Slottved

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PART III

A METHODOLOGICAL-COMPARATIVE PERSPECTIVE 8. “Three the Nordic countries are, the Nordic maid but one”. A Different Perspective on Nineteenth-Century University Festivities ...................................................................................... Hanna Enefalk 9. University Centenary Ceremonies in Scotland 1884–1911 .................................................................................... Robert D. Anderson

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PART IV

THE END OF SCANDINAVISM? 10. Science, Populist Democracy and Honour. The 1911 Centenary Celebration of the Royal Frederick University in Kristiania ................................................................................. Robert Marc Friedman

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11. University of Iceland. A Citizen of the Respublica Scientiarum or a Nursery for the Nation? ............................. Guðmundur Hálfdanarson

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12. Nineteenth-Century University Jubilees as (Rhetorical) Attempts at Increasing Nordic Cooperation ......................... Pieter Dhondt

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Index of Personal Names ................................................................. Index of Place Names .......................................................................

319 325

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Figures Chapter 1 (Pieter Dhondt) 1. The official medal of the bicentenary of the University of Helsinki in 1840 [side a and b] ......................... 2. Meeting of the poets Franzén and Runeberg at the Helsinki jubilee of 1840 ............................................................... 3. Portrait of Yakov Karlovich Grot (1812–1893) ....................... Chapter 2 (Pieter Dhondt and Sirje Tamul) 1. Carl Christian Ulmann, 1837 ..................................................... 2. The main building of the University of Dorpat on 13 December 1852 ........................................................................ Chapter 4 (Fredrik Tersmeden and Pieter Dhondt) 1. The gonfalone with Freyr, presented to the students of Lund at the student meeting in Copenhagen 1862 ........... 2. A photomontage made in connection with the bicentennial showing all the employees of the University of Lund in 1868 ................................................................................. 3. The final design of the commemorative medal as reproduced on the university’s official publication on the jubilee ............................................................................................. 4. Rector Ljunggren at the opening ceremony of the bicentenary .................................................................................... 5. Scene from the ball given in the grand hall of Akademiska Föreningen on Wednesday evening .................... 6. Front page of the Danish-Swedish calendar Ydun which was published in 1869 ..................................................... Chapter 5 (Pieter Dhondt) 1. “Minnesblad till Upsala-Universitetets Jubelfest den 5 september 1877” ........................................................................ 2. Dinner in the banqueting hall in the botanic garden after the promotion ceremony ...................................................

26 33 34

55 65

108

112

121 125 128 134

141 149

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3. The students’ torchlight procession ........................................... 4. Staircase March ............................................................................. 5. The inscription above the entrance of the great hall in the main building of Uppsala University ............................ Chapter 6 (Carl Frängsmyr) 1. Linnaeus’s house in central Uppsala ......................................... 2. Dom Pedro II, emperor of Brazil .............................................. 3. Cover of Ny Illustrerad Tidning, commemorating Linnaeus, 1878 .............................................................................. 4. Medal from 1878, Carl Linnaeus [side a and b] ..................... 5. Linnaeus’s summer house outside Uppsala ............................. Chapter 7 (Ejvind Slottved) 1. The rector of the university, Johan Nicolai Madvig (1804–1886) ................................................................................... 2. The University of Copenhagen anniversary medal, 1879 ................................................................................................. 3. The commemoration ceremony in the Church of Our Lady on 4 June 1879 ............................................................ 4. Conferment ceremony in the ceremonial hall on 5 June 1879 .................................................................................... Chapter 8 (Hanna Enefalk) 1. “The King hoisted by the students! (Scene from the jubilee in Uppsala.)” .....................................................................

153 156 163

172 176 180 182 185

191 194 197 209

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Tables Chapter 4 (Fredrik Tersmeden and Pieter Dhondt) 1. The number of doctores honoris causa for each faculty and country, awarded at the bicentenary of Lund University in 1868 ........................................................................

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Chapter 7 (Ejvind Slottved) 1. Overview of the invitations sent to foreign universities, learned societies and student organisations ......

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list of illustrations Chapter 9 (Robert D. Anderson) 1. Overview of the university centenary ceremonies in Scotland (1884–1911) .................................................................. 2. Home countries of honorary graduands ..................................

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243 258

Graph Chapter 2 (Pieter Dhondt and Sirje Tamul) 1. The number of students attending the University of Dorpat in 1850–1852 ..............................................................

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NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS Robert D. Anderson retired recently as Professor of Modern History at the University of Edinburgh. He has written extensively on the history of universities. His latest books are European Universities from the Enlightenment to 1914 (Oxford 2004) and British Universities Past and Present (Continuum 2006). He is a member of the International Commission for the History of Universities. John Peter Collett (1953), since 2001 Professor of Modern History at the University of Oslo and, as Director of the Forum for University History, chief editor of the 9-volume history of the University of Oslo to be published on the occasion of the university’s bicentenary jubilee in 2011. He has published several books on the relationship between scientific and technical research, scientific institutions and the political and economic spheres of society. Pieter Dhondt (1976) is Professor in the History of Education at Ghent University (Belgium). He studied modern history at the K.U.Leuven and specialised in university history in Berlin and Edinburgh. In 2005 he obtained his doctoral degree at his home university, studying the discussions on university education in nineteenth-century Belgium. From 2006 to 2008 he was attached as a postdoctoral researcher to the University of Helsinki, and in 2009 to the Université libre de Bruxelles. His current research focuses on the history of university celebrations and on medical history, including medical education at universities and colleges of higher education and the process of medicalisation in pre-school, primary and secondary education. His publications deal with, among other themes, the intercultural transfer of university ideas within Europe in the nineteenth century and the history of academic mobility. Hanna Enefalk is Doctor of Philosophy at Uppsala University. Her dissertation, En patriotisk drömvärld: Musik, nationalism och genus under det långa 1800-talet [Patriotic Dreamlands: Music, Nationalism and Gender in the Long 19th Century] (written in Swedish with an extended summary in English) was published in 2008. In addition to

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gender relations and nationalism, her area of research includes the emergence and culture of the middle classes and the use of poetry and lyrics as historical sources. She is presently doing historical research at the Centre for Social Scientific Studies of Alcohol and Drugs (SoRAD) at Stockholm University. Robert Marc Friedman is Professor of History of Science at the Institute for Archaeology, Conservation and History, University of Oslo, and is also associated with the Forum for University History. Among his many publications are Appropriating the Weather: Vilhelm Bjerknes and the Construction of Modern Meteorology (1989), The Politics of Excellence: Behind the Nobel Prize in Science (2001), chapters in Norsk Polarhistorie (2004) and the stage play Remembering Miss Meitner (2002). In 2009 he was named a Tetelman Fellow at Yale University. Carl Frängsmyr (1971), Department of the History of Ideas and Learning at Uppsala University, presented his doctoral thesis in 2000 on the influence of climatic theories in eighteenth-century Sweden. Since then he has published several studies in the field of university history, among them Uppsala universitet 1852–1916 in two volumes (2010). He participated in Uppsala University’s official book for the 2007 Linnaeus jubilee and is currently working with a book about Dag Hammarskjöld and Uppsala University. Guðmundur Hálfdanarson was educated at the University of Lund, the University of Iceland and Cornell University. He has taught at the University of Iceland since 1991, specialising in European social and political history. Among his most recent publications are Íslenska þjóðríkið—upphaf og endimörk [The Icelandic Nation State—Origins and Limits] (2001), (with H. Jensen and L. Berntson) Europa 1800–2000 (2003), Historical Dictionary of Iceland (2nd ed., 2008), and he edited the volume Discrimination and Tolerance in Historical Perspective (2008). He is currently working on the history of the University of Iceland, which is to be published in 2011. Ejvind Slottved (1943) was attached as a lecturer at the universities of Copenhagen and Aarhus, 1973–75; as an archivist at the Danish Record Office, 1974–75; and as a research scholar at the University of Copenhagen, 1975–80. From 1981 to 1998 he worked as an information

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secretary and university historian in Copenhagen. This last function changed into a full-time position in 1998. He has produced a number of publications, mainly on Danish reformation, administrative, agricultural and university history (e.g. co-author and co-editor of Københavns Universitet 1479–1979, vol. I-XIV 1979–2006). He is currently writing a new Københavns Universitets Historie in cooperation with Prof. Dr. Jur. & Phil. Ditlev Tamm. Sirje Tamul, researcher PhD (history) at the Institute of Archaeology and History of the University of Tartu; editor of the journal “Forschungen zur Baltischen Geschichte” in the series Humaniora historica. Her main area of research is the role of the University of Tartu in Estonian science and culture from the second half of the nineteenth century until 1918, with among other themes: a) the scientific connections of Tartu University; b) Tartu and Estonian students, with special reference to female students; c) the history of (private) financing of Tartu University; d) the impact of the First World War on the Universität Jur’ev (Dorpat, Tartu). Fredrik Tersmeden (1968), holds a B.A. degree in cultural sciences with history as main subject. Since 2004, he is employed as an archivist at the central archives of Lund University. He has earlier been head of the Archives and Museum of the Academic Society (Akademiska Föreningen) in Lund. During the academic year 2010–2011 he has also been serving as a teacher of archival science at the Department of Arts and Cultural Sciences. He has published a number of books and articles, mainly on the history of student life, e.g. a history of the tradition of student carnivals in Lund (Från 20-tal till Dubbelmoral, together with K. Arne Blom and Per Ola Olsson, 1994) and an anthology on the history of student housing since the foundation of the university (Bott i Lund, 2010). In addition to that, he has arranged several temporary historical exhibitions at Lunds Universitetsmuseum.

INTRODUCTION

NINETEENTH-CENTURY UNIVERSITY JUBILEES AS THE DRIVING FORCE OF INCREASING NORDIC COOPERATION Pieter Dhondt Researching and writing its history has always been one of the tasks of the university. From the late Middle Ages, rectors and ordinary professors have delivered speeches on the occasion of anniversary celebrations in which they presented the glorious past of their own institution. The tradition of jubilee history almost completely dominated university history until the Second World War and remained fairly popular even afterwards. However, in a series of two exploratory workshops funded by the Joint Committee for Nordic Research Councils for the Humanities and Social Sciences (NOS-HS), precisely these university jubilees gave the initial impetus to an uncommon comparative approach. This book presents the results of the first workshop, which took place in Helsinki on 12 and 13 March 2009. The workshop focused on nineteenth-century university jubilees as the driving forces for the development of Scandinavist ideas and increasing cultural and scientific cooperation between the Nordic countries. The workshop and the book together form a realisation of the ambition to encourage renewed cooperation between historians at different Northern European institutions. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, university jubilees still have the potential to bring the Nordic universities more closely together. The aim of the second, historiographic workshop (in Copenhagen, 14 and 15 January 2010) was to study the challenges that face ongoing university history projects (many of them on the occasion of university jubilees), viz. to commemorate “the own glorious past” in a critical way but without losing sight of relationships with other institutions at home and abroad.1 1

The results of the second workshop will be published in 2012; Pieter Dhondt (ed.), University jubilees and university history at the beginning of the 21st century (Leiden: Brill 2012).

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During the nineteenth century, the tradition of jubilee history reached its first peak. The historic speeches on anniversary celebrations were gradually replaced by thick and impressive series of commemorative volumes, mostly written by history professors or even a special committee appointed by the rector. Of course, this kind of research concentrated on only one university, with little or no attention paid to other universities in the same country and even less to those in other countries. In general, such homage offered a celebratory institutional history in which less handsome episodes were often disregarded. The jubilee celebrations, the occasion on which these commemorative volumes were published, generally consisted of four elements.2 The central part was the academic ceremony where representatives from the political, religious and cultural elite were welcomed, where delegations from universities and scientific institutions from home and abroad delivered their often artfully presented congratulation addresses, and where honorary doctoral degrees were granted to distinguished members of the international scientific community. At most universities, the authorities seized the opportunity to reinforce relationships with their students, and with their city and its population. This resulted on the one hand in typical student activities such as a torchlight procession and drinking events, and on the other hand in events that were open to the general public, like a garden party, sporting occasions or an historic procession. Finally, the standard jubilee programme included the unveiling of statues, students’ concerts, visits to the opera or other cultural activities. The number of these jubilee celebrations increased spectacularly in the second half of the nineteenth century. One cause of this rise was the increasingly popular practice of organising festivities not only every century, but instead every 50 or, eventually, every 25 years. This frequency followed the example of the Holy Year within the Roman Catholic Church, which traditionally took place every 25 years. A second important cause was the foundation of many new universities in Europe and the United States at the beginning of the century, which all commemorated their relatively short history 25 or 50 years later.

2 Thomas P. Bekker, “Jubiläen als Orte universitärer Selbstdarstellung. Entwicklungslinien des Universitätsjubiläums von der Reformationszeit bis zur Weimarer Republik”, in: Rainer Chistoph Schwinges (ed.), Universität im öffentlichen Raum (Veröffentlichungen der Gesellschaft für Universitäts- und Wissenschaftsgeschichte 10) (Basel: Schwabe Verlag 2008): 92-93.

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Furthermore, universities also started to plan separate commemorative celebrations for significant personalities from the world of science or art, such as, for example, on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of the death of Carl Linnaeus in 1878. This large increase incited the Swedish author August Strindberg to describe the period as “the era of assassinations [of Tsar Alexander II in 1881] and jubilees”.3 In the build-up to the quartercentenary of the University of Edinburgh in 1884, an overview of jubilees at European universities was published in The Scotsman: jubilees started with Leipzig in 1809; gained popularity with Jena 1858, Berlin 1860, Vienna 1865, Leiden 1875; peaked in 1877 with celebrations in Innsbruck, Marburg, Uppsala and Tübingen; and the article finished with Copenhagen 1879 and Würzburg 1882.4 On the occasion of the 400th anniversary celebrations of Aberdeen University in 1906, the historian Robert S. Rait came to the conclusion that “jubilees and centenaries have become a regular feature of University life, and have left a permanent impression behind them, an appreciation of the reality and the value of historic continuity.”5 All of these jubilees fitted in with a prevailing feeling of nationalist Romanticism. Whereas nineteenth-century university jubilees usually led to celebratory history writing that concentrated on one specific university, they have inspired instead in the twenty-first century a stimulating comparative approach in this series of workshops, under the general title “University jubilees in Northern Europe: more than occasions to commemorate their own glorious past?”. A range of historiographic developments in recent decades have led to new insight and intellectual vigour in university history, especially for analysing anniversary celebrations. These include: the “new” cultural history; the growth of historical schools based on inventing traditions and national identities; the development of a contextual history of science that leads to more robust studies of the university context for academic science; and also gender history which allows for the examination of various masculine ideals embodied in university cultures and how these were depicted in

3 August Strindberg, Det nya riket. Skildringar från attentatens och jubelfesternas tidehvarf (Stockholm: Looström 1882). 4 “Academic festivals”, The Scotsman (29-03-1884, 02-04-1884 and 05-04-1884). 5 Robert S. Rait, “The precedents”, in: Peter J. Anderson (ed.), Record of the Celebration of the Quatercentenary of the University of Aberdeen, from 25th to 28th September, 1906 (Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Studies 1907): 2.

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jubilee ceremonies and histories. Certainly the content of this volume proves that university history has emerged as a thriving importer and exporter of ideas and perspectives with other specialities. Because of their common history, it is a matter of course to consider the Northern European universities together. Indeed, this shared past was particularly emphasised on the occasion of university jubilees. At its quartercentenary in 1877, Yakov Karlovich Grot observed6 that the University of Uppsala presented itself explicitly as the model and (great-grand)mother of other Nordic universities such as Copenhagen (1479), Dorpat (1632), Åbo/Turku (1640), Greifswald (founded in 1456 and taken over by Sweden in 1648), Lund (1668) and even Christiania/Oslo (1811).7 Grot, representative of the Academy of St Petersburg, was one of many foreign guests who gave an account, in one way or another, about their stay in Uppsala. Most of these foreign observers were highly impressed by the huge respect at Uppsala for the sciences, by the openness of university education and by the privileged and respectable position of the students. According to visitors like Grot, the universities in Sweden—and by extension Finland, Norway and Denmark—showed that small countries could indeed have universities of high intellectual quality.8 While the festivities in Uppsala became the subject of discussion in countries such as Russia, France or Belgium, discussion turned to intense debate among a large part of the academic community within the Nordic countries. “The importance of this and other university jubilees for the development of Scandinavist ideas and increasing cultural and scientific cooperation between the Nordic countries is striking,” or at least that was one of the hypotheses in the original application for organising the workshops. Whereas the quartercentenary of Uppsala University can be considered a successful example of increasing mutual understanding and cooperation, the atmosphere at some of the previous jubilees was entirely different.

6 Yakov Karlovich Grot, Vospominanija o cetyrechsotletnem jubilee Upsal’skago universiteta (St Petersburg: Imperial Academy 1877): 11-13. 7 Oslo was destroyed several times by fire, and after the fourteenth calamity, in 1624, Christian IV of Denmark (and Norway) ordered it rebuilt at a new site and given the name Christiania. In 1878, the city was renamed Kristiania. The original name of Oslo was restored in 1925. 8 Pieter Dhondt, “The Echo of the Quartercentenary of Uppsala University. Nordic universities as examples in Europe?”, Scandinavian Journal of History 35 (2010), no. 1: 21-43.

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The 200 years celebration of the University of Helsinki in 1840 was dominated by the idea of improving the cultural and scientific connections with Russia, on the initiative of among others, Yakov Karlovich Grot. The visit of a large delegation of Swedish students, who dreamt of restoring the relationships with the former Swedish province of Finland, did not fit into this picture and was therefore prevented. The bicentenary of Lund University took place in 1868, against the background of the German unification wars, when Denmark was disappointed about the lack of support of its Nordic brother nations. In the end, when it really mattered, it turned out that the popularity of the Scandinavianist movement and the good relationships between the Nordic countries did not amount to anything. The celebration of the quartercentenary of Copenhagen University a decade later (in 1879) was used as an opportunity to restore the relationships and to bind the Northern universities, scholars, and people again more closely together.

The aim of the first workshop, and thus of this publication, was to examine to what extent these typifications of Nordic university jubilees hold true. The central questions of this volume are: What was the importance of these jubilees for the development of Scandinavist ideas and increasing cultural and scientific cooperation between the Nordic countries? May the nineteenth-century university jubilees indeed be regarded as the driving force of increasing Nordic cooperation? Of course, university jubilees are just one entry into the multifaceted issues surrounding Scandinavism that could be found in the Nordic countries during the latter part of the nineteenth century. In his 2005 book on the ninetheenth-century Swedish banker André Oscar Wallenberg, for instance, Göran B. Nilsson discusses a series of gatherings of Nordic economists, dealing with all kinds of economic and banking questions of common interest.9 In the same year, Bo Stråth published his Union och demokrati. De förenade rikena Sverige-Norge, 1814–1905 [Union and democracy. The united kingdoms of Sweden and Norway, 1814–1905] (Nora: Nya Doxa 2005). But perhaps the most important recent discussion of Scandinavism is Ruth Hemstad’s dissertation Fra Indian Summer til nordisk vinter. Skandinavisk samarbeid, skandinavisme og unionsoppløsningen [From Indian Summer to Nordic Winter. Scandinavian Cooperation, Scandinavism, and the

9 Göran B. Nilsson, The Founder, André Oscar Wallenberg (1816–1886): Swedish Banker, Politician and Journalist (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International 2005).

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Dissolution of the Union] (Oslo: Akademisk Publisering 2008).10 In her book, Hemstad very convincingly emphasises that Scandinavian cooperation is not identical to Scandinavism/Scandinavianism. “By Scandinavianism is meant the belief that Danes, Norwegians, and Swedes are of common origin and so closely related by language, culture, and history that they are essentially one people with Scandinavia as a whole as their greater homeland,” as the American historian H. Arnold Barton summarises Hemstad’s definition in his review.11 “The cooperation or collaborative effort must be seen by those involved to have a value in itself in order to qualify as Scandinavism. Scandinavism and Scandinavian cooperation are two phenomena that for a time developed along parallel lines, and in mutual interaction.”12 In this book, Scandinavism/ Scandinavist is only used when some kind of political collaboration or union is aimed for, instead of just some form of economic, cultural or scientific cooperation. The height of Scandinavism as a political movement can be situated in the 1840s and 1850s, when influential Scandinavian student meetings were organised with clock-like regularity: in Uppsala in 1843, Lund and Copenhagen in 1845, Christiania in 1851 and 1852, Uppsala in 1856 and again jointly in Lund and Copenhagen in 1862. A further meeting was planned to take place in Christiania in 1867, but due to the military and political developments it was postponed until 1869, by which time it received a somewhat different character. Around the mid-century, Scandinavist activists strove for one unified ethnic nation (state) of the three Scandinavian peoples. Such enthusiasm, especially in Norway, was not always unqualified. The attempts in particular of the Swedish King Oscar I to create a great Nordic kingdom under Swedish leadership were looked upon with some suspicion—and not unjustly since Sweden’s military aid to Denmark in the First Schleswig War (1848–1851) was not completely unselfish. Oscar I, however, gave up his hope to reconquer Finland at the end of the Crimean War in 1856.

10 Cf. Torbjörn Nilsson, “The lost Scandinavism. From indian summer to Nordic winter”, Baltic Worlds 2 (2009), no. 2: 42-44. 11 H. Arnold Barton, “Ruth Hemstad. Fra Indian Summer til nordisk vinter. Skandinavisk samarbeid, skandinavisme og unionsupplosningen (Book review)”, Scandinavian Studies 80 (2008), no. 4: 491. 12 Nilsson, “The lost Scandinavism” (2009): 43.

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The ideal of one Nordic kingdom was completely abandoned after the Second Schleswig War of 1864, between Denmark and Germany. Denmark was left in the lurch by its Scandinavian brother nations, despite several expressions of solidarity and even promises of military assistance in previous years. Scandinavism failed the test when its rhetoric was confronted with harsh reality. It fell victim to the realpolitik of national egoism. Denmark lost the war and ended up in the shadow of the powerful German empire created in 1871. Scandinavism appeared to have been buried forever.13 However, according to Hemstad (and others), it was replaced by another kind of Scandinavist movement, one that strove for cultural unity and practical collaboration rather than shining, unfeasible rhetoric. This final, brief but intense, “Indian Summer” of nineteenthcentury Scandinavism culminated between 1902 and late 1904, only to change drastically into a “Nordic winter” after the dissolution of the Swedish-Norwegian union in 1905. In contrast to its predecessor, this Neo-Scandinavism withstood the development of ethnic nationalism among the Norwegian, Swedish or Danish people. The ideal of a unifying nationalism was abandoned, which created the opportunity to include the Finns and the Icelanders as separate groups in this newly envisaged Nordic community. Nevertheless, the analysis of different nineteenth-century university jubilees in this volume shows very clearly that university and political authorities always sought the right balance between the national, regional (in casu Nordic/Northern European)14 and international character of their celebration. Much more than the student meetings, the official university jubilees were celebrations of the academic and scientific world and, at the same time, political manifestations. Because of the different nature of student meetings and official jubilees, the choice was made to focus only on university jubilees (with the exception of Hanna Enefalk’s chapter, which deals with the Uppsala student meetings of 1856 and 1875 and the university jubilee of 1877). All universities had to take a position on Nordic unity, but what did such positioning imply at different celebrations, and what were the consequences of the special relationships with their Northern 13

Nilsson, “The lost Scandinavism” (2009): 42. “Nordic” and “Northern European” are used as synonymous throughout this book, referring to the region including Denmark, Iceland, Norway, Sweden and Finland. 14

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European fellow institutions? A question that they all had to answer before the start of their jubilee was: Who belonged to the group of especially invited Northern European guests? As historians analysing these events, we must ask: how wide was the notion of Nordic understood to be, and what exactly was meant with it? How did the relationships between the various Northern European universities take shape as a consequence of these celebrations? How were the different university systems influenced and reformed as a result of these mutual contacts?—In this respect this current publication links itself to an important international tendency in current university history, by looking for transnational relationships between different university models. And what were the repercussions of these jubilees on similar festivities in, for instance, Scotland? Did any practical cooperation result from these celebrations and of what kind? And finally and very pertinently, what did the university authorities intended to attain with these grand commemorations, which in such a spectacular form disappeared after the First World War? The first part of the book focuses on the jubilees of two universities at a time when they did not belong to the Scandinavian or even Nordic community: the bicentenary of Helsinki University in 1840 and the 50th anniversary of the University of Dorpat in 1852. Still, particularly because of the Swedish origin of both universities, these jubilees were situated markedly within a Nordic context. In the second part, five major university jubilees of the 1860s and 1870s are revued: the 50th anniversary of Christiania University in 1861, the bicentenary of Lund University in 1868, the quartercentenary of Uppsala University in 1877, the centenary of the death of Linnaeus in Uppsala in 1878 and the quartercentenary of Copenhagen University in 1879. In all of these celebrations, the national interests of the universities were combined with Scandinavian solidarity and the sometimes strong, sometimes weak ambition to present themselves as European institutions. Simultaneously, the European political context was changing drastically in the decades between 1860 and 1880. The university jubilees form a new and fascinating approach to study the diverse impact of the German unification wars in Norway, Sweden and Denmark. A somewhat different perspective is offered in the third part. Enefalk focuses on the roles of women in three festivities by making use of songs and poems as special sources. Yet the role of women is also a regular theme in the other chapters, if only because of attempts by university authorities to present their jubilee as a national celebration,

introduction

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thus inclusive of women. Robert D. Anderson for his part offers a comparative approach by analysing the jubilees at four Scottish universities and viewing them against the Uppsala quartercentenary. The Scottish universities too had to search for a balance between the national, regional and international character of the celebration, and gradually an increasing regional orientation (i.e. towards the British empire) could be noticed. This contrasts sharply with the situation in the Nordic countries, where the regional orientation disappeared almost completely after 1905. The centenary of Kristiania University and the opening of the University of Iceland, discussed in the fourth part, were celebrated in the atmosphere of a Scandinavist movement that had come to an end. However, the fact that this book could come into existence proves that the Scandinavist spirit of collaboration never disappeared completely. This book is only made possible by the cooperation of colleagues in different Nordic countries, whom I would like to thank heartily. First of all, my thanks go to Robert Marc Friedman, Guðmundur Hálfdánarson and Ejvind Slottved who supported the application at the Joint Committee for Nordic Research Councils for the Humanities and Social Sciences more than two years ago. Of course the NOSHS itself cannot be missing in this word of gratitude for its generous financial support of both workshops and the publications resulting out of them. However, the money forms only one—indeed important— starting point. All the contributors in this volume have worked hard, and I would like to thank for their collaboration and patience. Indeed, the project lasted longer than all of us expected, and the way it reached its completion has not always been easy. Despite these challenges, I think we can be proud of the end result. This book would have looked regrettably different without the suggestions of a number of reviewers who attended the workshop in Helsinki as outside experts and who offered their critical remarks on provisional versions of the presentations and articles: Matti Klinge, Rainer Knapas, Jens E. Olesen, Henrik Stenius, Ditlev Tamm and Hanna Östholm—thank you all for your help. Laura Kolbe attended as well, but she deserves a special thanks because of her continuous support during my stay at the University of Helsinki. Without her enthusiastic reply on my first plans to go to Finland, I would probably have never ended up in Helsinki. My warmest thanks for this wonderful experience you offered me.

PART I

NON-NORDIC JUBILEES IN A NORDIC CONTEXT

CHAPTER ONE

THE BICENTENARY OF HELSINKI UNIVERSITY IN 1840. THE JUBILEE OF A RUSSIAN UNIVERSITY IN A NORDIC CONTEXT Pieter Dhondt The 200 year anniversary celebration of the University of Helsinki was dominated by the idea of improving cultural and scientific connections with Russia. Consequently, the visit of a large delegation of Swedish students, who dreamt of restoring (at least to some extent) the relationships with the former Swedish province of Finland were prevented from attending. Moreover, the University of Helsinki presented itself not only as a Russian institution, but increasingly also as an institution for the whole Finnish nation. And indeed, while Swedish students were not welcome, representatives from Dorpat were explicitly invited, even though many professors in Dorpat, like their colleagues in Helsinki, found it difficult to decide on their attitude towards the authoritarian Russian government. On 15 July 1840, the Swedish weekly Lunds Weckoblad published a comprehensive article on the Scandinavian meeting of physicians and natural scientists in Copenhagen, together with the full programme of the conference in attachment.1 No similar report is to be found in the paper about the bicentenary festivities of Helsinki University that started that same day. Only on 5 August did it give attention to the Helsinki event, and then only in a short article. The fact that only a couple of Swedish compatriots were invited to Helsinki can explain this lack of interest to some extent, but at least as important was the context of the pan-Scandinavist movement which was at its peak in that period—but which certainly did not (yet) include Finland.2 1 “Skandinaviska Läkarnes och Naturforskarnes möte i Köpenhamn”, Lunds Weckoblad (05-08-1840). 2 Mary Hilson, “Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. Pan-Scandinavianism and Nationalism”, in: Timothy Baycroft and Mark Hewitson (eds.), What is a Nation? Europe 1789–1914 (Oxford: University Press 2006): 192-209.

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Neither linguistically, nor ethnically did Finland belong to the group of the three other brother-nations of Denmark, Norway and Sweden. Neither was there any aspiration in Helsinki itself to turn the jubilee into some kind of pan-Scandinavian event. Nevertheless, within Swedish public opinion there still existed a strong interest in the former Swedish province of Finland. Indeed, at first sight the coverage in the Swedish press of the 200th anniversary of the Finnish university appeared to be very meagre, but in comparison to Danish and Norwegian newspapers the attention was still significant. In both of the latter, the jubilee was apparently only worth a few lines. However, even if the Swedish editors would have liked to, they could not have offered detailed reports equivalent to those of the natural science conference taking place simultaneously in Copenhagen. The fact that Swedish correspondents were not welcome in Helsinki made such a report impossible. Therefore, the content of the articles that did appear was largely based on Finnish news coverage, copying as they did the predominant atmosphere of gratitude and obedience to the Russian authorities. Following the Finlands allmänna Tidning, the Sveriges Stats-Tidning cheered the generosity of Alexander I, who had provided the university of extensive means to realise its ambitions in the new political context of the last 30 years, when Finland was incorporated into the Russian empire. And “forced to by a great accident” (viz. a fire in Turku), he had moved the university in 1828 to the capital where it, “thanks to his support, rises again from the ashes and sets in its third century full of confidence.”3 The political motivations that dictated the move of the university from Turku to Helsinki were covered with the cloak of charity on this occasion.4 In other articles, journalists wrote about these subservient toasts that were expressed and the glasses that were raised to the health of his Imperial Majesty, His Highness the heir to the throne and the whole imperial house, under the roar of cannons and rousing cheers.5 But all the sounds of revelry could not hide completely the soft overtones of criticism. Mostly subtly, but sometimes very openly, the Swedish

3 “Finska universitetets jubelfest”, Sveriges Stats-Tidning, eller Post- och Inrikes Tidningar (07-08-1840). 4 Matti Klinge, Eine nordische Universität. Die Universität Helsinki 1640–1990 (Helsinki: Otava 1990): 282-285. 5 “Jubelfesten i Helsingfors”, Malmö Nya Allehanda (08-08-1840).

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press voiced its disappointment and dissatisfaction about the attitude of the University of Helsinki towards its Swedish origin. In far too radical a way, at least in their opinion, the Finnish university aimed to make clear to Russian rulers the extent it had distanced itself from its Swedish past. On the basis of these Swedish newspapers and journals, among other sources,6 this chapter aims to show how the University of Helsinki presented itself on the occasion of its bicentenary, and how this representation was perceived in Sweden, Finland, Russia and the Baltic countries. The prevailing message was clearly that of the University of Helsinki as a national institution, an institution for and from the Finns. As a consequence, quite a lot of discussion arose about which foreign representatives could be invited who would not disturb the creed that characterised the festivities from day one: that this was a jubilee of a Finnish university in a Russian context. An expression of gratitude towards Russian benefactors was combined with a stress on the Finnishness of the celebrating institution. During the days of promotions and cultural meetings which followed, a balance was sought between Finnish, Russian and Swedish (or Nordic) interests. Indeed, representatives of Sweden and the other Nordic countries were not really convinced of the success of finding such a balance. However, critical notes came not only from Sweden, but also from within the Finnish academic community, with Johan Vilhelm Snellman as its main spokesman. The Bicentenary as a National Event In 1839, the year before the bicentenary of Helsinki University, rising Finnish patriotism had already received an important boost by the organisation of two student festivities: first from the Porthancelebration in memorial of the 100th anniversary of the birthday of the neo-humanistic historian Hendrik Gabriel Porthan, and second from the celebration of the Savo-Karelian nation. At the latter, the Finnish cultural tradition was honoured through the figure of Elias Lönnrot.

6

Because the general picture of the bicentenary is largely known and because of the specific approach of this volume, this chapter will focus in depth on the perception of the jubilee within Swedish public opinion through a large number of Swedish newspapers and journals.

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The former celebration was intended as a manifestation of the student community as a whole to honour Porthan’s Finnish-minded approach to history writing, which stood in contrast to the views of Zachris Topelius who some years later would answer negatively to the question “Do the Finnish people have their own history?”7 Indeed, there were some doubts about a celebration in honour of a “Swedish professor”,8 but for the president of the general student union, Fredrik Cygnaeus, the Porthan-cult had an instrumental function. He was looking for a public figure who could serve as a focal point to unite students around an emerging Finnish patriotism.9 However, out of fear of student unrest, the university authorities prohibited such a large-scale gathering, which instead was limited to a joint event of both Ostrobothnic nations (Etelä- and Pohjoispohjalainen Osakunta), with a few invitees from the other student nations. Nevertheless, to the great satisfaction of the rector and the acting chancellor, a loyal fennophile attitude10 dominated both student festivities.11 One year later, the same chancellor, Count Robert Henrik Rehbinder, decided very consciously to give a similar interpretation to the bicentenary of the university. On the one hand he was striving for a position of loyalty towards Russia (for instance, by adopting an attitude of opposition towards Sweden), but on the other he emphasised simultaneously the national, Finnish character of the university (for instance by inviting an impressive number of dignitaries from all over the country). Rehbinder attempted to promote the reputation of the university and develop it into an institution “that could extend

7

Matti Klinge, Ylioppilaskunnan Historia (Porvoo: WSOY 1967), vol. 1: 70-71. Politically speaking, Porthan was a loyal royalist and faithful subject of the King of Sweden, and he was horrified by Russia’s growing power. Kari Tarkiainen, “Porthan, Henrik Gabriel (1739–1804)”; in: Ulpu Marjomaa, 100 Faces from Finland. A Biographical Kaleidoscope (Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura 2000), http:// www.kansallisbiografia.fi/english/?id=2599. 9 Klinge, Eine nordische Universität (1990): 325. 10 The fennoman movement as a really political organisation only came into existence after the Crimean War when the language strife in Finland intensified. It was preceded by groups of fennophiles who yearned to raise the Finnish language and Finnic culture from peasant status to the position of a national language and a national culture, which at this stage still held an attitude of loyalty towards the Russian authorities. They mainly opposed the so-called svecomans, who tried to defend the status of Swedish and the ties to the Germanic world. 11 Klinge, Ylioppilaskunnan Historia (1967), vol. 1: 72. 8

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benefits and honour to the whole country.”12 On his initiative, a committee was put together in the autumn of 1839 to prepare the ceremonies. The members of the commission were the professors or lecturers Henrik Heikel, Gustaf Gabriel Hällström, Fredrik Wilhelm Pipping, Carl Reinhold Sahlberg en Wilhelm Gabriel Lagus. Rector Nils Abraham af Ursin acted as the commission’s president. Following the conviction of Rehbinder, the committee aimed to use the festivities to underline the important role of the university within the nation through its choice of invitees and honorary doctors, its speeches on the first day of the celebration and by offering a special role to the female part of society. The newspaper, Helsingfors Morgonblad, which was closely connected to the university,13 supported this attitude in a series of articles about “The impact and importance of the university in general and of the solemn promotions in particular.” In its conclusion, the series argued that the university had to develop itself into the central institution of all higher education within the nation, and as such it had a double task of educating individuals as well as the community as a whole. Moreover, the author made use of the opportunity to thank the university for the services rendered, with regard to the development of patriotism and national history.14 Obviously, such a conception of the university as a nation building institution15 was made possible only because of the particular position of the Finnish nation within the Russian empire. The organising committee had thus taken care that all prominent Finnish officials were invited (from civil as well as military administrations), along with leading members of scientific societies and a large delegation of the clergy (from both dioceses in Finland, and from Ingria and the Baltic Sea provinces). The number of Finns who proceeded towards the capital without an invitation was impressive as well, according to many Swedish newspapers. “Even from the most 12 Uunio Saalas, Carl Reinhold Sahlberg. Luonnontutkija, yliopisto- ja maatalousmies 1779–1860 (Historiallisia tutkimuksia 47) (Helsinki: Suomen historiallinen seura 1956): 369. 13 Klinge, Eine nordische Universität (1990): 329. 14 “Universitetets högtidligheter”, Helsingfors Morgonblad (13-07-1840, 16-07-1840 and 20-07-1840). 15 Pieter Dhondt, “Ambiguous Loyalty to the Russian Tsar. The Universities of Dorpat and Helsinki as Nation Building Institutions”, Victor Karaday (ed.), Elite Formation in the Other Europe (19th-20th Century) / Elitenformation im ‘anderen’ Europa (19.-20. Jahrhundert)—special issue of Historical Social Research / Historische Sozialforschung 33 (2008), no. 2: 99-126.

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remote parts of the country, people came together during the last days and […] all of them participated actively and warmly in this national celebration.”16 Many of them combined their stay in Helsinki with a visit to one of the numerous mineral baths.17 The young Auguste Schauman,18 who attended the event, even dared to estimate in his memoirs that more than 700 Finnish families visited Helsinki from outside the capital and 250 persons from abroad.19 One can only guess about the accuracy of these figures, but it is true that such a large amount of people had never gathered in Finland before, nor had the city of Helsinki received such a great number of guests from home and abroad. As such, the bicentenary constituted a crucial step in the recognition and the development of Helsinki as the new capital.20 And as was often the case at jubilees at other European universities, the common organisation of some activities in Helsinki resulted in an intensification and improvement of the collaboration between town and gown.21 The good relations between both definitely contributed to the success of the large dance party—with approximately 1,400 guests—in the hotel Seurahuone after the promotions of the arts faculty. The Difficult Search for the Right Foreign Representatives “The national celebration began already on the evening before [the actual start of the bicentenary]”, according to Schauman, “with the

16

“Jubelfesten i Helsingfors”, Upsala Tidningar (01-08-1840). The Kaivopuisto Spa was opened two years earlier. Cf. Marjatta Bell and Marjatta Hietala, “Helsinki as an Early Tourist Centre”, in: Id., Helsinki. The innovative city. Historical perspectives (Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura 2002): 37-43. 18 Schauman became especially known as founder of the Swedish-speaking newspaper Hufvudstadsbladet in 1864. 19 Auguste Schauman, Från sex årtionden i Finland. Upptecknade lefnadsminnen (Helsinki: Edlund 1892), vol. 1: 134. By way of comparison, during that term 463 students were enrolled at the university. 20 Matti Klinge and Laura Kolbe, Helsinki. -Daughter of the Baltic. A short biography (Helsinki: Otava 1999): 56-57. 21 Cf. Jens Blecher and Gerald Wiemers (eds.), Universitäten und Jubiläen. Vom Nutzen historischer Archive (Veröffentlichung des Universitätsarchivs Leipzig 4) (Leipzig: Universitätsverlag 2004); Robert D. Anderson, “Ceremony in Context: The Edinburgh University Tercentenary, 1884”, The Scottish Historical Review 87 (2008), no. 1-223: 121-145; and Pieter Dhondt, “The Echo of the Quartercentenary of Uppsala University. Nordic universities as examples in Europe?”, Scandinavian Journal of History 35 (2010), no. 1: 21-43. 17

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reception of Franzén, Finlands old poet.”22 Indeed, even though Frans Michael Franzén was one of the few guests from Sweden, he was clearly presented as a national hero who had left his native country 30 years before. Franzén had been professor in different arts subjects and librarian at the Royal Academy of Turku, and in 1808 he was elected to the Swedish Academy. Three years later, he moved to Sweden. In 1824 he became secretary of the Academy and later bishop of Härnösand (in 1831). At the time of the bicentenary in Helsinki, Franzén was already 68 years old, and certainly in the Swedish press he was depicted as an old man with conservative ideas, which made him acceptable to the Russian authorities.23 Still, the chancellor and the rector of the university kept close watch on the festive reception of Franzén by the Finnish students in Töölö. Receiving a guest from Sweden in such a ceremonious way could give umbrage, even though it was a former Finn. A large delegation of students awaited Franzén on the outskirts of the town, where he arrived from Turku. Upon his arrival, lively cheers resounded and Cygnaeus delivered a speech suitable to the occasion, as “a manifestation of love and respect”, according to Malmö Nya Allehande.24 A few songs concluded the ceremony, which, to Rehbinder’s satisfaction, passed off unscathed. For the 14 year old Schauman, it was the first time that he had experienced such patriotic ecstasies.25 Franzén was not only in Helsinki as the representative of the Swedish Academy and the Literature Academy, but he also came to receive the title of jubilee master in remembrance of his promotion in 1789. The laurel wreath used in Franzén’s promotion was presented by his granddaughter Rosina von Haartman, daughter of the former professor of obstetrics and gynaecology, and by the director of the National Board of Health, Carl Daniel von Haartman. According to the Baltic German professor of classics in Dorpat, Ludwig Preller, these old academic customs within the ceremony exuded something very beautiful. For all the spectators it was a touching moment when “the grey poet approached, to have himself crowned with the fresh garland”, but

22

Schauman, Från sex årtionden i Finland (1892), vol. 1: 136. According to the liberal newspaper Aftonbladet in 1840, quoted in: Gösta Lundström, “Franzén, Frans Michael”, in: Erik Grill (ed.), Svenskt biografiskt Lexikon (Stockholm: Norstedt 1964-1966), vol. 16: 434. 24 “Jubelfesten i Helsingfors”, Malmö Nya Allehanda (08-08-1840). 25 Schauman, Från sex årtionden i Finland (1892), vol. 1: 138. 23

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according to Preller, “to appreciate this fully, one probably has to be Finnish.”26 Herewith Preller confirmed the general perception of Franzén as being a Finn and not as a representative from Sweden. According to some critical Swedish newspapers, Johan Henrik Schröder was the only real Swedish representative,27 being librarian and professor of literary history and archaeology at the University of Uppsala. Schröder was very honoured with the invitation28 and, not wanting to let down the trust granted to him, he denied news circulating in the Finnish press that students from Uppsala had planned a large excursion to Helsinki. Schröder claimed that these reports were only vague ideas that would never be realised, if only because of high travelling expenses.29 Nonetheless, some 70 students were serious about their plans to visit Helsinki, but were prevented by the authorities. The official explanation was that the Russian embassy in Stockholm did not have had enough time to issue visas for all of them. In reality, however, such a large group of Swedish students did not fit into the image that Rehbinder and others wanted to display at the bicentenary, that of a Finnish university in a Russian context with minimal and only loose connections with Sweden.30 The Swedish press was very disappointed over the episode. In their eyes it was only natural that on such an occasion “the studying youth from the academy of Uppsala would have been invited”, as the local newspaper Upsala Tdiningar put it. We have noticed a strong sympathy here for this trip, from different sides. Therefore, one can expect a great number of travellers; also because the costs proved to be lower than was expected, maybe some 30 to 40 crowns. As we all know, the former university in Åbo/Turku had a Swedish foundation, and it may be a good idea to use these funds to enable the Swedish representatives of the blossoming youth to attend the jubilee in Helsinki. Of course, all the nice pleasures which are unmistakably

26 [Ludwig Preller], “Erinnerungen an Helsingfors”, Das Inland. Eine Wochenschrift für Liv-, Esth- und Curland’s Geschichte, Geographie, Statistik und Litteratur 5 (1840), no. 30: 475. 27 E.g. “Helsingfors”, Borås Tidning (06-08-1840). 28 Helsinki, Kansalliskirjasto / National Library. Coll. 343.A.1: Johan Henrik Schröder, Letter to Fredrik Wilhelm Pipping (Uppsala 14-05-1840). 29 Klinge, Eine nordische Universität (1990): 329 and Klinge, Ylioppilaskunnan historia (1967), vol. 1: 73. 30 That Swedish students were not welcome in Helsinki can certainly also be interpreted as a kind of reprisal for their support to the revolution in Poland in 1815 and during the following years.

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always included in such an excursion are to the account of the students themselves. We very much hope that this attractive and interesting proposal can be realised.31

When the first request for exit visa’s was turned down, a new application was submitted, this time by following an extraordinary procedure, but again without any result. The liberal Aftonbladet phrased its frustration as follows: “[We are] disappointed that there exists so much suspicion towards the youth; although they have always acted in a very loyal manner; the motto is apparently ‘obéir, mourir et se taire’ [to obey, to die and to shut up].”32 Some Uppsala professors who had planned to attend the celebrations on their own initiative drew their own conclusions from these events and decided to cancel their visit to Helsinki.33 In this way they uttered their dissatisfaction about what they considered to be a lack of respect for the university’s Swedish heritage and for the existing connections between Finnish and Swedish universities.34 According to an obstinate and unique article in Borås Tidning (copied from the political and cultural journal Freja), Finnish students were as little pleased as their Swedish colleagues with this radical decision of the university and/or political authorities. However, despite the ban on leaving the country, “three Swedish students had succeeded”, according to the report, “to come to Helsinki—by which chance and in what way is unknown to us—but, to everybody’s surprise, one could soon see three young gentlemen with a lyre on their black velvet collar and a steel sword at their side, walking in the immense crowd of aristocrats, coming from everywhere.” When the Finnish students learned, to their sorrow, that their former compatriots were excluded from the old Finnish hospitality, some bound together with their Swedish friends, for good or ill, in revenge for what was done to them. “After

31

“Jubelfesten i Helsingfors”, Upsala Tidningar (20-05-1840). “Kejserliga Alexanders-Universitetets andra secularfest”, Aftonbladet (22-071840). 33 Saalas, Carl Reinhold Sahlberg (1956): 371. 34 In that period Uppsala and Lund were still the most popular destinations for Swedish students studying abroad. Cf. Jan Hecker-Stampehl, “Functions of Academic Mobility and Foreign Relations in Finnish Academic Life. A Historical Survey from the Middle Ages until the Middle of the 20th Century”, in: Catherine-F. Gicquel, Victor Makarov and Magdalena Zolkos (eds.), The Challenge of Mobility in the Baltic Sea Region (The Baltic Sea Region. Nordic Dimensions—European Perspectives 2) (Berlin: Berliner Wissenschaftsverlag 2005): 15-39. 32

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drinking together, the Swedes and many Finns accompanied each other out on the streets, walking arm in arm, while singing Finnish national songs,” the fascinating report continued. When they met a group of deserted Russian Cossacks, the situation threatened to get out of hand, but luckily a direct conflict was prevented through the intervention of some professors. “Where does the Russian authority towards us, poor Swedes, actually comes from?”, the author wallowed in self-pity. Because Sweden had always treated the Russian bear courteously, he sees only one possibility, i.e. out of fear. The fear was completely unjust, he continued, because what is wrong with eating and singing together, but as the saying goes “Jungen är rädd här, sad’ bond sprang för haren [Nobody is scared here, said the peasant, fled from the hare].”35 It is questionable whether a few Swedish students succeeded to visit Helsinki on this occasion as no other traces can be found of the story. Moreover, the depiction of the attitude of the Finnish students is clearly biased. They probably would not have left their Swedish colleagues out in the cold, but in general a sense of loyalty towards Russia dominated within the Finnish student community in this period. As such, rather than articulating the attitude of the Finnish students, the article voiced the opinion of a large part of the Swedish public towards the decision not to invite Swedish students. It also accurately portrayed Russia’s increasing fears of Sweden, particularly their fear of the growth of passionate Scandinavism, as preached on huge gatherings of Nordic students in the 1840s.36 By way of compensation for the absent Swedish students, the Tsar ordered six students from the University of St Petersburg and eight from the University of Dorpat to be invited. The leading Baltic German newspapers of the time perceived this decision to be new proof of the Tsar’s generosity.37 This perception was given despite the

35

“Helsingfors”, Borås Tidning (06-08-1840). Carl Frängsmyr, Uppsala universitet 1852–1916 (Uppsala: Universitetet 2010), vol. 2: 439-468. On the Nordic student meetings of the 1870s and the participation of the Finns, see pp. 151-152. 37 “Morgen begeht Finnlands Alexandra ihren Ehrentag”, Rigasche Zeitung (06-071840) and “Unlängst sind die Professoren”, Dörptsche Zeitung (06-07-1840). On the demand of the rector of the University of Dorpat, the generous support covered not only the travelling expenses, but also all kinds of other costs: e.g. accommodation, the purchase of a new uniform or other festive dress, the use of hackney’s because of the bad weather in Helsinki, dinner costs, leisure activities etc. Cf. Tartu, Estonian 36

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prevailing and enforced policy of Russification, which was launched five years earlier at the Baltic German University of Dorpat with the move of the new curator Gustaf Craffström from St Petersburg to Dorpat. Indeed, most of the attempts to prevent the appointment of non-Russian professors, or to introduce Russian partly as the language of education, failed as a result of protests at Dorpat University itself, though some repressive measures against Germanophile professors could not be prevented.38 Whatever the case, considering the Swedish-minded Porthan-celebration of the year before and the difficulties of the student society of Uppsala, the students who did attend—be it from Helsinki, St Petersburg or Dorpat—had to be content with a minor role in the whole event. The chancellor and the rector insisted that enough students should attend the jubilee—resulting in some new provisions to reduce the price of the uniform—but their task was restricted to enlivening the festivities. They were clearly not the central figures. Only a few students walked along in the procession, sang a hymn about the tsar in Swedish (Boze tsarja), or offered the ladies some refreshments during the somewhat wearisome promotions.39 Much more important than the students, however, were the numerous Russian representatives. Russian attendees came from the Royal Academy and the University in St Petersburg, Professor Preller and his colleague at the medical faculty Johann Julius Friedrich Erdmann from the University of Dorpat,40 from universities in the Russian inland like Kiev and Vladimir University, from the political and ecclesiastical authorities, and of course from the imperial house. Altogether they symbolised, according to Preller, “der aufstrebenden Litteratur des Slavischen Nordens neben dem gekrönten Jubelgreise

Historical Archives. 384-1-778: Briefwechsel mit dem Ministerium der Volksaufklärung und der Dorpater Universität, über die Feier des 200-jährigen Jubiläums der AlexanderUniversität in Helsingfors (1840). 38 Villu Tamul, “Die Dörptsche Universität—Landes- oder Reichsuniversität? Zum Verhältnis von Deutschbalten, Stadt und Universität im 19. Jahrhundert”, in: Helmut Piirimäe and Claus Sommerhage (eds.), Zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Dorpat (Tartu: Universität, Lehrstuhl für deutsche Philologie 2000): 87-112. See pp. 53-54 for more details on the so-called Ulman-affair. 39 Klinge, Ylioppilaskunnan historia (1967), vol. 1: 72-73. 40 Ludwig Preller, Imperiali litterarum Universitati Alexandrinae Fennicae idibus iuliis A. MDCCCXL sacra secularia altera feliciter procuranti ex animi sententia gratulatur imperialis Litterarum Universitas Dorpatensis (Dorpat: Schünmann 1840).

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des Scandinavischen.”41 It appeared impossible to send representatives from other regions, as the Upsala Tidningar subtly criticised, due to the distance or other causes. The celebrating university only received some extra congratulation addresses from a few other foreign universities not present, such as Christiania and Copenhagen.42 The Jubilee of a Finnish University in a Russian Context Representatives from these Nordic institutions clearly did not fit into the aim of the jubilee to improve the cultural rapprochement between Finland and Russia. Their presence risked blurring the prevailing message of the ceremony to organise a pro-Russian event while simultaneously showing the uniqueness and Finnishness of the celebrating nation. On 14 July 1840, the eve of the celebration, the university held a dinner for its members and the main foreign guests. The anniversary was introduced the next morning by eight canon salvos at 6 o’clock sharp. That morning all the leading members of Finnish society, together with some foreign representatives, mainly from Russia, assembled at the senate’s house. Led by rector Ursin, they passed in a solemn procession to the recently completed, but not yet consecrated, St Nicholas Church—built as a tribute to the Grand Duke, Nicholas I. St Nicholas was chosen because the banquet hall of the university was too small to receive the approximately 3,000 guests in attendance. Students were placed at both sides of the entry of the church, and when the procession arrived, a march was played. The church itself was made into a reception hall. At the place of the altar stood a podium with a university lectern on it. Busts of Queen Christina of Sweden and Tsar Alexander I were placed on a pedestal at both sides of the lectern, by which, in a symbolic way, the two most important figures and episodes in the history of the university were honoured and remembered. Above the lectern they raised the bust of Tsar Nicholas I, the current protector and benefactor of the university.43 After the chorales, rector Ursin delivered a speech in Latin about the history of the university in which he expressed his gratitude towards Russia for supporting the university financially, as well as for allowing

41 42 43

[Preller,] “Erinnerungen an Helsingfors” (1840): 475. “Jubelfesten i Helsingfors”, Upsala Tidningar (01-08-1840). “Jubelfesten i Helsingfors”, Upsala Tidningar (01-08-1840).

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it to develop its own Finnish identity. Professor Johan Gabriel Linsén welcomed the guests in Swedish and voiced the university’s happiness over the beginning of the jubilee. The extraordinary professor of Russian, Sergei Solovjev, gave his own version of this joy in Russian.44 The whole ceremony was accompanied with music suitable for the occasion and singing by the students.45 During this first part of the celebration, the university presented the medal of the anniversary to the guests from home and abroad. The dominating element of the medal was the bust of the emperor on the front side, the idealised nature of which is stressed by heroic nudity and the expression being directed slightly upwards. The legend runs: “Nicolaus Primus Camenarum Decus et Praesidium [Nicholas I adornment and refuge of the muses].” On the reverse, the following inscription was engraved within a laurel wreath: “Academiae Alexandrinae Fennorum Sacra Saecularia Secunda, D. XV Julii A. MDCCCXL [The sacred bicentenary jubilee of the Alexander University of the Finns, 15 July 1840].” Originally the word “fennorum” was not mentioned,46 but the inclusion of it fit perfectly into the idea of showing respect and gratefulness for the Russian emperors, while at the same time stressing the Finnishness of the university and, by extension, of the nation. After this festive opening, the procession moved to the old church for the divine service and from there to the university. In the main hall, the representatives of the universities of Dorpat and Kiev delivered their congratulations. To conclude the day, a copious dinner was offered to some 350 guests in hotel Seurahuone. A few student representatives were also invited to this official event. They sang in parts hymns about the tsar in Swedish, accompanying with it numerous toasts to the health of the emperor, the empress, the heir to the throne, the whole imperial house and the university. The whole city joined in with the festivities by way of music and all kinds of performances on the Esplanades until late into the evening.47

44 Using Finnish on such an official occasion was still absolutely out of the question. From 1840, knowledge of Finnish became only compulsory for certain state examinations. Cf. Matti Klinge, “ ‘Let us Be Finns’—the Birth of Finland’s National Culture”, in: Id., Let us Be Finns—Essays on History (Helsinki: Otava 1990): 66-95. 45 Ilmari Huva, Lauantaiseura ja sen miehet (Helsinki: Otava 1945): 135. 46 Kati Heinämies (ed.), Ars universitaria 1940–1990. Medals from the collections of the University of Helsinki (Espoo: Frenckellin Kirjapaino 1990): 26-27. 47 “Jubelfesten i Helsingfors”, Upsala Tidningar (01-08-1840).

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Figure 1a and b. The official medal of the bicentenary of the University of Helsinki in 1840. Reproduced with kind permission of the Helsinki University Museum (photo: Tuukka Talvio).

The atmosphere of gratitude for the generosity of the Russian royal house was reinforced by, among other aspects, the announcement of a number of new appointments by Nicholas I. Bengt Olof Lille was assigned professor in church history; Sven Johan Backman was appointed to the post of vice-librarian; and Johan Philip Palmén was made assistant in general and Roman and Russian jurisprudence, with a special interest for Finland. In addition, a series of decorations were conferred: the 2nd class of the Order of St Anna to rector Ursin; the 1st class of the Order of St Stanislaus to Gustaf Gadolin, provost in Turku and professor emeritus in theology; and the 3rd class of the Order of St Vladimir to Professors Johan Gadolin and Hällström; to name just a few.48 The university also received a new financial boost as a result of the bicentenary. On the occasion of the celebration, a large number of presents was donated to the university by individuals as well as by representatives of foreign institutions. The most important gift, from the university librarian Consul Gustaf Otto Wasenius, was 5,000 roubles to establish a new foundation to award grants to students for a stay in Russia. The initiative to reinforce the relationships between

48

“Universitetets högtidligheter”, Helsingfors Morgonblad (30-07-1840).

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Russia and Finland through these student scholarships was ultimately not very successful.49 Nevertheless, they prove to what extent striving for a more intensive collaboration with Russia and Russian universities replaced the tendency to uphold former connections with Sweden and Swedish universities. Still, in spite of (or maybe precisely thanks to) these new forms of cooperation, the University of Helsinki ran the risk of becoming a Russian university. Therefore the organising committee of the jubilee took care to give a clear and particularly Finnish character to the festivities. Certainly for Preller, who himself came from a non-typical Russian university within the empire, these special accents were striking. He pointed, for instance, to the exceptional importance of religion during the whole ceremony, such as giving thanks to God for His protection and blessing. Furthermore, he was pleasantly surprised about the permanent mixture of different social classes. He described the bicentenary as a celebration “wo die höchsten Würdenträger des Staates mit dem Geringsten sich vereinigten”, something that was completely lacking at the “other” Russian universities in his perception.50 Finns, Russians and Swedes as Honorary Doctors and in Cultural Meetings The following days were dominated by the doctoral promotions. The faculty of theology’s promotions came first on Thursday 16 July; the law faculty followed on Friday; on Saturday it was the turn of the faculty of medicine; and the faculty of arts closed the festivities on Monday 20 July. The procedure was always the same: the promotor asked the doctoral question, the primus among the students answered it, then the actual promotion followed at which the new doctors were laureled one by one, and finally the acts were concluded with words of thanks and prayer. In the arts faculty new masters (magisters) were honoured as well as new doctors. After each ceremony, the crowd

49 Pieter Dhondt, “A Difficult Balance between Rhetoric and Practice: Student Mobility in Finland and Other European Countries from 1800 to 1930”, in: Mike Byram and Fred Dervin (eds.), Students, Staff and Academic Mobility in Higher Education (Cambridge: Scholars Publishing 2008): 48-64. 50 [Preller], “Erinnerungen an Helsingfors” (1840): 475.

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moved to the old Lutheran church for a service, after which the new laureates invited those present for dinner. For evening entertainment, the merchants of Helsinki organised a ball for Thursday and, as we have seen, the city of Helsinki, together with the university organised a dance party for the final Monday. In a peculiar custom, which seems to have disappeared after the bicentennial, each future doctor had to bring a book as large as possible with him out of the library to the podium. Before the doctoral or master question was asked, the students were encouraged by the promotor to keep their mind on a solemn oath. Thereupon they opened the book and after a few moments of silence, the promotor spoke: “Claudite iam rivos, pueri, sat prata biberunt [Close the canals now, boys; the meadows have drunk enough]”, a verse from the Bucolics of Virgil. Hereafter the students slammed the book and the party could start.51 Notwithstanding the great pomp and circumstance of the previous days, the best was clearly saved for the last. Firstly, a much greater number of honorary doctorates and other honorary titles was granted by the arts faculty, and secondly, Cygnaeus recited his famous promotion poem at this occasion. In it, the history of the university was passed in revue, with special attention paid to the foundation period (to underline the age of the university and thus, the status of Finland as a cultural nation) and the developments of the last 30 years. To the dissatisfaction of Sveriges Stats-Tidning, the first part was largely limited to a brief homage to Per Brahe, emphasising his noble diligence, his vigilance and his care for the education of the Finnish people. Cygnaeus’s intention was to link the University of Helsinki with the tradition in Turku, but without drawing too much attention to the Swedish origin of the university.52 The focus on the period since 1809 was obviously meant to appease the Russians present. Cygnaeus also touched upon the language question, yet without mentioning the languages under discussion—Finnish, Russian and German—explicitly.53

51 According to Heikel (Ivar A. Heikel, Helsingin yliopisto 1640–1940 (Helsinki: Otava 1940): 491), this was the last promotion where this custom was still in use, but Otto E.A. Hjelt wrote in his autobiography of 1916 that it still existed at the promotion of 1844 (Saalas, Carl Reinhold Sahlberg (1956): 377.). 52 “Finska universitetets jubelfest”, Sveriges Stats-Tidning, eller Post- och Inrikes Tidningar (07-08-1840). 53 Klinge, Eine nordische Universität (1990): 332.

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However, it was mainly the presentation of honorary doctorates that lent an additional festive style to the ceremony of the last day of the jubilee—although the choice of these lucky ones had not passed without striking a blow. Already in the autumn of 1839, Professor Alexander Blomqvist had written to St Petersburg, in “very unofficial [and] strictly private” correspondence, to ask the Finnish writer and linguist Anders Johan Sjögren to make a list of appropriate Russian honorary doctorates in case the university would receive the permission to organise promotions. “Against the background of such a jubilee, this could lead to all kinds of disputes”, Blomqvist predicted. “I think that, just like me, you would not be happy with such quarrels. Only one-sidedness would predominate, so that no one still wants to make any concessions to the other party.” A few months later, one of the members of the organising committee, Sahlberg, indeed made some complaints about the conflicts within the commission: “Today we have another meeting of the consistorium. These meetings are often very unpleasant because of the prevailing partisan spirit.”54 The authority of chancellor Rehbinder was particularly remarkable. He prevented, out of political motivations, the honorary promotions of the Swedish landowner Hans Järtaa (proposed by the law faculty) and of the Swedish military officer and entomologist Leonard Gyllenhaal (proposed by the arts faculty). As a result, Israel Hwasser, former professor in Turku and Helsinki, was the only Swedish representative to receive an honorary doctorate (in absentia)55 besides Franzén, who received the title of jubilee master. Reinforcing the national character of the event, the large majority of the laureates were Finns, e.g. all the presidents of the courts of justice. However, in accordance with the general tenor of the jubilee, the arts faculty honoured a number of Russian scientists and higher officials. After some tense discussions, the faculty chose seven Russian candidates, all but one of which were German-speaking. One, like Hwasser, had clear connections to Finland: the naturalist Christian Steven was born in Finland and could hardly be regarded as a Russian representative.

54

Cited in Saalas, Carl Reinhold Sahlberg (1956): 370. Hwasser had been ill during the spring of 1840 and he did not want to interrupt his course of treatment in Stockholm to leave on a sea voyage to Helsinki. He was born in Sweden, but he had worked as a professor of medicine in Turku and Helsinki from 1817 to 1829 and afterwards at the University of Uppsala (until 1855). 55

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Complaints about the lack of real Swedish honorary doctors were rife in the Swedish press. Newspapers that devoted an article of any length to the whole event mentioned very explicitly that Hwasser and Franzén were the only Swedish laureates and that, moreover, neither could be considered real Swedes.56 Their bewilderment over the lack of Swedish honorary degrees did not match their frustrations over the ban on Swedish students to visit Helsinki, but their disappointment about this radical attitude of the university authorities in Finland was clear enough. The lack of Swedish honorary doctors is the more remarkable because many of the people who attended the jubilee had studied in Uppsala and Stockholm in the 1820s.57 The intention was clearly to make the bicentenary into a national celebration, with the only exception being that the university authorities were not able to get around the invitation of some Russian representatives. According to Helsingfors Morgonblad, the national character of such pompous promotion ceremonies was a crucial argument to preserve them, for it highlighted the contributions of Finns to their nation. In Southern and Central Europe, many universities had abolished such kind of grand doctoral promotions at the beginning of the nineteenth century for being too grand and too expensive.58 Among other characteristics, the honouring of the jubilee masters—those who had obtained their doctoral degree 50 years ago (Franzén, Gadolin and two others who were not present at the ceremony)—was especially valued by the Finnish correspondent. It made the bicentenary into a celebration where the whole society could manifest its appreciation of the services rendered, where young and old, and from all walks of life, were brought together.59 The special role attributed to women also reinforced the national character of the jubilee. Firstly, there was the tradition of the seppeleensitojattareksi, the girls who carried and handed over the laurel wreaths. Secondly, the promotion ceremony was closed on Monday with the

56 E.g. “Finska universitetets jubelfest”, Sveriges Stats-Tidning, eller Post- och Inrikes Tidningar (08-08-1840) and “Jubelfesten i Helsingfors”, Upsala Tidningar (05-081840). 57 Heikel, Helsingin yliopisto 1640–1940 (1940): 492. 58 Cf. Reinildis van Ditzhuyzen, “Selbstdarstellung der Universität. Feiern und Zeremoniell am Beispiel der Doktorpromotionen”, in: Rainer Christoph Schwinges (ed.), Universität im öffentlichen Raum (Veröffentlichungen der Gesellschaft für Universitäts- und Wissenschaftsgeschichte 10) (Basel: Schwabe Verlag 2008): 45-75. 59 “Universitetets högtidligheter”, Helsingfors Morgonblad (20-07-1840).

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declamation of a special poem to the honour of women.60 And finally their presence caught the attention of many at the great dance party which concluded the jubilee that evening. Like many of his fellows, the Russian author Thaddens Bulgarin was “impressed by the number and the beauty of the old and young ladies attending the ball. In this regard, Finland clearly surpassed many other countries.”61 One of them was the famous poet Augusta Lundahl, attached to the family Runeberg. Like many other women, she had been looking for the right dress for this festivity during the months preceding the celebration, as Topelius mentioned with much appreciation in very detailed and colourful description of the ball in his diaries.62 At the final party, the “domestic”63 poets Lönnrot and Johan Ludvig Runeberg were showered with honours as well, although glasses were raised in the first place to the health of the emperor and the imperial family. Meanwhile, the canons rang out so loud that the building shook. The champagne effervesced over the floor. With two bottles for each new doctor there was certainly no lack of drinks. When the women had left the hall, the men continued to revel, to cheer, to raise their glass and to waltz until 5 o’clock in the morning.64 Topelius was happy to be able, finally, to fling off the stiff festive attire of the day and to enjoy the well-deserved freedom from the formalities of academic life, even though everything was still passing off calmly and collectedly. It was clear that these students were cultured and well-educated young men among each other and moreover, the chancellor and/or the rector kept a watchful eye on the whole event.65 The party continued into the next day with a more relaxed and unofficial after-party.66 Whereas the promotion ceremony remained a mostly national affair, Finns, Russians and Swedes were able to meet each other on Saturday evening at a dinner held by Count Rehbinder for all foreign

60

“Universitetets högtidligheter”, Helsingfors Morgonblad (30-07-1840). Schauman, Från sex årtionden i Finland (1892), vol. 1: 142-143. 62 Zacharias Topelius, Dagböcker, ed. Paul Nyberg (Helsinki: Holger Schildts Förlagsaktiebolag 1924), vol. 4-2: 369-375. 63 “Universitetets högtidligheter”, Helsingfors Morgonblad (30-07-1840). 64 Huva, Lauantaiseura ja sen miehet (1945): 139. 65 Saalas, Carl Reinhold Sahlberg (1956): 378. 66 According to Upsala Tidningar, the so-called räpäläisiä [left over] was often the nicest day of this kind of event. Originally, the idea was that during that day everything which was left over from the party of the previous day was consumed, but increasingly often new food and drink were provided at this after-party. Cf. “Jubelfesten i Helsingfors”, Upsala Tidningar (01-06-1840). 61

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invitees and Finnish guests of honour. On Sunday (when there was no official ceremony), Yakov Karlovich Grot arranged a meeting of Finnish, Russian and Swedish writers, poets and other men of letters. At this meeting Grot functioned to some extent as a kind of mediator between Finnish and Russian culture. Grot was born in St Petersburg in 1812 and had visited Finland for the first time in 1837, when on holiday in Vyborg, Imatra and Helsinki. A year later, when Grot was unwell, he was instructed by his doctor to attend a health resort and decided to try out the recently opened bathhouse in Helsinki. While there, he met Cygnaeus, Runeberg and many other Finnish intellectuals and started to study Northern European literature and history. Helsinki became increasingly attractive to the young Grot, and when Rehbinder offered him a position in the Russian administration in Helsinki he moved to Finland, just weeks before the bicentenary, in June 1840. However, after the birth of his son in 1852 he became increasingly homesick for his relatives and friends in Russia and moved his family back to St Petersburg the following year. Like his father, he worked for a while as teacher at the court. He also continued his scientific research on Russian and Northern European languages and literature, for which he was awarded membership into the Russian academy.67 During the jubilee, Grot presented himself as the ideal figure to bring Finnish, Russian and Swedish men of letters closer together. His personal biography proves to some extent the success of his attempts to strengthen the Finnish-Russian relationships in particular. In 1840 he was accepted as member of the Finnish Literary Society, and a few months later, in 1841, he was appointed professor of Russian literature and history at the University of Helsinki. The meeting he arranged in the wake of the anniversary celebration resulted in the Calender till minne af Kejserliga Alexanders-Universitetets andra secularfest. In this anthology, Grot published a collection of literary essays of Finnish (e.g. Runeberg and Lönnrot), Russian (e.g. Pyotr Pletnyov and Prince Vladimir Odoevsky) and Swedish (in casu a poem of Franzén in remembrance of his visit to the jubilee) authors, preceded by a short history of the university written by himself. In it, Grot expressed his hope that the university could continue to flourish during the

67 Jakov Karlovic Grot, Matka suomessa 1846 (Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seuran toimituksia 393) (Pieksämäki: Sisälähetysseuran kirjapaino Raamattutalo 1983): 7-12.

Figure 2. Meeting of the poets Franzén and Runeberg at the Helsinki jubilee of 1840, painted by Albert Edelfelt as a wall painting for the great hall of the University of Helsinki in 1890. Reproduced with kind permission of Ateneum, Valtion taidemuseo, Helsinki.

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Figure 3. Portrait of Yakov Karlovich Grot (1812–1893). Světozor (1882), no. 46: 1.

following hundred years, and that it would be able to develop itself further under the protection of the Russian emperor.68 Besides Grot’s Calendar, the bicentenary inspired many other publications which represented the character of the celebration. These

68 Jakob Karlowitsch Grot (ed.), Calender till minne af Kejserliga AlexandersUniversitetets andra secularfest (Helsinki: Simelii Enka 1842).

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included: doctoral disputes; the festival programme; speeches; the first issue of the Acta of The Finnish Society of Sciences and Letters; “Kanteletar” of Lönnrot; a Swedish translation of the Kalevala by Matthias Alexander Castrén; “Bidrag till Svenska samhällsförfattningens historia [Contribution to the history of the social constitution of Sweden]” of Johan Jakob Nordström; “Jephtas bok. En Minnes-Sång i Israel [The Book of Jephthah. A Memorial Song in Israel]” of Johan Jakob Nervander (a long poem whose subject was taken from the Bible); a volume of poetry by Lars Stenbäck; and a collection of poems of Carl Axel Gottlund. These publications celebrated the literary, political and scientific elite from Finland, to a lesser extent from Russia, and more symbolically from Sweden. Criticism From within the Own Academic Community Immediately after the jubilee, it seemed as if the aspirational combination of Finnishness and Russianness had been fully successful. The university received, for instance, an address from the chancellor in St Petersburg: “Although I did not manage to be there, I joined you on this unforgettable days with my mind, dear colleagues from the Finnish university, and in our minds we are all having the same hopes and plans”, to continue with the university in the same direction.69 A clear increase of Finnish-Russian contacts could be noticed by the establishment of a special scholarship foundation to encourage studies in Russia, and on a literary level due to the initiatives of Grot, with regard to the fields of architecture, science and politics.70 However, not everyone was happy about the course of events and critical voices did not come from Sweden alone. Voices of dissent, however weak, came from within the Finnish academic community. Though the old opposition leader Johan Bonsdorff died in the summer of 1840, his role was taken over by the talented young professor of law, Nordström, who especially criticised the increasing attention paid for great pomp and circumstance in law promotions (and by extension, in the jubilee celebration) at the expense of selection who should best be promoted. His colleague at the faculty of medicine, Immanuel Ilmoni,

69 70

Cited in Heikel, Helsingin yliopisto 1640–1940 (1940): 492. Klinge, Eine nordische Universität (1990): 333-334.

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agreed. Seriousness and truthfulness no longer decided the course of education, but rather aimlessness, indifference, vanity and envy.71 The most radical protests came from Snellman, exiled72 in Stockholm, and a group of his contacts who were very critical about the developments in Finland. This group contacted Nordström, the representative of the opposition in Helsinki. Snellman interpreted the jubilee as a pro-Russian self-glorification of the leading class, who distanced themselves from the rest of the population. In his eyes, the university did not profile itself enough as the defender of the Bildungsideal, and she was not conscious of her duties in this regard towards the nation. Instead, the celebration was given a Russian interpretation—which was certainly advantageous from an economical point of view. However, Snellman was convinced that the Russification measures that had been introduced in Poland and the Baltic provinces would soon be adopted in Finland. Snellman had placed his hopes in the attendance of Swedish professors and students at the jubilee celebration in Helsinki, but the ban on students and the boycott of professors made his hopes in vain. Now, you are only getting J.H. Schröder. Hwasser stays here to drink spring water in the health resort. He has been ill during the whole spring, and he did not want to interrupt his course of treatment to depart on a sea voyage. Even a light, cold breeze could harm his breast and throat. [. . .] It is good that you will get Franzén to look at, but of course he is no longer cheerfulness itself. He is somewhat decrepit and frightened. What you will receive from the east, will be nothing else than money for the city and much praise in the papers in St Petersburg.73

Snellman eventually moderated his position, resulting in his rehabilitation in 1856. He abandoned his attitude of opposition and cooperated politically when he realised that opposition against Russian and strong connections with Sweden would prevent the rise of the use of

71

Klinge, Eine nordische Universität (1990): 334. In 1838, Snellman was dismissed as lecturer from the University of Helsinki after a conflict with the university authorities. The immediate cause was his proposal the year before to give a lecture series on academic freedom, but his headstrong attitude towards the administration in general was a very important factor as well. Cf. Johan Vilhelm Snellman, Samlade arbeten. Volume I: 1826–1840 (Helsinki: Statsrådets kansli 1992): 779-785. 73 Johan Vilhelm Snellman, “Letter to Frederik Cygnaeus (Stockholm, July 1840)”, in: Heikki Lehmusto (ed.), J.V. Snellmanin kootut teokset. XII. Kirjeitä (Porvoo: Werner Söderström 1931): 135-136. 72

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Finnish. The fennoman party was, then, quite ready to cooperate with the Russians in order to obtain their nationalistic goals, but it was precisely this collaboration which seemed so clearly dangerous to liberal and Scandinavist circles. The Realpolitik van Snellman was considered by others as opportunism and submission. Conclusion In 1840, at the time of the bicentenary, Snellman, Nordström and Ilmoni were still isolated by their criticism. Pro-Russian loyalty prevailed among university authorities and students alike. And although the celebration can certainly be characterised as a national event, it constituted the start of a national identity rather than a highlighting of a national feeling which was already present. Indeed, the Finnish interpretation of the jubilee by the organising committee (on the initiative of the chancellor), with its emphasis on the university as a national institution, certainly gave an important boost to rising Finnish patriotism, however situated within a clearly Russian context. In accordance with the engagements started at the jubilee, Runeberg tried to continue the Russian literary traditions and Topelius in 1843 continued to look for connections to the Russian past.74 Thus, a gap emerged between conservative classicism at home and the liberal, utopian, revolutionary currents in the West, which resulted in increasing tensions between conservative fennomans on the one hand and more liberal svecomans or Swedish minded groups on the other. Where the latter, in general, were more directed towards the West, the former were striving for more rights for the Finns and the Finnish language through cooperation with Russia. Among the students, Finnish national pride was on the rise, and the prevailing liberal opinions among them caused, almost automatically, an antiRussian and pro-Swedish attitude. Their support of Nordström led to a serious conflict between the students and the university authorities in 1842. He was put on the spot by the consistorium because of his pan-Scandinavian and anti-Russian views and, in particular, because of an offer he received to work in Sweden.

74 Matti Klinge, The Finnish Tradition. Essays on structures and identities in the North of Europe (Helsinki: SHS 1993).

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Although Finland was, at that moment, not yet included in the Scandinavist movement, the Swedish press was very disappointed that the bicentenary ignored the Swedish past of the country and the university. They understood the underlying motivations of the policy of the Helsinki university authorities, but they questioned whether chancellor Rehbinder and his colleagues really needed to act so radically. According to the Swedish press, by not accepting any Swedish students and by only inviting and honouring a few Swedish representatives (most of them with clear Finnish connections), the University of Helsinki showed too little respect for the university’s Swedish heritage and its existing relationships with Swedish institutions. By not denying these connections completely and by accepting the congratulations of the universities of Christiania and Copenhagen, the University in Helsinki placed itself in a Nordic context, but only on the most muted symbolic level.

CHAPTER TWO

THE UNIVERSITY OF DORPAT AS A(N) (INTER)NATIONAL INSTITUTION AT ITS 50TH ANNIVERSARY IN 18521 Pieter Dhondt and Sirje Tamul In the middle of the nineteenth century, the University of Dorpat was searching for its position within the system of higher education in Russia. Science was still flourishing, and many Baltic German professors at the time attributed this success to the fact that the university managed to preserve a large degree of its autonomy, as shown, for instance, by the high number of professors of German origin, despite the reactionary policy of Nicholas I and his Minister of Education Sergei Uvarov. The attempts of Russification were especially visible in the appointment policy during what became known as the 1842 “Ulmann affair”, which led even to the compulsory redundancy of some professors. One of the effects of these types of measures was the increasing reorientation of the university towards the Baltic German region, instead of holding on to a predominantly international character. The 50th anniversary of the reopening of the university in Dorpat ten years later was thus celebrated in an atmosphere of ideological pressure and political fetters. Nevertheless, the jubilee functioned as the perfect illustration of the general balance the university was striving for in this period, a balance between internationalism and autonomy on the one hand and centralisation and nationalism, or even regionalism, on the other. The Academia Gustaviana in Dorpat was founded in 1632 by King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden after the example of, and enjoying the same privileges as, the University of Uppsala. During the Great Northern War and the famine it caused in Dorpat, the university was moved to Pärnu where it continued its activities under the name of Acadamia Gustavo-Carolina. When Russia conquered Pärnu in 1710, the university was closed. It took until 1802 before the Baltic German 1 The article has been written with the support of grant no. 0182700s05 from the Estonian Ministry of Education and Research.

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knighthoods succeeded in reopening a university institution in Dorpat, then with financial support from Tsar Alexander I. The administration of the university was controlled by the curatorium, a board of representatives of the knighthoods, and accordingly the university acted largely as a typically early modern German Landesuniversität,2 a university in the service of the local political or religious rulers. This immediately resulted in a tense conflict between the conservative, locally oriented Baltic German nobility and more progressive, broad-minded, often German professors. For instance, influenced by enlightened philosophy, many of the professors advocated the abolition of serfdom, an attitude for which the Baltic German landowners naturally would show little sympathy. In an illustration of this conflict, the inauguration ceremony of the university was spread over two days, 21 and 22 April 1802. The first day was dominated by the knighthoods, as the professors had to swear an oath before the curatorium to serve scientific ideals and the interests of the state (meaning the Baltic provinces). The second day consisted of the academic ceremony with, among other speeches, the inaugural address of the first rector of the university, Georg Friedrich Parrot, in which he called on the audience to gauge the value of the work of the lower classes, the farmers. Only one month later, on the occasion of the visit of Alexander I to Dorpat, the conflict between the curatorium and the board of professors came to a head. To the great annoyance of the conservative curatorium, Parrot delivered a marvellous speech directed at the progressive, enlightened ruler.3 It would form the beginning of a warm friendship between Alexander I and “his little Voltaire”.4 Some months later, after the establishment of the Russian Ministry of Education, Parrot left for St Petersburg with the intention of withdrawing the administration of the university from the knighthoods and

2 Willem Frijhoff, “Patterns”, in: Hilde de Ridder-Symoens (ed.), A History of the University in Europe. Vol. II: Universities in the Early Modern Period (Cambridge: University Press 1997): 43-105. 3 Roderich von Engelhardt, Die deutsche Universität Dorpat in ihrer geistesgeschichtlichen Bedeutung (Schriften der deutschen Akademie 13) (München: Ernst Reinhardt 1933): 39-40. It includes the entire version of Parrot’s French speech. 4 Villu Tamul, “Die Dörptsche Universität—Landes- oder Reichsuniversität? Zum Verhältnis von Deutschbalten, Stadt und Universität im 19. Jahrhundert”, in: Helmut Piirimäe and Claus Sommerhage (eds.), Zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Dorpat (Tartu: Universität, Lehrstuhl für deutsche Philologie 2000): 96.

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to place it under the general control of the Russian educational system. On 12 December 1802, the Imperial University of Dorpat received a new charter of foundation and became a Russian state university, one among many others.5 The advantages of the transformation from a Landesuniversität into a state university were obvious. The financial conditions of the university improved significantly, and the autonomy of the professors greatly increased. These charges followed the general philosophy of university reform in Russia, which was itself inspired by the University of Göttingen.6 The strong German connections of the new institution also helps to explain the development of the University of Dorpat into a progressive, international and scientifically leading European university in the 1820s and 1830s.7 However, the previous supervision under the knighthoods was simply replaced by the somewhat less rigorous control of the Ministry of Education. The knighthoods were largely set aside and, as such, this transformation provides an excellent example of enlightened absolutist policy: the use of state power against the traditional rights of established elites.8 Indeed, Alexander I let the universities decide their policy largely on their own, though his successor, Nicholas I, was more interventionist. The young Tsar had long cherished the idea of building a spiritual wall around Russia. His Minister of Public Education, Count Sergei Uvarov,9 and his fiduciaries, the curators of the 5 From 1803, 12 December was commemorated by an annual festive meeting at the university; 21 and 22 April were proclaimed official student holidays (the so-called Völkerkommers, the traditional spring festival of Baltic students). 6 James T. Flynn, The University Reform of Tsar Alexander I, 1802–1835 (Washington: The Catholic University of America Press 1988): 8. 7 Pieter Dhondt, “Ambiguous Loyalty to the Russian Tsar. The Universities of Dorpat and Helsinki as Nation Building Institutions”, in: Victor Karaday (ed.), Elite Formation in the Other Europe (19th-20th Century)/Elitenformation im ‘anderen’ Europa (19.-20. Jahrhundert)—special issue of Historical Social Research/Historische Sozialforschung 33 (2008), no. 2: 99-126. 8 Flynn, The University Reform of Tsar Alexander I (1988): 42. 9 Sergei Uvarov (1786–1855) has been regarded as the first educated person in Russia (Brockhaus Konversations’ Lexikon (Leipzig: J.A. Brockhaus 1903), vol. 16: 145). He published a number of works on Ancient Greek literature and archaeology and was one of the supporters of the Russian poets Alexander Pushkin and Vassili Zhukovski (honorary doctor of the University of Dorpat in 1816). Whereas initially Uvarov belonged to a group within the higher society that pursued a liberal worldview, by the beginning of the 1830s he had a change of heart. First as vice-minister in the Ministry of Public Education, then, from 1833, as Minister and president of St Petersburg Academy of Science, he started to implement the official reactionary and nationalistic policies, harnessing, for this purpose, the state apparatus, the educational system and the press.

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educational districts, gradually curtailed the academic freedom of the universities. The University of Dorpat also faced the challenge of various other Russification measures. Inevitably, increased tensions also left their trace on the celebration of the university’s 50th anniversary in 1852. Nevertheless, in comparison to other institutions of the empire, the Kaiserliche Universität zu Dorpat managed to a large degree to preserve its autonomy at this stage. The central question of this chapter is to what extent the university succeeded in finding a balance during the 1852 jubilee between reorienting itself towards its locality and stressing its Baltic German and Swedish origins in reaction to Russification, and its attempts to preserve its autonomous international and innovative approach. Firstly, this chapter will consider an important starting point in the reactionary policy of Nicholas I: the establishment of the so-called third department in 1826. Secondly, it will discuss how the increased supervision of the central government was applied to the Baltic provinces, and in particular to the University of Dorpat. Thirdly, it will highlight the attempts of Russification visible in their appointment policy, which even led to the compulsory redundancy of some professors. However, fourthly, it will show that significant opposition arose to these policies, opposition which succeeded, at least to some extent, in preserving the University of Dorpat as an international and scientifically leading institution. Finally, it will examine what impact these tensions had on the jubilee of 1852 and how this celebration should be characterised: as the anniversary of a local institution ruled by the Russian government or as that of an independent, international, European university. The Theory of Official Nationalism In 1826, a special third department was established at the Tsar’s personal chancellery, performing the functions of security police.10 The

10 Hugh Seton-Watson, The Decline of Imperial Russia 1855–1914 (Praeger University Series) (New York: Frederick A. Praeger 1964): 14. Immediately subordinate to the Tsar was the Personal Chancellery of His Imperial Majesty. The first department dealt with the Tsar’s personal papers; the second was concerned with the codification of laws; the third, and most important, was in charge of political police.

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German historian Jörg Baberowski considered this a clear manifestation of the general political culture in Russia, which intrinsically comprised intrigues of the court, protection of relatives and friends, and bribery.11 The notorious third department, founded by Alexander von Benckendorf, watched and repressed the press for every deviating opinion.12 As a result of this severe censorship, Russia seemed a bleak and barred land to travellers from Western Europe. In his travelogue from 1839, Astolphe Marquis de Custine depicted quite sarcastically the Russia of Nicholas I: “It is not only freedom that is lacking in Russia, but also life. The country reminds me of barracks, nothing else. As the arrangement of the state, by Nicholas I, is built on military discipline, Russia is in a permanent state of war.”13 The governing political elite of Russia started to search for an ideology that could express the specific nature of Russian statehood and counter the influence of Western liberal ideas. According to their view, scientific knowledge was too heavily reliant on foreign literature, and communication in the fields of science and culture was taking place too often in French or German, even to that extent that the educated nobility started to think in these foreign languages. Certainly French had become a fully accepted language of communication in Russian cultural spheres, and the risk existed that not only the language but also the revolutionary ideas developing in France were taking over. External factors could have an unpredictable effect on future developments in Russia.14 On 2 April 1833, Uvarov, the Minister of Education, in his first circular to officials in charge of the educational districts of the Russian empire, proclaimed the government ideology that came to be known as Official Nationality. Uvarov’s famous “triad” would become the

11 Jörg Baberowski, “Trust through Presence. Premodern Practices of Authorithy in late Imperial Russia”, Ab Imperio, Vandalizing the Garden: Multiple Forms of Violence in the Imperial Space 3 (2008): 81. 12 Reinhard Wittram, Russia and Europe (London: Thames and Hudson 1973): 81-82. 13 The most famous literary attack on Nicholas I’s Russia was mounted by Custine, a conservative French aristocrat: La Russie en 1839 par le Marquis de Custine. Cinquème èdition, revue, corrigèe et augmentèe (Brussels: Société Typographique Belge 1843). This work was translated into Russian and republished: Кюстин де, Астольф маркиз, Николаевская Россия [The Imperial Russia in the Age Nicholas I] (Moscow: Political Literature Press 1990): 10. 14 Juri Lotman, Kultuur ja plahvatus [Culture and Explosion] (Tallinn: Varrak 2001): 81-82, 117.

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cornerstone of educational ideology in Russia for the following decades: “the education of the people needs to be conducted, according to the supreme intention of our August Monarch, in the joint spirit of Orthodoxy, autocracy and nationality.” Among others, Nicholas Riasanovsky, one of Russia’s best known historians, characterises this doctrine of Official Nationality as the Russian version of the general European ideology of restoration and reaction that accompanied the fall of Napoleon with its substantial restoration of the old order on the continent.15 This specific policy of Russian conservative ideology has been studied by way of two charismatic persons—Tsar Nicholas I and his Minister Uvarov.16 Cynthia Whittaker depicts Uvarov as a Russian educationalist with a broad horizon, endeavouring eagerly to protect the state religion and to reinforce a patriotic mentality that, according to his doctrine, could only be achieved in an educational system operating under strict state supervision.17 To implement this supervision the official status of the curators of educational districts was changed. Whereas previously each university had responsibility for the administration of schools within its district, according to the new regulation all the educational institutions of a district, including the university, were made the object of the curators’ supervision.18 In this atmosphere of constant supervision, even military generals tended to express their opinion about school policy. One of them, Yakov Rostovzev, even recommended closing down the universities for some time in order to prevent the spread of rebellious and detrimental literature.19 Indeed, in 1833 his advice was followed in the temporary closing of the universities of Vilnius and Warsaw. In line with 15 Nicholas V. Riasanovsky, Russian identities. A Historical survey (Oxford: University Press 2005): 130, 133. In this book, Riasanovsky tackles a question still puzzling historians and politicians today: what does it mean to be Russian, or what can be considered the Russian identity and Russian nationalism? 16 Theodor Schiemann, Kaiser Nikolaus vom Höhepunkt seiner Macht bis zum Zusammenbruch im Krimkriege 1840–1855 (Berlin: G. Reimer 1919). 17 Cynthia H. Whittaker, The origins of modern Russian education: an intellectual biography of Count Sergei Uvarov 1786–1855 (Northern Illinois: University Press 1984). 18 Toomas Hiio and Helmut Piirimäe (eds.), Universitas Tartuensis 1632–2007 (Tartu: University Press 2007): 119. The Russian educational districts corresponded to the French académies, established within the Imperial University from 1806. (Alphonse Aulard, Napoléon Ier et le Monopole universitaire. Origines et fonctionnement de l’Université Impériale (Paris: Colin 1911).) 19 Schiemann, Kaiser Nikolaus (1919): 187, 189.

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the policy of suppression by the Russian imperial power in Poland, closing these universities seemed a logical next step after the arrests of students of the University of Vilnius in 1824 and the repressions which followed the insurgency in Poland in 1831.20 The enactment of the pan-Russian law on universities two years later confirmed this trend and made clear to everyone that at least one (if not the main) function of the educational system was to support the state apparatus in the implementation of its new doctrine.21 Yet despite this increased supervision, Riasanovsky and Whittaker prove convincingly that Russia’s attitude towards its universities was not exceptionally reactionary in a post-1815 European context. Besides, there was another side to the coin. Uvarov’s ministry spent large sums to provide new buildings, laboratories and libraries; scholarships were drastically increased; and teachers and professors were paid substantially higher salaries. And although the educational model that Nicholas I and Uvarov believed in did not result in the foundation of new universities, quite a few technical and practical institutions of higher learning were established. The reign of Nicholas I has been described as a period of political despotism, social stagnation and economic backwardness, but also as part of the golden age of Russian literature and as a creative and seminal period of Russia’s intellectual development. The Impact of Uvarov’s Reforms on the University of Dorpat Encouraged by Germanophobic groups of Slavophils, Uvarov applied his doctrine of Official Nationalism to the Baltic provinces, including the repressive implementation of Russification. Though the Russian metropolis had increased its authority in the region during the era of Catherine II, the autonomy and German-like independent intellectual life of the “German Western Provinces of Russia”—as the Baltic provinces customarily were called—remained largely unaffected until the beginning of the 1830s. The Church Law of 1832, which deprived

20 Jadwiga Brzezińska, “Poola farmatseutide akadeemilised ühendused Tartus 1837–1915 [Polish Pharmaceutists’ Academic Ties in Tartu in 1837–1915]”, Ajalooline Ajakiri 116/117 (2002), no. 1/2: 281. 21 The dismissal of Johan Vilhelm Snellman from the University of Helsinki in 1838 can be placed in this line as well. See pp. 36-37.

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the Baltic Lutheran Church of its status as state church in the Baltic lands, is usually considered the first real violation of the rights of the provinces.22 Besides this Russification programme, the Baltic German nobility was also challenged by the increasing influence of the rising bourgeoisie and literati within the Estonian part of the population.23 Through the foundation of intellectual societies, such as the Learned Estonian Society (Õpetatud Eesti Selts) in 1838, the latter associated themselves with the progressive group of Estonian-minded professors, mostly of German origin, who had continued their critical attitude towards the conservative administration of the university.24 Both groups, the Estonian bourgeoisie and the group of progressive professors, became inspired by the revolutions of 1848. To Russian authorities watching over these developments, Russification was seen as the only viable solution to break the power of the Baltic German nobility and the rising bourgeoisie. It was regarded as a politically inescapable task, imminently necessary as the only way in which Slavs could maintain, or rather establish, their dominant power position in the western part of the empire and protect the region from total Germanisation. The efforts to introduce the triadic principle in the Baltic provinces revealed themselves at first through the increased use of the Russian language in local administration and at the University of Dorpat, and then through the implementation of general Russian legislation within the Baltic area. Uvarov’s intention was to rearrange the educational life at Dorpat and throughout the Baltic provinces as a whole, to make it consistent with the regulations applied throughout the rest of the Russian empire. Uvarov showed his appreciation for the strong scientific climate in Dorpat (characterised by specialisation and a philosophical25

22 Ea Jansen, Vaateid eesti rahvusluse sünniaegadesse [Insights into the birth period of ethnic Estonian nationalism] (Tartu: Ilmamaa 2004): 343-344. 23 Ea Jansen, Eestlane muutuvas ajas. Seisuseühiskonnast kodanikuühiskonda [Estonians in a Changing World: from Estate Society to Civil Society] (Tartu: Kirjastus Eesti Ajalooarhiiv 2007). 24 Tiit Rosenberg, “Bunge-aegne Tartu [Dorpat/Tartu at the times of Bunge]”, Commentationes Litterarum Societatis Esthonicae 35 (2006): 36-37. 25 The idea behind a more philosophical approach to education was to encourage the students to go beyond the bounds of their own discipline and to show them the logical connections between different sciences through encyclopaedic lectures. Within the field of medicine, courses such as “history of medicine” were introduced to open the students’ eyes, to enlarge their horizon and to train them to pass their own

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and scientific approach of education), but, following the pan-Russian law on universities of 1835 the university clearly needed to become a national (instead of primarily international) institution for the benefit of the whole Russian empire. The major function of the University of Dorpat, according the new policy plan, was to deliver teachers, professors, doctors, pharmacists, priests, lawyers and agricultural engineers, not in the first place to the international republic of letters, neither primarily to the Baltic provinces, but to the whole of Russia.26 Fearing a storm of protest against his Russification plan, Uvarov wrote in his report to the Tsar on 16 December 1836 that there were two possibilities in reforming the University of Dorpat and other institutions of higher education in Russia: to realise this completely at once, or to opt for a gradual transition and so to strive initially for a preparatory stage of convergence.27 The first option would amount to the immediate introduction of the Russian language in education and in all daily administrative affairs. In this scenario, the majority of German professors would have to be replaced by Russian colleagues. Being aware of the general situation of academic education in Russia28 and the desire to annoy the German nobility as little as possible, Uvarov chose instead the gradual way of reform. In the first stage of reform, the use of Russian was to be enforced at secondary schools. Only in the second phase would Russian become obligatory within universities, though Uvarov never realised the implementation of this measure. What he did command was that all candidates for a degree had to write an additional scientific paper, a copy of which had be sent to the Ministry of Education where each could be read carefully. The idea behind this measure was to check the degree of loyalty of the future graduates. Certainly in the papers on legal matters, a lot of critical comments and remarks were made,

judgements, instead of giving them a one-sided, doctrinal education. (Engelhardt, Die deutsche Universität Dorpat in ihrer geistesgeschichtlichen Bedeutung (1933): 175.) 26 Reinhard Wittram, “Die Universität Dorpat im 19. Jahrhundert”, Zeitschrift für Ostforschung 1 (1952): 195-219. 27 Whittaker, The origins of modern Russian education (1984): 199. 28 Only a couple of years before, in 1828, an Institute of Professors was opened precisely in Dorpat to meet the lack of professors throughout Russia by offering a thorough specialised training. Cf. Villu Tamul, “Das Professoreninstitut und der Anteil der Universität Dorpat/Tartu an den russisch-deutschen Wissenschaftskontakten im ersten Drittel des 19. Jahrhunderts”, Zeitschrift für Ostforschung. Länder und Völker im östlichen Mitteleuropa 41 (1992), no. 4: 525-542.

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probably because the ministry’s correctors had Russian law in mind, instead of Baltic law, which the students took as their starting point. Some of Uvarov’s colleagues wanted to impose knowledge of Russian as an additional requirement for all graduates of the university. This would have broadened their career chances and accorded well with the idea of Dorpat as a truly national institution. Indeed, a number of graduates were said to have been declined posts due to their lack of Russian. Uvarov therefore demanded that the Ministry of Education was given the right to appoint Russian-speaking professors to vacant posts in Dorpat, irrespectively of the election results in the university council. Yet realising such a policy appeared impossible with the lack of appropriate Russian scientists to fill chairs at the German speaking University of Dorpat.29 Moreover, the teaching staff of the university were relatively stable throughout this period. By the middle of the nineteenth century the number of Russian professors in Dorpat was still fairly small. The implementation of these Russification measures rested on the competence of the curator of the educational district, General Gustaf Craffström (from 1836 to 1854). Together with the censor of the district, he played a significant role in the everyday life of the university. A valorous military man, Craffström was an unconditional admirer of the Tsar. He was also pedantic and parsimonious, both with his own money and with that of the state. The German language skills of this curator of Swedish-Estonian origin were said to have been “magnificent”—indeed with only a slight Russian or Estonian accent. His written language might have been satisfactory only in Russian. Craffström was the first curator who spent nearly his entire term of office in Dorpat.30 Among the students Craffström became particularly known because of his attitude towards the student associations. The existence of legal 29 Jansen, Eestlane muutuvas ajas (2007): 107, 110; Gotthilf Hillner, Bischof Carl Christian Ulmann. Ein Gedenkblatt zur fünfzigjahrigen Jubelfeier der Unterstützungskasse für evangelisch-luterische gemeinden in Rußland (Riga: Verlag von Jonck und Poliewsky 1909): 4-11. 30 The centre of the educational district was located in Dorpat from 1836 to 1870 and from 1876 to 1893 (from 1870 to 1876 and from 1893 to 1918 it was set in Riga). The former curator, Duke Karl von Lieven (term of office 1817–1835), resided both in Riga and St Petersburg, his predecessor, Friedrich Maximilian von Klinger (term of office 1803–1817), mainly in St Petersburg. Once a year they visited the university, usually at the anniversary in December, which contributed to the festive character of the day.

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(non-political) student organisations, inherited from Germany, was one of the major peculiarities of Dorpat University in comparison to other universities in the empire.31 In 1834, however, when the new student regulations came into force, all the students were gathered in the university hall where they had to sign a declaration stating that they no longer belonged to any secret society.32 A few years later these associations were half-legally re-established, disguised under names that indicated various special aims and interests, but Craffström refused to acknowledge them. In 1837, in order to avoid excesses connected with unbridled drinking bouts, Craffström banned the students’ traditional 21 April procession through the town.33 Dorpat was also characterised by an extremely large proportion of students (of the university and of other institutions of higher education) in relation to the population. By the end of the 1840s, the total number of studying youth in Dorpat was approximately 1,100 to 1,200 (including some 600 university students), compared to 12,400 town inhabitants.34 Craffström feared that, if the students were allowed to organise themselves in associations, their numerical power might have political implications. Therefore, according to the “Craffström’s principle”, members of student organisations faced the threat of being sent to Siberia. General Craffström, a pedant who required books in the university library to be sorted by size, considered students equivalent to soldiers, whose uniform35 had to be impeccable with all buttons on their place. The fraternities were legalised again in 1855, a year after Craffström’s death, and from 1862 they were allowed to wear their colours in public.

31 Toomas Hiio and Lauri Lindström (eds.), Gedenktag deutschbaltischer Korporationen in Tartu 2. Oktober 1992 (Tartu: University Press 1992): 5-7. In the years after the reopening of the University of Dorpat, the following fraternities were founded: Landsmannschafts Curonia, Estonia, Livonia and Fraternitas Rigensis. The corporation of Polish students Polonia was founded in 1828, and the Russian students’ corporation Ruthenia followed a year later. 32 Eduard Fehre, Geschichte der Fraternitas Rigensis (S.l. 1898): 52. 33 In 1855, 21 April was again proclaimed an official student holiday. 34 Heivi Pullerits (ed.), Tartu: ajalugu ja kultuurilugu [Tartu: history and culture] (Tartu: Linnamuuseum 2004): 119. 35 From 1831, the uniform greatcoat had to be green, with a blue collar and a double row of gilt buttons. The trousers were dark, the cap had a blue band and a big peak. A sword was worn as part of the uniform.

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300 250 200 150

266

100 50

98

112

Theology

Law

96

94

0 Medicine

History and Physics and philology mathematics

Graph 1. The number of students (attending the University of Dorpat, per discipline) in 1850–1852. Most of them, 72%, came from the Baltic provinces. The remaining 28% came from other regions of the Russian Empire and from abroad. Most of them were German, who were scattered all over Russia. The closing down of the universities of Vilnius and Warsaw also contributed to the increase in the number of students coming to Dorpat. Graph provided with kind permission of the authors.

After the death of curator Craffström in 1854, an unknown author wrote the following maxim on the supporting beam of Morgenstern Hall in the university library: “Es ist gestorben kurradi Craffström”— in the given context the word kurradi could be interpreted as the symbiosis of the words kurat (“devil”) and kuraator (“curator”). In unmistakable terms, this reflected the attitude of the majority of the students and also of a large part of the professors, as we shall see.36 Two years before his death, Craffström acted as the patron of the 50th anniversary of the University of Dorpat. In all official sources, he is presented as the central figure in the celebration. Without denying his crucial position at the university, his prominence can also be explained in part by the strict censorship on all the published sources. The printed report of the 1852 jubilee provides little more than a list of the events and of the honorary guests.37 Unfortunately, source materials

36 One of the authors of this article, Sirje Tamul, found this striking sentence, “painted” with black colour, during the restoration of the university museum building in 1985. At present, the sentence is not visible, being covered with an exposition display from floor to ceiling. 37 Theodor Beise (ed.), Die Kaiserliche Universität Dorpat während der ersten fünfzig Jahre ihres Bestehens und Wirkens (Dorpat: Universität Dorpat 1853); “Beschreibung der Festlichkeiten bei der Jubelfeier der Kaiserlichen Universität Dorpat am 12. und 13. December 1852”, Dörptschen Zeitung (1852), no. 198, 199 and 200.

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that could give any ideas about the preparation of the jubilee, and relationships with St Petersburg in this regard, are very scarce. The Russian government enacted the general censorship law in the Baltic provinces in 1850.38 In addition to censors operating in Riga, an additional censor was instituted in Dorpat. This last position was offered to the Baltic German translator of Belgian origin, court advisor J. A. de la Croiŗ (1781–1852). According to Eduard Osenbrüggen, professor of law in Dorpat, De la Croiŗ was known primarily as the most disastrous versifier of the Baltic region. Contemporaries referred to this strict period of censorship as the “era of censorship terror”. For instance, the gendarmes attacked bookshops in Riga and Dorpat, where they confiscated 1150 copies of forbidden books. The censorship code even deprived people of the will to write books. Access to foreign literature was minimal at best. The few books that were imported, including non-political scientific literature were sent to the university, stalled in St Petersburg and Riga for more than half a year, until the overloaded censors managed to review them all.39 As a consequence of the reactionary policy of Russification which followed the revolutions of 1848, the University of Dorpat went on the defensive and tried to emphasise its role as a university in the service of their own Baltic German nation. The university, for instance, appointed a number of new Baltic German professors.40 A similar development can be seen among students. As the leading role of the Baltic German nobility was challenged from the middle of the nineteenth century, students increasingly decided to remain in their home region after their education. Indeed, during these years large protests by professors could still prevent the implementation of several reforms proposed by the Russian government, but the gradual change in atmosphere at the university could not be stopped. The progressive, primarily scholarly oriented German professors were increasingly replaced by conservative, Baltic German colleagues who wanted to pay more

38 Malle Salupere, “F. G. von Bunge ja Tartu kultuuriajakirjad [F. G. von Bunge and a review of culture related magazines of Tartu]”, Commentationes Litterarum Societatis Esthonicae 35 (2006): 89. 39 Eduard Osenbrüggen, “Tartu Ülikool [University of Tartu]”, in: Sergei Issakov (ed.), Mälestusi Tartu ülikoolist 17.-19. sajand [Memoirs of the University of Tartu in the 17th-19th centuries] (Tallinn: Eesti Raamat 1986): 172-180. 40 Trude Maurer, Hochschullehrer im Zarenreich. Ein Beitrag zur russischen Sozial- und Bildungsgeschichte (Beiträge zur Geschichte Osteuropas 27) (Köln: Böhlau 1998).

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attention again to teach university courses that dealt with local interests and considered the university responsible first and foremost for the vocational training of the future Baltic German regional elite.41 Craffström’s Discordant Relations with Teaching Staff In fact, this reflex to appeal to professors from within the Baltic German region was reinforced by the policy of the central authorities in St Petersburg. Not only foreign scientific publications, but foreign scientists themselves experienced difficulties, even from the 1820s, entering the country. At the same time, Russian scientists were restricted from leaving the country. Frightened by Europe’s revolutions, authorities gradually forbid Russians to travel abroad, an order that hit teachers and students especially hard.42 Firstly, Alexander I prohibited studies at specific universities (Heidelberg, Jena, Giessen, Würzburg). From 1822, universities could no longer matriculate students who had been studying abroad.43 His successor, Nicholas I, continued this policy and published a ukase in 1831 which restricted the distribution of passports in order to travel abroad to Russian subjects. Home tutors and university professors were allowed to be recruited from abroad only through an official invitation, after special permission was obtained from the foreign affairs department of the State Council of Russia.44 From 1835, the government tried, through several regulations, to constrain the election of non-Russian subjects (in casu Germans) as professors at Dorpat University, giving preference to Russians or at least to persons who had obtained their degree at a Russian institution. By interfering in appointments, Uvarov aimed to extend his control over most of the university’s faculties. Most radically, he intended to close down the theology faculty and replace it with a state seminary for the training of priests.45 However, since the Dorpat faculty of theology

41

Dhondt, “Ambiguous Loyalty to the Russian Tsar” (2008): 116-118. Riasanovsky, Russian identities (2005): 148. 43 Toomas Hiio, “Student Life in Tartu in 1827, through the eyes of a bystander”, Acta Publica Universitatis Tartuensis 4 (1992), no. 3-4: 80-81. 44 Tartu, Estonian Historical Archives (EAA). 384-1-868: Zirkular und geheimer Briefwechsel mit dem Ministerium der Volksaufklärung über Einstellung der Stellenzeugnisse durch ausländische Gesandschaften (1848-1858): 1-2. 45 The seminar operated as an assisting educational institution during 1821–1893. 42

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was the only faculty within Orthodox Russia that offered training for clergymen and consistory clerks for the Lutheran and other reformed churches of the tsarist state, Uvarov was unable to realise his scheme. Nonetheless, in 1847 when Theodosius Harnack, professor of practical and systematic theology, was ordained as the academic preacher of the university congregation, Uvarov used his authority to ban the establishment of an Evangelic University Church. The most famous of Uvarov’s reforms at Dorpat University was the 1842 “Ulmann affair”. On 16 November 1842, students organised a farewell vivat-chanting event for Carl Christian Ulmann,46 professor of practical theology and former rector, and offered him a silver cup as a token on his leaving. In his communication to the curator, Vicecurator Colonel Nikolai Schönig, who had been watching the gathering of students, inflated his account into menacing story and forwarded a similar report to the central authorities. In St Petersburg, rumours quickly spread that 2,000 (instead of 200) students had been honouring Ulmann in Dorpat, and that they had all sang the revolutionary song La Marseillaise. The professors who joined the students were said to have made stirring speeches about liberty.47 The government’s reaction was quick and severe. Ulmann was deprived of his professorship and forbidden to work in a Russian university in the future. His superior, rector Alfred Volkmann, was forced to resign and was recommended to leave the Russian empire immediately. Friederich von Bunge was forced to leave the university because he had advised the rector about the 1842 legislative ban on presents for officials. Finally, Carl Otto von Madai, professor of criminal law, and Ludwig Preller, professor of classical philology,48 were dismissed because of their involvement in the events. Curator Craffström managed to save the students from major punishment, but he was severely reprimanded himself, despite being clearly in favour of Russification.

46 Ulmann, ordinary professor of practical religion, was elected three times as rector of the university, from 1839 to 1841. After his discharge, he was active as school adviser of the Livonian nobility, from 1844 to 1856, and as (the best-known nineteenth-century) bishop of the consistory of the Evangelic Lutheran Church in Russia, from 1858 to 1868. Cf. Jakob Gottfried Frobeen, “Ulmann, Carl Christian”, in: Rigasche Biographien, (Riga: Schnakenburgs litho- und typograph 1884), vol. 3: 111-115; Sirje Tamul and Toomas Hiio (eds.), Album rectorum Universitatis Tartuensis 1632–1997 (Tartu: University Press 1997): 75. 47 Hillner, Bischof Carl Christian Ulmann (1909): 10-11. 48 Die Kaiserliche Universität Dorpat während der ersten fünfzig Jahre (1853): 129.

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By impeaching Ulmann, minister Uvarov put into practice a policy that had helped him to his ministerial chair in 1833. For the western provinces of Russia, the Ulmann affair constituted an important step towards increased state supervision. But it created a martyr out of Ulmann, particularly among students. According to contemporaries, a portrait of Professor Ulmann could be found in every student’s flat. Students involved claimed that the trinitas of the Dorpat student community—the Emperor, the Lord and the Dorpat student—was replaced by a new idol, Rector-Professor Ulmann. With regard to the law faculty, Uvarov was especially concerned about the research and teaching of Russian law, which were not flourishing, to say the least. The professor of Russian law was, pursuant to the order of the minister, appointed extraordinarily in this position in 1839. Like most law graduates, Ewald Sigismund Tobien (1811–1860) had defended his doctoral dissertation in Germany, in his case at the University of Halle. Since the law of 1838 stipulated that theses had to be defended in Russia, Tobien’s appointment was against the existing election rules at the university.49 Only after Tobien redefended his dissertation in St Petersburg in 1840 was he approved as extraordinary professor. In 1845 he was promoted to ordinary professor. His task consisted of introducing students to Russian law. Teaching was generally conducted with the help of German-language instruction, but because few were interested in studying Russian law sources in German, Tobien failed to attract many students.50 Another source of anxiety was the non-conformist attitude of Osenbrüggen (1809–1879), professor in criminal law from 1843. Osenbrüggen had studied philology, Roman history and Roman law at the universities of Leipzig and Kiel, where he had obtained his doctoral degree in 1835. When invited to Dorpat, his explicit aim was to study and teach only for the benefit of German science, which from the start brought him into conflict with some of the German professors who were faithfully serving the Russian state and government as the remunerators paying for their work. Osenbrüggen tried to maintain

49

Lea Leppik, “Ewald Tobien—Vene Õiguse kaudu eestlaste ajaloo juurde [Via Russian Law to the History of Estonians]”, Ajalooline Ajakiri 105 (1999), no. 2: 50. 50 Leppik, “Ewald Tobien” (1999): 53.

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Figure 1. Carl Christian Ulmann, 1837. Reproduced with kind permission of Tartu, University library, Sammlung von Portraits der Profesoren an der Kaiserlichen Universität zu Dorpat seit dem Jahre 1837 nach dem leben und auf Stein gezeichnet von Eduard Hau (ÜR 832).

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his contacts with Germany as much as possible.51 And in his teaching, he acted against the spirit and concept of Russian higher education. Instead of focusing on Russian law, he gave lectures in various special fields of law, including European international law.52 In the spring of 1848, Osenbrüggen came to the attention of the authorities when he lectured on Baltic provincial law and criticised the rooted privileges of the Baltic nobility. The vigilant Craffström sent a secret circular to the rector in which he charged the professor for allowing students to comment upon provincial law.53 Osenbrüggen’s book on his personal impressions of the region, under the initial title Liivimaa skitsid (Sketches of Livonia), caused notable trouble because of its critical attitude towards Russification, not least as it was intended for a larger public. The manuscript was confiscated in Dorpat in the summer of 1851, when Osenbrüggen was on holiday in Finland. The police suspected him of contact with revolutionary movements in Western Europe through correspondence with, among others, Méry von Bruiningk.54 The authorities saw no other option but to dismiss Osenbrüggen, which happened in the summer of 1851.55 The following autumn he 51 Heinrichs Strods, “Professor Eduard Osenbrüggen ja tema Liivimaa skitsid [Professor Eduard Osenbrüggen and his Livonian Sketches]”, Ajalooline Ajakiri 105 (1999), no. 2: 23-27; Schiemann, Kaiser Nikolaus (1919): 331-332. 52 Marju Luts, “Die juristische Zeitschriften der baltischen Ostseeprovinzen Russlands im 19. Jahrhunderts: Medien der Verwissenschaftlichung der Lokalen deutschen Partikularrechte”, in: Michael Stolleis and Thomas Simon (eds.) Juristische Zeitschriften in Europa (Frankfurt am Main: Vittorio Klostermann 2006): 114. 53 Strods, “Professor Eduard Osenbrüggen” (1999): 24. 54 Around 1848, in addition to Osenbrüggen and his wife Therese von Samson (Osenbrüggen), the circle of friends of Méry von Bruiningk (1818–1853) comprised Victor Amadeus Hehn, Karl Ludvig Blum, Johann Erdmann, Bogislaus Reichert, all professors in Dorpat; Amadeo Buraschi (lecturer in Italian), Charles Pezet de Corval (lecturer in French); the physician of the family, Friedrich Robert Faehlmann; the teacher of drawing, August Hagen; the Baltic German literati J. Witte, Carl Hehn, Edward de la Trobe, Paul Hahn, Wilhelm Von der Recke, and A. von Rennenkampf; Baron Otto Brunnow and Baron von Grotthuss, as members of the nobility. This group of literati, nobility and academics can be seen as a coterie with common interests, with the aim to exchange information, to communicate, but not necessarily to deal with the idea of a coup d’état. In 1850, Von Bruiningk left for Germany, together with her husband. During two years she hosted a Salon in St John’s Wood, London for refugees of the revolutions of 1848, mostly German. Cf. Hermann von Bruiningk, Das Geschlecht von Bruiningk in Livland: familiengeschichtliche Nachrichten (Riga: Kymmel 1913): 255-258 and Erich Donnert, Die Universität Dorpat-Juŕev 1802–1918. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des Hochschulwesens in den Ostseeprovinzen des Russischen Reiches (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang 2007): 43-46. 55 Luts, “Die juristische Zeitschriften der baltischen Ostseeprovinzen Russlands” (2006): 114.

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became professor at the University of Zürich.56 Osenbrüggen remained bitter about the affair for years and depicted Craffström as a formidable satrap. He intentionally wrote nettled lines to former colleagues in communication with the curator in the hope that his opinion would be mediated to his enemy.57 In Dorpat, he was replaced by Franz Victor Ziegler, previously Privatdozent at the universities of Tübingen and Marburg. Ziegler had already moved to Dorpat in 1843, together with Osenbrüggen. According to current data, he was the first foreign professor in Dorpat who took Russian citizenship. The only native Russian who worked at the law faculty was Alexander Shiryaev, a former professor at the St Petersburg Pedagogical Institute. Others also came into conflict with the authorities. Visiting the salon of the Livonian noble society hostess Von Bruiningk proved fatal for Victor Amadeus Hehn, lecturer in German who had studied Hegel’s philosophy at the University of Berlin.58 In his correspondence with Von Bruiningk, he did not hide his fascination for the 1848 revolution, and that he considered France the homeland of liberty. He characterised “Lady Méry von Bruiningk” herself as the missionary of liberty. Hehn was arrested in August 1851, shortly after the Prussian police forwarded his correspondence with Von Bruiningk to the gendarmerie of Russia. Following a three-month imprisonment in the Peter and Paul Fortress, he was sent into exile in Tula, where he was released only after the death of Nicholas I. Although Nicholas I’s successor granted him permission to return to Dorpat, he went to St Petersburg instead, where he worked in the public library.59 As a dissident he had no reason to keep his mouth shut in that period.60

56 Ernst Gagliardi, “Die Universität Zürich 1833–1933”, in: Ernst Gagliardi, Hans Nabholz and Jean Stohl, Die Universität Zürich 1833–1933 und ihre Vorläufer. Festschrift zur Jahrhundertfeier (Zürich: Erziehungsrat des Kantons Zürich 1938): 519521. 57 Otto Liiv, “Tartu Ülikooli kuraatori, kindral Gustav von Craffströmi päritolu ja tegevus (1784–1854) [The origin and activities of General Gustav von Craffström, the curator of the University of Tartu (1784–1854)]”, Eesti Kirjandus 5 (1936), http:// www.kirjandusarhiiv.net/?p=249. 58 Christiph Köning, Birgit Wägenbaur and Andria Frindt (eds.), Internationales Germanistiklexikon 1800–1950 (Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter 2003), vol. 1: 693-694. 59 Jaan Undusk, “Peamiselt Victor Hehnist, aga veidi ka Faehlmannist [Mainly about Victor Hehn, but somewhat about Faehlmann too]”, Keel ja Kirjandus (2006), no. 7: 475-476. 60 Ada Ambus, “Middendorffi õhtud. Peterburi haritlaskonna seltskonnaelust XIX sajandi teisel poolel [Meetings at Middendorff ’s. On the Social Life of the Literati of St Petersburg in the late 19th century]”, Keel ja Kirjandus (2005), no. 3: 171-181.

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The conflict between the Ministry of Education and the faculty of arts also had to do with the existence of the faculty itself. Bearing in mind the harmonisation of universities in Russia, it was necessary to amend paragraph 69 of the statutes of the University of Dorpat from 1820, i.e. to dissolve the arts faculty and to replace it by a faculty of history and linguistics with 7 chairs and a faculty of physics and mathematics with 9 chairs. However, Uvarov’s proposal met with protest. With some success, opponents of the proposal referred to the act of establishment of the university signed by Alexander I on 12 December 1802 which stipulated that the university was established on the basis of the German university model with four faculties. Uvarov also backed down in other attempts to bring the Dorpat arts faculty in line with other Russian universities. At the beginning of the 1850s, when the teaching of philosophy was forbidden throughout Russian universities, philosophy at Dorpat was saved by the curator himself, who appointed his favourite, Ludwig Strümpell, to continue to teach at least some courses in philosophy. In 1850, Strümpell even received a colleague by the appointment of Pjotr Alexeev as professor of theology, logic and psychology of Orthodox students. Previously, Alexeev had worked as protopriest of the Dorpat Uspenski Church. The Exceptional Position of Dorpat as an International University within The Russian Empire The retention of philosophy courses and the organisational structure of the arts faculty were just two examples that prove that the University of Dorpat in this period did not (yet) have the same statutes as other Russian universities, despite the attempts at Russification. A number of scientific fields were introduced and/or developed further in Dorpat. The faculty of medicine was remarkable in opening veterinary and pharmacy institutes, in 1848 and 1843 respectively, immediately after the Ulmann affair. That the Russification measures did not lead to less activity and enthusiasm within the scientific community was shown by the organisation of a considerable number of public lectures and the establishment of two learned societies, the Learned Estonian Society (1838) and the Dorpat/Tartu Naturalists’ Society (1853). Crucial in this regard was the large budget available for the university. In the 1840s the budget of Dorpat considerably exceeded those of other universities in Russia, its only rival in this respect being Moscow

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University (after the staff of the latter had been enlarged in 1845). Uvarov showed his appreciation for the university as a whole by providing an unusually high budgetary allocation and an increase of 50% in library holdings in a few years time. In 1852, the annual budgetary funds allocated to Dorpat by the state amounted to 126,539 silver roubles, which amounts to more than 300 roubles per student.61 In 1848, when Uvarov visited the educational district of the Baltic provinces for an inspection, he explicitly expressed his satisfaction about the University of Dorpat. Although he regretted that in general the knowledge of Russian remained deplorable, he declared: “I am the greatest friend of the Germans and the only support of Dorpat University.”62 Was it a change of heart? Perhaps not. Uvarov patronised nationalistic (i.e. Russian) professors and dabbled in the quasi-Romantic ideology of the famious triade, but at the same time he wanted to play the role of a forward-thinking intellectual. Moreover, the revolution of 1848 made him recoil from nationalism and toe the line of extreme Russian reaction. A quantitative analysis of the national origin of the professors at the University of Dorpat shows, however, that Uvarov’s policy was not as radical as he might have desired. Indeed, in principle he preferred to attract Russian professors, but since the university was still Germanspeaking, quite a lot of exemptions had to be granted for Russian appointments. As a result, from 1826 to 1850 the share of Germans among the teaching staff reached 80%, with nearly 52% of them being state Germans.63 The election of Russian scientists as professors was, at the time, still the exception. Only three Russians bore the selection procedure: Nikolai Pirogov, graduate from the Institute of Professors in Dorpat, and Yossif Varvinski were appointed at the faculty of medicine (in 1836 and 1844 respectively); and at the threshold of the 50th jubilee, Shiryaev in 1852 was appointed as professor of Russian law. In 1848, the custom of inviting new professors from abroad came to 61 Sirje Tamul, Tartu ülikooli riigieelarveline rahastamine, ajalooline ülevaade 1632–2002 [A historical overwiev (based on archival sources) of the Sate budget financing of the Tartu University 1632–2002] (Tartu: Unpublished manuscript 2002). The manuscript is available from the author and in the rector’s office. The largest part of the budget of the ministry of education was spent on military academies, viz. some 2,500 to 2,800 roubles per cadet. 62 Whittaker, The origins of modern Russian education (1984): 201. 63 Karl Siilivask (ed.), History of Tartu University 1632–1982 (Tallinn: Perioodika 1985): 88.

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an end. If there would be no appropriate Russian candidate with the necessary qualifications, the vacancy would not be filled. As a consequence of this lack of Russian-speaking professors, Uvarov’s precept of 1845, stipulating that each faculty had to teach at least one course in Russian, was not always followed. The history of Russia and Russian law, for instance, remained taught in German.64 And the chair of Russian language and literature was left vacant for six years as the university struggled to find a Russian language teacher with the required qualifications. Despite these difficulties, Uvarov declared that the University of Dorpat was still the best university in the world, “as it united German science and Russian order”.65 In addition to these practical challenges to the implementation of Russification, his ideas also met strong opposition from the Baltic German nobility and from some professors. The former rector, Parrot, was one of the latter group who was extremely disappointed about the change of policy following the death of Alexander I. In 1839, he wrote a stinging letter to Tsar Nicholas I. Parrot asserted that as much attention as possible was given to teaching Russian. The Baltic Germans were learning Russian as fast as the Russians were learning “science”. Parrot commented that the Balts had absolutely no desire to become “closer in character and customs to native Russians”—a direct quote from Uvarov’s “secret” plan—because it would mean a step down for them. “The level of development of the Baltic provinces is higher than that of the rest of Russia,” Parrot claimed. He avowed that all educated Russians realised this, and that it would be “false patriotism” to contradict such a self-evident truth.66 Although the establishment of the University of Dorpat as an international and scientifically leading institution can be situated in the 1820s, the policies of Uvarov and Craffström did not immediately bring this flourishing period to a close. A number of new scientific disciplines, such as physiological chemistry and agricultural engineering, were introduced at the university during the 1830s and 1840s. The high level of teaching and research in, for instance, pharmacy became internationally known and attracted many foreign students, among

64

Whittaker, The origins of modern Russian education (1984): 200. Eduard Osenbrüggen, Nordische Bilder. Neue Ausgang (Leipzig: Hinrichsche Buchhandlung 1864): 180. 66 Whittaker, The origins of modern Russian education (1984): 201-202. 65

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whom were a considerable number of Finns. Professors of the University of Dorpat were exceptionally well-represented in the Academy of St Petersburg, and took the lead in many expeditions on behalf of Russia, e.g. the first climbing of the Mount Ararat in 1829 and the exploration of the Siberian subarctic in the 1830s.67 During Craffström’s term of office, a number of outstanding scientists from Germany were attracted to reinforce the teaching staff in Dorpat.68 Searching for a Balance in the Celebration of the 50th Anniversary In organising the 50th anniversary jubilee, the university strove to balance the interventions and directions of central authorities and the university’s own aim to preserve and emphasise its autonomy and exception position within Russian academia. At the eve of its 50th anniversary, the university wanted to make clear that it had survived the arrests and dismissals of teaching staff, and that it had resisted the attacks of the Russian bureaucracy during the previous decade. However, Uvarov’s successor at the Ministry of Education did not make the university’s efforts easier. Duke Platon ShirinskiiShikhmatov69 aimed to continue the policy of his predecessor towards Dorpat. Even before the minister vouchsafed to grant a permission to celebrate the anniversary, he sent a secret instruction to the university authorities in April 1851, “on the situation in the Imperial University in connection with the events in Europe and for the protection of the statehood of Russia”.70 The main instruction developed by ShirinskiiShikhmatov consisted of a call upon the rector to increase his supervision over teaching at the university, especially with regard to courses in philosophy, international law, economics and history. ShirinskiiShikhmatov explicitly set his face against what he considered the false ideas and doctrines of St Simon, Fourier, and other socialist, anarchist

67

Wittram, “Die Universität Dorpat im 19. Jarhundert” (1952): 203. Liiv, “Tartu Ülikooli kuraatori” (1936). 69 Shirinskii-Shikhmatov, Minister of Education from 1850 to 1853, was known as clerical poet and historian. His most radical decision was to abolish all philosophical courses and to entrust the teaching of logic to professors of Orthodox theology. His idea, that theology forms the basis of all useful education, was not followed by his successor, but was indeed taken up again in the 1880s. 70 EAA, 402-4-743: Instruktion für den Rektor der Kaiserlichen Universität Dorpat, der Allerhöhsten Willigung zuwürdigt in St. Petersburg (19-04-1851). 68

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or communist leaders in Western Europe, ideas he absolutely wanted to prevent from spreading into other Russian universities. Instead, the students were to be made aware of the importance of “Orthodoxy, autocracy and nationality”. According to the new Minister of Education, such an approach was all the more critical within evangelical-Lutheran communities—and thus at the University of Dorpat—because they did not always accept the principles of monarchic governance.71 Moreover, according to Shirinskii-Shikhmatov, higher education played an irreplaceable role in the unification of the country. He was keenly aware of the heterogeneous composition of Russia and believed that its various different population groups needed to be united through a common Russian language and through common ideals, e.g. through education. In this regard the Baltic provinces could function as an example for other parts of Russia. As a reward for Baltic Germans being allowed to obtain their own education, it was expedient that they learn the Russian language and literature, Russian history and Russian legislation.72 In addition, the statutes of Dorpat University should be brought in compliance with the statutes of other Russian universities.73 The secret instruction of the minister was not lengthily discussed in the council of the university; it was simply taken as information—the front page of the instruction bears the note: “entered in the minutes of the Council No. 83b”.74 This attitude shows clearly the general course of the university in this period: not to offend the central authorities in St Petersburg, but still to continue its own, autonomous policy as much as possible. Instead of debating the special missive of the minister, in the spring of 1851 the council meetings focused on the programme of the anniversary festivities due to take place the following year. The final proposal was largely a copy of the programme of the

71

EAA, 402-4-743-3-5. EAA, 402-4-743-3-5. 73 EAA, 384-1-227: Briefwechsel mit dem Rektor der Dorpater Universität der Dorpater Polizeiverwaltung und anderen über Aufsicht der Studenten (1837–1848): 20. 74 EAA, 402-4-743-1, 17. 72

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25th anniversary of 182775 and was approved as such by the Ministry of Education and by the chancellery of the Tsar.76 The actual preparations of the festivities passed off smoothly, but in the autumn of 1852 the anniversary committee faced an unexpected problem. In the assembly hall of the university above the rostrum, there was a portrait of Alexander I, as the founder of the university, but no portrait of Nicholas I. With the approval of the Ministry of Education, a portrait of the governing Tsar was urgently commissioned from Woldemar Friedrich Krüger77 in Berlin. The painting was completed in due course, yet the curator’s order stipulated that the canvas first had to be sent to the Art Chamber in St Petersburg for approval.78 The portrait arrived in Dorpat only at the very last minute, where it was exhibited opposite the large rostrum in the assembly hall, surrounded by laurel wreaths though in a more plain frame than the portrait of Alexander I. The students of the Kaiserliche Universität zu Dorpat raised money for a more luxurious frame on their own initiative. In his letter to the Minister of Education, curator Craffström announced sardonically that he had not come across such cordiality shown by the students of Dorpat before.79 Collecting money for the Tsar’s painting can be understood in several ways. It was definitely not exclusively an expression of loyalty towards Nicholas I. Yet it was seen as another opportunity for the students to prove their importance and power after the dissolution of the student associations. The students succeeded in claiming a specific role for themselves within the jubilee celebrations. They certainly came to the fore a few 75 Cf. also Lea Leppik, Tartu Ülikooli esimene juubelipidu 1827. aastal [University Anniversary Celebration in 1827] (Tartu: Tartu Ülikool 2007), http://www.ut.ee/ ut375/218593. 76 EAA, 384-1-895-59-60, 82, 88. The University of Dorpat merely received a notice from the Minister of Education, confirming the approval of the anniversary programme. 77 Krüger, a Germanised artist of Estonian origin, was connected to the St Petersburg Academy of Arts. From 1856, he taught at the drawing school of Dorpat University, in which capacity he painted portraits of a number of university professors. 78 EAA, 384-1-911-1, 2, 6, 7, 9: Briefwechsel mit dem Ministerium der Volksaufklärung und dem Konseil der Dorpater Universität über den Aufkauf eines Zarenporträts für den Saal der Universität (1852). 79 EAA, 384-1-895-183: Berichte, Vorschriften und Briefwechsel mit dem Ministerium der Volksaufklärung und dem Konseil der Dorpater Universität über die 50.jährige Jubiläumsfeier der Universität (1852).

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times during the first day of the celebrations. At the official ceremony in the afternoon, the winners of the students’ scientific competition were announced. But more remarkably, in the evening the university authorities implicitly recognised the existence of the students organisations by inviting representatives from each organisation to a celebratory dinner held in a restaurant at the river Emajõgi, among some 200 other guests. Just before, the students had shown their presence with a torchlight procession, accompanied with traditional Vivat Academia cheering. The lanterns lit up the whole area around the town hall and the stone bridge and obviously contributed to the festive atmosphere of the evening.80 The day (and thus the celebration as a whole) had started early in the morning with a divine service in St John’s Church. The doxology sermon was conducted by Professor Theodor Harnack, high pastor of St John’s; Friedrich Gustav Bienemann, provost; and Arnold Friedrich Christiani, professor at the faculty of theology.81 The actual anniversary ceremony commenced at half past eleven, when the hosts and their guests entered the university assembly hall, with musical accompaniment. Syndic Theodor Beise led the procession and carried the act of establishment for the university, approved by Alexander I on 12 December 1802. In his opening speech, rector Johann Haffner expressed his gratitude towards His Imperial Majesty and the Minister of Education for their care for and support of the university.82 Just like all the other addresses, scientific reports and eulogies to be delivered or published on the occasion of the jubilee, Haffner’s opening speech had to pass through the hands of the censor. All the texts connected to the anniversary celebration had to be submitted to the curator at the latest two weeks in advance, with a summary in Russian attached. A separate permit had to be obtained for printing the Album Academicum, compiled for the anniversary. Moreover, the curator

80 “Beschreibung der Festlichkeiten bei der Jubelfeier der Kaiserlichen Universität Dorpat” (1852): 6-7. Cf. also Lea Leppik, Keiserliku Tartu Ülikooli 50 aasta juubel 1852. aastal [University Anniversary Celebration in 1852] (Tartu: Tartu Ülikool 2007), http://www.ut.ee/ut375/218595. 81 Theodor Harnack, Predigt zum fünfzigjährigen Jubiläum der Kaiserlichen Universität Dorpat am 12. December 1852 (Dorpat: E. J. Karow 1853): 1-15. 82 Die Kaiserliche Universität Dorpat während der ersten fünfzig Jahre (1853): 97-115.

Figure 2. The main building of the University of Dorpat on 13 December 1852. (Leipziger) Illustrirte Zeitung (26-02-1853), no. 504.

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wanted to see the list of invitees in advance and asked to be informed about their place of accommodation in town.83 The list of dignitaries who the university wanted to grant honorary membership had to be approved as well. The election of honorary members illustrates perfectly the middle course that the university wanted to follow at its jubilee. On the one hand the Minister of Education announced that the university could no longer award honorary doctorates, and that instead only honorary members could be appointed, according to the Universities Act of 1835 and the procedure at other universities in the empire.84 On the other hand the list of honorary members itself proves clearly the autonomous course that the university still aimed for. There were some obligatory names, such as the successor to the throne, Grand Duke Alexander Nikolaievitch, the former and the sitting ministers of education, the vice-ministers, and the curators of the educational district of Dorpat, Count Peter von der Pahlen and his predecessor Craffström. But otherwise, the majority of military, political, scientific and religious dignitaries honoured at the jubilee had a Baltic German or even a German origin. The most wellknown public figures among them were Georg Wilhelm von Struve, Karl Ernst von Baer, Johannes Müller and Justus von Liebig.85 The announcement of honorary members took place on the second and last day of the celebration. The honour of closing the anniversary events was given to Wilhelm Struve, the most senior academic in the assembly hall at that moment. Struve had started his studies at the University of Dorpat 44 years earlier. On behalf of all those present, he expressed his gratitude to the university for the celebration festivities. He assured that it had remained one of the highest study and research institutions (Bildungsanstalt) in the region. He also thanked all those who had trusted to send their sons to the university, as without students the institution would not even exist. According to Struve, the fact that the University of Dorpat was a reliable and excellent

83 Die Kaiserliche Universität Dorpat während der ersten fünfzig Jahre (1853): 26-34. 84 EAA, 384-1-895-26. 85 Toomas Hiio (ed.), Album doctorum honoris causa sociorumque honorariorum Universitatis Dorpatensis/Tartuensis (Tartu: University Press 1997): 87-99; “Beschreibung der Festlichkeiten bei der Jubelfeier der Kaiserlichen Universität Dorpat” (1852): 16-17.

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institution was evidenced by the fact that all three of his sons had studied there and became famous.86 On the occasion of its anniversary, the University of Dorpat received congratulations from an extremely diverse group of individuals and institutions: from provincial governments, the Learned Estonian Society,87 town magistrates, members of the nobility of Estonia and Livonia (among them the family Von Bruiningk), and former professors at the university. Ulmann, for instance, sent a Latvian translation of the Book of Moses as a present to the celebrating institution.88 The university received an enormous number of scientific and popular publications.89 The most sizeable gift was the bequest from the chief conservator of the St Petersburg Academy of Sciences. The imperial numismatist Friedrich Ludwig Schardius promised to leave his large collection of coins, autographs and archival documents to the university after his death.90

86 Friedrich Georg Wilhelm (von) Struve (1793–1864) had started to study philology in Dorpat in 1808, but soon turned his attention to astronomy. In 1813, he was appointed professor of astronomy and mathematics at the University of Dorpat and observer (and later director) at the observatory. He remained in Dorpat until 1839, when he was asked to superintend the construction of the new central observatory at Pulkowa near St Petersburg, afterwards becoming the director of that institute. In Pulkowa, he continued his observations and research of double stars until he was obliged to retire in 1861, due to failing health. His oldest son, Otto Wilhelm Struve, as well as one of his grandsons, Karl Hermann Struve, followed in his footsteps. The first succeeded him as director of the observatory in Pulkowa in 1862, the second was appointed in Pulkowa in 1890, on his father’s retirement. In 1895, Karl Hermann, moved to Königsberg where he became director of the observatory. One of Friedrich Georg Wilhem Struve’s other sons, Heinrich Wilhelm Struve, studied chemistry in Dorpat and was appointed as a chemical expert within the administration of the Caucasus. (Kalle Kroon, Tanel Rütman, Jaan Isotamm a.o., Album Doctorum Honoris Causa Sociorumque Honorariorum Universitatis Dorpatensis/Tartuensis (Tartu: University Press 1997): 95, 32.) 87 Friedrich Reinhold Kreutzwald, Tarto Alma Materile Wiekümne aasta lõppetuse rõemo-pühhal sel 12. Tetsembril 1852 [Gratulations-Gedicht zur funfzigjährigen Jubelfeier der Kaiserlichen Universität Dorpat am 12. December 1852] (Dorpat: Laakmann 1853). 88 Fifteen years later, in 1867, on the occasion of the 50th jubilee of the office of Bishop of the Russian Lutheran Church, Ulmann presented one of the largest private donations to the University of Dorpat in that period. He established a grant fund that paid (indeed relatively small) sums of allowance to a very large number of students at the faculty of theology, including Estonian students. 89 Louis Cambeq, “An der Redaktion”, Das Inland 8 (1853): 164-166. 90 Pärtel Piirimäe, “Hans Sloane, Johann Amman ja Peterburi Teaduste Akadeemia [Hans Sloane, Johann Amman and the St Petersburg Academy of Sciences]”, Akadeemia 241 (2009), no. 4: 772.

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A special kind of present was offered by alumni living in St Petersburg, Riga, Narva and Rakvere. As a token of tribute to their alma mater, they created scholarship foundations, just like they had done 25 years earlier, granting one-year scholarships to students from the faculties of theology and medicine.91 The same groups of graduates organised festive meetings in honour of the anniversary in Kiev, Jaroslavl, Tula, Pskov, Novgorod, Vilnius, Mogilyov, Saratov, in the German colony at the Volga River, in Kronstadt, and Sevastopol, and numerous other cities and towns where there was a large group of alumni from Dorpat University. The list of cities shows to what extent the university was integrated in the empire and could be considered a Russian institution. However, the university, the rector and the council also received anniversary congratulations from a large number of foreign institutions, among them eleven German universities, eleven German scientific institutions and societies, the universities of Helsinki, Copenhagen, Uppsala, Krakow and many others.92 These connections with its German counterparts were a perfect indication of the fact that the University of Dorpat still had a unique position within the Russian empire. Conclusion: An Increasingly Local and Regional Orientation of an International Institution This list of European institutions that felt connected to some degree to the University of Dorpat proves that Dorpat, even in 1852, was still considered an international university, despite government attempts at Russification. Abundant anniversary presents and greetings evidenced that more stringent political supervision of the autocracy could not substantially paralyse an intellectual free spirit, cultural mingling with Germany, and the spread of European ideas. Still, the reactionary policy of Tsar Nicholas I, his Minister of Education Uvarov and the

91 Sirje Tamul, “Studienstiftungen an der Kaiserlichen Universität Dorpat (1802– 1918)”, in: Peter Wörster and Dorothee M. Goeze (eds.), Universitäten im östlichen Mitteleuropa: Zwischen Kirche, Staat und Nation—Sozialgeschichtliche und politische Entwicklungen (Völker, Staaten und Kulturen in Ostmitteleuropa 3) (München: Oldenburg 2008): 49-74. 92 Among other foreign newspapers, the Berlin Illustrierte Zeitung (26/02/1853) published a comprehensive article about the celebration of the 50th anniversary of the University of Dorpat.

the university of dorpat in 1852

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curator of the Dorpat educational district Craffström did have some effects, particularly in causing the university to defend itself through reorientating itself towards its own Baltic German region. As such, the jubilee functioned as the perfect illustration of the balance the university was striving for around the middle of the nineteenth century, a balance between internationalism and autonomy on the one hand, and centralisation and nationalism, or even regionalism, on the other. When the autonomy of the university was challenged again in the 1870s and 1880s by further Russification measures, as well as by the growing national consciousness of Estonians and Latvians, it became fused with its environment even more so than before. The university authorities tried to appoint as many Baltic Germans as possible, although they could not prevent a rise in the number of Russian professors as well. The university developed into an extremely conservative institution. Matthias Jakob Schleiden, professor of plant physiology and anthropology, dedicated himself to introducing Darwinist ideas at the medical faculty, but he had the whistle blown on him irrevocably and moved to Germany where he could express himself freely. The faculty of theology remained one of the most orthodox theological citadels of Lutheranism in the whole of Europe. Little was left of the scholarly verve from the beginning of the century. One effect of this later Russification was that Baltic German nobility paid more attention to the Swedish origin of their university and their region and tried to establish closer links with the Northern brother nations in the conflict with Russia. Whereas Nordic guests were not given a particular place in the 50th anniversary in Dorpat in 1852, a few decades later students and professors became increasingly regarded as being part of the Nordic unity, as will be shown in other chapters. The international character of the university was no longer at stake by 1880, rather it was the Baltic German identity of its members and its strong Swedish roots which dominated the university’s resistance to Russification.

PART II

A DIFFERENT IMPACT OF THE GERMAN UNIFICATION WARS IN NORWAY, SWEDEN AND DENMARK

CHAPTER THREE

THE CHRISTIANIA UNIVERSITY’S 50 YEARS CELEBRATION IN 1861. NATIONAL PRIDE AND SCANDINAVIAN SOLIDARITY1 John Peter Collett To the celebration of its 50 years’ jubilee in 1861, the Royal Frederick University in Christiania for the first time invited delegations from foreign countries to attend a university solemnity. The university presented itself as an institution of the greatest importance for the Norwegian people and for keeping up its constitutional liberty. The absence of royal or governmental representatives underscored the university’s insistence that, as an institution based upon the universal values of science, it could not be subordinated to state authorities or national policies. This particular autorepresentation by the university was challenged at the celebrations from two angles. The semi-centennial festivities took place at a time of deep political and constitutional crisis between Norway and her union partner Sweden, which had a heavy impact upon the Swedish participation in the festivities, whereas the delegations from Denmark used the occasion for mobilising Scandinavian support for its case in Schleswig-Holstein, insisting that in the academic community of the North there could be no room for the German language. In 1861, the Royal Frederick University—Det Kongelige Frederiks Universitet—in Christiania, the youngest existing Nordic university, celebrated its 50th anniversary. The university’s authorities had decided for a grand-scale celebration. A history of the university’s foundation was published, a commemorative medal was issued, a cantata was written and composed for the occasion, and letters of invitation were sent to a large number of European universities and learned societies. Most of the recipients of the invitation limited their response to

1 The author is indebted to Tor Ivar Hansen, Forum for university history, University of Oslo, for his insightful comments and for his assistance in collecting archival sources and bibliographical references.

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written congratulatory messages, several of which came in the form of ornately printed or calligraphed addresses.2 Only from the Nordic countries (Sweden, Denmark with Schleswig-Holstein, and Finland) did delegates actually arrive to take part in the celebrations that took place in Christiania from 2 to 6 September. As a university festivity, the 1861 semi-secular celebration was a première for the Norwegian university. No university celebration of the same scale had ever taken place in Christiania, and it was also the first time that foreign guests were invited to such an occasion. A stately celebration of the university’s foundation had originally been planned for 1815, when the new university was supposed to be fully operational, but had never taken place. The university started its teaching in 1813, as scheduled, but subsequent political upheavals—as well as the deep crisis which hit the Norwegian economy after the Napoleonic Wars—had turned the plans for the university upside down. What had been intended to be the third university under the Danish crown— after Copenhagen and Kiel—had suddenly, in 1814, become the one and only university of the independent Kingdom of Norway. By the end of 1814, following the defeat against an invading Swedish army, Norway was forced into a union with Sweden, though it retained its own constitution, its own parliament and its own institutions—among these also its university. During the first decades of the union, the university in Christiania—professors and students alike—regarded itself as the guardian of national independence and constitutional liberty against the King and the Swedes. When proposals were made for a belated inaugural celebration of the university in 1817, the professors turned down the proposals on formal grounds.3 The real reason for rejecting the proposal was undoubtedly that on such an occasion the university

2

The texts of the congratulatory messages are printed in the official report from the celebration, published by the University: Det Kongelige Frederiks Universitets Halvundredeaars-Fest September 1861. Beretninger og Actstykker (Christiania: Brøgger & Christies Bogtrykkeri 1862). The original documents are bound together in one volume, now in the National Library Manuscript Collection, Oslo. 3 Proposals were made for celebrating the inauguration of the university together with the celebration of the 300th anniversary of the Lutheran Reformation in 1817. The university authorities turned the proposal down, stating that the inauguration had to await the formal enactment of the university statutes, which at the time were under heated debate between the King, the parliament and the university, and which were not promulgated law until 1824. John Peter Collett, “Universitetet i staten. Striden om fundasen for Det Kongelige Frederiks Universitet 1813–1824”, in: John Peter Collett,

the christiania university’s 50 years celebration in 1861 75 could not have avoided inviting the Crown Prince Carl Johan (from 1818 King Charles XIV John of Sweden and Norway) and the former French maréchal Jean Baptiste Jules Bernadotte, who had conquered Norway in 1814. Instead, the Christiania university students started celebrating on 2 September—the date of the university’s foundation in 1811—as a demonstration of national independence. The students even demonstrated their sympathy for the last absolute king of Denmark and Norway, the university’s founder Frederick VI, whose memory the university insisted on retaining in its official name, despite the Swedish—and Norwegian—king’s undisclosed resentment.4 Five decades later, things had changed. The Norwegian public opinion had not only accepted union with Sweden as an accomplished fact, but also had become comfortable with that union. Far from continuing its boycott of the royal family, the Norwegian university had become eager to display its devotion to the monarchy. Through a series of solemn celebrations of royal birthdays, marriages and other dynastic events in the 1840s and 1850s, the university in Christiania stood out as one of the Norwegian institutions most ostentatiously loyal to the royal family. In 1860, the university even took the unusual step of issuing its own medal commemorating the King’s coronation, and in 1861 the university duly invited His Majesty—Charles XIV John’s grandson Charles XV (or Charles IV as King of Norway, as the Norwegians insisted)—to be present at the university jubilee. However, the King chose to be absent—and this could hardly have come as a surprise. Shortly after Charles’s accession to the throne in 1859, the union between Sweden and Norway had been thrust into a deep political and constitutional crisis, triggered by the King himself. The latent mutual distrust between the two united peoples had become openly visible, and public opinion in Sweden was overtaken with anti-Norwegian sentiments. In the months leading up to the university celebration, tension was mounting between the Norwegian and Swedish governments, and the crisis slowly approached its climax. As a result of these developments, Charles XV had lost much of the widespread personal popularity he once had enjoyed in Norway, and he chose to reduce his presence in the country to a minimum. Jan Eivind Myhre and Jon Skeie (eds), Kunnskapens betingelser. Festskrift til Edgeir Benum (Oslo: Vidarforlag 2009): 97-123. 4 Knut Nygaard, Nordmenns syn på Danmark og danskene i 1814 og de første selvstendighetsår (Oslo: editor 1960): 384-412.

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Thus the September 1861 festivities in Christiania, celebrating the Norwegian university’s first 50 years, bore the mark of existing tensions between the united Scandinavian states of Norway and Sweden. The King remained in Sweden, and delegations from Swedish universities were kept at a minimum, with little more than what normal courtesy would require. However, the skirmishes between the peoples on the Scandinavian Peninsula were miniscule in comparison to an international crisis of far greater importance, which cast its long shadow over the celebration of the Norwegian university. The conflict between Denmark and the German states over the Duchies of Schleswig-Holstein had reached such a level that war seemed imminent. In marked contrast to Sweden, Denmark was represented at the Christiania celebrations by large delegations of high-ranking personalities, omnipresent at all occasions, delivering long speeches during the university jubilee week with a scarcely hidden political agenda. The Danes had come to Christiania to rally Scandinavian support for their cause in Schleswig-Holstein. The Norwegian university had invited the foreign guests to the celebration of an institution that for fifty years had seen itself as a bulwark for national independence. The university could boast of the key role it had played in the consolidation of Norway as a nation state, first on her way to political independence from Denmark, and subsequently in her successful attempts to maintain cultural and political independence vis-à-vis Sweden. However, the tenor of the 50-years celebration largely came to be one of Scandinavian unity and brotherhood. Attempts were made at stressing the supranational character of the academic community and at stretching brotherly solidarity beyond the Scandinavian borders, but to no avail. Germans could find no place in the community of academics defined through the university jubilee celebrations. Even the guests from the University of Kiel—although still under the Danish crown— were, as German-speaking, excluded from the jubilee celebrations. A united front of Scandinavians against Germany was what the Danish guests had hoped to demonstrate, and in this they succeeded. In this respect, the September 1861 celebrations in Christiania fell in line with a series of meetings of students and academics that had started in 1843, in which Scandinavian brotherhood, constitutional liberalism and—limited—academic internationalism had been mobilised to the defence of Scandinavia’s southern border.

the christiania university’s 50 years celebration in 1861 77 The university celebrations in Christiania reflected the themes that had dominated Northern European history during the first half of the nineteenth century: the consolidation of the nation state, the emergence of national identities, and the movement for political unification of nations across historical boundaries. How were these territorially defined communities to be accommodated to the universal, borderless academic community to which a nineteenth-century university claimed allegiance? These were the underlying themes of the university celebrations in the Norwegian capital in 1861. The University and the State—and the Nation On 2 September 1861, the first day of the festivities, guests convened at a solemn jubilee meeting held in the richly decorated aula in the Domus Academica and the King’s absence was the first thing brought to their attention. The meeting started with a congratulatory telegram from His Majesty being read by the senior minister and acting head of the Norwegian government, Hans Christian Petersen. In his telegram, the King regretted his absence and expressed a few polite phrases and good wishes, to which the minister did not add a single word. The reading was followed by the audience joining in the exclamation God save the King, which was about all that was said about the King during the whole jubilee—obligatory toasts excepted.5 The polite phrases in the King’s telegram were, in fact, the only words that were addressed to the university and its guests from any representative of the Norwegian state authorities during the whole week of festivities. The King’s absence could be interpreted as demonstrative, and the university authorities had made efforts to have other members of the royal family attend the festivities, but without success.6 However, the almost invisible role that the Norwegian government

5 This and the following information concerning the celebratory events are based on Det Kongelige Frederiks Universitets Halvhundredeaars-Fest September 1861 (1862). Contemporary press reports add only little to what is printed in the official report. 6 The university secretary Poul Christian Holst, who was also a chamberlain at the King’s Norwegian court and His Majesty’s private financial advisor, had, in fact, tried to assure a royal presence by inviting the King’s younger brother and heir to the throne, Prince Oscar, to the celebrations, but the Prince was on duty at sea as a navy officer.

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and other Norwegian state authorities chose to play in the university’s celebrations cannot be interpreted as a demonstration of disinterest or dismay. Its deeper meaning was that the government supported the university in the way the latter defined its role vis-à-vis the state—and, consequently, towards the Norwegian nation. The Universitas Regia Fredericiana was a state institution: its statutes were laid down by an Act of Parliament; its professors were appointed by the King-in-Council; and its budget was covered by state funds. Initially, its founders had wanted to see the university as a financially independent institution. A considerable fund had been raised through a private subscription in Norway, and the remaining Norwegian church domains were turned into a public fund responsible for financing the university and other educational institutions. However, these sources had proven insufficient to cover the university’s needs, and parliament—the Storting—assumed responsibility for the university’s expenses as part of the ordinary national budgets. The Storting’s generosity on the taxpayers’ behalf had allowed the erection of new buildings for the university, for which construction began in 1852. They were given the most prominent location available in Christiania, facing the broad avenue leading from the old town to the new Royal Palace. The university building project was one of the largest and most complicated ever to be accomplished in Norway to date, and the final results revealed the highest architectural and functional ambitions. “[By] future generations they will perhaps be found to be built in too grand scale, relative to our conditions,” the Minister of Education Poul Christian Holst wrote in his memoirs, “nevertheless, they will bear witness both of the generosity of the state authorities and of the nation’s taste and of its Dannelse.”7 “Dannelse” is the Norwegian equivalent for the German word Bildung. The university and its impressive neoclassical buildings were the pride of the young Norwegian nation state and demonstrated its ambitions as a Kulturstaat. The university as a state institution was, however, a theme that was hardly touched upon during the 5-day celebration in September. The foreign guests had been invited not by the Ministry of Education but by the university, and they were accommodated privately in the homes of Christiania professors and wealthy citizens of the capital. The first

7 Paul Christian Holsts efterladte Optegnelser om sit Liv og sin Samtid (Christiania: Foreningen 1876): 287.

the christiania university’s 50 years celebration in 1861 79 dinner in their honour was hosted by the citizens of Christiania, represented by the city council. The large evening entertainment on the same day was hosted by the Norwegian Student Society (Det Norske Studentersamfund). Guests were also invited by the Student Society to the festivities of the following day, when a ball was arranged to celebrate the inauguration of the Society’s new house, across the street from the university aula. On 4 September, it was the university faculty’s turn to host dinner, followed by the festive performance of a historical play by the young playwright Henrik Ibsen in the Christiania Theatre. Finally, on 6 September the Student Society hosted the farewell party for the foreign guests. Not a single meal was served at the expense of Norwegian taxpayers, nor was any member of the government or other state official invited in an official capacity to any of the events, except the first solemn meeting. As cives academici and university alumni, ministers and other state officials were present on several of the gatherings, but the published official record is formal: to the various events, only university staff, foreign guests, the leadership of the Student Society, and representatives of the municipality were officially invited—together with “several Christiania citizens with their ladies”, which we may assume also comprised their unmarried daughters, who were invited to the Student Society’s ball. (The ball is the only jubilee event to which female guests are explicitly mentioned as being invited. Women were not allowed as students in Norway before 1882. The appointment of the first female professor had to wait until 1912.) At the evening entertainment of 2 September—arranged in the Klingenberg pleasure garden close to the university—more than 2,000 persons were in attendance “of all social classes, and, among them, a great number of women”. Yet even on that occasion the guests of honour included university professors, foreign guests, and members of the city council, but not a single representative of any state authority. The Storting was not formally represented either, though as the parliament was not in session at the time, and its members enjoyed no formal status between its sessions, such representation would have been constitutionally doubtful. (In reality, both university professors and Christiania city council members present in the festivities were members of parliament). Relieving the taxpayers of the burden of entertaining the guests was in line with the university authorities’ overall policy for the jubilee festivities. It was to be a celebration on a grand scale, but, at the same time, on a low budget. Initially there had been internal discussion

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about whether the university should formally ask the Ministry of Church and Education for permission to use its money for expenditures on the jubilee, but the university decided against such a step. The jubilee costs were posted among “miscellaneous expenditures” in the university accounts.8 Thus, the university demonstrated its freedom to allocate its own money on its own celebrations. This small, but significant demonstration of its autonomous position aroused no comment from the Ministry. Only on one point did the university apply for, and was granted, state support for its celebration. The Norwegian government allowed foreign delegates free travel from Danish and Swedish ports on board state-owned mail-carrying steamships. Were the foreign guests not better informed they might have left Christiania with the impression that the Norwegian university was an independent corporation, under the benevolent patronage of the King, and enjoying an especially cordial relationship with the Christiania citizens and their municipal corporations. The formal celebratory speech at the opening meeting, given by Christopher Andreas Holmboe, professor of Oriental languages and a senior faculty member, did little to alter this impression. In the speech, he stressed that the foundation of the university preceded the constitution of 1814 and, consequently, also the establishment of a sovereign Norwegian state. The constitution laid down the principles by which a free nation should be governed, but the university was already there to fill the freedom with the necessary insight and humanity: Freedom will only be a false name for lawlessness and terrorism if an elevated spirit is not in power. The ignorant masses are generally slaves of passion, and the slave becomes a tyrant if he is not kept in restrain by higher forces. But such forces are precisely intelligence, morality and such spiritual superiority which a scientific Dannelse [Bildung] is especially disposed to convey.9

The Norwegian university was instrumental in developing an educated elite who had been leading the nation and guiding its uneducated masses. These elite constituted the state’s officials—the Embedsmænd, “the university’s finest fruits”, as Holmboe put it. Not only had they 8 The most important expenditures seem to have been the honorarium paid to the composer of the cantata, Carl Arnold, and the pay to the choir, orchestra, conductor and soloist for their performance. 9 Det Kongelige Frederiks Universitets Halvhundredeaars-Fest September 1861 (1862): 18.

the christiania university’s 50 years celebration in 1861 81 taken responsibility for the welfare of the nation in their functions as clergymen, judges, civil administrators, teachers and physicians, they had also been chosen to represent the Norwegian people in parliament and in municipal councils. The state servants of Norway, Holmboe insisted, deservedly enjoyed a “level of trust and esteem, which not only places them on par with those of any other country, but surpasses many of them”. This trust and esteem stemmed from the “scientific training” (videnskabelige Dannelse) that the university had given them, which had contributed more to the development and elevation of the Norwegian nation than their mere vocational or political activities. For such is the nature of the scientific training (Dannelse) that “as a torch, it lights up not only for those for whom it is lit, but for every spirit which comes close to it”.10 Through its alumni, the Norwegian university had contributed to the education and spiritual elevation of the whole Norwegian nation and had guided it in a positive direction. Regarding literary and scientific achievements, the Regia Fredericiana so far had relatively little to boast of, Holmboe added modestly, but, in any case, such activities would be of secondary importance. The main achievement of the Norwegian university, he concluded, was the moral and cultural elevation of the Norwegian nation, based on the scientific Dannelse it had given its students. As an illustration of his reasoning, Holmboe pointed to the commemorative medal that the university had issued on the occasion. (He could not point to it literally, as the actual medals were not at hand for the jubilee. The Berliner Münzenwerk, from which they had been ordered, had made a mistake, and the medals that were delivered had been returned to Berlin. The correct medals had not yet arrived.) The medal was designed by one of the university’s own professors, the celebrated national poet and aesthete Johan Sebastian Welhaven, who held one of the two chairs in philosophy. On the adverse, the medal bore the effigy of Ganymedes—the mythological cupbearer of the Olympic gods—offering a drink from his cup to the Norwegian lion, surrounded by the Latin legend: Ex haustu Olympico valentior. This could be interpreted as meaning that the Norwegian nation had

10 Det Kongelige Frederiks Universitets Halvhundredeaars-Fest September 1861 (1862): 20.

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grown stronger through the divine drink that had been offered to it by the university. The guests assembled in the university aula could hardly have realised that the wording of this legend, some months before, had been the subject of a heated, erudite debate between the university’s two professors of philosophy. Indeed, foreign guests had little reason to think that Latin was in use at the university at all. Hardly a Latin word was uttered during the whole week’s festivities. The university’s formal letter of invitation had been written in Latin, but that was all. In fact, the Norwegian university had been one of the first in Europe to rid itself of Latin as a working or even ceremonial language. Since 1845, Latin had ceased to be used in doctoral disputations or many lectures or examinations. Speeches on solemn occasions were all given in Norwegian. The national Norwegian university was a vernacular university, from which outward European academic traditions had been cleared out as obsolete. Norwegian university professors relied on the authority of their position, without the help of gowns or caps or other symbolic garments, and their speech was to be as plain as their civilian clothes.11 Nevertheless, the wording of the medal’s Latin legend became a subject of serious discussion among the university’s leadership. Welhaven’s colleague, the Hegelian philosopher Marcus Jacob Monrad, warned that the sentence proposed by Welhaven was misleading and even potentially dangerous. The “Olympic drink” that the university offered to the nation was obviously science (Monrad used the word Videnskab with the same connotations as the German word Wissenschaft), but what did it mean that the nation had grown stronger through science? Would it imply that the nation could be strong enough without science? And could, one day, the Norwegian nation feel itself so strong that it no longer needed the magic potion offered to it by the academic cupbearers, but would instead go hunting for more solid food? “[If ] the university and the sciences have no significance of a more specific and intrinsic kind than that of being a more or less

11 Oddly enough, the University of Oslo on festive occasions today displays a large collection of velvet and silk gowns worn by its rector and its academic and administrative leadership, including the deans of the faculties and even external board members. Gowns for rector and deans were first taken into use in the 1930s, and, after a downswing following 1969, the number of gowns has swelled since the 1990s.

the christiania university’s 50 years celebration in 1861 83 unimportant part of the nation’s nutrition, then we could all just as well be gone,” Monrad argued.12 The important thing for Monrad was to underline that the university and the sciences provided more than mere instrumental knowledge for the nation’s use. The university’s vocation was that of guiding the nation on a superior level: “Science, or more generally, higher spiritual training (Aandsdannelse), is indispensable for the fulfilment of people’s personal development, and for leading them to their real goal” (Monrad underlined the word “goal”).13 The university and the sciences provided the nation with leadership and a superior, ideal aim to strive for, and not only with instruments for diverse mundane undertakings. Also criticising Welhaven’s use of the ablative, Monrad suggested an alternative Latin legend of his own making: haustu Olympico par sibi—the Olympic drink would enable the Norwegian lion to find and cultivate itself. This latter sentence, Monrad proudly added, also possessed the particular advantage of a perfect Latin expression, namely, that it could not be adequately translated into any other language.14 The Collegium academicum (the university senate) decided to let Welhaven have his way, presumably well aware of the fact that the finer nuances of the Latin legend would be lost on most Norwegians admiring the medal. However, both Holmboe in his speech and Monrad in his history of the university’s foundation hammered home their message. The university based its position in the nation on a power neither deriving from the King, nor from the elected representatives of the nation. On the university’s behalf, Holmboe thanked the King and the Storting as generous benefactors of the university, but not as its superiors. And why should he? The King had inherited his power from his father. The Storting drew its power from the sovereign people. The university’s power derived from a source independent of these, and at least on the same level: the universal principles of science. It was quite logical then, that the representatives of the political power attended the university celebration as guests, not hosts, and discreetly left the stage to the university alone.

12 Oslo, Riksarkivet / State Archives. Universitetet i Oslo, Kollegiet, D—Journalsaker, L0081: Letter to J.S.Welhaven from M.J. Monrad (20-02-1861). 13 Ibid. 14 Oslo, Riksarkivet / State Archives. Universitetet i Oslo, Kollegiet, D—Journalsaker, L0081: Letter to Collegium academicum from M.J. Monrad (15-03-1861).

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As a deeply religious man, Holmboe in his speech stressed the divine character of science and learning. In his view, the university was one of God’s instruments on earth. His younger colleague Monrad presented a slightly modernised, secular version of the same idea. The Christiania University had been able to contribute decisively to the formation of the independent Norwegian nation, Monrad argued, precisely because the nation, with the university as its initial focal point, had been built on “active efforts for securing and developing a spiritual emancipation and on an enlightenment emanating from the deepest sources”.15 Through the university, the nation had gained access to “the deepest sources” of enlightenment without which the nation would not be able to reach its goal or to proceed to its ideal fulfilment. Whether or not these idealistic philosophical reasonings were widely understood by the Norwegian population, the semi-centennial celebrations left no doubt that the university was close to the nation’s heart. The national press gave the various festive events wide coverage, and the celebrations attracted a large number of onlookers. Outside the university buildings, which were brilliantly illuminated for the occasion, masses of people gathered to catch a glimpse of what went on inside the Klingenberg garden on the opposite side of the street, where the festivities continued until late in the evening of 2 September. Many private houses in Christiania were illuminated in the university’s honour, and in a number of provincial towns university alumni and other local notables came together to celebrate the university jubilee on the same evening. It was a truly national celebration. The University and the Scandinavian Brotherhood The Norwegian university was a pillar of the nation, deriving its strength from sources independent of political power. The university was serving the nation, but it was not the nation’s servant. Its power and authority derived from a universal source, scientific reasoning, and it was obliged to make this source available to the nation, not as its instrument, but as its guide. Such was the summary of the way Christiania University presented itself through the voices of Holmboe

15 Marcus Jacob Monrad, Det Kongelige Norske Frederiks Universitets Stiftelse fremstillet i Anledning af dets Halvhundreaarsfest (Christiania: Brøgger & Christies Bogtrykkeri 1861): 63.

the christiania university’s 50 years celebration in 1861 85 and Monrad. Consequently, in their view, the university surpassed the nation. The university represented a supranational force, or a supranational set of principles. In what way would this supranational character of the university oblige its teachers, students and alumni to impose themselves beyond the political borders of the nation state? This was precisely the question that the university’s guests from Denmark had come to discuss in Christiania during the first week of September 1861. The delegates from Sweden spoke much less than the Danes at the solemn meeting in the university aula. The speeches delivered by the delegates from the universities of Uppsala and Lund were as brief as they could be. Uppsala sent only one delegate, its prorector Professor Fredrik Ferdinand Carlson, who limited his congratulatory greeting to 64 words. The Lund delegation counted two members. Prorector Anton Niklas Sundberg spoke a sentence or two more than his colleague from Uppsala and added a bit more of human warmth in his address. Representing both the Royal Academy of Sciences and the Karolinska Institutet in Stockholm, Professor Carl Gustaf Santesson displayed considerably more eloquence, but none of the four delegates from Sweden uttered publicly much more than the minimum of polite phrases that would save them from the criticism of rudeness. Student delegations from Uppsala and Lund arrived late—their ship had been held up by foul weather—and if any of their members spoke publicly during the celebrations no one took pains to record their speeches. The Swedes were not impolite, and their two universities as well as their Academy of Sciences were duly represented. But this representation was limited compared to the delegations from Denmark. The Copenhagen University sent its rector magnificus and two other professors; two Danish learned societies also sent delegates. The Copenhagen student delegation was much larger than the corresponding delegations from Lund and Uppsala. Of a total of 20 Nordic guests at the jubilee, half of them came from Denmark, and the Danes certainly did not remain silent. Swedish public opinion had been dominated by strong antiNorwegian sentiments since 1859. This outburst of brotherly wrath stemmed from the constitutional crisis triggered by King Charles XV shortly after his accession to the throne. As his “morning gift” to the Norwegians, the King wanted to reverse a constitutional issue which had long been humiliating to Norwegians. In 1814, when the constitution was revised as the result of the enforced union with Sweden, the

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Norwegian Storting had been compelled to accept that a Swedish citizen could be appointed stadtholder (Governor General) of Norway, representing the king in Norway and leading the Norwegian government. In fact, no Swede had been stadtholder in Norway since 1829, and since 1856 the position had been vacant. However, in the relationship between Norway and its union partner, even the smallest symbols could gain great importance. This situation was perceived as a remaining “aberration” in the Norwegian constitution, which otherwise excluded anyone other than Norwegian subjects from holding public office in Norway (indeed foreign subjects—among them Swedes—could only become naturalised Norwegians through a decision by the Storting, not by the King). Believing that altering this constitutional issue would be accepted by the King (which he had confirmed to his friends in Norwegian political circles), the Storting voted to abolish the stadtholder position in 1859. However, quite unexpectedly, when the Norwegian parliament took this step it caused an outcry in the Swedish Diet (Riksdagen). Swedish politicians raised indignant protests against what they regarded as an unacceptable unilateral Norwegian alteration of the union between the two states. This implied that the Norwegian Storting could not alter the Norwegian constitution without first seeking the consent of the Swedish Riksdag. This was utterly unacceptable to the Norwegians. From their point of view, their union with Sweden was based on the principle of full formal equality between two sovereign states. Although Norwegians had been forced to accept a few deviations from this principle (notably that the Swedish foreign minister was the union’s joint foreign minister, the very point that finally—in 1905—led to the dissolution of the union), there could be no question of accepting further limitations on Norwegian sovereignty. The King was caught between his two kingdoms. Ultimately, he decided to withdraw his promise to the Norwegians and refuse an alteration of the Norwegian constitution. The Swedes complained that the King had been far too complacent towards the Norwegians, and they made a revision of the union’s constitutional arrangement a necessary condition for admitting the suppression of the stadtholder position. Though he agreed to convene a joint commission at a later date, the King had not fully adhered to this Swedish position, and he hoped that a friendly solution would be found that would allow the union to grow tighter under his leadership. However, the King’s decision to refuse an alteration of the Norwegian constitution—and the phrases

the christiania university’s 50 years celebration in 1861 87 he chose for explaining them—aroused general suspicion in Norway. The King was accused of acting as King of Sweden, treating Norway as a conquered province.16 The Norwegian ministers were working on their formal response to the King and the Swedish demands when the Swedish university representatives arrived in Christiania for the jubilee. The Swedish delegates realised that the Swedish press correspondents would report every word that they uttered publicly in Christiania, and any sign of undue complacency towards their Norwegian brothers would be given great attention in their home country. Therefore, the Swedish guests in Christiania had every reason to keep a low profile, whatever their personal sentiments towards the Norwegians might have been. The stadtholder crisis culminated in the month following the university festivities. The Norwegian government rejected the Swedish demands and openly accused the Swedish government of withdrawing their support for the Norwegian constitutional alteration that they had promised to their Norwegian colleagues beforehand. This led to an open rupture between the King and his Norwegian councillors. The King dismissed half of the members of the Norwegian government, and the ensuing crisis left deep and long-lasting wounds in the relationship between the King and the Storting. It also compromised following attempts to revise the union. It was a decisive backlash against the efforts to tightening the Swedish-Norwegian union and left unresolved inherent problems that eventually would provoke its break-up 44 years later. The stadtholder crisis was not discussed during the university festivities in September—or if so, only privately, and without being recorded by the press. This was in marked contrast with the other political crisis that preoccupied the guests at the jubilee: the Schleswig-Holstein question. This crisis was openly debated, although under a thin veil of eloquent analogies and euphemisms, as a question to which the Nordic academic community—professors and students alike—had an obligation to take a stand. How could it be that the political skirmishes over union between Norway and Sweden were excluded from the academics’ discourse during the celebrations, while the opposite was the 16

The stadtholder crisis is treated in great detail in Fredrik Stang, Stattholdersak og unionsstrid 1856–1862 (Oslo: Aschehoug 1943); an updated ovierview of the events is given in Bo Stråth, Union og demokrati. Dei sameinte rika Noreg-Sverige 1814–1905 (Oslo: Pax 2005): 228-233.

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case concerning the difficulties concerning the personal union between Denmark and the Duchies of Schleswig-Holstein? In order to understand this situation, it is necessary to go 25 years further back into Scandinavian history. In the late 1830s, Danish students and young academics had taken the initiative for a rapprochement with the traditional archenemies of Denmark: the Swedes. Gatherings of Danish and Swedish students were arranged, with a programme consisting chiefly of singing, lengthy speeches, and drinking. The aim of the meetings was serious enough, however. Inspired by German idealistic philosophy—and by German student activism for national unification—the students and young academics regarded themselves as representing their nations in an idealised sense. They were not politicians. They had no mandate emanating from the king or any other state authority. But they argued that precisely by being students—being led by universal laws, being responsible for the nations’ future—the young men could incarnate the nation’s spirit better and with greater legitimacy than its political leadership.17 The Danish and Swedish students came together as brothers. The Danish and Swedish nations were united through a common identity, their common Scandinavian awareness. They argued that the political borders in Scandinavia had been drawn arbitrarily and hindered the realisation that the Scandinavian peoples were of common origin. The three Scandinavian peoples were the branches of one and the same tribe. The Scandinavians were brothers and should learn to live together as brothers, not as enemies. Moreover, as in Germany, the

17 The first historical overview of the Scandinavist movement is found in Julius Clausen, Skandinavismen historisk fremstillet (Copenhagen: Nordiske Forlag 1900), written from a highly idiosyncratic and critical perspective. More recent works on the topic include Henrik Becker-Christensen, Skandinaviske drømme og politiske realiteter (Arusia—Historiske skrifter 1) (Aarhus: Cop. 1981); Ruth Hemstad, Fra Indian Summer til nordisk vinter. Skandinavisk samarbeid, skandinavisme og unionsoppløsningen (Oslo: Akademisk Publisering 2008); Hans Lennart Lundh, Skandinavismen i Sverige (Stockholm: Bonnier 1951); Erik Møller, Skandinavisk stræben og svensk politikk omkring 1860 (Copenhagen: G.E.C. Gad 1948); John Sanness, Patrioter intelligens og skandinaver. Norske reaksjoner på skandinavismen før 1848 (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget 1959); Stråth, Union og demokrati (2005); Dag Thorkildsen, “Skandinavismen—en historisk oversikt”, in: Øystein Sørensen (ed.), Nasjonal identitet—et kunstprodukt (Oslo: Norges forskningsråd 1994). Students’ songs, which played an important role in the student Scandinavist movement, have been treated in two dissertations: Leif Johnsson, Ljusets riddarvakt, 1800-talets studentsång utövad som offentlig samhällskonst (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell 1990) and Anne Jorunn Kydland Lysdahl, Sangen har lysning. Studentersang i Norge på 1800-tallet (Oslo: Solum 1995).

the christiania university’s 50 years celebration in 1861 89 striving for national unity across political borders went hand in hand with a wish for political liberty. Initially, the kings and governments of Sweden and Denmark regarded the student Scandinavism with suspicion. A political force seemed to be emerging outside the autocratic government’s control and with a more than halfway revolutionary programme. Neither borders, nor constitutions were debatable themes in the King’s eyes. Initially, the Norwegian students also received the Scandinavian movement with some reticence.18 Thirty years before, Norway had broken out of the union with Denmark and strove to clarify its cultural identity vis-à-vis the Danes. The Norwegian students had seen themselves as the guardians of national independence against real or imagined threats from Sweden, their current union partner. Finally, the Norwegian constitution of 1814 already had given the Norwegians the political liberty that the Danes and the Swedes could still only hope for. Nevertheless, the Christiania students sent a delegation to the large Scandinavian student meeting held in Copenhagen in 1845. The Norwegian students had not been represented in the first large student meeting in Uppsala two years before, as the Norwegian government had refused their application for free travel on board the mail steamer. After King Charles XIV John’s death in 1844, Oscar I’s government adopted a different attitude towards the Scandinavist movement, but in 1845 the students decided to charter their own steamship. In the Copenhagen student meeting of 1845, Swedes as well as Norwegians were completely overwhelmed by Scandinavian sentiments. Its climax was reached at a giant meeting held in the riding hall of the Christiansborg Palace. The atmosphere was described as electric when the young Danish orator Orla Lehmann climbed to the rostrum. In a speech of great force, Lehmann called for an oath to be pledged, an oath to the unity of Scandinavia. The response from the audience was overwhelming and unanimous, and Lehmann went further. Were the participants ready to sacrifice their lives for the Scandinavian cause, if they were to be called upon? The response was an emphatic cry of “yes”.19 18

Sanness, Patrioter intelligens og skandinaver (1959). The various speeches and songs performed at the 1845 student meeting are recorded in Det nordiska studentmötet i Köpenhamn år 1845 (Göteborg: C.M. Ekbohrns officin 1845). Cf. also: Arvid A. Afzelius, Blad ur en dagbok under studentfärden til Køpenhamn i juni månad 1845 (Stockholm: Bonniers 1846); Berättelse om Studenttågen till Lund och Köpenhamn Sommaren 1845, utgifven af Upsalastudenternas Direktion (Uppsala: Wahlström 1846). The following student meetings (Christiania 19

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The students’ adherence to the Scandinavian cause was undoubtedly sincere. However, it was more unclear as to what exactly the participants in the Christiansborg meeting had sworn their allegiance. From a Danish point of view, Scandinavism was more than just living in peace with Swedes and Norwegians. For centuries, the Danish kings had ruled over German-speaking and Danish-speaking subjects (plus Icelanders, Greenlanders, Norwegians and a series of other nationalities, whom we here leave unmentioned). What remained of the German lands around 1840 was chiefly the Duchy of Holstein. Until the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire in 1806, the Danish king had held Holstein as a fief under the German emperor. Holstein’s status as a German land was maintained after 1815, when the Duchy joined the German Bund, and formally the union with Denmark remained a personal union. The King of Denmark was also Duke of Holstein. However, the Duchy of Holstein was at the same time in a union with the Duchy of Schleswig. Historically, Schleswig (Slesvig) had a Danish-speaking population and had never been regarded as a German land. For centuries, Schleswig had been under Danish rule. Through a proclamation in 1460—commonly referred to as the Treaty of Ribe— the Danish king had promised that the two Duchies should never be separated and would never be incorporated into the Danish kingdom. Consequently, the King of Denmark was the ruler of Schleswig in his capacity as its duke. The political and juridical institutions of the two Duchies were largely separate, and both differed from the Danish. Such a situation had been normal for the conglomerate monarchies of pre-revolutionary Europe. It was, however, increasingly incompatible with the process of consolidation of nation states that gained force after the Napoleonic Wars. Nor was it compatible with the principles of uniform and rational state administration that Napoleon left as his legacy. The King of Denmark had long wanted to incorporate the

1851 and 1852, Uppsala 1856, Lund and Copenhagen 1862, Christiania 1869 and 1875) are all recorded in similar reports, most of them published by the respective Danish, Norwegian and Swedish student corporations. A comprehensive summary of all student meetings and their content is given in Carl Frängsmyr, Uppsala universitet 1852–1916 (Uppsala: Universitetet 2010), vol. 2:2: 439-468. Cf. also Fredrik B. Wallem, Det Norske Studentersamfund gjennem hundrede aar (Kristiania: Aschehoug 1916), vol. 1-2 and Hans Carl August Lund, Studenterforeningens Historie 1820–70 (Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1896).

the christiania university’s 50 years celebration in 1861 91 Duchies into the Danish states as provinces equal to Jylland or Sjælland. However, strong opposition had forced him to cancel this idea. The question of a liberal constitution for Denmark had made the Schleswig-Holstein issue acute. Any change of constitution would threaten to disrupt a fragile situation, as it would immediately imply a series of questions concerning the king’s rights in Schleswig-Holstein and open the question of the two Duchies’ different status vis-à-vis Denmark. This was precisely what happened in 1848. After the death of Christian VIII, the Danes accomplished a bloodless revolution, and the new king Frederick VII granted a liberal constitution to Denmark, including Schleswig, which would be fully integrated in Denmark. This sparked an uprising in Holstein. A separatist government was formed under the leadership of the head of a younger, and German-speaking, branch of the royal family, who declared that the King of Denmark had forfeited his rights as Duke of Schleswig-Holstein. Insisting on the inseparability of Schleswig and Holstein, the revolutionary government claimed sovereignty over the two Duchies and joined the German Confederation as a constitutional state. The Danish government threatened military force, and so the revolutionary government asked for assistance from Germany. The all-German parliament, convening in Frankfurt the same year, found the Schleswig-Holstein question to be a good cause for uniting Germans against an outer enemy and called upon the King of Prussia to provide troops for the defence of German interests in Schleswig-Holstein, and war broke out. Having sworn an oath to defend Scandinavian unity, only a few students from Norway and Sweden volunteered to fight in the Danish army in 1848. The King of Sweden and Norway—Oscar I—sympathised with the Danes, but stayed cautiously out of the war, which was stopped by the diplomatic intervention of Great Britain and Russia. The King of Prussia was soon also eager to withdraw the backing he had been forced to give to a revolutionary movement—of German nationality or not. Thus, in 1852, the situation was back to normalcy. The Duchies, which had been occupied by the Prussians, were returned to the King of Denmark. In exchange, the Danish government had promised not to alter any of the constitutional arrangements concerning the Duchies and, specifically, not to take any steps that would tie Schleswig further to Denmark than Holstein. The events of 1848 had been a backlash against the Scandinavian movement, but it was soon to gain new force. Previously regarded with suspicion by government authorities, it was now given royal endorsement.

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Famous indeed are the words that King Oscar addressed to the large gathering of Scandinavian students in Sweden in 1856: “From now on, a war between the Scandinavian countries is no longer possible.” The Scandinavist movement provided the kings with a new tool for foreign policy. They could now appeal directly to public opinion, via the student activists, and circumvent their cautious ministers and parliaments. This was especially tempting to Charles XV, who nurtured great personal and dynastic ambitions and could well imagine a future for himself as king of a United Kingdom of Sweden, Denmark and Norway. As Frederick VII was childless and heirless, this prospect was not totally devoid of realism. The Danish heritage question complicated the Schleswig-Holstein situation even further, as the heritage laws differed between the Duchies and the Kingdom, and the King’s death would in itself inevitably provoke a new crisis. “Only three people”, the British Prime Minister Lord Palmerston complained in the early 1860’s, “have ever really understood the Schleswig-Holstein business: the Prince Consort, who is dead; a German professor, who has gone mad; and I, who have forgotten all about it.”20 The Danish government oscillated between two lines of action. Either it could try to keep the monarchy intact, which meant that SchleswigHolstein would remain united as separate parts of the monarchy, and partly attached to Germany, or the Danes could choose to consolidate its Danish lands and cut the bonds with German-speaking Holstein. The latter line of action gained momentum in Danish politics in the early 1860s. In the eyes of nationalist liberals, this was the only way that the principle of national unity could be aligned to the principle of a liberal constitution. The Holstein nobility would always block a liberal constitution for the two Duchies. The only way to solve the puzzle was to cut the Gordian knot: incorporate Schleswig in Denmark under a common constitution and bid the Holsteiners good-bye. In that scenario, the river Eider, the historic border between Schleswig and Holstein, would become Denmark’s new southern border. Eider would also become the southern border of Scandinavia.21

20 The famous quotation (without mentioning its origin) is found in: Lytton Strachey, Queen Victoria (New York: Harcourt, Brace and company [1925]), chapter VII, paragraph 2. 21 The literature on the Schleswig-Holstein question is vast. The present summary is based on two volumes of the Gyldendal og Politikens Danmarkshistorie: Claus Bjørn,

the christiania university’s 50 years celebration in 1861 93 The “Eider policy” was, in fact, undermined as a Scandinavian or Nordic project by the linguistic developments that had taken place in the Duchies. Traditionally, the Schleswig population had been speaking Danish. However, during the eighteenth century, there had been an increasing Germanification of Schleswig, and the Eider was no more a clear linguistic boundary between the German-speaking Holstein and the Danish-speaking Schleswig. The Eider was the symbolic, historical boundary between Germany and Denmark, but this border no longer reflected the linguistic realities. The Eider policy would therefore necessarily clash with the push for unity among all German-speaking peoples that had gained strength in the German states. Even so, the “Eider policy” was endorsed by a growing number of Danish politicians, academics and other dignitaries. In September 1861, the Danish government was presented with an address, signed by hundreds of such personalities, who urged that energetic measures had to be taken for pursuing the Eider policy. The time had come for action. The Scandinavist movement had declared the urge for Scandinavian unity as a domain of the academic community. Students and academics from the Scandinavian countries were obliged to see the Scandinavian cause as a matter of the greatest importance to their common interests as academics. Scandinavian academics were Scandinavists by definition. This was demonstrated in Christiania at the university jubilee, which took place precisely at the moment when the Eider activists urged for decisive steps to be taken in order to consolidate the Danish nation state and to establish the Eider as Scandinavia’s southern border. The question was first raised—indirectly—by the representative of Schleswig-Holstein’s University of Kiel, Professor Gustav Thaulow, in his speech at the university solemnity on 2 September. In previous speeches, the delegates from other foreign universities had stressed the particular character of the links that existed between their institution and the Norwegian university. Our universities are both Nordic universities, the Copenhagen rector Frederik Christian Bornemann stated, but “among the Nordic Universities, Copenhagen and Christiania are the closest of kin”. They were also “each other’s dearest relatives”.

Fra reaktion til grundlov 1800–1850 (Gyldendal og Politikens Danmarkshistorie 10) (Copenhagen: Gyldendal & Politiken 1990) and Kristian Hvidt, Det folkelige gennembrud og dets mænd 1850–1900 (Copenhagen: Gyldendal & Politiken 1990).

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Carlson from Uppsala specified the gender: the Regia Fredericiana was Uppsala’s “sister university”, while Sundberg from Lund switched to the masculine: between the universities of the “brother countries” there existed a “deep sentiment of community”. Santesson from Stockholm chose a neutral gender, describing the Christiania University as the “youngest link of the Scandinavian universities’ chain of siblings”. Santesson also provided a precision of the geographical scope of the family idyll. He expressed his hope that the future activities of Christiania University would benefit “humanity and science”, but also, more specifically, “den skandinaviska Norden”. The North and Scandinavia were not necessary synonymous. The delegate from Finland, Professor Knut Felix von Willebrand, phrased his greetings with all the caution that the Finnish situation demanded. Representing a Grand Duchy under the Russian Empire, where any movement that could be interpreted as a rapprochement to its former ruler Sweden would arouse suspicion, Von Willebrand chose to speak on behalf of humanity in general, hoping to see the Christiania University shining as a star on our “bright Nordic heaven”. The sky, at least, was something that the Finns could have in common with their Scandinavian neighbours without annoying the Russians. Then Professor Thaulow spoke on behalf of the University of Kiel, which had sent a delegation of three professors. He went straight to the matter: if the professors of this German-speaking university could not count themselves among Christiania’s brothers like the Swedes and the Danes, they nevertheless belonged to the same Volksstamme (Thaulow held his speech in German)—the Germanic tribe. They also shared another important trait with Norwegians, Danes and Swedes, as they were all living in protestant countries. Moreover, the German, Norwegian, Danish and Swedish languages were just branches of the same linguistic family, and of the same Geist. The diversity only demonstrated the wealth of the German Geist. Germany, Denmark, Sweden and Norway formed a scientific unity—a Germanic-protestant scientific community—Thaulow concluded. It was a forceful statement that the German-speaking subjects of the Danish king would not accept being excluded from the company. However, Thaulow also added that there existed a profound understanding in Kiel of what it meant for a country to have its own university as the central point of all intellectual activity. The University of Kiel had been a centre of opposition to the Danish attempts to separate Schleswig from Holstein, which resulted in its repression

the christiania university’s 50 years celebration in 1861 95 after the revolution of 1848, when the Danish king dismissed ten of its professors as traitors—almost one third of the staff.22 Taken together, all the guests had expressed their wish to have something in common with the celebrating Christiania University, and, so far, no one had been excluded. The chairman of the Collegium academicum, Professor Georg Frederik Hallager, closed the jubilee meeting in the aula with his thanks for the warm greetings from “those universities with which it is our calling to cooperate most closely”. The idyll did not last long, however. At the evening dinner, hosted by the citizens of Christiania, the senior member of the Copenhagen delegation, Professor Johan Nicolai Madvig, stood up and spoke. Madvig represented the University of Copenhagen, where he was a famous professor of classic languages, but he had also been a figure of prominence in Danish politics for decades, for instance as a member of several governments for a long period. In this case, Madvig took the floor as a politician. After having treated at some length the delicate matter of how the Norwegians got their university—it was virtually squeezed out of the hands of an unwilling King Frederick VI who resented the idea of a separate Norwegian centre of learning and possible political opposition—Madvig discussed the cosmopolitan character of the university institution. This cosmopolitan character was only relative, he stated. Scientific activity was to a large extent conditioned and shaped by “the soil of the population” and the “natural borders of communication”. The true academic community was limited to those with whom we can communicate without an interpreter, and the present representatives from the University of Kiel could not be part of this community. “The colleagues from Kiel will understand, they will adhere to my thought and my phrasing,” Madvig assured his audience. With due respect to the universal links between all universities, and also to the German Bildung and Wissenschaft, the Scandinavian universities formed a particular community, working “on its particular soil, under particular conditions, with its special tasks under the common great assignment”, Madvig continued, adding that the ultimate goal to strive for was “a spiritual unity between the peoples and the universities of the

22 Karl Jordan, Christian-Albrechts-Universität Kiel 1665–1965 (Neumünster: Wachholtz 1965): 41-42.

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North”.23 None of the listeners could be in doubt of the character of this unity. It would be a unity from which the Germans were excluded and a unity of which the Eider was the southern border. Conclusion With the toast that Madvig proposed to the “spiritual unity of the North and, especially, its universities”, the harsh realities of the upcoming crisis over Schleswig-Holstein were thrown on the table. The real value of “Nordic unity” would be proven when the Danes called for the defence of Scandinavia’s southern border. Indeed, Danish activism for the Eider policy could easily lead to a new war with the German states. The Scandinavist enthusiasm among the Christiania students had been strong during the 1850s. Large Scandinavian student meetings were held in Christiania in 1851 and 1852, and a large number of Norwegians had attended the meeting held in Uppsala in 1856. In 1861, there were signs that the enthusiasm had cooled down somewhat among the students. The generation that had been captivated by Lehmann’s rhetoric in 1845 were no longer students. They had become professors, like Monrad and Welhaven. Nevertheless, the rhetoric of Scandinavian brother- or sisterhood permeated many of the speeches recorded afterwards from the university celebrations, as well as the poems written for the occasion. The Danish delegation could leave for Copenhagen in an optimistic mood. In many ways, they had stolen the show with their Scandinavist Eider-policy agenda. Even the Danish King had made a forceful appearance. Whereas Charles XV was absent, Frederick VII had filled the royal vacuum. A telegram arrived in Christiania in the afternoon of 2 September announcing that Frederick VII had given the Grand Cross of the Order of the Dannebrog to the Nestor of the Christiania university, the professor of mathematics and astronomy Christopher Hansteen. This was a move that the Swedish King could not possibly match. He had already bestowed upon Hansteen all the honours that the Norwegian constitution allowed him.

23 Det Kongelige Frederiks Universitets Halvhundredeaars-Fest September 1861 (1862): 32-35.

the christiania university’s 50 years celebration in 1861 97 If the response to the Danish appeals for “Scandinavian unity” in the Eider policy had been weaker and less convincing during the Christiania university jubilee than the Danish guests of honour had wished, this was rectified to the Danes’ full satisfaction the following year, when a Scandinavian student meeting was arranged in Lund and Copenhagen. Two hundred and fifty Norwegian students attended, being granted free travel on a Norwegian navy vessel, with Welhaven as their leader. Before an audience of some 2,600 people in the Rosenborg Palace gardens in Copenhagen, Welhaven gave the Danes the answer they had wanted. Repeatedly interrupted by thundering applause, Welhaven, on behalf of the students and young academics of Norway, gave his unequivocal support to the Danish claims: “There is the power of truth in this sentence—Slesvig is a Danish land.” Echoing the oath of 1845, Welhaven’s speech abounded with references to blood: the blood that united the Scandinavian brothers, the living blood in the Norwegian hearts now beating for the just Danish cause, and the blood that had been sacrificed by Norwegians fighting for Denmark in the war of 1848.24 For those who listened to Welhaven, there could be no doubt left that the Norwegians were ready for new sacrifices for the Danish cause—the Scandinavian cause—if they, once again, would be conscripted. The oath of 1845 was still binding. What happened then? Unlike the situation in 1848, Denmark this time confronted a determined and ruthless adversary. The Prussian government, under the leadership of Otto von Bismarck, decided to use the Schleswig-Holstein question as a vehicle for gaining the leadership of the German states. When Frederick VII died in 1863 and the new king, Christian IX, proclaimed a new constitution for Denmark and Schleswig conforming to the Eider policy, in violation of the 1851 agreements, Bismarck did not hesitate. Together with AustriaHungary, Prussia sent an army to the Duchies, and the Danes suffered humiliating defeat. In 1864, both Duchies were lost to the Danish crown. No one had come to the Danes’ support. Student rhetoric proved to be weak against Prussian bayonets. Only a handful of Swedish and

24 Sven Adolf Hedin (ed), Studentmötet i Lund och Köpenhamn 1862 (Uppsala: W. Schultz 1863): 125-126.

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Norwegian volunteers joined the Danish army.25 King Charles XV of Sweden and Norway proved to be an unreliable ally. The Swedish and Norwegian governments were both against the idea of sending their armies to Denmark’s defence and insisted that such an intervention would only take place if the great powers of Europea would join in.26 Neither Napoleon III nor Palmerston’s government did so. The Danes were left to their destiny.

25 On several occasions, the Christiania students debated the question of how far they were bound by the oath to the Schleswig cause. In December 1863, an address strongly in favour of fighting on the Danish side in the event of war was carried by a majority of 302 against 102 votes in the Norwegian Student Society. However, the vote also demonstrated that the young students were lost to the Scandinavian cause. The older generation of Christiania academics founded their own Skandinavisk Selskab (Scandinavian Society) as a forum for Scandinavist activism. Despite their efforts, and despite important popular support, the Norwegian Scandinavists did not succeed in winning the Norwegian government for their cause. Tor Ivar Hansen, Et skandinavisk nasjonsbyggingsprosjekt? Skandinavisk Selskab (1864–1871) (Unpublished Master dissertation) (University of Oslo 2008). 26 Halvdan Koht, Die Stellung Norwegens und Schwedens im deutsch-dänischen Konflikt, zumal wärend der Jahre 1863 und 1864 (Kristiania: In Kommission bei Jacob Dybwad 1908); Hans Lennart Lundh, Från skandinavism till neutralitet. Utrikespolitik och utrikesdebatt i Sverige under Carl XV:s sista år (Göteborg: Universitetet 1950); Møller, Skandinavisk stræben og svensk politikk omkring 1860 (1948); Einar Hedin, Den skandinaviska alliansfrågan 1857–1863 intill Ulriksdalskonferensen (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand 1953).

CHAPTER FOUR

THE BICENTENARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF LUND IN 1868. A LOW POINT IN SCANDINAVIAN COOPERATION, OR A REBIRTH? Fredrik Tersmeden and Pieter Dhondt (as contributor) Swedish and Danish students at the universities of Lund and Copenhagen played a primary role in helping the Scandinavian movement grow strong in the late 1830s. At least in the case of Lund, several of the most prominent student representatives within the movement would stay at the university, later to become influential academic teachers and leaders. This was particularly true for many of the people put in charge of arranging the bicentenary festivities of the university in 1868, among them the key actor, Rector Gustaf Ljunggren. Taking place only four years after the blow caused by the Scandinavian movement due to the Second Schleswig War, the bicentenary was arranged very much in a spirit aimed at stressing the special bonds between Lund and Denmark, as well as breathing new life into the Scandinavian movement in general. This purpose is quite explicitly borne out in many of the official documents and official speeches released before and during the jubilee, as well as in the symbols chosen for the official commemorative medal, the guest list and the people chosen to receive honorary doctoral degrees. This chapter details all these various ‘Scandinavian messages’ sent out by the university while celebrating its 200th anniversary, but at the same time it aims to give an in-depth background to Lund’s particular place within the Scandinavian movement. Finally, it also looks at some practical examples of Scandinavian cooperation following the festivities. The Unfinished Castle On 21 January 1868 the subscribers of Lunds Weckoblad1 found among the ordinary news reports and advertisements a fully reprinted poem, 1

Lunds Weckoblad was the leading local newspaper in Lund at this time. Founded in 1790, it was one of the oldest newspapers in Sweden by the time of its discontinuation in 1970. Originally a weekly publication, it was published three times a week from

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which had originally been recited at a “Nordic festivity” in Copenhagen about a week earlier. The two first stanzas read: Vi byggede paa Nordens Slot I lyse Sommerdage; Vi syntes, frem skred Værket godt, Der var kun lidt tilbage, For taget, lige høit og bredt, Dets trende Fløie dækked, For Enhedsspiret, frit og let, Sig op mod Himlen rækked. Men hvor er Slottet blevet af I Vinternattens Mørke? Hvar staaer det Værk, hvortil vi gav Vor fulde Ungdomsstyrke? Hvor blev hver Sten, hver Tømmerstok, Vi troede fast forbunden? Detr er jo, som om neppe nok Vi havde muret Grunden. We were building the castle of the North during bright days of summer; We thought the work progressed well, that only little remained until the roof, as high as it was wide, crowned by its three vanes, [and] the spire of unity, freely and easily, would reach towards the sky. But where did that castle go in the dark nights of winter? Where is the work, for which we gave our full strength of youth? What happened to each stone, each log that we thought firmly joined? It is as if we had hardly built its foundation.2

The symbolism of this poem is hardly to be misunderstood. “The castle of the North” with its “spire of unity” is of course a picture of the dream of the Scandinavian movement: a unity of the Northern European

around the 1860s, later to become a daily paper (from 1897). As a politically conservative newspaper it had, since 1856, a local competitor in the more liberal—sometimes even radical—Folkets Dagblad. 2 All the translations have been made by the authors.

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brother nations. A dream which had been shared during the 1840s and 1850s by many Scandinavians—not least students—but which had been brutally shattered at the trenches of Dybbøl when the Swedish and Norwegian governments failed to aid and rescue Denmark from Prussian aggression. Thus, the hopes of many Scandinavists were buried in “the dark nights of winter” of the poem. But still, almost four years after the war, the poem’s author refused to see the unfinished work as being done in vain. In a spirit of hope he ends with the words: Vi har ei bygt till Skam og Last, Ei ødt vor Kraft og Møie; Thi Nordens fælles Borg staaer fast Med sine trende Fløie. Om fix og færdig den at see Os Lykken karrig negter, Nu vel—saa veed vi, det vil skee Ved Daad af yngre Slægter! We have not built for shame and vice, we have not squandered our power and toil; because the joint castle of the North3 stands firm with its three vanes. If to see it finished a miserly fortune won’t allow us well then—we know that it will come through the work of younger generations.

The author of the poem was certainly a person who himself could be said to have been a most active “construction worker” during the original attempts to erect the “the castle of the North”; his name was Carl Ploug, a Danish poet, journalist and politician. Born in 1813, he had played a central role in student circles at the University of Copenhagen during the 1830s. In later years, he presented himself as the most prominent Danish face of the Scandinavian movement. As one of his biographers has written: “Ploug did not create the Scandinavian

3

In some quotations, the word “Norden” is translated as “the North”, rather than as the more common “the Nordic countries”, because the latter translation tends to give a less poetic and more strictly geographical meaning to the concept than it was usually meant to have in the ceremonial poems and speeches of the period.

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movement here at home, but for decades he was the carrier of its banner, and his name is insolubly tied to it.”4 Lund, Copenhagen and the Scandinavian Movement Though the Scandinavian movement5 was embraced by various groups in Denmark, Norway and Sweden,6 it can justifiably be said to have had a special position in the cities of Lund and Copenhagen, and in particular among the students at the universities of these cities. Sometimes the triggering factor behind the fraternisation between the students in Lund and Copenhagen has simply been ascribed to the little prosaic practical fact that the regular steamship connection between Scania and Zealand was opened in 1828. This gave the students of the small and village-like Scanian university city hitherto unknown possibilities to visit the impressive Danish capital, to meet their fellow students, and—not least—to observe and be inspired by some of the particular institutions that could be found in the student life of Copenhagen. Among these were firstly, the so-called collegii, special dormitories for the students (the most notable of them, Regensen, had been inaugurated in 1623 by Christian IV), and secondly, the Studenterforeningen, a voluntary association for students founded in 1820. Both of these Danish institutions served as partial inspirations for the foundation of Akademiska Föreningen in Lund in 1830.7 Akademiska Föreningen (AF) is an institution particular to Lund. It is peculiar mainly because it is an organisation that is not a political students’ union, but still embraces all the students of the university,

4 Povl Engelstoft, “Ploug, Carl Parmo”, in: Dansk biografisk leksikon (Copenhagen: C.F. Bricka 1940), vol. 18: 409-416. 5 One of the most in-depth and well-founded works on the Scandinavian movement is probably still Åke Holmberg’s doctoral thesis from the 1940s, Skandinavismen i Sverige vid 1800-talets mitt (Göteborg: Universitetet 1946). For this chapter Holmberg’s general work has been used, together with more detailed descriptions on the Lundian students: Carl Martin Collin, “Lund och skandinavismen”, in: Under Lundagårds kronor (Lund: Gleerups Förlag 1918): 424, Akademiska Föreningen 1830–1911—Festskrift vid invigningen av Föreningens nybyggnad den 20-22 oktober 1911 (Lund: Lindstedts bokhandeln 1911) and Gunnar Hillerdal and Eric Starfelt, Akademiska Föreningen i Lund 1830–1953 (Lund: Gleerups Förlag 1953). 6 The Finns, being part of the Russian empire, were given little opportunity to take part in the Scandinavian movement, whether they would have liked to or not. 7 “Några ord om Akademiska Föreningens uppkomst”, Lunds student-kalender 1863–64 1 (1864): 3.

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irrespective of faculty or geographical background. Due to its size and central position, AF has played a very important role in the development of the social and cultural life of the students of Lund. This role was all the more important in the nineteenth century when the original student associations in Lund—the so called nations—were as yet individually too small and too poor to afford houses and to organise more advanced activities of their own. Thus, much of the creative output of the students was released through the activities of AF, in accordance with the motto that the association had adopted at its foundation: coniuncta valent [the united are strong]. Moreover, membership of AF was not restricted to the students. The association was also open to the professors of the university, and several, mostly younger, academics took a lively interest and an active part in its activities. As will be shown further on in this chapter, several of the most prominent professors involved in the jubilee festivities of 1868 shared a common involvement in AF. Being in possession of one of the largest buildings in Lund at the time—a grand hall that could host at least 1750 people8—AF also played an important part during the festivities from a purely logistical point of view. Though access to a steamship had been important in bringing the students from Lund and Copenhagen closer together, it can be said that it was the lack of sailable waters between them which caused the symbolic birth of the Scandinavian movement among the students. During the cold winter of 1837–1838, the Sound froze entirely. Students from both shores decided to go for a walk on the ice and met halfway for an improvised gathering, which ended with the Danes receiving an impromptu invitation to an upcoming academic festivity in Lund. Some 70 of them actually turned up at the latter. It was followed with a return visit of no less than 150 Lundians to Copenhagen in the spring of 1839. A similar kind of visit followed in 1842. During these mutual exchanges between Lund and Copenhagen, some people began to stand out as leading ideologists and spokesmen. Ploug’s position on the Danish side has already been mentioned. Among his early equivalents from Lund were Göthe Thomée and, in a somewhat later phase, Gustaf Ljunggren and Albert Lysander.9 A

8 This was the size of the audience at the inauguration of the building in 1851. Cf. Akademiska Föreningen 1830–1911 (1911): 101. 9 Hillerdal and Starfelt, Akademiska Föreningen 1830–1953 (1953): 42.

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fourth name from Lund was Carl Vilhelm August Strandberg, one of the most influential figures in this regard. Strandberg, being one of Sweden’s most talented young poets of the period (known under the pen name “Talis Qualis”), supplied the youthful Scandinavian movement with fiery verses, starting with his “Greeting to the sons of Denmark”, published in 1840: Tystnad är kanonens tunga, Bajonetten skruvad av, Våra kölar fredligt gunga Nu utöver Sundets grav Och i broderlig förening Ungdom nu till ungdom flyr, Fattar du de ungas mening, Gläds, en hoppfull morgon gryr! [—] Nu må stridens fasor ila! Hören skaldens siarord: “Aldrig mer skall ovän vila Ovan skandinavisk jord!” Fjärran krigets åska bränner, Tränger blixten hit—vad mer! Nordens folkslag äro vänner, Ett är deras stridsbaner.10 Silenced is the voice of the cannon, the bayonet has been removed, our keels roll the waves in peace nowadays across the trench of the Sound and in brotherly unison youth hastens to youth. If you grasp the intention of the youth, Rejoice, a morning of hope is dawning! [—] Now may the horrors of war flee! Hear the prophetic words of the poet: “Never again shall a foe rest above the soil of Scandinavia!” The thunder of war burns far away, should the lightning finds its way here—so what!

10 Carl Vilhelm August Strandberg, Dikter—Förra delen 1835–1845 (Stockholm: Bonnier 1917): 104.

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The peoples of the North are friends, One is their banner of fight.

In this early poem by Strandberg, the focus is still principally SwedishDanish. However, the scope of the poet as well as of the entire movement was soon widened. Only a couple of years later, the Norwegians were included, and though the Finns had little practical opportunity to join as well, they were already involved in spirit—at least from Strandberg’s viewpoint. Five years after his greeting to the Danes, Strandberg wrote one of his most celebrated poems at the time, called “Vaticinium [prophesy]”. It painted a picture of a future in which cossacks “tumble bleeding to the ground”, as fellow Scandinavians come to Finland’s aid, cutting off “all of its bonds”.11 “Vaticinium” was read by Strandberg during the Scandinavian student meeting of 1845 in Copenhagen and Lund—in front of an audience cheering each line of it. By then, the semi-informal exchange between students of Lund and Copenhagen had grown into a fullscale regular programme of recurring official student meetings at all four universities of Denmark, Sweden and Norway. The first of these official student meetings had been organised in Uppsala in 1843 and was followed by the meeting in Copenhagen and Lund two years later. Although the First Schleswig War of 1848 caused great disappointment within the Scandinavian movement, new student meetings were held in Christiania in 1851 and 1852, and once again in Uppsala in 1856. It was also during this period that the concept of “Nordisk fest” was established.12 Suggested by the Norwegian students who had not been able to go to the meeting in Uppsala in 1843, this festivity was supposed to be arranged locally by the students at all four universities in order to celebrate “the memory of our fathers, as men of the North, and our brotherhood, as students”. In Lund, the idea was realised for the first time in January 1845, and soon it became a regular event in the calendar of AF. It is somewhat unclear to what extent the idea of the Norwegians was followed by the students of Copenhagen and

11

Strandberg, Dikter (1917): 223. For a contemporary descripion of how this poem was received by the audience, cf. Hillerdal and Starfelt, Akademiska Föreningen 1830– 1953 (1953): 61. 12 Cf. Hillerdal and Starfelt, Akademiska Föreningen 1830–1953 (1953): 58 and 213.

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Uppsala during the 1840s and 1850s, but “Nordic festivities” were definitely set up outside of Lund in the 1860s. The Meeting of 1862 In June 1862, the last of the great Scandinavian student meetings to take place before the Second Schleswig War gathered in Lund and Copenhagen.13 Originally, the meeting had been scheduled for 1861, but it had been postponed a year due to the political tension between Denmark and Prussia over the Schleswig question. This was clearly alluded to in one of the many songs written and performed during the 1862 meeting, “Song to the Danes” with lyrics by Lundian Lysander: Det är din, det är ock Nordens Egendom, du dyra broderstam! Skandiens och danska jordens Öden gå blott samma bana fram. När ditt arf du djerfs bevara, När i folkens sorl din röst är stark, Svenska hjertans genljud svara: Evigt lefve gamla Dannemark! 14 It is your, [but] it is also the Nordic countries’ possession, you precious brotherly tribe! The destinies of the Danish and the Scandinavian soils go forwards only in unison. When you dare to preserve your heritage, when your voice is strong within the murmur of the peoples, the resonance of Swedish hearts will answer: Forever live old Denmark!

Obviously, Ploug, the dean of Danish Scandinavism, also took part in the meeting of 1862. Although he was already 49 and had not been a student for decades, he was appointed member of the committee preparing the meeting, and in this capacity he was one of the seven Danes who had, “on behalf of the students of Copenhagen”,

13 For a detailed description of the student meeting of 1862, including the majority of speeches and poems, cf. Sven Adolf Hedin (ed), Studentmötet i Lund och Köpenhamn 1862 (Uppsala: W. Schultz 1863). 14 Hedin, Studentmötet i Lund och Köpenhamn 1862 (1863): 64. This song, together with several other Lundian contributions at the meeting, was also printed in Lunds Student-Kalender—Wittert Album (Lund: Gleerup 1863): 42.

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issued the official invitation to the students of the other Scandinavian universities. In addition, Ploug closed the official programme with the following words: With these words of mine, the second Nordic student meeting in Copenhagen comes to an end. I wish to close it with the same wish with which we opened it: that it may be fruitful for the North, for the associated lives and mutual progress of the Nordic peoples, and for the common future of Denmark and the North.15

At that moment, Ploug and his fellow committee members hardly had any reason to be disappointed when looking back at the arrangements. Apart from some bad weather, the meeting had been a large success. More than 1,600 students and other academics had taken part in the festivities,16 which had lasted for a week (the first day in Lund, the remaining six in Copenhagen). The students had been greeted by the bishop in Lund and by the rector and some high officials of the city administration in Copenhagen. In the latter city, the inhabitants had decorated the houses alongside the streets where the students’ processions passed by. A special gala performance had been arranged at the Royal Danish Theatre, which was honoured by the presence of the Danish crown prince. Another highlight of the meeting had been the presentation by a group of ladies from Copenhagen of four hand-embroidered gonfalons as a gift to the four participating universities. The motifs, based on drawings by the Danish artists Constantin Hansen and Peter Christian Skovgaard, were gods from the ancient Norse mythology. Copenhagen received Heimdall, Christiania Thor, Uppsala Odin and Lund Freyr.17

15

Hedin, Studentmötet i Lund och Köpenhamn 1862 (1863): 204. A complete list of the participants can be found in Hedin, Studentmötet i Lund och Köpenhamn 1862 (1863): 239. The total number of guests can roughly be divided among the participating universities as follows: Copenhagen, 930; Christiania, 230; Lund, 190; Uppsala, 290. The number of participants from Lund only includes those who were present during the part of the meeting held in Copenhagen. During the previous arrangements in Lund, this number was probably even higher, though it should be noted that the total number of students at the University of Lund during the spring semester of 1862 was only 343 (Lunds Kongl. Universitets katalog för vår-terminen 1862 (Lund: Akademiska Föreningen 1862): 45). 17 Hedin, Studentmötet i Lund och Köpenhamn 1862 (1863): 81. A detailed description of this donation is also given in a contemporary issue of the Danish magazine Illustreret Tidende. As far as the author of this article knows, only one of these gonfalones—the one given to the students from Lund—is preserved today. 16

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Figure 1. The gonfalone with Freyr, presented to the students of Lund at the student meeting in Copenhagen 1862, seen here in a contemporary illustration from Illustreret Tidende. Reproduced with kind permission of the archives of Akademiska Föreningen.

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A last formal opportunity before the war for the Scandinavian students to meet each other happened in April 1863, when the Studenterforeningen in Copenhagen inaugurated its new building. Once more, young academics from Uppsala, Christiania and Lund travelled to the Danish capital. As usual, a large number of ceremonial poems were written for the occasion, among them a special greeting to the guests from the “brother countries” (broderrigerne). “With the help of God, may we ride together”, the author of the poem recited—no less a person than, again, Ploug.18 Then came the last use of Danevirke and the Second War of Schleswig.19 The next large student meeting which had been planned to take place in Christiania in 1867 was cancelled, and as Leonard Holmström—a student in Lund at the time—later wrote, a “sense of shame” spread among those enthusiasts who had failed to actually help their kindred fellowmen when war broke out.20 The “dark nights of winter” began. A Dead Idea—Or Rather the Contrary? In the light of the ideological debacle of 1864 one might tend to regard the Scandinavist Ploug in 1868 as a man who had outlived himself, an “eternal student” who, in fact, was pathetically clinging on to ideals that belonged to an earlier generation; a man flogging a dead horse so to speak. Still, the meeting in Copenhagen, where Ploug read the poem quoted at the beginning of this chapter, was not a singular event. During the winter of 1867–1868 Lunds Weckoblad reported on other “Nordic festivities” that were organised in Uppsala, Stockholm and Lund, as well as a “Scandinavian Christmas celebration” in Paris.21 At the event that took place in Lund, the main speaker had been Hans Henric Hallbäck, who in his speech addressed the Nordic universities in particular. Like Ploug, Hallbäck used the erection of a building as

18

Carl Ploug, Til vore gjæster fra broderrigerne. Den 17. April 1863 (S.l. s.d.). The Danevirke is a system of Danish fortifications in Schleswig-Holstein. This important linear defensive earthwork was constructed across the neck of the Cimbrian peninsula during Denmark’s Viking Age. It was last used for military purposes in 1864. 20 Leonard Holmström, “Hågkomster från 1860-talets studentliv i Lund”, in: Under Lundagårds kronor (Lund: Gleerups Förlag 1918): 208. 21 Lunds Weckoblad (04-01-1868, 08-02-1868, 11-02-1868 and 03-03-1868). 19

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a metaphor, speaking of “the temple of truth, peace and beauty”, the construction of which demanded [. . .] the recruitment of new fighters for the causes of science, religion and art, fighters who to the world will carry forth the ideas to whose flags they have sworn allegiance, and who do not shrink back from the powers of darkness and lies. This work of ideas, to enlist warriors for its cause, has continued for thousands of years in all points of the compass and in every country. And in each country where these warriors have arrived, they have established their workshops, where each individual is schooled for the honourable task of joining the service of the ideas, and is prepared for sacrificing his best abilities on their altar. Such workshops exist even in our North, and these workshops are the universities of the Nordic countries.22

The subtext of Hallbäck’s message is hardly difficult to catch: the Scandinavian movement may have failed when it came to help each other in the true acts of war, but this did not mean that there was not still another fight—a fight in spirit, an intellectual fight—to be entered in unison.23 Ploug’s poem, Hallbäck’s speech and the various other events described above, certainly indicate that at least parts of the old spirit of Scandinavism had survived the “long nights of winter”. Also, the fact that the planned student meeting of 1867 was cancelled did not mean that the more formal socialisation between the students of Lund and Copenhagen stopped entirely. In November 1867, the student singers of the two universities had jointly arranged a charity concert in Copenhagen as a benefit for the people of northern Sweden who had been struck by bad crops.24 Apparently a sense of mutual solidarity still prevailed among the students of the universities on both sides of the Sound.

22

Lunds Weckoblad (03-03-1868). This concept of compensating the loss of war with the gains of spiritual and intellectual progress is reminiscent of Esaias Tegnér’s famous poem Svea (1812), in which the author speaks of “reconquering Finland within the boundaries of Sweden” (“inom Sveriges gräns erövra Finland åter”). 24 Lund, Akademiska Föreningens Arkiv & Studentmuseum: Concert af Studentsångföreningarna från Lund och Köpenhamn (11-1867). During the “Nordic festivity” in Lund in March 1868, a special toast of gratitude had been proposed for the Danish (and also Norwegian) help that they had received; cf. Lunds Weckoblad (03-031868). 23

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Gustaf Ljunggren—A Key Actor The question of celebrating the bicentenary of the University of Lund was formally raised for the first time during a meeting of the consistorium in April 1866. The minutes do not reveal who brought up the subject, but it might very well have been Ljunggren, professor of aesthetics,25 not only because of the leading position he would later take in the actual preparations and the carrying out of the festivities, but also due to the fact that he was already at this time most certainly aware that he would be in turn to hold the office of rector during the year of the jubilee, and thus function as the official host of the ceremonies. At the age of 45, Ljunggren was one of the most prominent personalities of Lund University as well as of the city of Lund.26 Already a professor for nine years, he was also a member of the city council, at the time of the jubilee being its vice-chairman. He held high offices in many societies such as the ancient guild of St Canute. And last but not least, in 1865 he had been offered the exclusive honour of being elected to one of the eighteen places as ordinary member of the Swedish Academy. Ljunggren was also known for his personal hospitality and his home was regularly filled up with guests—sometimes up to 90 people—ranging from influential visitors from Stockholm, to professors and other intellectuals, to young students. One of his regular guests, Knut Winzell, described Ljunggren as a “leading” force in the social life of the city.27 The presence of young students in Ljunggren’s home is symptomatic. In spite of having already reached the pinnacles of his academic career, the fact is that Ljunggren himself was, in heart and spirit, still very much a student. For ten years, between 1849 and 1859, he had been the curator of the Scanian Nation, the largest of the student nations at the university, and he had left that office only

25 Aesthetics was the name used for the combined subjects of history of art and history of literature. The two would not be divided into separate subjects until 1919. 26 Biographical information on Ljunggren comes mainly from Carl af Petersens and Anders Malm, Lunds universitets matrikel 1899 (Lund: Gleerup 1898–1899) and Gösta Lundström, “Ljunggren, Gustaf Jordan Håkan”, in: Svenskt biografiskt lexikon (Stockholm: Bonniers 1984), vol. 24. Cf. also Christer Gierow, Lunds universitets historia, III. 1790–1867 (Lund: Gleerup 1971): 355. 27 Knut Wintzell, “Om Henrik Möller och om det ljunggrenska hemmet”, in: Under Lundagårds kronor—Ny samling (Lund: Gleerups Förlag 1921): 387. The quote regarding Ljunggren’s leading role can be found on page 398.

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Figure 2. A photomontage made in connection with the bicentennial showing all the employees of the University of Lund in 1868. Ljunggren can be seen to the extreme right of the picture, fourth from bottom. Reproduced with kind permission of the archives of Akademiska Föreningen.

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to be installed immediately as the nation’s inspector—which he would remain for 30 years.28 From 1860 until 1868, he combined this with being the chairman of Akademiska Föreningen, in which he had earlier held the office of head of the “social committee” twice already. In that capacity, Ljunggren had helped to shape and develop the cultural activities taking place within AF for many years, arranging various festivities, making speeches, writing short plays that were performed by the students and so on. Ljunggren and his associates, it has been said within the Akademiska Föreningen, gave the social committee “its importance as an element of education in the lives of the youth, and by their examples they conjured up a spirit of enthusiasm and sociability.”29 However, Ljunggren was not only a central figure in the local student life of Lund, he was also a living legend of the Scandinavian movement. Born in 1823, Ljunggren had arrived at the university in 1839, just in time for the first large Scandinavian student meetings. Soon he made friends with Strandberg, Göthe Thomée and other leading local Scandinavists. Although he was unable to attend the 1843 meeting in Uppsala in person, Ljunggren described how he followed the newspaper reports on each speech and poem anxiously, reading them with the same sense of joy as if they had been “reports on a battle won by Swedish arms”.30 Ljunggren would miss few of the following meetings, and at the meeting in Copenhagen in 1862 he definitely became one of the main representatives from Lund.31 On the basis of his longstanding role within the university, Ljunggren was appointed as one of five members of a committee given the task to work out suggestions for the bicentenary celebrations. In this capacity he was responsible for the invitation essay sent out to universities, learned institutions and scientific societies at home and abroad. As usual with these kinds of official invitations and programmes issued by the university at the time, this document took the form of an academic essay, the subject of which, in this particular case, very evidently

28 Carl Sjöström, Skånska nationen 1833–1889—Biografiska och genealogiska anteckningar (Lund 1904): 13, 57. 29 Akademiska Föreningen 1830–1911 (1911): 85; Hillerdal and Starfelt, Akademiska Föreningen 1830–1953 (1953): 90, 95. 30 Holmberg,Skandinavismen i Sverige vid 1800-talets mitt (1946): 67. 31 Collin, “Lund och skandinavismen” (1918): 430.

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linked back to Lund’s proud place in the Scandinavian movement. It was entitled “Tegnér and Oehlenschläger”.32 The essay opens by reminding the reader that one of the original names of the University of Lund was the academia conciliatrix—the academy of reconciliation. And although centuries of feuds between Sweden and Denmark had prevented this reconciliation, its time had finally arrived. The university regarded itself the “natural spokesman” of the aims to reunite the Swedish and Danish “kinsmen” within the fields of art and science. This introduction is followed by brief descriptions of the works of Adam Gottlob Oehlenschläger and Esaias Tegnér and a short analysis of how these were connected to the romantic movement. A comparison between the works of the two poets, focusing mainly on those poems with patriotic themes from the Viking age, closes the main part of the essay. The conclusion argued that, though both poets belonged to the same period and movement, there were differences between them in style as well as in aim. While Oehlenschäger is described as more epical and with a primarily purely aesthetic agenda, Tegnér is in contrast more of a lyricist combined with a moral cause. However, the writer makes clear, these differences should not be made the basis of a quality judgment of the two poets: The question regarding which of the two greatest poets of the Nordic countries should take precedence over the other is superfluous. None of them leaves the other in a shadow. The two nations can love and respect them both, as they did respect each other.

This mutual respect and friendship between the two poets is then finally illustrated by an excerpt from the poem written by Oehlenschläger at the death of Tegnér in 1846. Tegnér is described as someone who liked to visit Denmark with a “flock of brothers”, reaching out with “a hand of love / To the Danes from the coast of Sweden”. The writer’s sympathy with this Danish-Swedish fraternisation can hardly be misunderstood. Later in life, Ljunggren himself wrote that

32

This invitation as well as speeches, poems and other documents concerning the anniversary, including a description of the festivities, were afterwards collected in an official publication entitled Lunds universitets andra secularfest maj 1868 (Lund: Berlingska boktryckeriet 1868).

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[m]aybe I will get closest to the truth if I say that Scandinavism was the religion of the students of that period, that it was the sum and flower of its most noble feelings. Naturally it had a varying impact on different natures; for some it was a rapture but without intoxication, for others a real fanaticism. Those who were not Scandinavists were infidels [. . .].33

Ljunggren’s essay in the invitation clearly shows that he was still a believer in Scandinavism in 1868. Apart from Ljunggren, the organising committee of the jubilee consisted of the professors Carl Johan Tornberg (oriental languages), Carl Wilhelm Linder (Greek), Niklas Tengberg (history) and Lysander (Latin).34 It is remarkable that all the members represented the same faculty (of arts), which of course raises the question why no professors of theology, law or medicine were selected. Was this simply the result of a lack of interest, or was Ljunggren as a leading figure within the faculty of arts able to sort out a group of like-minded colleagues? Unfortunately, the brief paragraph of the minutes does not give any clue. Furthermore, it is worth noticing that out of these five professors three—Ljunggren, Lysander and Tornberg—had participated in the great Scandinavian meeting of 1862, the first two as speakers during various parts of the programme.35 Finally, Lysander and Ljunggren were both involved in the social committee of Akademiska Föreningen. Two and a half months later, the committee presented its proposals to the consistorium.36 In this first memorandum four main suggestions were made. The first one was purely a practical matter. Instead of having the celebrations at the actual inauguration date of the university—on 28 January—the committee suggested postponing the jubilee until the end of the spring semester in May.37 Apart from this, they suggested that the celebrations should include three main events: the publication of a new history of the university, the issue of

33 Originally from an obituary that Ljunggren wrote for Göthe Thomée; quoted in Akademiska Föreningen 1830–1911 (1911): 94. 34 Lund, Universitetsarkiv / University archives. Kansliets arkiv, 1666–1930/31, vol. AIIa:137: Större konsistoriets protokoll (04-04-1866, § 7). 35 Hedin, Studentmötet i Lund och Köpenhamn 1862 (1863): 57, 64 and 251. 36 Lund, Universitetsarkiv / University archives. Kansliets arkiv, 1666–1930/31, vol. AIIa:137: Större konsistoriets protokoll (19-06-1866, § 1). Judging from the handwriting, the memorandum was written by Lysander. 37 The same decision was taken at the centennial jubilee in 1768 and at the anniversaries in 1918 and 1968.

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a commemorative medal, and finally the organisation of promotions in all four faculties. Weibull’s Celebrated Jubilee History When suggesting that the university’s history should be written and published on the occasion of the anniversary, neither the committee nor the consistorium originally suggested a specific author. On the contrary, it was stated that this book would probably have to be the work of a group of people.38 However, Martin Weibull volunteered for the task at one of the first meetings of the consistorium after the summer recess.39 Although Weibull was twelve years younger than Ljunggren, he shared many traits with his elder colleague.40 Both stood firmly with one foot in the university and the other in the student organisations. During their career, both held offices as inspector of a student nation and as chairman of Akademiska Föreningen. As an academic, Weibull received his laurel in 1862 as “ultimus” (the second best of that year). At the time of his appointment as the university’s official bicentennuarian historian, he held a position as docent in history. Only a few months after he showed interest in writing the jubilee history, Weibull was promoted to the position of adjunkt (lecturer) in the same subject,41 an office that he held until 1877 when he received the title of professor. His achievements as a historian have been described as being of “great importance and leaving very visible traces in Lund during the late nineteenth century”.42 He died in 1902, having raised two sons— Lauritz and Curt—who both became professors of history like their father.

38 Lund, Universitetsarkiv / University archives. Kansliets arkiv, 1666–1930/31, vol. AIIa:137: Större konsistoriets protokoll (19-06-1866, § 1). 39 Lund, Universitetsarkiv / University archives. Kansliets arkiv, 1666–1930/31, vol. AIIa:137: Större konsistoriets protokoll (12-09-1866, § 5). 40 So far, no major biography has been written about this important scholar. The basic data comes from: Petersens and Malm, Lunds universitets matrikel 1899 (1898– 1899): 154 and Erik Lönnroth, “Weibull, Martin” in: Svensk uppslagsbok (Malmö: Förlagshuset Norden AB 1955), vol. 32: 1271. 41 Lund, Universitetsarkiv / University archives. Kansliets arkiv, 1666–1930/31, vol. AIIa:137: Större konsistoriets protokoll (03-11-1866, § 3). 42 Lönnroth, “Weibull, Martin” (1955): 1271.

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Like Ljunggren, Weibull too was a true Scandinavist.43 At the student meeting of 1862, both had been members of the local planning committee at their university. When the Danish participants had arrived in Lund, Weibull had given the official welcome speech. In his address, he had reminded them that Lund, with its medieval cathedral in which several Danish kings had been crowned, was a witness to the fact that “the culture, if not also the nationality, here in the most southern parts of Sweden was once Danish”.44 The same degree of sympathy for the Danish brother nation was visible in Weibull’s jubilee oeuvre. Especially in the first chapters, the author emphasised Lund’s role as an important link between Sweden and Denmark. Already in his preface, Weibull reminded his readers that it was thanks to the University of Lund that Sweden benefited scientifically from “the same parts of Scandinavia, that once gave Denmark Tycho Brahe, the Bartholins and the Winsløws”.45 He then continued with a description of the intellectual basis for the future university, which was established by the church during Lund’s Danish times. Weibull extolled the virtues of Christian III of Denmark in particular, because he allowed the church to retain its financial means to carry on its educational work in Lund, in spite of the advance of the protestant Reformation. The actual foundation basis of the new Swedish university is described in the following words: These were the institutions of learning, which were founded in this area and which worked in the service of education from that time, when the intellectual cultivation of Scandinavia began, until that fatal day in Roskilde on 28 February 1658, when the southern gothic provinces of the peninsula were torn from the governmental and educational context within one branch of the Scandinavian stem to which they had belonged for centuries, only to be grafted into another. These memories are in themselves unforgettable and have never been ungratefully forgotten, not least by the university, which was founded on the same foundations

43 And, according to Lönnroth, he would remain one: “[Weibull’s] strong patriotic and Scandinavian interests shaped both his scientific and more literary writing; combined with his love of his native Scania, these ideas formed the basis of a new movement within Swedish historical research [. . .], which focused primarily on the joint Scandinavian development.” Lönnroth, “Weibull, Martin” (1955): 1271. 44 Hedin, Studentmötet i Lund och Köpenhamn 1862 (1863): 63. 45 Martin Weibull, Lunds universitets historia 1668–1868 (Lund: Universitetet 1868), vol. 1: 2. Tycho Brahe was a sixteenth-century Danish astronomer; Bartholin is the family name of several Danish physicians from the seventeenth century; Jacob B. Winsløw was a Danish anatomist, active in the first half of the eighteenth century.

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fredrik tersmeden and pieter dhondt as these educational institutions, and which, in the service of a kindred people’s spirit, has continued the very same pursuit for education.46

The appreciation for the university’s Danish roots, as well as for its role as a Swedish establishment, is also mirrored in Weibull’s portrait of the first rector magnificus, Olof Bagger. Bagger, who was a native Dane (born in Odense in 1607), had been a teacher at the cathedral school in Lund since 1638 and was made a Swedish citizen when Charles X Gustav conquered Scania in 1658. Ten years later he was appointed professor of theology at the newly founded university. As one of the few teachers of the university who chose to remain in Lund when Denmark attacked the city in 1676, Bagger died there the following year, while the war was still raging. Weibull described the mixed feelings that Bagger might have experienced in that period as follows: “he still remained faithful to his nationality, but also to his oath of allegiance.”47 Weibull’s jubilee history is quite impressive, especially when taking into account the fact that it was a pioneering work,48 and that it was completed in less than two years. Consisting of two volumes—the first contains a chronological narrative, and the second is made up of short biographies of all its employees from 1668 onwards49—it counted almost 900 pages in quarto format. Although only about a third of the first volume (but almost the entire second one) was finished in time for the festivities in May 1868, the whole work was completed within the year.50

46 Weibull, Lunds universitets historia 1668–1868 (1868), vol. 1: 7. The word “gothic” was used here as a translation for the Swedish word “götisk”, which referred to the southern parts of Sweden, known as “Götaland”. At that time, people believed that this name derived from the ancient gothic tribes of the European migration period. 47 Weibull, Lunds universitets historia 1668–1868 (1868), vol. 2: 67. 48 In the preface to the second volume, Weibull explicitly stated that his work was based mainly on original sources from the university archives and not on previously printed works. With this statement, he referred, at least partly, to the work of Paul Gabriel Ahnfelt (a vicar, writer and Lund University alumnus), who in 1859 had published the first volume of Lunds universitets historia, an ambitious attempt to write the history of the university. The first volume consisted of more than 400 pages, but still only dealt with the seventeenth century. No further volumes appeared and Ahnfelt died in 1863. In spite of Weibull’s general claim, references to Ahnfelt’s work do appear in his 1868 history. 49 The second volume was written together with Elof Tegnér, amanuensis at the university library, and from 1883 head librarian. 50 By way of comparison: on the occasion of the tercentenary in 1968, a four volume history of the university was planned, but although in this case the work was divided

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The Medal Debate Weibull’s work was generally appreciated, and almost no discussion arose about its content, its format or the timing of its publication. Something completely different happened with regard to the commemorative medal to be issued on the occasion of the bicentenary. No other topic with regard to the celebrations—neither the overall programme, nor the guest list, nor even the costs—caused such lengthy discussions within the consistorium as this medal. Every detail of it was debated, from the inscription to the choice of symbols.51 The whole issue proves the importance that was given to official and allegorical symbols in that period. The fact that the university itself, in the end, was not allowed to take the final decision with regard to the medal underlines this further. The final decision lay in the hands of the chancellor in Stockholm. Originally, two different designs for the medal were presented. Both carried the portrait of King Charles XV with the title “Carolus XV Rex Sueciae et Norvegiae” on the obverse, whereas the motifs on the reverse varied. The first suggestion showed “a lighthouse on a seashore with a halo of light rays around its lantern” and the inscription “Continuo spargebat lumine terras”. The second suggestion was described in much greater detail (thereby indicating the preference of the committee itself ): “on a coast, over which the asterism of the plough is seen, a border column, broad but low (cippus), marked with the lesser coat of arms (3 crowns) and the monogram of Charles X Gustav; and Minerva laying down an olive twig on this boundary marker.” The suggested motto in this case was “Academia Carolina Conciliatrix”, i.e. the name that Charles X Gustav had allegedly given to the university that he had planned to found in Skåne and which also appeared in Ljunggren’s invitation, as quoted above. The committee gave the following full meaning to this motto, that it was “the former and present task of the University of Lund—through changing the military border into a cultural border—to reconcile not only the conquered provinces but also their former motherland with the conquest”.52

over four different writers, only two volumes appeared during the actual jubilee year. The last volume was ony published in 1982. 51 Lund, Universitetsarkiv / University archives. Kansliets arkiv, 1666–1930/31, vol. AIIa:138: Större konsistoriets protokoll (03-04-1867, § 4). 52 During the debate that followed, a third suggestion appeared, though it did not received as much attention as the two other (official) proposals. The idea was to depict

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The first version won the acclaim of only one of the professors: Tornberg. The fact that Tornberg was himself a member of the committee probably explains why two suggestions were presented at all, because the first version was quickly dismissed by a vast majority of the professors present. Johan Jacob Borelius, professor of philosophy, noted that this design was “too general” and “equally fitting for any university”. Or in other words, the Lundian professors preferred a medal that said something explicitly particular about the University of Lund. The second suggestion obviously did. However, the general preference for this design did not mean that it was accepted without debate. It is not possible to give a full summary of the debate, but one question about which the views varied greatly was whether the name of Scania’s conqueror, Charles X Gustav, should be given in full or just as monogram on the medal. At least two of the professors, Carl Wilhelm Skarstedt and Lysander, spoke in favour of the former alternative. Ljunggren on the other hand was very much against this: putting the focus too much on the name of the warrior king would lead people’s thoughts towards “the conquest of the province” in a way that was not desirable. In his opinion, the references to the King could be omitted completely and replaced with just the Swedish coat of arms on the column. Lysander, in an extremely lengthy contribution to the debate, rejected his colleague’s argument on several grounds. First of all, the reference to the warrior king would enhance the contrast between the conquest and the reconciliation. Secondly, historical facts could not be erased, and showing shame over Sweden’s proud martial past was a sign of “false Scandinavism”. Finally, Lysander believed the Danes to be intelligent enough to realise that the main emphasis was put on the symbols. Not without irony, Lysander asked whether a Dane ought to be enraged every time he heard the name Roskilde, just because the peace treaty where Denmark lost Scania was signed there? Lysander’s eloquence, and the support of some of the other professors, did not help him. Ultimately, Ljunggren was more persuasive than Lysander in the debate within the committee and only the coat of arms appeared on the medal. Apart from that, the net result was

a sacred grove, which in Swedish is known as “offerlund”, the latter part of the word being identical to the name of the city, and as such it was sometimes given as historical explanation of that name.

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Figure 3. The final design of the commemorative medal as reproduced on the university’s official publication on the jubilee. The artist was Johan Ericsson. Lunds universitets andra secularfest maj 1868 (Lund: Berlingska boktryckeriet 1868).

identical to the second design suggested by the committee. The final version of the full inscription on the reverse ran: “Academia Carolina Conciliatrix Sacra Sæcularia Iterum Celebr: MDCCCLXVIII”. Prominent and Less Prominent Invitees In February 1868, the planning committee presented a second memorandum to the consistorium.53 This rather brief document—only two handwritten pages—was written and signed by Ljunggren. It began with a list of organisations that ought to receive invitations, starting with the universities of Uppsala, Christiania, Copenhagen, Helsinki, Greifswald and Dorpat. Uppsala was a fellow Swedish university; Helsinki, Greifswald and Dorpat had all formerly been Swedish; the Christiania University of course represented the Norwegian half of the Swedish-Norwegian union of 1814; and thus the university of Copenhagen was the only fellow institution on the guest list that could be

53 Lund, Universitetsarkiv / University archives. Kansliets arkiv, 1666–1930/31, vol. AIIa:139: Större konsistoriets protokoll (22-02-1868, § 6).

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considered entirely “foreign”. With the exceptions of Greifswald and Dorpat, no non-Scandinavian universities were invited.54 Apart from representatives of the universities listed above, the suggested invitees included the King, the prince hereditary (the King’s brother, Prince Oscar), the chancellor of the university,55 the chancellor’s secretary, the government minister for ecclesiastical affairs (who held jurisdiction over the universities), the commander-in-chief of the military forces in Scania, the county governor of Malmöhus County, and various Swedish academies of arts and sciences. One striking group among the guests were the representatives from Finland, in particular a delegation of three Finnish students. As mentioned above, out of political reasons hitherto the Finns had had little if any possibility to take part in the Scandinavian movement prevalent within the students’ body of its neighbouring countries. Two Finns who had managed to join the student meeting of 1843 had even been exiled from their university for a year by the Russian government, as a punishment for their participation.56 As late as March 1868, Hallbäck had been talking in his speech to the Nordic universities about “a thunder in the air over the sea which no longer unites but separates Sweden from the old Finland, ‘the home of loyalty’, and this thunder even prevents our brotherly greeting to use that frail wire which is the only external connection between the former siblings”.57 Still in May, the newspapers reported on a struggle that was going on in Finland about who could represent the Finnish students. Later that month more positive news arrived, revealing that the chancellor of the university of Helsinki—no less a person than the Russian Crown Prince—had personally granted the Finnish students financial

54 According to the report in the official publication issued by the university afterwards, neither Greifswald nor Dorpat seem to have sent any representatives. Surprisingly enough, this published list of attendant guests instead includes an official representative from the University of Rostock (Lunds universitets andra secularfest maj 1868 (1868): 6). 55 The university chancellor was a governmental official, resident in the capital. Originally, the universities of Lund and Uppsala had separate chancellors, but from 1824 onwards these functions were in practice permanently combined in one person, a fact which was also regulated formally in 1893. For long periods during the late eighteenth and first half of the nineteenth century, the crown prince held this office at one or both of the universities. In 1868, the chancellor was Count Gustaf Sparre, a former prime minister of Sweden. At the bicentennial celebration in Lund, he was one of the persons who was offered an honorary doctoral degree by the law faculty. 56 Hillerdal and Starfelt, Akademiska Föreningen 1830–1953 (1953): 58. 57 Lunds Weckoblad (03-03-1868).

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assistance for the journey.58 Thanks to this, the jubilee in Lund became one of the first occasions for the students of Helsinki to meet their Nordic fellows since the incorporation of Finland into the Russian empire. Not surprisingly, the Finns were thus embraced with an extra sense of warmth. Clas Theodor Odhner, chairman of the students’ union (later a well-known professor of history), greeted them, stating that You, Finnish brothers, are separated from us by a long distance, which has prevented us from seeing each other more often, but yet you are as close to our hearts that you are to us like old friends from our youth, which one has not met for a long time and which one does not meet again without tears of joy as well as of sadness.59

In a poem, Hallbäck—who could be described as a kind of unofficial poet laureate of the Lundian students at the time60—stressed the common historical and cultural background shared by the Finns and the Swedes: Vi hafva ju samma minnens skörd Att älska och vårda och vakta, Och blodets stämma. I häfden hörd, Den vilja vi ej förakta. Och språket är ju detsamma också, den älskade svenska tunga, Och rundtom Bottnen kan man förstå Hvad våra skalder de sjunga.61 We share the same harvest of memories to love and to guard and to watch over, and the voice of our blood, heard through history, we do not wish to scorn. Our language is also the same, the beloved Swedish tongue, and around the Bothnian Bay you can understand what our poets are singing.

However, the most notable person among the Finnish guest was not one of the students, but one of the professors from Helsinki, the

58

Lunds Weckoblad (05-05-1868 and 12-05-1868). The full speech is printed in Martin Weibull and Otto Borchsenius (eds.), Ydun— Nordisk studentkalender 1870 (Copenhagen: Gad 1869): III. 60 Cf. for example Nils Flensburg’s essay on Hallbäck in: Under Lundagårds kronor— ny samling (Lund: Gleerups Förlag 1921): 423ff. 61 Lunds universitets andra secularfest maj 1868 (1868), vol. 1: 51. 59

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well-known writer and historian Zachris Topelius. Though overwhelmingly greeted and honoured by the royalty present at the jubilee as well as by the Scanian nobility, Topelius himself seems to have been profoundly struck by the richness and beauty of the landscape surrounding Lund—perhaps not surprisingly for the inhabitant of a country which had recently endured one of its gravest years of bad crop and famine.62 The Festivities Like most of the other guests, Topelius was somewhat overwhelmed by the extensive day-to-day programme of the festivities from 27 to 29 May. The main part of the festivities was suggested by the organising committee in the memorandum mentioned above, together with the guest list. Very little discussion arose about the programme, and with a few slight changes and additions it was accepted (including the authority for the committee to make changes in the programme as a result of circumstances outside of its control) and sent to the chancellor for final approval. After an early salute, the official programme opened on Wednesday 27 May with a morning service in the cathedral. This was followed at lunchtime by the “great procession” in which all the invited guests (apart from the royals), the teachers of the university, various representatives of the city, alumni of the university, and finally the students walked through the park of Lundagård again to the cathedral. After the arrival of the King and Prince Oscar, a mixed choir of 100 voices performed a cantata, written for the occasion, followed by a lengthy array of short speeches mainly consisting of greetings from the universities and other learned institutions present. After the ceremony in the cathedral, the various parts of the procession split up for a meal. The most important guests were received in the house of the bishop, whereas the students and their guest had lunch at the town hall. At the same time, 500 poor people of the city were also invited for lunch thanks to a subscription among the wealthier inhabitants. During the afternoon, a military orchestra provided open air music, and

62 Matti Klinge has devoted a chapter to Topelius’s visit to Lund in his book Idyll och hot: Zacharias Topelius—hans politik och idéer (Stockholm: Atlantis 2000): 324. I am grateful to Klinge for drawing my attention to this chapter.

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Figure 4. Rector Ljunggren answers the greetings of the invited guests at the opening ceremony of the bicentenary, published in the Danish magazine Illustrete Tidene. At the left of the scene a student is seen holding the gonfalone of 1862. According to the inscription at the bottom of this copy of the picture, it has once belonged to Martin Weibull. Reproduced with kind permission of the archives of Akademiska Föreningen.

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finally, at 9 o’clock in the evening, the university gave a ball for 800 people (including the royal guests) in the grand hall of Akademiska Föreningen. On Thursday, after yet another morning salute, the promotions of the faculties of theology and law were scheduled, both in the cathedral and separated only by some instrumental music. The two ceremonies were closed by a prayer from the Bishop of Linköping, Ebbe Gustaf Bring, who earlier had been a professor at the university. After this part of the jubilee, the King had to leave the festivities because his daughter was to undergo her confirmation. His younger brother Oscar stayed in Lund as the only royal representative. A banquet for 200 people at Akademiska Föreningen (with many official toasts) closed the official programme of the day. Although the banquet took place in a building owned by the students, it was, as the ball of the previous evening, organised by the university. The festivities that took place in the same building on Thursday evening were, however, arranged by the students themselves, containing several speeches, poems and songs. During this evening, a number of people were inaugurated as honorary members of Akademiska Föreningen, among them two prominent figures of the Scandinavian movement, Strandberg and Ploug.63 The next day passed off in a very similar way as the previous one, but now the faculties of medicine and arts were on. The highlight of the latter was the award of an honorary doctorate to prince hereditary Oscar. The prayer was led by Professor Linder, one of the members of the jubilee committee, dean of the faculty of arts and also a clergyman. In the afternoon a “promotional meal” was served at and by Akademiska Föreningen, followed by an open-air banquet in the park of Lundagård with some 8,000 participants. In the evening yet another ball at Akademiska Föreningen concluded the three-day programme. Judging from reports in the press, the overall course of the jubilee was regarded a success. Lunds Weckoblad devoted a large percentage of its issues during and after the festivities to the celebration of the university. In a lengthy and detailed report of the last two days of the programme, the journalist closed his article by excusing himself for the “meagreness” of his account: 63

Although eight people were honoured in this way, according to Weibull, only Strandberg’s and Ploug’s names were deemed important enough to be mentioned in his account of the festivities in the calendar Ydun. Cf. Weibull and Borchsenius (eds.), Ydun—Nordisk studentkalender 1870 (1869).

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[. . .] but to our excuse may be noted what we have written already in the Thursday issue, which is that it has been impossible not to get dragged along with the stream of these both serious and merry festivities, and thus a few days of calming down from these joyous pleasures will be necessary before a proper arrangement of the pictures of them can be made.64

The Scandinavist Character of the Promotions and Rhetoric Much of the enthusiasm derived from the large-scale, ceremonial promotions, if only because until the first half of the twentieth century these kind of promotions were very irregular. Indeed, the faculty of arts, being the largest of the university, arranged promotions fairly regularly,65 but such ceremonies were rare within the smaller faculties. At the faculty of law only one doctor was created during the half century preceding 1868.66 The faculty of medicine even did not organise any promotion during the same period. The faculty of theology at its turn was not allowed to decide for itself whether promotions should be arranged, since a doctoral degree in theology was not awarded by the faculty, but by the king, a practice which continued well into the twentieth century. And when these degrees were awarded, the ceremony almost always took place at the university in the archdiocese of Uppsala, no matter what alma mater the recipient hailed from. Rare exceptions did exist, but the last doctoral degree in theology that was awarded in Lund before 1868 dated from as early as 1796.67 Against this background, the bicentennial promotions were of course something extraordinary. All in all 49 honorary doctors and 41 “ordinary” doctors were created during the four ceremonies.68 The notable dominance of honorary laureates confirms the impression of the promotions as part of an exceptional event, rather than an ordinary academic ceremony. The choice of honorary doctors once more

64

Lunds Weckoblad (30-05-1868). Between 1820 and 1868, promotions were arranged every third year. Cf. Lund, Universitetsarkiv / University archives. Filosofiska fakultetens arkiv, 1668–1956, vol. FII:2–3: Handlingar rörande promotioner. 66 Gierow, Lunds universitets historia, III. 1790–1867 (1971): 261. 67 Gierow, Lunds universitets historia, III. 1790–1867 (1971): 185. 68 The faculties of theology and law did not explicitly use the words doctor honoris causa, but from the lists of recipients it is still very evident that these persons did indeed recieve their degree as an honour and not after defending a doctoral thesis. 65

Figure 5. Scene from the ball given in the grand hall of Akademiska Föreningen on Wednesday evening as captured by the Swedish magazine Ny Illustrerad Tidning. Duke Oscar, the prince hereditary can be seen in the foreground slightly to right. Reproduced with kind permission of the archives of Akademiska Föreningen.

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Table 1. The number of doctores honoris causa for each faculty and country, awarded at the bicentenary of Lund University in 1868. Table provided with kind permission of the authors. Faculty Theology Law Medicine Arts Total

Swedes

Norwegians

Danes

Finns

26 12 6 5 49

0 4 5 3 12

0 2 3 4 9

0 0 0 1 1

reflected the “Scandinavist touch” of the entire jubilee. Apart from the faculty of theology, which was not allowed to award honorary degrees to foreigners, all other faculties honoured Swedish, Norwegians and Danish citizens as doctores honoris causa. It was, however, the faculty of arts (out of which all the members of the jubilee committee came) that succeeded in covering all the Nordic countries. Not only did the faculty have a Finn on its list, Frans Ludvig Schauman, but one of the Danish recipients, Konrad Gislason, was actually born in Iceland.69 The fact that the Norwegians came second to the Swedes themselves is hardly surprising given the political union between the two countries, but the fact that the Danes were only a few heads fewer speaks clearly of the university’s wish to mark its closeness to its local western neighbour. And at least one of the persons chosen to receive these honorary laurels had explicit connections to the Scandinavist movement, viz. Strandberg, who was hereby honoured a second time during the festivities. A similar Scandinavist interpretation dominated the rhetoric used during the jubilee. As rector magnificus, Ljunggren was obviously one of the main speakers on the opening day of the celebration.70 Although the theme for his opening speech—the role of science, arts and knowledge within society—did not have an evident Scandinavist character (in contrast to the subject of his invitation essay), nevertheless Ljunggren made use of the opportunity by opening his speech with a retrospective on the foundation years of the university. Hereby, he did

69

The lists of the doctores honoris causa are included in Lunds universitets andra secularfest maj 1868 (1868). 70 The speech is reprinted in full as supplement to Lunds universitets andra secularfest maj 1868 (1868).

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not focus on the Swedish origins of the university as a result of the military conquest of Scania, but instead he painted a picture full of the names of Danish kings, queens and bishops of the middle ages—from Valdemar the Great to Margaret I. The fact that the ceremony took place in the old cathedral of Lund also created the right atmosphere for doing so. As Weibull had attempted in the first chapter of his jubilee history, Ljunggren made clear by acknowledging the Danish royals and bishops that the University of Lund—although being a Swedish university—was well aware of its Danish origin. A large number of the representatives of the visiting universities enhanced this Scandinavist approach in their official greetings during the opening ceremony. The rector of the University of Copenhagen, Niels Ludvig Westergaard, was the first representative of another Scandinavian university to speak. He too related his own account of Lund’s Danish origin, describing it as something that filled a Dane with memories of joy as well as of sorrow. But then he turned to the subject of the academia conciliatrix, to the fact that the University of Lund aimed to be a university of reconciliation and unity. This, Westergaard said, was more than accomplished. The University of Lund definitely gave this idea “a richer content and a greater goal”. After referring to Tegnér’s crowning of Oehlenschläger with a laurel wreath in 1829 and the famous words that “the time of division and discord is over”, Westergaard looked into the future and declared it as his firm belief and wish that the University of Lund would “continue in the same spirit, with power and eagerness to contribute its part to the grand and sacred value of science: to gather all the free kindred peoples of the North in a mutual and united work, rich of fruits and glory, both for each people itself and for all of them in unison”.71 The representative from the University of Christiania, Professor Fredrik Brandt, also made the intellectual collaboration over national boundaries into one of the themes of his speech. However, he tended to give it an even wider scope than the interaction between the Scandinavian countries. “Science”, he declared, “is cosmopolitan.” Still, he also underlined the “common national spirit”, which in particular linked the Norwegian and Swedish universities together, and which

71

Lunds universitets andra secularfest maj 1868 (1868): 15.

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made it one of the tasks of these universities to strengthen this bond “through the power of knowledge”.72 The accounts of these two official speeches demonstrate clearly that the Nordic guests had grasped the message that Ljunggren and his colleagues had wished to send in connection with the celebration, although this message was probably more deeply appreciated by the Danish guests than by their Norwegian colleagues. Unfortunately, Professor Lorenz Leonard Lindelöf’s speech on behalf of the Finnish delegation is not included in the university’s official publication of the jubilee. With regard to these official addresses it is always difficult to weigh up serious engagements with increasing Nordic cooperation with the degree of politeness the circumstance demanded. Often, the messages sent out by the students give a much more open and fair picture of the prevailing feelings and relationships. The visitors from the fellow Nordic countries were greeted by the historian Odhner. Together with his warm words to the “Finnish brothers” quoted above, he expressed his sense of affinity for the Danes and the Norwegians. To the former, “our closest neighbours and companions”, Odhner declared that he hoped that they would, by now, see the loss of Scania and the resulting foundation of Lund University “no longer as a loss for your country, but rather as a gain, also for you through the founding of a nursery-garden for Nordic culture”. Towards the Norwegians (“the youth of manly spirit, powerful will and strong national interests”), he expressed his hope that they and the Swedes would develop further into a “living companionship”, not being satisfied with watching each other “over the mountains”.73 Student representatives from all three countries present answered this welcome greeting. Vilhelm Rode spoke for the Danes, admitting that they had not been able to arrive “with all the attributes of youth”, given the “grief of heart that Denmark had suffered” (in casu the war of 1864), but that their greeting still was heartfelt. Concerning the reason for the visit of the Danish students, Rode declared that “we Danes can look back with the University of Lund as well as we can look forwards with it; it was Lund, its poets, its students, its singers, who more

72 73

Lunds universitets andra secularfest maj 1868 (1868): 15f. Weibull and Borchsenius (eds.), Ydun—Nordisk studentkalender 1870 (1869): IV.

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than anyone else taught Sweden to know and to love Denmark.”74 The Finnish representative, Valfrid Alftan, stressed how Sweden had been Finland’s natural link “to the culture of the occident” and praised the common memories that Swedes and Finns had of Charles XII (“the last Viking of the North”) and of “the spiritual dawn that was lit by the throne of Gustav III”. He also underlined that the increasing fennicisation of Finnish society should not be regarded as a renunciation of its Swedish heritage, but as the result of the wish of the learned higher classes to include the Finnish-speaking majority within its sphere of Western civilisation.75 Finally, Frits Hansen spoke on behalf of the students from Christiania. He admitted that if Sweden had hoped to gain a new Finland through the union with Norway, they had reason to be disappointed. Whereas the inhabitants of Sweden and Finland had been one people, Norwegians and Swedes were two different peoples. But still, they were kindred peoples, siblings, and once the Swedes learned to accept the differences that such a relationship brought with it, Hansen saw a future where they would succeed to appreciate “the fraternal relationship” with “an independent brotherly people”. And it was primarily among the Swedish students that the speaker had so far seen the best attempts to understand and sympathise with this Norwegian ambition.76 The subject of kinship, brotherhood and united goals was thus brought up in many of the speeches. At the same time, most of the speakers emphasised that students and academics in general had a particular part to play within this context. Nevertheless, the degree of Scandiniavist enthusiasm clearly varied from country to country, being most evident among the local Swedish and the Danish representatives, whereas the Norwegians and Finns expressed themselves a bit more carefully. The Aftermath Like the local reporter from Lunds Weckoblad, most of the participants at the three days of academic celebrations probably needed “a few days of calming down” afterwards. The bicentenary was definitely

74 75 76

Weibull and Borchsenius (eds.), Ydun—Nordisk studentkalender 1870 (1869): V. Weibull and Borchsenius (eds.), Ydun—Nordisk studentkalender 1870 (1869): VII. Weibull and Borchsenius (eds.), Ydun—Nordisk studentkalender 1870 (1869): IX.

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an event that the people and scholars of Lund and its environs had not experienced for decades. But did something more long-lasting result out of it? At least from a Scandinavist viewpoint in general, and from a Danish-Swedish perspective in particular, the answer is certainly yes. First of all, the hiatus in the regular exchange of Scandinavian students that had followed the war of 1864 now came to an end. In the year after the jubilee in Lund, the student meeting, which had been planned for 1867 but then cancelled, was finally arranged, this time in Christiania.77 Although this initiative formally came from the Norwegian students, the revival of the student meeting tradition would most probably not have occurred, at least not that soon, if the celebrations in Lund had not encouraged renewed contacts between the Nordic students. The student meeting of 1869 in turn resulted in a couple of spin-off projects. One was the publication of a Scandinavian literary calendar, called Ydun. The initiative came from Lund and was approved by the Danes, who chose Otto Borschenius as one of the two editors of the publication, the other one being no other than the jubilee historian Weibull (who himself also published a poem in the calendar). Moreover, Weibull was not the only familiar name involved in the editing of this calendar: Ploug appeared on the list as well. Ploug was not only responsible for the title of the publication—the name of one of the ancient Norse goddesses—but he also wrote the opening poem of the first issue.78 Ydun was evidently intended as an annual publication, but in the end only one volume appeared. Another Swedish-Danish initiative taken in connection with the student meeting of 1869 (and once again with Weibull and Ploug among the initiators) proved to be more lasting. A foundation was established which awarded scholarships to students from Lund and Copenhagen who wished to study at a university in another Nordic country. The initial financial basis of the foundation was made up of money collected at a concert given by the student choirs from the two cities, just before leaving together for Norway for a series of other concerts.79 The fund was jointly administrated by Studenterforeningen in Copenhagen and Academiska Föreningen in Lund, and

77 78 79

Cf. Studentmötet i Kristiania 1869 (Lund 1871). Weibull and Borchsenius (eds.), Ydun—Nordisk studentkalender 1870 (1869): 1. Studentmötet i Kristiania 1869 (1871): 13.

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Figure 6. Front page of the Danish-Swedish calendar Ydun which was published in 1869 as a result of the renewed contacts between the Scandinavian students. Martin Weibull and Otto Borchsenius (eds.), Ydun. Nordisk studentkalender 1870 (Copenhagen: Gad 1869).

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when a name had to be found for the scholarships the founders picked the same two representatives of those cities that Ljunggren had chosen for his jubilee invitation. Thus the name became the OehlenschlägerTegnér scholarships. In 1872 they were awarded for the first time.80 Unlike the literary calendar Ydun, the Oehlenschläger-Tegnér scholarships still exist today, and thus the fund—which has grown to considerable size—still gives representatives from the two university cities within the board a reason to meet each other twice a year. And through practical financial means it endorses a continuous exchange of students between the Scandinavian universities. On a smaller scale, this can be seen as a way of recruiting the “new fighters” to the “workshops” Hallbäck talked about when speaking of the Nordic universities in 1868. As a point of trivia, it could be noted that the year of the university’s bicentenary was also the year of the foundation of the society “CC”. This was the first Lundian student fraternal society of the semi-parodic kind that had already flourished in Uppsala for more than half a century, often mocking the rituals of freemasonry and celebrating—in the words of Luther—“Wein, Weib und Gesang”.81 Originally centred around a small circle of members of the Smålandian Nation, CC soon grew to include many prominent characters at the university. From 1873 onwards, however, it also became customary to induct a number of Danish “brothers” into the society.82 This tradition has maintained until today, and a long-established part of CC’s ritual involves representatives for the Swedish and Danish brothers exchanging speeches celebrating Denmark. Though this Swedish-Danish fraternisation is perhaps of less consequence than the continuation of the student meetings and the Oehlenschläger-Tegnér scholarships, it is still a surviving symbol of the re-established connection between academics in Lund and Copenhagen after 1868.

80 For a general overview of the history of this scholarship foundation, cf. John Svensson, Oehlenschläger-Tegnérs stipendiefond hundra år 1872–1972 (Malmö: Allhem 1972). 81 For an overview of this kind of fraternities in Uppsala, cf. Tom Lundin, Bland Tunguser, Turkar och Trattar—Studentkotterier och studentordenssällskap i 1800-talets Uppsala (Universitets- och Studenthistoriska sällskapets i Uppsala skriftserie 4) (Stockholm: Atlantis 2009). 82 CC 1868–1893—Minnesskrift utgifven med anledning af Sällskapet CC:s tjugofemårsfest (Lund: Berlingska 1894).

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fredrik tersmeden and pieter dhondt Conclusion

One hundred years after Weibull wrote his university history, Lund University celebrated its tercentenary, partly by the publication of a follow-up to Weibull’s work. This time, the official history consisted of four massive volumes, the last of which was written by a grandson of Martin, the historian Jörgen Weibull. His task was to relate the last hundred years of the university, and thus his obvious starting-point was a description of the festivities in 1868. Interestingly enough, the younger Weibull gives little if any consideration to the clear “Scandinavist” symbols and messages at the festivities. Instead, he focuses on the clash between younger and older views on the role of science that were expressed in the various speeches, in particular the newer views of Ljunggren and those of the conservative Wilhelm Flensburg, bishop of Lund. The bishop and the professor, wrote Weibull, represented “widely differing points of view: Flensburg the past, when education and research were bound in the straightjacket of tradition and religion; Ljunggren the future, the upcoming century with its demands for a science without restrictions, and education on a scientific basis”.83 These conflicting credos are definitely to be found in the speeches of Ljunggren and Flensburg during the festivities, but it was not the main message that the university wanted to spread on the occasion of the bicentenary, neither was it perceived as such by the Scandinavian guests. The “Scandinavian message” of the event is hard to get around. A tentative explanation for Weibull’s lack of interest in this aspect might be found in his personal ideology as well as in the time in which he was writing. The late 1960s and early 1970s saw an increasing tendency towards political interference within the sphere of Swedish universities. To a political liberal like Jörgen Weibull (apart from his academic career, Weibull was also an active member of the Swedish liberal party Folkpartiet, and was even briefly one of its members of parliament in 1988), writing under these circumstances and during the politically turbulent period following 1968, Ljunggren’s defence of free and unbound science was probably more interesting than putting the stress on Scandinavian fellowship.

83

Jörgen Weibull, Lunds universitets historia, IV. 1868–1968 (Lund: Gleerup 1968): 6.

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The original title suggested for this chapter was “1868: A low point in Scandinavian cooperation”. However, it soon became obvious that this would not be a fair way of describing the Lundian jubilee of 1868. A low point had indeed followed the Second Schleswig War as far as the Scandinavian movement was concerned, but it seems that the bicentenary of Lund University should not be seen as the low point but rather as a turning point, or even a rebirth, for the exchange between the Nordic universities in general and between Lund and Copenhagen in particular.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE ECHO OF THE QUARTERCENTENARY OF UPPSALA UNIVERSITY IN 1877 ACROSS SCANDINAVIA Pieter Dhondt The University of Uppsala wanted to make doubly sure that her quartercentenary in 1877 would become one of the largest celebrations that had taken place in Sweden up to that moment. Numerous guests were invited from home and abroad, particularly from the neighbouring countries, to make the celebration into a grand Nordic event. The attempt to give a Nordic interpretation to the quartercentenary was supported by the students from the different Nordic countries. However, in Finland the previously unquestioned positive attitude towards the Swedish neighbour had slightly changed and the selection of representatives for the Uppsala jubilee revealed a serious split within the Finnish student community. Moreover, the increasingly critical position towards Swedish education and science in Finland was also due to the prevailing conflict at Uppsala University between human and natural sciences. According to the other Scandinavian brother nations too, this was proof that the University of Uppsala was not as modern as the impression it wanted to give. In result the quartercentenary turned out being a national celebration, serving national interest, just as much as being a Nordic event. The University of Uppsala wanted to make doubly sure that her quartercentenary in 1877 would become one of the largest celebrations that had taken place in Sweden up to that moment. Already in November 1871, a special committee was established to prepare the anniversary celebrations. From the spring of 1877, hundreds of institutions at home and abroad were contacted with the request to send representatives to Uppsala, so that in September the city was flooded with some 2,000 prominent guests from the worlds of science, culture and politics, with the Swedish King and Crown Prince at the top of the list. The number of foreign visitors, and the list of countries which they represented, was striking. Officially, 87 professors represented 48 different universities, scientific academies and learned societies, coming

the echo of the quartercentenary of uppsala university 139 from (in order of numerical prominence): Norway, Denmark, Finland, Germany, Russia, France, Belgium, Great-Britain, the Netherlands, Austria-Hungary, Switzerland, Iceland and Italy. Many were accompanied by their wives, a colleague or an assistant, making the actual number of foreign guests between 250 and 300. The great majority of the foreign delegates was extremely impressed by the festivities in Uppsala, and upon returning home, one fifth of them gave an account in one way or another of their stay in Uppsala: a lively report in a newspaper, a critical review in a scientific journal, or personal notes in their diaries. Enthusiastic reports were presented (unfortunately often only orally) at the scientific academies of Christiania, Helsinki, St Petersburg, Dorpat/Tartu, Vienna, Berlin, Göttingen, Brussels, Amsterdam and Edinburgh. Moreover, the presence of reporters from the major Scandinavian newspapers and of many papers from further away, such as The Times, The Scotsman, Le Monde illustré and Hamburger Nachrichten, proves that the 400th anniversary of the University of Uppsala was regarded not only as a celebration for and of the scientific world, but also for and of the society as a whole. To what extent, and in what way, the quartercentenary of Uppsala University reverberated across different Western European countries is shown in the article “The echo of the quartercentenary of Uppsala University in 1877. Nordic universities as examples in Europe”.1 This chapter, which aims to assess the impact of the Uppsala jubilee within the Nordic countries, makes use of similar source material to that article: newspaper articles, accounts of the jubilee in scholarly journals and popular magazines, and personal documents of several participants at the celebration. The major challenge of the interpretation is to properly critically evaluate this limited amount of source material. For the viewpoints of individuals present at the celebrations, the question remains as to what extent their judgements can be extrapolated to represent the opinion of the (academic) community in the country where they were from. This question is met partly by the fact that these individuals are generally very influential in their own national university system, and partly by the fact that, especially with regard to the Nordic countries, reports from different ideological, political and academic

1 Pieter Dhondt, “The echo of the quartercentenary of Uppsala University in 1877. Nordic universities as examples in Europe”, Scandinavian Journal of History 35 (2010), no. 1: 21-43.

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origins corroborate each other. In sources directed towards a larger public, such as speeches and newspaper articles, the authors always strive for a balance between the obligatory politeness and rhetorical respect that is presupposed on such occasions, and the expression of their own personal and sometimes critical opinion. On this point, it is extremely revealing to compare the often moderate enthusiasm of the Nordic guests with the overwhelming eulogies for the University of Uppsala and the Swedish university system by their non-Nordic colleagues. At a few places in this chapter the difference in perception between these two groups will be developed in more detail to show how this contrast can help to estimate the value of the source materials of both groups. This critical confrontation with sources from different backgrounds will enable us to answer the central questions of this chapter: did the Uppsala quartercentenary of 1877 contribute to increasing Nordic cooperation, and if so, to what extent and in what way? Were there important differences in the way the quartercentenary was perceived in different Nordic countries? A tricky question, which the organisers had to answer before the start of the celebration, was: who belonged to the group of especially invited Nordic guests? It was self-evident that colleagues from Norway, Denmark and Iceland should be involved, and since the beginning of the 1870s Finnish students and scholars were included within the campaign for Nordic unity, but whether professors and students from the universities of Dorpat and Greifswald belonged in the list of Northern European invitees was much less clear. As will be shown in the first section, quite different opinions existed about this in different groups. In many ways, as shown in section 2, the organisers and guests from Northern Europe tried to present the jubilee as a Nordic event: in speeches and official addresses, through the presentation of honorary doctorates and by various decorations throughout the whole city. But as will be discussed in section 3, the students played the most important role in advocating Nordic cooperation. In Finland, choosing a delegation of student nation representatives for the celebrations in Uppsala involved intensive discussions that revealed latent yet considerable differences of opinion on Nordic cooperation within the student community. As such, the incident may be of more national importance in Finland, yet it is one example which proves the limited impact of the jubilee within the Nordic community. The fourth section will explain why participants from Finland, Norway and Denmark were

Figure 1. “Minnesblad till Upsala-Universitetets Jubelfest den 5 september 1877”, Ny illustrerad tidning 13 (1877): 285.

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principally concerned about their national interests, rather than keen to learn something from their experiences in Uppsala and Sweden. The result was clear, as will appear in the final section: the jubilee was primarily a celebration with a national character and impact. Nonetheless, the quartercentenary contributed to the idea of increasing cultural cooperation between Nordic countries, and it left some traces of influence in different Nordic countries, however unintended. Difficult Decisions about Who to Invite One of the difficulties that the jubilee committee faced in the preparation of the festivities was the question who actually belonged to the Nordic countries. There was no discussion about the need to send special invitations to the universities of Christiania, Copenhagen, Helsinki and the schools of theology and medicine in Reykjavik, but less evident was the position of invitees from Dorpat and Greifswald. Did they belong in the row of Northern European guests and was a kind of preferential treatment thus appropriate, or were they ordinary foreigners, similar to their colleagues from institutions in Russia or Germany? The university authorities clearly chose the latter option, which became apparent by the placement of representatives from both institutions in the procession: they took their somewhat inconspicuous place within the group of other non-Nordic guests. The students, however, included their colleagues from Dorpat and Greifswald in a way that highlighted their indisputable historic relationships with Sweden, as will be seen. Professors from Dorpat, for their part, were very aware of their intermediate position. They emphasised—indeed without doubt partly as a mark of honour to their Swedish hosts—the fact that the University of Dorpat was founded by the Swedish king in 1632 after the example of Uppsala University and that Dorpat functioned as a model for the university of Turku/Åbo approximately eight years later. Yet they also realised all too well their actual position as a Russian university with a strong German orientation.2 Indeed, the Dorpat representatives exhibited a prevailing desire to belong to “the common consciousness of the seventeenth-century Scandinavian universities, such as Copenhagen, 2 “Das 400jährige Jubiläum der Universität Upsala”, Dorpater Stadtblatt (30-08/1109-1877—17-09/29-09-1877).

the echo of the quartercentenary of uppsala university 143 Lund, Upsala, Dorpat-Pernau,3 Åbo, Greifswald”, but actual relations with universities in the North were primarily historical. The so-called “second” University in Dorpat (re-established by Tsar Alexander I) really only kept up close contacts with the University of Helsinki, which itself was an outsider within the Russian system of higher education.4 Other European visitors in Uppsala shared this impression, and they sympathised with the organisers’ decision not to put the representatives from Dorpat on the same level as their close Northern European colleagues. Still, the invitation to a delegation of Dorpat students appreciably expressed the historical bonds existing between the two universities.5 Even more ambiguous was the position of delegates from the University of Greifswald. Founded in 1456, Greifswald was one of the first Prussian universities. However, in 1637 Pomerania was annexed to Sweden during the Thirty Years’ War. The 1648 Westphalian settlement confirmed the transfer of Pomerania and, by extension, the University of Greifswald to Sweden where it remained until 1815. Following the Napoleonic Wars, the Congress of Vienna re-integrated the territory into the Prussian state. Immediately, the Prussian authorities tried to integrate the University of Greifswald into the Prussian landscape of higher education, which became clear in the policy of academic appointments and other reform measures. Increasingly often, a thorough scientific training was required for new professors, which caused a gradual lose of influence among existing professorial dynasties. At the same time, the university became more detached from its own local region and became more of a place of employment than a corporative body. The allegiance of professors to their own university loosened, which made it easier to transfer them as mobile scholars from one Prussian university to another.6

3

In 1699, at the eve of the Great Northern War, and as a result of the famine connected to it, the university was moved to Pärnu, where it was abolished in 1710 when Russia conquered the city. 4 “Upsala”, Rigasche Stadtblätter 68 (1877), no. 34: 297-299. 5 Paul Fredericq, “Notes de voyage sur l’enseignement supérieur en Suède et en Finlande”, Revue de l’instruction publique en Belgique 20 (1877): 426. 6 Cf. Werner Buchholz, “Die Geschichte der Universität Greifswald vom ausgehenden 18. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert im Kontext der allgemeinen Universitätsgeschichte. Eine Skizze”, in: Idem (ed.), Die Universität Greifswald und die deutsche Hochschullandschaft im 19. und 20. Jahhrundert. Kolloquium des Lehrstuhls für Pommersche Geschichte der Universität Greifswald in Verbindung mit der Gesellschaft für Universitäts- und Wissenschaftsgeschichte (Pallas Athene. Beiträge zur Universitäts- und

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The university authorities in Greifswald also followed this tendency, and against this background taking care of German-Nordic relationships was given the lowest possible priority after 1815. There was no support for the establishment of a chair in Nordic languages and culture, which could have given concrete shape to the university’s historical Nordic heritage. Moreover, Swedish students spoke with their feet. Even from the 1880s, when German universities were increasingly attractive to Swedish students, the University of Greifswald could scarcely capitalise on these close historical ties. The German universities of Berlin, Munich, Göttingen and Leipzig succeeded in attacking the majority of Swedish students.7 Nevertheless, Uppsala, like many Northern European (and particularly Swedish) universities, took care to invite a student delegation from Greifswald to its celebrations along with those from the other Nordic countries. Although the main argument for continuing this tradition was, without a doubt, respect for the tradition itself; by emphasising their relationship with this German institution Swedish universities were also establishing their connection to their leading German counterpart. Not everyone appreciated this German connection, as will be shown below. But by stressing so explicitly the German character of Greifswald University, it became impossible to still include the university in the unity of Nordic institutions. Greifswald was the oldest institution in the list of universities in Sweden at the height of its power in the seventeenth century. Uppsala followed second in 1477, though some discussion arose about the date of foundation in the preparation for the quartercentenary. The historian Clas Theodor Odhner, from the University of Lund (itself established in 1666/1668), argued in favour of taking the re-establishment of the university in 1593 as date of reference. Due to the introduction of the Lutheran Reformation in the 1520s and 1530s, the university— previously completely dependent on the Catholic Church—lost its economic and ideological basis and remained a mere shadow of its former existence. At the Uppsala Synod of 1593 (the most important

Wissenschaftsgeschichte 10) (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag 2004): 381-429 and Dirk Alvermann, Nils Jörn and Jens E. Olesen (eds.), Die Universität Greifswald in der Bildungslandschaft des Ostseeraums (Nordische Geschichte 5) (Berlin: Lit Verlag 2007). 7 Jana Fietz, Nordische Studenten an der Universität Greifswald in der Zeit 1815 bis 1933 (Beiträge zur Geschichte der Universität Greifswald 5) (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag 2004).

the echo of the quartercentenary of uppsala university 145 synod of the Lutheran Church of Sweden) the protestant clergy made the decision to restore the privileges of the now Lutheran university. Odhner’s proposal was opposed by the whole professorial community in Uppsala and very quickly rejected.8 The Jubilee as a Nordic Event It appeared more difficult to counter the claim of the University of Copenhagen to be the oldest Northern European university, though almost everyone agreed that it was founded in 1479. Except for the Danish representatives, no one questioned the position of Uppsala as the oldest, and indeed it is only Danish sources that mention the issue at all. Peter Ludvig Panum, rector of the University of Copenhagen, could not help but discuss the founding of his university in his speech. It may seem an insignificant detail, but whereas others start their list of Nordic universities with Uppsala, followed by Copenhagen, Dorpat, Åbo/Turku, Lund and Christiania, Panum considered Uppsala and Copenhagen as twin sisters of equal value who shared the first place of the list.9 According to Panum, the light of science spread over Northern Europe emanating from these two locations, which both strove for the independence of the Nordic people. Becoming independent had indeed been an important motivation for the establishment of indigenous universities within the Nordic countries. The greatest difference between both institutions was that one of them was located in a “tiny” city, the other in the capital city, each with their own specific advantages and disadvantages.10 Despite his more reserved opinion about the central role of Uppsala in the Nordic educational system, Panum concluded his speech during

8

Carl Frängsmyr, Jubelfesternas tidevarv. Minnen och monument kring Uppsala universitet (Uppsala Universitet. Avd. för vetenskapshistoria. Stella: Arbetsrapporter 32) (Uppsala: Universitetet 2007): 17. 9 Moreover, recent research has shown that the University of Copenhagen was indeed not established after the model of Uppsala, but that it was inspired on an ideological and structural level by Bologna and on a practical level by Cologne. The first statutes of the Copenhagen University, for instance, were copied almost literally from those in Cologne. Cf. Ditlev Tamm, The Faculty of Law. The Teaching of Law at the University of Copenhagen since 1479 (Copenhagen: Københavns Universitet 2010). 10 Copenhagen, Rigsarkivet / State Archives. Privatarkiv, nr. 6094 P.L. Panum, Dagbogsoptegnelser (1839–1881): Notiskalender 1877 and “Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Faedrelandet (14-09-1877).

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the dinner after the promotion ceremony in the same way as many of his Nordic colleagues did. He launched a general call for more intensive cooperation and agreement between Nordic universities, and a particular call for closer ties and a real fraternal relationship between Uppsala and Copenhagen on the basis of their common past and existing links. The day before, when all the representatives from universities and learned societies proffered their good wishes to Uppsala, Panum had not restricted his plea for fraternity to the universities of Northern Europe. Instead he had addressed himself to institutions all over the world.11 His colleague, Johan Nicolai Madvig, who represented the Danish Academy of Science in Uppsala, supported this appeal in his— by many accounts superior—speech given in the common scientific language of Latin.12 Especially in the Danish press, the national pride over Madvig’s ability to play with this dead language was somewhat at the expense of attention given to its actual content, viz. an eulogy on the merits of professors from Uppsala and an ode on the Swedes’ hospitality.13 In comparison to their Danish colleagues, Finnish representatives and correspondents were much more inclined to emphasise Uppsala University as the great-grandmother of all the Nordic universities. A few days before the start of the festivities, the newspaper Åbo Underrättelser wrote that Finland would participate in the event with greater enthusiasm than many other countries as an explicit sign of gratitude to their former motherland.14 After their return to Helsinki, the representatives of the Finnish university (Carl Gustaf Ehrström, Georg Zacharias Forsman, Robert August Montgomery and Zachris Topelius) sent a letter of thanks to the rector of Uppsala, Carl Yngve Sahlin, in which they expressed once again the respect of their country and university for the importance of Uppsala in the cultural history of the entire Nordic region.15 11 Leonard Bygdén (ed.), Upsala Universitets fyrahundraårs jubelfest september 1877 (Stockholm: Norstedt 1879): 125-127. 12 Indeed, during this period Latin was losing its position as the common scientific language to the advantage of German. Cf. Jürgen Schiewe, “Von Latein zu Deutsch, von Deutsch zu Englisch”, in: Friedhelm Debus, Franz G. Kollmann and Uwe Pörksen (eds.), Deutsch als Wissenschaftssprache im 20. Jahrhundert (Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur Mainz. Abhandlungen der Geistes- und sozialwissenschaftlichen Klasse 2000, 10) (Stuttgart: Steiner Verlag 2000): 81-104. 13 “Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Dagbladet (10-09-1877—11-09-1877). 14 Åbo Underrättelser (05-09-1877). 15 Hufvudstadsbladet (24-10-1877).

the echo of the quartercentenary of uppsala university 147 Topelius’s ode to the University of Uppsala was of such proportions that his statements caused a stir in his own country.16 In the official congratulation address from the University of Helsinki, he not only stressed the importance of Uppsala for the development of Northern European culture, but he also mentioned that, because of her advanced scientific profile, Uppsala had continuously functioned as an example for the University of Helsinki, from the foundation of the latter by the Swedish king in 1640 to that very day.17 Because of improved relationships with Russia, and because political Scandinavism had passed its peak,18 Topelius could permit himself some over-exuberant praise towards Sweden. What caused a fuss, however, was the apparent contradiction between his support to the fennoman movement and the fear that too close a connection with Sweden would prevent that movement’s advancement.19 However, his eulogy on the University of Uppsala had at its heart the purpose of civilising the Finnish people, and he was not ashamed to derive lessons from the Swedish example for the benefit of Finland. In the speech immediately preceding Topelius, the chairman of the collegium academicum of the University of Christiania, Ludvig Aubert, had also underlined the close ties between his own institution and the celebrated University of Uppsala. And, just like his Nordic colleagues, he too connected it with a call for more collaboration between both institutions.20 As a consequence of the Nordic solidarity expressed in these speeches, one of the French representatives characterised the celebration in his address as a Scandinavian party with members from one

16 Edvard Immanuel Hjelt, Otto E.A. Hjelt hans liv och gärning (Helsinki: Söderström 1916). 17 Hufvudstadsbladet (08-09-1877). 18 According to the Helsinki University authorities, Scandinavism was dangerously popular among the students in the 1840s and 1850s. In addition to seeking a union between the brother nations of Denmark, Norway and Sweden, it entertained the idea of re-conquering the earlier eastern Swedish provinces, i.e. Finland, an idea which, naturally, was not very well received in Russia. Cf. Jan Hecker-Stampehl, “Functions of Academic Mobility and Foreign Relations in Finnish Academic Life. A Historical Survey from the Middle Ages until the Middle of the 20th Century”, in: Catherine F. Gicquel, Victor Makarov and Magdalena Zolkos (eds.), The Challenge of Mobility in the Baltic Sea Region (The Baltic Sea Region. Nordic Dimensions—European Perspectives 2) (Berlin: Berliner Wissenschaftsverlag 2005): 15–39. 19 Matti Klinge, “Topelius, Zachris (1818–1898)”, Kansallisbiografia http://www .kansallisbiografia.fi/english/?id=2854 (consulted on 05-08-2010) and Matti Klinge, Idylli ja uhka: Topeliuksen aatteita ja politiikkaa (Helsinki: WSOY 1998). 20 “Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Helsingfors Dagblad (05-09-1877—13-09-1877).

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big family.21 A similar spirit of solidarity encouraged Uppsala alumnae in New York to organise their own celebrations on the occasion, where all Scandinavian people from New York were invited.22 That the quartercentenary was noticed far away was shown by a telegram read at the people’s party after the promotion ceremony. Three Finnish physicians serving in arms congratulated the university and gave a toast to her health while standing at the foot of Mount Ararat.23 Whereas these speeches and addresses were inevitably characterised by a high degree of politeness and rhetorical overstatements, the special role given to representatives from Northern Europe is proven more objectively by the nationality of the foreign laureled honorary doctors: 18 Norwegians, 14 Danes, 8 Finns and one Icelander were honoured at the jubilee.24 Again, the absence of Dorpat/Tartu25 and Greifswald from this list makes it clear that the university authorities did not include them among the group of Nordic institutions. One of the most notable guests was the Norwegian playwright and poet Henrik Ibsen. His name was suggested by Lorentz Dietrichson, professor of art history in Christiania, who was honoured himself and who did his utmost to convince Ibsen to travel to Uppsala with him to receive

21 Auguste Mathieu Geffroy, “Le quatrième centenaire de l’Université d’Upsal”, Revue des deux Mondes 47 (1877), no. 24: 171. 22 Åbo Underrättelser (30-09-1877 and 13-10-1877). 23 Åbo Underrättelser (11-09-1877). In this way, the actual conflict in the Balkans also got some attention during the jubilee. A few months before, at the end of April 1877, Russia had declared war upon Turkey. Its goal was to reverse territorial losses it had suffered during the Crimean War and to re-establish itself in the Black Sea. Great Britain felt obliged to halt the advance of the Russians, as it could become a threat to their own position in the Mediterranean. The war was concluded in March 1878, when the Ottoman Empire recognised the independence of Romania, Serbia, Montenegro, and the autonomy of Bulgaria. 24 A few days after the official ceremony, the faculty of law organised another ceremony where honorary doctorates were awared to, among others, the Swiss professor of private law Gustav König and the Danish economist William Scharling. “Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Dagbladet (11-09-1877). 25 The fact of not being involved also left its traces in the news coverage. The Baltic paper Revalsche Zeitung wrote about Finnish, Danish, Norwegian and Icelandic students obtaining their doctoral degree in Uppsala; a report that is copied indiscriminately by quite a few other newspapers in the region. Cf. “Das 400jährige Jubiläum der Universität Upsala”, Revalsche Zeitung (26-08/07-09-1877—20-09/02-10-1877), “Die Jubelfeier der Universität Upsala”, Neue Dörptsche Zeitung (31-08/12-09-1877 and 02-09/14-09-1877) and “Upsala”, National Zeitung (09-09-1877).

Figure 2. Dinner in the banqueting hall in the botanic garden after the promotion ceremony. Illustreret Tidende 18 (30-09-1877), no. 940: 544. www.illustrerettidende.dk.

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their doctoral degrees in person.26 Ibsen was not a fan of these types of events.27 Local newspaper reports in Denmark, Finland and Norway show to what extent such honorary doctorates were appreciated as a sign of recognition for the person in question as well as a sign of the special relationship between the host country and that of the recipient.28 From their origin in the fourteenth century, honorary doctorates had an extremely important role to play in diplomatic relations. From about the middle of the nineteenth century, these kind of promotion ceremonies became an almost obligatory part of university jubilees throughout Europe.29 The Danish paper Dagbladet could not help but to make a facetious remark about the traditional laurel wreath that was put on the laureate’s head. According to the Danish correspondent, it was a nice symbol and of course a great honour, but as “toiletry” the wreath was rather impractical and did certainly not fit every situation. In the church where the ceremonies were held, this revealed itself in the different ways in which the new honorary doctorates wore their laurel wreath: some did so as a Roman Apollo, others as a powerful Bragi,30 as a serious Augur31 or as a Nordic sacrificial priest. Inevitably, the audience got the impression that they were in the company of Salian priests or Gallic druids.32 Non-Nordic guests considered this a charm-

26 Lorentz Dietrichson, Mellem to tidsaldre. En gammel romantikers oplevelser og reflexioner (Kristiania: Cappelen 1917) (http://www.dokpro.uio.no/litteratur/ dietrichson/): 240-241. 27 Henrik Ibsen, “Letter to Markus Gronvold (Stockholm, 03-09-1877)”, in: Idem, Letters of Henrik Ibsen (New York: Fox, Duffield and Co 1905): 214. 28 For instance, the newspapers Karjalatar and Keski-Suomi, from Eastern and Central Finland respectively, are two of the only sources to mention, with justifiable pride, the honorary doctorate for the minister Karl Mårten Kiljander, from the nearby city of Kuopio. Cf. Karjalatar (07-09-1877) and Keski-Suomi (01-09-1877). 29 Thomas P. Becker, “Jubiläen als Orte universitärer Selbstdarstellung. Entwicklungslinien des Universitätsjubiläums von der Reformationszeit bis zur Weimarer Republik”, in: Rainer Christoph Schwinges (ed.), Universität im öffentlichen Raum (Veröffentlichungen der Gesellschaft für Universitäts- und Wissenschaftsgeschichte 10) (Basel: Schwabe Verlag 2008): 77-107. For the origin of the honorary doctorate, cf. Pieter Dhondt, “Du balayeur de rue au Président des Etats-Unis. Caractère ambigu et genèse controversée du doctorat honoris causa”, to be published in: Kenneth Bertrams, Didier Devriese and Kim Oosterlinck (eds.), Les DHC de l’Université libre de Bruxelles (Bruxelles: Presses Universitaires 2010): 16 pages. 30 Bragi is the skaldic god of poetry in Norse mythology. 31 The augur was a priest and official in the classical world. His main role was to interpret the will of the gods by studying the flight of birds. 32 “Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Dagbladet (17-09-1877).

the echo of the quartercentenary of uppsala university 151 ing respect for old traditions.33 For the Danish reporter, however, it was clear proof of the old-fashioned character of Uppsala University, as will be shown further on. For the Finnish national poet, Johan Ludvig Runeberg, who died in the summer of 1877, a laurel wreath was shown to the public as a mark of honour, and it was appreciated as such by the Finns present.34 When Runeberg was honoured, a profound silence descended throughout the huge cathedral where, according to one of the Belgian representatives in Uppsala, so many admirers and passionate female readers of the great poet were assembled.35 Another (and final) special kind of homage paid to the Nordic brother nations were the decorations in the church, which were also spread out over the city and in the specially erected banqueting hall in the botanic garden. The coats of arms of the Swedish provinces, those of the Scandinavian countries Norway and Denmark and the Icelandic “Stockfish” all hung fraternally next to each other.36 As part of the Russian empire, Finland’s coat of arms was not present. The Crucial Role of the Students in Enhancing the Nordic Character of the Jubilee At least as successful as these attempts to stress the Nordic character of the jubilee were the initiatives of the students. They could, of course, look back on a long tradition of pan-Scandinavist student meetings, starting in the 1840s. The most recent of these had, in fact, taken place just two years before in Uppsala, where for the first time representatives were invited from Finland. Their geographic proximity certainly played a role in their invitation, but even more important was the belief in the existence of strong historical links between Uppsala and Finland. University authorities in Helsinki (wrongly) convinced themselves that few students would travel to Uppsala because of the prevailing fennoman attitude within the student nations. This false perception, combined with the improved relationships between Sweden

33 Dhondt, “The echo of the quartercentenary of Uppsala University in 1877” (2010): 32-33. 34 “Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Helsingfors Dagblad (05-09-1877—13-09-1877). 35 Paul Fredericq, “Uit Zweden”, Het Volksbelang (29-09-1877). 36 “Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Berlingske politiske og Avertissements-Tidende (05-091877—10-09-1877).

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and Russia, meant that Finnish students travelling to the Uppsala student meeting encountered little resistance within political circles.37 Also of crucial importance in this regard was the diminished threat of political Scandinavism in this period. Political Scandinavism had lost much of its popularity since Denmark had been left in the lurch by its Northern European brother nations in its conflict with Germany in 1864.38 The student meetings of 1869 in Christiania and of 1875 in Uppsala can at most be characterised as celebrations of cultural Scandinavism. As the Finnish participants described it in 1875: “They were all drinking together there, like brothers, and visiting cards were shared, so many that one had hardly enough space to put them away.”39 The meeting also led to the svecomans in Finland realising that they could not count on the support of the Swedes in their struggle against the Finnish language, just as the fennomans experienced at least some sympathy from the Swedes in their campaign for their own language. The programme in Uppsala in 1875 included, among other activities, discussions about general topics, such as the issue of adult education centres, which was very topical across the Nordic countries. Only occasionally could a political message be heard in a speech. A lecturer from Uppsala, for instance, unsuccessfully argued that the Scandinavian nations needed to associate themselves indivisibly with the struggle of the German people for the benefit of protestantism and freedom of conscience, and against the authority of the pope and restraint of conscience. Two years later that kind of political messages was entirely avoided, but the demand for more cultural cooperation, such as between the universities, received all the more attention. In the afternoon of the first day of the celebration, the Uppsala student nations welcomed the official delegations representing Lund, Christiania, Copenhagen, Helsinki and Greifswald. The students from Dorpat were due to be present as well, but their trip had been delayed. During the students’ dinner and other activities, they uttered their hopes for a close union of their countries from a linguistic, cultural and intellectual point of view by arguing for a more intensive and easier exchange of students, professors and knowledge. 37

Matti Klinge, Ylioppilaskunnan historia (Porvoo: WSOY 1968), vol. 3: 30. Mary Hilson, “Denmark, Norway and Sweden: pan-Scandinavianism and nationalism”, in: Timothy Baycroft and Mark Hewitson (eds.), What Is a Nation? Europe 1789–1914 (Oxford: University Press 2006): 192-209. 39 Klinge, Ylioppilaskunnan historia (1968), vol. 3: 33. 38

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Figure 3. The students’ torchlight procession. Illustreret Tidende 18 (16-091877), no. 938: 517. www.illustrerettidende.dk.

The spokesman of the Finnish students, Robert Castrén, was one of the most enthusiastic supporters of closer union. According to Castrén, not only had Per Brahe organised the Åbo Akademi after the model of Uppsala, but Sweden still functioned as a shining example for Finland. Indeed, Sweden had passed on the best elements of its society to Finland, such as education, civilisation and the legal organisation of the society. “Therefore, our place is here, on the banks of the Fyris, in a fraternal embrace,” continued Castrén. “This university was and is ours as much as yours.” In his eyes, the Finnish students were an integral part of the Scandinavian student community, and they should unite themselves together and fight for Bildung side by side.40 The representatives from Dorpat, Christiania and Copenhagen supported this suggestion, though not always in such lyrical terms.41

40 Robert Castrén, “Bref från Jubelfesten i Upsala, II. 07-09-1877”, Helsingfors Dagblad (12-09-1877). 41 “Das 400jährige Jubiläum der Universität Upsala”, Dorpater Stadtblatt (3008/11-09-1877—17-09/29-09-1877); “Die Jubelfeier der Universität Upsala”, Rigasche Zeitung (23-08/04-09-1877—24-08/05-09-1877) and “Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Faedrelandet (08-09-1877).

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These somewhat official speeches were combined with more informal activities, such as drinking, dancing and a lot of music. On each occasion the students broke out into song. After the speech of the King in which he announced his generous donation to the university, everyone joined in the song “Du gamla, du friska, du fjelhöga Nord [You old, you fresh, you north full of mountains]”, which ends with “North, In thee I’ll live and die, in thee be buried”. Even more striking was the programme of the students’ concert on the last day of the celebration, characterised by a clear pan-Scandinavist atmosphere, with such songs as: “Olav Trygvason” (about the king of Norway at the end of the tenth century, known for the introduction of Christianity in Norway), “The Bridal Procession in Hardanger” (a description of a wedding procession on the Hardangerfjord on the west coast of Norway, on a fine summer day), and particularly “Unity of the North”: The glorious stem of the North was long split into three sickly shoots. The power that might have ruled the world asked alms at the table of strangers. What was disunited joins again; Once it will be One. Then the free and mighty North will lead the nations to victory.42

Notably, only non-Nordic visitors really took notice of the Scandinavian or Nordic character of the concert. The Scottish representative Alexander Buchan observed, with regard to the “very fine” concert he attended: “The pieces selected for the concert were essentially Scandinavian, and were remarkable for the strong patriotism and inextinguishable love of freedom which breathed through them, and for a desire for union among the three Scandinavian nations.”43 By way of contrast, the Danish Dagbladet reported that the students predominantly chose old, familiar songs, though the journalist did not deny that the

42 The song was composed in 1842 by Bernhard Crusell (music) and Carl Ploug (words). At the student meeting in Uppsala of 1875, the latter still made an appeal for more political collaboration between Nordic countries. Copenhagen, Rigsarkivet / State Archives. Nr. 1001 Københavns Universitet Konsistorium, 1750–1910; Circularia (05-12-1877—06-03-1878): Beretning om Upsala Universitets 400 aarige Jubelfest af Formanden for den fra Kjöbenhavns Universitet i denne Anledning afsendte Deputation. Med 30 Bilag. 43 Alexander Buchan, “Report of the deputation to Upsala”, Proceedings of the Royal Society of Edinburgh 9 (1875–1878): 521-526.

the echo of the quartercentenary of uppsala university 155 underlying motivation of the students for the choice of these songs was to support the idea of more collaboration between the Nordic brother nations.44 The students ended their concert by performing the traditional Staircase March, leading the whole audience down the stairs and subsequently all the way down the hill to the main square of the city, where the National Anthem was sung as the grand finale. The tradition goes back to the early nineteenth century when the university opened the large festivity hall on the upper floor of the new university library, Carolina Rediviva, for concerts. The tune of the march was originally composed for the solemn procession at the conferment ceremony of 1812. The lyrics “Lejonriddare” were added two years later, celebrating the union between Sweden and Norway. It commences with the words “Seats of the Vikings, ancient plantations . . .” and goes on more or less in the same celebratory nationalistic vein. In 1887, the Staircase March was moved to the new main university building. The monumental staircase of the library was later sacrificed to create more storage space for books.45 As many others, the spokesman of the Finnish students, Castrén, was very impressed by the overwhelming effect of this Staircase March and by the pan-Scandinavian character of the concert.46 His extremely positive attitude, particularly towards the former motherland of Sweden, was not appreciated by many of his fellow students back in Finland. Divisions among Finnish student nations on the issue of their stance towards Sweden started in the spring of 1877, when a discussion arose about how to elect the Finnish representatives for the quartercentenary in Uppsala. Fennomans and svecomans were diametrically opposed to each other on this issue, just as in 1875 when representatives for the Scandinavian student meeting in Uppsala had to be elected. The divisions were more or less geographical. Northern, Finnishminded student nations (Pohjalainen osakunta, Hämäläis-osakunta and Savo-Karjalainen osakunta) opted for a one vote per fraternity system, where each fraternity delegated one representative. Since only five representatives were invited to Uppsala and there were six

44

“Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Dagbladet (10-09-1877). Leif Jonsson (ed.), Ett blandat sällskap. Allmänna sången 150 år ([Uppsala: Allmänna sången] 1980). 46 Robert Castrén, “Bref från Jubelfesten i Upsala, III. 09-09-1877”, Helsingfors Dagblad (13-09-1877). 45

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Figure 4. Staircase March. “Ett minnesblad till Upsala universitets jubelfest den 5 sept. 1877”, Ny illustrerad tidning 13 (1877): 317.

student nations, the smaller Hämäläis-osakunta and Viipurilainen osakunta would delegate one representative together. The Southern, principally svecoman, student nations (Uusmaalainen osakunta, Länsisuomalainen oaskunta and Viipurilainen osakunta) supported a per capita election scheme, where delegates would represent the whole Finnish student community and not just the separate student nations.47 Because it was late in the academic year and many students from the Nordic regions had already left for home, the northern student nations stubbornly resisted a per capita vote as it would put them at a great disadvantage. Rector Topelius tried to pour oil on troubled waters by proposing a kind of compromise, but his attempts were in vain. When the Pohjalainen osakunta and the Savo-Karjalainen osakunta nominated

47 The Swedish names are in order of appearance: Österbottniska nation, Tavastehus nation, Savo-Karelska nation, Viborgska nation, Nylands Nation and Västfinska nation.

the echo of the quartercentenary of uppsala university 157 radical fennomans as their representatives, the southern nations imposed a per capita vote. The final delegation consisted of the fennoman Johan Richard Danielson-Kalmari (Hämäläis-osakunta), the svecoman Axel Lille (Uusmaalainen osakunta), the Finnish-speaking liberal Arvid Genetz (Savo-Karjalainen osakunta) and the Swedishspeaking Odo Morannal Reuter (Länsisuomalainen osakunta) and Castrén (Pohjalainen osakunta). With these representatives, a certain balance was reached, but what encountered the most protest was the fact that the candidate who was proposed by the Pohjalainen osakunta itself had been put aside and replaced by an old, Swedish-speaking liberal from Helsinki who was, to put it kindly, not particularly happy within his own nation. In the end, only Lille, Reuter and Castrén travelled to Uppsala. After their return to Helsinki the discussion went on. The Scandinavist speech which Castrén had delivered in the name of the whole Finnish student community was characterised by the Pohjalainen osakunta as simply abusive, to that extent that they requested that he leave the fraternity.48 The absence of the fennomans at the celebrations in Uppsala can partly be explained by the selection procedure, but at the same time it illustrates nicely the changed attitude towards Sweden. Maintaining contacts with their western neighbour was no longer considered that important, that, with a view to an improvement of these contacts, the fennomans should accept a disadvantageous compromise with their Swedish-minded colleagues with regard to the general attitude of the University of Helsinki towards Sweden. Throughout these debates the radical fennomans emphasised that they had nothing against Sweden or Swedish culture, but that their main aim was to support and promote Finnish culture. Their common cultural tradition was, in their eyes, replaced by various differences that were becoming more and more visible.49 Topelius’s reference to the unity among the students in Uppsala being an example for their Finnish counterparts can also be

48 Helsinki, Kansalliskirjasto / National Library. PohjO, Fb. 2: Tellervo (22-10-1877); PohjO, Fa. 6: Sampsa Pellervoinen (05-11-1877, 19-11-1877), Helsinki, Keskushallinnonarkisto / University archives. Ca 5: Student-Delegationens Protokoll / Ylioppilasvaliokunnan pöytäkirja (1876–1877). Cf. Klinge, Ylioppilaskunnan historia (1968), vol. 3: 44-47. 49 Klinge, Ylioppilaskunnan historia (1968), vol. 3: 34-38.

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understood in this light.50 Even the Finnish-minded sections within the student societies were too often divided among each other. Limited Impact of the Event within the Nordic Community Copenhagen representatives also wanted to learn something from their visit to Uppsala, particularly with a view to the organisation of their own quartercentenary two years later. Danish newspapers and magazines explicitly asked how the celebrations in Uppsala could serve as an example for the one in Copenhagen in 1879. It was absolutely crucial that their own jubilee could in no way be inferior to that of Uppsala. The whole nation—men and women, young and old, poor and rich—had to be involved in a similarly intensive way. Just like in Uppsala, the Copenhagen jubilee could not become a highlight of the scientific world alone, but numerous influential figures from the political world should be represented as well.51 The supportive presence of the Swedish King and Crown Prince through all the activities was especially appreciated and should serve as a model for their own King.52 It was regarded as an excellent demonstration of the respect for education in Sweden and for university degrees in particular, a respect that did not yet exist to the same extent in Denmark. Regardless of which function one wanted to practise in Sweden, one had to obtain a university diploma.53 The willingness of the university authorities in Copenhagen to derive lessons from the Swedish example is shown, for instance, by the existence of an extremely extensive file in the archives of the consistory. Upon returning home, the delegation from the University of Copenhagen addressed an official report to the rector with some personal reflections and a detailed account of the whole programme. The report included approximately thirty attachments: e.g. invitation letters, menus of the dinners, brochure of the students’ concert, the

50 Zacharias Topelius, “Tal vid K. Alexanders-universitetets inskrifningar, den 15 September 1877”, in: Idem, Smärre skrifter (Samlade Skrifter 23) (Helsinki: Edlunds 1904): 142-152. 51 “Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Dagbladet (17-09-1877). 52 The Danish royal family was certainly represented at the festivities in Copenhagen in 1879. Christian IX, however, had to cancel his attendance at all the anniversary events due to illness. 53 “Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Nær og Fjern. Et Ugeblad (23-09-1877).

the echo of the quartercentenary of uppsala university 159 jubilee medal offered to the guests, excerpts from newspapers, letters with regard to the writing process of the congratulation letter to Uppsala, etc. The innumerable details about the perfectly streamlined practical organisation in Uppsala had without a doubt a didactical function for the Copenhagen organising committee.54 As it emerges from Ejvind Slottved’s article (see pp. 188-212), the Copenhagen jubilee, in the end, received a completely different interpretation than what the professors on the organising committee had in mind immediately after their visit in Uppsala. A number of Danish sources criticised the University of Uppsala, and Swedish universities in general, for showing too much respect for German academic supremacy, while ignoring the injustice that Germany had done the Danes (and by extension the whole Nordic world) in 1864. The Swedes wanted to imitate the Germans in an uncritical way, according to the reporter in Dagbladet, without taking into regard that features from one system could not simply be transplanted to another.55 That some of the reforms of 1876 in Uppsala were clearly inspired by German examples (the possibility to specialise and the establishment of seminars in human sciences)56 also meant that the quartercentenary did not really function as a source of inspiration for representatives from Greifswald and Dorpat. Their institutions were already largely integrated into the German system of higher education.57 However, despite these (late) reforms, for many Northern European representatives the University of Uppsala still resembled their own institutions too much to serve as a model for reform. The characteristics which impressed the non-Nordic guests (respect for education and science; the openness of university education, particularly towards women; the highly privileged and respectable position of students; and the modernised character of Swedish society and the university)58 were common to all the Nordic countries. Only the last element did not 54

Beretning om Upsala Universitets 400 aarige Jubelfest (1877). “Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Dagbladet (18-09-1877). 56 Torgny T. Segerstedt, Universitetet i Uppsala 1852 till 1977 (Uppsala stads historia VI, 2) (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell 1983): 32-35. 57 Cf. Hain Tankler, “Dorpat, a German-speaking International University in the Russian Empire”, in: Märtha Norrback and Kristina Ranki (eds.), University and Nation. The University and the Making of the Nation in Northern Europe in the 19th and 20th Centuries (Societas Historica Finlandiae. Studia Historica 53) (Helsinki: SHS 1996): 91-100. 58 Dhondt, “The echo of the quartercentenary of Uppsala University in 1877” (2010): 21-43. 55

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hold true for Uppsala, according to the Nordic representatives. Symptomatic of this was defective technology at the jubilee. Like many of his colleagues, the editor of Dagbladet regretted the bad lighting. The organisers had experimented with electrical light, but very little of it worked properly.59 Whereas the non-Nordic reporters who mentioned the lighting problems regarded it as a minimal mistake, for the Nordic representatives it was proof that the University of Uppsala was not as modern as the impression it wanted to give. Of course, this technical challenge was not the most important sign of a lacking modernisation, but it symbolised the superseded interpretation of the content of education and research. Within Northern Europe, the University of Uppsala had already lost much of its charisma during the 1860s. It was increasingly considered a stronghold of conservatism, first with regard to its attitude towards the introduction of modern, empirical sciences in the wake of industrialisation and economic boom, and second with regard to political democratisation. Moreover, from the 1870s Uppsala gradually had to hand over its position as a popular destination for Finnish students who wanted to study abroad to universities such as Berlin, Munich or Göttingen.60 Neither the new statutes of 1876, nor the quartercentenary, changed these trends and impressions. So far as the non-Nordic guests were aware of this conflict, they perceived it as an excellent mixture of old and new. Accordingly, the impressions given from Nordic and non-Nordic accounts are hugely divergent. The conservative character of Uppsala University, and thus its reduced prestige, probably formed the most important explanation for the relatively limited attention the jubilee received in Nordic newspapers and magazines. In some of them, the quartercentenary was only mentioned in a few lines, whereas all devoted full articles to the death of the French politician and historian Adolphe Thiers. Also striking is that most of the (often very descriptive) accounts by Northern Europeans were written by journalists, whereas other European press reports were mostly written by professors who attended the celebrations as representatives of their own country.

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“Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Dagbladet (18-09-1877). Pieter Dhondt, “A Difficult Balance between Rhetoric and Practice: Student Mobility in Finland and Other European Countries from 1800 to 1930”, in: Mike Byram and Fred Dervin (eds.), Students, Staff and Academic Mobility in Higher Education (Cambridge: Scholars Publishing 2008): 48-64. 60

the echo of the quartercentenary of uppsala university 161 Rector Sahlin’s speech on the first day of the festivities, a eulogy on philosophy, is a nice illustration of the celebration as a kind of convulsion of the human sciences in their conflict with the inevitably growing popularity of natural sciences. That this speech was delivered in Swedish obviously contributed to the fact that the non-Nordic guests remained mostly unaware of the persisting conflict in Uppsala. Unlike the majority of his Nordic colleagues, the art historian Carl Gustaf Estlander, representative of the Finnish Scientific Society in Uppsala, appreciated in a certain sense the oration of Sahlin and his scientific contribution “Kants, Schleiermachers och Boströms etiska grundtankar”, written on the occasion of the jubilee.61 As an adherent of Christopher Jacob Boström, whose ideas had never appeared in print, Sahlin provided in the speech and publication a very clear overview of the—for outsiders sometimes mysterious—elements in Boström’s philosophical system, which dominated at both Swedish universities.62 However, at the same time Estlander was extremely critical about the anti-modern and subjective idealism that Boström and Sahlin believed in. In their views, the whole of truth was reduced to the idea that the subject forms truth for himself. According to Estlander, such an approach threatened the development of scientific research because nothing could be taken for truth beyond an individual’s construction of it. Boström, as well as Sahlin, put the empirical sciences on a lower stage, as being the expression of the imperfection and boundaries of humanity. Only through the study of philosophy, they asserted, could one come to real knowledge.63 Viktor Rydberg’s cantata on the day of the promotions exemplifies Sahlin’s ode to philosophy.64 The cantata uses the image of the Israelites wandering in the wilderness as a metaphor for its central theme: the wandering of humanity through history. For the Israelites, their destination was Canaan, the promised land on the other side of the river Jordan; according to Rydberg, the final goal for mankind, and the end of history, was the kingdom of God. In the cantata, the university is of decisive importance in the history of humanity. Every faculty receives 61 Carl Yngve Sahlin, Kants, Schleiermachers och Boströms etiska grundtankar (Uppsala: Akademiska boktryckeriet 1877). 62 Svante Nordin, Den Boströmska skolan och den svenska idealismens fall (Lund: Doxa 1981). 63 Carl Gustaf Estlander a.o., “Upsala universitets jubelfest”, Finsk tidskrift för vitterhet, vetenskap, konst och politik 3 (1877), no. 2: 275-285. 64 Rolf Lindborg, Viktor Rydbergs kantat. En essä (Lund: Signum 1985).

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its own special mission associated with a particular problem in history. For the first faculty, that of theology, the associated problem was doubt, doubt about the existence of a Promised Land, a kingdom of God, at the end of history. The Faculty of Law was associated with the problem of chaos and lawlessness. The answers to this problem are not Moses’s stone tablets, an Old Testament parallel to the modern code of law, but the total immaterial voice of God from the mountain Sinaï. It seems as if Rydberg was talking about natural law, echoed in the hearts of humans. For the third faculty, that of medicine, the problem is of course sickness. Last, but to Rydberg absolutely not least, comes the faculty of philosophy. Its vocation is twofold: firstly, an intellectual task, to guide humanity through darkness with the light of thought; and secondly, the artistic, poetic and prophetic task, to see and express ideals, grounded in transcendent eternity, to their fellow humans. As such, the cantata fitted perfectly into the general ambitions of the quartercentenary: it emphasised the importance of the philosophical faculty, it stressed the crucial place of the university within society, and it presented Uppsala University as an excellent mixture of old and new tendencies. As was the case at many of the other nineteenthcentury university jubilees, the Uppsala quartercentenary reflected a prevailing feeling of romantic idealism.65 Rydberg’s cantata illustrates this romantic idealism perfectly. The response of the audience on the performance was easy to guess: overwhelming enthusiasm by both the guests from Northern Europe as well as by those from elsewhere. However, many correspondents from Northern Europe added some clearly critical remarks about the conservative message that was hidden within the cantata.66 The conflict in Uppsala between the human and natural sciences continued long after the festivities of 1877. The new university main building, which opened in 1887, became absorbed within discussions similar to those of the jubilee. The building was designed as a palace in Renaissance style, monumental at least in the interior. In the long gallery, plaster casts of antique sculptures bore witness to the still unbroken power of neo-humanist aesthetics. The human sciences very quickly occupied most of the building, which strengthened the impression

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Frängsmyr, Jubelfesternas tidevarv (2007): 4. E.g. Estlander, “Upsala universitets jubelfest” (1877): 279; “Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Nær og Fjern. Et Ugeblad (23-09-1877). 66

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Figure 5. The inscription above the entrance of the great hall in the main building of Uppsala University: “Tänka fritt är stort, men tanka rätt är större [To think free is great but to think right is greater]”. It was highly debated in those days. Shortly after the opening of the main building, the liberal student association “Verdandi” organised a famous debate on morale, that gave echo around Sweden. During the debate (which lasted for five hours on a Saturday evening), references were made to the sentence over the entrance. Reproduced with kind permission of Tommy Westberg, Uppsala University, Media Service.

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that it was a bastion of only one of the two camps: the idealist, conservative one, as opposed to the often more liberal and materialist philosophy of the natural sciences and medicine. The conservative attitude of the university authorities was confirmed by the inscription above the entrance of the great hall: “Tänka fritt är stort, men tänka rätt är större [To think free is great but to think right is greater]”, opposing with this the free-thinking, liberal attitude towards research within the experimental sciences. The inscription is taken from Thomas Thorild, an eighteenth-century poet, and expresses the Stoic idea that Divine order is also the order of rational thought. In this regard, Uppsala was running markedly behind in comparison with the rest of Sweden. The jubilee can therefore be considered a celebration of a university idea which was about to disappear, although the persons involved did not realise it yet.67 The Jubilee as Primarily a National Celebration The proposal of a new university building was originally launched by the quartercentenary committee, which hoped that at least the foundation stone could be laid in 1877.68 The old premises—the Gustavianum and the Senate House—were cramped and appeared old-fashioned, and the banqueting hall on the top floor of the Carolina Rediviva was both difficult to access and a fire risk; moreover it was required for the needs of the growing library. By the mid 1870s, the plans of the new building were ready and a government grant had been allotted, but after that progress was slow. The plans were changed and an architectural competition was announced by the consistorium, after which a more or less unknown architect was commissioned to design the building. In the spring of 1879, King Oscar II laid the foundation stone, but eight years were to pass before the building was completed and inaugurated in the presence of the King.69 Only the planned, thorough adornment of the Carolina Rediviva had been completed on time: it received a

67 Cf. Thomas Heinemann (ed.), Universitetshuset i Uppsala 1887–1987. Jubileumsbok (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell 1987). 68 Many other universities felt the same need for an aula academica inaugurated on the occasion of its jubilee, but only seldom was the deadline met. Cf. Robert D. Anderson, “Ceremony in Context: The Edinburgh University Tercentenary, 1884,” The Scottish Historical Review 87 (2008), no. 1-223: 121-145. 69 Heinemann, Universitetshuset i Uppsala 1887–1987 (1987).

the echo of the quartercentenary of uppsala university 165 new lick of paint, new plaster sculptures and inscriptions in the façade of the key figures in the history of the university.70 Another tangible result of the jubilee consisted of an extremely diverse collection of historical publications. The most important of these was the five-volume historical overview of the celebrated university by the Uppsala historian Claes Annerstedt.71 University jubilees and university history went, and still go, excellently hand in hand.72 Yet many of the foreign delegations, and particularly those from Northern Europe, also contributed to this influx of publications. Altogether more than 40 books were published on the occasion of the jubilee (in Swedish, Norwegian, Latin, German and French), many of them devoted to a theme in the field of university history or history of sciences: Botaniska trädgarden i Upsala 1655–1807. Ett bidrag till den svenska naturforskningens historia [The Botanical Garden in Uppsala 1655–1807. A contribution to the history of Swedish natural sciences] (Falun: Falu boktr. 1877), by the Swedish historian Magnus Bernhard Swederus; Carl von Linné som läkare och hans betydelse för den medicinska vetenskapen i Sverige [Carl von Linné as a physician and his importance for medical sciences in Sweden] (Helsinki: Finska litteratur-sällskapets tryckeri 1877) by the Finnish physician Otto E.A. Hjelt; and a number of publications on the history of different student nations in Uppsala.73 According to the Finnish student Nils Berndt Grötenfelt, the latter could be of special interest to Finnish readers because Uppsala and Helsinki bore much resemblance in this regard.74 Most of these publications were presented to the celebrating university as a gift, as a sign of sympathy and a mark of honour. Another popular present were donations, sometimes in the form of student scholarships or through the establishment of special chairs. Uppsala’s sister universities in Northern Europe contributed a great number of such donations and emphasised their wish for increased 70

Frängsmyr, Jubelfesternas tidevarv (2007): 19. Claes Annerstedt, Upsala universitets historia, 5 vols. (Stockholm: Alqvist & Wicksell 1877–1914). 72 Jens Blecher and Gerald Wiemers (eds.), Universitäten und Jubiläen. Vom Nutzen historischer Archive (Veröffentlichung des Universitätsarchivs Leipzig 4) (Leipzig: Universitätsverlag 2004): 30. 73 E.g. Frans von Schéele, Anteckningar om Gestrike och Helsinge nationer i Upsala: på uppdrag af Gestrike-Helsinge nation utgifna vid Upsala universitets jubelfest år 1877 (Gefle 1877). 74 Nils Berndt Grötenfelt, “Nationerna vid Upsala universitet”, Finsk tidskrift för vitterhet, vetenskap, konst och politik 4 (1878), no. 2: 449-460. 71

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Nordic cooperation, for instance, through the exchange of students. Nevertheless, the list of donors proved first and foremost that the University of Uppsala was regarded by Swedes as a national institution. Expressions of sympathy through donations were sent from throughout the whole country: by private individuals, companies, scientific institutions and societies, and not the least by the royal house, including a prize contest for young researchers.75 Some of the donors were thanked for their financial support by being offered an honorary doctorate, on a kind of reciprocal basis.76 During the festivities, the authorities in Uppsala attempted to perpetuate the image of their university as a truly national institution through various means. The day of the promotions, in particular, publicised Uppsala’s national character. Three kinds of doctors passed before the spectators eyes: first the jubilee doctors, those who had received their degree 50 years or more previously; thereafter the honorary doctors (indeed not only from Sweden); and finally those doctors who had just passed all their examinations to obtain their scientific award. Within these promotions the whole country was represented, independent of rank, age or gender. The continuous attendance and support of the King and the Crown Prince also affirmed, at least in the eyes of the organisers, the national importance of the university. Indeed, for the organisers the jubilee was designed to confirm the university as a centre of academic (and even political and religious) power. The climax of the quartercentenary was intended to dissuade and preclude all forms of internal and external criticism. However, as became apparent from the reflections of many of their Northern European visitors, the Uppsala organisers found limited success in this goal.77 Conclusion Organisers also found limited success in their attempts to make the quartercentenary into a celebration for and of the international—and particularly the Northern European—scientific community. Ironically, it was precisely these Nordic representatives themselves that threw

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Carl Yngve Sahlin, “Redogörelse för kongl. Universitetet i Upsala under läsåren 1877–1883”, in: Upsala universitets årsskrift (Upsala: Akademiska Bokhandeln 1883). 76 “Jubelfesten i Upsala”, Dagbladet (17-09-1877). 77 Cf. Karin Johannisson, Levande lärdom. Uppsala universitet under fem sekler (Uppsala: Universitetet 1989): 89.

the echo of the quartercentenary of uppsala university 167 doubt upon the success of the Uppsala jubilee in this regard. In his concluding words, the correspondent of the fennoman Finnish newspaper Uusi Suometar aptly expressed the opinion of many of his Nordic colleagues: In that way the jubilee celebration, about which so much was said, that had been prepared for such a long time, that was announced as such a magnificent ceremony and the quality of which had never been shown before in the North, came to an end. Indeed, many visitors present considered that the foreign guests were not particularly impressed, but that it had been a grand celebration in the first place for the Swedes themselves; something that they will remember for a long time and that will certainly increase the love of their country.78

Apparently, the Finnish reporter did not realise that the majority of the non-Nordic visitors did not share his view. Many of them were extremely impressed by some of the typical features of the Swedish (and by extension the Nordic) university system. After their return to their home country, they reflected upon what they could learn from their experience in Sweden to the advantage of the own system. Yet to its Nordic guests, the quartercentenary would elicit no similar impact. To them, Uppsala appeared very similar to their own institution, yet also more conservative. Mainly because of the old-fashioned character of Uppsala University, which was confirmed during the jubilee at different occasions, most of the Northern European professors and universities present were hesitant to actively engage themselves in initiatives to improve their relationships with Uppsala. Plenty of declarations of support for such initiatives could be heard uttered in speeches, during the student manifestations, by the presentation of publications and other kind of donations. Yet in practice little was ultimately done. Already from the 1860s, political Scandinavism was largely being replaced by different forms of cultural cooperation. But this analysis of reflections on the Uppsala jubilee of 1877 by Nordic visitors shows that they were preoccupied in the first place by their own national concerns during their stay in Uppsala, such as the organisation of the quartercentenary of Copenhagen University or the increased tensions between fennomans and svecomans. The actual impact of the jubilee was therefore predominantly national in character.

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Uusi Suometar (14-09-1877).

CHAPTER SIX

ONCE AGAIN, A CELEBRATION IN UPPSALA. THE EUROPEAN DIMENSION OF THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE DEATH OF CARL LINNAEUS IN 1878 Carl Frängsmyr The centenary of the death of Carl Linnaeus in January 1878 was commemorated throughout Sweden’s major cities and institutions: above all in Uppsala and Stockholm, but also in Gothenburg, at the University of Lund and at the grammar school of Växjö. A Linnaeus festival and an exhibition also took place in Amsterdam, reflecting on his life in Holland. Still, due to various practical considerations, the Linnaeus jubilee in Uppsala turned out to be a rather low-key affair with only a small number of participants. The quartercentenary of the university was celebrated only a few months before, in September 1877, and moreover, the Christmas holidays were still on, which made it much more difficult to get students involved. However, in some respects the festive anniversary of Linnaeus’s death in Uppsala received an international flavour. A new-found interest in Linnaeus could be noticed in the 1870s, largely as a result of foreign tourists, scientists and even royalty wanting to visit the Linnaean landmarks to be found in Uppsala. Any obvious connection with the Scandinavian movement—as being a political and cultural trend aiming to unite the Nordic countries—is difficult to detect. However, the author of the jubilee cantata, the physiologist Professor Frithiof Holmgren, was one of the most ardent Scandinavists amongst the academics of Uppsala at the time. In accordance with established traditions of jubilees, student participation in 1878 was crucial and the university successfully encouraged many student nations to organise activities of their own. Despite the practical obstacles which hampered the celebrations in Uppsala to some extent, the jubilee turned out to be instrumental in establishing the Linnaean tradition. One of the tangible results of the celebrations was the fact that, in 1879, the state and the university jointly acquired Linnaeus’s house at the countryside, Hammarby. The revival of interest

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in Linnaeus during the 1870s, and not least the jubilee of 1878, contributed to the construction of an idealised image of Linnaeus, which dominated the Swedish national romantic movement at the close of the nineteenth century. In his book Det nya riket (1882) the Swedish author August Strindberg describes his contemporary era as one characterised by “academic jubilees and assassinations”.1 The comment was made against the background of the frequent academic showcase jubilees organised during the previous years. He was also referring to the violent actions by the Russian Nihilist movement, especially the assassination of Tsar Alexander II in 1881. The University of Lund had marked its bicentenary in 1868, and Uppsala University had put on a magnificent show in 1877 to celebrate its 400th anniversary, with Strindberg being one of its alumni. In general, Uppsala was to become the chief venue in Sweden for academic jubilees in the course of the nineteenth century.2 The complete list is long: the tercentenary of the Reformation in 1817, the tercentenary of the Augsburg Articles of Faith in 1830, 400 years of printing press in 1840 and the golden jubilee of the union between Sweden and Norway in 1864. The Kings Gustavus Adolphus and Charles XII were honoured at several occasions, particularly for their military merits, thus reflecting the nationalistic function of most of the celebrations. Gustavus Adolphus ascended the throne in 1611 and led Sweden during the Thirty Years’ War, but was killed at the battle of Lützen in 1632. Carl XII, the last king during Sweden’s great era of power, was less successful, and his death in 1718 marked the end of the Swedish Empire. Nonetheless his relentless military campaigns against Russia made him popular throughout the nineteenth century. At the bicentenary of the Battle of Lützen (in 1832), the foundations were laid for the obelisk in Odinslund in the centre of Uppsala. This monument became the focus of the yearly commemorative ceremony by the students on the anniversary of the death of King Gustavus Adolphus on 6 November. It also

1 August Strindberg, Det nya riket. Skildringar från attentatens och jubelfesternas tidehvarf (Stockholm: Looström 1882). Quoted after August Strindberg, Skrifter av August Strindberg (Stockholm: Bonniers 1983), vol. 14: 5. 2 Carl Frängsmyr, Uppsala universitet 1852–1916 (Uppsala: Universitetet 2010), vol. 1: 55-72.

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marked the location of three major Scandinavian public meetings held in Uppsala in 1843, 1856 and 1875. Gustavus Adolphus had not only been active on the battlefield, but was also held in high esteem as the principal benefactor of the university. His endowments had ensured a secure economic future for the university for some considerable time to come. Apart from the yearly remembrance parade on 6 November, he was also put at the centre at some other, very extensive commemorative events: the 250th anniversary of the Battle of Lützen in 1882, the tercentenary of his birth in 1894 and the tercentenary of his accession to the throne in 1911. The academic jubilees were in some ways a concrete manifestation of historicism and idealism. In a very tangible way, universities could show themselves to be in tune with the past, while also being part of the ongoing present and the coming future. In the case of Sweden and Uppsala another important factor came into play. The Bernadotte dynasty was new on the scene and was keen to increase its legitimacy by focussing on the landmarks of Swedish history. Two of these landmarks were certainly the universities of Uppsala and Lund. Both could only survive by emphasising their historical importance. In the 1810s and during the subsequent fifty years, liberal politicians, and in particular the liberal press, exerted pressure for the relocation of the universities in Stockholm, and moreover, in their opinion, they should form a more integral part of the state apparatus by concentrating increasingly on the practical applications of higher education. The provincial universities were considered, rather condescendingly, unworldly and outdated. The university spokesmen, backed by the local press, raised all kinds of objections, but it took until the 1860s before the threat of relocation was finally removed. One effect of the liberal campaign, which had its origin in Stockholm, was that it led to a closer cooperation between the university and the city of Uppsala. It is significant that the large jubilees were organised jointly by the city authorities and the university. The jubilee as a ceremony originated in the Church and was only gradually adopted by universities. Before 1800, very few historical jubilees took place in Sweden. Those that did were all linked to religious historical events and largely inspired by the Swedish reformation. During the nineteenth century, there existed a trend to pick out purely historical national events to commemorate, in particular the birth and death of the father of the nation, Gustavus Vasa, and of the two warrior

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Kings, Gustavus Adolphus and Charles XII. However, the first purely secular jubilee was devoted to Carl Linnaeus to mark the centenary of his birth in 1807. It took a long time before interest in a wider variety of historical events started to catch on, including those associated with the university. The 400th anniversary of the foundation of the university was marked in 1877, as was its re-establishment in 1893. These tremendous celebrations were used to confirm the importance and position of the university as part of the community. At the same time the rather abstract underlying ideology of historicism and idealism did not exclude a more contemporary, political slant. The jubilee in 1864 to mark the 50th anniversary of the union between Sweden and Norway, for instance, gave Sweden the opportunity to strengthen the bonds of Nordic cooperation, precisely at a time when the Scandinavian movement was struggling in the face of the stadtholder conflict and the outcome of the Danish-German war.3 From the 1840s and until the dissolution of the union in 1905, Nordic festivities were held to keep alive the memory of writers, philosophers, artists and academics who had died.4 These recurring Nordic celebrations thus defined a cultural Scandinavian brotherhood which inspired the student body and a large proportion of the Nordic institutions of higher education. In purely political terms the purpose of the Scandinavian movement had been to create a union between Nordic countries which could offer strong resistance against Prussia in the south and Russia in the east. Around the middle of the century, the most acute threat came from the south as the German League refused to recognise the territorial claims of the Danes on the two provinces of Schleswig and Holstein. When the Second Schleswig War broke out in 1864, Sweden opted for the safe way out and chose not to get involved in a risky military project. The Danes themselves were unable to offer resistance in the face of impossible odds. After only a few months, the Danish army conceded defeat at Dybbøl on Jutland. Denmark was forced to cede the contested regions, and thus the Scandinavian movement lost its real political 3 The stadtholder conflict arose in 1859 when the Swedish King, Charles XV, refused to abolish the office of governor-general of Norway. Instead, the Norwegian parliament decided on its own to abolish the office, which in Sweden was seen as a serious attack on the union between the two countries. The King refused to accept the action taken by the parliament, but eventually the conflict led to negotiations about the structure of the union and to the decision in 1873 to remove the office. See pp. 85-88. 4 Frängsmyr, Uppsala universitet 1852–1916 (2010), vol. 2: 466-469.

Figure 1. Linnaeus’s house in central Uppsala. Photograph by Emma Schenson from the 1870s. Reproduced with kind permission of Uppsala University Library (Picture Collection no. 7704).

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aim. However, cultural aspects of the Scandinavian movement continued to be influential for a considerable period. The Nordic universities continued to exchange lectures, common journals were published, and many scientific meetings were held. It is even possible to refer to a neo-Scandinavian revival in the 1890s.5 Political Scandinavism became outdated after Dybbøl, but cultural Scandinavism was stronger than ever during the last decades of the nineteenth century. From a Scandinavian perspective, the academic jubilees now turned into a platform for cementing Nordic relations. For instance, special festivities were arranged in Uppsala on behalf of the Danish poet Adam Gottlob Oehlenschläger in 1850 and the Finnish author Johan Ludvig Runeberg in 1878.6 It is easy to underestimate the importance of personal and scientific contacts established during these university jubilees; the occasion afforded many more opportunities to network than the lofty rhetoric suggests. To this must be added the festivities generated by the students of Uppsala, Lund, Christiania and Copenhagen from the 1840s until 1905 when the union was dissolved. In Sweden and Norway, Scandinavian fellowship was further enhanced by the union celebrations taking place every year on 4 November. There were exceptional circumstances in Uppsala which explain why so much energy, determination and money was expended on scientific jubilees, not least those celebrating Linnaeus’s achievements. In the eighteenth century, the University of Uppsala had experienced a golden age in the sciences. Botanists like Linnaeus and his followers, the chemists Johan Gottschalk Wallerius and Torbern Bergman, the physicist Samuel Klingenstierna and the astronomer Anders Celsius, had all contributed towards making Uppsala one of the most dynamic centres of science in Europe in this period. However, this reputation of scientific excellence was difficult to maintain in the long run. By the end of the 1780s the heady days of fame were over. In the beginning of the nineteenth century, Uppsala was no more than an ordinary provincial university on the periphery of Europe. After the death of Celsius, astronomy had lagged behind;

5 Ruth Hemstad, Fra Indian Summer til nordisk vinter: Skandinavisk samarbeid, skandinavisme og unionsoppløsningen (Oslo: Akademisk Publisering 2008); Frängsmyr, Uppsala universitet 1852–1916 (2010), vol. 2: 439-483. 6 Carl Frängsmyr, Jubelfesternas tidevarv: Minnen och monument kring Uppsala universitet (Uppsala universitet, Avd. för vetenskapshistoria, Stella: Arbetsrapporter 32) (Uppsala: Universitetet 2007).

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its observatory dilapidated and became antiquated. The chemical laboratory lacked adequate equipment and could only deal with very elementary analytical work on minerals. During a visit to Uppsala in 1842, the members of the Scandinavian Nature Research group were frankly horrified to see the state of the laboratory. The facilities available to physicists were not much better. The Botanical Garden was run by the somewhat eccentric Göran Wahlenberg, who had succeeded Linnaeus to the Chair of Botany. He actually prevented his students from entering the gardens by locking them out. He never attempted to cultivate much needed international contacts, thereby depriving himself of benefits such as the exchange of seeds and other perks of networking.7 Uppsala post-Linnaeus was therefore not very reminiscent of Linnaeus. However, this did not prevent foreign visitors from continuing to associate Uppsala with the natural sciences in general, and with the traditions established by Linnaeus in particular. This is likely to have been the reason why so many chose to venture beyond Stockholm in order to visit Uppsala. Before the railway link was opened in 1866, the Stockholm-Uppsala trip had to be undertaken by steamer, a long and arduous journey, but clearly worthwhile to many. The English geologist Charles Lyell was one of them. He came to Sweden to study rising land levels. Like many other scientists he extended his journey to visit Uppsala and decided to include the surrounding geological features in his research. During the trip, the naturalists Wahlenberg and Gabriel Marklin accompanied him.8 The head gardener Daniel Müller commented in the middle of the 1850s that tourists were only lukewarm about the plant specimens growing in the Botanical Gardens. They just passed by to admire the statue of Linnaeus by Johan Niclas Byström in the orangery. The Englishman Horace Marryat deplored the fact that the Linnaean landmarks were not treated with the respect which they deserved.9 Other travellers like Robert Bremner and Robert Chambers went reverently from site to site, clearly savouring these most important moments of their journey. Bremner even visited Linnaeus’s daughter

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Frängsmyr, Uppsala universitet 1852–1916 (2010), vol. 2: 223; vol. 1: 202. Sten Lindroth, “Om Sven Nilssons engelska förbindelser”, Lychnos 49 (1948): 146. Cf. Tore Frängsmyr, Upptäckten av istiden: Studier i den moderna geologins framväxt (Lychnos-bibliotek 29) (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell 1976): 66. 9 Frängsmyr, Uppsala universitet 1852–1916 (2010), vol. 2: 224. 8

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Lovisa, at that time an elderly woman.10 It was surely as momentous when the curator of the London Kew Gardens visited Uppsala in the early 1870s, or when the Emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro II made a private pilgrimage to Uppsala in August 1876. He asked specifically to see the Botanical Gardens and more particularly the trees left from the time of Linnaeus. At a gathering afterwards, he raised his glass and proposed a toast to the memory of Linnaeus.11 From the last quarter of the nineteenth century, profound changes were taking place at Swedish universities, including, among other aspects, increasing emphasis on research. Universities should no longer only teach, it was thought, but should also engage in scientific explorations. The closely connected need for specialisation gave rise to a range of new disciplines, not least in the natural sciences. Linnaeus, the symbol for the thriving expansion of science, was therefore the ideal role model to promote. However, this was easier said than done. The old Botanical Gardens had been abandoned in the early 1800s. The plants and beds cultivated by Linnaeus had been grassed over and made into a large lawn. The old orangery had been taken over by one of the student nations, and the university director of music now occupied Linnaeus’s house in the centre of Uppsala. His house at the countryside, Hammarby, was still preserved in its original state, but it was in private hands and lived in by descendants of Linnaeus, the Ridderbjelke family. The Linnaean Revival of the 1870s During the 1870s a re-evaluation of Linnaeus took place that looked again at how he should be remembered. To the emerging groundswell of romantic nationalism, Linnaeus became the interpreter of the Swedish landscape and its various regions. The Swedish Academy of Sciences launched an appeal to raise money for a monument to commemorate Linnaeus in the centre of Stockholm. In Uppsala the university and the city went their own way to promote the Linnaean heritage more emphatically. As early as in June 1866, a large delegation of Uppsala students had taken part in the unveiling of a monument in the village

10 Sven Widmalm, Det öppna laboratoriet: Uppsalafysiken och dess nätverk 1853– 1910 (Stockholm: Atlantis 2001): 27. 11 Frängsmyr, Uppsala universitet 1852–1916 (2010), vol. 2: 224.

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Figure 2. Dom Pedro II, emperor of Brazil, one of many prominent tourists who visited Uppsala to admire the remaining Linnaean landmarks. Reproduced with kind permission of Uppsala University Library (Picture Collection no. 5621).

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of Råshult in southern Sweden, where Linnaeus was born in 1707. In 1870 the rather insignificant street in front of Linnaeus’s house was renamed Linnégatan. Four years later the façade of the house was given a plaque inscribed in Latin announcing: “Carolus Linnaeus died in this house where he lived for thirty-five years.” Against the background of this revived interest in Linnaeus, it is hardly surprising that the centenary of his death in January 1878 was regarded as an opportunity not to be missed. To honour the memory of the great and the good was an art the university authorities excelled at. To mark the occasion, the librarian and newspaper editor Arvid Ahnfelt published autobiographical notes by Linnaeus, while the botanist Thore M. Fries published his father’s, Elias Fries’s, edition of Nemesis divina in a new print run.12 The younger Fries was at the same time the driving force behind the Linnaean jubilee of 1878. The planning sessions frequently took place in his house, with a group consisting of Veit Wittrock, Axel N. Lundström, Ewald Ährling, Eugene Swedmark, Tycho Tullberg and Magnus Bernhard Swederus.13 With the exception of Swederus, all the members of this group were active in the field of natural sciences and several rose to become professor of botany and zoology. This illustrates further the impact of the jubilees on the expansion of, and specialisation within, the natural sciences. The budding romantic movement, the increased emphasis on scientific research, and the steady flow of foreign tourists who trod in Linnaeus’s footsteps were all important developments that preceded the 1878 jubilee and contributed to it behind the scenes. The 1878 celebration sustained a long tradition of jubilees in honour of Linnaeus. As early as in 1807, the centenary of Linnaeus’s birth had already been commemorated in Uppsala and Växjö.14 It was on this occasion that the new Botanical Gardens were ready for use, now located in an area near Uppsala castle. The land was a bequest 12 Carl Linnaeus, Carl von Linnés lefnadsminnen tecknade af honom sjelf, ed. Arvid Ahnfelt (Stockholm: Oscar L. Lamms Förlag 1877); Carl Linnaeus, Carl von Linnés Anteckningar öfver Nemesis divina, eds. Elias Fries and Thore M. Fries (Upsala: Lundequistska Bokhandeln 1878). 13 Gustaf A. Aldén, Hemma och i Uppsala. Gymnasist-, student- och folkhögskoleminnen (Stockholm: Hökerberg 1927): 194. 14 Carl Frängsmyr and Hanna Östholm, “Linné som festföremål, symbol och monument”, in: Anna Sjögren, Roland Moberg and Annika Windahl Ponten (eds.), Låt inte råttor och mal fördärva . . .: Linnésamlingar i Uppsala (Uppsala: Hallgren & Fallgren 2007): 179-205; Hanna Östholm, “Making Memorials: Early Celebrations of Linnaeus”, special issue of The Linnean 8 (2008).

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of Gustav III twenty years before, to make up for his disappointment after the loss of the Linnaean collection, which was sold to England. Twenty-two years later, in 1829, Uppsala celebrated the centenary of the first scientific discoveries by Linnaeus as a student. On this event, the previously mentioned statue by Byström was unveiled. On Thursday 10 January 1878, the university celebrated its third Linnaean jubilee. For several practical reasons it was a fairly modest affair. As far as the university was concerned, the day commemorating Linnaeus’s death fell on the worst possible date. The authorities were barely given time to draw breath after the show of strength that had been displayed four months earlier to celebrate the quartercentenary of Uppsala University. In addition it would be bordering on the farcical to issue a new set of invitations to the same dignitaries from the same learned institutions. And finally, a commemoration in honour of Runeberg on the anniversary of his death on 6 May 1878 was in the pipeline. In other words, three major commemorative events hosted by the university in the academic year 1877–1878 was perhaps too much of a good thing. But it was not just the proximity of the dates that affected the planning. The first half of January was totally unsuited to academic festivities—if only for the simple reason that most of the students were still away on holiday celebrating Christmas. Yet the students’ presence was essential for the success of the celebrations, not least for the contribution of the male choral singing. It is impossible to imagine the 1877 jubilee without this component. In general, therefore, the authorities tried their utmost to avoid major ceremonial events during the first half of January. However, this time it was unavoidable. In the words of a Stockholm newspaper “the university is honour bound to commemorate its most eminent member on the centenary of his death.”15 A third complication concerned the venue for the celebrations. At this time—January 1878—there were few grand venues in Uppsala to hold a large audience. The great hall in the university building was not completed until 1887. The Carolina Hall in the university library was grandiose, but it was unfinished, and moreover, there was no heating during the winter months. The Great Hall in Uppsala castle, where Queen Christina had announced her abdication in 1654, remained unfurnished until the 1920s, and therefore it was not an alternative

15

Stockholms Dagblad (11-01-1878).

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either. In the end, the celebrations took place in the Assembly Hall of the Grammar School. Celebrations in Uppsala and Elsewhere The Hall was lavishly decorated. At the front was a portrait of Linnaeus surrounded by flowers, specimens of plants and spruce. The Linnaeus family crest was placed between the Swedish and the Dutch coat of arms, and the organ loft carried a banner with his motto in Latin: “Innocue vivito, numen adest [Live blamelessly, God is present]”. A selection of the students who were still in town preceded the procession of academic staff, which was led itself by the chancellor, the vice-chancellor and the provincial governor. Some 350 invited ladies were already seated on benches on both sides of the aisle when the procession entered to the accompaniment of the orchestra. The vicechancellor, Carl Yngve Sahlin, addressed the audience with his introductory essay on “The Life of Nature”, in which he interpreted nature according to the philosophy of Christopher Jacob Boström, whom he admired. The main speaker was the botanist and chief organiser Thore M. Fries. The speeches were separated by the Linnaeus Cantata, which was written by Professor Frithiof Holmgren16 and set to music by J.A. Josephson, director musices at the university. There were nearly one thousand people in the audience. After the formal proceedings in the Grammar School, the students marched to the Botanical Gardens where the vice-chairman of the student union, Lundström (later to become professor of plant biology at Uppsala), delivered yet another speech. The house where Linnaeus had lived was lit up, and a wreath of laurels surrounded by gaslight had been placed above the wall plaque. The practical restraints meant that the jubilee ended up with a national rather than an international flavour. There are almost no pictorial records of the events, despite the fact that the popular press was normally prompt to respond to such news items. Nor did this jubilee serve as a meeting place to the same extent as similar events in the years before, which makes it difficult to pinpoint any direct Scandinavian 16 Holmgren, professor in physiology at Uppsala University from 1864 to 1897, became famous for his research concerning colour blindness; cf. Jan Eric Olsén, Liksom ett par nya ögon (Malmö: Lubbert Das 2004) and Frängsmyr, Uppsala universitet 1852–1916 (2010), vol. 1: 501-506.

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Figure 3. Cover of Ny Illustrerad Tidning, commemorating Linnaeus, 1878. Ny Illustrerad Tidning 14 (1878), no. 2: 1.

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influences. However, it has to be remarked that Holmgren belonged to a group of academics very committed to the Scandinavian cause in Uppsala during the last two decades of the nineteenth century. At the last major Scandinavian student meeting, in June 1875, three years before the jubilee of Linnaeus’s death, Holmgren had made a rousing speech. From the top of one of the burial mounds in Old Uppsala, he openly deplored the fact that Sweden had not fought side by side with the Danes in the war of 1864 against the Germans. Holmgren and his wife, Ann Margret Holmgren, had many friends in Norway, and as late as in 1899 Ann Margret took part in the foundation of the neo-Scandinavian Nordiska Föreningen in Uppsala.17 Nonetheless, the cantata written for the jubilee in 1878 expressed romantic nationalism rather than Scandinavian sentiments. Apart from the official jubilee two other major commemorations took place in Uppsala. The student union of Småland, Linnaeus’s home province, celebrated their regional compatriot at a social gathering where the main speaker, Gustaf A. Alden, praised the contribution of Linnaeus as an inspector over a period of several decades. Amongst the guests were the botanist Elias Fries and the zoologist Wilhelm Lilljeborg, both representing disciplines in which Linnaeus had been active himself. Both had also, like Linnaeus, been inspectors for the same nation, Småland. The jubilee was to be Fries’s last public appearance. He died a few weeks afterwards at an advanced age. The students of the faculty of natural sciences organised a commemoration with a more scientific bias than many others. Ährling lectured on Linnaeus and his approach to his pupils, the chairman of the society Wittrock spoke about the life of Linnaeus, and Tullberg—related to Linnaeus—told the audience about Linnaean family traditions. The society had also mounted an exhibition of Linnaeana: portraits, medallions, household items from Hammarby and the like. A tangible result was a fund set up to award grants in memory of Linnaeus. All the speeches from the various events, including the cantata by Holmgren, were printed shortly after the jubilee and issued as one volume.18 The respected engraver Lea Ahlborn was given the commission to design a medal of Linnaeus for the university. The front side

17

Frängsmyr, Uppsala universitet 1852–1916 (2010), vol. 2: 455-456, 463. Fest till Carl von Linnés minne i Upsala den 10 januari 1878 (Upsala: Universitetet 1878). 18

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Figure 4a and b. Medal from 1878, Carl Linnaeus by Lea Ahlborn, bronze 56 mm. The inscription speaks about Linnaeus as an adornment to Sweden and to science. Reproduced with kind permission of Uppsala University Coin Cabinet.

shows his portrait with a caption referring to his iconic status as a Swede and a scientist. The reverse side displays a wreath of the woodland plant carrying his name, the Linnaea borealis, entwined to frame Linnaeus’s year of birth and death in Roman numerals. Also at Linnaeus’s old school, the grammar school in Växjö, his memory was honoured by establishing a foundation bearing his name. The yearly revenue was earmarked for young men with small means who wanted to engage in scientific study.19 In Lund, the academic society celebrated Linnaeus with a lecture by Jacob Georg Agardh about Linnaeus’s impact on the history of botany.20 In Helsinki, the physician Otto Hjelt wrote a festschrift on the relationship between Linnaeus and Albrecht von Haller.21 The Royal Swedish Academy of Science in Stockholm had decided to time their usual January meeting to the centenary of its founder’s death. The celebration at the academy was attended by King Oscar II. Telegrams were received from various foreign academies, one of which was recited by the King. It concerned a long eulogy in Latin from the German Academy of Science in Frankfurt am Main. Several 19

Upsala-Posten (16-02-1878). Jacob Georg Agardh, Über die Bedeutung Linné’s in der Geschichte der Botanik. Ein Blatt zur Linné-Feier in Lund am 10 Jan. 1878 (Lunds universitets årskrift 14. Avd. för matematik och nat.-vet. 5) (Lund: Universitetet 1877–1878). 21 Otto Hjelt, Carl von Linné i hans förhållande till Albrecht von Haller: Ett bidrag till Linnés hundraåriga minne (Lännetär 6) (Helsinki: Länsisuomalainen osakunta 1878). 20

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years before the jubilee, the Royal Swedish Academy of Science had decided to launch a nationwide appeal to raise money for a statue of Linnaeus in Stockholm. The original idea was that this should coincide with the jubilee, but this did not succeed, a fact deplored by the president of the academy, Per Henrik Malmsten, in his opening speech. The statue, by the sculptor Frithiof Kjellberg, was not unveiled until the spring of 1885. The Natural History Society in Stockholm mounted an exhibition of Linnaeana at one of the hotels in the city. A committee consisting of three men—the well-known physician Oskar Sandahl, the pharmacist and botanist Knut Fredrik Thedenius, and the secretary of the society, Nils Lagerstedt—had planned this particular celebration. A collection of borrowed portraits of Linnaeus was hung in one of the hotel reception rooms, and at the front you could see a medallion of Linnaeus in plaster and a wreath of Linnaea borealis. Sandahl gave the main speech. On the basis of new research by Hjelt, he described Linnaeus as a medical man and a pharmacist and discussed his contribution to medical sciences. The day after, on 11 January, the Geological Society met in Stockholm. This meeting was also dominated by the Linnaean jubilee. The famous polar explorer Adolf Erik Nordenskiöld talked about Linnaeus as a mineralogist. In Gothenburg, the Friends of Horticulture hosted a social event about Linnaeus at the Lorensberg restaurant, decorated true to form with spruce trees. A portrait of Linnaeus was placed on the wall. The secretary, August Wilhelm Malm, curator at the Natural History Department of the Museum of Gothenburg gave a presentation on Linnaeus’s contributions to the natural sciences.22 Even if the ceremonies were largely confined to Uppsala, the fact that the Linnaean festivities in 1878 took place in many different Swedish cities shows that Linnaeus started to be considered as a national icon. Still, the examples above also prove that often, practical impediments decided upon the outcome and content of these celebrations as much as ideological convictions. Furthermore it needs to be noted that the memory of Linnaeaus was feted outside the borders of Sweden as well. In Amsterdam, the botanist Cornelius Anton Jan Abraham Oudemans delivered a eulogy at a public commemoration.23 An 22

Cf. e.g. Göteborgs Handels- och Sjöfarts-Tidning (11-01-1878). Cornelis Antoon Jan Abraham Oudemans, Rede ter herdenking van der sterfdag von Carolus Linnæus eene eeuw diens verscheiden, i Felix Menibus op den 10 januari 1878 (Amsterdam: Scheltema & Holkema 1878). 23

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exhibition about the life of Linnaeus in the Netherlands was shown by the society Natura Artis Magistra in Amsterdam, and a special grant was established on the occasion of the jubilee to encourage studies of botany and zoology. Even in the United States the anniversary of Linnaeus’s death did not pass unnoticed. The March 1878 issue of the journal The American Naturalist included an article by the Swedish American journalist Josua Lindahl in which he presented a full report of the jubilee gala at Uppsala University—“the venerable Alma Mater of Swedish science for more than 400 years”.24 The newspaper Hufvudstadsbladet in Helsinki, on the other hand, pointed out that the jubilee dedicated to Linnaeus was celebrated in Sweden and other countries, but had been totally ignored in Finland and at the Finnish university.25 Follow-up of the Jubilee As a result of the first Linnaean jubilee in 1807, the university was able to take possession of the new Botanic Gardens. After the second jubilee in 1829, the statue of Linnaeus by Byström embellished the city. And likewise the third jubilee in 1878 also resulted in a Linnaeus monument of sorts. By the middle of the 1870s, the students of the Natural Science Society had brought up the question of whether the state should acquire Hammarby, Linnaeus’s home in the countryside, some fifteen kilometres southeast of Uppsala. The house had become the traditional destination in the spring for a day out by the Society.26 The question of responsibility for Hammarby as a Linnaean landmark had been discussed on and off during the 1840s, but it led to nothing. The impending jubilee in 1878 gave the students a good enough reason to renew their request that this Linnaean heritage site was safeguarded. On 23 May 1875—Linnaeus’s birthday—the botanical section had its last spring get-together at Hammarby. A few years later, the fond hopes of the students were fulfilled. Shortly after the jubilee, the provincial governor of Gävle proposed a motion that the state would take possession of Hammarby. During the

24

Josua Lindahl, “Scientific News”, The American Naturalist (1878), no. 3: 194-

196. 25

Hufvudstadsbladet (10-01-1878). Nils Svedelius, “Botaniska Sektionen i Uppsala 75 år”, Svensk botanisk tidskrift (1940): 222. 26

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Figure 5. After the jubilee of 1878, the state of Sweden and Uppsala University took possession of Hammarby, Linnaeus’s summer house outside Uppsala. Photograph by Emma Schenson from the 1870s. Reproduced with kind permission of Uppsala University Library (Picture Collection no. 7712).

autumn of 1878, university authorities entered into negotiations with the owner of Hammarby, Carl Ridderbjelke.27 The transfer of ownership was completed the following year. This meant that the house and the grounds now belonged to the state. The university bought the surrounding land. A bill passed in January 1881 arranged that the upkeep

27

Cf. e.g. Upsala-Posten (11-09-1878).

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of the property was to be put in the hands of a foundation headed by an inspector, who should be recruited among the professors of the university. Hammarby thus became a monument to commemorate Linnaeus, and in doing so Uppsala was really made the town of Linnaeus. This clearly shows that the students actively tried to turn the city of Uppsala into a lieu de mémoire by securing the Linnaean legacy.28 In this context, the jubilee of 1878 and its aftermath played a significant role. Conclusion In the era of nationalism and romantic national trends, Linnaeus became the personification of Sweden, the Swedish natural world and Swedish science, and not least of the University of Uppsala. When in 1885 the monument to Linnaeus was unveiled in Humlegården, a park in central Stockholm, Uppsala University and the students were very much involved. The chancellor and vice-chancellor took part, as well as the deans of all faculties. A special train transported 450 students to Stockholm, but it was estimated that around 800 students from Uppsala took part in the festivities, including the student choir. This implied that half of all the students enrolled at the university were to be found at Humlegården on this occasion. This figure highlights the possible impact of the students on jubilee occasions in general and gives some idea of the possible numbers of students in the 1878 jubilee when it had taken place in May rather than in January. Linnaeus’s influence as a symbol continued to grow, which is shown not least at the jubilee in 1907, when international participation in the celebration far surpassed the 1878 event. The jubilees have also had an impact on the Linnaean heritage in concrete terms. Hammarby was transferred to civic ownership as a result of the celebrations in 1878. In the 1910s, in the aftermath of the 1907 jubilee, the Swedish Linnaean Society was founded, which in its turn recreated the Linnaean botanical garden in Uppsala at the beginning of the 1920s. Various circumstances, the time of the year and the proximity of the quartercentenary of the university all reduced the 1878 jubilee to a very modest affair in Uppsala. However, a number of commemora28 Cf. Pierre Nora, “Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire”, Representations 26 (1989): 7-24.

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tions were held, arranged by the university or various student associations. The memory of Linnaeus was honoured in other parts of the country as well. A leading newspaper made the comment that the purposeful way in which people in various parts of the country commemorated Linnaeus gave proof of his impact as an innovator, even if modern science, as it moved on, was becoming much more advanced.29 Linnaeus’s importance as a national treasure was thus confirmed. The festivities, the commemorative medals and the monuments in Råshult and Stockholm contributed to the concept of Swedish nationhood, as did other historical festivities and inaugurations and statues at this time. In conclusion, it is therefore true to say that national rather than Scandinavian trends dominated the agenda at the 1878 jubilee. This particular commemoration became a celebration of Swedish science and its place within Europe—although this cannot be said to reflect the actual prominence of Swedish science at the time in the 1870s.

29

Aftonbladet (10-01-1878).

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE QUARTERCENTENARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF COPENHAGEN IN 1879. DENMARK BETWEEN EUROPE AND THE NORDIC COUNTRIES Ejvind Slottved The celebration of the 400th anniversary of the University of Copenhagen in June 1879 does not entirely support the view of nineteenth-century university jubilees as being unique manifestations of Scandinavist ideas. The planning of the anniversary fell into three phases: from 1875 to 1877, a relatively modest and purely academic event was envisaged; from the autumn of 1877 until January 1879, the conviction prevailed that the celebration in Copenhagen could be not less impressive than the majestic quartercentenary in Uppsala, with an emphasis on Copenhagen as a European and international seat of learning; in the spring of 1879 the plans were revised again, in consequence of the repeal of clause 5 of the 1866 Prague Treaty between Prussia and Austria. Thus, the defeat of 1864, when Denmark had to surrender the Duchies of Schleswig and Holstein to Prussia and Austria, also cast a cloud over the university’s quartercentenary. About a third of the invitations would have been sent to Germany, but the university authorities did not want to take responsibility for the risk that their German guests might be exposed to unpleasantness on account of the latest events. The Danish government intervened by giving the university the choice between carrying through with the planned celebrations as a whole, or returning to a more modest academic event as proposed in 1875. The university chose the latter, but thanks to a number of voluntary initiatives and contributions, in which the students were very active, the final programme was eventually no less comprehensive, although more informal than the one that was discarded. In many ways the jubilee therefore turned out to be a witness of the strength of Nordic academic cooperation. The hypothesis of this chapter, according to the original project proposal which lies at the basis of this book, was that the quartercentenary of Copenhagen University in 1879 “was used as an opportunity

the quartercentenary of the university of copenhagen 189 to restore the relationships and to bind the Northern universities, scholars, and people again more closely together,” in reaction to the prevailing feeling of disappointment after the political developments in the 1860s and the lack of military support for the Danish brothers. However, a close examination of the university archives regarding the June 1879 celebrations does not entirely support this interpretation of the event.1 As explained below, the planning and preparations for the anniversary of the University of Copenhagen fell into three distinct phases. A relatively modest and purely academic event was originally envisaged during the first phase, from 1875 to 1877. During the second phase, from the autumn of 1877 to January 1879, the University of Copenhagen was greatly inspired by the magnificent celebrations for the 400th anniversary of the University of Uppsala in 1877. It decided to mark its own anniversary with festivities that were to be no less magnificent, but which were also to highlight the Copenhagen University’s role in establishing the Danish capital as a European and international seat of learning. The final shape of the event emerged during the third phase, culminating in early 1879. For reasons described in greater detail below, the plans were greatly influenced by the repercussions of Prussia’s wars with Denmark in 1864, with Austria in 1866 and with France in 1870. These wars re-emerged as topical issues in Danish politics just at the same time when the university was finalising its anniversary preparations, and they played a crucial role in determining the final shape and content of the festivities. This aspect of the 1879 anniversary unfortunately escaped the attention of the author of the relevant section in the University of Copenhagen’s major anniversary publication of 1979.2 Chief archivist Niels

1 Københavns Universitet. Årbog (1878–1879): 589ff contains a detailed account of the preparations for the anniversary celebration and a brief description of the actual festivities. At the behest of the academic senate after the anniversary, professor of history Edvard Holm published his Beretning om Kjøbenhavns Universitets Firehundredaarsfest [Report on the University of Copenhagen’s 400th Anniversary Festivities] (Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1879), in which the individual events are extensively referenced, along with most of the speeches and addresses and autobiographies of the honorary doctors. The academic senate archives in the Danish State Archives contain three packets of anniversary committee files (RA, KU 12.09.21-23) and the academic assembly minutes 1850–1920 (RA, KU 13.01.01). Unless otherwise indicated, this chapter is based on these sources. 2 Københavns Universitet 1479–1979. Vol. 2: Almindelig Historie 1788–1936 [General History 1788–1936] (Copenhagen: C.E.G. Gads forlag 1993): 416, 419.

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Petersen makes only very brief mention of the 1879 anniversary, and the current picture is therefore distorted and incomplete. The university archives for the period around the anniversary in 1879 are pretty threadbare. Their content is restricted almost exclusively to the results of discussions and the actual decisions made. They provide precious little insight into the negotiations and the points of view propounded in the various university fora about how such a major milestone should be marked. Preliminary Planning The university’s preparations began in 1875, when one of its most prestigious professors, the classical philologist Johan Nicolai Madvig, drew the academic senate’s3 attention to the upcoming anniversary. He proposed setting up a committee to consider whether the anniversary should be celebrated at all, and if so in what form. The academic senate responded by setting up an anniversary committee, chaired by Madvig, which quickly reached a decision that the 400th anniversary in 1879 should indeed be celebrated. Deliberations about the nature of the event then commenced. However, the form and content of the actual festivities do not appear to have been considered at this stage. The evidence suggests that, in the first instance, a relatively modest programme was envisaged. The committee’s initial deliberations therefore revolved primarily around the Festschrift that should be produced, according to academic traditions. An initial proposal, which met broad approval in the committee, was to publish the university’s register, which had been kept from 1611 until 1804 (afterwards, lists of newly matriculated students were published). However, after being cut back several times, probably out of financial reasons,4 the proposal was eventually rejected. Other proposals also failed to come to fruition, until Henning Matzen, professor 3 Since 1850, all full-time university teachers were members of the academic assembly, which every September elected the rector for the following year. The real governing body was the academic senate, which consisted of a number of professors appointed according to their seniority and a number chosen by the academic assembly. Particularly important university issues were discussed in both bodies. 4 The University register (1611–1829) was published between 1890 and 1912 by Sophus Birket-Smith, first and foremost with support from the Carlsberg Foundation founded in 1876. Sophus Birket-Smith, Kjøbenhavns Universitets Matrikel, 3 vols. (Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1890–1912).

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Figure 1. The rector of the university, Johan Nicolai Madvig (1804–1886), pictured here in Illustreret Tidende, during the 1879 anniversary celebrations. Madvig was appointed professor of classical philology in 1829. He was a central figure in Danish intellectual life, culture and politics for more than half a century, and exerted a huge influence on the development of classical philology in Denmark. He also played an active role in a moderate political party in the run-up to the Danish 1849 constitution. In 1848 he resigned his chair at the university to take up a post as Minister for Church and Education, but he returned to the university in 1851. Madvig was held in high esteem in Denmark. He was a man of considerable influence in Danish politics and served as the university’s rector on five occasions—for the final time in 1879. As president of the Academy of Science from 1867 and the first chairman of the Board of the Carlsberg Foundation from 1876 until his death a decade later, he held two of Danish science’s most influential positions. He was therefore the natural choice to preside over the 400th anniversary celebrations. The illustration, which features an oversized Madvig hovering over a miniaturised representation of the university on Frue Plads (Our Lady’s Square), demonstrates with all due clarity his position at the university and in Danish public life. Illustreret Tidende 20 (01-06-1879), no. 1027: 367. www.illustrerettidende.dk.

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of jurisprudence, proposed a major work on the history of law at the university. It was also decided, following a proposal from the faculty of medicine, that each faculty should draft a Festschrift containing one or more theses by its members. In addition, the committee decided that each faculty should confer a number of honorary doctorates as part of the anniversary celebrations. This distinction was not to be restricted to Danes, but would also be conferred on scholars from abroad, particularly from Norway, Sweden and Finland. However, while the final list of honorary doctors from 1879 does indeed include scholars from all of the Nordic countries, it does not include anybody else from abroad. The proposal to confer honorary doctorates was the only suggestion related to the 1879 anniversary that had a discernibly Nordic objective. However, the source material does not provide any evidence that this was the result of a particular desire on the part of the committee or the university to mark the anniversary as a specifically Nordic or Scandinavian event. It has previously been suggested that the aim was to help repair the damage done to Scandinavian cooperation when SwedenNorway failed to come to the aid of Denmark in the war of 1864, a failure that gave rise to widespread disillusionment in Denmark. However, as will be seen, the defeat in 1864 made a deep impression on the 1879 anniversary in other ways. It is more likely that the decision to confer honorary doctorates only on Nordic scientists was a pragmatic one. The preserved source material suggests that only a relatively modest event in the university ceremonial hall was envisaged originally. The first budget, drawn up in 1876, estimated a total cost of approximately DKK 15,000—one third of which was earmarked for the planned Festschriften, one third for a cantata and a commemorative medal, and one third for all other expenses, including the reception of guests. Restricting honorary doctorates to Nordic academics offered the advantage of a diminution of both travel costs and potential language problems.5 In the late

5 One special feature of the honorary doctorates is worth mentioning, as it bears witness to the fact that the Danish absolutist constitution, which endured until 1849, cast long shadows in certain areas. The rules governing the award of doctoral degrees dated from 1824 and stipulated that the University must in each case obtain royal permission to award the honorary doctoral degree, a provision not repealed until 1927. This stipulation can partly be explained by referring to the role of the king as one of the sources of the honorary doctoral degree at medieval and early modern European universities in general, cf. Pieter Dhondt, “Du balayeur de rue au Président

the quartercentenary of the university of copenhagen 193 nineteenth century, there were far fewer differences between the Danish and Swedish languages than there are today, and Norwegian academics in that period largely spoke and wrote in Danish. Nordic academics were therefore able to effortlessly communicate with each other, both orally and in writing, using their own languages. In the spring of 1879, when the university unexpectedly had to review its plans for the 400th anniversary, the decision to award honorary degrees only to Nordic academics would take on far greater significance, but this could not have been foreseen in 1876. The decision to publish faculty Festschriften was taken at more or less the same time as the decision to confer honorary doctorates, and does not appear to have been an expression of Nordic sentiment either. In fact, the individual authors appear to have been free to choose their own topics. The anniversary committee drew up an initial budget of DKK 15,000, which the ministry sought to include in the 1877–1878 state budget.6 As the committee pointed out, the amount was subject to considerable uncertainty. It is somewhat difficult to determine whether the budget was generous or not. A professorial salary in 1879 was approximately DKK 6,000, so DKK 15,000 corresponded to the remuneration of two and a half professors. Applying this ratio to the modern university, where a professorial salary is approximately DKK 700,000, the first budget for the anniversary would correspond to DKK 1.75 million (almost €235,000). The final budget of DKK 22,000 corresponds to DKK 2.6 million (€340,000) today. These amounts may not sound particularly impressive. However, it should be borne in mind that the university’s finances were at a particularly low ebb in the second half of the nineteenth century. It covered its recurring annual deficits by regularly delving into its own assets, which were seriously depleted as a result. The city administration of Copenhagen and a number of private sponsors pledged substantial support for the anniversary celebrations, but it is impossible to determine the exact amounts, as no records of the costs associated with the anniversary were preserved.

des Etats-Unis. Caractère ambigu et genèse controversée du doctorat honoris causa”, to be published in: Kenneth Bertrams, Didier Devriese and Kim Oosterlinck (eds.), Les DHC de l’Université libre de Bruxelles (Brussel: Presses Universitaires 2010), 16 pages. 6 The Danish financial year at the time run from 1 April to 31 March.

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Figure 2. The University of Copenhagen anniversary medal, 1879. In 1876, it was decided—in continuation of a long academic tradition—to strike a special commemorative medal. Harald Conradsen, one of the most popular medal-makers of the day, whose motifs adorned Danish coins between 1840 and 1916, was entrusted with the commission. His other works include the university’s prize medal and doctor’s ring, which are still used today. The front of the anniversary medal features a double portrait of Christian IX and Christian I. The reverse features an allegorical scene in which Pallas Athena (standing) reaches out her hand to the reigning Danish monarch. The inscription reads “Qvatvor Exegit, Sperat Nova Saecula Vivax [(The University of Copenhagen) has enjoyed four centuries, and vigorously hopes to enjoy four new centuries]”. Reproduced with kind permission of Jan FriisJensen, 2009.

A Major International Occasion In 1877, Uppsala University, the oldest university in the Nordic Region, celebrated its 400th anniversary amid major festivities. The Copenhagen delegation, headed by Madvig, came back with the distinct feeling that the Uppsala celebrations clearly would have to serve as a model for the Copenhagen anniversary in 1879, setting the minimum standard to which the University of Copenhagen had to aspire (see pp. 158-159). In 1878, the anniversary committee therefore submitted a vastly increased budget proposal to the academic senate, stating openly that “the festivities in Tübingen and Uppsala presented models, which [. . .] could not be ignored lest the University of Copenhagen should be undeservedly overshadowed”. As a result, the committee in January 1878 was expanded and constituted as an actual anniversary committee. Unfortunately, it is again

the quartercentenary of the university of copenhagen 195 not possible to follow the details of its deliberations. However, in the book about the anniversary, which was published by the university immediately after the celebration, the historian Edvard Holm wrote that the plans were designed to endow the festivities with an international air by inviting representatives from universities and learned societies from around the world. By inviting a large contingent of guests from abroad, the University of Copenhagen would remind the world that an active intelligentsia flourished in Denmark, engaged in the same intellectual pursuits as the most prominent academic nations.7 This is evident from the list of 119 universities and other institutions to which the committee intended to send invitations (see table 1). This new international perspective caused a dramatic expansion of the plans for the whole occasion. As mentioned earlier, the original intention had been to host a modest academic event revolving around the conferment of honorary doctorates. The revised plan was far more grandiose. Since the number of invited guests would now exceed the number of people that could be accommodated in the university’s ceremonial hall, the decision was taken to organise the commemorative event in the far more spacious Church of Our Lady. There were also sound historical reasons for this. The university was founded at a ceremony in the church on 1 June 1479, and although the original building had been destroyed in the British bombardment of 1807, the links between the church and the university remained strong. Formally, the university remained the patron of the Church of Our Lady until 1917. As the actual anniversary, on 1 June 1879, coincided with Whitsun Sunday, the decision was taken to hold the commemoration ceremony on 4 June and confer the academic degrees in the ceremonial hall on the next day. The university also faced problems of ordnance when it came to the celebration dinner for the guests from all over the world, as no premises large enough existed in Copenhagen at that time. The Port of Copenhagen offered to bring forward the planned construction of warehouses, which then could be used, an offer which the university accepted with gratitude. The expansion of the plans also made it necessary to involve a larger number of people in the organisation of the celebration. At a general meeting of the students on 25 February, a committee was set up

7

Holm, Beretning om Kjøbenhavns Universitets Firehundredaarsfest (1879): 7-8.

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Table 1. Overview of the invitations sent to foreign universities, learned societies and student organisations. It is striking that around one third of the institutions, which the committee intended to invite, came from Germanspeaking Europe—a testament to the historic and close ties between Danish and German academia. Table provided with kind permission of the author. Country Sweden and Norway Finland Germany The Netherlands Great Britain France Switzerland Spain Portugal Italy Austria-Hungary Russia Romania USA and Canada Australia

Universities

Learned societies

Student organisations

3 1 20 4 7 6 4 3 1 8 10 8 1 12 1

7 1 4 1 4 4

3 1

2 1 1

to ensure the students’ involvement. The committee of 25 members largely consisted of younger academics, including several who would form part of the next generation of leading figures at the university. Initially, only two students sat on the committee. Later, this figure would rise to three. This special committee launched a number of initiatives. One of the most important of them was to invite student representatives from the Latin schools in Iceland and the universities in Finland, Norway and Sweden. In November 1878, the committee recommended to the general anniversary committee that a total of 80 such representatives should be invited. The anniversary committee was grateful for their input, but restricted the number of Nordic student delegates to 50, again mainly out of financial reasons. In June 1878, the anniversary committee submitted a revised budget to the academic senate. It had more than doubled, from DKK 15,000 to DKK 32,000. The increase was due to the expansion of the plans— instead of one party, there were now to be two, each with its own music programme, which entailed a doubling of the costs. In addition,

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Figure 3. The commemoration ceremony in the Church of Our Lady on 4 June 1879. In the wake of Uppsala University’s large-scale festivities of 1877, the decision was taken to hold the actual commemoration in the Church of Our Lady, as the university’s ceremonial hall was unable to accommodate all the expected guests. When the plans were scaled down again in March 1879, it became possible to offer two thirds of the seats in the church to the students, who came to play a prominent role in the anniversary celebrations. Illustreret Tidende 20 (15-06-1879), no. 1029: 390-391. www.illustrerettidende.dk.

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the items “Literary Works”8 and “Reception of guests” had both risen by 250%. An entirely new post, which reflects the extent to which the plans had expanded beyond the originally conceived academic event, earmarked DKK 2,000 for student related events. The academic senate added another DKK 3,000 for contingencies, bringing the total to DKK 35,000. A request for the amount was submitted to the Ministry of Culture9 and then forwarded to the parliamentary finance committee. It was approved in July 1878. The preparations continued within the framework mentioned before, but one particular event should be highlighted separately: the annual election of the rector of the university by the academic assembly. In 1878, the chair of the anniversary committee, Madvig, was offered this honour with only one dissenting vote, probably his own. This meant that he would preside over the festivities in June 1879, a choice that once again underlines the unique prestige that Madvig enjoyed at the university and throughout Danish society. The Shadow of 1864 By late January 1879, preparations were sufficiently far advanced to send invitations to universities and other institutions abroad. Invitations to the Nordic countries were written in Danish, those to France and Spain in French, and those to the rest of the world in Latin. The invitations were printed, and awaited the rector’s signature, but were never sent. In early February 1879, the news reached Denmark that in October of the previous year, Prussia and Austria had agreed to annul clause 5 of the Treaty of Prague, the signing of which on 23 August 1866 marked the end of the war between the two nations. They had been allies in the war with Denmark in 1864, as a result of which Denmark was forced to cede Schleswig and Holstein to Prussia and Austria. Under the Prague Treaty, Austria conceded its rights to the 8 The increase was largely due to Henning Matzen’s Festschrift Kjøbenhavns Universitets Retshistorie 1479–1879 [The University of Copenhagen’s History of Law] (Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1879), which was more than twice as bulky as initially planned and eventually had to be published in two volumes. Nevertheless (or maybe precisely because of that), it has remained an indispensable standard reference work for Danish academic history ever since. 9 Since the introduction of the 1849 Danish Constitution, the university came within the responsibility of the Ministry of Culture for the Church and Education Service, commonly known as Kultusministeriet (The Ministry of Culture).

the quartercentenary of the university of copenhagen 199 conquered territories to Prussia. However, Emperor Napoleon III of France insisted upon the insertion of a clause that opened the door for a subsequent referendum on nationality in the northern part of Schleswig, where the great majority of the population was Danish. In the aftermath of 1864, this clause was of major importance in Denmark. It formed the basis for the widely nurtured hope that the Danes in North Schleswig would one day return to the kingdom.10 The abolition of clause 5 was therefore considered a national disaster in Denmark. The defeat of 1864 itself had already been traumatic; now the situation became even worse. Until the Napoleonic Wars, Denmark was the core of a medium-sized Northern European state that stretched from the North Cape to the River Elbe. With approximately one-third of the population Norwegian, one-third Danish and onethird German, its population had lived together peacefully and harmoniously for centuries. Mainly due to the strength of its navy, the state had also been able to play a role in European politics. Within two generations, two disasters reduced Denmark to the status of an insignificant, poor little nation, barely able to feed its people. Firstly, as an outcome of the Napoleonic Wars, Norway, with which Denmark had co-existed in a form of peaceful symbiosis for 400 years, was forced into a union with Sweden in 1814. Secondly, Denmark suffered defeat at the hands of Prussia and Austria in 1864, losing the Duchies of Schleswig, Holstein and Lauenburg. Until roughly 1800, the states of Sweden-Finland, on the one hand, and Denmark-Norway-the Duchies, on the other, were more or less of the same size. The Napoleonic Wars shifted the balance of power in the region, to Denmark’s disadvantage. After 1814, Denmark was forced to redefine its relationships with Sweden and Norway. This was a complicated process that started to be influenced by the concept of “Scandinavism” in the 1830s, which itself advocated a federation comprising Denmark, Norway and Sweden. One of the key arguments in favour of Scandinavism pointed to the three countries’ common language and shared cultural and—to some extent—political heritage. The movement was initiated by Danish and Swedish students and was particularly strong in academic circles. One of its first tangible

10 This hope was fulfilled when the northern half of the Duchy of Schleswig was reunited with the Kingdom of Denmark as a result of a referendum in accordance with the provisions of the Treaty of Versailles after World War I.

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manifestations was the inaugural Nordic Meeting of Natural Scientists, held in Gothenburg in 1839. Similar meetings followed throughout the 1840s, alternating between the Nordic universities. During the Three Years’ War (1848–1850) between Denmark and the German-orientated rebels in Schleswig who opposed Danish rule, Sweden-Norway pledged support to Denmark in the form of an expeditionary force, although it actually never saw action. In 1861, the University of Copenhagen sent a large delegation, including Madvig, to the 50th anniversary celebrations at the University of Christiania. The delegation took the opportunity to strongly encourage the Nordic sister countries to come to the aid of Denmark if a conflict broke out over the Duchies once again—a prospect that appeared all too likely (see pp. 95-96). War did indeed break out in 1864, and a large number of Norwegians and Swedes served as volunteers on the Danish side, just as they had done during the 1848–1850 conflict. However, this time the Swedish government adopted a more realistic view of European politics, including the fact that Germany’s star was rising and Denmark’s was on the wane. In result it did not countenance official Swedish-Norwegian participation in the war. Of course, this was a source of major disappointment in Denmark and was perceived as a serious setback for the Scandinavist movement.11 As mentioned before, the 1864 defeat was a national disaster, one that would cast a long shadow over Danish history. A consequence that directly affected the university’s anniversary celebrations was that the main goal of Danish foreign policy evolved into maintaining good relationships with Germany at almost any price, a policy that would continue until after World War II. It was keenly felt that the people of the northern part of the Duchy of Schleswig, who had a very strong Danish identity, both by language and disposition, were condemned to a harsh fate under German rule. In the decades that followed 1864, the hope that these Danish compatriots would one day be able to return to the kingdom was one that transcended political divisions and united the people of Denmark. It was in this light that the annulment of clause 5 of the Treaty of Prague in 1879 came as such a heavy blow.

11 When Norway seceded from the union with Sweden in 1905, it brought a de facto end to the idea of a unified Scandinavian state. The twentieth century was instead characterised by close cooperation in many different spheres between Denmark, Norway and Sweden, and later Finland and Iceland as well, based on the concept of collaboration between equal and independent Nordic countries and peoples.

the quartercentenary of the university of copenhagen 201 The 400th Anniversary in the Shadow of the Treaty of Prague When the news of the annulment of the specific clause reached Copenhagen, the management of the university felt obliged to reconsider its anniversary plans yet again. The majority in the academic senate and the anniversary committee shared the opinion that the political situation dictated a reduction in the scale of the celebrations. More specifically, official invitations to universities and other institutions abroad would have to be retracted “for the sake of the country and the university’s dignity” and to avoid misunderstandings which might arise if the initial programme were to be followed to the letter. The most important consideration may well have been the fear of unfortunate incidents, particularly anti-German demonstrations, during the festivities. If the university planned a programme that gave rise to such incidents, it would be taking on a responsibility which those in charge of the celebrations felt incapable of assuming, especially since they would not have the power to prevent any such demonstrations. The academic senate submitted the issue to the academic assembly, where it was discussed on 12 February.12 An overwhelming majority of the assembly agreed with the academic senate, while a minority felt that the festivities should be held as per the existing plans, without paying heed to the clause 5 issue. At the conclusion of the debate, the assembly decided to let the anniversary committee and the academic senate determine the nature of the celebrations. The gist of the university’s revised proposal, which was submitted to the Ministry of Culture on February 27, was that everything would go ahead according to the original plans, with one significant exception—the invitations to universities and other institutions abroad would be restricted to the Nordic countries. This change would not entail any changes to the budgeted expenditure. Several arguments were put forward in support of this approach. The anniversary committee and the academic senate shared the view that on the one hand it was necessary to curtail the original programme, but on the other it would not be reasonable to “revert to the narrow framework of the standard academic festivity”. The university believed

12 This was one of the few times during the nineteenth century that the discussions in the academic assembly handled something else than routine matters related to the annual election of the rector and the academic senate.

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that its 400th anniversary was both unique and of special significance to Denmark and the Danish people. As a result of the change in circumstances, commemorating the anniversary was not considered to be merely the natural thing to do—it assumed far greater significance. It was therefore deemed appropriate to issue invitations to those universities that, “through very close ties, have been linked to the Danish university”.13 The University of Copenhagen had served as Norway’s university for more than 350 years and as the university of the southern Swedish regions of Scania, Halland and Blekinge for almost 200 years, so it would be only natural to invite representatives of these countries. In addition, because of shared language and cultural heritage, the Nordic universities were considered to constitute a special academic community, so invitations to them were considered justified. This may appear to run counter to the decision to curtail the celebrations in the light of the prevailing circumstances, but it was thought that if representatives of universities abroad were not present, the festivities would lack a substantial part of the justification used to enlarge the celebrations in the first place. Finally, invitations to Nordic universities would be in line with the previously taken decision, which everybody had accepted, to award honorary doctorates to scholars from the Nordic countries—and only from the Nordic countries. The university’s argument is interesting. It is primarily driven by the desire to maintain the level of the festivities budgeted for in the summer of 1878, while avoiding the difficulties which might arise from the presence of a large German contingent. As Holm put it after the anniversary: “The question arose, quite naturally, how it would be possible to gather in a festive mood with representatives of universities that had helped whip up the public sentiment in Germany that formed the basis for a policy, the impact of which was now once again being felt in equal measure as painful and insulting.”14 As a result, the university opted to play the Nordic card, although it is questionable whether this was in deference to the nineteenth-century Scandinavian movement. During those hectic spring days in 1879, the university management’s sole interest was to guide the anniversary festivities safely through the stormy seas upon which they found themselves cast adrift.

13 14

Holm, Beretning om Kjøbenhavns Universitets Firehundredaarsfest (1879): 7. Holm, Beretning om Kjøbenhavns Universitets Firehundredaarsfest (1879): 8.

the quartercentenary of the university of copenhagen 203 The Ministry of Culture took the matter very seriously. This is evident from the fact that its response was despatched on 28 February, the day after the university wrote to the ministry. The ministry’s reply was, to put it euphemistically, not positive. At first, it was pointed out that the university’s new proposals seriously diverged from the basis upon which the ministry had decided to submit the university’s anniversary budget proposal for approval as part of the 1878–1879 and 1879–1880 national budgets. In addition, the university’s new plan, as discussed in the press, had already prompted the parliamentary finance committee to make representations to the Ministry of Culture. This was serious enough—no ministry wanted to incur the displeasure of the finance committee. However, the real concern was that there existed some doubt as to whether the university’s decision would be perceived as positive, or whether it might give rise to interpretations that would fall somewhere short of benignancy and perhaps even be considered directly harmful. More bluntly, the ministry was concerned about how the changed plans would be received in Berlin. In the 15 years that had passed since the defeat in 1864, good relations with Bismarck’s Germany had been the cornerstone of Danish foreign policy. As a result, the Ministry of Culture and the Danish Government could not treat lightly the possibility that the university’s anniversary celebrations might cause offence in Germany. The ministry requested the university to reconsider their plans another time, and gave it a choice between two alternatives: stick to the original plan or restrict the event to a traditional university celebration, involving the conferment of doctorates, striking a new medal, and publishing Festschriften and the like, but without inviting any guests from abroad. Given the gravity of the situation, the academic senate decided to resubmit the issue to the academic assembly, and a meeting was convened for 6 March. The meeting was preceded by a lively public debate, at which the university’s position came under pressure. The students’ anniversary committee drafted an address which had to be submitted to the assembly. It stated that the students’ committee understood and sympathised with the sentiments that lay behind the request to reconsider the form of the festivities, but that it viewed with growing anxiety the way in which the government interfered in the organisation of the upcoming celebrations. The amended proposals were contrary to the general perception among the student population, according to whom

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the festivities should follow the programme which had been proposed initially, without any form of curtailment. Before the assembly meeting, the academic senate also received an address in which some 200 academic citizens15 called for the festivities to retain their original character. Irrespective of the blow that had struck Denmark and caused deep and widespread pain, the signatories were convinced that the festivities would only have the appropriate stature if they were European in nature. As it was stated in the address: “It would in our opinion not be defensible to neglect an opportunity to remind Europe that a small nation exists here in Denmark, consisting of a people that has its own specific historical development and possesses the vitality to sustain a future.”16 At the assembly meeting on 6 March, held at the behest of the academic senate, the majority supported the university’s proposal of 27 February to hold a large-scale event, but only with Nordic guests. However, in the light of the letter from the ministry, this was no longer an option. After prolonged debate, the assembly voted on the ministry’s two alternatives: to hold the planned international celebration without paying heed to the issue of the annulment of clause 5 of the Prague Treaty; or to celebrate the university’s 400th anniversary with a purely academic event. The first alternative was rejected by 26 votes to 22; the second was adopted unanimously. The assembly then unanimously passed Holm’s motion to praise the stance taken by the academic senate and the anniversary committee. The next day, the academic senate reported the outcome of the assembly to the ministry and provided a detailed account of both the committee’s deliberations and the negotiations with the city administration of Copenhagen. The academic senate noted that, although it had previously been believed that the university could rely on government approval of the proposal submitted on 27 February for a Nordic celebration, the memorandum from the ministry on the day after made it clear that this was not the case. On 10 March, the academic senate submitted a revised budget proposal, with the item of DKK 10,000 for the reception of guests removed, but all others retained. With regard to the conferment of 15

People with an academic degree were a very small minority in the Danish population in the nineteenth century, with a strong corps d’esprit, who valued their status of citizens in the “academic republic”. 16 Københavns Universitet. Årbog (1878–1879): 610.

the quartercentenary of the university of copenhagen 205 honorary doctorates, the university’s view was that the royal resolutions on conferment included the right to invite those receiving a doctoral degree, whether they were Danish or not. The ministry’s letter excluding invitations to foreigners was therefore considered only to apply to representatives of universities and institutions abroad, and did not preclude in any way the faculties inviting honorary doctors from outside the country. Finally, the revised proposal retained the request for 10% of the estimated costs to be reserved for extraordinary expenses. Later that day, the ministry requested a detailed account of why all the budget items—except of the reception of guests—remained unchanged. In particular, it questioned the budgeted DKK 2,000 for student festivities, as the ministry had assumed that any events to be held outside the Church of Our Lady and the ceremonial hall would be cancelled. The university responded that the costs associated with the conferment of honorary doctorates were not affected by scaling down the festivities. If doctorates were to be conferred, it would still be necessary to hold two events—one in the Church of Our Lady and one in the ceremonial hall—with associated costs for music, decoration and the like. Finally, given that the festivities were now a purely academic event, the university thought that some form of participation by the students on their own initiative would be both natural and something that the university should support financially. However, in the light of the ministry’s letter the university removed the DKK 2,000 item for this purpose. The ministry then submitted the final anniversary budget to the parliamentary finance committee.17 The entire dialogue between the university and the ministry about the revision of the anniversary plans, both in terms of individual parts of the festivities as well as of the overall financial framework, clearly illustrates the constraints placed on the university’s formal autonomy

17 After the anniversary, Holm commented that because the support that the university received from the state in those years was extremely modest (DKK 50,000, equivalent to a mere 10% of the total budget, an amount that did not increase in 1879, despite the anniversary), it was in the end the university itself that defrayed the costs of its anniversary celebration. Thus, the authority of the government over the university was not based primarily on its financial support. In the aftermath of the war of 1864, a long and bitter constitutional strife between leftists and rightists dominated Danish politics. In the end, the leftist parties emerged victorious, and the consequence of their conviction was that nothing could be decided without consulting the lower house of parliament, which the university authorities experienced in 1879.

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following the introduction of the Danish constitution in 1849. It was therefore perhaps an expression of the university’s desire for greater independence that on 1 June 1879, the actual day of the 400th anniversary, the books, medals, etc. which the international guests would have received in Copenhagen were sent to more than 100 universities and learned societies around the world. The accompanying letter explained how the university had originally planned to invite representatives of these institutions to its anniversary celebrations, but that events beyond the control of the university had made this impossible. In accordance with the original intention behind the invitations, there were three versions of this letter: one in Danish to the Nordic universities, one in French to the French and Spanish, and one in Latin to all the others. The Danish-language letter contained this passage, for which there was no equivalent in the French or Latin texts: At the celebration that we had intended to hold, we had decided to invite representatives of foreign universities and academic institutions, in particular of these institutions in the Nordic region to which we are linked with the strongest bands, whose fraternal spirit towards our university is precious to us.

It was also mentioned that the festivities were to be held on 4 and 5 June, and can therefore be seen as part of the unofficial effort to persuade Nordic scholars to attend as private guests. An Improvised Nordic Celebration In mid-March 1879, only two and a half months before the actual anniversary, the university now faced the daunting task of organising almost completely different festivities than it had been preparing for several years.18 The university managed to retain the plans for both the commemorative celebration in the Church of Our Lady and the academic celebration in the ceremonial hall. The preparations for music, cantatas, Festschriften and medals that had commenced in 1876 were all progressing according to the plan, but the revised budget meant that several of the other events either had to be abandoned or significantly amended.

18 The final programme is reproduced in Appendix 1, so only a brief outline will be discussed here.

the quartercentenary of the university of copenhagen 207 One argument, which was put forward in support of the large event in the Church of Our Lady, had been that the expected number of guests could not be accommodated at the university itself. According to the new scenario, the foreign representatives would not be attending, and so the extra space had to be filled. Firstly, a large number of representatives from the Danish government and the academic and cultural elite were separately invited. Secondly, 1,400 seats were reserved for current and former students. Thirdly, in addition to the honorary doctors, a large number of Nordic visitors attended the celebrations as “private guests”. These Nordic visitors were not officially invited, but, as mentioned previously, strong academic and social relationships existed between professors at the Nordic universities. Many Norwegian and Swedish scholars found their way to Copenhagen in early June 1879, including several who were accompanied by their wives. These private guests were either informally invited by their Danish colleagues, or attended the festivities on their own initiative. The anniversary committee arranged private accommodation for all of the unofficial visitors and invited them to the anniversary events. The removal of the entry in the budget for the reception of the guests meant that the university’s large gala dinner, which was to be hosted in the warehouses at the Port of Copenhagen, had to be abandoned. Instead, on 4 June the university’s teachers hosted a celebration dinner for some 300 people in the Casino Theatre’s great hall. The following day, the city of Copenhagen hosted its own celebration dinner in a dockside venue. In March 1879, the students’ anniversary committee had sent unauthorised invitations to official delegations from Uppsala, Lund, Helsinki and Christiania. Through various unofficial channels they spread the news that all Nordic students who happened to visit Copenhagen during the anniversary celebrations would receive a warm welcome— and a large number heeded the call. By means of a large-scale and very skilfully conducted campaign, the students raised funds equivalent to more than 50% of the official anniversary budget. They were also offered other forms of support, such as the three steamboats made available by the shipping company DFDS (Det Forenede DampskibsSelskab) on 4 June to transport participants from Copenhagen to the students’ big event in Klampenborg. All of this made it possible to plan a comprehensive student programme that constituted a significant element of the entire celebration.

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When reading the many speeches in the book published by Holm after the anniversary, the cordiality of the Nordic guests is striking. They were clearly delighted by the welcome they received, despite attending in an unofficial capacity. In his after-dinner speech at the Casino dinner on 4 June, the Norwegian university’s senior professor, Marcus Jacob Monrad, gave a succinct appraisal of the private guests’ reception: On behalf of my colleagues, I would like to express our gratitude for the toast to the Norwegian university and the friendly words that accompanied it. As close friends, we have availed ourselves of the right to turn up uninvited at a major family celebration, and we have done so, trusting in the knowledge that we would not be deemed unwelcome. The actual reception which we have met, exceeds all expectations.

Similar sentiments were expressed by almost all the other Nordic guest speakers. Conclusion It might reasonably be concluded that the University of Copenhagen did not originally seek to mark its 400th anniversary in the light of the blow suffered by Scandinavism in 1864. The university’s plans were initially for a more traditional, rather modest and predominantly academic event based around the publication of Festschriften and conferment of honorary doctorates. In 1878, inspired by the anniversary celebrations in Uppsala the previous year, the University of Copenhagen began to plan a major event, the main aim of which would be to present itself to Europe and the world as a modern, internationally oriented university. However, the repeal of clause 5 of the Prague Treaty prevented the realisation of these plans. Instead, interaction and solidarity between the Nordic countries and the Nordic academic community became increasingly central to the anniversary celebrations. After the plans for a middle-sized official event with Nordic participation were abandoned in mid-March 1879, many new initiatives were suggested. Despite the anniversary’s official status as a purely academic celebration, the intention was to stage festivities appropriate to its unique character. As the final programme shows, this was done astonishingly successfully. Although the success was due more to a series of spontaneous and more or less unofficial events than to

.

Figure 4. Conferment ceremony in the ceremonial hall on 5 June 1879 at which 73 honorary doctorates were conferred on 37 Danes, 17 Norwegians, 17 Swedes, one Finn and one Icelander. Illustreret Tidende 20 (08-06-1879), no. 1028: 378-379. www.illustrerettidende.dk.

the quartercentenary of the university of copenhagen 209

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official plans made in advance, it is evident that the 400th anniversary of the University of Copenhagen did actually help to revitalise and reenergise Nordic academic cooperation. Appendix 1: The Final Programme of Events 3 June 1879 9 pm: Small event at the student association, the heads of which had invited the university’s teachers and their guests, along with a number of the association’s other members. Welcoming speeches by the university rector and the president of the student association. 4 June 1879 9 am: Academic procession organised by the students. It started at the student association and proceeded through the city to the university and the Church of Our Lady. Norwegian and Swedish students were among the participants. 10:30 am: University event in the Church of Our Lady. Welcome speech by the Bishop of Sealand, music programme, speech by the rector. Among the participants were members of the royal family, as well as the university’s teachers and their wives and guests, the honorary doctors, and representatives of the diplomatic corps, culture, education and Danish government—a total of nearly 800 people. In addition, approximately 1,400 current and former students and others attended. 3:30 pm: The university’s celebration dinner in the Casino Theatre, organised and hosted by the university’s teaching corps. Participants included the royal family, government and parliament representatives, special guests, honorary doctors, university teachers, academic societies, and unofficial representatives of the Nordic universities—a total of approximately 300 people. Speeches by the Rector and the Crown Prince, followed by representatives of the many participants, both from Denmark and abroad. Afterwards, most of the guests sailed to Klampenborg to witness the student event. 4:30 pm: Departure for the big student event in Klampenborg, to which guests sailed in steamboats provided by DFDS. Music programme and many speeches, including from the unofficial representatives of the Nordic students. 9 pm: The majority of participants at the dinner in the Casino Theatre joined the party. 5 June 1879 10 am: Conferment ceremony in the university ceremonial hall. Besides the crown representatives, the attendees were drawn from the

the quartercentenary of the university of copenhagen 211 same circles as the previous day’s event, but the smaller space limits the number to some 500 invitees. Initial welcome by the Bishop of Sealand, opening speech by the Rector, followed by numerous tributes and speeches by organisations and institutions from Denmark and the Nordic countries, as well as students, interspersed with a music programme. The party ended with a proclamation and conferment of the many honorary doctorates and a varied music programme, the second part of which consisted of cantatas for each faculty. 5 pm: Event of the city of Copenhagen for approximately 700 participants in the warehouses in the Port of Copenhagen. This event also involved the participation of the royal family and the same circle of people as the previous events, plus representatives of the diplomatic corps, government and parliament and the host, the City of Copenhagen. A comprehensive music programme, interspersed with many tributes and speeches. 8:30 pm: The participants were transported in steamboats to Tivoli, which had been specially decorated for the occasion, to watch a large, festive fireworks display. This event attracted a large number of Copenhagen inhabitants. 6 June 1879 5:30 pm: Royal Gala at Christiansborg for a total of 260 of the most prominent participants in the university’s anniversary celebrations. 9 pm: Students’ Festive Ball, with approximately 1,200-1,300 participants. Participants in the Royal Gala, as well as representatives of the crown, joined the party.

Appendix 2: Anniversary Festschriften 1879 The Faculty of Theology H.V. Styhr: Lutheranerne i Frankrig 1824–26. The Faculty of Social Sciences A. Aagesen: Om Singulærsuccession i Formuerettigheder inter vivos med særligt Hensyn til dansk Ret. The Faculty of Medicine P.L. Panum: Vort Medicinske Fakultets Barndom og Oprindelse. A.S.N. Stadfeldt: Fødslen ved Bækkenets Svulster, med særligt Hensyn til Anvendelsen af Laparo-Hysteropnomien, Laparo-Elytromien og Hysterektomien. C. Reiz: Epyemet som Udgang af Pleuropneumoni. C.G. Gaedeken: Tilfælde af hysterisk Lidelse i Barnealderen. C.E. With: Peritonitis appendicularis eller den ved Ulceration og Perforation af appendix ileo-coecalis fremkaldte Peritonitis.

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The Faculty of Humanities J.L. Ussing: Ledøje Kirke paa Sjælland og de tydske Dobbeltkapeller. R. Nielsen: Philosophiske Grundproblemer. E. Holm: Holbergs statsretlige og politiske Synsmaade. The Faculty of Natural Sciences A. Steen: Den elastiske Kurve og dens anvendelse i Bøjningsteorien. S.M. Jørgensen: Om en ny Række Cromammoniakforbindelser. J. Thomsen: Thermochemiske Undersøgelser om Qvælstoffets Ilter og Syrer. T.N. Thiele: Castor. Calcul du mouvement relatif et critique des observations de cette étoille double. H.G. Zeuthen: Om Fladen af fjerde Orden med Dobbeltkeglesnit.

PART III

A METHODOLOGICAL-COMPARATIVE PERSPECTIVE

CHAPTER EIGHT

“THREE THE NORDIC COUNTRIES ARE, THE NORDIC MAID BUT ONE”. A DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVE ON NINETEENTH-CENTURY UNIVERSITY FESTIVITIES Hanna Enefalk In this article, three festivities held at Uppsala University are studied with regard to the roles women were assigned. The first occasion that is investigated is the Scandinavist student meeting in 1856, the second is the student meeting in 1875, and the third is the university’s quartercentenary in 1877. Special attention is paid to the songs and poems that were performed during the festivities. In 1856, Scandinavism was at its height, and so was the bourgeois ideal of separate spheres for men and women. At the student meeting, women were told to shun the public sphere, but to work for Scandinavism indirectly as mothers and wives. The Scandinavist speakers also grappled with the question of how to “share” women within a Scandinavian brotherhood. One solution was to deny the existence of Swedish, Norwegian and Danish women: they were all Nordic women. Accordingly Nordic women became truly shared property, and the nationalistic rule stating that a patriot must defend “his” women against foreign men could be sidestepped. In 1875, women’s economical rights had increased drastically, and since 1870 they were also admitted into Uppsala University. The speakers at the student meeting still treated women mainly as mothers, wives or potential wives, but an acceptance of women playing an active role in the public sphere can also be discerned. Women were physically present at all three festivities. But whereas they were greeted with speeches, poems and songs in 1856 and 1875, they were hardly acknowledged at all by the speakers of 1877. Only two female figures were mentioned: Mother Sweden and Alma Mater, both having only sons and no daughters. One possible reason why is that Uppsala University’s privileges were threatened, and critics of the university used luxury-loving femininity as a symbol of everything that was wrong with Uppsala. In 1877, intellectual masculinity was held forth

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as a counterweight. The entire jubilee can be seen as a demonstration of a model patriarchal society, where the women and the uneducated masses gratefully let themselves be governed by the king and the men of science. “Three the Nordic countries are, the Nordic maid but one.” So begins the second verse of the once popular Danish song “Nordens Kvinde [The Nordic Woman]”. The text was written by Jens Christian Hostrup, a playwright and preacher and an enthusiastic member of the student corps during his years at the University of Copenhagen. The music, set for four-part male choir, was written by the influential composer and government official Johan Peter Emilus Hartmann, conductor of the Students’ Choir Association in Copenhagen. “Nordens Kvinde” quickly became very popular among Scandinavian students. From the 1850s onwards, it was printed over and over again, not only in Denmark but also in Sweden and Norway. Its romantic, almost lullaby-like melody made it a perfect song with which to round off a celebration or a dinner after the customary toast to “Woman”. The text too suited the taste of the educated classes of the nineteenth century. The nicely rhymed lines celebrate the object of the young singer’s yearning: the maiden, young, tender and pure. But what makes this rather run-of-the-mill love poetry interesting (and perhaps contributed to its success) is that it is intertwined with that Nordic version of Pan-Germanism: Scandinavism. The “Woman” that is praised in the song is not any woman, nor is she a Danish one. She is “Nordic”, and the poet states that although the Nordic countries are three (Denmark, Norway and Sweden), she is but one. The song is an example of how the notion of ideal womanhood was combined with the idea of Scandinavism within the patriotic university milieu. This phenomenon—the roles of women during university festivities and the relationship between female gender roles and Scandinavism in particular—is the topic of this article. Aims and Methods The overarching aim of this anthology is to investigate the national, regional (Nordic) and international character of nineteenth-century university jubilees. This question, and especially the relationship between Scandinavia and the separate Scandinavian nation-states,

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forms the background for this article too. However, the article will illuminate the subject of university festivities from a somewhat different angle. Firstly, the role of women during the celebrations will be subject to special attention. To “bring the women back in” is the oldest and most basic aim of the discipline of women’s history, and it is hardly controversial anymore to state that both sexes must be considered if one is to give a balanced and unbiased description of an historical event. But in addition to this, it seems to me that the roles women were assigned within nineteenth-century university culture have an additional interest. The nineteenth century in Europe was a period during which women’s legal rights took great strides forward, but the century also fostered bitterly misogynist opinions—not least among the educated elite. One of the areas where the battle between emancipation and the forces of reaction was fought was around the question of women’s admission to higher education.1 This article will explore how this issue was handled during university festivities, and how the ubiquitous “woman question” was positioned against the question of Scandinavism. Secondly, the primary source material of this research also differs somewhat from what is customary for a study of university history. Speeches and newspaper reports have been used, but a lot of attention has also been given to songs and poems. This choice is dictated by the fact that poetry played a central role during university festivities, and indeed in the entire cultural life of the nineteenth-century bourgeoisie. Before the advent of modern mass-produced entertainment, the performance of poems and songs had an impact which contemporary Europeans can hardly imagine. The release of a poem or a song by a well-known writer was greeted as a major event, and a successful text could set the educated population of an entire country aflame with enthusiasm. Viktor Rydberg’s cantata at the quartercentenary of Uppsala University was just such a text. It is still being reprinted in anthologies of Swedish verse today. Poetry also has the advantage of being “condensed”. Compared to free prose, very few words in a poem are there accidentally, since putting together a poem requires a larger amount of time and consideration per

1 Tord Rönnholm, Kunskapens kvinnor. Sekelskiftets studentskor i mötet med den manliga universitetsvärlden (Umeå: Institutionen för historiska studier 1999).

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word. Of course, one must take into account the concessions that the poet has given to the metre and contemporary poetic vocabulary (the latter being in itself a rewarding field of research). All in all, when it comes to probing the ideals of the nineteenth-century elite, poetry is a very rewarding source material to look at. In the renditions of such texts here, the Swedish, Danish and Norwegian originals have been translated into English. The peculiarities of the vocabulary and syntax of the time have been reproduced as faithfully as possible, which means that what might look like a bad translation is (in most cases) a true rendition of the original text. Rhymed texts have however been translated into prose, which makes them appear even more awkward than they actually were. Three historical events will be investigated in this article, all of them festivities that took place at the University of Uppsala. The first one is the Scandinavist student meeting of 1856. At that moment, a bit more than a decade had passed since the first Scandinavian student meetings during the politically turbulent 1840s. By 1856, student radicalism had abated and the Scandinavist movement had gained the approval of the Swedish monarch. Dreams of a new great power, a “Scandia” uniting Norway, Denmark, Sweden and perhaps even Finland under one (Swedish) king, were still alive, although plans to win back Finland by joining the Crimean War had been cut short by the untimely (for the warmongers, that is) end of the war.2 On the domestic front, Swedish society was dominated by bourgeois ideals. For women, this meant that their lives were highly influenced by mother-and-wife norms. Women, no matter if they were married or unmarried, enjoyed no legal autonomy. Only widows had the right to dispose of their own labour and their own economical assets. However, through gradual demographic change a large and growing group of women had appeared who had no man to provide for them. And since the law did not allow these women to enter into any business, they had very little opportunity to support themselves. Even women from quite affluent homes risked sinking into poverty.3 The bourgeois intelligentsia loved their notion of woman as “the angel in the

2

David Kirby, Östersjöländernas historia 1772–1993 (Stockholm: Atlantis 1996): 119, 130. 3 Ingela Schånberg, De dubbla budskapen. Kvinnors bildning och utbildning i Sverige under 1800- och 1900-talen (Lund: Studentlitteratur 2004): 34-36.

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house”—but the ideal was put under increasing pressure by the harsh realities of life. The second university festivity to pass the revue is the Scandinavian student meeting of 1875 in Uppsala. This meeting took place in a very different atmosphere. During the previous decade, the idea of a politically united Scandinavia had been written off as an impossible project even by its most militant (and least realistic) followers. The 1860s had also witnessed the end of the old, privilege-based society in Sweden. The feudal restrictions on the economy had been removed and the four-estate model of government had finally been abandoned and replaced by a two-chamber parliament. In matters of politics, noble birth had given way to money—to the dismay of conservative aristocrats, who still believed in the values of the Ancien Régime, and to the disappointment of radical liberals, who had hoped for universal male suffrage.4 For unmarried women the changing times opened up brand new possibilities. A series of reforms from the end of the 1850s onwards made them legally autonomous and allowed them to participate in business on almost the same premises as men. Married women remained under the legal authority of their husbands, but in 1874 they too were granted the right to dispose of their own income.5 In the 1870s, women were also granted the right to study at most academic faculties. The first studentska (“female student”, derived from the grammatically neutral but tacitly masculine student) entered Uppsala University in 1872.6 The third occasion to be investigated is the university jubilee in Uppsala: the quartercentenary of 1877. This spectacular display of academic grandeur resounded through the national and international press for weeks and was no doubt one of the reasons why August Strindberg sarcastically described the period as “the era of assassinations and jubilees”.7

4 Harald Gustafsson, Nordens historia. En europeisk region under 1200 år (Lund: Studentlitteratur 1997): 172, 175; Victor Lundberg, Folket, yxan och orättvisans rot. Betydelsebildning kring demokrati i den svenska rösträttsrörelsens diskusgemenskap, 1887–1902 (Umeå: Bokförlaget h:ström—Text & Kultur 2007): 30-31. 5 Schånberg, De dubbla budskapen (2004): 36-38. 6 Rönnholm, Kunskapens kvinnor (1999): 53. 7 The expression appears in the subtitle of Strindberg’s novel The New Country from 1882. Cf. August Strindberg, Det nya riket. Skildringar från attentatens och jubelfesternas tidehvarf (Stockholm: Looström 1882).

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The student meeting in the summer of 1856 was attended by academics from Copenhagen, Christiania, Lund, and of course Uppsala. The meeting lasted for four days, not counting the time spent on the road. (These journeys were important in themselves, including wellorganised stops where the local elite greeted the students.) For a town of Uppsala’s size, the meeting was a major event. In the gala dinner, no less than 1,400 people participated—plus 2,000 “lady onlookers”, which brings us straight to my central research question, viz. the roles that women were assigned to during the festivities. It can be stated right away that for a middle- or upper-class young lady, these were busy days. To participate in all the occasions to which women were invited, at least three different outfits were needed. On Thursday afternoon, “festive dress” was required as the Norwegian students were presented with a banner that a group of women had embroidered for them. Miss Thekla Knös, who was one of the leading ladies in the cultural life of the town, had written a poem, which was sung on the occasion. In addition to this, the townswomen had brought flowers with which to shower the banner and the students. Later in the day, evening gear had to be put on for the celebration in the botanical garden. On Friday, the students made an outing to see the iron-age burial mounds north of Uppsala. Ladies were not invited, but when the students walked out of town, and again when they returned in the afternoon, numerous women gathered in the windows of the houses to throw posies to the young men. In the evening it was time to don the ball gown—at least if you were lucky enough to get a ticket. According to the description of the meeting—anonymously published and presumably authored in parts by the printer and autodidact writer Carl Rosander—more than a thousand women had wanted to come, but there was only space enough for some 700.8 The female presence was thus quite pronounced during the whole student meeting. Moreover, with their elaborate dresses they were visually conspicuous, something which was stressed in contemporary sources.9 But how did the male participants interpret this strong

8 Carl Rosander (ed.), Minne af Studentmötet i Upsala 1856 (Stockholm: Unknown publisher 1856): 68. 9 Rosander, Minne af Studentmötet i Upsala 1856 (1856).

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female presence, considering that this was a time when the bourgeoisie wanted their women to stay at home? In the chronicle mentioned above, women are described quite literally as ornaments. The stairs around a monument were “adorned” by festively dressed women, and the ball was “embellished” by the beauty and charm of the ladies, according to Rosander.10 However, in the reprinted speeches and poems of the meeting, it seems that women could not be written off that easily. Their presence clearly had to be fitted into the double framework of bourgeois gender roles on the one hand, and Scandinavism on the other. With regard to gender roles it is crucial to point out that when the Norwegian students were given the embroidered banner, it was handed over by a professor on behalf of the women. Moreover, the professor read a poetic speech (presumably written by himself—Carl Wilhelm Böttiger was a well-known poet). The gist of the speech is expressed in the following lines: Thou know’st a woman does not forward step At parliament—and least the Swedish maiden, She knows her place: the narrow sphere of home; But for all things nobel and great which stir Within the husband’s, son’s and brother’s bosom For this—because she also knows her right— For this, her heart will always warmly beat.11

The view that women should not speak for themselves is echoed in Miss Knös’s song. Here, the risk that the gift could be perceived as inappropriate is thoroughly eliminated by describing the work as utterly modest: As quietly as the sun melts snow, Like the flower is woven by spring, Thus the shy maiden quietly works, Her heart beating joyfully.12

10

Rosander, Minne af Studentmötet i Upsala 1856 (1856): 28, 68. “J veten, qvinnan stiger sjelf ej fram /—Och minst den svenska mön—på mannatinget, / I hemmets trånga ring hon vet sin plats; / Men för allt ädelt, för allt stort, som rörs / I mannens bröst, i sonens och i broderns, / För detta—ty hon vet också sin rätt—/ För detta klappar hennes hjerta högt.” Rosander, Minne af Studentmötet i Upsala 1856 (1856): 28. 12 “Så tyst som solen smälter snö, / Som blomman väfs af vår, / Så verkar tyst den blyga mö, / När fröjdfullt hjertat slår.” Rosander, Minne af Studentmötet i Upsala 1856 (1856): 29. 11

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In the toast to “Woman” given at the end of the festivity in the botanical garden, the women were put in place in prose. The true woman, the speaker explained, walks quietly through life. “She shuns the public realm, but from the place that the Lord of Creation determined for her, the holy hearth of the home, her blessed work issues forth onto peoples and countries.”13 So, although (or perhaps because) women were there for everyone to see, the speakers of the day went through great trouble to emphasise that they had no business in the public life of the nation. Even the only text written by a woman, that by Knös, follows this discourse completely. It is noteworthy that so much time was used to address contemporary gender questions. After all, the official reason for the meeting had nothing to do with these issues. So, what was the link between gender and the notion of Scandinavism, which ultimately was one of the underlying intentions of this student meeting? As previously mentioned, the speakers did their best to fit the female presence into the Scandinavist framework. When reading the poems and speeches, one gets the impression that this was not an easy task. First of all, the writer or speaker had to explain what function women served in connection with Scandinavism—without admitting them to have any influence in the public sphere. Secondly, he had to deal with the widespread nationalistic discourse which stated that a true man at no cost should surrender “his” women to foreign men.14 How was this credo to be upheld without antagonising Danish and Norwegian students over the women attending the student meeting? When it comes to the role that was given to women in the Scandinavist project, the most important thing seems to have been that it was a modest and indirect role. Ironically, this meant that the most “Scandinavist” figure in Northern European history had to be denounced: Queen Margaret, who uniquely managed to unite Sweden, Norway and Denmark at the end of the fourteenth century. Margaret’s reign was briefly mentioned when the Norwegians received the embroidered 13 “Hon skyr offentligheten, men från den plats, som af skapelsens Herre blef henne anvisad, från hemmets heliga härd, utgår öfver folk och land hennes välsignelsebringande verksamhet.” Rosander, Minne af Studentmötet i Upsala 1856 (1856): 55. 14 This discourse has been identified and briefly discussed in my dissertation. Hanna Enefalk, En patriotisk drömvärld. Musik, nationalism och genus under det långa 1800-talet (Studia Historica Upsaliensia 234) (Uppsala: Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis 2008): 109-110. The dissertation has an extended summary in English.

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banner. In a rather odd way of expressing his thanks, the Norwegian speaker claimed that the Nordic women were obliged to make up for “what that woman with the masculine soul offended”. They should create a garland to unite “the three countries, which could not be united by the weight of the crown that lay heavily upon them”—referring to Queen Margaret’s crown.15 Obviously it is not coincidentally that a Norwegian student made this comment. Although the Norwegian intelligentsia was often interested in the Scandinavist project, at the same time they were always wary of the colonial tendencies of Denmark and Sweden. Böttiger, for his part, made an ungainly reinterpretation of the Swedish expression “pull one’s straw to the (ant) heap” (that is, do one’s part of the work in a small but not insignificant way) by saying that “Woman” would “pull her straw to the temple [of Scandinavism] that is to be built”.16 To build an ant heap you certainly need a number of straws, but if your goal is to build a temple, the contribution of a straw does not seem quite so expedient. In another poem, sung after the toast to “Woman” at the festivity in the botanical garden, it was suggested that women should serve as the source of religious inspiration for men. The learned man, steering his way over “the ocean of thought”, should feel her love as a magnet, guiding him safely between the “blind banks of doubt”.17 Secondly, the speakers and poets at the student meeting faced the challenge to reconcile the Scandinavist idea with the widespread nationalistic discourse, stating that the women of the nation had to be kept away from foreigners. Böttiger solved it by making a clear distinction between the Swedish maiden and the Norwegian woman, who was someone else. The Norwegian women had presented the students of Sweden and Denmark with banners at an earlier student meeting; now the generosity was returned. (Böttiger described this as an exchange between brothers, although the gifts were the work of women.) There was no hint that Norwegian students would ever marry Swedish girls. The chronicler of Studentmötet i Upsala 1856, on the other hand, gladly 15 “de have at oprette hvad hin Kvinde med den mandige Sjæl har forbrudt”, “de 3 Lande, der ikke kunde holdes sammen af Vægten af den Krone som laa og tyngde paa dem”. Rosander, Minne af Studentmötet i Upsala 1856 (1856): 31. 16 “drar sitt strå till templet, som skall resas”. Rosander, Minne af Studentmötet i Upsala 1856 (1856): 28. My italics. 17 “på tankens verldshaf ”, “tviflets blinda skär”. Rosander, Minne af Studentmötet i Upsala 1856 (1856): 57.

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allowed the Danes and Norwegians the company of Uppsala’s ladies: “Everywhere, groups of gentlemen and ladies could be seen walking in lively conversation. The latter were visibly charmed by the open, endearing and courtly manners of the foreigners, and the Swedes were happy to be overshadowed by them. They were proud of their guests and used every opportunity to give their countrywomen the pleasure of the foreigners’ company.”18 The guests expressed their gratitude in the song “To the Swedish Woman”: “Of all that you own, kinsman! The best you own in her.”19 The conclusion is that a true feeling of Scandinavian brotherhood could not be achieved unless the women were regarded as shared property. Some, like Böttiger, did not accept this. The more generous-minded among the Swedish participants, however, did so, and expressed this in terms of Swedish women who were freely given away. This, however, implied a break with the unspoken rule that a real man does not surrender “his” women to foreign men. In response to this, a third approach can be glimpsed: some writers and speakers avoided the whole problem by denying the existence of a Swedish woman. According to their view, there existed no Swedish, Danish or Norwegian women, only Nordic ones. As a result, the patriotic man could allow his Scandinavian brethren to go off with his countrywomen without himself suffering any loss of masculinity at all, since the women were indeed shared property. “Three the Nordic Countries are, the Nordic Maid but one”—and problem solved. The Scandinavian Student Meeting in 1875: Emancipation Accepted? Some two decades later, in the early summer of 1875, the proceedings had undergone some subtle changes. The Swedish, Danish and Norwegian academics were now joined by their Finnish colleagues at the student meeting. The rulers of the grand duchy of Finland no longer feared that its intellectuals would catch the contagion of political

18 “Öfverallt såg man promenerande grupper af herrar och damer i lifligt samtal. De sednare voro synbart intagna af främlingarnes öppna, älskvärda och ridderliga väsende, och Svenskarne sågo sig med glädje af dem undanskymda. Stolta öfver sina gäster begagnade de hvarje tillfälle att bereda sina landsmanninnor glädjen af främlingarnes bekantskap.” Rosander, Minne af Studentmötet i Upsala 1856 (1856): 55. 19 “Af alt, hvad du eier, o Frænde! / Dit bedste du eier i Hende.” Rosander, Minne af Studentmötet i Upsala 1856 (1856): 68.

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Scandinavism, and so, no less than 85 Finnish students were given permission by the Russian emperor himself to travel to Uppsala.20 As in 1856, the female presence was quite prominent. Women greeted the students as they travelled through Sweden, they took part in the customary celebration in the botanical garden, and they were, of course, invited to the ball. After the meeting in Uppsala a feast was held in Stockholm, and here too, women were present. However, in comparison with twenty years before, the women were not regarded so much as guests and onlookers, but as true participants of the meeting. In the numerous songs and toasts to “Woman” at the meeting in 1875, it is clear that generic “Woman”, this unworldly figure that was always mentioned in the singular, was slowly giving way to women— real women of flesh and blood. When, for instance, the Norwegian students apostrophised the Swedish “Woman” in Karlstad on their way to Uppsala, the speaker chose as his examples Jenny Lind and Kristina Nilsson. These were not only real people, they were professional singers, two of the megastars of the nineteenth-century musical scene. They were not known as mothers or wives, and the speaker emphasised their active role in the world by saying: the Swedish woman has not just watched the great tournaments of world history from the first bench and thrown wreaths to the victors; she has herself participated and taken the wreaths of history. She has taken them in the realm of beauty—I mean that realm of beauty the boundaries of which are wider than the walls of the ballroom [. . .]21

Other speeches and poems were also dedicated to real women, present or not. One song, symptomatically mentioned as a song to “the Nordic Women”, instead of to “the Nordic Woman”, praised “the maiden who stands here with smiling eyes”.22 The song celebrated the mothers, wives and sweethearts who were actually at the party and also named a number of female historical figures as examples of good women.

20 Matti Klinge, “Traditionalism och radikalism”, in: Matti Klinge, Rainer Knapas, Anto Leikola and John Strömberg, Kejserliga Alexanders universitetet 1808–1917 (Helsinki: Otava 1989): 605. 21 “[. . .] den svenske Kvinde har ikke blot siddet paa første Bænk ved de store verdenshistoriske Turneringer og kastet Kranse til de Sejrende; hun har selv været med og taget Historiens Kranse. Hun har hentet dem i Skjønhedens Rige—jeg mener det Skjønhedsrige, som har videre Grændser end Balsalens Vægge [. . .]”. Alb. Brock and Nordahl Rolfsen (eds.), Studentermødet 1875 (Christiania: Unknown publisher 1875): 27. 22 Brock and Rolfsen, Studentermødet 1875 (1875): 213. My italics.

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The poet was not so bold as to mention Queen Margaret, but several other powerful women were depicted. Queen Thyra Danebod, albeit described as “friendly”, was praised for the massive defensive wall, the Dannevirke, which she had built on Denmark’s southern border. Blända, a legendary figure from the early Middle Ages, was mentioned too. According to the popular historiography of the time, Blända mobilised the women of the province of Småland and successfully fought off an intruding army while the men were away. The poet also held forth “Sigrid” as a woman worthy of emulation by latter-day females.23 There are at least two characters of that name in Nordic historiography and mythology. Considering the over-all tone of the meeting, it is quite safe to assume that the Sigrid in question is Sigrid den fagra (“Sigrid the Fair”, a thirteenth-century figure to whom legend ascribed extraordinary beauty and virtue) and not Sigrid Storråda (“Sigrid Rule-all”, a queen from the Icelandic sagas who, among other deeds, had her unwanted suitors burnt alive). In the majority of the texts from 1875, women are hailed as mothers, wives or potential wives. But as is become clear, the female ruler, the female patriot (at least back in history) and the famous female musician were now accepted as true women too. Also, the way in which the texts treat love and marriage differs from the situation in 1856. On the one hand, women were allowed outside the role of mother and wife; on the other, the speakers and writers clearly paid more attention to, and were more explicit about, the romantic interest between men and women. Whereas the older songs spoke of love burning with “pure Vestal flame in the sanctuary of her [the woman’s] heart”,24 a song sung at the ball of 1875 rather boldly stated: “Brothers, is not this / The right place and time to meet? / Girls and Students: that / Is what I call a union of the souls!”25 As in 1856, there are few texts that were written by women themselves. The only example in the Norwegian chronicle is a greeting from the young women of Hallsberg (a railroad junction that the Norwegians passed on their way back from Uppsala). The women had

23

Brock and Rolfsen, Studentermødet 1875 (1875): 214. “ren vestalisk låga i hennes hjertas helgedom”. Rosander, Minne af Studentmötet i Upsala 1856 (1856): 55. 25 “Bröder, är ej nu den rätta / Mötesplats och mötesstund? / Flickor och Studenter: detta / Kallar jag ett själsförbund!” Brock and Rolfsen, Studentermødet 1875 (1875): 158. 24

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prepared flowers and poems to offer to the Norwegian guests as their train halted briefly in Hallsberg. One of these poems is reprinted in the chronicle. It expresses the hope that the Norwegian students have a small corner of their hearts to spare for the Hallsberg girls, but it also tells the students to bring a greeting to the Norwegian women: To the sisters in the brother land A heartfelt greeting bring Through you we extend our hand to them For the present and for times to come.26

It appears that the Hallsberg women had an agenda that exceeded the usual romantic discourse. Just like Knös in 1856, they went along with the rules of the gender-segregated discourse, posing modestly as “little Hallsberg girls”. However, unlike their predecessor they also claim that Scandinavia is more than a male affair: there are sisters in the brotherland too. This leads us to the question of which tasks were assigned to women within the Scandinavist project in 1875. The answer is that this topic was no longer put forward very much. Women were asked to help promote concord between the Nordic countries as wives, sisters and mothers—but most of all, they were hailed as the heralds of romantic love. The tone is not that of the high-minded exhortations of 1856, but instead rather frivolous. Does this mean that women were excluded from politics anew? Or is the explanation rather that Scandinavism as a political movement was on the wane, while love and women were still interesting subjects? The sources and other chapters in this book indicate the latter. And within the prevailing romantic discourse, there seemed to be a lessening of the gap between the ideal (women as moral and religious beings, irreconcilable with worldly sexual desire) and reality (according to which, well into the second half of the nineteenth century, women’s sexual and biological functions were their only raison d’être in the eyes of the law). Whereas the students in 1856 addressed themselves to “Woman”, in 1875 the student Hugo Hamilton instead spoke “to the female participants of the meeting”. In his cleverly rhymed speech, he explicitly

26 “Till systrarna i broderland / En hjertvarm helsning bär / Med er vi räcka dem vår hand / För tider fjern och när.” Brock and Rolfsen, Studentermødet 1875 (1875): 238.

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rejected the “the usual tribute of flowery language”27 and instead struck a much more informal note: “That I have not called you ‘ladies’ will certainly not vex you? It smacks of ballroom et cetera. Neither will it possibly offend anyone if I simply call you ‘the pretty ones’.”28 Hamilton emphasised as his main point that men and women shared the same thoughts and sentiments during the meeting. “That is the best gift the spring endowed us with.”29 All in all, in 1875 “Woman” took shape as real women: hostesses, fellow participants at the meeting, famous artists and historical figures. This was certainly a sign of acceptance of the progress that women had made, legally and professionally. Women had emerged as autonomous persons, out of their second-rate existence as dependants of men. However, it is worth noting that women were still not regarded as Swedes. They were Swedish or Nordic women. By default the citizen was a man and the nation—in spite of the mild attempts made by the Hallsberg women—a band of brothers. The Quartercentenary of 1877: Celebrating the Alma Mater The 400th anniversary celebration of Uppsala University differed of course to a large extent from the previously discussed student meetings. At the centre of the event was not the aim of creating contacts between young people from different nations, but showing off the grandeur of an old institution. The initiative did not come from students, but from the university authorities. Consequently, a subtly different role was assigned to the middle- and upper-class women of Uppsala. The first mention of women in the jubilee chronicle is in connection with the opening ceremony in the cathedral on 5 September. The procession to the church was watched from the windows by women, and also inside the church there was a large female audience. Two big, temporary stands had been built in the side aisles, and here some 1,200 to 1,300 women had taken their seats well before the pro-

27 “den vanliga tributen / Af blomsterspråk”. Brock and Rolfsen, Studentermødet 1875 (1875): 264. 28 “Att jag ei ‘damer’ sagt, kan väl ej väcka Er harm. Det smakar balsalong med mer. Ej heller kan det gerna någon stöta, Om jag helt enkelt kallar Er ‘de söta’.” Brock and Rolfsen, Studentermødet 1875 (1875): 263. 29 “Det är den bästa gåfvan våren skänkte.” Brock and Rolfsen, Studentermødet 1875 (1875): 264.

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cession entered, according to a press report.30 The women were all in festive dress, the jubilee chronicle states.31 (The local paper on the other hand describes the women at the cathedral as wearing “more and less elegant outfits”.)32 During the ceremony itself, all speeches were made by men. Among the guests of honour, there was not a single woman. In all probability, men occupied all the seats in the main aisle and choir of the church. The only possible exception would be if one of the very rare female journalists of the time watched the ceremony from the rows reserved for the press. It is not likely that any of the five female students enrolled at the university in the years 1871–187533 had picked up the courage to sit among their male comrades on the seats reserved for the student corps. The students are all described as donning their white student’s caps, and the female students only started to wear the white cap in 1892. During the 1870s the unspoken rule was that the wearing of this headgear was distinctly unsuitable for women.34 However, it could be claimed that women were not completely reduced to ornaments during the ceremonies. Both during the first day of the jubilee and during the doctoral promotion on the next day, cantatas for mixed voices (i.e. male and female singers) were performed in the cathedral. The male soloists were, according to the jubilee chronicle, “opera singers” and “doctors”, while the female soloists were given the titles Mrs (Stenhammar), Mrs Professor (Olena Rabenius née Falkman), and Miss (Anna Pettersson).35 Of these, Fredrika Stenhammar née Andrée was in fact an opera singer every bit as much as the male singers. She was a professional employed by the Royal Opera in Stockholm. Mrs Professor Rabenius was a trained singer with her own career too, though conveniently married to one of the professors in Uppsala. Miss Anna Pettersson is probably identical with

30

Fäderneslandet (08-09-1877), Upsala (06-09-1877). Leonard Bygdén (ed.), Upsala universitets fyrahundraårs jubelfest September 1877 (Stockholm: Norstedt 1879): 34-35. 32 Upsala (06-09-1877). My italics. 33 Rönnholm, Kunskapens kvinnor (1999): 43. 34 The decision made by the female students to start wearing the student’s cap in 1892 was a carefully planned feminist action. It is described by Gunilla Strömholm, “Svarta hattar bland vita mössor”, in: Torgny Nevéus, Allan Ellenius and Thomas Heinemann (eds.), Universitetets bildvärld. Strövtåg genom historien, konsten och samlingarna (Uppsala: Universitetet 1995): 138. Cf. also Rönnholm, Kunskapens kvinnor (1999): 152-153. 35 Bygdén, Upsala universitets fyrahundraårsjubelfest (1879): 42, 97, 115. 31

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the future Anna Norrie. (In 1877, she was only seventeen years old. Later she would gain a reputation—and a living—as operetta singer and director.)36 This makes Stenhammar and to some extent Rabenius the only female professionals present in the church, whereas almost all the men were there because of their official positions: as students, scientists, musicians, priests, government officials and the like. The razor-sharp spatial segregation between the sexes in the church might be striking in the eyes of a present-day observer, but was certainly not as surprising to the contemporary spectator. Still, that the gala dinner was a men-only affair must have been slightly remarkable even to them. There were only men at the tables, and even the invited guests of honour were not allowed to bring their wives along. Even the musical entertainment seems to have been female-free. There were only male choirs and a tenor aria among the vocal pieces. The only way for a woman to get in was if she got hold of a spectator ticket— with one of those you were allowed to watch the dinner from specially built galleries.37 The question remains whether women from the middle- and upperclass wanted to do so. The reports of the jubilee tends to point out every appearance of women in festive dress (the stands in the cathedral, for instance, are described as “a radiant and colourful image of youth and beauty”),38 but the spectator galleries at the gala dinner are not mentioned at all. The only trace they have left is one single ticket, preserved at the Uppsala University library. Therefore it may be assumed that the spectator galleries were populated mostly by simply clad people; whether men or women we do not know. Neither do the reports state the sex of the serving staff, but as a rule the waiters would have been male on a formal nineteenth-century dinner like this. At the celebration in the botanical garden on 6 September, more than 7,000 people (in the chronicle described as wearing festive clothes)

36 Alma Lindgren, “Fredrika Stenhammar”, in Nordisk Familjebok. Konversationslexikon och realencyklopedi (Stockholm: Nordisk familjeboks förlags aktiebolag 1917), vol. 26: 1231-1232, K.H. Blomberg, “Olof Mattias Teodor Rabenius”, in Nordisk Familjebok (1915), vol. 22: 832, Alma Lindgren, “Anna Norrie”, in Nordisk Familjebok (Stockholm: C. & E. Gernandts förlagsaktiebolag 1899), vol. 20, supplement II: 1734. 37 Seating lists, programmes and ticket in Upsala universitets jubelfest 1877, a collection of small prints from the jubilee. Uppsala, University library. Upsala universitets jubelfest 1877. 38 “en strålande och färgrik tafla af ungdom och skönhet”. Bygdén, Upsala universitets fyrahundraårsjubelfest (1879): 90.

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had been admitted entrance.39 There were women among them as well, but remarkably only one speaker (Ludvig Aubert, headmaster of the University of Christiania) acknowledged their presence by addressing the crowd as “Swedish men and women”.40 The other speakers all addressed their audience only as “Gentlemen”, which, considering the circumstances, seems almost rude. From the entire jubilee there is not recorded one song, toast, or poem dedicated to women. Even the briefest acknowledgement, such as Aubert’s or one in the archbishop’s concluding speech (“Our thanks to everyone, women as well as men, / Who yet feel deeply in their faithful hearts, / how much this place has meant for the counties of Sweden!”)41 stands out as exceptional. According to the tradition, some sort of tribute to “Woman” should have been paid at least at the ball, but there are no reports of this from the quartercentenary ball— “without question the biggest and most illustrious that has ever been given in Sweden”.42 The costly dresses of the women are commented on, and one local paper tells exactly with whom the King and the Crown Prince danced.43 But no words were wasted on the ladies during the ball itself, apparently. And what is more, even at this occasion, the spatial segregation that could be observed in the cathedral earlier in the day was enforced once more. As the guests arrived, women and men were separated from each other and taken on different routes to their separate wardrobes—an arrangement that the reporter in the local paper assessed as especially well thought-out.44 The only female figures that appear in the speeches, songs and poems of 1877 are allegorical. The first one is “Alma Mater”: the University of Uppsala, who was hailed as a mother by her “sons”, the men of the academy.45 The second one is “Mother Sweden”, evoked above all by the student choir. At every possible moment the choir (or parts of it)

39

Bygdén, Upsala universitets fyrahundraårsjubelfest (1879): 120. Bygdén, Upsala universitets fyrahundraårsjubelfest (1879): 127. 41 “Vår tack till alla, qvinnor liksom män, / Som känna djupt i trogna hjertan än, / Hvad denna plats betydt för Svealanden!” Bygdén, Upsala universitets fyrahundraårsjubelfest (1879): 113. 42 “utan gensägelse den största och mest lysande som någonsin gifvits i Sverige”. Upsala-Posten (10-09-1877). 43 Upsala-Posten (10-09-1877). 44 Upsala-Posten (10-09-1877). 45 Cf. e.g. Bygdén, Upsala universitets fyrahundraårsjubelfest (1879): 79; Upsala. Tidning för Upsala Stad och Län (06-09-1877). 40

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sang “Hear us, Svea”. To the listeners, the song must have appeared as a Leitmotif for the entire jubilee. Hear us, Svea, Mother to us all! (Hear us! Hear us!) Let us fight and fall for your well-fare! (Let us! Let us!) Never, never, will we betray you! (Never! Never!) Take our oath, constant in good times and in bad! (Take it! Take it!) With life and blood shall be defended The free country that is still ours, Every bit of the heritage You gave through sagas and songs. And if by betrayal, treachery, And discord and violence you are threatened We still believe, in the name of the Lord, Like our fathers once did. [Here followed an inserted rendition of Luther’s hymn “A mighty fortress is our God”.] Glorious, glorious is it then to stand victorious in battle More glorious yet for you, o Mother, to fall.46

As might be deduced, “Alma Mater” and “Mother Svea” had little or nothing to do with real women. If anything, these products of the male imagination hi-jacked the power of motherhood, removing it from actual women and putting it in the service of (male) science and patriotism.47 How is this absence of women from the 1877 jubilee poems and speeches to be explained? To answer this question we need to take a look at an alternative source of information, viz. the nineteenth-century parallel to today’s tabloids. The newspaper Fäderneslandet (“The Fatherland”) was one of them. It always included the latest gossip,

46 “Hör oss, Svea, moder för oss alla! (Hör oss! Hör oss!) / Bjud oss kämpa för ditt väl och falla! (Bjud oss! Bjud oss!) / Aldrig, aldrig skola vi dig svika! (Aldrig! Aldrig!) / Tag vår ed, i alla skiften lika! (Tag den! Tag den!) / Med liv och blod försvaras skall / Den fria jord, som än är vår, / Vartenda grand utav det arv / Du gav i saga och i sång. / Och om av svek, förräderi / Och split och våld du hotad står, / Så tro ock vi i Herrans namn / Som våra fäder trott en gång. [. . .] / Härligt, härligt blir det då segrande i striden stå, / Härligare dock att få, för dig, o moder, falla.” The song can be found in a number of publications, e.g. Ivar Hedenblad (ed.), Studentsången (Stockholm: Hirsch 1883). 47 For a discussion of Mother Svea, cf. Enefalk, En patriotisk drömvärld (2008): 118-119. Regarding the function of female allegorical figures in Western culture in general, cf. Marina Warner, Monuments and Maidens. The allegory of the female form (London: Vintage 1996).

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was a pronounced enemy of the monarchy and, it seems, also of the contemporary arrangements at Uppsala University. In September 1877, Fäderneslandet printed several biting articles about the jubilee. In these texts, two characteristics of the anniversary celebration stand out as prime targets for Fäderneslandet’s bile: the university’s royal connections, and its femininity. In the issue of 1 September, the signature “Grachus” argues against a writer calling himself “Liber Studiosus”. “Liber Studiosus” had written in defence of the jubilee, putting forth among other considerations that it would be a pity if the ladies in Uppsala had bought new ball gowns for nothing. “Grachus” replied that if “Liber Studiosus” really thinks that this is a good reason to have a jubilee, then “Liber” must be understood not as an adjective but as a noun, meaning “child”. “Otherwise the masculine ending is incorrect, so that the signature should read ‘Libera studiosa’ and be translated as female student [studentska]. But enough of this.”48 Obviously, to “Grachus” the very worst thing you could call an opponent was studentska. A week later, the Uppsala quartercentenary was introduced in the newspaper with the following lines: “The jubilee in Uppsala—there you have it: the most illustrious event of the week, about which the public speaks and the newspapers print tales a yard long.” And the article continues: “Never before Uppsala has been visited by such a respectable number of smart scientists and ‘smart heads’, never before by such a smart congregation of ladies.”49 In this case, the female presence in itself was something that compromises the jubilee. In another article, on 12 September, the royalist feelings of the students are ridiculed, both in the text and in a picture.50 All in all, Fäderneslandet pictures the University of Uppsala as a snobbish place that is more devoted to effeminate luxury than to the freedom of science. The university is criticised as reactionary and being out of touch with the real nation: the “people”. The presence of

48 “[. . .] eller ock är den maskulina ändelsen i signaturen oriktig, d.v.s. signaturen skulle vara Libera studiosa och öfversättas med studentska. Dock nog härom.” Fäderneslandet (01-09-1877). 49 “Jubelfesten i Upsala—se der veckans förnämsta evenement, hvarom allmänheten talar och avisorna innehålla famnslånga berättelser [. . .] Aldrig tillförne har Upsala gästats af ett så respektabelt antal lärdomsljus och ‘ljushufvuden’, aldrig förr af en så lysande samling damer.” Fäderneslandet (08-09-1877). 50 Fäderneslandet (12-09-1877).

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Figure 1. “The King hoisted by the students! (Scene from the jubilee in Uppsala.) The very same: ‘Yes, be thou ever a guard of light around the banner of the fatherland and a phalanx of shields around my son!’ ” The newspaper, Fäderneslandet, was disgusted by the jovial tone prevailing between King and students, and appalled by the speech quoted, where the King exhorted the students to defend the monarchy. Fäderneslandet (12-09-1877).

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members of the royal family and of women in the latest fashion serves as symbols of this degeneration. Interestingly, the pro-jubilee publications also have a tendency to treat the royal and female participation as if they were somehow connected. Both the royal family and the dressed-up women are described as something that brought glamour to the proceedings. This is especially clear in the report about the ball in the local paper Upsala-Posten. The newspaper lavished attention on the ladies and the royal family in descriptions like: a colourful confusion of costly and luminous dresses was seen, intermingled with the solemn civilian evening dress of the gentlemen. His Majesty the King and the Crown Prince, both in civilian clothes, appeared at half past nine [—] The Crown Prince danced the first waltz with Miss Sahlin, the first française with Miss Charlotte Lewenhaupt [et cetera]51

In some cases the royal and the female presence are mentioned in direct connection with each other, e.g., the King and Crown Prince watched the procession on 5 September from a window just like “everywhere in the windows, festively dressed women could be seen”.52 In spite of the enthusiastic reports in the respectable segments of the press, it is evident that the academic lifestyle of Uppsala was under attack. In fact, the reluctance of the university to shed old-fashioned power structures had been the target of critique for more than fifty years.53 By the mid-1870s, the politically conservative idealism that dominated the university was at odds with both the natural sciences and the forces working for political reform.54 Uppsala University felt

51 “dyrbara och glänsande damtoiletter sågos i ett brokigt virrvarr omvexlande med herrarnes allvarsamma civila högtidsdrägt. H.M. konungen och kronprinsen, båda civilklädde, infunno sig vid 1/2 10-tiden [—] Kronprinsen förde i första valsen fröken Sahlin, i första fransäsen fröken Charlotte Lewenhaupt”. Upsala-Posten (10-09-1877). 52 “Öfverallt i fönstren sågos högtidsklädda damer”. Bygdén, Upsala universitets fyrahundraårsjubelfest (1879): 34. 53 Henrik Edgren, “Nationen mot korporationen. Presspolitisk kamp om utbildning, samhälle och nationsbygge under 1810- och 1820-talen”, in: Anne Berg and Hanna Enefalk (eds.), Det mångsidiga verktyget. Elva utbildningshistoriska uppsatser (Opuscula Historica Upsaliensia 39) (Uppsala: Historiska institutionen 2009): 69–88; Johan Sjöberg, Makt och vanmakt i fadersväldet. Studentpolitik i Uppsala 1780–1850 (Studia Historica Upsaliensia 206) (Uppsala: Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis 2002): 25-30. 54 On the idealistic philosophy of the Swedish elite in general and the university of Uppsala in particular, cf. Anders Burman, “Rydberg, skönheten och 1800-talets estetik”, Veritas 22 (2006): 11-22; Sven-Eric Liedman, “Boströms seger: något om dess bakgrund”, in: Jan Bohlin, Bertil Fridén, Urban Herlitz, Åke Kihlström, Anders

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itself compelled to defend its position and its traditions, and this explains both the scale of the 1877 jubilee and the exclusion of women from all the speeches. To strengthen the status of Uppsala University, the speakers used the discursive figure of masculinity. The university was pictured as purely devoted to science, and this science was exclusively male. According to the speakers of 1877, it was the intellectual power of the masculine mind that had led the Swedish nation through hard times, like a beacon of truth and righteousness, and it would continue to do so in the future. The message that was transmitted was that science entitled the male alumnae from Uppsala University to the leadership of the nation. But to keep up this imagined state of affairs, everything womanly that could potentially lower Uppsala’s status had to be barred. Thus, the speakers of the 1877 jubilee did not admit that their university was in fact open for female students. As the writer of the opening cantata, the poet and academic Carl David af Wirsén, put it: “Anyone who wants to—no matter where he comes from—, / son of a peasant or son of a lord, / mines for ore in your shafts.”55 In two respects the speaker strained the truth in this statement. Firstly, not only “sons” were admitted to academic studies. The faculty of medicine was opened to women in 1870, followed in 1873 by the right to take degrees in all other academic disciplines except law and divinity.56 Secondly, the claim that any young man, rich or poor, could study in Uppsala was not entirely true either. University education was indeed free of charge and there were some stipends and scholarships, but not many or large enough to enable all the poor young men who wanted to to study. To be a student in Uppsala in 1877 you still needed private funding from well-to-do parents or patrons—sheer will to study was certainly not enough.57

Molander and Martti Rantanen (eds.), Samhällsvetenskap, ekonomi och historia. Festskrift till Lars Herlitz (Göteborg: Daidalos 1989): 179–196; Leif Jonsson, Ljusets riddarvakt. 1800-talets studentsång utövad som offentlig samhällskonst (Acta universitatis Upsaliensis, Studia musicologica Upsaliensia, Nova series 11) (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell 1990): 13-18. 55 “Hvem som vill—hvarhelst ifrån—, / Bonde-eller fursteson, / Malm i dina gångar bryter.” Bygdén, Upsala universitets fyrahundraårsjubelfest (1879): 40. 56 Svensk författningssamling 1870, No. 32; royal decree to the directions of the Universities of Uppsala and Lund (07-11-1873), quoted from Greta Wieselgren, Den höga tröskeln. Kampen för kvinnas rätt till ämbete (Lund: Gleerup 1969): 253. 57 The non-Scandinavian guests at the jubilee, however, swallowed the university’s claim of social equality, as Pieter Dhondt has recently shown. In their reports they

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In Wirsén’s cantata, these were obviously worldly matters unworthy of attention. The poet, like the vast majority of the speakers in 1877, resided in a world of ideals. In the finale of the cantata, he spelled out his dream of the perfect society—a dream made out of academic pride, patriotism and a conservative opinion about women. Then will the eagle’s flight of thought cruise through the free skies [. . .] And Swedish men defend the Good and the Beautiful, The noble faith of woman is the guardian of the home, From the people’s lips resounds the iron of the ancient Nordic tongue.58

Conclusion When looked at closely, the three university festivities of 1856, 1875 and 1877 are very different from each other. During the student meeting of 1856, women’s roles were determined in the first place by the simple fact that the students needed to meet suitable women to marry. From this followed that the discourse included women, but the speakers went through great trouble in order to make clear to the participating women that their proper place was the home. Women were not allowed any active role during the festivities, but were assigned to the background, acting as ornaments in their costly dresses. In spite of this very circumscribed role, it is obvious that many women were keen to participate in the celebrations. For once, the expression “desperate to get a man” is adequate. The opportunity that these middle- and upperclass women had to get a decent life was to find a provider, and the student meeting gave them a much larger selection of suitable men to choose from than they normally had. Matters were, however, complicated by the fact that the romanticdomestic discourse on women had to be fitted into the overarching theme of the meeting: Scandinavism. As shown above, there was a

presented the university of Uppsala as a model of progress and enlightenment, worthy to be applied to their own national educational systems. Pieter Dhondt, ”The echo of the quartercentenary of Uppsala university in 1877. Nordic universities as examples in Europe?”, Scandinavian Journal of History 35 (2010), no. 1: 21-43. 58 “Då skola tankens örnar i fria rymder gå [. . .] Och svenske män försvara det goda och det sköna, / Den ädla tro hos qvinnan är hemmets vakt och värn, / Från folkets läppar klingar Norränamålets jern.” Bygdén, Upsala universitets fyrahundraårsjubelfest (1879): 41.

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certain amount of reluctance on the part of the Swedish hosts to make “their” women accessible to Norwegians and Danes. But how were Scandinavian men to become true brethren if they were still foreigners to each other when it came to the relationship with women? Three different approaches to the problem can be discerned. Firstly, to let the idea of brotherhood go only so far: each nationality should stick to their own women. Secondly, to swallow one’s national pride and generously give the other Scandinavian men access to one’s countrywomen. Thirdly, and most ingeniously, to simply deny the existence of Swedish, Danish and Norwegian women: there might be three Nordic countries, but the Nordic maid is but one, and so, free for all. The romantic-domestic theme that coloured the discourse on women in 1856 is easily discernible in the texts of 1875 as well. But as we have seen, it was now expressed in a slightly different way. Women were still hailed as mothers and wives, but to some extent also as real people and professionals. The tone was much more down-to-earth, and the women present were not described as passive ornaments, but as active participants in the meeting. The difference, no doubt, reflected an acceptance of the modernisation of the nation and the change in women’s legal standing which had taken place between 1856 and 1875. Also, the complication of political Scandinavism had by now lost most of its bite. The question of “whose women?” was no longer an issue— partly because the idea of a Scandinavian brotherhood was no longer so emotionally charged; and partly because women’s right to make their own decisions in questions of marriage were by now generally acknowledged.59 In the university jubilee of 1877, there was no such acceptance of the changing times. As in 1856, women were only welcome as ornaments. There were sharp spatial divisions between the sexes during the ceremonies; women were wilfully left out of all academic discourse and were conspicuously not addressed in speeches. The jubilee served to promote an idea of government in which the educated men, led by the king, decided upon the nation’s destiny. No political power was to be bestowed to the uneducated masses or to women. 59 In 1872, a royal decree stated that legally autonomous women (a status that was automatically bestowed on unmarried women on their twenty-fifth birthday) did not need the consent of a guardian to enter into marriage. Aristocratic women were an exception. They had to have the consent of a guardian until 1881, when the Swedish nobility agreed to shed the “privilege” of refusing their daughters marriages. Knut Hugo Blomberg and Carl Georg E. Björling, “Giftoman”, in: Nordisk Familjebok (1908), vol. 9: 1139.

three the nordic countries are, the nordic maid but one

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This normative and conservative function did in fact lie at the heart of all the university festivities that have been investigated here. These were no carnivals where everyday rules could be sidestepped. Rather, they shared some characteristics with the festivities of the bourgeoisie in German towns in the same period. According to the historians Manfred Hettling and Paul Nolte, these Bürgerliche Feste did not break the rules of the everyday social order. “It is true that the time for festivities was not working time in a narrow sense, but it was still bourgeois time, still controlled and disciplined time.”60 Hans-Walter Schmuhl, who has studied the millennium jubilee of the town of Braunschweig in 1861, has noted that “order” and “dignity” (Ordnung and Würdigkeit) were among the key concepts of the jubilee. The orderly and dignified character of the festivities was held forth as a proof of the sustainability of bourgeois principles of government.61 The similarity with the Uppsala jubilee of 1877 is striking. Here too the words “order” and “dignity”, together with “quiet” (ordning, värdigt and stilla), are emphasised over and over again in newspaper reports and in the official chronicle.62 It is obvious that steps were taken to ensure that this dignified order was achieved, especially during the quartercentenary of 1877. The local papers provided advice on how to behave during the jubilee, and the university managed to make all the pubs in town cut down their opening hours drastically.63 In the evenings you simply could not get drunk in Uppsala, unless you were a guest of the university or secretly brought your own stuff. To promote the happiness and orderliness of the population even further, the university and the town served free food to the poor.64 All in all, the jubilee of 1877 was a demonstration of a model patriarchal society—a society where women were never professionals but always decorative, where the king and the grand old men of science ruled over a peaceful population, which gratefully received alms and happily cheered at their superiors. The King himself summoned the students during the jubilee:

60 Manfred Hettling and Paul Nolte, “Bürgerliche Feste als symbolische Politik”, in: Id. (eds.), Bürgerliche Feste. Symbolische Formen politischen Handelns im 19. Jahrhundert (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht 1993): 8. 61 Manfred Schmuhl, “Die Tausendjahrfeier der Stadt Braunschweig im Jahre 1861: Zur Selbstinszenierung des städtischen Bürgertums”, in: Hettling and Nolte (eds.), Bürgerliche Feste (1993): 152-153. 62 Bygdén, Upsala universitets fyrahundraårsjubelfest (1879): 146. 63 Cf. e.g. Upsala-Posten (03-09-1877). 64 Bygdén, Upsala universitets fyrahundraårsjubelfest (1879): 135.

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hanna enefalk Thou shalt honour thy father and thy mother, that it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long.’ [Sic.] We all know this, but we should remember that the commandment does not apply only in the narrow sense of the words, but that it has a very vast meaning. It urges you to hold in awe everything that is fatherly and motherly in the concepts of homeland, state, church, university and many other institutions of society.65

Whereas the leading figures of the student meeting in 1875 had realised that this society was long gone—if it had ever existed—the organisers of the university jubilee in 1877 continued to dream of the perfect patriarchy. To conclude, this article has “brought the women back in” into the historiography of university jubilees by showing the large-scale participation of middle- and upper-class women at the university festivities. But the majority of the source material only describes these women from a male point of view. And what is more, the women who formed the majority of nineteenth-century Swedish towns, the working-class women, are hardly mentioned. They were the women who the students saw most of. They served, cooked, cleaned and washed for them, and they were also the prime objects of the students’ sexual interest, be it as girlfriends, prostitutes, or rape victims. In the reports of the university festivities, they are completely invisible. The same limited source material has forced us to write a very hetero-normative history. The sharply defined gender roles that are the hallmark of the jubilee chronicles has coloured the analysis too. The gay history of Uppsala University is yet to be written, but we can be quite confident that some of the participating male students had no romantic interest in “the Nordic maid” whatsoever. In the case of the early female students, biographers such as Carina Burman have shown that same-sex relations were not unusual at all.66 When given the choice, these Nordic maidens preferred each other rather than the (male) Swedes.

65 “ ‘Du skall hedra din fader och din moder, på det dig må väl gå och du må länge lefva.’ Vi veta det alla, men vi böra dervid erinra, att detta bud icke blott gäller i ordets inskränktare mening, utan har en mycket vidsträckt betydelse. Det manar till vördnad för allt det faderliga och det moderliga, som ligger i begreppen fosterbygd, stat, kyrka, lärosäte och många öfriga samfundsförhållanden.” Upsala-Posten (10-09-1877). 66 Carina Burman, K.J. En biografi över Klara Johanson (Stockholm: Bonnier 2007). Cf. also Rönnholm, Kunskapens kvinnor (1999): 184-186.

CHAPTER NINE

UNIVERSITY CENTENARY CEREMONIES IN SCOTLAND 1884–1911 Robert D. Anderson Between 1884 and 1911, all four Scottish universities held lavish centenary or jubilee ceremonies, which consciously followed continental models, including the Uppsala jubilee of 1877. This chapter asks why these ceremonies were held, describes how they were organised and financed, and discusses what messages they were intended to convey. They were celebrations of success and university expansion, and were often timed to coincide with the opening of new buildings. At a time when the state gave only limited financial support to universities, these ceremonies strengthened the links with alumni and with wealthy donors. They also had an important civic element, actively involving local elites, and they encouraged participation by students, stimulating the growth of student corporate life. The events followed norms of mainly masculine sociability, but by 1911 women students were playing a larger role. Following established international patterns, scholars and scientists were invited from universities throughout the world, and the ceremonies illustrate contemporary patterns of academic prestige, as well as the tensions between nationalism and cosmopolitan university and scientific ideals. They can be seen as part of a wider culture of commemoration, but this proved much weaker in the later twentieth century. “The nineteenth century was a century of revolution,” wrote the historian Robert S. Rait on the occasion of Aberdeen University’s 400th anniversary celebrations in 1906. Yet, amid all this reorganisation, while institution after institution was suffering transformation into something new and strange, while the despised and neglected voice of the antiquary pleaded in vain for any permanent and substantial recognition of the claims of the past, there was one consideration of mere sentiment which exercised a somewhat unexpected influence upon the emotions of the generations. They would willingly build a sepulchre for this past which they had destroyed, and so the nineteenth century became the century of commemoration. The

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robert d. anderson eagerness with which such suggestions were adopted was partly the result of these changes themselves, a psychological reaction from the pleasures of iconoclasm, or, perhaps, a sacrifice gladly laid upon an altar which had been outraged not willingly but in obedience to the inevitable decrees of implacable fate.

No institutions have changed more than learned bodies, said Rait: alike in outward organisation and in inward interest the Universities of to-day differ widely from those of a hundred years ago. Nor have any institutions been more anxious to retain by commemorative ritual what has ceased to be in stern fact. Jubilees and centenaries have become a regular feature of University life, and have left a permanent impression behind them, an appreciation of the reality and the value of historic continuity.1

The first celebration of this kind in Scotland, and indeed in Britain, was for the Tercentenary of Edinburgh University in 1884. I have discussed this at greater length elsewhere, and have argued that it was directly modelled on the events at Uppsala in 1877.2 In turn, as table 1 suggests, Edinburgh became the model for celebrations at Glasgow in 1901 (450th anniversary or “ninth jubilee”), Aberdeen in 1906, and St Andrews in 1911 (500th anniversary); those at Dublin for the tercentenary in 1892 followed the same pattern.3 There were four Edinburgh delegates at the Uppsala celebrations, and their accounts were published at the time in the Scottish press.4 This was a fortuitous connection, however, and it cannot really be argued that the Scottish universities felt any special Scandinavian influence. Nor did these 1 Robert S. Rait, “The precedents”, in: Peter J. Anderson (ed.), Record of the Celebration of the Quatercentenary of the University of Aberdeen, from 25th to 28th September, 1906 (Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Studies 1907): 1-2. 2 Robert D. Anderson, “Ceremony in context: the Edinburgh University Tercentenary, 1884”, Scottish Historical Review 87 (2008): 121-145. Cf. also Robert D. Anderson, “Edinburgh University celebrates: the Tercentenary Festival of 1884”, History Scotland 6 (2006), no. 6: 44-48, and 7 (2007), no. 1: 40-45. 3 Accounts are in Records of the Tercentenary Festival of the University of Edinburgh, Celebrated in April 1884 (Edinburgh: Blackwood 1885); R. Sydney Marsden (ed.), A Short Account of the Tercentenary Festival of the University of Edinburgh (Edinburgh: Blackwood 1884); Record of the Ninth Jubilee of the University of Glasgow: 1451–1901 (Glasgow: James MacLehose 1901); Anderson (ed.), Record of the Celebration (1907); The Quincentenary of the University of St. Andrews (Aberdeen: University Press 1912). 4 The Scotsman (11-10-1877): 2-3, presumably by Alexander Buchan, the author of a shortened version in Proceedings of the Royal Society of Edinburgh 9 (1875–1878): 521-526. Cf. Pieter Dhondt, “The Echo of the Quatercentenary of Uppsala University in 1877: Nordic Universities as Examples in Europe?”, Scandinavian Journal of History 35 (2010), no. 1: 21-43.

university centenary ceremonies in scotland 1884–1911 243 Table 1. Overview of the university centenary ceremonies in Scotland (1884–1911), placed against the quartercentenary in Uppsala of 1877. Table provided with kind permission of the author. Uppsala 1877

Edinburgh 1884

Glasgow 1901

Aberdeen 1906

St Andrews 1911

Day 1

Procession Cathedral service Dinner Welcome by student nations City illumination

Reception (town council) Torchlight procession Supper (Cap & Gown Club)

Torchlight procession

Reception by Chancellor Torchlight procession Student symposium

Day 2

Degree ceremony Dinner People’s party Fireworks and torchlight procession

Cathedral service Medical faculty lunch Student play Organ recital Conversazione Student ball

Cathedral service University reception Women’s at home Athletic sports Student gaudeamus

Day 3

Student concerts People’s ball

Degree ceremony Royal College of Physicians lunch Faculty of Advocates reception Royal Medical Society reception Tercentenary banquet

Orations (Smith, Watt) Degree ceremony Opening of new botanical buildings Garden party Conversazione

Day 4

Royal reception at Stockholm

Royal College of Surgeons breakfast Student reception Musical Society concert Reception in art gallery (Royal Scottish Academy) City illumination and fireworks Student symposium

Oration (Hunter) Organ recital Reception in art galleries Banquet (town council) Student ball

Chapel service Procession Reception of delegates Banquet (town council) Torchlight procession Student smoking concert Women’s at home Degree ceremony University reception Society of Advocates luncheon Athletic sports Reception in art gallery Medico-Chirurgical Society dinner Student ball King opens Marischal College Lord Provost’s luncheon Reception by Incorporated Trades Women’s at home Strathcona banquet Medico-Chirurgical Society concert Fireworks Excursions Reception at Royal Infirmary Student theatre matinee University at home Student symposium Medico-Chirurgical Society dinner

Church service Presentation of addresses Historical tableaux

Installation of Rector and degree ceremony Garden party Banquet Women’s at home

Events at Dundee College reception Town council lunch Excursions, cruise, factory visits *** Graduates’ and students’ dinner Student ball

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Table 1 (cont.) Uppsala 1877 Day 5

Edinburgh 1884

Glasgow 1901

Aberdeen 1906

St Andrews 1911

Cruise on river Clyde Inter-university sports

Scottish celebrations have the nationalist significance which was so common in Scandinavia. They might have political messages, as we shall see, but these reflected the loyalty of the Scottish middle classes to Britain and the British empire; Scottish nationalism of a separatist kind was almost non-existent at this time. The kind of commemorative functions pointed to by Rait, and the desire to strengthen links with alumni, financial donors and local communities, were more important motives. In 1884, on the eve of the Edinburgh Tercentenary, the Edinburgh newspaper The Scotsman published an article recalling the Uppsala celebrations, and this was followed by three more on “academic festivals”.5 Published under the initials “J.M.A.”, these well-informed articles were almost certainly by James Maitland Anderson, librarian of St Andrews University. Although they seem never to have been reprinted, they were not forgotten. They were a source for John Malcolm Bulloch in his book on University Centenary Ceremonies published in 1893, and were cited directly by Rait in 1906.6 J.M. Anderson himself was still in office at St Andrews in 1911.7 It was these European precedents which suggested the idea—dating from Jena in 1858, according to Anderson—of a festival to which delegates were invited from universities and learned bodies throughout the world, and where honorary degrees were given to an international array of scholars, scientists and public figures. These symbolic events were accompanied by religious services,

5 The Scotsman (21 and 29-03-1884, 02 and 05-04-1884). The main centenaries covered were Leipzig 1809, Jena 1858, Leiden 1875, Tübingen 1877, Copenhagen 1879 and Würzburg 1882. 6 John Malcolm Bulloch, University Centenary Ceremonies (Aberdeen: Unknown publisher 1893). For Bulloch, see below. His book covers Leiden 1875, Uppsala 1877, Edinburgh 1884, Heidelberg 1886, Harvard 1886, Bologna 1888, Montpellier 1890 and Dublin 1892. Bulloch discussed the commemorative medals struck for these events, and found the Edinburgh one “hardly worthy of the occasion”—Ibid.: 41. 7 He contributed a Handbook to the City and University of St. Andrews (St Andrews: W.C. Henderson 1911).

university centenary ceremonies in scotland 1884–1911 245 concerts, banquets, receptions, and by processions, historical pageants and other displays intended to appeal to the general public. The centenaries in Scotland also drew on Victorian conventions of male sociability. They all featured at least one large banquet, with toasts, speeches, and music. Receptions and garden parties (a British favourite despite the unreliable weather) were open to both sexes. A significant precedent too was the British Association for the Advancement of Science, which had held its annual meetings in different cities since 1831, combining scientific sessions with social and civic festivities; the “conversazione”, a reception accompanied by music or scientific displays, came from the world of science. Scottish students had their own social traditions. Torchlight processions were already an established custom, associated with the institution of the rector. In Scotland the rector was not the academic head of the university (who was called the principal ) but a national political or literary figure elected by the students for a three-year term. The post was largely ceremonial, but the duties including the giving of an inaugural address, and these occasions, and the elections themselves, were the focus of various student activities, often of a rowdy kind. Rowdiness and violence were traditionally associated with students. Torchlight processions were occasions for fights between students and the youth of the town, and university ceremonies of all kinds were marked by shouting and singing, playing musical instruments, setting off fireworks, and throwing flour, dried peas, and other missiles. The Scotsman articles by J.M.A. pointed out that students played a large role in celebrations in Germany and Scandinavia, but that the original Edinburgh plans did not provide for them. The university was understandably nervous about possible disorders; it first tried to exclude students as much as possible, then worked with an element in the student body which wanted to introduce more dignity and decorum. An officially approved Students’ Representative Council (SRC) proved its worth by preserving order at the rectorial address earlier in 1884. The plans were then amended so that the SRC organised several important student events, all of which passed with unprecedented peacefulness. The torchlight procession, once feared by the authorities as a focus of disorder, became a spectacle for the public, following accepted rituals. The SRC became an established institution, quickly adopted in the other universities. Ritualised disorder persisted well into the twentieth century, but was successfully kept in check at the various centenaries.

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The Edinburgh celebrations in 1884 thus marked a significant stage in the development of student “corporate” life, and were followed by international links: Edinburgh sent representatives to the ceremonies at Bologna in 1888, which had an important student component, to the opening of the new Sorbonne in 1889, and to the celebrations at Montpellier in 1890, where St Andrews was also represented.8 Foreign student delegates were invited to Glasgow in 1901, and it was said that seventy were expected from “the Continent”, though details are lacking.9 At Aberdeen in 1906 there were fewer than this, but they did include two Norwegian delegates from Kristiania, and others from Paris, Marseille, and Leiden. All the centenaries included several student events, some of them (except at Edinburgh) organised by women students, who were admitted to Scottish universities in 1892. The programmes all featured an all-male student “symposium”, “gaudeamus”, or “smoking concert” devoted to humorous speeches and songs. But there were also concerts which reflected the growth of a formal choral tradition based partly on German precedents. Edinburgh was the only Scottish university with a professor of music, and Herbert Oakeley, who held the chair from 1865 to 1891, developed student musical activities. He produced a new arrangement of the traditional song Gaudeamus igitur, already a student favourite, and for the 1884 Tercentenary composed another anthem, Alma mater te canamus. In 1891 there was a student song for St Andrews, Carmen saeculare. Another Floreat alma mater was composed for Glasgow in 1901 by the Scottish composer John B. McEwen, a Glasgow graduate. In 1891 the student repertoire was codified in the Scottish Students’ Song Book, published jointly by the four SRCs. Another enthusiasm, this time shared with England and to a large extent imported from there, was organised sport. This developed in its modern form during the 1860s and 1870s, and the universities acquired a range of sporting activities.10 One of the SRC’s ideas at Edinburgh in 1884 was that “as few, if any, of the guests from the Continent have had an opportunity of seeing a game at football, an attempt should be

8 J. Ian Macpherson, Twenty-One Years of Corporate Life at Edinburgh University (Edinburgh: Students’ Representative Council [1905]): 39, 52-54; Bulloch, University Centenary Ceremonies (1893): 10. 9 Glasgow, University Archives. 31327: Press cutting (unidentified) (08-06-1901). 10 Robert D. Anderson, “Sport in the Scottish universities, 1860–1939”, International Journal of the History of Sport 4 (1987): 179-188.

university centenary ceremonies in scotland 1884–1911 247 made to show them this typical British game”. The original proposal was for “having a Rugby match and an Association match played in the same field”.11 These demonstration matches do not seem to have taken place, but the guests were invited to attend a regular match of the Edinburgh club Heart of Midlothian. The Dublin ceremonies in 1892 had both cricket and athletic matches. At Glasgow the student programme incorporated the university athletic sports, and the annual Scottish inter-university athletic meeting; at Aberdeen there was an athletics match between the joint Scottish universities and the “rest of Scotland”.12 Field athletics were a popular spectator sport at the time, though rugby became the leading university game. The Civic Element All the celebrations were civic as well as university events, in which the town provided a ceremonial stage and town councils shared in the entertainment. Local newspapers reported the events in great detail. This element reflected the strong individuality and pride of urban elites at this time. It was strongest at Edinburgh, due to the historical relationship between the university and the town council, which had in effect controlled its management and finances down to 1858. Though the removal of this influence had been controversial, by 1884 the city was prepared to share in the celebrations and organised a number of events, including the city illumination and fireworks. Like the students’ torchlight procession, this was a popular spectacle which attracted very large crowds. These displays profited from the city’s romantic topography, with a broad valley separating the one-sided Princes Street from the ridge of the Old Town crowned by Edinburgh Castle. Princes Street provided a spectacular setting for torchlight parades, and a viewing platform for the fireworks. The tercentenary was regarded as a festival involving the whole community, which would show the city off to foreign visitors: “every effort was put forth to constitute one of the most wonderfully situated cities in the

11

Edinburgh, University Archives. Tercentenary 1884: Press-Cuttings Book (s.d.): 28. For one conservative observer, “the bare legs and ‘shorts’ of the athletes afforded but another unwelcome proof of concessions to English life and ways.”: W. Keith Leask in: Anderson (ed.), Record of the Celebration (1907): 158. 12

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world attractive and delightful to the fullest extent,” reported a Canadian delegate. J.M.A. claimed, rightly or wrongly, that never before has such a celebration been held by so large a University, or in so fine and wealthy a city. Both the members of the University and the citizens of Edinburgh have a difficult and delicate task before them. Many of their guests have seen other such ceremonies, and will look on with inquiring and critical eyes. It will be a lasting discredit to Scotland if they do not leave Edinburgh even more than gratified.13

Only Aberdeen really competed with Edinburgh’s civic display: it had its own parade street, Union Street, and the university celebrations, themselves very lavish, incorporated a major civic event, the visit of the King and Queen. But all the programmes included a tourist component, with excursions and visits to local beauty spots. At Glasgow, there was a cruise on the scenic Clyde estuary. At Aberdeen and St Andrews, neighbouring castles and country houses were opened to the visitors by their owners. Serious-minded guests at St Andrews could visit the jute mills or the municipal institutions of Dundee. But for most foreign visitors, Scotland was more familiar as the romantic land depicted in the poems and novels of Walter Scott. “Thanks to this magician”, said the French ministry of education in a congratulatory message to Edinburgh, “there is no feature of your ancient customs, no corner of your landscapes, which is not familiar to us.” When Octave Gréard, head of the Paris educational administration, surveyed the scene from a famous viewpoint in Edinburgh, he found that “the mist which covers the horizon has its own character. It is not the greasy fog of London and its surroundings, it is the light and transparent mist of the poetry of Ossian and the Lady of the Lake.”14 Even so, he took the professional opportunity to visit some Edinburgh schools. Edinburgh’s position as the capital of Scotland was reflected in the receptions hosted by various professional associations, and also in the service in St Giles Cathedral. All the centenaries inevitably included religious services, where the clergy took the opportunity in their sermons to stress the harmony of science and religion. At a time of religious division, the ecumenical character of these services was commented on. St Giles had only just reopened after restoration, for like

13 Sanford Fleming, Address Delivered in Convocation Hall, Queen’s College, Kingston . . . April 28th, 1885 (Ottawa: Citizen 1885): 7; The Scotsman (05-04-1884). 14 Octave Gréard, Education et Instruction: Enseignement Supérieur (Paris: Hachette 1887): 311, 314-315.

university centenary ceremonies in scotland 1884–1911 249 many Scottish urban churches it had been subdivided after the Reformation to house several congregations. Now reunified, and equipped with an organ, once anathema to Scottish presbyterians, St Giles was starting on a new career as a national shrine—here there was perhaps a parallel with Uppsala. At Aberdeen, the fifteenth-century chapel of King’s College, subdivided to house the university library until 1871, was restored in the 1890s, and was used in 1906 rather than the nearby cathedral. At Glasgow the cathedral, used in 1901, had been restored earlier in the nineteenth century. It was near the original site of the university, but the university moved from the city centre to the suburbs in 1870, which reduced the impact of events like torchlight processions. On the other hand, the festival atmosphere of the Glasgow celebrations were heightened by its coincidence with a major International Exhibition, on a site adjoining the new university. Glasgow was an industrial and commercial rather than a professional and administrative centre, and the university was not as central to its life as at Edinburgh or Aberdeen, but the jubilee was used to strengthen civic links. Public and civic celebrations of various kinds were particularly frequent in Britain between the 1880s and 1914, and have been seen by historians in the context of the “invention of tradition”. While Rait saw commemoration as a psychological reaction against the pace of innovation, more recent historians, like Eric J. Hobsbawm and David Cannadine, argue that it was the desire of states to promote active loyalty in the dawning age of mass democracy which led them to stress monarchy, ceremony and respect for tradition.15 But wider impulses towards greater formality and dignity seem also to have been at work: in religion, the rehabilitation of cathedrals in a church without bishops and the beautification of church buildings were part of a broader liturgical movement. In the universities, the aims of reformers included encouraging students to follow systematic curricula and making formal graduation the norm. Earlier in the nineteenth century, only a minority of students took degrees, and graduation ceremonies themselves were casual, and one more occasion for student horseplay. Now a need was felt for more ceremony and dignity, and for an aula academica which could be used for graduations, for ceremonies such as rectorial installations,

15 Eric J. Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger (eds.), The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: University Press 1983): chs. 4, 7.

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and more prosaically for the written examinations which proliferated in the modern university (the Examination Schools at Oxford were built in the 1870s). These buildings relied on munificent donors. At Glasgow, the Bute Hall inaugurated in 1884 was paid for by the Marquess of Bute, a Scottish landowner whose wealth derived from the South Wales coal industry, and a Catholic convert who indulged in gothic architectural fantasies. Bute, one of the richest men in Britain, was also a major benefactor of St Andrews. At Edinburgh, a graduation hall was part of the building scheme inaugurated at the tercentenary, but the money was not available then to complete it: it was paid for later by William McEwan, an Edinburgh brewing millionaire and member of parliament. At Aberdeen, the Mitchell family, originating in Aberdeen but enriched by shipbuilding at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, paid for Mitchell Hall which opened in 1895.16 At St Andrews, a graduation hall fund was started at the time of the 1911 celebrations (for which a temporary building was erected) with initial subscriptions of £3,000, though it was not until 1929, with help from another brewing dynasty, that Younger Hall was opened. The Financial Context While these university celebrations can be linked to wider cultural trends, they also occurred because the universities had something to celebrate. This was a period of expansion and prosperity for the Scottish universities: student numbers rose from 3,399 in 1861 to 6,788 in 1884, and remained at that level. By 1911 there were 7,770 students, now including 1,846 women. St Andrews had particular cause for celebration: in the 1870s and 1880s it had fewer than 200 students, and there was a serious possibility of it being closed. But by 1911 its future was secure: there were 319 students at St Andrews itself, and a further 203 at the university college in Dundee, which was founded in 1883 but later affiliated to St Andrews and included in the programme of events in 1911.17

16

Not 1906, as erroneously stated in: Anderson, “Ceremony in context” (2008):

125. 17 Figures in: Robert D. Anderson, Education and Opportunity in Victorian Scotland: Schools and Universities (Oxford: University Press 1983): 346-357.

university centenary ceremonies in scotland 1884–1911 251 In 1889 an important Act of Parliament provided additional resources for the Scottish universities and gave them new freedom to develop their curricula, to expand their staffs, and to engage in research. But this new freedom had a price. To appoint new professors and lecturers was expensive, and modern scientific education, especially in medicine, to which the Scottish universities owed much of their reputation, made seemingly insatiable demands for new laboratories and equipment. The opening of new buildings was part of all the ceremonies. Student facilities like playing fields and student unions or clubs had to be paid for privately: the Edinburgh SRC used its success in 1884 to launch an appeal for a student union, which opened in 1887–8. Scottish universities were public institutions, and received about a third of their annual income from the state. From time to time the state made capital grants for buildings, but only on condition that funds were also raised privately. New buildings and the foundation of new chairs therefore depended on private money, which could be raised from four main sources. First were landed aristocrats, who often held ceremonial university posts and still played a significant part in public life. Second, local notables and professional and business elites (and their widows or heiresses) often saw helping the university as a publicspirited civic cause. All the universities relied on local sympathisers as well as their professors to provide accommodation and hospitality for the guests. Third were alumni, some living locally but many scattered all over the world, whose sense of loyalty and nostalgia for their alma mater could be cultivated for the university’s benefit. The Edinburgh celebrations in 1884 successfully tapped all these sources. They were held in 1884 rather than the true date of 1883 in order to coincide with the opening of a new Medical School after a long fundraising campaign. During the tercentenary week, the banquet, for well over a thousand guests, was especially aimed at alumni. At Glasgow the ceremonies included the opening of a new botany department. The cost of the Glasgow jubilee itself was met by an appeal targeted at selected individuals and companies which estimated the total cost at £3,000; the appeal raised £2,294. The jubilee was then used to launch a public appeal for academic expansion. With sustained efforts to involve graduates, it rapidly reached £75,000.18 At St Andrews in 1911, a new

18 Glasgow, University Archives. 55588: Printed appeal letter (12-1900); Memoir of Robert Herbert Story . . . by his daughters (Glasgow: James MacLehose 1909): 343 and

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scientific museum was ceremonially opened, and alumni were again targeted through banquets and parties. The fourth source of funds was from individual “Maecenas” figures, who could be involved and flattered at centenary celebrations. The Scottish universities were fortunate in attracting some of the richest men of the age. Lord Bute was one example, but he died in 1900. More famous was Andrew Carnegie, a Scottish weaver’s son who made his fortune in the American steel industry. On retirement he built a home at Skibo Castle in Scotland, and one of his many philanthropic foundations was the Carnegie Trust for the Universities of Scotland. Inaugurated in 1900, it was the first American-style “foundation” in Britain. It had a capital of £2 million, equally divided between the promotion of research and teaching, and financial assistance to Scots-born students. Carnegie had been invited to Edinburgh in 1884, but was unable to attend. At Glasgow in 1901, however, he was given an honorary degree. It was reported that he “moved to kneel before the vice-chancellor amid a perfect tempest of thankful applause”, and Principal Story later said he felt he was “laying the hand of the University, on a capital of £40,000,000”.19 Carnegie was elected rector at St Andrews in 1901 and Aberdeen in 1911, and given an honorary degree by Aberdeen in 1906. Aberdeen profited more exclusively from the generosity of Lord Strathcona. Originally Donald Smith, from the rural north-east of Scotland, he made a huge fortune late in life in Canadian railways and mining. He returned to live in London and became high commissioner for Canada, but directed his generosity to Aberdeen University. He was elected rector in 1899, and chancellor in 1903 (this was a ceremonial office elected by the alumni). He contributed generously to the university’s building plans, and presided over the 1906 celebrations at the age of eighty-six. Their most sensational event was the Strathcona Banquet, for 2,500 guests and entirely paid for by Strathcona, to which everyone present at the celebrations was invited. A special building had to be erected to house it, and the catering was cf. 331-336; R. Herbert Story, University of Glasgow—Session 1901–2: Closing Address (Glasgow: James MacLehose 1902): 19; Michael Moss, J. Forbes Munro and Richard H. Trainor, University, City and State: the University of Glasgow since 1870 (Edinburgh: University Press 2000): 97-101. 19 Glasgow, University Archives. 31327: Press cutting (Westminster Gazette) (1806-1901); Record of the Ninth Jubilee (1901): 133. The principal used the title vicechancellor when conferring degrees.

university centenary ceremonies in scotland 1884–1911 253 done by a London firm (as also at St Andrews in 1911); journalists dwelt on the “dinner cooked in London and brought 500 miles”, on the 64,000 items of cutlery, the 12,000 glasses, and other details.20 A newspaper artist depicted the herds of sheep, turtles, chickens, quails, partridges, salmon, lobsters and other creatures heading for the banqueting hall to be consumed.21 This far outclassed Edinburgh’s event in 1884, described at the time as an unprecedented “monster banquet”. It cost Strathcona £8,518 (equivalent to at least £500,000 today, and enough to permanently endow a lectureship), an astonishing sum for one evening’s entertainment. For the rest of the quatercentenary, Aberdeen town council spent £6,373, mostly on street decorations and policing, and the university itself only spent £3,847, £1,500 of which was paid off by an anonymous donor.22 In 1884, the tercentenary cost Edinburgh University about £2,000, and as we have seen Glasgow planned to spend £3,000 in 1901. In 1911, the St Andrews celebration cost £6,627, mostly raised from private donors, including Carnegie; the university itself paid only £450.23 Tradition and Identity at Aberdeen The Aberdeen celebrations were not only the most lavish, but differed from the others in being part of a wider culture of commemoration. The modern University of Aberdeen was formed in 1860 by the union or “fusion” of the previously independent King’s College, founded in 1495, and Marischal College, founded in 1593. The colleges, and the new university, had particularly close relations with the city and with the large, predominantly rural region which it served, the north-east of Scotland. The north-east was the heartland of the “lad o’ pairts”, the boy from a humble rural background who reached the university from a rural school, and went on to become a minister, doctor, or teacher.24

20 Anderson, Record of the Celebration (1907): 192. The building had poor acoustics, and many of the speeches were inaudible. 21 Reproduced in Jennifer Carter and Colin A. McLaren, Crown and Gown, 1495– 1995: an Illustrated History of the University of Aberdeen (Aberdeen: University Press 1994): 97. 22 Anderson, Record of the Celebration (1907): 588. 23 St Andrews, University Muniments, UY 185, Box 6: Minutes of Celebrations Executive Committee (06-03-1913). 24 Robert D. Anderson, “In search of the ‘lad of parts’: the mythical history of Scottish education”, History Workshop 19 (1985): 82-104; Robert D. Anderson, The Student

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This was part of a wider cult of the enterprising Scot who conquered the world, of which Carnegie and Strathcona (neither of whom went to a university) were prime examples. The Aberdeen tradition and its university links gave rise to a large literature of novels, reminiscences, songs and poems. One of the novels, Life at a Northern University, by Neil Maclean, was regarded as a classic of the genre: originally published in 1874, it was reissued in a “quatercentenary edition” in 1906 as one of the SRC’s contributions to the event. Aberdeen was the only Scottish university where each annual class had a strong enough identity to hold regular reunions and publish yearbooks which traced the later careers of its members. In 1906, the proceedings included at least seventeen of these class reunions, usually in the form of dinners, starting with the class which matriculated in 1852, while Aberdeen Grammar School, which claimed that its own 650th anniversary also fell in 1906, held a reception for former pupils attended by nearly a thousand guests.25 The reissue of Life at a Northern University was edited by W. Keith Leask, one of three men who tended the collective memory of the university at this time. The most important was the university librarian, Peter J. Anderson, who promoted a number of historical and antiquarian initiatives. In 1900 he began a series of Aberdeen University Studies, devoted to regional history and genealogy as well as the history of the university. This series, and similar publications by the Spalding Club, a local historical society, included several volumes of alumni lists and similar records, making Aberdeen better served for printed sources than any other Scottish university. The quatercentenary itself added five volumes to the Studies, including the luxuriously-produced official record and collections of studies in pathology, classical archaeology and Greek verse which displayed the talents of the university’s members. In 1913, Aberdeen broke further new ground with the Aberdeen University Review, a periodical directed at alumni with news, obituaries, recollections and similar material, alongside scholarly literary and historical articles. Aberdeen had also been the first university to support a regular student newspaper, Alma Mater, founded in 1883.

Community at Aberdeen, 1860–1939 (Aberdeen: University Press 1988): 3-5; David Northcroft (ed.), North-East Identities and Scottish Schooling (Aberdeen: Elphinstone Institute 2005). 25 Anderson, Record of the Celebration (1907): 338-343, 353-364.

university centenary ceremonies in scotland 1884–1911 255 An early editor of Alma Mater was Bulloch, a student activist of the 1880s who retained his interest in, and wrote prolifically about, the university throughout his career as a professional journalist in London. In 1893, at P.J. Anderson’s suggestion, he published the book on University Centenary Ceremonies already mentioned, and in 1895 short histories of the university were produced by Bulloch and by another young graduate, Rait.26 These were in anticipation of centenary ceremonies which were planned for 1895, but did not take place. After its union in 1860, the university remained on two sites about a mile apart (in 1906, this was exploited to mount a procession in academic costumes designed to appeal to the public), and there were disputes about which site should be developed to meet new needs in medicine and science. Eventually Marischal College, in the city centre, was selected, and the usual public appeals were launched. Mitchell Hall was completed by 1895, but it was felt that other rebuilding was not far enough advanced to warrant celebration. A two-day event was held to mark the opening of the hall, but without any international participation.27 The extensions to Marischal (mainly laboratories, but architecturally grandiose) were completed by 1906 with financial help from Strathcona, and their opening by King Edward VII was a highlight of the quatercentenary.28 It was this, not any historical reason, which explained the choice of 1906. Bulloch’s editorship of a London illustrated magazine, The Graphic, ensured that the events got national coverage.29 Nationalism and Internationalism In 1888 several Scottish delegates attended the 800th anniversary celebrations of Bologna University. John Kirkpatrick, professor of constitutional law and history at Edinburgh, reported that it was “a truly national festival, presided over by the beloved King and Queen, by their ministers, and by the nation itself ”. He provided a translation of

26 Rait developed this interest in Life in the Medieval University (Cambridge: University Press 1912). He became a history don at Oxford, and later professor of Scottish history at Glasgow. 27 Anderson, Record of the Celebration (1907): 18-21. 28 A film of this survives. 29 The Graphic (29-09 and 06-10-1906).

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Giosuè Carducci’s patriotic address on that occasion.30 James Donaldson, principal of St Andrews (and still in office in 1911) took a more critical view: I did not see what I expected, and saw a great deal that I did not expect. In a celebration such as that of a University I think that one would expect much talk of the advance of knowledge and of the brotherhood of literature and science. It is a striking feature of the present age that the sense of nationality is becoming so intense that it obscures, if it does not entirely deaden, the sense of humanity. Intercourse—full, hearty, and free intercourse—of one nation with another is becoming rarer. The French and the Germans do not generally recognise the duty of loving one another. Animosities prevail in nearly every nation in Europe, and the grand impulses of humanity are contracted and narrowed. It should be the task of science and literature as well as of religion to break the bonds that separate nation from nation, to proclaim the unity of mankind as an indefeasible claim for the prevalence of goodwill among all, and to create a freemasonry which should know no ties but those of the love of truth and goodness. But in Bologna we heard little of all this either practically or theoretically.

French and German students fraternised, but were criticised for it when they returned home. “Overpowered, therefore, by the spirit of the age, the celebration of the centenary of the Bologna University became a great national celebration of the unity of Italy and the inviolability of Rome, of which we foreigners were simply witnesses.”31 What can we learn from the Scottish celebrations about the balance between nationalism and internationalism, and about concepts of the university? Two indicators can be looked at. One is the countries from which honorary graduates were invited, which give a snapshot of their academic prestige (table 2). A second is the text of the speeches delivered during the ceremonies, though this is a much fuller source for Edinburgh in 1884 than for later years. At Edinburgh, the guests themselves were expected to make speeches, and those who spoke included both British public figures and international celebrities like Pasteur, Virchow, Helmholtz, Ferdinand de Lesseps and the Bologna jurist Aurelio Saffi. But at the later ceremonies, speechmaking was generally left to the local leaders—chancellor, rector, principal or lord

30

John Kirkpatrick, The Octocentenary Festival of the University of Bologna, June 1888 (Edinburgh: James Thin 1888): 37-38. 31 James Donaldson, Addresses Delivered in the University of St. Andrews from 1886 to 1910 (St Andrews: The University 1911): 82-89.

university centenary ceremonies in scotland 1884–1911 257 provost of the city. At Glasgow in 1901, the proceedings also featured lengthy orations in praise of famous men connected with the university—Adam Smith, James Watt and the eighteenth-century surgeon and university benefactor William Hunter. This commemoration of individuals was perhaps suggested by Glasgow’s celebration in 1896 of the jubilee of the physicist Lord Kelvin (William Thomson), who had been a professor since 1846; with foreign guests invited, a large conversazione and participation by the town council, this event was a rehearsal for 190132—when Kelvin himself gave the address on Watt. Donaldson was right to highlight rivalry between France and Germany. Germany was widely admired for its well-organised universities and its scientific achievements. But the reformers who revived French higher education under the Third Republic made a sustained bid to challenge German dominance, partly through their widely-read journal the Revue Internationale de l’Enseignement, and partly through organising congresses under French leadership.33 A first international congress of higher education was held at Paris in 1889, coinciding with the international exhibition marking the centenary of the French revolution, and a second was held at Lyon in 1894. The third of these congresses, dominated by French scholars, was held during the Paris international exhibition of 1900, as part of a range of scientific and social-science congresses—a practice which the Glasgow exhibition of 1901 copied on a more modest scale.34 The French educational establishment also gave strong support to the Franco-Scottish Society, set up in 1896 to promote academic and cultural exchanges, and this organisation had its own delegates at the Glasgow and Aberdeen celebrations.35

32 One lesson learnt was that the event should not be held later than June, as the Glasgow bourgeoisie deserted the city en masse in the summer and could not provide accommodation for guests. Glasgow was also well informed about centenaries after sending five delegates to Bologna in 1888. 33 Cf. Christophe Charle, La République des Universitaires, 1870–1940 (Paris: Le Seuil 1994): 343-396. 34 Perilla Kinchin and Juliet Kinchin, Glasgow’s Great Exhibitions: 1888–1901– 1911–1938–1988 (Bicester: White Cockade 1988): 92. The Paris congress was attended by four Scottish academics, including the Francophile sociologist Patrick Geddes and John Kirkpatrick: Troisieme Congrès International d’Enseignement Supérieur tenu à Paris du 30 juillet au 4 août 1900 (Paris: Chevalier-Maresq 1902): xlvii. These congresses seem to have been overlooked by historians. 35 Cf. Siân Reynolds, Paris-Edinburgh: Cultural Connections in the Belle Epoque (Aldershot: Ashgate 2007): 101-114.

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Table 2. Home countries of honorary graduands. Table provided with kind permission of the author.

Degrees in Divinity Scotland England Ireland France Germany Italy Holland Switzerland Scandinavia Russia Greece USA Canada TOTAL General Degrees Scotland England Wales Ireland Total UK France Germany Austria-Hungary Italy Holland Belgium Switzerland Scandinavia & Finland Russia Total Rest of Europe USA Canada Australia South Africa India Latin America Japan Egypt Syria Total Non-European TOTAL

Edinburgh 1884

Glasgow 1901

Aberdeen 1906

St Andrews 1911

4 5 1 1 2

5 8 2 1 1 1

4 6 2 2 2

4 3

1

2 3 2

1 1 1 1 2 16 24 39 2 53% 65 13 12 2 7 5 4 3 2 39% 48 4 1 1 2 2

8% 10 123

2 1 22

18

15

27 24 2 5 53% 58 6 4 4 3 1 4 3 2 4 28% 31 11 3 2

15 30 1 2 44% 48 8 9 4 7 4 2 3 4 3 40% 44 8 4 1

17 35

4

2

1

1 1 1 16% 18 110

19% 21 110

1

1 51% 53 5 10 2 1 2 1 6 1 31% 28 4 2 1

1 9% 8 89

university centenary ceremonies in scotland 1884–1911 259 Table 2 suggests that the reputation of France kept up well with that of Germany, and that, from the Scottish perspective, the international academic world was a European, even a Northern European affair. Protestantism, of course, skewed the distribution of divinity degrees, which were given freely to leaders of the Church of England, but not to Roman Catholics. And while most of the foreign recipients were scholars or scientists, the large number of Scottish and English honorands included politicians, local notables, eminent medical figures, military heroes and so on. At Edinburgh and Aberdeen, they did not include any women, but at Glasgow there were four: one was Emily Davies, pioneer of women’s higher education and founder of Girton College at Cambridge; one the shipbuilder’s widow Isabella Elder, benefactor of women’s education at Glasgow; and the other two were philanthropists. In 1911 St Andrews honoured two women: Louisa Lumsden, the founder of St Leonards, a pioneering girls’ school at St Andrews, and Eleanor Sidgwick, another Cambridge educationist and sister of the former prime minister Arthur James Balfour, who was also present. Also there as guests were Elizabeth Garrett Anderson, the first woman to qualify in medicine in Britain, and her sister, the suffragist leader Millicent Fawcett. The current prime minister, Herbert Henry Asquith, who was the county member of parliament, brought his formidable wife Margot. It was a notable gathering of influential women, though the local newspaper left this aspect of the event to its fashion correspondent, who commented in detail on the ladies’ dresses.36 One change reflected in the table is the growth of universities in the United States and the British empire.37 The celebrations at Edinburgh, I have suggested, had surprisingly little imperial content, but in later years references to the empire were more frequent, and universities in Canada, Australia or India came to be seen as part of the world mission of the British “race”. The growth of imperial enthusiasm was also reflected in rectorial elections at this time, with the election of such figures as Strathcona, Joseph Chamberlain (Glasgow, 1896), Richard Haldane (Edinburgh, 1905), George Curzon (Glasgow, 1908) and the Scottish Liberal politician Lord Rosebery, who uniquely became rector of all four Scottish universities. Rosebery was rector of St Andrews in 36

Quincentenary of the University of St. Andrews (1912): 86-91. All the representatives of Indian universities were British. Apart from the Japanese, the only non-white honorand (at Aberdeen and St Andrews) was the Egyptian educational official Yacoub Artin Pacha. 37

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1911, and his inaugural address was part of the ceremonies; arriving and departing on his steam yacht, the Zedia, he avoided politics and spoke on the history of the university.38 At Glasgow in 1901, patriotic feeling was heightened by the recent death of Queen Victoria and by the Boer or South African War which was still in its final stages, and which had created tensions between Britain and Germany. Germany was already being seen as Britain’s main naval and commercial rival, and the principal of Glasgow, Herbert Story, showed some unease in welcoming delegates from “the great Teutonic Fatherland—with which we have so many ties of kindred, of friendship, and of intellectual communion, which we hope no rivalry, political or commercial, will ever really disturb”. He showed rather less tact in welcoming the Russians, referring to the oppression of Finland: “The Russian Empire is a wide word; and it embraces many regions and races; but none of them, I believe, will attract more of our sympathy to-day than the ancient Grand Duchy, where Helsingfors keeps alive, in evil days, the sacred lamp of liberty and learning.”39 He also noted the presence of two Japanese delegates as evidence of the wide diffusion of a common knowledge, and an identity of intellectual interests, among all peoples and languages; but nothing is more saddening than the reflection that the earliest, and most notable, use to which our friends in these distant isles of the sea put the science they had learned amongst us was to fight a great naval battle.40

The Japanese had links with both Glasgow and Aberdeen through the shipbuilding industry. By 1906, Japan was an ally of Britain and had defeated Russia in war. Principal Robert Hamilton Lang of Aberdeen, more tactfully than Story, described Japan as “the marvellous islandempire, gallant in war and moderate in victory, absorbing the civilisation of the West, but with a suppleness of thought and fertility of inventive genius all its own”.41

38 Rosebery was rector of Glasgow in 1901, but was unable to attend the jubilee ceremonies. 39 He may well have read three relevant articles in a Scottish quarterly: [William Nicolson], “The University of Finland”, Scottish Review 15 (1890): 364-405; [William Nicolson], “Three Finnish scholars”, Scottish Review 17 (1891): 140-170; Charles T.H. Wright, “The Russian universities”, Scottish Review 20 (1892): 105-124. 40 Record of the Ninth Jubilee (1901): 36, 38. 41 Anderson, Record of the Celebration (1907): 87.

university centenary ceremonies in scotland 1884–1911 261 European universities, said Lang, formed “a vast confederation, permeated by one spirit, and having one great objective”. The Aberdeen degree ceremony was seen by one enthusiast as “a service in the Cathedral of Civilisation”.42 The international comity of universities, and the assertion of Scotland’s place in it, were natural themes of rhetoric on these occasions. One might also expect, as Donaldson hinted, that there would be programmatic statements about the idea or purpose of a university, but these are difficult to find. For university historians, it is tempting to see the internationalism of these ceremonies as part of the acceptance of the “Humboldtian” idea of the research-driven university. But recent scholarship, including that of Pieter Dhondt on Scotland, has emphasised that the reception of Humboldt was a slow process, and that it varied widely between countries.43 Speeches at the Scottish centenaries certainly paid tribute to Germany as a home of science and creative thought, but there is no clear exposition of the Humboldtian idea of the unity of teaching and research. Nor, for that matter, does one find the standard English idea, associated with John Henry Newman, of the university as a place of liberal education where knowledge was pursued for its own sake. In the 1880s, indeed, there was a good deal of writing suggesting that Scotland was falling behind in research and scholarship, but it was not until the reforms of 1889, and the new resources created by the Carnegie foundation, that the advancement of knowledge came to be seen as a fundamental task. The Scottish conception of the university was rather as an agency of professional training, turning out ministers, doctors, lawyers and schoolteachers for Scotland and the wider world, with an education humanised by a broad philosophical approach. The scientist-politician Lyon Playfair, a leading ideologist of Scottish education, claimed that through this professional function “our Universities fulfil the original conception with which ancient Universities were founded—namely, to liberalise the professions by culture and science”. They were more authentic heirs of Bologna than Oxford or Cambridge, for “our Universities always were, and always will be, essentially practical. A Scotch 42

W. Leslie Mackenzie in: Anderson, Record of the Celebration (1907): 137. Robert D. Anderson, “Ideas of the university in 19th-century Scotland: teaching versus research?”, in: Martin Hewitt (ed.), Scholarship in Victorian Britain (Leeds: Leeds Centre for Victorian Studies 1998): 1-13; Pieter Dhondt, “Lehr- und Lernfreiheit en Abitur: Het ‘Duitse universiteitsmodel’ in België en Schotland, 1850–1890”, Naar Duits model. De receptie van Duitse pedagogische idealen uit de vroege negentiende eeuw. Jaarboek voor de Geschiedenis van Opvoeding en Onderwijs 5 (2003): 90-111. 43

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University differs from an English University as much as a Scotch terrier does from an English bulldog.”44 At Glasgow in 1901 the lord provost proclaimed that the city would never forget “that the greatness of their people rested upon their intelligence, their industry, and their moral and spiritual force, the moral and spiritual force of their sons and daughters”. The greatness of a university was not to be judged by its professors and their reputations, however illustrious: “The work of a University was to turn out good men, capable men, men fitted to carry on the work of the world, and to lift it up to a higher, nobler, and purer plane; men inspired with the love of truth and the love of knowledge.”45 For the Conservative politician Lord Balfour of Burleigh, chancellor of St Andrews, handing on the torch of learning was one function of the university, but “a still more vital task remains— that of training those who are to serve the State”. The mighty forces of democracy needed to be harnessed by “men calmed into moderation by sound training, by methods of accurate and balanced thought”—for which the study of history was particularly well suited.46 This view of the university’s educational role reflected patriotic pride: the universities were national, “popular” institutions, with their roots in the soil; revivified by the spirit of the Reformation, they had allowed a remote and poor country to influence the world through the power of ideas, and their students, drawn democratically from the people rather than the elite as in England, demonstrated the virtues of sturdy independence, thrift and enterprise. Here parallels were certainly seen with Scandinavia. The Edinburgh observers at Uppsala in 1877 noted the strongly “national” character of the university: The students are drawn from all classes of society, from the members of the Royal Family down to the very poorest; and it is this broad base of its constitution, its direct connection with the system of national education, and the real professional and political value of its degrees, which have given to this University a character so thoroughly national.

At Uppsala and at Helsinki, it was pointed out, university education was entirely free, which was not the case in Scotland.47 Thus “the 44 Speech of 1883, in Edinburgh, University Archives. Tercentenary (1884): Box of miscellanea, printed appeal document. 45 Record of the Ninth Jubilee (1901): 130-131. 46 Quincentenary of the University of St. Andrews (1912): 125. 47 The Scotsman (11-10-1877); [Nicolson], “The University of Finland” (1890): 364.

university centenary ceremonies in scotland 1884–1911 263 Swedish University system is organised on even a more popular basis than that of Scotland.”48 These themes were repeated in 1893 by Bulloch, who argued that “the whole trend of national life in the two countries has run pretty much on the same lines”, and saw the early admission of women students as further evidence of Swedish democracy.49 Conclusion In his The Scotsman articles of 1884, J.M. Anderson commented on the “literature” produced in connection with the various centenaries, which formed a permanent memorial, though mostly of limited historical value. Edinburgh, he feared, would fall short in this respect. The principal of the university, Alexander Grant, published a two-volume Story of the University of Edinburgh during its First Three Hundred Years, which J.M. Anderson found “to say the least, a disappointing book”, being a compendium of information rather than a connected story. It superseded its predecessors, but “must itself in turn be superseded”.50 In fact it has not been, nor did any of the three subsequent Scottish centenaries produce large-scale histories of professional quality.51 Publication tended rather towards lavish volumes, suitable for presenting to the visitors, celebrating the university’s past and present glories.52 The four celebrations studied here form a distinctive group, conscious of continental precedents and with no parallels in England. They were both the first and the last of their kind. After the First World War, the taste for grand university celebrations seems to have disappeared and subsequent occasions were more modest, directed mainly at alumni and at fundraising. The international community

48

The Scotsman (21-03-1884). Bulloch, University Centenary Ceremonies (1893): 24-25. 50 The Scotsman (05-04-1884). 51 James Coutts, A History of the University of Glasgow, from its Foundation in 1451 to 1909 (Glasgow: James MacLehose 1909), by a retired university official, was dull and conventional. 52 Quasi Cursores: Portraits of the High Officers and Professors of the University of Edinburgh at its Tercentenary Festival (Edinburgh: Constable 1884); The Book of the Jubilee: In Commemoration of the Ninth Jubilee of the University of Glasgow, 1451–1901 (Glasgow: James MacLehose 1901); Peter J. Anderson (ed.), Studies in the History and Development of the University of Aberdeen (Aberdeen: University Press 1906); Votiva Tabella: A Memorial Volume of St Andrews University in Connection with its Quincentenary Festival. MCCCCXI–MDCCCCXI ([Glasgow]: Robert MacLehose 1911). 49

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of universities was shattered by the war, and the German universities seemed especially discredited. No-one in Britain after 1914 was likely to refer in friendly fashion to “the great Teutonic Fatherland”, or, like one speaker in 1884, to greet the representatives of “a great and kindred nation—great in learning, great in literature, great in science, great in all the arts of peace, and great also in the art of war—I mean the great German people”.53 Celebrations at Edinburgh in 1933 and Glasgow in 1951 took place in straitened economic times; the former produced a factual updating of Grant’s history, the latter a useful professional history of the university.54 In 1960 Aberdeen celebrated the centenary of the “fusion” which created the modern university, but the resulting historical volume was mediocre.55 At Edinburgh in 1983, the proceedings of an academic conference on universities and society formed the only memorial.56 A solid history of the modern university was prepared for the Glasgow jubilee of 2001.57 It was Aberdeen, however, as in 1906, which showed the greatest historical consciousness, as its five hundredth anniversary in 1995 was marked by a publication programme which ran to eleven short volumes on aspects of the university’s history, with a popular one-volume summary.58 It remains to be seen what St Andrews will add to the literature of these notable events when it celebrates its sixth centenary.

53

Lord Wemyss, toast to Helmholtz, in: Marsden (ed.), A Short Account (1884):

149. 54 University of Edinburgh. Three Hundred and Fiftieth Anniversary 1583–1933. Records of the Celebration (Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd s.d.); A. Logan Turner (ed.), History of the University of Edinburgh 1883–1983 (Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd 1933); John D. Mackie, The University of Glasgow, 1451–1951: a Short History (Glasgow: Jackson 1954). 55 W. Douglas Simpson (ed.), The Fusion of 1860: a Record of the Centenary Celebrations and a History of the United University of Aberdeen, 1860–1960 (Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd 1963). 56 Nicholas Phillipson (ed.), Universities, Society and the Future (Edinburgh: University Press 1983). 57 Moss, Munro and Trainor, University, City and State (2000). 58 Carter and McLaren, Crown and Gown, 1495–1995 (1994). Cf. Jennifer Carter, “Writing university history for Aberdeen’s quincentenary”, History Today 45 (1995): 7-9.

PART IV

THE END OF SCANDINAVISM?

CHAPTER TEN

SCIENCE, POPULIST DEMOCRACY AND HONOUR. THE 1911 CENTENARY CELEBRATION OF THE ROYAL FREDERICK UNIVERSITY IN KRISTIANIA Robert Marc Friedman Appeals to Nordic unity and cooperation were markedly absent during the 100th jubilee celebration of the Royal Frederick University (Oslo). Norway’s declaration of independence from the Swedish crown in 1905 certainly played some role, but more importantly, plans for the jubilee were from the start linked to an on-going effort to re-establish the university’s position as an institution central to the well-being of the nation rather than one for training a social class of elite civil servants. The role of Nordic unity and cooperation during the Royal Frederick University’s 100th anniversary celebration can be summed up concisely: negligible. Texts and rituals surrounding the week of festivities beginning on 2 September 1911 reveal minimal overt or even indirect reference to commonality among Nordic nations. The jubilee was planned and designed to promote national agendas and celebrate the university’s significance for the Norwegian nation. Indeed, the jubilee marks an end point in an over thirty year struggle to transform the university from an institution by and for the once dominating social class of state civil servants to an institution in the service of the entire nation. A key to this transformation entailed creating a university identity based on research and the sciences, rather than primarily for the education of members of the state civil service. Nordic themes were scarcely relevant in this context. Most speeches, festive toasts and addresses sent from foreign institutions focused on what Norway, through her one university’s impressive list of scholars, had contributed to the international world of learning as well as to the nation’s own development.1 In the social-Darwinistic

1 Fredrik B. Wallem, Det Kongelige Fredriks Universitets Hundredaarsjubilæum 1911. Festberetning (Kristiania: Bøggers Boktrykkeri 1913).

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mentalité of the time, Norway’s university men had made contributions to civilisation’s progress, which in turn affirmed Norway’s claim to having achieved a sufficiently advanced state of fitness to warrant the right to autonomy. This theme was central for the jubilee celebration. I will argue that the strong nationalist focus of the jubilee celebration had roots going much further back in time than the dramatic events of 1905, or even the other recent crises within the Union. Even during the early 1900s, a period identified by one historian as the Indian summer of Scandinavism, when it appeared that Nordic scholarly cooperation and collaboration was experiencing a renewal, visions of a clearly national oriented jubilee were already well underway. The breakup of the union with Sweden in 1905, and the calling of a Danish Prince to be the new Norwegian king, did put a sharp end to Nordic cooperation. Meetings were cancelled, projects put on hold, and while old friends tried to reach across boundaries to maintain personal relations, they also frequently recommended postponing private visits in the aftermath of June 1905.2 And although it was with the First World War that Nordic cooperation began to flourish again, by 1911 the worst of antagonism was largely something of the past. But an absence of expressions of anger, if not hate, did not translate into a renewal of Nordic cooperation or declarations of commonality. Although delegates from Nordic nations were willing to participate in the jubilee, they were guarded in their comments. Most of these delegates praised the university’s accomplishments for international science and for the Norwegian nation. Only incidental references to anything related to Nordic unity can be found in the formal statements and festive toasts.3 I will first mention these and then turn to the local national agenda of the jubilee. Three references can be found in the detailed summary of the festive and ceremonial events associated with the jubilee that touch upon themes of Nordic brotherhood. First, the rectors of the universities of Uppsala and Copenhagen extended polite and even friendly greetings on behalf of their national institutions. In response, the first rector of the Royal Frederick University, who was also the major architect for the jubilee, geologist-mineralogist Waldemar Christopher Brøgger, 2

Ruth Hemstad, Fra Indian Summer til Nordisk Vinter: Skandinavisk Samarbeid, Skandinavisme og Unionsoppløsningen (Oslo: Akademisk Publisering 2008). 3 Wallem, Det Kongelige Fredriks Universitets Hundredaarsjubilæum 1911 (1913): 15-21, 120-128.

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declared that no university stands closer to the Royal Frederick than Copenhagen, which, historically, is the mother institution for the Norwegian university. And then next in line, no other universities are closer than those of neighboring Sweden. The kind words extended from Denmark, Iceland, and Sweden, “are precious evidence that the Nordic intellectual commonality [aandelige fælleskap i Norden] is tied together with strong bonds, which will never break.”4 It should be recalled that Brøgger began his academic career in the early 1880s as one of the first professors at the new Stockholm Högskola. He remained there for nearly a decade and maintained professional and personal relationships with former colleagues. Indeed the only other reference to some commonality in all the greetings from Nordic universities and academies was that from Ivar Bendixson, rector of the Stockholm Högskola. Two other Norwegians, botanist Nordahl Wille and mathematical physicist/geophysicist Vilhelm Bjerknes, were also among the early professors at this privately-funded liberallyoriented institution, and these Norwegians, like Brøgger, remained close with several of the Högskola’s professors. Not surprisingly Bendixson’s address proclaimed that the Nordic peoples’ cultures all branch out from the same tree. The likeness in language and social conditions had made it possible for all of them to accept and make use of not just what great Norwegian men in the realm of the sciences have created, but also what their work has led to and prompted more generally from Norwegian intellectuals, poets and artists. Bendixson offered a special thanks for the significant contributions made by Royal Frederick’s scientists while associated with the Högskola. He alone mentioned the unmentionable: that the friendship between the two institutions since the Högskola’s start (1878) transcends political differences of opinion [“politiska meningsbrytningar”] and allows the two institutions to continue contributing to that common culture which both seek to advance.5 Finally, the last reference to Nordic unity can be vaguely discerned in the speeches and toasts made by the representatives of student associations. Generally, the heads of Nordic student unions offered friendly words, but made minimal, if any, reference to common Nordic identity. 4

Wallem, Det Kongelige Fredriks Universitets Hundredaarsjubilæum 1911 (1913): 121-122. 5 Wallem, Det Kongelige Fredriks Universitets Hundredaarsjubilæum 1911 (1913): 264-265.

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The head of Uppsala University’s student union noted the common task facing students in both countries to spread culture across their respective nations, but the nature of that culture was left undefined.6 When the Norwegian representative responded to the toasts and short speeches, he noted that the disappointment over how few of the invited foreign student representatives were able to attend was off-set by the pleasure of receiving those from the Nordic nations. He then emphasised the commonality of purpose linking in particular Norway and Finland, “a small nation with the task of advancing its own particular culture makes the Finns similar to the Norwegians.” He then underscored that the Norwegian students truly understood the situation facing Finnish students, that is, trying to develop a national culture while lacking national autonomy.7 No further official references to Nordic unity appears in the jubilee’s festskrift or in the massive newspaper coverage of the week’s events.8 What then were the major goals for those who planned and led the jubilee celebration? What cultural-political work was envisioned for the jubilee? The minimal importance of Nordic cooperation as a theme for the festivities even before 1905 arose from the very acute national challenges facing the university. The jubilee was conceived in part as a means to close a long period in which the institution struggled to reclaim popular support in a radically shifting political landscape. As noted in John Peter Collett’s chapter, at the end of the 1860s some professors were again calling for invigorating Scandinavism, but others, generally younger more radical men, insisted on emphasising the national. They called for a need to turn away from Scandinavism and instead to reinvigorate and develop a national culture based increasingly on populist and rural experience and realities, be these dialects, folk arts or a Norwegian history that underscores a continuous national culture extending through the several-hundred-year forced union with Denmark. Modern languages and natural science were also emphasised as a means to impress foreign nations as well as to develop a rational progressive society. 6

Wallem, Det Kongelige Fredriks Universitets Hundredaarsjubilæum 1911 (1913):

105. 7

Wallem, Det Kongelige Fredriks Universitets Hundredaarsjubilæum 1911 (1913):

106. 8 Several folders with newspaper clippings are included in the archives of the academic collegium. Oslo, Riksarkivet / State Archives. Universitetet i Oslo, Kollegiets arkiv, S-2868, Fhc, L0063-65: 100-års jubiléet 1911.

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In the realm of politics these impulses resulted in a peaceful revolution in 1884 that shifted power to Norway’s parliament, the Storting, which had refused to accept the absolute veto power of the SwedishNorwegian king. When faced with opposition to this declaration, the Storting dismissed the King’s appointed governing state ministers for Norway. The university’s faculties for law and theology and some of its leading professors of humanities had sided with conservative forces and opposed the democratic populists. The Storting not only restricted the university budget to insure activities that favoured the agenda of the new Venstre [Left] political coalition, but also insisted on control over internal matters. Chairs in subject matters such as related to folk culture and rural dialects were imposed upon the university.9 In one heated debate in the Storting, the university was called openly an enemy of the Storting and of the people. Both general economic constraints on the state budget and a hostile Storting majority resulted in an ever growing acute shortage in personnel and a desperate lack of space. Repeated efforts to obtain funding for new buildings ran into parliamentary obstacles.10 By the 1890s, the situation was deemed to be critical; many new laboratory-based natural science and medical specialties could not be institutionalised, large parts of natural and cultural history collections were kept in storage, and room for lectures and other day-to-day academic activities were lacking. Both political and academic life had become increasingly marked by fragmentation and changing alliances. Although by 1900 the worst of the antagonism between the Storting and the university was in the past, still much suspicion and lack of good will remained in many quarters. New calls from some politicians to limit university self-governance were still a threatening nightmare for the academic community. One of those who worked tirelessly for the advance of science and the university, and who actively sought alliances with politicians and influential members of society, was Brøgger.11 He understood early that the university needed to embrace more clearly and openly an

9 John Peter Collett, Historien om Universitetet i Oslo (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1999): 74-82. 10 Robert Marc Friedman, Making Space in Oslo, 1870–1920: Physical infrastructure and disciplinary renewal in a politicized university (Unpublished manuscript). 11 Cf. introductory chapter in: John Peter Collett, Videnskap og politikk. Samarbeide og konflikt om forskning for industriformål 1917–1930 (Hovedoppgave i historie) (Oslo: Universitetet i Oslo, Historisk inst. 1982); Geir Hestmark, Vitenskap og najson. Waldemar Christopher Brøgger 1851–1905 (Oslo: Aschehoug 1999): chapters 3-7.

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identity based on the pursuit of science above political and social differences. He and his allies recognised over a decade before 1911 that the upcoming centenary could provide an opportunity to consolidate achievements, both with respect to internal strife within the university and to relations with society. With the whole nation watching, the jubilee, if organised and orchestrated correctly, could underscore the university’s importance for the entire nation. Brøgger’s earlier efforts to advance the cause of a national science generally succeeded, although not always on the scale desired. Following Fridtjof Nansen’s sensational polar expeditions, Brøgger initiated the creation of the fund to honour the national hero for the advancement of science, which in turn showed that wealthy Norwegians could be induced to donate money for research. Although the fund was the first of its kind in Norway, as compared to the perceived needs and compared with the private funding available to Swedish, Finnish, and Danish scientists, much more could be hoped for. A new opportunity to advance the cause of science as central to national integrity arose with the decision to organise a lavish international centennial celebration in 1902 for the birth of mathematician Niels Henrik Abel. Abel’s early death in 1829 left multiple legacies.12 His extraordinary mathematical accomplishments provided a heritage for developing important lines of research, abroad and also in Norway. His tragic fate also constituted a rhetoric legacy. The accusations made by his friends and supporters that the Norwegian state’s ignorance, callousness and poverty contributed to Abel’s early death reappeared in various forms throughout the nineteenth century. French interest in a new edition of Abel’s work twenty years earlier prompted the Storting to sponsor a purely Norwegian produced work. The 1881 edition opens with a frontispiece crediting the Norwegian state; Abel’s genial contributions were identified as being distinctively Norwegian.13 When professors at the Royal Frederick University organised a grand celebration in honour of the centennial of Abel’s birth they followed a growing Western tradition of commemorating great scientists as national heroes. With the growth of print media these elaborate observances captured the attention of the general public and provided

12 Arild Stubhaug, Et foranskutt lyn: Niels Henrik Abel og hans tid (Oslo: Aschehoug 1996). 13 Stubhaug, Et foranskutt lyn: Niels Henrik Abel og hans tid (1996): 559.

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opportunity for conveying any number of messages. This new form of collective virtual witnessing erupted onto the Norwegian consciousness when Nansen and his polar ship the Fram called on city after city along the coast on their triumphal return in 1896 from the Arctic to Kristiania. The media allowed the nation to follow collectively and relatively simultaneously the crescendo of celebrations held for Nansen and his men; indeed, media coverage helped transform the polar explorers into national heroes and the voyage itself a resource for political and cultural agendas.14 By creating a showcase for Norway and Norwegian national culture, the organisers of the Abel celebration could promote a number of causes.15 As Nansen, now a professor at the university, expressed to national poet Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson in a letter urging him to write a cantata for the event: “For me it is a matter of duty to make as much as possible out of events such as Abel’s birthday celebration in our county . . . ; by emphasising this for all the world we emphasise our right to exist as an autonomous civilised nation [som egen kulturstat].”16 Nansen repeated these themes in the lecture that opened the celebration. As repeated extensively in the national press, Nansen pointed out that an extraordinary gathering of leading men of learning, representing the nations of the world, had come to celebrate the memory of a great Norwegian—indeed, Norway’s own heroic son. Commentators called the Abel jubilee a national festival celebrated in front of the entire world. The celebration, it was said, helped spread interest abroad in Norway and her people; the Abel celebration helped confirm the nation’s right to be considered an independent country. As for Scandinavian brotherhood, King Oscar II of Sweden and Norway attended and presided over the opening as well as several sessions, but provoked much angry comment. Although the King opened by thanking the foreign guests for traveling so far to participate in the 14 Robert Marc Friedman, “Nansenismen”, in: Einar-Arne Drivenes and Harald Dag Jølle (eds.), Norsk Polarhistorie (Oslo: Gyldendal, 2004), vol. 2: 107-174; Hestmark, Vitenskap og najson (1999): chapter 5; Narve Fulsås, “En æresag for vor nation”, in: Drivenes and Jølle (eds.), Norsk Polarhistorie (2004), vol. 1: 173-223. 15 Henrik Kragh Sørensen, “Niels Henrik Abel’s professional and political legacy in Norway”, in: Reinhard Siegmund-Schultze and Henrik Kragh Sørensen (eds.), Perspectives on Scandinavian Science in the Early Twentieth Century (Oslo: Novus 2006): 203-215. 16 Fridtjof Nansen, “Letter til Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson, 12 mars 1902”, in: Steinar Kjærheim (ed.), Fridtjof Nansen Brev (Trondheim: Universitetsforlaget 1961), vol. 2: 95.

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celebration of a Norwegian scientist, he then largely focused on science as an international endeavor and thereby avoided further comment on Abel’s national Norwegian importance. At official receptions, the King and Swedish delegates’ national Order of Seraphim (established 1748) gave higher priority for seating than the Norwegian Order of St Olav (established 1847). Local media picked up on the insult and demanded that the Swedish order no longer take precedence over the Norwegian. When in Norway, the King is present as the Norwegian King and must establish the primacy of the Order of St Olav in its own country. Further friction, if not a verbal punching match, occurred when the Swedish mathematician Göta Mittag-Leffler tried to capture the right to publish proceedings and Abelian texts in his Stockholm-based international mathematics journal.17 Major academic celebrations can well provide opportunities for grabbing national attention, but they clearly needed to be carefully orchestrated. Brøgger and others who had been promoting science as means for Norway to participate in the advance of civilisation surely delighted when foreign guests underscored this message. Not on the field of battle, but in the advance of arts and sciences a small nation such as Norway can prove her fitness and earn the right to be considered a legitimate nation. This highly-successful and closely watched event, including its acclaimed festskrift, must have made a great impression on Brøgger and others at the university, who were beginning to look ahead to the university’s centennial, less than a decade away. Brøgger accepted as a matter of faith that high-profile, ornate celebrations, with many foreign dignitaries present, provide necessary showcases for advancing the cause of academic science. While plans were underway for the Abel celebrations, the academic collegium took up the issue of preparing a jubilee festskrift for the 1911 centennial.18 The proposed history would entail a “regnskab”—an accounting—for what the university had accomplished for improving the status of the Norwegian people among the ranks of the “autonomous society of nations [de selvstændige statssamfund]”. Given the challenge of writing such a history, the festskrift committee urged the collegium to begin as soon as possible; time was already short. Money shortages and authors’ dying and resigning slowed progress and resulted in changing 17

Sørensen, “Niels Henrik Abel’s legacy in Norway” (2006). Oslo, Riksarkivet / State Archives. Universitetet i Oslo, Kollegiets arkiv (02-011902). 18

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the format several times.19 The academic collegium had indeed first pleaded poverty but finally agreed in 1906 to commission a history of the university until 1845. Historians Ludvig Daae and Yngvar Nielsen assumed responsibility, but when the elderly Daae fell sick and withdrew in 1909, Nielsen asked to be relieved of further responsibility. The collegium dissolved the book committee.20 In 1909, with less than two years left until the centennial, the university had no plans in place for a festskrift. The jubilee was already looming large; and Brøgger, who had assumed the new position of rector of the university in 1906, was actively orchestrating a number of projects for the 1911 event. He and another member of the collegium, Olaf Broch, attended Leipzig University’s 500th anniversary celebration in which a massive festskrift and a range of impressive ceremonies served as a trumpet blast proclaiming Saxony’s significant cultural-political position within the German Empire. Brøgger and others reinforced their resolve: the Royal Frederick University must have a worthy festskrift. Regardless of whatever hoopla was being prepared for the 1911 festivities, the festskrift would remain even when the toasting, orations, hangovers and handshakes dissolve with other memories into the realm of forgetfulness. At the same meeting of the collegium in which the old committee was dissolved, a request was made to literature professor Gerhard Gran to accept responsibility for planning and publishing a festskrift. Gran accepted but because of prior commitments would not be able to contribute actual text. He set up an editorial committee and in February 1910 submitted a proposal to the collegium: a festskrift consisting of two volumes, one general (300 pages) and one special (500 pages). Nielsen agreed to write fifty pages on the origins of the university, while law professor Bredo Morgenstierne accepted the burden of writing the rest of the overview, including laws and regulations, administration, teaching and general developments. The second volume would focus on the scientific life of the university: ten histories of science were to focus on the university’s scientific development; teaching was

19 A carton with materials related to the jubilee festskrift is in the university archive materials not delivered to the National Archives, located in the cellar of the Administration Building: Universitets festskrift (mappe) [1911]. 20 Yngvar Nielsen, “Letter to Ak. Kollegium, 15 Sept 1909”, in: Universitets festskrift (mappe) [1911]; Aarsberetninger (1905–1906): 167; Aarsberetninger (1909–1910): 155156.

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to receive minimum attention. Lack of time and space precluded aiming for biographical and bibliographical completeness.21 Gran’s report contains a number of reflections. Here, he considers the festskrift for the Abel festivities as a model for the university’s: both in the cultural-political importance of such volumes as well as in focusing attention on science and the birth of the nation. Gran brings into focus a theme that was beginning to crystallise with respect to the entire celebration: linking the university to the creation of an independent Norway. Noting that the university was probably never as much in the thoughts of the nation as when it was a question of establishing such an institution, he consequently called for a lively and detailed narrative of this period. He foresaw that precisely this part of the history, “will more than any other part of the University’s history help to restore it to that place in the populace’s consciousness, which is of such great importance for its well-being.”22 Just as 1811 was a precursor to independence from Danish rule in 1814, Gran suggested that the university’s centennial in 1911 should be regarded as a precursor to the nation’s jubilee in 1914. For this purpose the pre-history and establishment of the university will be especially useful. The collegium approved the plan on 12 February 1910. The university as an expression of national aspiration for independence emerged as motif during the planning of the jubilee and, in an ever growing crescendo, became almost thunderous at the actual festivities. Planning a Jubilee to Impress the Nation The collegium, under Brøgger’s leadership, foresaw the university’s jubilee as a major national event. From the start, plans and dreams surpassed the available means. But Brøgger understood from years of entrepreneurship on behalf of science that appearances were important. Science and its institutions needed to appear dignified and significant: buildings, publications and ceremonies needed to impress. This is not to say that he did not believe in the importance of content and actual results, but he learned from experience that these were often not sufficient to open the state’s coffers and donors’ wallets. But to

21

“Universitets festskrift (Feb 1910)”, in: Universitets festskrift (mappe) [1911]. “Professor Gerh. Grans forslag (Jan-Feb 1910)”, in: Universitets festskrift (mappe) [1911]. 22

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create an impressive jubilee, money was necessary from the start. After several years of formal and informal discussions, the collegium sent a preliminary appeal in 1907 to the government for extra support in the coming years leading up to the centennial. In its budget proposal the collegium oriented the government to its ambitions for the jubilee. Noting that it has become an accepted custom at major academic celebrations to invite representatives from the worlds’ universities, it will be necessary to organise appropriate formal ceremonies and reciprocate the many invitations sent to the university from foreign institutions. To avoid this international custom would not be in accordance with the nation’s “high cultural standard”.23 By taking the Abel festivities as a reference point and noting the number of foreign guests will be vastly greater, the university expressed a hope that the state, in spite of a constrained economy, could provide kr. 12.000, paid out over four years. The collegium pointed out that it expected to match that amount with private donations, but nevertheless believed that just as in the case of the Abel jubilee, the state will accept to pay most of the expenses. But why should the state feel obligated to make an extra appropriation for the university’s anniversary party? Appeals in the name of the nation’s obligation to sacrifice in order to stand tall as a member of the civilised nations had already become an overplayed melody during the past decade when polar expedition, plans for new university museums and other extraordinary appropriations for culture and science were sought. True, the theme still had an alluring effect, but was no guarantee for seduction. The collegium tried wooing the state for funds with another tune: calling attention to the significance the university’s establishment had as a step in the nation’s path to independence in 1814 and the significance it has subsequently had for the nation’s material and cultural development. But the Ministry for Church and Education said no, at least for the present. In its budget proposal of 1908, the collegium repeated these arguments and noted that the Abel festivities showed the need for significant advanced planning. This time the ministry agreed, as did the Storting’s budget committee; without debate a unanimous Storting voted (3 March 1909) for the proposed kr. 12.000, divided over 3 periods. But

23 Quoted in: Wallem, Det Kongelige Fredriks Universitets Hundredaarsjubilæum 1911 (1913): 3.

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already the very next year, the university’s budget proposal included a request to double the amount of state support. Admitting that the initial budget was based on an expectation of 150-200 foreign guests, the collegium now claimed to expect between 300 and 400 persons from abroad. No doubt experience at Leipzig’s colossal celebration gave cause to reflect; moreover, a recent very well-attended leprosy conference in Bergen underscored that Norway’s growing popularity for tourists might well lead to a high-acceptance rate. Again the ministry and the budget committee’s majority recommended support; on 2 April 1910 the Storting approved the budget request unanimously and without debate. The collegium accepted formal responsibility in 1910 for preparing the jubilee. A working committee consisting of the rector (Brøgger), vice-rector (Hagbarth Strøm followed by Broch) and university secretary (C.R. Orland) soon emerged. The Student Association (Studentersamfundet) had previously appointed Fredrik Barbe Wallem and Carl Joachim Hambro to negotiate its role in the festivities. In 1911 it created an official committee for coordinating student participation. In the meantime numerous sub-committees had begun work on a myriad of details. The Ministry of Labour approved a request to set up a special train to take the foreign delegates and their spouses to Bergen (but refused to include free meals). The National Theatre granted use of its new building for ceremonies with the foreign guests and offered a special gala performance for them. The university museums prepared to receive the guests. The recently uncovered sensational Oseberg Viking ship and artifacts were readied for opening during the jubilee; special catalogues for the Ethnographic Museum’s prestigious Sami and Inuit collections were prepared. Rights were secured to use Bjørnson and Otto Winter-Hjelm’s cantata “Lyset”.24 All the while two major edifices were being erected with the assistance of private donations, one in a literal sense, the new aula, and the other, more figuratively, a new fund in honour of the jubilee. These two projects were Brøgger’s; they played central roles, literally and symbolically, in his campaign for recruiting the jubilee to secure a better future for the university.

24 Aarsberetning (1909–1910): 155-157; Aarsberetning (1910–1911): 156-159; Wallem, Det Kongelige Fredriks Universitets Hundredaarsjubilæum 1911 (1913): 5-11.

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Rekindling the Peoples’ Affection for Their University Brøgger had long experience with creating new sources of funding for science. Although relatively successful within the national context, he understood that Norway lagged well behind other Nordic countries with respect to public and private financing of research. Although the Nansen fund, which he initiated and which was administrated by the Norwegian Academy of Science and Letters, provided support for publications and some research, the university itself had virtually no money of its own that it could allocate for research. Moreover, as the university had an acute shortage of scientific personnel and space for which the state was under press to help relieve, the outlook for obtaining substantial assistance for research within the budget was at best bleak. After becoming rector, Brøgger began compiling all sorts of statistics to show how badly the university stood with respect to its budget when matched with comparably sized universities in Germany and those in the Nordic countries. In the improved relationship between the university and the state, he and the collegium had succeeded in increasing the university’s staff and receiving state permission to use its own endowment to launch a minor building boom. Even with this additional largess the university was actually losing ground as compared with general tendencies in Northern Europe. In a comparative perspective the university’s resources for research were perilously inadequate. Brøgger once again turned to the general public for help. Although he had been churning out articles and holding lectures trying to convince the public and the state that the university and Norwegian science desperately required—and deserved—support, he brought these efforts to a focus when in November 1910 he proposed to the collegium that he be empowered to initiate an effort to create a fund for the university in honour of the jubilee: Jubilæumsfondet. Although he had been mulling over just such a campaign for a while, no doubt his attendance at Berlin University’s recent centennial galvanised his resolve. Here he learned that Emperor Wilhelm II had given sanction to establish a series of research institutes in his honour to complement university science, based largely on private donations. Here, in a nation where universities enjoyed generous public support, research nevertheless required yet further aid in the form of private patronage. On 11 May 1911 the collegium decided to embark on a nation-wide campaign for donations to create a large fund to be controlled by the university. Interest on the principle will be used for

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advancing research and for helping the university in all areas where state support was not sufficient. Professor K. Brandt assumed responsibility as chairman for the collection committee; Brøgger published a manifesto pamphlet to attract broad support, “Our University. Its means and its goals [Vort universitetet. Dets midler og dets maal]”.25 In this call-to-arms, which was first published in the newspaper Aftenposten, Brøgger recapitulated themes that he had earlier propagated on the state of Norwegian science. He used these arguments to portray what he considered a troubling situation and weaved into this account why the nation should support academic research. This allowed him to present what was emerging as the premise for the jubilee: the university as an expression of the people’s national aspirations. Here he provided all the depressing details of the university’s comparative dismal situation, all the more problematic as the university stood alone as the only university in Norway. Similarly, he put into perspective the miniscule size of Norway’s one privately sponsored research fund, when compared with Denmark’s Carslberg Fond, not to mention massive new American and German research foundations. In Sweden the Academy of Science had funds for professorships and research institutes to complement the four universities. Furthermore, Alfred Nobel’s legacy promised the creation of new Swedish research institutes with model laboratories. In Finland, Helsinki University was enjoying (1909–1910) a budget of nearly two million Norwegian crowns equivalent, as compared to Royal Fredericks’ eight hundred thousand crowns. In addition to generous state funds, Helsinki University also controlled a research fund of approximately 8 million Norwegian crowns based on private donations. He reminded readers that the university must serve not only as an educational institution but also one devoted to research. Given the lack of other institutions devoted to research, the university must assume the role as “the centre for the country’s entire scientific life”. Brøgger appealed to the general public for sympathy and cash. True, as he had lectured the nation previously, science is necessary as a means for practical improvement and as a means, together with more general cultural work, for advancing “our right to exist as an autonomous nation [et selvstændig folk]”. But over and beyond this

25 Waldemar Christopher Brøgger, Vort universitet. Dets Midler og dets Maal (Oslo: Brøgger 1911); Aarsberetning (1910–1911): 158-159.

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important claim, he elaborated the intimate relation between the university and the nation. He all but chastised his countrymen for having such little understanding for the needs of a modern university and for the extent of their indebtedness for what the university has done for the nation. First and foremost the university’s establishment represented the first national victory over several hundred years of humiliation. Beginning with the decision at a February 1811 meeting of the patriotic Selskabet for Norges Vel to organise a national subscription to raise funds for a university, Brøgger recapitulated the extraordinary outpouring of good will and money, finally resulting in King Frederick VI’s acquiescence in September to this long-standing demand from Norwegians: their own university. He quoted extensively from the society’s appeal in which the founding of the university and patriotic fervour melted into one call to action for national autonomy. After recapitulating the outpouring of support from rich and not-sorich from around the nation, and noting the Danish King’s additional present of a large tract of land just outside the then city centre, Tøyen, Brøgger also took the reader through the sad history of how great expectations and a solid financial start, took one blow after another. By mid-century the nation’s present had been used up; and soon it became necessary to begin selling off portions of the Tøyen legacy. And by the present, if both the state and private donors do not change their level of support for the university in a considerably more favourable manner, the institution will soon not be able to maintain a level, “which our nation’s honour and interests as a kulturstat requires”.26 Using the language of a hundred-year-long “struggle for survival”, Brøgger called upon the whole populace to join, as an obligation, in supporting the university as an institution indispensable for the entire nation. At Leipzig University’s anniversary celebration, the mayors of all cities of Saxony led municipal delegations to the festivities where they presented massive presents to bolster the university’s fortune and fame. Comparably, why can not the spirit of 1811 be revived? Why should it be considered expecting too much if also Norway’s cities, towns and villages followed the Saxon example and showed their appreciation for what the university has meant for the nation? He urged large and small donations from around the country to “Universitetets jubilæumsfond av 1911”.

26

Brøgger, Vort universitet (1911): 7.

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Although only a few months remained before the jubilee, Brøgger was counting on strong results that could be held up during the ceremonies as proof that the Norwegian people once again embraced the university as its own. Further proof of this renewed relationship was already being raised. A New Assembly Hall as Evidence of the People’s Allegiance During the Abel jubilee in 1902 the university discovered yet another of its shortcomings. The beautiful but small festsal could scarcely hold the assembled dignitaries; many of the ceremonies had to be held at rented locations in other parts of the city. For Brøgger and others who were looking well ahead to the even larger festivities foreseen for 1911, it was painfully clear that the university did not possess a large enough assembly hall. Similarly it was also clear that during examination periods, such as for the faculty of law, the university had to rent a large hall for the students to write their responses. Brøgger yearned for a large ceremonial hall that could serve as the university’s showcase for special events as well as accommodate regular activities such as matriculation and examinations. Rightly or wrongly, Brøgger also believed in the importance of appearances. The university required a public space with which to represent itself to the nation and guests from abroad, a space that could convey the dignity and significance of the institution. Of course, he was free to dream. He had to accept, at first, that other acute needs deserved first priority. When conceiving the first budgetary requests to the government for the jubilee, Brøgger had informally discussed with politicians the prospects of obtaining state assistance for a new assembly hall. The state was already committed to several new building projects for the university, including the new library. Any further building projects were out of the question. By late 1908 Brøgger was trying as best he could to repress his longings. And then, from across the ocean, a hand of friendship revived his dream.27 First, rumours appeared in the newspapers, and then a letter from America. Those days in late October 1908 when the initial hints of

27 Robert Marc Friedman, “Et forjættende symbol: Aulaen, Universitetet og folket”, in: Peder Anker and Patricia G. Berman (eds.), Edvard Munchs Aulamalerier: Fra Kontroversielt Prosjekt til Nasjonalskatt (To be published in 2011).

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something in the making came to his attention, Brøgger sprang into action, probably even before the letter had arrived in early November. Friends of the university in America, alumni who had left Norway for a better life abroad, were hoping as a token of their appreciation to send a gift for the centennial. Dr. Med. Edvard Bockmann, in St Paul, Minnesota, and Cand. Jur. R.S.N. Sartz, in Washington, D.C., reported that they anticipated collecting at least 50.000 crowns in tribute to their alma mater. Brøgger’s reaction seems more a reflex than a response. Of course the university will raise a new assembly hall in time for the jubilee. Using the Norwegian-American action as leverage, Brøgger believed it should be possible to induce wealthy Norwegians to donate as well. He had not at this point in time conceived of any specific plan for recruiting private patrons to the jubilee. He contacted his former ally in fund-raising, newspaper magnate Amandus Schibsted, to discuss strategy. Together they had already collected donations for an ornate new home for the Academy of Science and Letters. They agreed now to set a fixed amount for each donation—10.000, crowns—and then seek a sufficiently large number of patrons. Here again, media and official reports stating the degree of largesse could be used as evidence that indeed the university was still considered an institution dear to the nation. By mid-December, Schibsted had already received pledges from enough persons of high rank, including the King and Queen, Prime Minister Carl Løvenskiold and over twenty leading families to make the plan credible. The project ran into turbulence as members of the artistic and architectural communities reacted negatively to Brøgger and the building committee’s hasty and authoritarian efforts to control who should be allowed to design the building and how the competition for artistic decoration should be arranged. Still, Brøgger prevailed; the structure stood ready to be inaugurated as part of the opening of the jubilee festivities. True, the large blank walls had to be draped with curtains as none of the competing artists produced work deemed worthy. In particular the enraged supporters of Edvard Munch launched a heated newspaper attack against Brøgger and the academic collegium in the weeks leading up to the jubilee, but under brilliant late summer sun and with city streets bustling with festive crowds, a cease fire went into effect. Brøgger and members of the academic collegium welcomed the distinguished guests into the new auditorium. With King and Queen, leaders of the government and Storting, as well as

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a host of other dignitaries in place, Brøgger presented the encouraging preliminary results of his campaign to raise money for research, the Jubileumsfond. He repeated the message underlying the arranged events: a university devoted to science and research is a university that can serve the entire nation. And if the people of Norway could once again embrace the university as in the patriotic campaigns a hundred years earlier, then the university could continue to function as a hearth for maintaining, developing and spreading the culture that connects the nation’s past with the present, for spreading to the population that which it can use of the world’s culture, and for serving as a workplace for the never ending search for truth.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

UNIVERSITY OF ICELAND. A CITIZEN OF THE RESPUBLICA SCIENTIARUM OR A NURSERY FOR THE NATION? Guðmundur Hálfdanarson In his address at the opening ceremony of the University of Iceland in 1911, Björn M. Ólsen, the first rector of the university, described his vision of the new institution. To him, it was to be a guardian of Icelandic national interest at the same time as it was to become a valid member of what he called the universal republic of science. It proved difficult, however, for the university to maintain its status as both a national and cosmopolitan institution. For most Icelanders, the university was to serve as an important player in the construction of an independent Icelandic nation-state, and as such it was to mark Iceland’s particular status vis-à-vis the neighbouring countries—especially Denmark. Rather than mediating between Iceland and the world, as Professor Ólsen had recommended, the university acted as a crucial instrument in drawing boundaries between the Icelandic national community and the world around it. 17 June 1911 was a day of jubilation in Iceland as the nation celebrated the centenary of its national hero, the nineteenth-century intellectual Jón Sigurðsson. Patriotic speeches were delivered all over the country, exhibitions opened, parades organised, and at least three evening banquets were held in the capital of Iceland, Reykjavík, to commemorate the favourite son of the nation. “He was really a great person,” the historian—and future professor at the University of Iceland—Jón Jónsson remarked about Sigurðsson in an address he gave from the balcony of the parliamentary building in the centre of Reykjavík. He was “the great man whom everyone admired, one of God’s most magnificent gifts to this nation—a living source of light and warmth, which has guided two generations [of Icelanders] and kindled fire in thousands of hearts all over the country”.1 The central event of the day was, 1

“Jón Sigurðsson 1811–17. júní 1911”, Lögrjetta (21-06-1911): 111.

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however, the formal opening of the newly established University of Iceland, which took place in the meeting chamber of the lower house of the Icelandic parliament, Alþingi. This was the most appropriate day to open the university, the Permanent Secretary of the Ministry of Iceland, Klemens Jónsson, remarked in his address at the ceremony. Sigurðsson “laid the foundation for this important matter, as he did for most other issues of national self-determination in Iceland, because the University is an integral part, and not the least important one, of Iceland’s struggle for full independence.”2 The second speaker at the ceremony was the newly elected rector of the university, Dr Björn M. Ólsen. A former headmaster of the Latin School in Reykjavík, Ólsen had just been appointed professor of Icelandic language and cultural history at the University of Iceland. He was the obvious choice for this post, according to most contemporary commentators, because of his academic credentials and his administrative experience as the director of one of Iceland’s most important educational institutions.3 In his talk, the rector briefly outlined his vision for the new institution and how he thought it fit into the general strategy for Iceland’s cultural progress. “Good universities are nurseries for the cultural life of all nations,” he maintained, “true national cradles in the best meaning of the word.” Moreover, by channelling “wholesome spiritual currents” into their students’ minds, which the young intellectuals carry with them “into the veins of the national body”, universities served as the hearts of all societies where they existed. Through their intellectual influence, these institutions “stimulated national sentiments in the country, while they also provided proper constraints for these sentiments and prevented them from developing into chauvinism or bigotry.” This was necessary, the rector continued, because “a truly educated person loves his nation and language, but he does not boast of his nationality, he does not despise other nations nor does he regard himself to be above them.” Finally, universities broadened the mental horizons of the nations they served, connecting their citizens with the civilised world. “Every university can be called a citizen in

2

“Setning háskóla Íslands”, Reykjavík (24-06-1911): 106. See the formal recommendation to the King from Kristján Jónsson, the Minister of Icelandic Affairs and the sole minister of the Icelandic home rule government, to appoint Ólsen professor at the University of Iceland. Reykjavík, The National Archives of Iceland. The Ministry of Iceland, I. office, B/103, Db. 3, no. 365: The University of Iceland (08-09-1911). 3

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the great respublica scientiarum,” Ólsen asserted. “A strong bond links all universities of the world together, as is only natural, because they all strive for the same goal: to seek to uncover the hidden truths of science.”4 To the two speakers at the opening ceremony of the University of Iceland, the new institution was a novel and crucial chapter in the Icelandic national grand narrative. The second half of the nineteenth century had been a period of intense nationalist strife, as a growing number of Icelanders demanded ever-increasing autonomy from Denmark. The idea was that Icelanders formed a nation apart, and this was believed to endow them with the right and duty to run their own affairs. “World history has clearly demonstrated,” Sigurðsson wrote in 1841, in his first major political tract, “that every nation has fared best when it has taken care of its own government.”5 This continued to be his general political principle and gradually it became the hegemonic idea in Icelandic politics—or at least a utopian goal to be aimed at, although it might only become reality in the distant future. Through much of the nineteenth century very few people really believed though that Iceland would be able to survive without solid contacts with a stronger neighbour. To quote a letter written in 1907 by the renowned Danish intellectual Georg Brandes to an Icelandic friend, the poet and Lutheran pastor, Matthías Jochumsson, it was absolute “madness for a population of 70,000 to request an independent statehood. You have no trade, no industry, no army, no fleet, you are altogether as many as the inhabitants of a small fifth-rate town in England or Germany; the only thing you have is a glorious past [. . .].”6 At the time when these words were written, this “madness”—or the demand for Icelandic sovereignty and the foundation of a fully independent nation-state—was rapidly becoming a dominating political creed in the country. This escalation of Icelandic political nationalism was clearly demonstrated in 1908 when the Icelandic voters categorically rejected an agreement reached between the Danish and Icelandic parliaments on a new law regulating the relationship between the two

4 “Stofnunarhátíð Háskóla Íslands 17. júní 1911”, Árbók Háskóla Íslands fyrir háskólaárið 1911–1912 (Reykjavík: The University of Iceland 1912): 8-14. 5 Jón Sigurðsson, “Um alþíng á Íslandi”, Ný félagsrit 1 (1841): 90. 6 Georg Brandes to Matthías Jochumsson, 17 February 1907. Printed in: Francis Bull and John Landquist (eds.), Georg og Edv. Brandes. Brevveksling med nordiske Forfattere og Videnskabsmænd (Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1940), vol. 3: 412-414.

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countries. The main reason for the opposition was the fact that the law did not explicitly declare Iceland’s sovereignty, and therefore it did not meet the demands of the Icelandic voters.7 The foundation of the University of Iceland has to be seen in this context. In the eyes of the Icelandic politicians and the general public, the new institution had double significance, as it was to serve both as a symbol of the country’s intention to establish a fully functioning and sovereign state in Iceland, with the institutional infrastructures generally associated with polities of that sort, and as a vehicle for creating a genuinely Icelandic class of officials and intellectuals. It was, therefore, to be a national university in the sense that it was to be a central instrument in forming the Icelandic national elites, at the same time as it augured the country’s eventual entrance into the community of European nation-states. It was clear, however, that Rector Ólsen regarded the University of Iceland as something more than simply a domestic institution. For him it was important to mark its place in the international community of learning, because he thought that all universities should carry on the traditions of their medieval precursors. The world of scholarship was without national borders or firmly established intellectual centres, he said, because all of its “citizens” strove for the same goal—to search for truth through scientific research. The rector did not see this “dual citizenship” as a sign of weakness for the University of Iceland because he thought the new institution would serve Icelandic national interests best by nurturing its relations with other similar institutions in the world. This would open the doors to former students of the university to continue their studies abroad, as was necessary in order to prevent the University of Iceland from becoming, to quote the rector, like “a Chinese Wall, which blocked the view to the civilisation of the outside world”. The rector even hoped that in the future the university would become a valued member in what he called the republic of science, “making its small contribution to global culture, winning new territories in the realm of learning, in cooperation with other universities”.8 One can read the rector’s address at the opening ceremony both as his mission statement for the University of Iceland and as a comment on Iceland’s situation in the early twentieth century. To him, univer7

Björn Þórðarson, Alþingi og frelsisbaráttan 1874–1944 (Reykjavík: Alþingissögunefnd 1951): 149-185; Helgi Skúli Kjartansson, Ísland á 20. öld (Reykjavík: Sögufélag 2002): 59-65. 8 “Stofnunarhátíð Háskóla Íslands” (1912): 13.

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sities were, as he put it, “cosmopolitan institutions at the same time as they are national institutions”, and there was no real contradiction between these two functions. European and American universities exchanged both students and teachers on regular basis, he pointed out, creating a bond of empathy and cooperation between them. “This bond between the universities of the world is one of the signs of our times,” he concluded, “which seems to indicate that a new era of lasting peace in the world is dawning, where disorder and war will be conditions of the past.”9 The rector was, as we know now, overly optimistic in his prognosis, as only three years later the “long nineteenth century” in European history came to a violent end. But his vision of the University of Iceland as both a “national” and “cosmopolitan” institution laid out an interesting itinerary for the future authorities of the new university. How would a tiny, provincial university balance its responsibilities to the nation it served and to the scientific community to which it wished to belong? And what strategy did the national university employ in combating the tendencies of xenophobia and bigotry in Iceland? To put it differently, was the University of Iceland to be an independent and critical voice in the Icelandic national construction or simply a tool to promote the national and nationalist self-perceptions in Iceland? University Education in Iceland: The Historical Background Although the University of Iceland was officially founded on 17 June 1911, its history goes back to the mid-nineteenth century. Originally, the university was divided into the four traditional faculties of European universities10—Theology, Medicine, Law, and the Arts (or Philosophy (heimspeki), as the last faculty was actually named in the University of Iceland). Only the last one of these four faculties was really new, because the three professional faculties were formed on the basis of existing colleges in Reykjavík—that is, the schools of Theology (established in 1847), Medicine (1876), and Law (1908). With the 9

“Stofnunarhátíð Háskóla Íslands” (1912): 11-12. Cf. Aleksander Gieysztor, “Management and Resources”, in: Hilde de RidderSymoens (ed.), A History of the University in Europe. Vol. 1: Universities in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1992): 109-113 and Gordon Leff, “The Trivium and the Three Philosophies”, in: De Ridder-Symoens (ed.), Universities in the Middle Ages (1992): 307-336. 10

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foundation of the University of Iceland, these colleges, which all had operated as independent public institutions, were simply integrated into the new university. One may argue, therefore, that the University of Iceland had emerged gradually through a period of over half a century, through the persistent effort of the Icelandic parliament. The demands for university education in Iceland were, in fact, as old as Icelandic parliamentary politics, as they were expressed in Alþingi’s first session as an elected assembly in 1845. At that time, the total population of the country was just under 60,000, with the great majority of Icelanders living on individual farmsteads spread around the country.11 In 1845, the Icelandic school system was as simple as it could be, with exactly one school in operation in the whole country, the Latin School at Bessastaðir, a farm just to the south of Reykjavík. Primary education in Iceland occurred for the most part in the children’s homes and was entirely the responsibility of their parents or legal guardians, under the supervision of the parish pastors of the Lutheran state church.12 Moreover, those who sought education beyond the Latin School at Bessastaðir had to go abroad, which in practice meant that they studied at the University of Copenhagen. Although this system seems to have functioned surprisingly well—literacy rates in Iceland were unusually high and members of the royal administration in Iceland were generally native-born Icelanders13—the state of the Icelandic public education had caused considerable concern among both the Danish authorities and Icelandic intellectuals.14 Reforms were slow to materia11 Guðmundur Jónsson and Magnús S. Magnússon (eds.), Icelandic Historical Statistics (Reykjavík: Statistics Iceland 1997): 54-76. 12 Loftur Guttormsson, “Fræðsluhefðin: kirkjuleg heimafræðsla”, in: Id. (ed.), Almenningsfræðsla á Íslandi 1880–2007. Vol. 1: Skólahald í bæ og sveit 1880–1945 (Reykavík: Háskólaútgáfan 2008): 21-35. 13 In 1845, all but four of the royal officials in Iceland, who were required to have university education, were of Icelandic descent—the Governor of Iceland, and three county magistrates (sýslumenn). Cf. Bogi Benediksson, Sýslumannaæfir, 5 vols. (Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag 1881–1932). On literacy in Iceland, cf. Loftur Guttormsson, “Læsi”, in: Frosti F. Jóhannsson (ed.), Íslensk þjóðmenning. Vol. 4: Munnmenntir og bókmenning (Reykjavík: Bókaútgáfan Þjóðsaga 1989): 117-144. 14 Cf. for example “Kongelig Resolution ang. Latinskolens Reorganisation samt Forflyttelse til Reykjavík og Oprettelse af et Pastoralseminarium (07-06-1841)”, in: Lovsamling for Island (Copenhagen: Andr. Fred. Höst 1864), vol. 12: 110-135; Reykjavík, The National Library of Iceland. Lbs. 193 fol.: Baldvin Einarsson, Tanker om det lærde Skolevæsen i Island (s.d.); Tómas Sæmundsson, Island fra den intellectuelle Side betragtet (Copenhagen: C. Græbe & Søn 1832); Jón Sigurðsson, “Um skóla á Íslandi”, Ný félagsrit 2 (1842): 67-167; cf. also Nanna Ólafsdóttir, Baldvin Einarsson og þjóðmálastarf hans (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka bókmenntafélag 1961): 67-93.

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lise however, as nothing really changed in the Icelandic school system from the time when the Latin School had been moved from Reykjavík to Bessastaðir in 1805 until the mid 1840s. This prompted a group of Icelandic intellectuals and university students in Copenhagen, under the guidance of the emerging nationalist leader, Sigurðsson, to present a petition at the first session of Alþingi. There they suggested radical reforms of the Icelandic educational system—in the form of a new “national school” (þjóðskóli) for the whole country.15 The petition was based on two ideological premises. First, the petitioners were convinced that education was the key to all cultural and material progress in Iceland, in the same way as it was “everywhere among civilised nations”. Second, they thought that, so far, education in Iceland had not been sufficiently “national” in character. “Every nation is like an individual being amongst other nations,” they argued, “and therefore general education must be fashioned according to the nature, customs, and needs of the nation. If education is not infused with this national spirit, it will be mostly dead learning, and cannot blossom or bear fruit.” In their utopian vision, the petitioners foresaw what they called a unified school system for the whole country. The school was to be the same for everyone in the beginning, after the students had finished their primary education at home. At the later stages in the students’ formation, the school was to branch out into specialised tracks, according to each student’s specific needs and desires. As a first step, the petitioners suggested that the Latin School at Bessastaðir would be reformed and “brought to the same level as the best schools in Denmark”. At the same time, they suggested that the teaching of theology, which traditionally had been part of the curriculum of the Latin School, would be separated from secondary education and placed into a special theological seminary. Finally, they proposed that the education of Icelandic physicians and lawyers would be moved to Iceland and placed into two special colleges of law and medicine respectively. Thus they requested that practically all training for prospective Icelandic state officials would take place in the country itself rather than at the University of Copenhagen.16 As it turned out, the petition received limited support in the Icelandic parliament. Everyone agreed that the issue was of vital importance for

15 16

Tíðindi frá Alþíngi Íslendinga 1845 (Reykjavík 1845): 40-44. Tíðindi frá Alþíngi Íslendinga 1845 (1845).

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the development of Icelandic society, “as it concerned the growth and regeneration of the things which are most important for the nation”, to quote the president of Alþingi.17 But the proposal was regarded as much too ambitious and expensive for a small and poor nation, and therefore it was not seen as a practical solution to the educational needs of the country. One of its staunchest opponents was the royal representative in Alþingi, the former governor of Iceland (Stiftamtmand) and a future minister of justice in Denmark, Carl E. Bardenfleth. He agreed totally with Sigurðsson on the point that “a sound organisation of the Icelandic school system was one of the major issues, if not the most important one, for this country”, but he thought that the petition asked for more than the country could afford. With regard to university colleges, he did not object to the idea of “establishing a university for theologians” in Iceland. Unlike Denmark, where all ministers of the state church had completed a degree in theology from the University of Copenhagen,18 most Icelandic pastors had no education beyond the secondary school examination from the Latin School in Iceland. But the request for “universities for physicians and lawyers” was a totally different story, Bardenfleth maintained, which the Danish government would never be able or willing to meet. In his opinion, the physicians and lawyers who would graduate from such colleges would only be “semi-educated”, and therefore they would lack the necessary qualifications for their assignments. He also asked the Icelandic members of parliament if they were really willing to place the financial burdens of these schools on the Icelandic taxpayers.19 This was a compelling argument, because university education in Copenhagen had always been entirely free of charge for Icelanders. Moreover, since the sixteenth century, Icelandic students had been treated preferentially when it came to study grants for university students, as the Danish royal government wanted to encourage prospective students from the distant province to attend the university in the monarchy’s capital.20

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Tíðindi frá Alþíngi Íslendinga 1845 (1845): 44. Martin Schwarz Lausten, “Københavns Universitet 1537–1588”, in: Svend Ellehøj, Leif Grane and Kai Hørby (eds.), Københavns Universitet 1479–1979. Vol. 1: Almindelig historie 1479–1788 (Copenhagen: C.E.G. Gads forlag 1991): 96. 19 Tíðindi frá Alþíngi Íslendinga 1845 (1845): 45, 49-51. 20 Cf. “Reskript til Pouell Matzen, Superintendent over Sieland Stigt [sic], ang. islandske Studenters Optagelse som Communitets-Alumner (23-12-1579)”, in: Oddgeir Stephensen and Jón Sigurðsson (eds.), Lovsamling for Island (Copenhagen: Andr. 18

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After extensive debates in Alþingi, the parliamentary majority accepted Bardenfleth’s objections to the motion. Instead, Alþingi asked the government to reform the Latin School at Bessastaðir and to establish a theological seminary in Reykjavík21—both of which were granted in the next two years. The majority refused however to contemplate any further expansions of the Icelandic system of higher education. Although Alþingi did not receive the petition in 1845 with great enthusiasm, the debates it instigated set the tone for future arguments over university education in Iceland. Those who promoted the idea of establishing university colleges for all prospective state officials in Iceland used nationalistic claims to support their cause, while those who rejected it doubted if Iceland had the financial or intellectual resources to run the academic institutions of this sort. An article in a new Icelandic journal, called Norðurfari (“The one who travels north”), which was published in Copenhagen during the tumultuous years of 1848–1849, opened the public debates on these issues. The article, presumably written by one or both of Norðurfari’s two editors, was clearly inspired by the same ideas as had been expressed in the “national school” petition to Alþingi three years earlier. The article opened by stating that the University of Copenhagen could not be regarded as “a seat of general science and education” in line with great “scientific universities” such as the English universities at Oxford and Cambridge. Its primary function was to train Danish officials, and thus it was simply a servant of the Danish state. For this reason, the article argued, the University of Copenhagen would never be able to serve Iceland properly, and in the long run it could undermine and corrupt Icelandic nationality. In Copenhagen, Icelandic law students learned, for example, neither Icelandic law nor Icelandic legal history, but only Danish legal practices and law codes. This was very unfortunate, the author(s) claimed, because even “the university teachers themselves have to admit that Icelandic law is a scientific subject in its own right, which cannot be amalgamated with Danish legal studies.” Graduates from the University of Copenhagen were, therefore, badly prepared to become judges in Iceland, as they were ignorant of the laws of the land they served. And what was even worse, according to the article,

Fred. Höst 1853), vol. 1: 109. Cf. Sigfus Blöndal, “Úr sögu Garðs og Garðsbúa”, Tímarit hins íslenska fræðafjelags í Kaupmannahöfn 8 (1924): 55-73. 21 Tíðindi frá Alþíngi Íslendinga 1845 (1845): 626-628.

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through their rulings, which would necessarily be based on Danish law and traditions, the judges introduced foreign ideas into Icelandic society. In this manner, Icelandic legal codes would gradually be corrupted or forgotten, to the great detriment of Icelandic national identity. To stem this tide, and to prevent “the Icelandic legal branch from drying out and rot”, it was necessary for “Icelanders themselves to establish a school of law in their own country, which would teach the laws that are taught nowhere else in the world and will never be taught anywhere else”. The author(s) used similar arguments to support the idea of founding a medical school in Iceland. In Copenhagen, the article stated, Icelandic medical students only learned to diagnose and treat Danish diseases rather than to deal with the ailments that plagued Icelanders. This made the Icelandic candidates from Copenhagen unfit to serve in their native country because their training was suited for conditions that did not exist in Iceland.22 This “scientific nationalism” was categorically rejected in some of the responses to the Norðurfari article, which appeared in the following months in other Icelandic newspapers and journals. “It is far from the truth that Icelandic students at the University of Copenhagen have lost their nationality or patriotism,” wrote, for example, an unknown commentator in the monthly journal Reykjavíkurpósturinn (“The Reykjavík Post”). On the contrary, in Copenhagen these feelings have “rather grown stronger there and matured”. This could be seen from the numerous examples of ardent patriots among the former students of the University of Copenhagen. Therefore the author opposed the idea of opening university colleges in Iceland because they could never meet the scientific standards which were demanded of institutions of that sort. “I do not think that this type of patriotism is worth much,” the author concluded, because (s)he loathed “all substandard education; it is like a house built on sand, which will neither benefit the country nor its people.”23 Oddgeir Stephensen, the future director of the Icelandic department in the Danish Ministry of the Interior, gave further support to this criticism in an article he published a little later in the same journal. The main function of universities was to teach the universal rules of science, he argued, and these rules were applicable

22

“Íslendingar við háskólann í Höfn”, Norðurfari 1 (1848): 1-6. “Islendingar vid háskólann í Kaupmannahøfn (ritgjørd í Nordurfara)”, Reykjavíkurpósturinn (09-1848): 177-184. 23

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to various local contexts and situations. It was, therefore, just as useful for Icelanders to study at the University of Copenhagen as it was for Danish students. He readily admitted that instruction in Icelandic law was lacking in Copenhagen, but he did not think that this was a great problem. Icelandic law students would learn in Copenhagen, “in the same manner as anyone else, what was most important for them, that is, the universal rules of jurisprudence and what is most general in the field, in addition to the codes which Icelandic and Danish law had in common”. With a thorough grounding in the general legal science, they would certainly be able to pick up the necessary particular and local knowledge through their practice in Iceland. It was equally mistaken, Stephensen continued, to think that there was a particular field of Icelandic theology or medicine. The Christian gospel, he wrote, “taught [at the University of Copenhagen], must be just as valid in Iceland as it is in other countries where the Christian faith is practiced.” He also added that he had “never heard of or noticed any diseases there [in Iceland] which existed nowhere else”. Therefore he concluded that university education in Denmark would certainly not damage the Icelandic students; on the contrary, it was far superior to anything that could be offered in Iceland.24 This scepticism towards Icelandic university education dissipated quickly, as unabashed nationalism took over the political discourses in Iceland. Even the most loyal state officials in the province became convinced of the necessity to develop university education in the peripheral island. A good example was Pétur Pétursson, the first director of the School of Theology in Reykjavík and the future bishop of Iceland, who called for further development of higher education in Iceland. Pétursson acknowledged that Icelandic schools would never compete with the University of Copenhagen on a scientific level, as “no one could deny that it was excellent and superior to most or all scientific institution in the Nordic countries.” But this was not enough to necessitate its total dominance over the training of Icelandic civil servants. Prospective state officials needed a different training, Pétursson thought, from those who desired to become scientists. It was also necessary for Iceland to develop its own university education and academic traditions. “Everyone must agree”, he asserted, “that the most perfect education is national, as it funnels general scientific life into

24

Reykjavíkurpósturinn (05-1849): 121-131.

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national channels, and as it thinks and argues the nation’s case and allows universal truth to absorb the fluid of life, which runs through the body of every nation and separates it from other nations.” In the same way as the particular had to nourish the universal, for education to be effective, Pétursson was convinced that local university colleges were needed for progress to take root in Iceland—or, to put it differently, this was necessary if the universal was to nourish the particular. “Scientific life has never been strong in Icelandic society,” he wrote, because it had not penetrated Icelandic culture; “it has lived in a few individuals, but died out with them, because it has not built organic relations to the education of the general public.” When colleges for Icelandic state officials had been established, science “would become national, and then it could not perish again”.25 It is clear that the Danish authorities had limited sympathy for opinions of this sort, although they grudgingly gave in, inch by inch, to Icelandic demands for professional colleges. In 1862, the Chief Medical Officer of Iceland, who was the general administrator of the health services in the country, was given official permission to instruct medical students in Iceland. After studying for four years under his tutelage, the students went to Copenhagen for clinical training in order to complete their preparation for practising medicine in Iceland.26 This decision was taken against the advice of the Danish Health Commission, which had declared that Iceland could not provide the necessary conditions to educate doctors. Referring to the desperate shortage of qualified physicians in Iceland, the government decided however not to heed the Commission’s warning.27 Fourteen years later, the king approved the establishment of a special College of Medicine in Iceland, with three instructors—including the Chief Medical Officer, who also served as the school’s director.28 The government stubbornly resisted, however, Icelandic requests for a law school, as it clearly feared losing control over the training

25

Pétur Pétursson, Lanztíðindi (05-11-1849): 23-24. “Bréf dómsmálastjórnarinnar til amtmannanna á Íslandi, um kenslu í læknisfræði hjá landlækni á Íslandi (12-09-1862)”, in: Tíðindi um stjórnarmálefni Íslands (Copenhagen: Hið íslenzka bómenntafélag 1864), vol. 1: 604. 27 Cf. “Bréf dómsmálastjórnarinnar til stiptamtmannsins yfir Íslandi, um kennslu í læknisfræði hjá landlækni á Íslandi (28-05-1863)”, in: Tíðindi um stjórnarmálefni Íslands (1864), vol. 1: 721-722. 28 “Lov om Oprettelsen af en Lægeskole i Reykjavík (11-02-1876)”, Regjeringstidende for Island (1876), A: 41-43. 26

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of Icelandic state bureaucrats. Thus it only yielded to these demands in 1904, at the same time as Iceland was granted its own home rule government. With this change, Icelandic state officials were brought under the authority of an Icelandic Minister of Icelandic Affairs, residing in Reykjavík and responsible to the Icelandic parliament.29 The law school did not start operation until four years later, however, as it took some time for Alþingi to agree on its budget and for its first director to prepare himself for the post. In 1908, as the School of Law in Reykjavík opened its doors to its first students, the old dream of “national” education for Icelandic civil servants had finally become reality. At the same time, the ground was prepared for establishing a university in Iceland, and demands for it had indeed already been expressed more than once in Alþingi. The University of Iceland in Alþingi The foundation of a university in Iceland, applying the Icelandic term for institutions of that type (háskóli), was proposed for the first time in Alþingi in 1881. This was done at the instigation of Benedikt Sveinsson, a fervent nationalist and a county magistrate from northeastern Iceland. He had been in the forefront of the fight for Icelandic university education for some time, as he had presented a number of bills on an Icelandic law school in Alþingi. Rather than repeating this request, which had always been vetoed by the king,30 Sveinsson suggested that a university with three faculties—of Theology, Medicine, and Law— should be founded in Reykjavík.31 Sveinsson’s arguments were familiar because they centred on the urgent necessity of moving the training of Icelandic lawyers into the country itself; by educating them in Danish law in Copenhagen, “we lose our legal history, our beautiful legal language [. . .], we are presented with Danish legal history, Danish legal perceptions, Danish social conditions and social order.” The foundation of a university in Iceland was, therefore, a question of life and death for Icelandic national consciousness, Sveinsson argued; “remember”, he

29 “Lov om Oprettelse af en Lovskole i Island (04-03-1904)”, Regeringstidende for Island (1904), A: 9. 30 Björn Þórðarson, Alþingi og konungsvaldið. Lagasynjanir 1875–1904 (Reykjavík: Leiftur 1949): 86-95. 31 “Frumvarp til laga um stofnun háskóla á Íslandi”, Alþingistíðindi (1881), I: 60.

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told his fellow members of Alþingi, “that law and legal rights are the most important characteristics of nationality, on the basis of which it lives or dies [. . .].” He also rejected the financial objections to the establishment of an Icelandic university: “The fact that we are both a small and poor nation is, indeed, the strongest argument for my bill because these conditions place our nationality in a great danger. The danger is that we disappear as one drop in the ocean of other stronger and more powerful nations.”32 The bill did not come to vote in the 1881 parliament, as it was presented too late to be fully debated. A more or less identical bill was passed in Alþingi 12 years later however, and thus the desire for an Icelandic university had been confirmed by a body representing the nation. To back up the request, a group of parliamentarians and leading individuals in Reykjavík published a public appeal in the Icelandic newspapers, with the intention to “rouse the interest of the nation in the establishment of a university and to organise a collection of money to stimulate the advancement of this issue”. Therefore the group pleaded for “all Icelanders, here and abroad, and all friends of Iceland to support this matter with all their strength, both in words and deeds”.33 The motivation behind the petition was obviously to rally as many people as possible in support of the university, to put pressure on the Danish government to accept it. The effort was unsuccessful, however, as the King was quick to veto the bill. To explain his decision, the Danish Minister of Justice—who, according to tradition, acted as Minister of Icelandic Affairs in the Danish government—wrote to the governor of Iceland to make clear that the establishment “of a scientific university was far beyond the financial means of the country”. He also pointed out that the faculty of law was the only addition to what was already on offer in Iceland, and thus he believed that Alþingi was not really requesting a university, but rather had attempted to sneak the law school through the backdoor. This was not what Iceland needed the most, the minister argued, because prospective law students in Iceland were very few, and the training Icelandic students received in Copenhagen was much superior to what could be offered in Iceland.

32 33

165.

Alþingistíðindi (1881), II: 1055-1066. “Áskorun um almenn samskot til háskólasjóðs á Íslandi”, Þjóðólfur (01-09-1893):

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For that reason, the minister wrote, he had recommended to the king to reject the law, and as usual the king followed his advice.34 With the defeat of the university bill in 1893 it was as if the interest in the university evaporated in Iceland. The parliament continued to ask for an Icelandic law school, which was finally accepted in 1904. Three years later, the Chief Medical Officer of Iceland, Guðmundur Björnsson, revived the university issue. In the 1907 session of parliament he presented a motion where he urged the Icelandic minister, Hannes Hafstein, to prepare a new university bill for the next session of Alþingi. It was strange, Björnsson commented, that this important matter had not been raised during the three years since the executive power for Iceland had been moved from Copenhagen to Reykjavík. This change had rescued the country from the control of “a foreign reactionary government”, and thus the Icelanders were free to found their own university if they so desired. As so many commentators before him, Björnsson thought the university to be a necessary prerequisite for, as he put it, “progress in our country, especially regarding our independence and the protection of our most important heritage, our language and nationality”. Therefore the demand for a university had to be put on the agenda again if the Icelanders were really serious about taking their affairs into their own hands.35 The motion was passed unanimously in the lower house of Alþingi, prompting the Minister of Iceland to ask the directors of the three professional colleges in Reykjavík to prepare a bill for a national university. They completed their work in early 1909, modelling the structure and administration of the prospective institution on a new legislation for the University of Kristiania in Norway.36 According to one of its authors, Lárus H. Bjarnason, the director of the new School of Law in Reykjavík, the university was an old dream in Iceland, which could be traced as far back as the first session of Alþingi. “All the other Nordic nations have had their own universities for a long time,” he informed Alþingi, “the Swedes since 1477, the Danes since 1478, the Finns since 1640, and the Norwegians since 1812,” and it was about

34 Cf. “Letter from the Minister of Icelandic Affairs to the Governor of Iceland (1011-1894)”, in: Regeringstidende for Island (1894), B: 197 and “Letter from the Governor of Iceland to the Minister of Icelandic Affairs (24-05-1893)”, in: Regeringstidende for Island (1894): 65-67. 35 Alþingistíðindi (1907), B: 2867-2871. 36 Alþingistíðindi (1909), A: 167-178.

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time for Icelanders to join the club. The University of Iceland would not only produce “the civil servants whom the nation needed”, but it would also serve as “a hotbed for the development of our language and other national treasures”. This was, in turn, a necessary precondition for Icelandic national life to flourish and for the preservation of the national identity.37 Jón Þorkelsson, the future director of the Icelandic National Archives, fully agreed with Bjarnason. “The university, which we want to establish, will be the hearth and centre of all our cultural activities,” he claimed; it is there where “the goddess of Icelandic science” was to take abode. To oppose the bill, he contended, was comparable to blasphemy because those who did not support it, “opposed the fatherland, they opposed God”.38 This lofty rhetoric seems to have moved the members of parliament, as the university bill passed with an overwhelming majority of votes in Alþingi and was signed into law by King Frederick VIII of Denmark on 30 July 1909.39 The reason for the general support of the university bill in the parliament may have been the fact that in reality it was only a statement of intention rather than a proposal for establishment of a university. In its original form, the motion had specifically stated that the university would open on 17 June 1911, to commemorate the 100th birthday of Sigurðsson. The date was, however, erased from the bill before it was voted into law. Thus the university law, as it was finally passed in parliament, said only that it would take effect when the university was added to the state budget—which was not the case for the fiscal period of 1910–1911.40 This was pointed out during the parliamentary session of 1911, as one member of Alþingi, Bjarni Jónsson, introduced an amendment to the state budget. The aim was to provide necessary funding for the University of Iceland so it could open as originally planned on 17 June 1911. This was an appropriate gesture, Jónsson argued, because it was in the true spirit of the national hero. “It was he who first fought for the establishment of a university in this country,” Jónsson stated; “he was the most erudite expert in Icelandic studies, and therefore it was a perfect idea to open the university on

37

Alþingistíðindi (1909), B I: 410-411. Alþingistíðindi (1909), B II: 849-856 and 860-863. 39 “Lov om Oprettelse af et Universitet i Island, 35/1909”, Regeringstidende for Island (1909), A: 178-188. 40 Until 1921, Alþingi only met every other year, and therefore each budget was for two calendar years. 38

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his 100th birthday, in the meeting chamber of Alþingi’s lower house.” This would allow our “quarrelsome nation to gather as one person on his centenary”, Jónsson concluded, “and show him the respect which we do not show any living person”.41 The debates were fiercer this time than they had been ever before when the university issue was discussed in Alþingi. The reason was undoubtedly the fact that this was the first time that the members of parliament faced the reality of financing this potentially expensive institution. Many parliamentarians thought there were more appropriate ways to use the taxpayers’ money than to spend it on a university. Therefore they tried to delay the issue, if not to put it to sleep for good. Jónsson responded to those doubts by appealing to his fellow members’ patriotic fervour; it was necessary for Iceland to have its own university, he argued, if the nation was to be regarded as a valid member of what he called the civilised world. “Nothing is more suitable than a university to make other nations understand, and to assure them of the fact, that we are a particular nation,” he reminded his colleagues. When Iceland will have its own university: people in other countries will realise that we are a nation apart, with full rights to exist and full rights to do what it wants. The only thing other nations know about us now is that we are members of the so-called Society of Atlantic Islands, which we call the Society of Barbarians [Skrælingjafélag]. Everyone knows that Eskimos live in Greenland, and they also know that Greenland is a member of the Society of Atlantic Islands and on the basis of this association people believe that Eskimos live in Iceland. It has been impressed upon people for centuries that only barbarians live here because barbarians live in Greenland. When the university opens, we will break out of the Society of Atlantic Islands.42

The motive behind this bigoted remark was a simmering discontent in Iceland with what was regarded as Danish prejudices towards Icelanders. In Iceland, the society of the Danish Atlantic Islands (De danske Atlantshavsøer), which had been founded in Copenhagen at the beginning of the twentieth century to strengthen the ties with the Danish colonies and dependencies in the North Atlantic, was often taken as the most egregious example of these offensive attitudes.43 It placed,

41

Alþingistíðindi (1911), B II: 550-551. Alþingistíðindi (1911), B II: 550. 43 Vilhjálmur Finsen, Hvað landinn sagði erlendis (Akureyri: Norðri 1958): 40-42; cf. also Jón Yngvi Jóhannsson, “Af reiðum Íslendingum: deilur um Nýlendusýninguna. 42

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one commentator wrote in 1904, the Icelandic nation on “a Danish cord, together with the Faroese, barbarians [skrælingjar] and negroes, like one bead on a rosary”.44 For him it was clearly a great offence to be placed in this company because this classification casted doubts on Iceland’s status as a “civilised” and “cultured” nation. For the opponents of the University of Iceland, the main question was not if the nation was civilised or not, but rather if the country could afford to pay for another expensive public institution. Some also doubted if Iceland needed its own university or if it had much support among the general public. “I have not noticed any desire to establish the university so quickly, except here in Reykjavík,” one member of parliament complained. In the countryside, no one minded if the opening of the university was delayed for a few years, he asserted, and the only people who really cared for this issue were a few officials in Reykjavík, in addition to those who were vying for a position in the state bureaucracy. According to him, “it is the pay raise and the hope for high salaries which motivates these people, and nothing else.” For the same amount as the university would cost every year, the state could “bridge 3 to 4 small rivers, or construct 40 to 60 kilometres of new roads”.45 In the end the university supporters won a narrow victory in parliament and Alþingi agreed to open the University of Iceland on 17 June 1911. As a compromise, it was decided that the professors would not receive their salaries until the beginning of October, when the university was actually to open its doors to the first students. In this way the state was able to save a few months’ salaries for the staff. “I cannot see”, remarked the chairman of the budget committee of the lower house in Alþingi, “that the memory of this distinguished person [Sigurðsson] will be enhanced the slightest bit by the fact that a few men collect their salaries, or eat and drink at the cost of the state treasury for three and a half months.”46 This was, in many ways, symbolic for the attitudes towards the University in Iceland in the first decades of the twentieth century; while the majority regarded it as an important

1905”, in: Jón Yngvi Jóhannsson, Kolbeinn Óttarsson Proppé and Sverrir Jakobsson (eds.), Þjóðerni í þúsund ár? (Reykjavík: Háskólaútgáfan 2003): 135-150. 44 Þrándur, “Skrælingjafélagið”, Ingólfur (31-01-1904): 15. 45 Alþingistíðindi (1911), B II: 596. 46 Alþingistíðindi (1911), B II: 593.

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symbol of Iceland’s cultural advancement and independence, the university had to cost as little as possible. The University of Iceland and the Nordic World In his address at the opening of the University of Iceland, Ólsen proudly announced that he had received the first invitation to visit a foreign university in his capacity as university rector. The invitation came in a telegram from Kristiania where the Norwegian university authorities both congratulated their “sister university” on the great day of its opening and invited the rector to attend the centennial of the University of Kristiania in the autumn of 1911. The invitation had a double significance, Ólsen pointed out, because it was a sign of the general feeling of “solidarity between universities”, at the same time as it was a greeting from “a kindred nation” to the University of Iceland, welcoming it into the family of Nordic universities. For this reason, “the telegram [. . .] is really great news for all those who are associated with our university,” Ólsen stated, as it confirmed that the Norwegian university authorities recognised the University of Iceland as a legitimate academic institution.47 The joy of being accepted as an equal partner in the Nordic academic community turned quickly into a political disaster for Rector Ólsen. On 6 September 1911, the opposition newspaper Ísafold (Iceland) reported, under the dramatic headline “A Great Scandal”, that a short but shocking telegram had arrived from Kristiania describing a banquet held the evening before in the Norwegian National Theatre. As the author of the article interpreted its terse text, the telegram stated that the rector of the University of Copenhagen, the eminent historian Kristian Erslev, had “disgraced our university” with his conduct at the jubilee ceremony. The alleged disgrace was twofold. First, Erslev had spoken on behalf of the University of Iceland at the banquet, instead of Rector Ólsen, and thus the Icelandic university had been treated as a mere subsidiary of the University of Copenhagen. Second, and this was even worse, Erslev had labelled the University of Iceland as “Højskole” in his address rather than calling it by its proper Danish title, “Universitet”. In this way, the article concluded, the Danish rector

47

“Stofnunarhátíð Háskóla Íslands” (1912): 11.

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had placed the University of Iceland in the same category as the socalled Danish folk high schools, which were not academic institutions at all. As the journalist interpreted the telegram, Ólsen had sat silent under Erslev’s address, and thus he had condoned the travesty. The commentator regarded the rector’s silence as “an unforgivable blunder”, because “rather than honourably representing the University of Iceland, he [Ólsen] permitted the Danish university rector to trample on and to dishonour this new sprout, without the rector defending our university”.48 This attack on Ólsen was, undoubtedly, partly politically motivated, as he was a former member of parliament for the moderate Home Rule Party, while Ísafold supported the more staunchly nationalistic Independence Party. But the reasons for it lay deeper, as the perceived insult touched a very sensitive nerve in Iceland. The new institution was, after all, to signify Iceland’s entrance into the community of “civilised nations” and to lead Iceland from its subordination to Denmark towards independence. To the nationalists, the incident in Kristiania appeared as a rejection of both goals, and thus it was understood as a grave insult to the Icelandic nation as a whole. Two days later, a long article appeared in the newspaper Ríki (“The state”) scrutinising the telegram from this point of view. “If the Icelanders have any relations with foreign nations without their mediation, the Danes usually regard this almost as high treason,” the unknown author postulated, and this was, in his opinion, the reason why the rector of the University of Copenhagen had refused Rector Ólsen to speak publically at the banquet. Moreover, the article stated, the Danes “are furious because Iceland has founded its own university and they try their utmost to convince other nations that this school is nothing but what they call a ‘Højskole’, that is a folk high school.” In this manner, the article concluded, “they want to turn our university into an outpost [sel], or a subsidiary farm [hjáleiga], which will be totally dependent upon and under absolute authority of the Danish university, and thus it will be like a feeble lamb suckling its mother’s teats.”49 The news of the “Ólsen-Scandal”, as it was called in the Icelandic press, started heated debates in Iceland.50 Eventually, the University Council in 48

“Stórhneyksli”, Ísafold (06-09-1911): 213. Cf. Heggur, “Voða-hneyksli”, Ríki (08-09-1911): 32. 50 Cf. “Ólsens-hneykslið”, Ísafold (09-09-1911): 219; “Reykjavík”, Lögrjetta (0909-1911): 163; “Kristianiuskeytið”, Ingólfur (12-09-1911): 146; “Reykjavíkur háskóli 49

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Kristiania felt obliged to publish a formal statement explaining what had taken place at the centenary jubilee. The council emphasised that Rector Ólsen was not to be blamed at all for the incident, as he had only adhered to a plan laid out by the organisers of the celebrations. As was a general practice at gatherings of this sort, the council stated, various universities had been grouped together into geographic clusters with one representative speaking for each group.51 According to Ólsen’s own report, this was done for practical reasons only, because if one representative would have spoken for every university present at the banquet, the ceremony would have taken too long time.52 For historical and political reasons, the University of Iceland had been classified with the University of Copenhagen, and the latter institution, which was both the older and larger of the two, had provided the speaker at the ceremony.53 Erslev also attempted to appease the Icelandic protesters by declaring that it had never been his intention to offend the Icelanders by using the term “Højskole” in his address. That word was chosen, simply because he had assumed that this was the correct translation of the Icelandic name “háskóli”, and he had simply not known that the formal designation of “Háskóli Íslands” in Danish was “Islands Universitet”—“if I had known, I would have used that term at least in one of the two instances in which I mentioned the university,” he stated in his apology. Finally, Erslev claimed that he had had “no inkling that the word ‘Højskole’ could in any way be misunderstood, and the same could be said of everyone who was aware of the fact that universities, and only universities, presented their greetings at the jubilee”.54 The controversy itself had no long-lasting consequences as it died down almost as quickly as it started. It signifies, however, how sensitive Icelanders were to any signs of what they saw as Danish patronising attitudes towards Iceland. To them it sounded particularly insulting when their new university was either placed under the University of Copenhagen or derided by a Danish academic authority. Similar

óvirtur á ný af háskólarektor Dana”, Norðurland (16-09-1911): 147; “Hátíðahöldin í Kristjaníu”, Ingólfur (19-09-1911): 149; “Ólsens-málið”, Ríki (22-09-1911): 32; “Háskólarektor B. M. Ó. í Kristjaníu”, Ísafold (23-09-1911): 226; “Háskólahátíðin í Noregi”, Birkibeinar (01-10-1911): 26. 51 “Háskólahátíðin í Kristjaníu og Ísland”, Lögrjetta (11-10-1911): 193 52 “Háskólahátíðin í Kristjaníu”, Ísafold (14-10-1911): 252. 53 Cf. for example “Háskólamálið”, Vestri (21-10-1911): 169. 54 “Háskólahátíðin í Kristjaníu og Ísland”, Þjóðólfur (13-10-1911): 150.

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sentiments influenced the international strategies of the University of Iceland from the beginning, especially in its relations with other Nordic countries and universities. In line with the general political atmosphere in Iceland, one of the main goals with the foundation of the university was the desire to sever the ties with the University of Copenhagen, which had dominated university education in Iceland for centuries. Therefore the Icelandic university authorities were extremely cautious in their formal interaction with the institution where all of its first professors had received their university education, and to which it was most logical for them to seek guidance and assistance. This posed a double challenge to the small and underfunded institution. On the one hand it was obvious to everyone that the Danish university authorities did not take the University of Iceland too seriously, whatever they said in their official statements. Erslev’s use of the word “Højskole” rather than “Universitet” was thus hardly a slip of the tongue. As was widely reported in the Icelandic press, the Danish daily Politiken had asked him in the summer of 1911 why the University of Copenhagen had not sent formal congratulations to Iceland on the occasion of the opening of the new university.55 The primary reason, Erslev responded, was that his university had not been informed of this event, as was a custom in cases like this one. Besides, he thought “the opening of the Reykjavík University [Reykjavik-Højskolens Indvielse]” could hardly be regarded as a major event. What had happened on 17 June 1911, as Erslev interpreted the foundation of the University of Iceland, was not really an opening of a new university but rather a merger of three existing colleges into one “Højskole”—and by using this term, he indicated that he regarded the new institution not to be a proper university.56 A similar view appeared in an article published the same summer by another professor at the University of Copenhagen, Knud Berlin. In his opinion, the University of Iceland was a “weapon in the secessionist struggle” in Iceland, rather than a sincere attempt to improve Icelandic higher education. He was convinced that a nation of only 85,000 people had neither the intellectual nor financial capacity to operate its own university. The poor quality of the teaching staff at the new institution was an ample proof, Berlin pointed out, as its 55

Cf. “Háskólinn í Khöfn og nýi háskólinn í Rvík”, Lögrjetta (19-07-1911): 132 and “Háskólinn í Reykjavík og háskólinn í Kaupmannahöfn”, Gjallarhorn (05-08-1911): 105. 56 “Kjøbenhavns Univeristet og Højskolen i Reykjavík”, Politiken (29-06-1911).

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rector was the only one of the newly appointed professors who “had earned a scientific title or written a single scientific work of any value”. It was highly inappropriate that “these inexperienced men, who themselves have no scientific credentials, with one exception, are supposed to grant doctoral degrees in law, medicine, and philosophy as they see most fit”.57 On the other hand, Iceland continued to rely heavily on other countries for significant portion of its university education, both because the University of Iceland offered only a limited range of programmes and because it could not develop specialised postgraduate studies even in the limited number of fields which were on offer for its students. The University of Copenhagen was the most natural partner for such cooperation because of the longstanding academic relationships between the two countries and the great generosity with which Icelandic students had always been received in Copenhagen. These relations could hardly be but one dimensional, however, as the University of Iceland had not much to offer Danish students and as research cooperation between the two universities remained limited at best. Because of their sense of inferiority, the Icelandic university authorities tended to downplay the importance of the connections with Denmark, or Iceland’s need to maintain close relations with the former ruling state. The foundation of the University of Iceland and the reduced dependence on the University of Copenhagen did not isolate Iceland academically, Haraldur Níelsson, professor of theology and rector of the University of Iceland (1916–17 and 1927–28), argued in 1927, because it opened Iceland’s access to other and more significant countries—including Germany, England, France, and the United States. In his estimation this was a very positive development, because Copenhagen was certainly not the hub of intellectual life in the world. In the past, Icelandic students in Denmark had been, Níelsson maintained, “introduced to what was thought and written there, but to a very limited number of the important things which were happening among the large nations”, and therefore they were mostly unaware of the intellectual currents that motivated academic debates in Europe. The rector took his own experience as a theology student at the University of Copenhagen as

57 A full translation of the article, which was originally published in the Danish newspaper Nationaltidende, was printed in the Icelandic press as “Vingjarnleg kveðjusending. Knud Berlin og háskóli vor”, Þjóðólfur (18-08-1911): 117-118.

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an example. He had often wondered, Níelsson said, how little he and his fellow students learned about “what had happened in the field of theology decades earlier south in Germany, and was still happening there. I remember how shocked I was when I visited Germany and listened to the German professors.”58 Consequently, the Icelandic university authorities were delighted when their students began to bypass Copenhagen for their university studies abroad. “Ten years ago, they all went to Denmark,” another rector said in 1929 of Icelandic students studying abroad, but that year more Icelandic students attended German universities than the University in Copenhagen. This was a very positive development, he thought, because it broadened the mental horizons of the students. “As time passes we will realise how important it is for a small nation as ours to have educated people, who are proficient in one, and preferably in more, of the major languages in Europe. This will become obvious when we take our foreign relations into our own hands, which will happen fairly soon.”59 One can see therefore that to Ólsen’s successors the international policy of the University of Iceland was an integral part of the country’s strife to become fully independent from Denmark. Therefore they wanted their institution to be and to act as a full and accepted member of the international academic community, rather than as a Danish dependency or an appendix to the University of Copenhagen. As a result, “the Nordic dimension” was not high on their agenda, because cooperation with their Scandinavian neighbours seemed inevitably to lead them back into subordinate position to the former mother country. Moreover, the university was to serve as a key instrument in the construction of Icelandic national identity, and this depended, to a large degree, on drawing clear boundaries between Iceland and the neighbouring countries—Denmark in particular, but also with Norway. Icelandic studies were, for this reason, regarded as the most important scientific field at the university; in the almost total absence of natural sciences at the university, this field was thought to be the only scientific area where Icelandic scholars could really excel.60 This

58 Árbók Háskóla Íslands fyrir háskólaárið 1927–1928 (Reykjavík: The University of Iceland 1929): 3-11. 59 Árbók Háskóla Íslands fyrir háskólaárið 1929–1930 (Reykjavík: The University of Iceland 1931): 3-14. 60 Cf. for example Árbók Háskóla Íslands fyrir háskólaárið 1921–1922 (Reykjavík: The University of Iceland 1923): 5-9.

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was not “an innocent science” though, because for a good part of the twentieth century, the primary goal of the Icelandic professors in this field was to prove that the medieval literature preserved in Icelandic manuscripts was Icelandic rather than a common Norse or Nordic heritage.61 In this sense, science was seen as a useful tool in the formation of national culture, producing a convincing meta-narrative for the nation. The returning of Icelandic manuscripts from Denmark to Iceland, most of which were owned by the University of Copenhagen and the Danish Royal Library, was a central issue in this respect62 because they were both considered as Icelandic national treasures and as painful reminders of Iceland’s dependent status through the centuries. “The manuscripts are like a part of us,” Alexander Jóhannesson, the rector of the University of Iceland, stated in 1939; they are like flesh of our flesh and blood of our blood, and therefore there is no other solution to this debate than re-transporting them to Iceland. Then, our university will take on the crucial task of serving as a centre for Icelandic studies; the greatest literary works of our ancient culture will be edited in Iceland, and foreign scholars, specialising in this discipline, will come to our country to warm their spirits at the fire of Icelandic scholarship.63

These factors barred the development of “Scandinavist” ideas in Iceland, at least as long as the score with Denmark had not been fully settled. Nordic cooperation on an institutional level was based on common recognition of equality between the individual players in the game—in this case, the respective nation-states or public universities—and as long as Iceland and its university were not considered to be fully at par with their Nordic counterparts, they could not feel fully at ease in the cooperation. Moreover, the fact that Iceland had to reach the desired level of equality through gradual severance of its ties with Denmark meant that Icelandic policy makers tended to oppose 61 Cf. Guðmundur Hálfdanarson, “Interpreting the Nordic Past: Icelandic Medieval Manuscripts and the Construction of a Modern Nation”, in: Robert Evans and Guy P. Marchal (eds.), The Uses of the Middle Ages in Modern European States: History, Nationhood, and the Search for Origins (Houndmills, Basingstoke: Palgrave 2010): 52-71. 62 Cf. Sigrún Davíðsdóttir, Håndskriftsagens Saga—i politisk belysning (Odense: Odense Universitetsforlag 1999) and Guðmundur Hálfdanarson, “Denmark and Iceland: a Tale of Tolerant Rule”, in: Csaba Lévai and Vasile Vese (eds.), Tolerance and Intolerance in Historical Perspective (Pisa: Edizioni Plus 2003): 189-202. 63 Árbók Háskóla Íslands fyrir háskólaárið 1939-1940 (Reykjavík: The University of Iceland 1940): 3-13.

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everything which seemed to prolong Iceland’s peripheral status, both in cultural and political terms. This did not prevent the Icelandic university authorities and many of the professors from maintaining close and very cordial personal relationships with their sister institutions and university teachers in the other Nordic countries. The Icelandic academics inhabited the same mental world as their Scandinavian colleagues, and as many of them had spent considerable time in Denmark during their study years, they tended to speak Danish fairly fluently and had strong affinity with Danish society. In this sense the University of Iceland benefited greatly from its family ties with other Nordic universities, although the ambition was always to protect its place as an independent participant in the international academia. Conclusion: The University of Iceland. A National or Nationalist University? It was clear from Rector Ólsen’s address at the foundation ceremony of the University of Iceland that he had high hopes for the academic standards of the new institution. The university had to combine scientific research and instruction, he argued, and although the university had the obligation to serve the nation diligently, it equally had to be freed from government interference. “Experience has shown”, Ólsen maintained, “that absolute research freedom and absolute freedom to teach are necessary preconditions for a successful operation of a university.”64 To him, the University of Iceland was to be an independent force in Icelandic society, serving both the creation of a sovereign state in Iceland and as a cosmopolitan counterbalance to the chauvinistic tendencies which he could observe in Icelandic society. It proved difficult, however, for the University of Iceland to attain the academic independence it desired. The university was a public institution, and was thus tightly controlled by the state. The government and parliament had, for example, more or less free hand to appoint whomever they desired to the university faculty, and they used this prerogative quite frequently until it was abolished in the 1980s. However, the state exerted its control primarily through the university budget, as during a large part of the twentieth century almost every

64

“Stofnunarhátíð Háskóla Íslands” (1912): 10. Italics in original.

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item of spending had to be approved by the Ministry of Finance or to be itemised in the state budget. This stifled the growth of the University of Iceland for decades, as the parliament was—in spite of the lofty rhetoric—extremely tight-fisted when it came to allotting funds to this favourite child of the nation. The self-image of the professors was also affected by the ideological context in which the university emerged. The importance of the construction and development of the Icelandic national identity was the primary justification of the university from the beginning, and it continued to be the guiding light for its authorities for much of the twentieth century. There was no need to impose this idea on the institution from the outside, as the great majority of the university faculty seems to have taken it for granted—it was simply a part of the Icelandic academic and political doxa, to use Pierre Bourdieu’s term.65 The primary role of a national university was, as Ólsen had defined the concept, to serve as a critical voice in society and as a link with the outer world. The university was, in his view, to break the insularity of the nation and to secure its place in the international community of nations. To most of his colleagues, a national university had a different role to play. Rather than to mediate between the world and the island nation in the north, the University of Iceland was, first and foremost, to enhance Iceland’s sovereignty and to emphasise the Icelandic cultural particularity in its interaction with other nations. Individual teachers certainly criticised the official policy of the state on various issues, but everyone seems to have agreed on the university’s nationalist agenda. Thus while the first rector had pledged his allegiance to a universal respublica scientiarum, the general idea became that it was primarily the Republic of Iceland, first as a utopian ideal but from 1944 as a reality, which the university was to serve. Considering the intellectual and political environment of the time, this shift from a cosmopolitan to a rather narrow nationalist orientation comes as no surprise. For much of the twentieth century, there were lingering doubts about the viability of an independent state in Iceland, as the nation was considered to be too small to govern itself.66 Icelandic nationalism has always been marked by this fact, as its

65

Cf. Pierre Bourdieu, Méditations pascaliennes (Paris: Seuil 1997): 214-224. Cf. for example Alfred Cobban, National Self-Determination (Oxford: University Press 1945): 73-74. 66

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primary goal has been to secure international recognition for an Icelandic nation-state. The University of Iceland was an important part of that nationalist strategy. First, it was regarded as a symbol of Iceland’s aspiration to rule itself—an independent nation simply had to have its own university. Second, its role was to develop a national academic life, which was Icelandic in character and focus. Finally, its role was to produce an Icelandic elite, which would be in some way different from the elite of the past. The university was, therefore, to draw intellectual boundaries around the nation; that is, to mark the difference between “us” and “them”—and then the Danes in particular. As long as the university accepted this nationalising function, it tended to downplay the cosmopolitan vision outlined by the first rector at the opening ceremony in 1911; it proved, in other words, difficult for the University of Iceland to act as a citizen in the universal republic of science at the same time as it served as the nursery of the Icelandic nation.

CHAPTER TWELVE

NINETEENTH-CENTURY UNIVERSITY JUBILEES AS (RHETORICAL) ATTEMPTS AT INCREASING NORDIC COOPERATION Pieter Dhondt The first difficulty facing the organising committees of all the jubilee celebrations discussed in this book was who to invite. In all cases, invitees from the other Nordic countries were treated differently than guests from elsewhere, but still the questions remain: how wide was the notion of Northern European or Nordic understood to be, and what exactly was meant with it? In Sweden, “Nordic” was often put on a par with “Swedish”, and the idea of reconquering Finland also fit into this line of thought.1 Only when the height of political Scandinavism was over did Finns receive the same status as their Nordic brothers. Therefore, the bicentenary of Lund University in 1868 became one of the first occasions for the students of Helsinki to meet their Nordic fellows since the incorporation of Finland in the Russian empire. By comparison, the position of representatives from Dorpat/Tartu and Greifswald stayed rather ambiguous throughout the whole nineteenth century. In Uppsala in 1877, the Swedish students tried to give their German-speaking fellows the feeling of belonging to the Nordic community just as much as their colleagues from Helsinki, Copenhagen or Christiania; in the official procession however, the professors of Dorpat and Greifswald walked among the “other” European guests. These “other” European guests generally did not notice these kinds of internal discussions and conflicts. For them, a spirit of Northern European unity characterised many of the commemorations. Of course the organising universities themselves often intended their commemorations to be, in the first place, manifestations of nationalism, as was seen from the start with the bicentenary of Helsinki in 1840. Despite

1 Cf. Mary Hilson, “Denmark, Norway and Sweden. Pan-Scandinavianism and Nationalism”, in: Timothy Baycroft and Mark Hewitson (eds.), What is a Nation? Europe 1789–1914 (Oxford: University Press 2006): 192-209.

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the university’s long-lasting and recent Swedish past, only a couple of Swedish delegates were invited (all with a close connection to Finland), a step taken in order not to offend the Russian authorities, but certainly also with the purpose of emphasising the national character of the festivity—all this to the annoyance of the Swedes themselves. And when such a jubilee celebration indeed projected a clearly Nordic interpretation, as in Copenhagen in 1879, this was a consequence of a conjunction of circumstances rather than of a real master plan. The analysis of the jubilees in Helsinki in 1840 and in Copenhagen in 1879 offers already two examples of claims from the original application for the workshops which need to be corrected. Similarly the characterisation of the quartercentenary of Uppsala University in 1877 as an important celebration “for the development of Scandinavist ideas and increasing cultural and scientific cooperation” needs to be adjusted. From a Scandinavist perspective, the festivities in Uppsala were certainly not an unqualified success. Nordic guests perceived the ceremonies primarily as national events, but at the same time they themselves were also preoccupied in the first place by their own national concerns. Representatives from Copenhagen hoped to learn from their visit to Uppsala with an eye on the organisation of the 400th anniversary of their own university two years later. Students from Helsinki were rather more concerned about the conflicts within their own student body than they were interested in any kind of Scandinavist goal of the celebration. An important factor to explain this lack of overwhelming enthusiasm was the perception of Uppsala University as a conservative institution. The attitude towards the role of women during the jubilee as pure ornaments, as described in Enefalk’s chapter, clearly confirmed this impression. The bicentenary of Lund University in 1868 on the other hand could not be considered a low point of Scandinavism, although it was expected as such since the event took place against the background of Danish disappointment over the lack of support in its conflict with Germany. In contrast, the cordial relationship that had already existed for centuries between Lund and Copenhagen continued during and after the jubilee and even led to some very practical results of collaboration. The year after the jubilee in Lund, the student meeting, originally planned for 1867 but then cancelled, was finally arranged, this time in Christiania. At its turn, this student meeting gave the impetus for the publication of a Scandinavian literary calendar and

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for the foundation of a fund that awarded scholarships to students from Lund and Copenhagen who wished to study at a university in another Nordic country. The special relationships that existed with the other Nordic (in its different meanings) institutions also became apparent in, among other ways, the granting of honorary doctoral degrees to scientists and artists primarily from neighbouring countries. In organising each jubilee, a position had to be taken towards these special relationships. Remarkable in this regard is the gradual transformation of Scandinavism from a political movement steered by the government until the 1860s, towards a purely voluntary affair in the cultural and scientific sphere in the 1870s. In the context of university jubilees, this development was revealed through the role played by the students. Whereas their teachers and administrators proceeded with more caution and took into account changing national interests, the students preserved their enthusiasm for the Scandinavist cause much longer. Through informal meetings and common drinking events, they aimed to restore or improve connections with their fellows at the other Northern European universities. Moreover, in addition to the official jubilee celebrations, they organised a number of explicitly Scandinavist student meetings from as early as the beginning of the 1840s. The difference between the undivided attitude of Scandinavism among the students and the more moderate, official policy of the university authorities becomes very visible by making a comparison between the student meetings of the 1850s and the 50th anniversary celebration of Christiania University in 1861. At their meetings in Christiania and Uppsala during the 1850s, the Northern European students declared almost unanimously their willingness for military assistance in case one of the Scandinavian brother nations should get into a conflict. They were even willing to “share” their wives by simply denying the existence of specifically Swedish, Danish and Norwegian women: there might be three Nordic countries, but the Nordic maid is but one. At the Christiania jubilee of 1861, the rhetoric about the Eider policy and possible military aid was immediately much more mild. However, one year later, during the student meeting in Lund and Copenhagen of 1862, the students again followed a completely Scandinavist line. So too at other jubilees the students often were the most enthusiastic spokesmen and -women of the Scandinavist cause, e.g. the students’ concert in Uppsala in 1877 or the overwhelming

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participation of the students in the unveiling of the monument to Linnaeus in Humlegården (Stockholm) in 1885. At the celebrations in honour of Linnaeus, the Swedish scientist evolved more and more into a national hero, and consequently the celebration became a purely national event. At most of the jubilees, organisers strove for a balance between the national, Nordic and European dimensions of the celebration, a balance always influenced by the international political developments of the time. The 50th anniversary of the university in Christiania, for instance, was seized as an opportunity to emphasise the Danish roots of Norwegian society in order not to be overthrown by Swedish rule. This policy was clearly supported by a great number of Danish guests, among whom was the famous classical philologist Johan Nicolai Madvig. Some 15 years later, in Uppsala in 1877, Madvig delivered another speech which did not pass unnoticed. He praised Swedish hospitality in Uppsala, but his Latin eloquence especially compelled admiration, in particular among the Danish representatives who were proud of their national hero. In general, it is remarkable to what extent the same names kept reappearing at different jubilees. Besides Madvig, Ludwig Preller, professor of Greek philology at the University of Dorpat, was another example of an attendee of multiple jubilees. Preller represented his institution at the bicentenary of Helsinki University in 1840. Looking back on the event, he could not help expressing himself somewhat critically about the lack of recognition for the Swedish past, despite all his praising words about the flourishing of the city and the university. Only two years later, in the aftermath of the Ulmann affair, Preller was fired alongside a few other professors considered too German-minded by the Russian authorities.2 Coming as it did after the revolutions of 1848, the 50th anniversary of the University of Dorpat in 1852 took place amid an increasingly reactionary climate in Russia. Other recurring elements were the long-lasting discussions about the design of the commemorative medal (possibly connected with the 2 According to the Russian authorities, Karl Christian Ulmann, professor of practical theology, dedicated himself too enthusiastically to the defence of the German language, and besides he would have been too popular with the students. Cf. Ville Tamul, “Die Dörptsche Universität—Landes- oder Reichsuniversität? Zum Verhältnis von Deutschbalten, Stadt und Universität im 19. Jahrhundert”, in: Helmut Piirimäe and Claus Sommerhage (eds.), Zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Dorpat (Tartu: Universität, Lehrstuhl für deutsche Philologie 2000): 87-112.

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question about who belonged to the Nordic community), the important role of women during the festivities (born out of the idea that the whole nation should be represented), and the impressive repertoire of Scandinavist songs suited for the occasion. Moreover, many of the jubilee celebrations had a minor objective in common, viz. fund raising. In this respect increasing Nordic cooperation sometimes led to very practical results, such as the foundation of scholarship funds as mentioned before or the exchange of publications. The dissolution of the union between Norway and Sweden in 1905 caused an abrupt end to the Scandinavist movement. Of course, specific forms of cooperation, like the afore-mentioned foundation, remained in existence, but they were reduced considerably after 1905. This changed attitude found expression in the centenary of the University of Kristiania in 1911. A national agenda predominated the celebrations, the international community stood second in the preoccupations of the organisers, and only in third place of importance came the Northern European brother nations. Likewise the opening of the University of Iceland in the same year was primarily a manifestation of national interests. From then on, Icelandic students were no longer dependent on the University of Copenhagen or other Nordic institutions for their schooling. The new university was to function as a sign of civilisation and modernity, through which the Icelandic people “could show the world that they were no eskimo’s (anymore)”. Thus, the portion of non-Northern European guests at these festivities gradually increased. Similarly to their Scandinavian counterparts, the visits of these non-Northern Europeans were never completely free of engagement. Often, they even left their home country with the explicit aim to study which characteristics of the celebrating university could be useful for their own institution. Scottish and German visitors in Uppsala in 1877, for instance, were impressed by the smooth collaboration between the university authorities and the students in the preparation of the jubilee, something from which they certainly could derive a lesson for their own celebrations.3 Also, because of the 3 Robert D. Anderson, “Ceremony in Context: The Edinburgh University Tercentenary, 1884”, The Scottish Historical Review 87 (2008), no. 1: 121-145 and Harald Lönnecker, “ ‘. . . gilt es, das Jubelfest unserer Alma mater festlich zu begehen.’ Die studentische Teilnahme und Überlieferung zu Universitätsjubiläen im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert”, in: Jens Blecher and Gerald Wiemers (eds.), Universitäten und Jubiläen. Vom Nutzen historischer Archive (Veröffentlichung des Universitätsarchivs Leipzig 4) (Leipzig: Universitätsverlag 2004): 129-175.

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common democratic character of Scottish and Nordic universities, jubilees in Scotland form an interesting point of comparison. They were inspired at least to some extent by Northern European examples. Particularly striking is the similar continuous search for a balance between the national (in casu Scottish), regional (in casu Commonwealth) and international dimension of the events. On the whole, an evolution can be noticed from the manifest nationalism seen at Helsinki in 1840, to the primarily Nordic events (although not always intended as such, and not always as successful as such) at Christiania in 1861, Lund in 1868, Uppsala in 1877 and Copenhagen in 1879, to the celebrations of a national institution in an increasingly international context seen in the jubilees of Kristiania and the University of Iceland in 1911. However, even for those festivities that projected Nordic collaboration and Scandinavian solidarity on a rhetorical level, the actual results of cooperation were often very meagre. Therefore they should be considered (rhetorical ) attempts at, rather than the driving forces of, increasing Nordic cooperation.

INDEX OF PERSONAL NAMES Abel, Niels Henrik 272-274, 276-277, 282 Agardh, Jacob Georg 182 Ahlborn, Lea 181-182 Ahnfelt, Arvid 177 Ahnfelt, Paul Gabriel 118 Ährling, Ewald 177, 181 Alden, Gustaf A. 181 Alexander I of Russia 14, 24-25, 40-41, 52, 58, 60, 62-64, 143 Alexander II of Russia 3, 66, 169, 225 Alexander Nikolaievitch, see Alexander II of Russia Alexeev, Pjotr 58 Alftan, Valfrid 132 Anderson, James Maitland 244, 263 Anderson, Peter J. 254 Anderson, Robert D. 9 Andrée, Fredrika 229 Annerstedt, Claes 165 Arnold, Carl 80 Artin Pacha, Yacoub 259 Asquith, Herbert Henry 259 Asquith, Margot 259 Aubert, Ludvig Mariboe Benjamin 147, 231 Baberowski, Jörg 43 Backman, Sven Johan 26 Baer, Karl Ernst von 66 Bagger, Olof 118 Balfour, Arthur James, 1st Earl of Balfour 259 Balfour of Burleigh, Lord, see Alexander Bruce Bardenfleth, Carl E. 292 Bartholin, Caspar the Elder 117 Bartholin, Caspar the Younger 117 Bartholin, Rasmus 117 Bartholin, Thomas 117 Barton, H. Arnold 6 Beise, Theodor 64 Benckendorf, Alexander von 43 Bendixson, Ivar 269 Bergman, Torbern 173 Berlin, Knud 306 Bernadotte, Jean Baptiste Jules, see Charles XIV John of Sweden

Bienemann, Friedrich Gustav 64 Birket-Smith, Sophus 190 Bismarck, Otto von 97, 203 Bjarnason, Lárus H. 299-300 Bjerknes, Vilhelm 269 Björnsson, Guðmundur 299 Bjørnson, Bjørnstjerne 273, 278 Blomqvist, Alexander 29 Blum, Karl Ludvig 56 Bockmann, Edvard 283 Bonsdorff, Johan 35 Borelius, Johan Jacob 120 Bornemann, Frederik Christian 93 Borschenius, Otto 133 Boström, Christopher Jacob 161, 179 Böttiger, Carl Wilhelm 221, 223-224 Brahe, Per 28, 153 Brahe, Tycho 117 Brandes, Georg 287 Brandt, Fredrik 130 Brandt, K. 280 Bremner, Robert 174 Bring, Ebbe Gustaf 126 Broch, Olaf 275, 278 Bruce, Alexander, 6th Lord Balfour of Burleigh 262 Brunnow, Otto, Baron 56 Brøgger, Waldemar Christopher 268-269, 271-272, 274-276, 278-284 Buchan, Alexander 154 Bulgarin, Thaddens 31 Bulloch, John Malcolm 244, 255, 263 Bunge, Friederich von 53 Buraschi, Amadeo 56 Burman, Carina 240 Bute, Marquess of, see John CrichtonStuart Byström, Johan Niclas 174, 178, 184 Cannadine, David 249 Carducci, Giosuè 256 Carl Johan, see Charles XIV John of Sweden Carlson, Fredrik Ferdinand 85, 94 Carnegie, Andrew 252-254, 261 Castrén, Matthias Alexander 35 Castrén, Robert 153, 155, 157 Catherine II of Russia (the Great) 45

320

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Celsius, Anders 173 Chamberlain, Joseph 259 Chambers, Robert 174 Charles X Gustav of Sweden 118-120 Charles IV of Norway, see Charles XV of Sweden Charles XII of Sweden 132, 169, 171 Charles XIV John of Sweden 16, 74-75, 89 Charles XV of Sweden 75, 77-78, 80, 83, 85-87, 92, 96, 98, 119, 122, 124, 126, 171 Christian I of Denmark 194 Christian III of Denmark 117 Christian IV of Denmark 4, 102 Christian VIII of Denmark 91 Christian IX of Denmark 97, 158, 194 Christiani, Arnold Friedrich 64 Christina, Queen of Sweden 24, 178 Collett, John Peter 270 Conradsen, Harald 194 Craffström, Gustaf 23, 48-50, 53, 56-58, 60, 63-64, 66, 69 Crichton-Stuart, John, Marquess of Bute 250, 252 Crusell, Bernhard 154 Curzon, George 259 Custine, Astolphe, Marquis de 43 Cygnaeus, Fredrik 16, 19, 28, 32 Daae, Ludvig 275 Danielson-Kalmari, Johan Richardson 157 Davies, Emily 259 de la Croiŗ, J.A. 51 de la Trobe, Edward 56 de Lesseps, Ferdinand 256 Dhondt, Pieter 236, 261 Dietrichson, Lorentz 148 Donaldson, James 256-257, 261 Edelfelt, Albert 33 Edward VII of the United Kingdom 248, 255 Ehrström, Carl Gustaf 146 Elder, Isabella 259 Enefalk, Hanna 8 Erdmann, Johann Julius Friedrich 23, 56 Ericsson, Johan 121 Erslev, Kristian 303, 305-306 Estlander, Carl Gustaf 161 Faehlmann, Friedrich Robert Falkman, Olena 229-230 Fawcett, Millicent 259

56

Flensburg, Wilhelm 136 Forsman, Georg Zacharias 146 Fourier, Charles 61 Franzén, Frans Michael 19-20, 29-30, 32-33, 36 Frederick VI of Denmark 75, 95, 281 Frederick VII of Denmark 91-92, 96-97 Frederick VIII of Denmark 283, 300 Friedman, Robert Marc 9 Fries, Elias 177, 181 Fries, Thore M. 177, 179 Gadolin, Gustaf 26, 30 Gadolin, Johan 26 Garrett Anderson, Elizabeth 259 Geddes, Patrick 257 Genetz, Arvid 157 Gislason, Konrad 129 Gottlund, Carl Axel 35 Gran, Gerhard 275-276 Grant, Alexander 263 Gréard, Octave 248 Grot, Jakov Karlovic, see Yakov Karlovich Grot Grot, Jakob Karlowitsch, see Yakov Karlovich Grot Grot, Yakov Karlovich 4-5, 32, 34-35 Grötenfelt, Nils Berndt 165 Gustav I of Sweden 170 Gustav III of Sweden 132, 178 Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden 39, 169-171 Gustavus Vasa, see Gustav I of Sweden Gyllenhaal, Leonard 29 Haartman, Carl Daniel von 19 Haartman, Rosina von 19 Haffner, Johann 64 Hafstein, Hannes 299 Hagen, August 56 Hahn, Paul 56 Haldane, Richard 259 Hálfdánarson, Guðmundur 9 Hallager, Georg Frederik 95 Hallbäck, Hans Henric 109, 122-123, 135 Haller, Albrecht von 182 Hällström, Gustaf Gabriel 17, 26 Hambro, Carl Joachim 278 Hamilton, Hugo 227-228 Hansen, Constantin 107 Hansen, Frits 132 Hansen, Tor Ivar 73 Hansteen, Christopher 96

index of personal names Harnack, Theodor 64 Harnack, Theodosius 53 Hartmann, Johan Peter Emilius 216 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich 57 Hehn, Carl 56 Hehn, Victor Amadeus 56-57 Heikel, Henrik 17 Helmholtz, Hermann von 256 Hemstad, Ruth 5-7 Hettling, Manfred 239 Hjelt, Otto E.A. 28, 165, 182-183 Hobsbawm, Eric J. 249 Holm, Edvard 189, 195, 202, 204-205, 208 Holmboe, Christopher Andreas 80-81, 83-84 Holmgren, Ann Margret 181 Holmgren, Frithiof 168, 179, 181 Holmström, Leonard 109 Holst, Poul Christian 77-78 Hostrup, Jens Christian 216 Humboldt, Wilhelm von 261 Hunter, William 257 Hwasser, Israel 29-30, 36 Ibsen, Henrik 79, 148, 150 Ilmoni, Immanuel 35, 37 Järtaa, Hans 29 Jochumsson, Matthiás 287 Jóhannesson, Alexander 309 Jónsson, Bjarni 300-301 Jónsson, Jón 285 Jónsson, Klemens 286 Jónsson, Kristján 286 Josephson, J.A. 179 Kelvin, Lord, see William Thomson Kiljander, Karl Mårten 150 Kirkpatrick, John 255 Kjellberg, Frithiof 183 Klinge, Matti 9, 124 Klingenstierna, Samuel 173 Klinger, Friedrich Maximilian von 48 Knapas, Rainer 9 Knös, Thekla 220, 222, 227 Kolbe, Laura 9 König, Gustav 148 Krüger, Woldemar Friedrich 63 Lagerstedt, Nils 183 Lagus, Wilhelm Gabriel 17 Lang, Robert Hamilton 260-261 Leask, William Keith 254 Lehmann, Orla 89

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Lewenhaupt, Charlotte 235 Liebig, Justus von 66 Lieven, Karl von, Duke 48 Lille, Axel 157 Lille, Bengt Olof 26 Lilljeborg, Wilhelm 181 Lind, Jenny 225 Lindahl, Josua 184 Lindelöf, Lorenz Leonard 131 Linder, Carl Wilhelm 115, 126 Linnaeus, Carl 3, 8, 168-169, 171-175, 177-187, 316 Linnaeus, Carolus, see Carl Linnaeus Linnaeus, Lovisa 174-175 Linné, Carl von, see Carl Linnaeus Linsén, Johan Gabriel 25 Ljunggren, Gustaf 99, 103, 111-117, 119-121, 125, 129-131, 135-136 Lönnrot, Elias 15, 31-32, 35 Lumsden, Louisa 259 Lundahl, Augusta 31 Lundström, Axel N. 177, 179 Lyell, Charles 174 Lysander, Albert 103, 106, 115, 120 Løvenskiold, Carl 283 Maclean, Neil 254 Madai, Carl Otto von 53 Madvig, Johan Nicolai 95-96, 146, 190-191, 194, 198, 200, 316 Malm, August Wilhelm 183 Malmsten, Per Henrik 183 Margaret I of Denmark 130, 222-223, 226 Marklin, Gabriel 174 Marryat, Horace 174 Matzen, Henning 190, 198 McEwan, William 250 McEwen, John B. 246 Mittag-Leffler, Göta 274 Monrad, Marcus Jacob 82-85, 96, 208 Montgomery, Robert August 146 Morgenstierne, Bredo 50 Müller, Daniel 174 Müller, Johannes 66 Munch, Edvard 283 Nansen, Fridtjof 272 Napoleon Bonaparte 44, 90 Napoleon III of France 98, 199 Nervander, Johan Jakob 35 Newman, John Henry 261 Nicholas I of Russia 22, 24-26, 39, 41-45, 47-48, 52, 57, 60, 63, 68 Nielsen, Yngvar 275

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Níelsson, Haraldur 307-308 Nilsson, Göran B. 5 Nilsson, Kristina 225 Nobel, Alfred 280 Nolte, Paul 239 Nordenskiöld, Adolf Erik 183 Nordström, Johan Jakob 35-37 Norrie, Anna 230 Oakeley, Herbert 246 Odhner, Clas Theodor 123, 131, 144–145 Odoevsky, Vladimir 32 Oehlenschäger, Adam Gottlob 114, 130, 135, 173 Olesen, Jens E. 9 Ólsen, Björn M. 285-288, 303-305, 308, 310-311 Orland, C.R. 278 Oscar I of Sweden 6, 89, 91 Oscar II of Sweden 138, 154, 158, 164, 182, 234-235, 239, 273 Osenbrüggen, Eduard 51, 54, 56-57 Östholm, Hanna 9 Oudemans, Cornelius Anton Jan Abraham 183 Pahlen, Peter von der, Count 66 Palmén, Johan Philip 26 Palmerston, Lord, see Henry John Temple Panum, Peter Ludvig 145-146 Parrot, Georg Friedrich 40, 60 Pasteur, Louis 256 Pedro II of Brazil 175-176 Petersen, Hans Christian 77 Petersen, Niels 189-190 Pettersson, Anna 229 Pétursson, Pétur 295-296 Pezet de Corval, Charles 56 Pipping, Fredrik Wilhelm 17 Pirogov, Nikolai 59 Playfair, Lyon 261 Pletnyov, Pyotr 32 Ploug, Carl 101, 103, 106-107, 109-110, 119, 126, 133, 154 Porthan, Hendrik Gabriel 15-16, 23 Preller, Ludwig 19-20, 23, 27, 53, 316 Primrose, Archibald, 5th Earl of Rosebery 259-260 Pushkin, Alexander 41 Rabenius, Olena, see Olena Falkman Rait, Robert S. 3, 241-242, 244, 249, 255

Rehbinder, Robert Henrik, Count 16-17, 20, 29, 31-32, 38 Reichert, Bogislaus 56 Rennenkampf, A. von 56 Reuter, Odo Morannal 157 Riasanovsky, Nicholas V. 44-45 Ridderbjelke, Carl 175, 185 Rode, Vilhelm 131 Rosander, Carl 220-221 Rosebery, Lord, see Archibald Primrose Rostovzev, Yakov 44 Rouvroy, Claude Henri de, Comte de Saint-Simon 61 Runeberg, Johan Ludvig 31-33, 37, 151, 173, 178 Rydberg, Viktor 161-162, 217 Saffi, Aurelio 256 Sahlberg, Carl Reinhold 17, 29 Sahlin, Carl Yngve 146, 161, 179 Saint-Simon, Henri de, see Claude Henri de Rouvroy Sandahl, Oskar 183 Santesson, Carl Gustaf 85, 94 Sartz, R.S.N. 283 Schardius, Friedrich Ludwig 67 Scharling, William 148 Schauman, Auguste 18-19 Schauman, Frans Ludvig 129 Schenson, Emma 172, 185 Schibsted, Amandus 283 Schleiden, Matthias Jakob 69 Schmuhl, Hans-Walter 239 Schönig, Nikolai 53 Schröder, Johan Henrik 20, 36 Scott, Walter 248 Shirinskii-Shikhmatov, Platon, Duke 61-62 Shiryaev, Alexander 57, 59 Sidgwick, Eleanor 259 Sigurðsson, Jón 285-287, 291-292, 300, 302 Sjögren, Anders Johan 29 Skarstedt, Carl Wilhelm 120 Skovgaard, Peter Christian 107 Slottved, Ejvind 9, 159 Smith, Adam 252 Smith, Donald, 1st Baron Strathcona and Mount Royal 252-255, 259 Snellman, Johan Vilhelm 15, 36-37, 45 Solovjev, Sergei 25 Sparre, Gustaf, Count 122 Stenbäck, Lars 35

index of personal names Stenhammar, Fredrika, see Fredrika Andrée 229-230 Stenius, Henrik 9 Stephensen, Oddgeir 294-295 Steven, Christian 29 Story, Robert Herbert 252, 260 Strandberg, Carl Vilhelm August 104-105, 113, 126, 129 Strathcona, Lord, see Donald Smith Strindberg, August 3, 169, 219 Strümpell, Ludwig 58 Struve, Friedrich Georg Wilhelm von 66-67 Struve, Heinrich Wilhelm 67 Struve, Karl Hermann 67 Struve, Otto Wilhelm 67 Strøm, Hagbarth 278 Stråth, Bo 5 Sundberg, Anton Niklas 85, 94 Sveinsson, Benedikt 297 Swederus, Magnus Bernhard 165, 177 Swedmark, Eugene 177 Tamm, Ditlev 9 Tamul, Sirje 50 Tegnér, Elof 118 Tegnér, Esaias 110, 114, 130, 135 Temple, Henry John, 3rd Viscount Palmerston 92, 98 Tengberg, Niklas 115 Thaulow, Gustav 93-94 Thedenius, Knut Fredrik 183 Thiers, Adolphe 160 Thomée, Göthe 103, 113, 115 Thomson, William 257 Thorild, Thomas 164 Tobien, Ewald Sigismund 54 Topelius, Zachris 16, 31, 37, 124, 146-147, 156-157 Topelius, Zacharias, see Zachris Topelius Tornberg, Carl Johan 115, 120 Tullberg, Tycho 177, 181 Ulmann, Carl (Karl) Christian 53-55, 58, 67, 316

323

Ursin, Nils Abraham af 17, 24, 26 Uvarov, Sergei 39, 41, 43-48, 52-54, 58-61, 68 Valdemar I of Denmark (the Great) 130 Varvinski, Yossif 59 Victoria, Queen 260 Virchow, Rudolf 256 Virgil 28 Volkmann, Alfred 53 von Bruiningk, Méry 56-57, 67 Von der Recke, Wilhelm 56 von Grotthuss, Carl Friedrich, Baron 56 von Samson, Therese 56 von Willebrand, Knut Felix 94 Wahlenberg, Göran 174 Wallem, Fredrik Barbe 278 Wallenberg, André Oscar 5 Wallerius, Johan Gottschalk 173 Wasenius, Gustaf Otto 26 Watt, James 257 Weibull, Curt 116 Weibull, Jörgen 136 Weibull, Lauritz 116 Weibull, Martin 116-119, 125-126, 130, 133, 136 Welhaven, Johan Sebastian 81-83, 96-97 Westergaard, Niels Ludvig 130 Whittaker, Cynthia 44-45 Wilhelm II, German Emperor 279 Wille, Nordahl 269 Winsløw, Jacob B. 117 Winter-Hjelm, Otto 278 Winzell, Knut 111 Wirsén, Carl David af 236-237 Witte, J. 56 Wittrock, Veit 177, 181 Zhukovski, Vassili 41 Ziegler, Franz Victor 57

39, Þorkelsson, Jón

300

INDEX OF PLACE NAMES Aberdeen 3, 241-244, 246-250, 252-254, 257-261, 263-264 Amsterdam 139, 168, 183-184 Augsburg 169 Bergen 278 Berlin 3, 57, 63, 81, 139, 144, 160, 203, 279 Bologna 145, 244, 246, 255-257, 261 Borås 20-22 Braunschweig 239 Brussels 139 Cambridge 259, 261, 293 Christiania 4, 6, 8-9, 24, 38, 73-98, 105, 107, 109, 121, 130, 132-133, 139, 142, 145, 147-148, 152-153, 173, 200, 207, 220, 231, 246, 267-284, 299, 303-305, 313-318 Cologne 145 Copenhagen 1, 3-6, 8, 13-14, 24, 38, 68, 74, 85, 89-90, 93, 95-97, 99-103, 105-110, 113, 121, 130, 133, 135, 137, 142, 145-146, 152-153, 158-159, 167, 173, 188-211, 216, 220, 244, 268-269, 290-299, 301, 303-309, 313-315, 317-318 Dorpat 4, 8, 13, 19, 22-23, 25, 39-69, 121-122, 139-140, 142-143, 145, 148, 152-153, 159, 313, 316 Dublin 242, 244, 247 Dundee 243, 248, 250 Dybbøl 101, 171, 173 Edinburgh 3, 139, 242-253, 255-256, 258-259, 262-264 Frankfurt am Main

91, 182

Gävle 184 Giessen 52 Glasgow 242-244, 246-253, 255, 257-260, 262, 264 Gothenburg 168, 183, 200 Göttingen 41, 139, 144, 160 Greifswald 4, 121-122, 140, 142-144, 148, 152, 159, 313

Halle 54 Hallsberg 226-228 Härnösand 19 Heidelberg 52, 244 Helsingfors, see Helsinki Helsinki 1, 5, 8-9, 13-38, 45, 68, 121-123, 139, 142, 146-147, 151-152, 155, 157, 165, 182, 184, 207, 260, 262, 280, 313-314, 316, 318 Holstein 73-74, 76, 87-88, 90-94, 96-97, 109, 171, 188, 198-199 Imatra 32 Innsbruck 3 Jaroslavl 68 Jena 3, 52, 244 Kiel 54, 74, 76, 93-95 Kiev 23, 25, 68 Königsberg 67 Krakow 68 Kristiania, see Christiania Kronstadt 68 Kuopio 148 Leiden 3, 244, 246 Leipzig 3, 54, 144, 244, 275, 278, 281 Linköping 126 London 56, 175, 248, 252-253, 255 Lund 4-6, 8, 13, 21, 85, 90, 94, 97, 99-137, 143-145, 152, 168-170, 173, 182, 207, 220, 313-315, 318 Lützen 169-170 Lyon 257 Malmö 14, 19, 122 Marburg 3, 57 Marseille 246 Mogilyov 68 Montpellier 244, 246 Moscow 58 Munich 144, 160 Narva 68 Newcastle-upon-Tyne New York 148 Novgorod 68

250

326

index of place names

Odense 118 Oslo, see Christiania Oxford 250, 255, 261, 293 Paris 109, 246, 248, 257 Pärnu 39, 142 Pernau, see Pärnu Prague 188, 198, 200-201, 204, 208 Pskov 68 Pulkowa 67 Rakvere 68 Reykjavík 142, 285-312 Riga 22, 48, 51, 68, 142, 152 Rome 256 Roskilde 117, 120 Rostock 122 Råshult 177, 187 Saratov 68 Schleswig 6-7, 73-74, 76, 87-88, 90-94, 96-97, 99, 105-106, 109, 137, 171, 188, 198-200 Sevastopol 68 St Andrews 242-244, 246, 248, 250-253, 256, 258-259, 262, 264 Stockholm 20, 29-30, 36, 85, 94, 109, 111, 119, 168, 170, 174-175, 178, 182-183, 186-187, 225, 229, 243, 269, 274, 316

St Petersburg 4, 22-23, 29, 32, 35-36, 40-41, 48, 51-54, 57, 61-63, 67-68, 139 Tartu, see Dorpat Tübingen 3, 57, 194, 244 Tula 57, 68 Turku 4, 14, 19-20, 26, 28-29, 142-143, 145-146, 153 Uppsala 3-4, 6-9, 18, 20-21, 23-25, 29-31, 39, 68, 85, 89-90, 94, 96, 105-107, 109, 113, 121-122, 127, 135, 138-189, 194, 197, 207-208, 215-244, 249, 262, 268, 270, 313-318 Upsala, see Uppsala Växjö 168, 177, 182 Versailles 199 Vienna 3, 139, 143 Vilnius 44-45, 50, 68 Vladimir 23 Vyborg 32 Warsaw 44, 50 Würzburg 3, 52, 244 Zürich

57

*Åbo, see Turku