Visualizing the Past: The Power of the Image in German Historicism 9783110282931, 9783110282825

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Kathrin Maurer Visualizing the Past

Interdisciplinary German Cultural Studies

Edited by Scott Denham, Irene Kacandes and Jonathan Petropoulos

Volume 13

Kathrin Maurer

Visualizing the Past The Power of the Image in German Historicism

DE GRUYTER

ISBN: 978-3-11-028282-5 e-ISBN: 978-3-11-028293-1 ISSN: 1861-8030 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2013 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Typesetting: Meta Systems, Wustermark Cover image: Frederick the Great as a military leader in the Seven Years’ War. Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel. Die Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelsohn, 1876, page 425. Printing: Hubert & Co. GmbH & Co. KG, Göttingen ♾ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com

For Christian, Leo, and Siri

Acknowledgements I started writing this book a long time ago. Maybe I began when my nine-yearold son Leo was born, probably even earlier. It seems that the book was always there. No matter whether my family moved back and forth between Europe and the US, whether my daughter Siri came to the world, or whether all kinds of things happened, it was a true companion of my life. During the time of my writing many people helped me, and I would like to express my deepest gratitude for their counsel. Andreas Huyssen’s support of my academic work, his comments on visual culture, and his encouragement really pushed my project forward. Dorothea von Mücke read my dissertational work more thoroughly than anybody else and her devotion, rigor, and enthusiasm still resonate in my current writing. Stefan Andriopoulos sparked my interest in visuality during a conversation in the Hungarian café on Amsterdam Avenue in New York City. I am still glad for that cup of coffee. I also thank my former colleagues at the University of Arizona as well as my present ones at the Syddansk Universitet for supporting my work and granting me research time without teaching duties. The time as a fellow of the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation was a privilege for me, and I am very grateful to Inge Stephan and Eva Geulen for their personal support and academic advice during the tenure of my fellowship in Berlin and in Bonn. Their comments and ideas truly enriched my manuscript. I also benefited tremendously from the colloquium at the University of Bonn in 2009, and I am more than honored to have been a participant. I am indebted to Eriko Hirosawa from Meiji University who organized a wonderful seminar on history and literature for me in Tokyo. Thanks also to all the students who I was allowed to discuss my work with and who questioned arguments that I believed to have found answers to a long time ago. As often happens with books that take almost a decade for completion, I have benefited from more discussions with friends and colleagues than I can possibly acknowledge and the following constitutes only a fraction of all contributors to my project: Maria Davidsen, Mary-Helen Dupree, Joris van Eijnatten, Jürgen Elvert, Stephan Jaeger, Barbara Kosta, Steve Martinson, Matthew Miller, Daniel Purdy, Jens Ruppenthal, Jonathan Skolnik, Peter Schwartz, Peter Simon, Lars Ole Sauerberg, Alexandra Tacke, Chenxi Tang, and Luciana VillasBoas. I am further grateful to my colleagues at the Syddansk Universitet for making me feel welcome in the academic world in Denmark. Without the editing work of my colleague from the English Department, Thomas Pettitt, who read and potentially learned more about nineteenth-century German historians than he had ever dreamt of, my work would not be in its current shape. I

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would like to thank Sten Pultz Moslund, Søren Frank, and Adam Paulsen for the fun “space-discussions” in our research network as well as Christian Benne and Moritz Schramm for making German studies in Odense into such an exciting place. Choosing the right publishing house is a difficult task and I am more than happy that I could find a venue with De Gruyter. I am deeply indebted to Manuela Gerlof, senior acquisitions editor in German literature and cultural studies at De Gruyter. She believed in this project from the moment I stumbled into her office in Berlin, and I thank her for her patience and encouragement. This book would not be in its present state without the tremendous efforts of the editors of the Interdisciplinary German Cultural Studies series at De Gruyter. Scott Denham’s thorough copy editing and suggestions substantially helped the manuscript to become a book. I am so grateful for his time, patience, and enthusiasm that he devoted to my work. Irene Kacandes’s theoretical advice and reading suggestions have been more than helpful. I thank Lena Ebert and Christina Riesenweber for their excellent support during the production phase. I am also grateful for Christine Henschel’s making of the index. I am also indebted to the librarians at Royal Library in Copenhagen, at the library of the University of Southern Denmark, at the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, and at Butler Library of Columbia University who helped me to find archive material. In particular I wish to thank Wolfgang Crom from the cartography department at the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, who incited my interest in old maps and encouraged me to work with these materials as a scholar of German literature. Helle Brünnich Pedersen from the Royal Library in Copenhagen took most of the pictures. This book, however, would not have materialized without the help of my wonderful family. My husband’s patience, belief, and optimism concerning my research as well as his devotion to questions of literature (even though he is a political theorist) were vital sources of inspiration. Although our children in many ways slowed down the process of completing the book, they fill my life with joy and happiness every day, and I would not have wanted to have missed a minute with them. It is to Christian, Leo, and Siri that I dedicate this book in constant gratitude for their love and companionship.

Contents 1 Introduction 3 Visual Culture The Rise of German Historicism 8 Historicism as an Academic Discipline Aesthetic Historicism 12 Historicism as a Cultural Phenomenon Narrative and the Poetics of History Visual Historicism 19 Spatial Configurations 21

10 14 15

27 Part I: Leopold von Ranke and the Panorama Historical Ocularism 28 The Panorama as a Mass Medium 30 The Panoramic Eye of the Historian 33 Omniscient Writing 38 Visual Reality Effects 44 The Aesthetics of the Picturesque 49 Tourism and Travel Literature 49 Ida von Hahn-Hahn’s Literary Travelogues 50 The Oriental Panorama 53 The Colonial Panorama 58 Historical Landscapes 61 Alpinism 61 The Mountain Panorama 63 Historical Environmentalism 65 Ranke and the Panorama: Concluding Remarks

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73 Part II: Jacob Burckhardt and Photography Jacob Burckhardt’s Photo Collection 74 Photograph Shopping Tours 80 The Photo Collection 83 Mapping the Past 86 Typology 90 Serialisation 93 The Picture Atlas 95 The Photographic Gaze in Jacob Burckhardt’s Cicerone (1855) Roland Barthes’s Theory of Photography 100 Adalbert Stifter’s Photographic Aesthetics 104

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106 Living Monuments Photography as Cultural Memory

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Part III: Illustrated History Books 115 Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel’s History of Frederick the Great (1842) 118 122 Wood Engraving: The Revolution for Text and Image Bourgeois Spacializing 125 Geographical Space and Landscape 136 Illustrating Prussian and Colonial History 145 Handbooks of Prussian History 145 Editions de Luxe: Museums of the Past 152 157 Illustrated Books on Colonial History Samoa: Images of the Exotic “Other” 165 Part IV: Historical Cartography 173 Mapping Europe 173 173 Cartography and Construction Historical Mapping 177 Christian Kruse’s Historical Atlas: Bird’s Eye Views on History Text and Image Relationships 186 Historical School-Atlases 189 189 Mapping Prussia for School Children F. W. Putzger’s School-Atlas 190 The Construction of National Unity 193 Historical Cartography of Imperialism and Colonialism 198 Gustav Droysen’s Atlas of Military History 198 200 Mapping Wars Geopolitics 207 Colonial Historical Maps 210 Territorial Expansion 215 Conclusion

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List of Illustrations Bibliography Index of Names

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227 243

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Introduction This book analyzes the effects of popular visual culture on representations of the past in nineteenth-century German academic historicism. Recent scholars have adopted scientific, cultural, literary-aesthetic, and rhetorical perspectives to interpret the phenomenon of historicism.1 The major part of their research focuses on the written word – entailing philological interpretation, textual sources, and narrative as their key tools of representation.2 According to these debates, Clio the muse of history has to stick to her pen and write stories. My book moves beyond this textual-narrative paradigm and shows that popular visual culture played a major role in the way nineteenth-century academic historians imagined and understood the past. Panoramic paintings, photography, wood engraving, and illustrated newspapers stimulated a vibrant circulation of images during this time in Germany. Since many of these visual novelties displayed historical themes, these media generated a popular memory culture, often focused on German national figures and icons. The 100th anniversary of Prussian king Frederick II’s accession to the throne, for example, was celebrated in 1840 by the creation of statues, paintings, illustrated history books and popular novels.3 One could name more examples: the sculpture cult around the medieval German emperor Frederick Barbarossa, Leo von Klenze’s architectural feat of Walhalla (1842), which was a museum hall that exhibited German mythological figures, and the Hermann monument in the Teutoburg Forest (completed in 1875). The finishing of the monumental gothic-style cathedral of Cologne in 1880 represents yet another case.4

1 For the scientific aspect, see Jörn Rüsen, Konfigurationen des Historismus: Studien zur deutschen Wissenschaftskultur, Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1993. For the cultural aspect, see Otto Gerhard Oexle, Geschichtswissenschaft im Zeichen des Historismus: Studien zur Problemgeschichte der Moderne, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996, and for a literary-aesthetic perspective see Daniel Fulda, Wissenschaft aus Kunst: Die Entstehung der modernen deutschen Geschichtsschreibung 1760–1860, Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1996. For rhetorical approaches, see Hayden White, Metahistory: The Historical Imagination in Nineteenth-Century Europe, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1973. 2 Reinhart Koselleck develops the temporal-narrative paradigm of German historicism in his work: “Geschichte, Geschichten und formale Zeitstrukturen,” Geschichte: Ereignis und Erzählung, eds. Reinhart Koselleck and Wolf-Dieter Stempel, München: Fink, 1973, 211–222. 3 For more information about popular culture and Frederick II see Brent Orlyn Peterson, History, Fiction, and Germany: Writing the Nineteenth-Century Nation, Detroit: Wayne State UP, 2005. 4 Whereas parts of the cathedral were built in the Middle Ages, the main structure was finished in the period between 1824 and 1880.

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Introduction

Not only did museums, national monuments and historicist architecture boom, but also visual (historical) media. Panoramas, gigantic paintings that offered a 360-degree view, often exhibited historical battle scenes, military victories, and national events. Anton von Werner’s famous Sedan-Panorama (1883) gave a grand view of the battle of Sedan during the Franco-Prussian war in 1870 and an enormous canvas was placed in a special rotunda-shaped building. The painting became a spectator magnet, and staged the historical event as an eye-catching show.5 Illustrated newspapers as further examples for visual memory culture began to flourish in Germany around the middle of the nineteenth century. Due to the invention of wood engraving, newspapers could be easily illustrated and mass produced. Many of those reported about historical events and thus shaped the ways large audiences of readers processed and interpreted the past.6 From the 1850s onwards even academic historians, who were prone to consider images as trivial non-scholarly sources, began to employ illustration techniques that were used in popular mass produced journals.7 In the course of the nineteenth century, historians (but also scholars of the natural sciences, the humanities, and medicine) opened up their knowledge to the “public” and by the help of new visual media they tailored it to the expectations of the bourgeois audience.8 This medial translation of knowledge did not always entail a simplification or loss of academic quality, but rather created reciprocal interactions between scholarly and non-scholarly discourses. Scholarship on academic historicism often considers popular memory discourses as a kind of counter-culture. I argue that this opposition is exaggerated. The boundaries between the academy and historical pop-culture were in flux and the popularization of the past shaped collective perception modes of history that in turn transformed scholarly historicism. With a specific focus on visual culture my book explores this interaction, shows that academic histori-

5 Stephan Oettermann, Das Panorama: Die Geschichte eines Massenmediums, Frankfurt a. M.: Syndikat, 1980, 206. 6 Kirsten Belgum has shown how the popular magazine Die Gartenlaube configured German identity and shaped a national community by unifying readers. See Kirsten Belgum, Popularizing the Nation: Audience, Representation, and the Production of Identity Die Gartenlaube, 1853– 1900, Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 1998. 7 For the history of book illustration, see Regine Timm, ed. Buchillustration im 19. Jahrhundert, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1988. 8 For a discussion about the popularization of scholarly knowledge in nineteenth-century Germany, see Angela Schwarz, “Bilden, Überzeugen, Unterhalten: Wissenschaftspopularisierung und Wissenskultur im 19. Jahrhundert,” Wissenspopularisierung: Konzepte der Wissensverbreitung im Wandel, ed. Carsten Kretschmann, Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2003, 221–234.

Visual Culture

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ans utilized visual strategies of representing the past, and evaluates the effects of the visual in terms of historical interpretation. Tracing this impact of visual popular culture on scholarly historiography, on academic art historical writings, on illustrated history books, and on historical cartography, my book detects a dimension in scholarly historicism that is commonly overlooked: that is, the dimension of space. Utilizing different strategies of visual representation academic historicist works construct models of “spatialized” time. In this context space does not embody a unified homogenous concept, but rather a historical, social, and aesthetic construction.9 These spatial models of history make us aware that historicism no longer has to be understood as a phenomenon that deploys exclusively temporality, narrative, and events, but rather a multi-medial discourse, which entails a plurality of conceptual and representational modes of history. It is important to note that exploring these visual-spatial configurations of German historicism is not to show that scholarly historians produced an “alternative” history, which stands in opposition to the ideologies of Prussian nationalism, imperialism, and colonialism. Their works do not articulate a critique of historicism like that often associated with some literary works during this time. On the contrary, in my book Clio gains the capacity to see, but her eyesight engages a critical discussion on how images of history construct national identity and affirm political power.

Visual Culture Clio’s eyes shape different views of history than do paper, scroll, and pen. What does it mean then to analyze her eyesight? Investigating a variety of visual-textual constellations, I concentrate on pictures, namely, on nineteenthcentury panorama paintings, on art historical photographs, on illustrated history books, as well as on historical cartography. I further explore nineteenthcentury scholarly historiography as what W. J. T. Mitchell has termed “pictorial texts.”10 These are texts that work with detailed description, eye-witnessing 9 My approach is inspired by theoretical considerations that perceive space as a medium of social relations as well as a product of rhetorical strategies. For these perspectives, see for example Jörg Döring and Tristan Thielmann, eds., Spatial Turn: Das Raumparadigma in den Kultur- und Sozialwissenschaften, Bielefeld: transcript Verlag, 2008. 10 W. J. T. Mitchell, “Pictorial Texts,” Picture Theory: Essays on Verbal and Visual Representation, Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1994, 213–322. In the following cited as Picture Theory within the main text. Mitchell’s other works (Iconology: Image, Text, Ideology, Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1986; What Do Pictures Want? The Lives and Loves of Images, Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2005) also have been crucial for my work.

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Introduction

effects, and figurative speech. This kind of “pictorial historiography” thus employs the rhetorical strategy of hypotyposis, a poetic means simulating the experience of seeing: “The figure of speech, which Cicero described as ‘putting something instantly in front of the eyes’ is used, when a process is not characterized as having happened, but presented how it happened.”11 By means of hypotyposis the scenes of the past seem to happen right in front of the eyes of the reader creating the illusion of being there, being present, and witnessing the events of the past. Often the scholarly historians inserted illustrations into their historiographies enhancing the effects of hypotyposis and facilitating intense interpretative tensions between text and image. Although there are different visual configurations at stake in my book, e.g. pictures (such as photographs, panorama paintings), “pictorial” historical writings, as well as the text-image hybrids of illustrated history books and historical cartography, the central question is how the presence of the visual in these historicist discourses influences our ways of processing and interpreting the past. Mitchell’s quest to point to the difference between the textual and visual modes in making sense of the world has been vital. Mitchell attributes to images something that was long denied in many academic disciplines: the image is no longer merely a supplement, something that illustrates knowledge, but rather it shapes, constructs, and projects meaning under its own visual terms. His theories accredit to images a power that emphasizes their own epistemological autonomy and capacity, a power still often neglected in logo-centric Western intellectual discourses. Mitchell notes in Picture Theory: Whatever the pictorial turn is, then, it should be clear that it is not a return to naive mimesis, copy, or correspondence theories of representation, or a renewed metaphysics of pictorial “presence”: it is rather a postlinguistic, postsemiotic rediscovery of the picture as a complex interplay between visuality, apparatus, institutions, discourse, bodies, and figurality. (Mitchell, Picture Theory 16)

The pictorial turn not only gives attention to the image as a key aspect of our life world, but also considers the image as a central component of structuring knowledge, aesthetic representation, political power, medicine, history, and philosophy. The pictorial turn has to highlight a type of visual competence, in which images gain an autonomous power of constructing meaning. Mitchell assigns to images a potency to achieve their own hermeneutic authority that

11 “Die rhetorische Figur, die Cicero als ‘Unmittelbar-vor-Augen-Stellen’ bezeichnet, pflegt dann einzutreten, wenn ein Vorgang nicht als geschehen angegeben, sondern so, wie er geschehen ist, vorgeführt wird,” “Beschreibung,” Historisches Wörterbuch der Rhetorik, Vol. 1, ed. Gert Ueding, Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1992, 1496.

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in contrast to textual forms of representation expresses deictic forms of signification, on simultaneity, on intensity, and compression. Even though Mitchell explicitly distances himself from iconic image analysis, which is often geared towards a notion of “high art” and proposes a hermeneutic ontology of images,12 he underscores the autonomous power of the visual. This power of images became also a crucial factor for investigating and interpreting the past. In the last few years the discipline of history has addressed issues of visuality and iconicity.13 However scholarship about academic historicism has consistently ignored these challenges. Visualizing the past must go beyond a positive reassessment of images as historical sources14 and a historical investigation of images.15 Rather picturing history is at stake, i.e. an effort to think and interpret history in visual terms. Accordingly historical time should no longer be exclusively understood via linear and teleological models, but rather pictured in discontinuous, descriptive, and simultaneous modes. History can unfold complex layers of meaning that do not have to fit into one cohesive story. This visual mode of looking at historical events may not surprise literary theorists and cultural critics, also many historians have certainly engaged in the epistemological consequences of visual analysis. My point is, however, that scholarship about German historicism has mostly neglected to do that. Investigating the epistemological power of images within the historicist discourse also intertwines German academic historicism with the practices of visual cultural studies. Mitchell’s work has had a tremendous influence on visual theory in various disciplines, such as anthropology, media studies, and image semiotics.16 The term visual culture has appeared in diverse academic fields approximately since the early 1990s and has been featured in discussion ever since. Vanessa Schwartz has delineated the term in the following way:

12 See the recent work of Gottfried Boehm and Horst Bredekamp, eds., Ikonologie der Gegenwart, Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink, 2008. 13 For an overview of research on images and history, see Martina Heßler, “Bilder zwischen Kunst und Wissenschaft: Neue Herausforderungen für die Forschung,” Geschichte und Gesellschaft 31.2 (2005): 266–292. 14 As done for example by Peter Burke, Eyewitnessing: The Uses of Images as Historical Evidence, Ithaca: Cornell UP, 2001. 15 See Heike Talkenberger, “Historische Erkenntnis durch Bilder: Zur Methode und Praxis historischer Bildkunde,” Geschichte: Ein Grundkurs, ed. Hans-Jürgen Goetz, Hamburg: Reinbek, 1998, 83–98. 16 See the works by Hans Belting, Bild-Anthropologie: Entwürfe für eine Bildwissenschaft, München: Fink, 2001 and Klaus Sachs-Hombach, Bildwissenschaft zwischen Reflexion und Anwendung, Köln: Herbert von Halem, 2005.

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Introduction

Visual culture can be defined first by its objects of study, which are examined not for their aesthetic value per se but for their meaning as modes of making images and defining visual experience in particular historical contexts. Visual culture has a particular investment in vision as a historically specific experience, mediated by new technologies and the individual and social formations they enable.17

Visual cultural studies embody the analysis of the materiality of images, their production, and their reception in historical, cultural, and social contexts. It explicitly embraces phenomena, such as advertising, popular exhibition practices, and film.18 This emphasis on the popular realm has been imperative for my contextualization of German historicism with visuality, since in particular visual mass culture influenced its representational practices. Visual culture implements an expanded notion of the image, and it addresses questions of the production conditions of images, their distribution and reception by a mass audience, and the socio-historical conditions of visual perception. Theoreticians of visual cultural studies19 historicize image analysis, and they often follow Walter Benjamin’s ideas about collective perception modes: During long periods of history, the mode of human sense perception changes with humanity’s entire mode of existence. The manner in which human sense perception is organized, the medium in which it is accomplished, is determined not only by nature but by historical circumstances as well.20

17 Vanessa R. Schwartz and Jeannene M. Przyblyski, “Visual Culture’s History: Twenty-first Century Interdisciplinarity and its Nineteenth-Century Objects,” The Nineteenth-Century Visual Culture Reader, eds. Vanessa R. Schwartz and Jeannene M. Przyblyski, New York: Routledge, 2004, 6–7. 18 See also Nicholas Mirzoeff, ed., The Visual Culture Reader, New York: Routledge, 1998. This work highlights the connection between visual culture and popular media. 19 For example Martin Jay, Downcast Eyes: The Denigration of Vision in Twentieth-Century French Thought, Berkeley: U of California P, 1993; Tom Holert, Imagineering: Visuelle Kultur und Politik der Sichtbarkeit, Köln: Oktagon, 2000. 20 Walter Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” Illuminations: Essays and Reflections, ed. Hannah Arendt and trans. Harry Zohn, New York: Schocken Books, 1968, 222. In German: “Innerhalb großer geschichtlicher Zeiträume verändert sich mit der gesamten Daseinsweise der historischen Kollektiva ihre Wahrnehmung. Die Art und Weise, in der die menschliche Wahrnehmung sich organisiert – das Medium, in dem sie erfolgt – ist nicht nur natürlich sondern auch geschichtlich bedingt,” Walter Benjamin, “Das Kunstwerk im Zeitalter seiner technischen Reproduzierbarkeit, Erste Fassung,” Walter Benjamin: Gesammelte Schriften, eds. Rolf Tiedemann and Hermann Schweppenhäuser, Vol. 1.2, Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1974, 439.

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Human perception modes are subject to historical and social processes. Urbanization, the invention of new transport systems, such as railroads,21 as well as the rise of mass media (panoramas, newspaper printing, and photography) change the ways in which the subject perceives reality. Jonathan Crary describes this historical construction of seeing in his analysis of observation techniques in the nineteenth century. His work emphasizes that the observer is always embedded in a set of (historical) conventions and conditions and thus he or she “sees” according to pre-existing possibilities.22 This historization of the viewer as well as the historical contextualization of optical media creates interdependence between historicism and visual culture in the nineteenth century. Only on this basis of historization am I able to show that visual culture, exemplified by optical media such as the panorama, photography, and image printing techniques, delivered popular perception modes of history that were, in turn, transformed into representational practices of academic historicism.23 Already the German literary author Friedrich Oldenberg characterized the nineteenth century and its preoccupation with images in one of his essays in 1859 with the following words: “The steady enhancement of image production represents a key signature of our historical epoch. The extent of this image production is unprecedented. It seems as if our time has a disposition to be a ‘seeing’ one.”24 Oldenberg considers visual representation as a key feature of the nineteenth century and was particularly interested in popular media, such as postcards, newspaper images, as well as photography. For him his century was marked by a “flood of images” (Bilderflut) referring to the invention of new visual media, their mass fabrication, and mass distribution. My investiga21 Wolfgang Schivelbusch makes this connection between train traveling and panoramic paintings in his book The Railway Journey: The Industrialization of Time and Space in the Nineteenth Century, Berkeley: U of California P, 1986. 22 Jonathan Crary, Techniques of the Observer: On Vision and Modernity in the Nineteenth Century, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT P, 1990. 23 Asa Briggs and Peter Burke, A Social History of the Media: From Gutenberg to the Internet, Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 2009. This book gives a great overview about the emergence of different media across time and thus demonstrates the importance of history in the field of media studies. Barbara Maria Stafford’s book Visual Analogy: Consciousness as the Art of Connecting, Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press, 1999, highlights the interdiscursivity between the development of optical media and visual modes of perception. 24 All the translations in this book are my own unless otherwise noted. “Zur Signatur der Gegenwart gehört die […] sich immer steigernde Bildproduktion. Dieselbe mag kaum irgend jemals einen solchen Umfang wie jetzt erreicht haben. Es scheint, als ob unsere Zeit vorzugsweise dazu disponirt wäre, eine sehende zu sein,” Friedrich Oldenberg, Ein Streifzug in die Bilderwelt, Hamburg: Agentur des Rauen Hauses, 1859, 27. I owe the discovery of this quotation to Nic Leonhardt’s work Piktoral-Dramaturgie: Visuelle Kultur und Theater im 19. Jahrhundert (1869–1899), Bielefeld: transcript, 2007.

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Introduction

tion cannot embrace all the different kinds of media that constituted this “flood” and it limits its analysis to representative examples relevant for historicism, such as the panorama, art historical photography, illustrated history books, and mass produced historical cartography.

The Rise of German Historicism According to the historian Reinhart Koselleck, around the last third of the eighteenth century, history gained the power of becoming a “collective singular,” it obtained a symbolic authority to create meaning and to make sense of the past.25 This career shift of history from its function of telling stories into a symbolic concept is grounded on historical and intellectual changes in late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century Europe. The historical development of the French Revolution was crucial in this respect since it shifted attention from rational ideals to the investigation of the past. The French Revolution stood for the Enlightenment ideals of freedom, reason and tolerance as well as for the proclamation of human and natural rights. The revolution’s finale through the collapse of the republic, the reign of Jacobin terror, and Napoleon’s imperial regime shattered trust in the optimistic ideas of humanity. Many intellectuals no longer considered the modern subject as a meaningful factor within the process of a better and freer society, but described the relationship between man and society, culture and nature as marked by crisis. Friedrich Schiller’s famous “Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Man” (“Über die ästhetische Erziehung des Menschen in einer Reihe von Briefen,” 1801)26 are symptomatic of this perception, as they record what they considered the deep rift in the processes of modern European civilization. The object of their criticism was particularly the Enlightenment idea of rationality as a principle that could control political, social, historical, and aesthetic processes. Many intellectuals during this time shared this fundamental experience of crisis that Schiller articulated in his letters and proposed ideas to “heal” modern society. Johann Gottfried Herder’s scepticism about universal and rational categories gained a specific historical dimension, one which was crucial for the formation of historicism. According to Herder, historical processes need no

25 “Geschichte. Historie,” Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe: Historisches Lexikon zur poltisch-sozialen Sprache in Deutschland, Vol. 2, eds. Otto Brunner, Werner Conze, and Reinhart Koselleck, Stuttgart: Klett, 1972, 647–652. 26 Friedrich Schiller, “Über die ästhetische Erziehung des Menschen in einer Reihe von Briefen,” Schillers Werke, Vol. 4, ed. Herbert Kraft, Frankfurt a. M.: Insel, 1966, 193–286.

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longer adhere to a progressive linear development towards the universal ideas of history. Rather, historical development is constituted through the individuality and uniqueness of historical events, subjects, and nations.27 The Enlightenment model of perfectibility, in which historical events develop towards a higher goal (telos), is reformulated by the idea that history moves in an organic fashion. Historical meaning thus cannot be coded in normative terms but it is conceptualized rather as a part-whole model, in which the part embodies a meaningful representation of a historical (theological) totality.28 In this context the image gains an important status in Herder’s conception of history. Instead of narrating history according to systematic and pragmatic rules, his writings intend to represent “an image from history, a whole continuity.”29 The image is the suitable medium to achieve the symbolic referentiality between the historical particular and universal ideas. Like Schiller and Herder, the authors of German Romanticism were also disillusioned with the outcome of the French Revolution and made the criticism of rationality one of the main pillars of their intellectual and literary works; they celebrated the fantastic as a counter-discourse against modernity. In contrast to Enlightenment literature, their works were oriented more towards the past as they gazed back to traditions of earlier times; particularly to the pre-modern periods of the Middle Ages and the time before the Reformation. This nostalgic glance should potentially cure the crisis modernity had brought about and should help to re-establish a form of collective identity. In close connection with Herder’s thoughts about the individual spirit of national communities and peoples, the Romantics, particularly in the later phase, concentrated on nation as well as national heritage as meaningful shapers of history. Romantic literature and aesthetic theory often herald the image – the poetic, mythical, or national image – as the privileged medium that can voice a critique of the Enlightenment’s conceptions of rationality and discursive categorical language.30 27 For the importance of Herder for the formation of German historicism, see Georg Iggers, The German Conception of History: The National Tradition of Historical Thought from Herder to the Present, Middletown: Wesleyan UP, 1983. 28 The totality, however, cannot be understood or represented: the historical field of knowledge is defined by particularities that in turn can only symbolize historical totality. In this context history does not lose its telos. Although the past is no longer conceptualized as the product of a linear development, it is represented as a symbolic constellation. 29 “aus der Geschichte mehr Bild, ein ganzes Continuum,” Johann Gottfried Herder, “A. L. Schlözers Vorstellung seiner Universal-Historie 1772,” Sämmtliche Werke, Vol. 5, ed. Bernhard Suphan, Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1967, 439. 30 For the role of the image in Romantic aesthetics, see for example Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe and Jean-Luc Nancy, The Literary Absolute: The Theory of Literature in German Romanticism, Albany: State U of New York P, 1988.

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Introduction

These intellectual trends to historicize culture as well as to present historical knowledge as a vivid, immediate and visual experience were fundamental for the formation of German historicism. In a broad sense the term historicism demarcates a general orientation towards the past, in which the reconstruction, representation, and understanding of the past should provide knowledge about the present.31 Depending on the individual historian or “historicistminded” intellectual this orientation can be based on scholarly, cultural, philosophical, or aesthetic principles. In some ways one could consider this orientation as a criticism of Hegel’s idealist philosophy of history. Hegel’s metaphysical concept of reason, which determines historical processes a priori and directs the representation of the past into a teleological progression towards the state of freedom, goes against the grain of the idea of historical individuality and uniqueness. Hegel’s philosophy, however, was also in many ways essential for the shaping of history into a historical discipline, since its system of thought attributes an epistemological authority to the past that it did not have before and that was crucial for all facets of historicism. His concepts of historical ideas as well as his affirmation of the nation state formed historicist discourses. Particularly the political aspects of historicism often overlap with Hegel’s philosophy and many historians shared its conservative, state legitimizing, and nationalistic orientation.

Historicism as an Academic Discipline Leopold von Ranke can be seen as the founding father of German academic historicism, since his works show the first sustained attempt to shape history into a scholarly discipline.32 Born in 1795, when the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation still existed, Ranke experienced in the course of his long life (he died in 1886) the turbulence of German history from the beginning of the Congress of Vienna in 1815 to the 1848 revolution and the foundation of the Prussian-German Empire in 1871. In 1825, one year after he published his first book History of the Latin and Teutonic Nations 1495–1514 (Die Geschichten der

31 This definition is given by Dirk Niefanger in “Historismus,” Historisches Wörterbuch der Rhetorik, Vol. 3, ed. Gert Ueding, Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1996, 1409–1421. 32 Georg Iggers has shown in great detail how Ranke professionalized the historical discipline and developed scholarly criteria to analyze the past. See Georg Iggers and James Powell, eds., Leopold von Ranke and the Shaping of the Historical Discipline, Syracuse: Syracuse UP, 1990.

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romanischen und germanischen Völker von 1495–1514),33 he was offered a position as professor of history at the new Humboldt University in Berlin. In the course of his work Ranke established criteria that professionalized history: derhetoricization, source study, and narrative. The idea of de-rhetoricization aims to repudiate all rhetorical elements in history writing. Ranke indicts, for example, the Italian Renaissance historian Francesco Guicciardini for integrating rhetorical ornaments, fictitious illustrations, imaginary speeches and false documents into his historiography. Ranke despised his work as an act of forgery. And aimed to install – in however naive a way – a paradigm of objectivity.34 Ranke’s work claims that scholarly historiography should contain only the “the naked truth without any ornaments, thorough analysis of the details; the rest under God’s command; no fiction, not even in details, no fantasizing.”35 Similar to the eighteenth-century Enlightenment historian Johann Christoph Gatterer, Ranke emphasizes the importance of evidence and the truth of historical representation and thus turns against rhetorical traditions of early modern and Baroque history writing.36 Ranke intended to base his writing solely on authentic sources and evidence and notes that “the origin of its matter are memories, diaries, letters, official correspondence and original accounts of the eye witnesses.”37 For Ranke as well as for the coming generations of academic historians the study of textual sources became the central criterion for writing professional history. As many of Ranke’s letters and notes show, the archive embodied the ideal workplace for the “new” historian and thus was the cradle of professional historical working techniques, such the apparatus of footnotes, references, and bibliographies.38 33 Leopold von Ranke, Geschichten der romanischen und germanischen Völker von 1494 bis 1514, Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1885. In English: Ranke, History of the Latin and Teutonic Nations 1494 to 1514, trans. George Ravenscroft Dennis, London: George Bell & Sons, 1976. In the following cited as Histories within the main text. 34 In particular British scholarship on Ranke emphasizes the aspect of objectivity and factuality of his historical approach and writing. See for example the characterization of Ranke’s work by Edward Hallett Carr, What is History? London: Macmillan, 1961 and John Emerich Dalberg-Acton, Lectures on Modern History, London: Macmillan, 1930. 35 “Nackte Wahrheit ohne allen Schmuck, gründliche Erforschung des Einzelnen, das Übrige Gott befohlen; nur kein Erdichten, auch nicht im Kleinsten, nur kein Hirngespinst,” Ranke, Zur Kritik neuerer Geschichtsschreiber, Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1884, 24. 36 It is important to note that Enlightenment historiography sustained a rhetorical tradition and saw parallels in history and novel writing. See Fulda, Wissenschaft aus Kunst 49–144. 37 “der Ursprung ihres Stoffes sind Memoiren, Tagebücher, Briefe, Gesandschaftsbriefe und ursprüngliche Erzählungen der Augenzeugen,” Ranke, Geschichten 4. 38 On archives and footnotes in the nineteenth century, see Anthony Grafton, The Footnote: A Curious History, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard UP, 1997.

12

Introduction

Aesthetic Historicism Even though Ranke emphasizes factuality, objectivity, and scholarliness, his criteria for establishing history as an academic discipline are closely intertwined with the aesthetic discourse. His proposal for de-rhetoricization actually implies a demand for another set of poetic forms, such as strategies that have the task of conveying the impression of authenticity, verisimilitude, and ideal truth. Source study follows the aesthetic interpretive practice of hermeneutics, and it is no coincidence that Ranke was occupied with philology, e.g. the translation, interpretation, and exegesis of classical and romantic literary texts as well as Luther’s theological works. Ranke sums up the aesthetic configuration of modern history in a bold proposal: “History differs from other scholarly disciplines, because it is at the same time art.”39 Ranke integrates scholarly discourse and art into his conception of historicism, in which the task of the aesthetics is to represent and re-produce the scholarly findings. For many nineteenth-century historians this aesthetic configuration of the new discipline of history was nothing much to wonder at. On the contrary, it was often seen as the necessary precondition for differentiating history into a modern academic discipline. Also the generation of historians that began to write academic historiography in the second half of the nineteenth century continued the alliance with the aesthetic realm – if, however, with decisive ideological and political disagreements with Ranke. The so-called “Prussian School” of historians embodied a political radicalization of the Rankean version of historicism. Its adherents included Droysen, the conservative historian and journalist Heinrich von Treitschke, Heinrich von Sybel, and Theodor Mommsen. While this group was not without internal divergences, its members all subscribed to the notion that the historian had to overcome political impartiality and should use his writing as an instrument to convey a political program.40 Their agenda demanded, for instance, the building of a strong German nation state, which excluded Austria under a Prussian government.41 Ranke’s 39 “Die Historie unterscheidet sich dadurch von den anderen Wissenschaften, daß sie zugleich Kunst ist,” Ranke, “Idee der Universalhistorie,” Vorlesungseinleitungen, eds. Volker Dotterweich and Walther Peter Fuchs, München: Oldenbourg Verlag, 1975, 72. 40 For an introduction to the history and political program of the “Prussian School,” see Friedrich Jaeger and Jörn Rüsen, Geschichte des Historismus: Eine Einführung, München: Beck, 1992, 86–92; Georg Iggers, “Nationalism and Historiography, 1789–1996: The German Example in Historical Perspective,” Writing National Histories: Western Europe since 1800, eds. Stefan Berger, Mark Donovan, and Kevin Passmore, New York: Routledge, 1999, 15–30. 41 This political position, also known as the “Gotha-position,” is associated with a group of historians that existed at the time of the Frankfurt National Assembly and anticipated the goals of the Prussian School. See Robert Southard, Droysen and the Prussian School of History, Lexington: UP of Kentucky, 1995, 194–216.

Aesthetic Historicism

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historiography was never politically neutral, but the Prussian School moved radically beyond his slogan – “to show what actually happened”42 – and they intertwined their academic research with political party programs. Even though the parameters of objectivity and partiality were differently positioned in their works, they nevertheless never questioned its aesthetic design. Droysen, as the theoretical leader of this group, highlighted the narrative as the central mode of representing history, and philological source study, the practices of hermeneutics, and textual criticism constituted the essential working conditions for these historians. In this light, it is less surprising that the famous historian Theodor Mommsen won in 1902 the Nobel Prize for literature for his book on Roman history. In today’s research on German historicism this synthesis between history and aesthetics is still prominent. Historian Jörn Rüsen has emphasized the instrumentalization of aesthetics as a necessary step in formulating the history as a modern “disciplinary matrix.”43 Rüsen bases many of his arguments on the work of the German historian Friedrich Meinecke, who articulated an intellectual orientation towards German classical idealism in his writings on historicism. There have been a number of works that demonstrate the presence of eighteenth-century aesthetic and literary traditions in nineteenth-century academic historicism.44 It is symptomatic of this scholarship, that historicism’s aesthetic design is debated exclusively in textual terms as well as under the auspices of so-called high culture, such as the intellectual and literary works of German Romanticism, Goethe’s novels, and Schiller’s plays.45 42 Leopold von Ranke, “The Historian’s Craft,” The Secret of World History: Selected Writings on the Art and Science of History, ed. Roger Wines, New York: Fordham UP, 1981, 58; “zeigen, wie es eigentlich gewesen [ist],” Ranke, Geschichten der romanischen und germanischen Völker von 1494 bis 1514, Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1885, VII. 43 “disziplinären Matrix,” Rüsen, Konfigurationen 88. 44 See for example Carl Hinrichs’s book Ranke und die Geschichtstheologie der Goethezeit, Göttingen: Musterschmidt, 1954, and Fulda, Wissenschaft aus Kunst. 45 In contrast to Hinrichs and Fulda, who argued for an understanding of historicism based on aesthetic parameters, Hayden White and Roland Barthes have questioned the instrumentalization of the aesthetic discourse as a means of defining modern scholarly historiography. They pointed to the autonomy of literature, which in turn allows literary works to make sense according their own laws of fictionality, rhetoric, and tropology and thus they questioned the scholarly authority of academic historicism, precisely because of its aesthetic configuration. Their arguments are important, but they are not relevant for this book because my point is to analyze the visual dimension of academic historicism, an aspect that Barthes and White equally ignored. See White, Metahistory and Roland Barthes, “The Discourse of History,” The Rustle of Language, trans. Richard Howard, Oxford, UK: Basil Blackwell, 1986, 127–140. Historians always have to use rhetorical strategies to represent knowledge and that does not undermine their scholarly claims, but rather act as means of communication, representation, and

14

Introduction

Historicism as a Cultural Phenomenon By the end of the nineteenth century Ranke’s definitions of scholarly history experienced a type of renaissance. Many professional historians argued for the return to the object of investigation and for a more impartial mode of historical research. This reorientation towards the facts, however, also revived debates about relativism and positivism. Already Ranke’s naive claims about historical objectivity posed the problem that historical analysis could drown in an abundance of meaningless facts.46 Towards the late nineteenth century historicism acquired a pejorative connotation and was seen as a practice disconnected from presence and life. Friedrich Nietzsche’s famous critique of historicism in his essay “On the Advantage and Disadvantage of History for Life” (“Vom Nutzen und Nachteil der Historie für das Leben,” 1874)47 is symptomatic of the crisis of historicism since he calls for life in the process of historical remembering; an aspect that according to his philosophy got lost in the historicist obsession of facts and data. In the early twentieth century this crisis of historicism was encountered by a new generation of historians. Most prominently Ernst Troeltsch and his text “Historicism and its Problems” (“Der Historismus und seine Probleme, 1922)”48 called for a cultural reorientation and outlined a concept of an allencompassing cultural history. He defined historicism as “the basic historization of our ideas about mankind, its culture, and its values.”49 Troeltsch aimed to synthesize culture into a universal history of European culture, and on the basis of this universalization he developed a material philosophy of history. His thought model should counteract the relativizing effects of Rankean histor-

interpretation. See James Bono, “Science, Discourse, and Literature: The Role/Rule of Metaphor in Science,” Literature and Science: Theory and Practice, ed. Stuart Peterfreund, Boston: Northeastern UP, 1990, 59–91. 46 Ranke formulates this claim by the following statement: “I wish I could eradicate my own self […],”; “Ich wünschte mein Selbst gleichsam auszulöschen […],” Ranke, Englische Geschichte, vornehmlich im 17. Jahrhundert, Sämmtliche Werke, Vol. 15, Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1870, 103. 47 Friedrich Nietzsche, “Unzeitgemäße Betrachtungen: Vom Nutzen und Nachtheil der Historie für das Leben,” Sämtliche Werke: Kritische Studienausgabe, Vol. 1, eds. Giorgio Colli and Mazzino Montinari, Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1999, 242–334. In English: On the Advantage and Disadvantage of History for Life, trans. Peter Preuss, Indianapolis: Hackett, 1980. 48 Ernst Troeltsch, Der Historismus und seine Probleme, Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. 3, Tübingen: Mohr, 1922, 102. For a cultural approach towards historicism, see also Hans Schleier, Geschichte der deutschen Kulturgeschichtsschreibung, Vol. 1, Waltrop: Hartmut Spenner, 2003. 49 “die grundsätzliche Historisierung unseres Denkens über den Menschen, seine Kultur und seine Werte,” Troeltsch, Der Historismus und seine Probleme 102.

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icism, and, in doing so, establish a practice of historical research that could combine the institution of moral values within the dynamics of historical interpretation. Cultural historian Otto Gerhard Oexle expands Troeltsch’s ideas and suggests that historicism represents a “constitutive phenomenon of modernity.”50 For Oexle, historicism gains the status of a formative power for different discourses of knowledge. The historization of knowledge particularly affected scholarly disciplines, such as academic historiography, archeology, law, economy, and philosophy – disciplines that historicized their field of investigation, methodology, and theoretical approach. Oexle’s definition of historicism as a cross-disciplinary phenomenon also integrates the aesthetic realm, given that historicism had a tremendous influence on literature, painting, and music. His approach has particularly been of interest for scholars of literature, who utilized the broad definition of historicism as a basis in formulating aesthetic historicism,51 as well as a rhetorical-poetic principle.52

Narrative and the Poetics of History Although German historicism does not represent one homogenous historical practice,53 many scholars consider the narrative as its foundational mode of representation. Within the different configurations of historicism, nineteenthcentury as well as contemporary historians elevate the form of the narrative as the central medium of representation. For Ranke, the narrative followed the stylistic idea of de-rhetoricization and had the task of ordering historical information in a truthful fashion. Historian Gustav Droysen, who was Ranke’s 50 “konstitutives Phänomen der Moderne,” Otto Gerhard Oexle, “Historismus: Überlegungen zur Geschichte des Phänomens und des Begriffs,” Jahrbuch der Braunschweigischen wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft 86 (1986): 119–155, 119. 51 For connecting historicism to aesthetic and literary discourses, see Hannelore and Heinz Schlaffer, Studien zum ästhetischen Historismus, Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1975 and Peter Paret, Art as History: Episodes in the Culture and Politics of Nineteenth-Century Germany, Princeton: Princeton UP, 1988. 52 Christoph Brecht, et al., Historismus und literarische Moderne, Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1996; Moritz Baßler, Die Entdeckung der Textur: Unverständlichkeit in der Kurzprosa der emphatischen Moderne 1910–1916, Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1994; Gotthart Wunberg, “Unverständlichkeit: Historismus und literarische Moderne,” Hofmannsthal-Jahrbuch zur europäischen Moderne 1 (1993): 309–350. 53 Fritz Stern’s book The Varieties of History: From Voltaire to the Present, London: Macmillan, 1956 gives a great overview of the different German as well as European traditions of scholarly historicism.

16

Introduction

student and is often seen as the theoretician of academic historicism, noted: “The narrative represents a mimesis of becoming.”54 The narrative reflects the temporal configuration of historical events and accordingly represents a “parallel” medium that can capture historical reality. The narrative gains the status of an epistemological principle, which cannot only represent historical events, but also can mediate – through its form – the authenticity of historical processes.55 Rüsen emphasizes that the narrative represents the logic of making sense out of the past. Basing his arguments on the phenomenological hermeneutics of Paul Ricœur, he suggests that: “Historical narration is the sum of mental operations that by means of temporal experiences shape the meaning of the human life-world.”56 Rüsen closely intertwines the narrative form with processes of making sense; processes that are based on the experience of temporality. The narrative embodies a type of epistemological tool to understand our life-world and its embeddedness in the presence and the past. This ontological configuration of the historical narrative supports the idea of the historical event (Ereignis). Historians often characterize the German academic historicism as a discourse that practices event-history (Ereignisgeschichte), since it exclusively focuses on political, diplomatic, and military history and its respective individual historical leaders. The opposition to this historical practice embodies structure history (Strukturgeschichte), a theoretical movement founded by the French Annales School, which had its beginnings with Fernand Braudel and his works on the Mediterranean in the 1950s. Braudel and many historians of following generations claimed to integrate economic, social-historical, as well as geographical (supra-individual) structures into their historical analysis. In doing so, they drew a sharp line towards representatives of

54 “Die Erzählung repräsentiert eine Mimesis des Werdens,” Johann Gustav Droysen, Historik: Historisch-kritische Ausgabe, ed. Peter Leyh, Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: frommann-holzboog, 1977, 220. 55 In research about German historicism of the last generation the practice of the narrative still embodies a dominant form of the ways how the past should be represented. Werner Schiffermüller, for example, highlights the narrative as the medium that represents and processes history. See Werner Schiffermüller, Theorien der Geschichtsschreibung und ihre erzähltheoretische Relevanz, Stuttgart: Metzler, 1980. See also Wolf-Dieter Stempel, “Erzählung, Beschreibung und der historische Diskurs,” Geschichte: Ereignis und Erzählung, eds. Reinhart Koselleck and Wolf-Dieter Stempel, München: Fink, 1973, 325–346. 56 “Historisches Erzählen ist dann das Ensemble derjenigen mentalen Operationen, in denen über Zeiterfahrungen orientierende Sinnbestimmungen der menschlichen Lebenspraxis gebildet werden,” Rüsen, Konfigurationen 114.

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historicist event-history that mostly focused on individual subjects and historical events.57 However, no matter to which one of these historical approaches one is inclined, the important point is, that both of them consider the narrative as a foundational concept to shape historical meaning. That is the case for the event history, since its representative from Ranke to Rüsen always process history in a narrative format. But also the structural historians utilize, despite their methodological apparatus and structural analysis, the narrative form; in particular with their demands to capture overarching historical contexts. In order to characterize the notion of narrative that is viral in scholarship on German historicism, Jean-François Lyotard’s concept of the “grand narrative” is useful. Lyotard has developed this term when he defined modern sciences in need of some “grand narrative, such as the dialectics of spirit, the hermeneutics of meaning, the emancipation of the rational or working subject, or the creation of wealth.”58 Of course, Lyotard was concerned about the conditions of knowledge in postmodern society and did not write about the status of narrative in German historicism. Nevertheless, the idea of the grand narrative59 does fit, since many historians within the tradition of German historicism aim to tell history in one coherent story. Often their grand narrative is configured by teleology; a meta-historical frame that makes sense out of the particular. In this respect teleology is understood as a narrative direction, which unfolds the historical events as a development towards a goal (telos), such as the formation of a nation state or the state of freedom. This narrative does not always have to convey a causal and chronological sequence of events, a narrative can also be called teleological if its segments refer to a symbolic metahistorical idea and is not ordered within a linear fashion. From the early 1980s historians (often in close collaboration with literary scholars) analyzed the literariness and the rhetoricity of historical texts, which in turn generated exciting debates about the boundaries between history and literature. Hayden White’s study Metahistory: The Historical Imagination in Nineteenth-Century Europe (1973) in which he argues that the historical imagination has an intrinsic literary quality, exemplified by its use of literary genres and tropological figures, was groundbreaking for many works on the relation57 Rüsen, however, attempts to reconcile both approaches by claiming that narrative eventhistory does embrace structural-historical elements (Rüsen, Konfigurationen 114). 58 Jean-François Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge, trans. Geoff Bennington, Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1984. 59 For a more extensive discussion of this term, see Robert Berkhofer, Beyond the Great Story: History as Text and Discourse, Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard UP, 1995. Berkhofer shows how this postmodern term can be used for historical analysis.

18

Introduction

ship between history, rhetoric, and poetics.60 In particular the issue of the fictionality of historiography has been the object of many controversies. Not only a number of academic historians demanded the empirical world back into their own discipline, but also literary scholars insisted on a distinction between fiction and fact. The works by the literary scholar Dorrit Cohn go against the grain of the postmodern credo that all textual utterance epitomizes fiction and she draws some sharp generic borderlines.61 Cohn insists, for example, that non-referentiality represents a “signpost” for the fictional status of a text, a signpost that is in turn lacking in historiographical texts since they have to be referential.62 Her provocative arguments clearly touched a nerve in the midst of the celebration of textuality in the 1990s and many scholars have responded to her ideas. In particular, Cohn’s idea that the representation of the mental life of a person (often conveyed via indirect narrative discourse) embodies a specific quality of fiction has been criticized, since many narrators of historiographies utilize this technique.63 In my book I do not intend to once again debate the issue of fictionality of historical discourses of nineteenth-century Germany. Many have done that. It is time to shift the attention to the realm of visual culture and to analyze the role of images (photographs, panoramas, and maps), text-image relationships, as well as the “culture of seeing.” Investigating the impact of visual popular culture on the representational practices of historicism enables one to discuss new models of the past that are commonly neglected in the scientific, aesthetic, cultural, and rhetorical approaches on historicism. Thus, my book neither engages in ontological debates on the rhetoricity and poeticity of historical texts nor does it analyze works of literature (such as historical novels and novellas) as factional texts; literary works are only mentioned occasionally to contrast or compare the scholarly historicist texts. Rather, my study puts 60 See for example the works by: Dominick LaCapra, Rethinking Intellectual History: Texts, Contexts, Language, Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1983; Stephen Bann, The Clothing of Clio: A Study of the Representation of History in Nineteenth-Century Britain and France, Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1984; Hans Kellner, Language and Historical Representation: Getting the Story Crooked, Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 1989; Franklin Rudolf Ankersmit, History and Tropology: The Rise and Fall of Metaphor, Berkeley: U of California P, 1994. Philippe Carrard’s book Poetics of the New History: French Historical Discourse from Braudel to Chartier, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1992 shows the literary and poetic dispositions of French twentieth-century historiography. 61 For a discussion about fictionality in “non-fictional” discourses, see Dorrit Cohn, “Signposts of Fictionality: A Narratological Perspective,” Poetics Today 11.4 (1990): 775–804. 62 See Dorrit Cohn, The Distinction of Fiction, Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins UP, 1999, 18–37. 63 See for example Philippe Carrard’s analysis of biography, where he extends and criticizes Cohn’s ideas on fictional/non-fictional discourse. Carrard, “Picturing Minds: Biography and the Representation of Consciousness,” Narrative 5.3 (1997): 287–305.

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weight on the exploration of popular visual culture and its role on formations of academic historicism. Whereas in current debates among historians, the role of popular visual culture and media has been acknowledged as a vital factor in historical representation,64 the scholars on academic historicism often do not consider the emergence of popular visual culture in nineteenth-century Germany as crucial.65

Visual Historicism No matter which debate on German historicism one looks at, be it the RüsenMeinecke or the Oexle-Troeltsch tradition, the event or the structure faction, the fictionalists or the factionalists, Clio’s eyesight is consequently overlooked. My study aims to change that and investigates historical discourses that claim to be an integrative part of the academic professional discipline. My book begins with an exploration of Ranke’s historiography and its correlation with representational practices of the panorama (Part I). Panoramic paintings were popular in Germany by the first decade of the nineteenth century. They were placed in rotunda-shaped architectural constructions that encircled an elevated platform from which the audience could experience the illusion of having a complete overview. This perspective suggests an omniscient gaze capable of controlling the past, which is combined with the aesthetics of the picturesque similar to the viewing pleasures of tourists. I argue that Ranke’s writings integrate popular perception modes of the past practiced in the optical medium of the panorama. Ranke’s writings often set historical scenes into picturesque landscape and mountain panoramas. Employing the aesthetics of the panorama as a poetic strategy of representation Ranke’s writings represent historical time as monumental landscape visions. These textually fabricated images freeze the past into static still-pictures that go against a concept of history based on events, temporality, and the grand narrative. 64 For example the Historiker Tag (Day of Historians) in 2006 put issues about visuality as the central question of the conference. The work by Peter Burke, Eyewitnessing: The Uses of Images as Historical Evidence Ithaca: Cornell UP, 2001, can be seen as exemplary for visual orientation in the discipline of history. 65 Except for the works of Günter Hess, “Allegorie und Historismus: Zum Bildgedächtnis des späten 19. Jahrhunderts,” Verbum et Signum: Beiträge zur mediävistischen Bedeutungsforschung. Festschrift für Friedrich Ohly, Vol. 1, eds. Hans Fromm, Wolfgang Harms and Uwe Ruberg, München: Fink, 1975, 555–591 and the study by Uwe Hebekus, Klios Medien: Die Geschichtskultur des 19. Jahrhunderts in der historistischen Historie bei Theodor Fontane, Tübingen: Max Niemeyer, 2003, the aspects of visuality and popular culture of historicism have not been discussed.

20

Introduction

Scholarly art historiography also entails traces of popular visual culture and one can find “photographic” representational practices in Jacob Burckhardt’s writings (Part II). It is notable that Burckhardt, who is known for his cultural pessimism and critique of popular culture, was obsessed with collecting photographs of artefacts and that on his journeys he gathered over 10,000 pictures for his private collection. Burckhardt integrated the aesthetics of photography into the rhetorical-poetic design of his art historical writings, which in turn suggests a spatial organization and perception of historical knowledge. His texts embody a picture-atlas of cultural history, in which the past is not synthesized according to narrative-temporal paradigms, but rather ordered visually and spatially. Part III investigates the genre illustrated history books, specifically focusing on national and colonial history books between the 1840s and 1890s. The book History of Frederick the Great (Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen, 1842)66 written by the art historian Franz Kugler and illustrated by the painter Adolph Menzel is crucial in this context. Menzel utilized wood engraving, which was a popular technique for illustrating newspapers. Wood engraving not only connected Menzel’s and Kugler’s scholarly endeavors to popular culture, but it also created a revolutionary text and image relationship, which profoundly altered the representation of the past. In contrast to earlier illustrated history books, in which the image was put on a separate page, wood engravings allow the printing of illustrations directly into the text. This placement of the images gives them the power to supersede the narrative. The central question guiding these different sections of my book is what new insights does the attention to visual representation provide in terms of academic historicism? First of all, the focus on visual culture enables one to debate the formation of historicism not exclusively on the premises of high aesthetic culture. As mentioned, the aesthetic configuration of historicism is widely accepted; however research mostly focused on “high” aesthetics and thus the realm of memory and visual popular culture are underexposed. Secondly, my study gives voice to representations of the past in which the narrative paradigm is not at the forefront. As each section demonstrates, the panoramatic, photographic, pictorial gaze on the past does not epitomize the form of the grand narrative as the primary medium for making sense out of the past. Rather visuality comes into the foreground, and thus aspects of temporality, development, and event – categories that usually dominate the discourse about historicism – recede into the background. It is by no means the purpose 66 I work with this edition: Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel, Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen, Leipzig: Hermann Mendelsohn, 1876.

Spatial Configurations

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of this study to claim that German academic historicism did not use narrative. Given the fact that nineteenth-century historians wrote a lot, producing massive amounts of text, this would be rather farfetched. The goal of this book is much more to show that the narrative is not the whole story, and that besides the narrative academic historians of the nineteenth century also implemented the visual. I do not assume that the visual becomes the new all-consuming paradigm that pushes the narrative completely away. Rather I highlight the intermedial negotiations between the textual and the visual, in which the visual attempts to break through the narrative paradigm. Thirdly, and this is one of the most important effects, I claim that the visual configuration of academic historicism highlights the aspect of space.

Spatial Configurations Visual representations of historical data, events, and persons in academic historical discourses configure history under the auspices of space. One of the reasons for this connection between visuality and spatiality lies in the effect of description techniques. When a historian in his writing begins to describe the past, rather than narrating it, then he or she constructs an image. This can, for example, be a picture of a historical location, of a person, or of a historical scene. Descriptive passages in historiography project images that in turn stick out of the narrative and can bring the flow of events to halt. This effect also happens when historians integrate actual image material into their writing (for example in illustrated history books or atlases). Of course, there is still a temporal dimension in such images, but it is based on a point in time, rather than a process or development. Instead of progression, the image rather highlights the past as a location within time. Tracing these images of the past and locating their spatial configurations, historical space gains three dimensions in my analysis: that is an epistemological, a geographic, and a colonial dimension. First the epistemological dimension: I show that the historian’s use of pictorial language and image material introduces descriptive, non-narrative, a-teleological forms of historical representation. Burckhardt’s texts, for example, arrange historical data according to the aesthetic principles of a pictureatlas, and the objects of his historical investigation are related with each other via spatial parameters; parameters that highlight the aspects of simultaneity, circularity, and systemic typology. Thus, the spatial configuration proposes an epistemological principle, which organizes historical knowledge against narrative forms. This epistemological dimension of space informs all my readings of academic historicist works, since it opens up a trajectory for detecting models

22

Introduction

of history that are not commonly associated with historicism. Space however, also entails a geographical dimension. The visual representations of history – be they Ranke’s historical panoramas, Burckhardt’s photographic descriptions, the images in illustrated history books, as well as historical cartography – they all shed light on representations of geographical space.67 Of course, the spatial elements of the historical works are represented through a linguistic or visual medium and thus geographical space is constructed by fictional and rhetorical means. In all these works, and my approach shares this perspective, space is not understood as an essential entity, but always as a rhetorical, social, and political construction. The rediscovery of space determines many debates in the historical discipline and perhaps most well-known in this respect is the work of Karl Schlögel. He attacks the “space hostility” of historicism and aims to draw attention to the aspect of space in historical discourses.68 According to Schlögel, history happens within a concrete geographical location, which in turn shapes, forms, and determines how we understand the past.69 In Schlögel’s project to make space visible for the discipline of history, the representatives of German historicism of the nineteenth century as well as its current researchers embody a prime example of shaping a historical discourse that “silences” the spatiality of history (Schlögel, Im Raume 44). Historicism thus promotes a model of history that is monopolized by the notion of temporality (events, development, narrative) and neglects the factor of geographical space. Whereas it is true that many current researchers often overlook the spatial aspect of historicism, this does not mean that the works of nineteenth-century historicist authors abandon spatial aspects. In particular Part IV on historical cartography highlights this geopolitical and geographical dimension of German academic historicism. Historical maps and atlases boomed in the nineteenth century and, due to new printing tech67 My focus on “material space” in German academic historicism was inspired by works of literary critics who moved away from the analysis of inner spaces in literature to the exploration of outer, concrete spaces. In this respect, the early work of Gaston Bachelard and his “poetics of space” has been crucial. See Gaston Bachelard, Poetics of Space, trans. Maria Jolas, Boston: Beacon Press, 1994. Current scholars have expanded his work, such as Franco Moretti, Atlas of the European Novel 1800–1900, London: Verso, 1999 and Sigrid Weigel “Zum ‘topographical turn’: Kartographie, Topographie und Raumkonzepte in den Kulturwissenschaften,” KulturPoetik 2.2 (2002): 151–165. 68 Karl Schlögel, Im Raume lesen wir die Zeit: Über Zivilisationsgeschichte und Geopolitik, Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 2007, 9–15. In the following cited as Im Raume within the main text. 69 Even though Schlögel’s approach stresses the materiality of space, his approach is nevertheless indebted to constructivist and rhetorical theories and geographical space is seen as a product of social and cultural communication.

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nologies, they could be mass produced. The spatial aspect of these maps emphasizes the importance of geographical knowledge for the representation of national and colonial history. Thus, my debates on geography should expand the representation and understanding of the development of nationalism in Germany throughout the nineteenth century.70 The visual vocabulary of historical cartography portrays history as dependent on geographic space and highlights aspects of territory, environmental causation, and natural determinism as decisive shapers of history. History is no longer exclusively understood as a product of the actions of autonomous human subjects, but rather as a geo-deterministic process – a perspective on history that is still underexposed in discussions of academic historicism. These geographic and geo-deterministic aspects, however, are not only visible in the genre of historical maps, but are also constitutive for Ranke’s writings. Via the trope of the panorama, Ranke’s work displays a connection between history and geography, and his historiography displays analogies to geological formations, topographies, and geographical descriptions. Aspects that can also be found in the genre of illustrated history books, in which many images display geographical circumstances, climate conditions, and geological references. My exploration of the geographical element in the works of academic historians sheds light on how these works conceptualized national history. Particularly Ranke’s works, Menzel and Kugler’s illustrated history book on Frederick II, as well as historical atlases of Prussian history, are often seen as paradigmatic for telling national history in a teleological fashion leading to the unification of the German nation state under the Prussian regime. My visual-spatial reading of these works shows that they all were indeed nationalistic (in, of course, different modes and to different degrees), but they highlight other aspects of nationhood: territoriality, geography, and climate theory. These mediations on the role of geographical space and a territorial discourse about national history are closely connected to the third dimension that space entails in my study: the colonial aspect. All parts of the book aim to engage a critical discussion on how images were used to represent history within the context of colonialism. Building on Edward Said’s groundbreaking work Orientalism71 on the relationship between Eurocentrism, power and knowledge, many historians have analyzed the ideological and power political

70 For my work on understanding nationalism and imperialism, the book by David Blackbourn and Geoff Eley, The Peculiarities of German History: Bourgeois Society and Politics in Nineteenth-Century Germany, Oxford, UK: Oxford UP, 1984, has been crucial. 71 Edward Said, Orientalism: Western Conceptions of the Orient, New York: Pantheon, 1978.

24

Introduction

ramifications of German history.72 There are also historians who expanded on Said’s arguments to a transnational perspective, in which no longer the oppositions between East and West define the relationship between power, representation and knowledge and the center of the investigation. They portray a version of world history based on a heterogeneous multiplicity of histories.73 Scholarship on the connection between German historicism and colonialism is, however, rather rare. In my readings I investigate how historical material of German historicism (e.g. historiographies, illustrated history books, as well as cartography) utilized the visual to implement fantasies of colonial mastery.74 The panorama, for example, represents a medium that fosters a colonial gaze of appropriating non-European culture by exhibiting sights and attractions from the Middle East, Africa, and India. This colonial-panoramic gaze structures some of Ranke’s texts (Part I) and his writings about Venetian history and the discovery of the Americas display these cultures as picturesque, exotic, and unenlightened. Ranke’s visual techniques of writing are translated into fantasies of colonial spatial expansion. These perspectives also connect to those of colonial expansion and imperialism in illustrated history books about the German colony in Samoa (Part III) as well as to maps of German colonial history (Part IV). Tracing the visual-spatial configurations calls our attention to the fact that historicism should no longer be understood as a discourse that monopolizes narrative, evolutionary temporality and a teleological model of history; but rather as a multi-medial discourse, which entails a plurality of competitive representational modes of history. Thus, historicism is seen as a heterogeneous phenomenon that endorses a sustained openness to visual cultures of popular memory. Exploring this correlation between historicism and visual popular culture by no means implies that German historicism turns against its own ideological presuppositions and, by the help the visual, is able to voice critical self-reflections. The visual shapes alternative models of history, but these alternatives are still moving within the limits of historicism’s political and ideologi-

72 See for example, Birthe Kundrus, Phantasiereiche: Zur Kulturgeschichte des deutschen Kolonialismus, Frankfurt a. M.: Campus, 2003. 73 Important for these perspectives is the work by Sebastian Conrad, Shalini Randeria, and Beate Sutterlüty, eds., Jenseits des Eurozentrismus: Postkoloniale Perspektiven in den Geschichtsund Kulturwissenschaften, Frankfurt a. M.: Campus, 2002. 74 For the notion of colonial fantasy, see Susanne Zantop, Colonial Fantasies: Conquest, Family, and Nation in Precolonial Germany, 1770–1870, Durham: Duke UP, 1997. There is also a German edition with some changes relevant for a German audience. See Susanne Zantop, Kolonialphantasien im vorkolonialen Deutschland (1770–1870), Berlin: Erich Schmidt, 1999.

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cal configurations.75 In my book Clio gains the capacity to see, but my rereading does not entail making historicism into a non-authoritarian discourse; it still follows Walter Benjamin’s observations that historicism writes the history of victors.76 I do want to show, however, that the modes of how official history was conceptualized were much more complex, multi-medial, and less narrative-centered than commonly assumed.

75 The literary works of the nineteenth century, particularly those of historical realist prose are able to raise critical reflections about historicism’s ideological presuppositions. See Hans Vilmar Geppert, Der andere historische Roman: Theorie und Strukturen einer diskontinuierlichen Gattung, Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1976. However, as Hartmut Eggert’s book Studien zur Wirkungsgeschichte des deutschen historischen Romans 1850–1875, Frankfurt a. M.: Vittorio Klostermann, 1971, has already proven, there are also many novels that affirm the political goals of academic historicism. 76 Walter Benjamin, “Über den Begriff der Geschichte,” Walter Benjamin: Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. 1.2, eds. Rolf Tiedemann and Hermann Schweppenhäuser, Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1977, 696.

Part I: Leopold von Ranke and the Panorama Arnold Böcklin’s painting Klio (1875) shows the muse of history with her traditional attributes: paper, scroll, and pen. It is not her eyes that identify her; in the painting she looks away, her gaze does not meet the spectator’s gaze; she looks almost shy. The Swiss painter’s representation of Clio as a writer embodies her role in nineteenth-century academic German historicism; particularly in the discussions about the early founder of professional history, Leopold von Ranke. In Ranke’s efforts to shape history into an academic discipline, Clio’s métier encompasses the book, the narrative, and the study of written sources. Whereas Ranke’s work often has been equated with philological source study, textual criticism, and the aesthetics of “high” classical idealist literature, I argue that visual popular culture played a formative role in Ranke’s representations of history, and his writings have to be read in close conjunction with the rise of new optical media in the nineteenth century. Intertwining Ranke’s interpretation of history with popular visual culture of the nineteenth century raises a number of new issues for studying his work. How does the aesthetics of the panorama process paradigmatic categories of academic historicism, such as time, event, and narrative? Prioritizing panoramic-visual aspects of Ranke’s texts enables one to explore descriptive modes of representing history. Classical rhetorical theory designates description as a use of language that can depict an object, nature, or a person in a visual style. Even though Ranke was eager to de-rhetoricize his historical narrative, his texts employ the rhetorical strategy of ekphrasis and closely intertwine it with the representational practices of modern media in the nineteenth century.1 Ekphrasis represents a textual mode that slows down narrative form, suggests an image, and thus brings the story to a halt. In contrast to the temporal structure of a historical narrative, this image can emphasize space; it can freeze time into historical static tableaux. Even though the moments of ekphrasis do not completely undermine the narrative configuration of Ranke’s historicism, these visual-descriptive moments exist, and they open up an avenue for innovative readings of Ranke’s historiography. When Ranke describes a picture, the story is put on hold.

1 About the discussion of Ranke’s use of rhetoric, see Kathrin Maurer, Discursive Interaction: Literary Realism and Academic Historiography in Nineteenth-Century Germany, Heidelberg: Synchron, 2006, 21–49. Its chapter on Ranke explores the linguistic and poetic style of historical representation.

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Part I: Leopold von Ranke and the Panorama

Historical Ocularism In a letter to the German historian and philosopher Wilhelm Dilthey on July 6, 1886 the Duke Paul Yorck von Wartenburg distinguishes Ranke’s perception of the past with the following words: “As a historian Ranke acts like an eye, it [his writing K.M.] is a seeing of history […]. Ranke is a great ocular.”2 Ranke approaches the past “visually,” he does not explain or systematize it, but rather he observes and sees history. One could also term his approach towards the past as a form of historical “ocularism,” by which historical events, figures and data are processed visually and represented as if they would become alive in front of the reader’s eyes. For Yorck von Wartenburg, Ranke’s “ocularism” of the past, however, is less constituted via the usage of images, optical metaphors, and illustrative description techniques, but rather by his anti-systematic approach towards history, his devotion to the historical detail, and his thorough textual exegesis of sources. For him the ocular is understood as the wish to represent the historical particular within the process of hermeneutic textual interpretation. Ranke’s infatuation with details is certainly characteristic for his approach and as his famous slogan – “to show what actually happened”3 – suggests, the historiographical text should focus on the particularities of history. For history should not be explained, but rather reconstructed via facts, and Ranke proposes that the academic historian should show “the universal directly and without any circumlocution through the particular […].”4 In this way Ranke breaks with some principles of the history writing of the Enlightenment, since before the beginnings of professional historiography in the nineteenth century, the recording of the past was often bound to convey moral postulates. Kant’s normative philosophy and its categories of progress, morality, and universal

2 “Ranke ist ganz Auge als Historiker, […] es ist ein Geschichte sehen […]. Ranke ist ein großes Okular,” “[51] Graf Yorck an Dilthey. Klein Oels den 6. Juli 86,” Briefwechsel zwischen Wilhelm Dilthey und dem Grafen Paul Yorck von Wartenburg 1877–1897, Vol. 1, ed. Erich Rothacker, Halle [Saale]: Niemeyer, 1923, 60. I found this quotation in Uwe Hebekus, Klios Medien: Die Geschichtskultur des 19. Jahrhunderts in der historistischen Historie und bei Theodor Fontane, Tübingen: Niemeyer, 2003, 43. 3 Leopold von Ranke, “The Historian’s Craft,” The Secret of World History: Selected Writings on the Art and Science of History, ed. Roger Wines, New York: Fordham UP, 1981, 58; “zeigen, wie es eigentlich gewesen [ist],” Ranke, Geschichten der romanischen und germanischen Völker von 1494 bis 1514, Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1885, VII. 4 “das Allgemeine unmittelbar und ohne lange Umschweif durch das Besondere […],” Ranke, “Politische Gespräche,” Die großen Mächte: Politisches Gespräch, ed. Theodor Schieder, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1955, 57.

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laws determined the representation and interpretation of the historical data.5 For Ranke history has still a meta-historical frame, it is however no longer bound together by a moral system, but rather by spiritual and theological ideas that can only be approached “ocularically.”6 Wartenburg characterizes Ranke’s method with the following words: “All of history [is K.M.] an intertwined interplay of forces of merely phenomenological value […].”7 According to York von Wartenburg this phenomenological value, however, is the product of textual exegesis. Like a philologist, who aims to bring back an original text based on various copies and manuscripts, Ranke tries to reconstruct a presumed original text of history. Not only does the historian work in this mode, but the reader too has to make sense out of the flood of details, data, and sources that Ranke represents in his historical writing. Yorck von Wartenburg’s synthesis of Ranke’s phenomenological approach with practices of textual hermeneutics embodies a common trend in scholarship on early academic historicism: Ranke’s ocularic encounter of the past is based on phenomenological reconstruction, textual criticism, narrative, and critical source study.8 I propose, however, that one should read Wartenburg’s 5 For Enlightenment concepts of history, see Wolfgang Bialas, “Geschichte in weltbürgerlicher Absicht,” Geschichtsdiskurs: Anfänge modernen historischen Denkens, Vol. 2, eds. Wolfgang Küttler, Jörn Rüsen, and Ernst Schulin, Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1994, 267–281. On eighteenth-century historiography in Germany, see Hans Schleier, “Epochen der deutschen Geschichtsschreibung seit der Mitte des 18. Jahrhunderts,” Geschichtsdiskurs: Grundlagen und Methoden der Historiographiegeschichte, Vol. 1, eds. Wolfgang Küttler, Jörn Rüsen, and Ernst Schulin, Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1993, 133–156. 6 For an introduction of Ranke’s work as well as references about historical “ocularism,” see Helmut Berding, “Leopold von Ranke,” Deutsche Historiker, Vol. 1, ed. Hans-Ulrich Wehler, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1971, 14–15. On Ranke’s development as a scholar see Rudolf Vierhaus, “Ranke und die Anfänge der deutschen Geschichtswissenschaft,” Geschichtswissenschaft in Deutschland: Traditionelle Positionen und gegenwärtige Aufgaben, ed. Bernd Faulenbach, München: Beck, 1974, 17–34. 7 “Die ganze Geschichte ein ineinandergreifendes Kräftespiel von nur phänomenalem Werthe […],” “[77] Graf Yorck an Dilthey. Klein Oels den 17. 12. 90,” Ranke, Briefwechsel 113. 8 Jörn Rüsen, Reinhart Koselleck, Johannes Süssmann, Philipp Müller, and Ulrich Muhlack concentrate their interpretation of Ranke’s historiography predominantly on a textual basis: Jörn Rüsen, Konfigurationen der Historismus: Studien zur deutschen Wissenschaftskultur, Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1993, 114–134; Reinhart Koselleck, “Geschichte, Geschichten und formale Zeitstrukturen,” Geschichte, Ereignis und Erzählung, eds. Reinhart Koselleck and Wolf-Dieter Stempel, München: Fink, 1990, 211–222; Johannes Süssmann, Geschichtsschreibung oder Roman? Zur Konstitutionslogik von Geschichtserzählungen zwischen Schiller und Ranke (1780– 1824), Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2000; Philipp Müller, Erkenntnis und Erzählung: Ästhetische Geschichtsdeutung in der Historiographie von Ranke, Burckhardt und Taine, Köln: Böhlau, 2008; Ulrich Muhlack, “Leopold von Ranke und die Begründung der quellenkritischen Geschichtswissenschaft,” Historische Debatten und Kontroversen im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert: Jubiläumsta-

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observations in less textual fashion, but rather as an invitation to take Ranke’s ocularism literally (or better visually). Instead of linking it to the hermeneutic model of philological textual analysis, I suggest that historical development of optical media during nineteenth-century German society shaped perception modes of the past that in turn prefigured Ranke’s representation of history. It is precisely these medial configurations that define Ranke’s historical ocularism and, thus visual memory culture did not exist in a separate and contained sphere, but was interlocked with academic historicism. Ranke’s historiography represents the past according to visual configurations that one can find in the mass medium of the panorama.

The Panorama as a Mass Medium The word “panorama” is a neologism coined in the late eighteenth century, formed by combining the Greek words pan (all) and horama (view). A panoramic perspective embodies a visual experience of a wide field of view aiming to represent an all-encompassing sight. In the 1780s the Irishman Robert Barker experimented with this perspective, creating large-scale paintings that suggested a 360-degree view, and could encircle the viewer. In order to see his panoramic paintings the audience had to climb up a spiral staircase, which led to a type of balcony covered with a huge umbrella-shaped canvas to block off the light from above. From this platform, which was several meters high and could hold many people at the same time, the audience had an all-round view similar to the perspective from a tower, ship mast or hot air balloon. In Barker’s panoramas the viewer looked down from above, similar to a bird’s eye perspective, and could enjoy a total overview of the painted scene. Barker’s first attempt to receive credit for his invention was not very successful, and the Royal Academy of Arts in London, founded in 1768 as a private institution that funded artists, did not acknowledge his paintings. Nevertheless, Barker acquired a patent for his invention in 1787, and only a few years later he exhibited a panoramic painting entitled Cities of London and Westminster (1792). He showed this work in a specially constructed rotunda in his backyard on Castle Street in London, for an admission charge of one shilling. This exhibition of this half-circular shaped painting (it was later extended into a full circle) not only brought him, finally, the acceptance of Sir Joshua Reynolds, a founding member of the Royal Academy of Arts, but also started

gung der Ranke-Gesellschaft in Essen, eds. Jürgen Elvert and Susanne Krauß, Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2001, 23–33.

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the trend for panoramas as public spectacles. Panoramas became popular attractions for mass entertainment and for a small entrance fee they were accessible to the larger public. Soon it was not only customers in the British Isles who flocked to these optical sensations, the genre also boomed in Germany and in other parts of Europe. Around 1800 Johann Adam Breysig experimented with a circular perspective and the representation of gardens. Johann Friedrich Tielker created city panoramas of Moscow in 1806, and the German architect Karl Friedrich Schinkel showed a panorama of Palermo in 1808, to name but a few of the early German panorama painters that orientated themselves on Barker’s design.9 The early panoramas often still lacked quality and a note stemming from literary author Heinrich von Kleist’s visit to Breysig’s Panorama of Rome (Panorama der Stadt Rom, 1800) describes it as a rather wearisome experience: Yesterday evening I went to the famous panorama of Rome. It appears that it owes its fame solely to its novelty […]. At the door the visitors are politely requested to imagine that they are standing on the ruins of the imperial palace in Rome. This requires considerable effort, first of all because you have to pass through a dark corridor and climb some stairs, and then you find yourself standing on a floor of sturdy pine planks, which, as we all know, bear very little resemblance to Carrara marble.10

The panorama clearly did not fulfill its promise of total illusion, and Kleist was dissatisfied. The wooden floors, the corridors disturbed the simulation of reality and Kleist explains the popularity of this medium only due to its novelty. Although the early panoramas often lacked technical quality, they grew more and more popular in Germany and soon there were artists that developed innovative variations. There was the diorama (originally invented by Louis Jacques Mandé Daguerre), which experimented with light changes on a fixed screen. There also was the so-called miniature panorama (Kleinstpanorama) that did not have the great dimensions of Barker’s paintings, but fit in living-room sized space and thus could be more easily taken on tours throughout the country. Later the emperor panorama (Kaiserpanorama) was invented; its simulation of

9 On the history of the panorama in Germany, see Stephan Oettermann, The Panorama: History of a Mass Medium, trans. Deborah Lucas-Schneider, New York: Zone, 1997, 185–286. [Originally published as Das Panorama: Die Geschichte eines Massenmediums, Frankfurt a. M.: Syndikat, 1980]. See also Heinz Buddemeier, Panorama, Diorama, Photographie: Enstehung und Wirkung neuer Medien im 19. Jahrhundert, München: Fink, 1970; Ralph Hyde, Panoramania! The Art and Entertainment of the All-Embracing View, London: Trefoil Publications, 1988. 10 Heinrich von Kleist, “Letter to Wilhelmine von Zenge, August 16, 1800,” quoted from Oettermann, Panorama 199.

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three-dimensional effects and their unique aesthetics is described in Walter Benjamin’s “Berlin Childhood in the Nineteenth-Century” (“Berliner Kindheit um Neunzehnhundert,” 1938).11 The many varieties of panorama that developed in the 1850s and 1860s register a temporary decline of the genre; for almost two decades the new mass medium seemed to have lost its attraction. However, after this drop a new interest in the panorama arose during the Founding Epoch (Gründerzeit) in Germany, and in the course of the 1870s and 1880s so-called panorama-clubs were founded, grand rotunda-shaped buildings were constructed to show panoramas of monumental size, and the paintings were produced in special ateliers. The comeback of the panorama was partly due to the fact that it became part of the entertainment industry, and stockholders began to invest in it. Another reason for its popularity was that the panorama was discovered as a medium for political propaganda for the Prussian state. In this respect Anton von Werner’s Sedan-Panorama (1883) is exemplary. With its theme of the battle of Sedan, which showed a decisive defeat of the French Army in the FrancoGerman war in 1870, this panorama was a tool to attract large audiences and spread Prussian patriotism among the masses. However, it was not only the later national panoramas in Germany that covered historical themes; for the early the panoramas by Henry Aston Barker, the son of the panorama inventor, had already displayed historical themes, such as the battle of Waterloo. In France the panoramas of military painter Colonel Jean-Charles Langlois became famous for their portrayal of war scenes, such the famous naval battle of Navarino in 1827. William Barton, a panorama painter from Hull (England) who resided permanently in Vienna, painted historical panoramas, for example Gibraltar (1811), which was a representation of the British military fortresses in Gibraltar. Many of these panoramas toured Germany already in the early decades of the nineteenth century and could be seen in Leipzig, Berlin, Hamburg, Frankfurt, and Munich.12 As popular entertainment, they displayed historical events, historical battles, and heroes and began to spectacularize the representation of the past.13

11 Walter Benjamin, “Berliner Kindheit um Neunzehnhundert. Fassung letzter Hand,” Walter Benjamin: Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. 7.1, eds. Rolf Tiedemann and Hermann Schweppenhäuser, Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1989, 385–433. 12 Stephan Oettermann, “Die Reise mit den Augen: ‘Oramas’ in Deutschland,” Sehsucht: Das Panorama als Massenunterhaltung des 19. Jahrhunderts, eds. Marie-Louise von Plessen and Ulrich Giersch, Frankfurt a. M.: Stroemfeld/Roter Stern, 1993, 44. 13 Günter Hess discusses the panorama as a crucial memory discourse in the first half of the nineteenth-century in Germany. See Günter Hess, “Panorama und Denkmal: Erinnerung als Denkform zwischen Vormärz und Gründerzeit,” Literatur in der sozialen Bewegung: Aufsätze

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The popularization of historical remembering by means of the panorama did not stay contained within the realm of popular culture, but its optical modes of perceiving history, its perspectives, as well as its aesthetics entered the academic realm. One can easily observe transformations of the panoramic perception modes in literature; particularly travel literature. The works by the German travel author Duke Hermann von Pückler-Muskau, for example, contain many landscape depictions that represent themes of panorama painting such as castles, ports, sunrises, and historical monuments. Pückler-Muskau’s texts suggest a gaze that resembles the optics of the panorama. Besides his works, texts by Goethe, Ludwig Börne, Heinrich Heine and Adelbert von Chamisso also utilize the aesthetics of the panorama for the representation of landscape.14

The Panoramic Eye of the Historian The sixteenth-century German theologian and mystic Jacob Böhme characterized Adam’s gaze in Paradise as one that entails panoramatic qualities: Adam’s “seeing was day and night with open eyes without eyelashes, there was no sleep for him, and in his soul was no night: because his eyes incorporated the power of God, and he was complete and perfect.”15 Adam’s gaze has access to all places and times of the world; there are no boundaries in its gaze. It is an omniscient gaze. Omniscience embodies precisely the perspective that the panorama in the nineteenth century aimed to achieve for the viewer; the gaze of the audience is widened to a 360-degree format and thus simulates a superhuman point of view. The viewer stands on the tower and can see everything and like the omniscient eye of God; the eye of the panorama visitor can hover over the world and expand in unlimited field of vision. The panorama exemplifies an experimental space, in which the bourgeois visitors could emancipate themselves from a theological sovereign world order and obtain a view from

und Forschungsberichte zum 19. Jahrhundert, eds. Günter Häntzschel, Georg Jäger, and Alberto Martino, Tübingen: Max Niemeyer, 1977, 130–206. 14 For this discussion see Gert Sautermeister, “Reiseliteratur als Ausdruck der Epoche,” Hansers Sozialgeschichte der deutschen Literatur vom 16. Jahrhundert bis zur Gegenwart, Vol. 5, eds. Gert Sautermeister and Ulrich Schmid, München: Carl Hanser Verlag, 1998, 116–150. 15 “sein [Adams, K.M.] Sehen war Tag und Nacht mit aufgesperrten Augen ohne Wippern, in ihme war kein Schlaff, und in seinem Gemüthe keine Nacht: denn in seinen Augen war die Göttliche Kraft, und er war gantz und vollkommen,” Jacob Böhme, De tribus principiis, oder Beschreibung der Drey Principien Göttliches Wesens, Jacob Böhme: Sämtliche Schriften, Vol. 2, ed. Will-Erich Peuckert, Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: frommann-holzboog, 1960, 107.

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a superhuman perspective. The panorama staged the self-perception of the bourgeoisie, in all its self-empowerment and emancipation. Its elevated point of view suggests a gaze of freedom, in which the viewing subject is no longer controlled by an absolute monarch or a single religious institution. It is an exploratory and expansive gaze interested in seeking out new discoveries, technical innovations, and scientific novelties. It is no coincidence that the panorama was created at a time when bourgeois inventors were engineering hot air balloons and designing high-rise towers. Indeed, the German word “Vogelperspektive,” bird’s-eye view, was coined around 1800 and came into prominence as a keyword around 1840.16 Ranke’s historicism shows a similar shift of perspective when constructing the optical horizon and the epistemological powers of a scholarly historian. The historian is not someone who should “blindly” follow the divine course of history; rather he or she is capable of an omniscient gaze on history. The following lines from Ranke’s letter to his brother Heinrich hints at this connection: In all of history God dwells, lives, is to be found. Every deed testifies to Him; every instant preaches His name, but above all, I think, the great interactions of history. He stands there like a holy hieroglyph, perceived only in its outline and preserved, lest for Him be lost from the sight of future centuries. Boldly then! Let things happen as they may; only, for our part, let us try to unveil this holy hieroglyph. And so shall we serve God; so are we also priests, also teachers.17

Assuming the role of servant, preacher and teacher, the passage proclaims God’s omnipresence. God has composed the eternal “scripture” of history, whose inherent meanings the historian has to announce to the world. God’s writings are encrypted in “holy hieroglyphs,” which the historian must decode through laborious studies and selfless devotion. Only through erudite scholarship can the historian reveal God’s secret of the “largest connection” of history, and the decoding of a hieroglyphic scripture suggests a philological process of 16 Jacob Grimm and Wilhelm Grimm, “Vogelperspective,” Deutsches Wörterbuch, ed. Deutsche Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin, Vol. 12.2, Leipzig: Hirzel, 1960, 418–419. 17 Ranke, “Letter to his brother Heinrich, Frankfurt on Oder, End of March, 1820,” The Secret of World History: Selected Writings on The Art and Science of History, ed. Roger Wines, New York: Fordham UP, 1981, 241; “In aller Geschichte wohnt, lebet, ist Gott zu erkennen. Jede That zeuget von ihm, jeder Augenblick predigt seinen Namen, am meisten aber, dünkt mich, der Zusammenhang der größten Geschichte. Er steht da wie eine Heilige Hieroglyphe, an seinem Äußersten aufgefaßt und bewahrt, vielleicht damit er nicht verloren geht künftig sehenderen Jahrhunderten. Wohlan, wie es auch gehe und gelinge, nur daran, daß wir an unserem Teil diese heilige Hieroglyphe enthüllen. Auch so dienen wir Gott, auch so sind wir Priester, auch so Lehrer,” Ranke, “Ausgewählte Briefe,” Sämmtliche Werke, Vol. 53/54, Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1874, 89–90.

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understanding the past. Hieroglyphs as a writing system that combines images and letters already point to the visual configuration of the past. The historical events (as well as the history of the future) are phenomena that should be primarily processed visually. This visual coding of the past reinforces the ocular powers of the historian. Even though the historian is represented as a devoted scholar, Ranke emphasizes that he can become a “super-observer,” one who can communicate and convey God’s presence. This conception of the historian constitutes a point of contention for Ranke’s brother Heinrich, a follower of the orthodox Lutheran brand of Protestantism. He criticizes his brother’s portrayal of the historian for becoming too worldly and even for being blasphemous. Ranke’s vision of a God who manifests himself in history collides with strict Lutheranism, in which the evidence of God is located beyond all human experience; the revelation of God only takes place in the Bible, in the words of God. But God is not only approachable via the study of the word; he is immanently present and incarnated in history.18 According to Ranke the role of the historian is to make God’s presence in history visible. The mission of the historian is to unveil, teach, and preach the holy secrets of history; an insight that is reserved solely to the historian with the capacity of an omniscient-panoramic gaze. Thus, Ranke comes across much more as a Catholic historian, rather than a Protestant one. For Ranke’s scholars and colleagues his interlocking of the historian’s and God’s viewpoint was often understood as an attempt to write impartial history; a history that aimed to stand above any ideological and political positions. Particularly the political-minded and patriotic historian Gustav Droysen attacked Ranke and his student Wilhelm Wachsmuth as writing history from a bird’s eye view. Droysen criticizes: “[…] we got into the unfortunate mode to praise the fact of not having a point of view; in order to gain for all objects the same perspective we utilize the bird’s eye view, which one then terms objective and impartial.”19 For Droysen, who belonged to the Prussian School of historians, Ranke’s attempted neutrality was not only a theoretical impossibility, but also constituted a lack of humanity, courage, and German patriotism. 18 Ranke’s vision of God entails a pantheistic dimension and according to Carl Hinrichs, Ranke’s early interest in Goethe, Plato, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von Schelling, and the Prometheus myth was formative to develop this dimension in his theology of history. See Carl Hinrichs, Ranke und die Geschichtstheologie der Goethezeit, Göttingen: Musterschmidt, 1954. 19 “[…] wir sind […] in die unglückselige Art geraten, es für vortrefflich zu halten, wenn man gar keinen Standpunkt hat, sondern die Dinge, um ja für alle denselben Gesichtswinkel zu bekommen, aus der Vogelperspektive ansieht, was man dann objektiv nennt und als unparteilich ansieht,” Gustav Droysen, Historik: Historisch-kritische Ausgabe, ed. Peter Leyh, StuttgartBad Cannstatt: frommann-holzboog, 1977, 235.

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However, Ranke was well aware that impartiality describes an ideal concept, illustrated, again, by his statement about the historian’s self: “I wish I could eradicate my own self and so only the objects would speak […].”20 Yet Ranke knew very well that he could not delete his voice. Rather than reading his wish to efface his narrative voice as naive realism, it is instead a specific mode of perception practiced in the optical medium of the panorama in the nineteenth century. The visitor to the panorama had to pass through a dark hallway into the center of the rotunda, and climb up a circular staircase onto the viewer platform. This platform is covered by a roof, which shuts out the light from above. The visitors on the platform thus remain in darkness, in order not to disturb the lighting for the panorama painting and to get a better impression of the picture. The viewer can move around and can attain a full overview of the painting by remaining unseen; like the eye of God, the panoramic eye sees everything while it remains invisible. In Ranke’s construction of the historian one can find a similar dynamic. Ranke also wishes to remain unseen, as a narrative voice, as an author and mediator of history. The goal is to display the phenomena of history while erasing the traces of interpretive activity. As the viewer in the panorama, who remains invisible and is surrounded only by image, Ranke also intends to show everything by hiding his authorial voice: a well-calculated rhetorical strategy, since precisely his apparent withdrawal as an author confirms the omniscient point of view. Like an omniscient narrator in a novel, Ranke’s image of the panoramic historian also remains untouchable, invisible, and hidden, by simultaneously being omnipresent. Literary critics have extensively debated the role of omniscience within narrative discourse. Gérard Genette points out that omniscience represents the product of focalization: “In pure fiction that term is, literally, absurd (the author has nothing to ‘know,’ since he invents everything), and we would be better off replacing it completeness of information – which, when supplied to a reader, makes him ‘omniscient.’ The instrument of this possible selection is a situated focus, a sort of information-conveying pipe that allows passage only of information that is authorized by the situation […].”21 Dorrit Cohn terms this phenomenon of internal focalization as “mindreading,” an effect of narrative omniscience based on the ability of a heterodiegetic (third person) novel to

20 “Ich wünschte mein Selbst gleichsam auszulöschen und nur die Dinge reden […] zu lassen,” Ranke, Englische Geschichte, vornehmlich im 17. Jahrhundert, Sämmtliche Werke, Vol. 15, Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1870, 103. In the following cited as History of England. 21 Gérard Genette, Narrative Discourse Revisited, trans. Jane E. Lewin, Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1988, 74.

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penetrate the thoughts and feelings of the characters.22 Cohn clearly sees omniscience as situated in the realm of fiction, since it involves the fictionspecific technique of mindreading and thus cannot belong to an actual observed situation in the real world. As stated in the introduction to this book I am less interested to debate the status of fictionality in Ranke’s historiography. Given the closeness to the literary and aesthetic discourse (as well as presence of omniscient narration) his works merge these two fields into a fictional and factional hybrid. It is much more productive to show the influence of visual culture in his writing and the panorama as a collective mode of perception. I am intrigued, however, by the question of how to deal with the fact that Ranke employs omniscient writing in his historiography and utilizes it as mode to present historical characters and events. For these purposes I expand the notion of omniscience and make it also applicable to historiographical referential forms of writing and thus not solely base it on the fictional phenomenon of mindreading.23 Cohn furthermore vehemently criticizes the so-called panoptic literary criticism, which represents Foucauldian approaches to the novel based on the notion of omniscience.24 Equating the optics of the panopticum with the poetics of the realist novel these scholars emphasize an ideological critique of socio-historical power structures. Jeremy Bentham’s construction of the panopticum, which he developed in 1785 and thus preceded Barker’s invention of the panorama by a couple of years, represented a new form of prison in which the cells of the inmates are arranged in a circle around one watchtower. A prison guard who was placed in this tower could see everything, and exercises theoretically a complete surveillance of the cells by remaining invisible and unseen.25 The panoramic gaze shows similarities to the panoptic gaze and Oettermann makes this connection explicit: “In the panorama the observer is schooled in a way of seeing that is applied to prisoners in the panopticum” (Oettermann, Panorama 41). Cohn shows the shortcomings of the panoptic 22 Dorrit Cohn, The Distinction of Fiction, Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins UP, 1999, 174–175. See also Dorrit Cohn, Transparent Minds: Narrative Modes for Presenting Consciousness in Fiction, Princeton: Princeton UP, 1978. 23 Jonathan Culler has extended the notion of omniscience and claimed that it also comprises, for example, the “conventional establishment of narrative authority,” “self-reflexive foregrounding of creative actions” and multi-perspectivism. See summary on page 32 in his article on “Omniscience,” Narrative 12. 1 (2004): 22–34. 24 See for example John Bender, Imagining the Penitentiary: Fiction and the Architecture of the Mind in Eighteenth-Century England, Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1987 and D. A. Miller, The Novel and the Police, Berkeley: U of California P, 1988. 25 Jeremy Bentham, “The Panopticon Letters,” The Panopticum Writings, ed. Miran Božovič, London: Verso, 1995, 31–95.

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readings of the novel by pointing to the fact that they do not narratologically differentiate the ontological distinction between fiction and faction. I do not hesitate to discuss the aspect of power that lies in Ranke’s historiography, in particular when I examine a colonial gaze in his writings on the history of Venice and America. However, I do not want to equate Ranke’s panoramic vision with the a form of “policing” and surveillance as D. A. Miller has demonstrated for the realist novel, but rather point to conception of historical authorship and writing that certainly exerts a form of control. Ranke’s panoramic view suggests that the historian is capable of seeing everything, thus enacting a gaze that is not bound to finitude and to constraints of space and time. Behind the rhetoric of self-eradication lies the empowerment of the historian, who suggests being omnipresent by means of proclaimed absence. This panoramic-omniscient construction of the historian’s gaze – remaining unseen while seeing everything – not only has a theological quality, it also entails a dimension of political power. Ranke’s writings articulate a view from above; understood not in a neutral sense, but rather in a hierarchical-panoptic sense. Ranke was by no means an impartial and neutral historian since he remained always an advocate of the Prussian monarchy and supported the Prussian state, and even became the official Prussian historiographer in 1841.26 Ranke’s historiography focuses on the past from the perspective of the military and aristocratic leaders, the high cleric, and on the politics of diplomatic and military alliances. His powerful omniscient view on history translates into the textual organization of his writing.

Omniscient Writing Ranke’s debut in scholarly historiography, History of the Latin and Teutonic Nations 1495–1514, (Die Geschichten der romanischen und germanischen Völker von 1495–1514, 1824) shows the history of six nations, Italy, France, Spain,

26 Although he was a conservative apologist for Prussia he should nonetheless not be simply identified with the school of radical nationalist historians such as Gustav Droysen, Heinrich von Treitschke, and Heinrich von Sybel. During the 1860s and beyond, these historians instrumentalized their historiography to serve as a mouthpiece for their particular political projects. While this type of nationalistic historiography was reaching its pinnacle in the 1880s, Ranke was writing the nine volumes of Universal History (Weltgeschichte, 1886–1889). Leopold von Ranke, Weltgeschichte, Vol. 1–9, Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1886–1898. His universalistic conception of history, which tries to unify all European nations into a system of alliances, is based on a conservatism rooted in the political traditions of the old European system of dynastic alliances.

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Germany, England, and Scandinavia at the turn of the fifteenth century.27 Ranke’s book begins with the conquest of the kingdom of Naples through the king of France relates the losses of the Italian monarchy, and depicts the struggles between the colonial powers France and Spain. The text ends only a couple years before the beginning of the era of the Habsburg king Charles V and focuses primarily on the dynastic, military, and political developments that shaped the conditions for his rise to power. According to the preface of the work, these six European nations comprise three, “in which the Latin element predominated, viz. the French, the Spanish, and the Italian; and three in which the Teutonic element was conspicuous, viz. the German, the English, and the Scandinavian.”28 On these respective constituents Ranke’s historiography aims to suggest a unity of European civilization; a unity that is founded on three elements, such as migration, the crusades, and colonization. Ranke calls these aspects also the “three great respirations of this incomparable confederation”29 that shape the basis for the historical events of the foundation of the Spanish monarchy, the decline of Italian power, the opposition of the French to Italy and the situation of German speaking countries in the years 1494–1514. Due to the rise of Habsburg’s power, France saw it necessary to attack Italy and to invade Naples. Whereas the beginning of this attack went well for the French, in 1495 Charles VIII had to retreat from Italy, because an anti-French alliance was founded (alliance of Venice). This alliance cooperated with Spain and the ruler of Aragon, which then later helped Charles V to gain power over Europe. Ranke emphasizes that his work repudiates telling one great story, but rather he wants to show historical particularities and preserve their individuality. His preface programmatically states that the text aims to show “stories, not the history.”30 This focus on stories, however, does not mean displaying unconnected isolated particularities and thus presenting a history that has lost its frame of meaning; as mentioned, for Ranke history always embodies a spir-

27 Leopold von Ranke, Geschichten der romanischen und germanischen Völker von 1494 bis 1514, Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1885. In English: Ranke, History of the Latin and Teutonic Nations 1494 to 1514, trans. George Ravenscroft Dennis, London: George Bell & Sons, 1976. This specific translation will be cited as History, the general reference to Ranke’s Geschichten will be Histories within the main text. 28 Ranke, History 1; “drei, in denen das romanische Element vorherrscht: die französische, spanische, italienische; drei, in denen das germanische: das deutsche, englische, skandinavische, ausgebildet,” Ranke, Geschichten XV. 29 History 19; “drei große Athemzüge dieses unvergleichlichen Vereines,” Ranke, Geschichten VIII. 30 “nur Geschichten, nicht die Geschichte,” Ranke, Geschichten VI.

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itual totality. The stories, events, and facts of the past are not told, however, according to the laws of a teleological narrative, in which the particularities are ordered in a chronological and causal fashion. Whereas scholarship has often connected Ranke’s anti-teleological form of historiography to his methodological approach of hermeneutics and text philology, this mode of representation rehearses the representational practices of the panorama. Chapter One of Ranke’s Histories relates the actions of Charles VIII, who was king of France in the period of 1483–1498. It opens with a large-scale impression of France’s history: Twice during the Middles Ages did the Capets conquer France. They went forth from their dukedom, France, encountered the Eudons of Blois and the Plantagenets of Anjou, and were once cut off on all sides from the sea-coast. But Philipp August possessed himself of the provinces of North France, and St. Louis of Provence, whilst Philip the Fair subjected the Pope to his crown. This is the first conquest: by the direct line of Hugo Capet. After his line had become extinct, the kingdom was the bone of contention between his male descendants, the Valois, and the female line, the kings of England. King Edward III of England once held half of France; on another occasion, one of his successors, Henry V, was in possession of Paris, and even of the crown. It may be described as a second conquest, when Charles VII of Valois again got the upper hand of the English. It was the Maid of Orleans who opened for him the gate to victory. She restored to him Champagne; but he owed the recovery of the capital, as well as Normandy and Guyenne, and the complete mastery over the country, to the Dukes of Burgundy and Brittany.31

With a couple of short sentences, the passage gives an overview of more than 300 years of France’s history. Beginning with the conquests of the Capet dynasty (Hugo Capet was king of France 987–996), to the Hundred Years’ War between France and England under king Edward III, to the reign of Charles VII and his victory over England, assisted by Joan of Arc in 1429. The historical

31 Ranke, History 20; “Während des Mittelalters haben die Capetingen Frankreich zweimal erobert. Von ihrem Herzogthum France gingen sie aus; sie hatten mit den Eudonen von Blois, mit den Plantagenets von Anjou zu kämpfen und waren einmal auf allen Seiten von der Seeküste abgeschnitten; aber Philipp August nahm die nordfranzösischen, Ludwig der Heilige die provenzalischen Besitzungen ein, und Philipp der Schöne unterwarf seiner Krone den Papst. Das ist die erste Eroberung: durch den geraden Stamm Hugo Capets. Als derselbe ausgestorben war, wurde das Reich zwischen seinen männlichen Abkömmlingen, den Valois, und den weiblichen, den Königen von England, streitig. König Eduard III. von England besaß einmal halb Frankreich; ein ander Mal hatte einer seiner Nachfolger, Heinrich V., Paris und die Krone selbst inne. Es kann als eine zweite Eroberung bezeichnet werden, dass Karl VII. von Valois der Engländer wieder Meister wurde. Die Jungfrau von Orleans ist es gewesen, welche demselben den Weg zum Siege eröffnete; sie hat ihm Champagne wiederverschafft; aber die Hauptstadt, die Normandie, Guyenne und die vollkommene Oberhand verdankte er den Herzogen von Burgund und Bretagne,” Ranke, Geschichten 3.

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events consist mostly of a redistribution of power and territories and are connected to aristocrats and clerical leaders such as Louis the Pious, King Edward III, and Charles VII. Ranke does not represent these historical events through the perspective of one or several of these individuals. Rather his text simulates a view onto the past, in which the observer seems to be hovering above the individuals and can gaze over and across the historical epochs. Within a single sentence the narrator mentions the battles of the Eudons and the Plantagenets; then, by means of a slight turn of the focus, the next sentences provide a glance over the conquests of Charles VII and his military victories. Ranke’s passage suggests a panoramic grand view of history. Hundreds of years of French history are mentioned, and, then, only separated by a semicolon the text opens the view into the next century. This integration of simultaneously co-existing views displays similarities to the optical configurations of nineteenth-century panoramas; in particular the concept of omnidirectionality.32 This concept entails a perspective characteristic of nineteenth-century panoramic paintings. Whereas forerunners of panoramic paintings, such as the painted ceilings and stage sets of the Baroque Period, or the Merian Engravings and Vedute paintings, the panoramas of the nineteenth century worked with perspective in a completely new fashion. Instead of organizing the panoramic view around one focal point (such as the focus on the sovereign in the Baroque stage ceilings), they aimed to convey a multiplicity of simultaneous viewpoints, yet without substantially distorting the perspective. This new omnidirectional experience of perspective can be achieved by creating, for example, eight individual pictures that constitute puzzle pieces of one whole picture (each connects thematically and each has a central perspective). These eight pictures are put on a flat surface and their bottom edges are connected. Thus, this construction forms an octagon, which theoretically would allow eight people to view the picture at the same time, each of them from a correct central perspective point. The trick was to connect all these pictures along their side edges, to bend the whole construction into a cylinder, to make some corrections to the distortions of the perspective, and the result was a painting which encircled the viewer and theoretically provided infinite viewpoints of the representation.33 32 See the discussion of omnidirectionality as an innovative perspective in Oettermann, Panorama 22–30. 33 I owe this description to Oettermann, who explains the infinitude of the viewpoints in greater detail with a mathematical analogy: “As the polygonal base approaches the shape of a perfect circle (and the picture approaches as a cylinder), the number of points in sight (n) approaches infinity: they blend to form the line of the horizon,” Oettermann, Panorama 31.

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Jonathan Crary comments on the perspective in the panorama with the following words: “One was compelled at least to turn one’s head (and eyes) to see the entire work.”34 The viewer saw a part of the representation and by means of turning around his or her own axis was able to get an all-encompassing view of the picture. Wherever the viewer turned the head, he or she (ideally) should at no point encounter a frame that separated the panoramic picture from its environment and disconnected one picture from another one within a sequence of movement. The panoramic experience thus suggests a type of framelessness, since the viewer gains a mobile point of view. This roving gaze is reminiscent of train travel and, as Wolfgang Schivelbusch has argued, a gaze is structurally similar to a filmic eye incorporated in the gaze through a train window.35 There is still a frame such as the window, but the individual pictures blend into one long view. Specifically, the invention of the so-called moving panorama during the 1830s imitates this view. These panoramas consisted of a ribbon-shaped screen, which was reeled between two large spools. Between these spools moved the painting and conveyed the impression that the viewer traveled through the countryside; these panoramas often simulated boat tours on the Mississippi or the Rhine rivers. Ranke’s opening paragraph of his Histories embodies such a roving gaze. It is as if the narrator of the quoted passage pulls away the curtains to invite the viewer into the different historical scenes; that is, into the historical scenes around the houses of the Capets, the Eudons of Blois, and the Joan of Arc. Ranke’s historical panorama does not organize these scenes according to chronological and causal structures, but rather opens all the curtains at once. Ranke conveys an omnidirectional simultaneity of events, in which the viewer’s gaze can swoop through the centuries. Even though the passage does not show details and visual props, it sets the stage for a panoramic presentation; it outlines the platform, and marks the extent of the horizon Ranke’s panoramic picture will take. Ranke describes in the course of the first chapter how Louis of Orleans and Charles VIII regained the territory of Brittany through diplomatic contracts, such as Charles VIII’s marriage to Anne of Brittany. Note the following passage, which depicts how the young Charles VIII reunites himself with Louis of Orleans. But, in order to defend this last bulwark of the vassal power [Brittany], Louis of Orleans, the nearest relative of King Charles, who was still a minor, allied himself with the Bretons

34 Jonathan Crary, Techniques of the Observer: On Vision and Modernity in the Nineteenth Century, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1992, 113. 35 Wolfgang Schivelbusch makes this connection between train traveling and panoramic paintings in his book The Railway Journey: The Industrialization of Time and Space in the Nineteenth-Century, Berkeley: U of California P, 1986.

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and all the King’s domestic and external foes. At St. Aubin, however, he lost the day, and was now in captivity at Bourges. Things were now in this position: the rebellion was checked, but not suppressed; Brittany was, it is true, conquered, but ready to appeal again to arms, and was besides allied with the three most powerful neighbors of France, England, the Netherlands, and Spain; when Charles attained the age of nineteen (1491), and began to take heart, and to be desirous of becoming his own master. He signaled his assumption of the reins of government by a noble and an unexpected action. One evening he rode off from Plessis to the Tower of Bourges. He went to release the imprisoned duke, regardless of the fact that the latter had borne arms against him. He took him away with him. They conversed and laughed together at table, and slept the night in the same bed […]. And by this act he put an end to the old feud between the barons and the Crown. Immediately thereafter, Orleans, the Constable, and many notables combined together, no longer, as formerly the case, for the public good, that is, the well-being of the vassals, but to obey and serve the king. This cleared the way for Charles to conquer Brittany.36

This passage connects to the opening scene, which mentions the victory of Charles VII over England; and shows that his son Charles VIII took important steps to regain France’s power. The events are no longer only outlined, but they are shown in vivid episodes, such as how Charles VIII rode his horse to Bourges to free Louis of Orleans, how they bonded with each other and how this bond enables Charles VIII to gain Brittany. Similar to the opening scene of the book, Ranke does not order the historical events in a linear fashion, but rather suggests an omniscient gaze that can shift from one event to the next, from Orleans’s battles in Brittany, to his arrest, to the situation in Brittany and its allies, to the actions of Charles VIII. Particularly the second sentence suggests a panoramic viewing experience, since the focus of narrative roves around its own axis and conveys a simultaneous overview of the events. Ranke’s passage about Charles VIII attempts what Henry Aston Barker’s panorama painting The Battle of Waterloo (1816) tried to achieve: to suggest a 36 Ranke, History 22; “Aber diese letzte Burg der Vassallenmacht [Bretagne] zu vertheidigen, vereinigte sich Ludwig von Orléans, des minderjährigen Königs Karl nächster Agnat, mit den Bretagnern und allen inneren und auswärtigen Feinden desselben. Bei St. Aubin hatte er jedoch bereits das Feld verloren und saß in Bourges gefangen; so weit war es: der Aufruhr zwar beschwichtigt, doch nicht erstickt, Bretagne zwar besiegt, aber aufs neue zu den Waffen fertig und mit den drei mächtigsten Nachbarn der Franzosen in England, Niederland und Spanien im Bunde, als Karl 19 Jahre alt ward (1491), und ein Herz zu fassen und sein eigener Herr sein zu wollen anfing. Er [Charles VIII] bezeichnete seinen Regierungsantritt mit einer unerwarteten großartigen Handlung. Eines Abends ritt er von Plessis gegen den Thurm von Bourges: er ging, den gefangenen Herzog zu befreien, unbekümmert darüber, dass derselbe die Waffen gegen ihn getragen; er nahm ihn mit sich. Sie schwatzten und lachten bei Tische und schliefen die Nacht auf einem Bett. […] Und damit machte er dem alten Kriege der Barone mit der Krone ein Ende. Sogleich verbanden sich Orléans, der Connétable, und viele Große, nicht mehr, wie einst, zu dem öffentlichen, das ist dem Wohle der Vasallen, sondern dem Könige zugute und zu Diensten. Das aber bahnte Karl den Weg zur Eroberung von Bretagne,” Ranke, Geschichten 5.

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simultaneity of historical events, actions, and individuals. Barker’s painting exhibits mass battle scenes and it surrounds the viewer with nine individual pictures of which each has a central perspective and is attached to another in a circular panoramic fashion.37 The viewpoint is elevated as if the viewer stood on the platform of a tower. From there he or she is permitted a roving gaze, which can follow the battle in any direction. The viewer gains an overview of the historical events and can gaze far into the countryside. The background is filled with the representation of smoke clouds, burning houses, and one can glimpse the vast tree-lines and fields at the thin line of the horizon, which divides the countryside from the sky. Except for the horizon, there are no boundaries that obstruct the view – the viewer can see everything and observe history from an all-encompassing perspective, which aims to depict all the historical events going on. As in the panorama, the perspective in Ranke’s texts suggests elevation, and the semicolons could be read as the slight turns of the viewer’s head by which he or she is able to see everything. The passage imitates a roving gaze by which the reader can follow not only the actions of the historical individuals but also move from one historical epoch to the next. As the passage from the first chapter of the Histories demonstrates, this gaze can switch from one historical epoch into the next, suggesting an all-encompassing view of history. The effect of this perspective is, as in the panorama, a simulation of an omnidirectional gaze; a gaze that can construct a total picture by combining a multiplicity of perspectives to form one large overview.

Visual Reality Effects Within this all-encompassing panoramic picture, Ranke’s text utilizes a number of visual effects in order to evoke an impression as if history appears in front of the eyes of the reader, or better, the eyes of the viewer. Drawing on Roland Barthes’ text “The Reality Effect,” we could say the effect describes the result of specific representational and rhetorical strategies that aim to suggest moments of referentiality, or a “referential illusion.”38 These moments aim to convey the impression of authenticity according to the author’s construction and perception of reality. According to Barthes, these reality effects can be

37 See Oettermann for more information about the success and history of this early panorama about the battle of Waterloo (Oettermann, Panorama 110–111). 38 Roland Barthes, “The Reality Effect,” The Rustle of Language, trans. Richard Howard, Oxford, UK: Basil Blackwell, 1986, 148.

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based on literary strategies, such as the simulation of letters, direct speech, and detail realism. Oettermann states that, “The basic aim of the panorama was to reproduce the real world so skillfully that spectators could believe what they were seeing was genuine” (Oettermann, Panorama 49). Since the viewer did not see anything but the panoramic picture, nothing broke with the illusion and thus the panorama tried to achieve a total illusion of reality. Barker’s panoramic construction used trompe l’oeil objects, such as artificial trees, objects and individuals in order to simulate reality. Similarly, Ranke’s text also deploys reality effects that create the impression of historical authenticity. Charles VIII, for example, gains a personal touch in Ranke’s writings, since his character is portrayed with plenty of adjectives, such as “straightforward,” “unconcerned,” and “clever” in securing his political power. Ranke points to his physical looks: “In personal appearance he was thin and malformed, but was at the same time very keen for all sorts of knightly games and military duties.”39 Charles VIII no longer remains a historical type, but rather by means of detailed description he gains a personal individual character. In Barker’s panoramic representation of the battle of Waterloo, the viewer can also grasp the historical details. The foreground displays struggling soldiers on foot, sword fights, and cannon fires. One can see the faces of the soldiers, their dying horses, and the muddy and rugged surface of the ground. Barker’s panorama also works with faux terrain in front of the painting to simulate that the viewer can see history (or a landscape or cityscape) as if it were actually placed in front of his or her eyes. Another strategy of Ranke’s text, appropriated from the visual practices of the panorama, embodies the technique of making events visible that were unseen before. Through its omniscient perspective, the medium of the panorama is able to provide the viewer with a perspective, which he or she could not grasp with his or her natural eyesight. The field of view in the panorama is widened and opened so that the viewer can experience a form of visual omnipresence. Even though this omniscient vision is unnatural and magic, in the panorama it has the effect of simulating reality. The medium creates a perfect illusion, which is so complete that the viewer should forget its artificiality and constructed design. In the first chapter of the Histories the narrator is able to gain insight into something that is “invisible,” namely into the secret actions of historical individuals, such as Charles VIII’s plan of freeing the Duke Louis of Orleans and Lodovico’s plans to invade Naples. Most notably, the narrator even has access to the dreams of Margaret, who was Charles VIII’s 39 Ranke, History, 29; “Er war von Person her mager und übel gestaltet, aber zu allem Ritterspiel und Waffendienst gleich sehr aufgelegt,” Ranke, Geschichten 11.

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betrothed until he decided to marry Anne of Brittany and to make her the queen of France. The narrator mentions Margaret’s dream: “She told her attendant maidens she had dreamt she had lost a very brilliant large jewel; […]”.40 Her dream symbolizes her losing of the crown of France. On the one hand, the text evokes an image of the historian that obtains “magic” power to read secret actions, dreams, and can visualize the unseen. On the other hand, the realization of dreams connects to the optical mechanism of the panorama. Through the representation of her dreams something was made visible that was formerly obscure, and during the process of this visualization, the dreams lost their fantastic element and became a historical reality: the loss of the crown represents a historical fact in Ranke’s historiography. All these representational strategies out of the “trick box” of the panorama in Ranke’s historiography function as reality effects. To put it in terms of classical rhetoric: these strategies aim to evoke the effect of hypotyposis, to represent something as if it were happening right in front of the eyes of the viewer.41 Ranke aims to give an impression of “the real-spiritual (…), which evokes suddenly in front of your eyes in an unexpected originality […].”42 Ranke’s text presents historical reality as if it appeared in front of the eyes of the reader as a sudden image. However, whereas classical rhetoric emphasizes the effect of hypotyposis as a result of literary strategies, in Ranke’s writing, these effects show structural similarities to the visual effects of the panorama. The historical details, observations, events, and stories do not follow a linear narrative, but rather they adhere to the logic of a panorama image: one can begin to read an image from any angle, and the gaze of the viewer can move in any possible direction. As in the omnidirectional panorama painting the viewer can construct from all these individual perspectives one all-encompassing overview of the past. Ranke’s historical painting does not follow a teleological course of event history, but rather connects a totality of historical puzzle-pieces. These pieces do not move forward in a progressive fashion, but rather convey a presence of history. Via the panoramic image the reader gets the impression to be able to delve into the here and now; there are no meta-historical signposts that construct a progressive direction of the past; rather the text conveys a multiplicity of simultaneous perspectives.

40 Ranke, History 23; “Sie sagte ihren Jungfrauen, sie habe im Traume einen sehr glänzenden und sehr großen Edelstein zu verlieren geglaubt,” Ranke, Geschichten 6. 41 Albert Halsall, “Beschreibung,” Historisches Wörterbuch der Rhetorik, ed. Gert Ueding, Vol. 1, Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1992, 1495–1513. 42 “das Real-Geistige (…), welches in ungeahnter Originalität dir plötzlich vor Augen steht,” Ranke, “Politische Gespräche” 57.

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The presence of panoramic perspective does not erase action, plot structure, and narration within Ranke’s book. There is still narrative and there are still actors, who are able to control the course of history. In the first chapter of the Histories Charles VIII, for example, represents an individual who believes in his decisions and is able to control historical events. He embodies an acting subject, who never doubts or fundamentally questions his actions. Charles VIII’s personal decisions to bond with his former enemy, thus fulfilling the preconditions for important power coalitions, develop a logic that conveys the plausibility of the narrated sequence, since the narrative takes the perspective of Charles VIII’s intentions which all work out according to his will. However in Ranke’s panoramic painting, Charles’s actions remain only fragments of narratives. Even though the text shows Charles VIII as an actant,43 who is in control of his actions, role, and power, his decisions are not all brought together within a larger meta-narrative about history. Ranke depicts certain cause-effect relations; Charles VIII’s actions have some consequences, but, altogether, they do not steer the reader into a conclusion or into a result or message of history. In fact, Charles VIII’s actions are similar to all the other observations from above, the perceptions about knights, locations, contracts, individuals, and dynasties, which are all listed next to each other. He is just another image point in the large panorama painting. In his critique of the Italian historiographer Francesco Guicciardini, Ranke confirms his preference for a type of “panoramic” form of narration in contrast to the teleological narrative form: “This is the reason why Guicciardini chose the strictly chronological form, which we have observed. For him it was more a question of causes and events than of the facts. But we find only rarely in him a joy in affairs and in life.”44 In contrast to Guiccardini, who aims to show history in an educational fashion, Ranke wants to show the historical events in their entirety without connecting them under a larger organizing causal and chronological structure. He emphasizes to show life in its totality, multiplicity, and completeness. This concept of historical life is not connected to a temporality that organizes

43 The term “actant” describes an acting subject within a narrative. See for example, Algirdas J. Greimas, Structural Semantics: An Attempt at a Method, Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 1983 as well as his essay “Actants, Actors, and Figures,” On Meaning: Selected Writings in Semiotic Theory, trans. Paul J. Perron and Frank H. Collins, Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1987, 106– 120. See also Mieke Bal, Introduction to the Theory of Narrative, Toronto: U of Toronto P, 1985. 44 Ranke, “The Historian’s Craft” 98; “Hieraus ergiebt sich, warum Guicciardini die streng chronologische Form wählte, die wir gesehn. Es kam ihm mehr auf Grund und Folgerung, als auf die Thatsache an; Freude an Handlung und Leben wird man ohnedies selten bei ihm wahrnehmen,” Ranke, Zur Kritik neuerer Geschichtsschreiber, Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1884, 39.

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historical events according to a grand narrative. Life for Ranke is connected to the idea of showing it all and his writing aims to give an all-encompassing view on the past. The text lays out the stories like cut-outs from a large panoramic painting; one story is placed next to the other, creating a mosaic of history. Reading through these numerous micro-histories it is indeed as if one had viewed a large panoramic painting. Ranke’s emphasis on showing the details and the particularities of the past does not mean that his historical painting drowns in profusion. His many omnidirectional perspectives do not fall apart into a pile of images, perspectives, and episodes, but they all connect with each other in the idea of God’s omnipresence in history. God’s presence, however, is not articulated via a model of teleology and perfectibility. Ranke vehemently criticizes Hegel’s idealistic philosophy of history, in which the principle of reason steers the course of past. For Ranke, history does not represent a gradual evolution, in which every epoch transcends the spiritual and cultural production of the one that came before, and thereby comes closer to the state of reason. For him, cultural epochs in the past were often more highly developed and every epoch in history is already fully mature in its individual shape: “every epoch is immediate to God.”45 This idea of God functions like a meta-historical frame, a guiding symbolic structure, that the reader must keep in mind in order to make sense of the diverse events described. If the reader ignores this meta-historical idea, he or she will be lost in a maze of micro-histories and the “history book […] would remain unintelligible.”46 Ranke’s panorama does not articulate a progression towards the future. Rather history presents itself as a large picture on a grand scale, in which the history has already happened and is finished. To use Ranke’s own metaphor, history appears as a “holy hieroglyph” – as an enigmatic pictorial scripture, a static entity, which the historian aims to decipher. Thus, history presents itself as a large picture, in which the history has already happened and is finished. The next section explores the aesthetics of this picture and the question: What is the painting style of Ranke’s images of history? Similar to the balloon aeronauts, who often described their vision as a “feast for the eyes” (Augenweide), Ranke’s texts color the past as pleasures for the eye and picturesque experience.

45 “jede Epoche ist unmittelbar zu Gott,” Ranke, Aus Werk und Nachlass: Über die Epochen der neueren Geschichte, Vol. 2, eds. Theodor Schieder and Helmut Berding, Wien: Oldenbourg Verlag, 1971, 60. 46 Ranke, History 2; “Geschichtsbuch […] würde unverständlich bleiben,” Ranke, Geschichten 7.

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The Aesthetics of the Picturesque Tourism and Travel Literature During the first half of the nineteenth century traveling was no longer an exclusive possibility limited to those in the pursuit of business, trade, or education. Johanna Schopenhauer commented on the growing interest in traveling in Germany as an “epidemic desire to travel, which attracts onto the main roads during only one year ten times more travellers, than earlier in a whole decade […].”47 The improvements in infrastructure, such as railroads, steamboats, and the increased speed and frequency of postal coaches made traveling faster and more affordable. Traveling developed into a leisure activity. The medium of the panorama fostered this trend, since it specialized in providing virtual excursions to famous tourist attractions, such as the Alps, the Pyramids, or to the deserts of Northern Africa. The moving panorama Panorama of the Monumental Grandeur of the Mississippi Valley (1850) by John J. Egan, for example, invited people on adventurous tours down the major rivers in the USA while its visitors remained safely seated in the auditorium. The experience of pleasantness, comfort, and entertainment constitutes a central aspect of panoramic traveling. On the journey one could enjoy images of Native Americans going about their daily life, excavations of burial sites (mounds), and spectacular vistas of the Rocky Mountains. Like many of these travel panoramas, Egan’s painting also showed images that anticipated the viewing desires of tourists by displaying “exotic” landscapes. Not only the New World, but also the Middle East was a favored topic of panoramic paintings. Edward Lear’s painting, for example, The Pyramids Road, Giza (1873) shows a panoramic view onto the pyramids and the oasis-like landscape in the background. The people in the painting are well dressed, rest in the shade of trees, and interact in a peaceful fashion. In this painting the Middle East is portrayed as a picturesque travel location which in turn allows the European spectator to project him or herself into an “ideal” world located south of Europe. Dolf Sternberger’s Panorama or Views of the Nineteenth Century (Panorama oder Ansichten vom 19. Jahrhundert, 1938)48 reveals the panoramic gaze on the Middle East to be a vehicle for ethnic stereotypes. Behind the surface of the 47 “epidemieartigen Reiselust, die in einem einzigen Jahre zehnmal so viel Reisende auf den Heerstrassen hin und hertreibt, als ehemals in zehnmal so langer Frist […].” Johanna Schopenhauer, Ausflug an den Niederrhein und nach Belgien im Jahr 1828, ed. Karl Bernd Heppe, Essen: Reimar Hobbing, 1987, 103. 48 Dolf Sternberger, “Panorama oder Ansichten vom 19. Jahrhundert,” Schriften, Vol. 5, Frankfurt a. M.: Insel, 1991.

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picturesque lies a powerful colonialist gaze – a gaze that appropriates the “otherness” of another culture into the aesthetics of the pleasant and the cliché. As Sternberger suggests, through this gaze the areas of the Middle East generate into European landscapes (“expanded south”49); as unknown territories they appear as known and by means of the picturesque they are familiarized. Susanne Zantop has developed in her ground-breaking work the notion of colonial fantasy as a form of collective desire for colonial mastery.50 She defines desire as a shared mentality of possessing and appropriating the colonial “other.” This desire entails sexual and cultural stereotypes and of a “purely imaginary and wish-fulfilling nature” (Zantop, Colonial Fantasies 3). Colonial fantasies influenced not only the perception of German colonial history, but also aesthetic, anthropological, scientific, political, and philosophical discourses. German academic historicism is no exception, but research is certainly lacking in this field. With regards to the painting: panoramas can display a colonialist fantasy about the Orient, since it represents the Middle East as a projection of Western aesthetic traditions. Lear’s painting connects to the aesthetics of the orientalist school in painting in the nineteenth century, as represented by the works of Jean Léon-Gérôme, Ernst Ludwig Deutsch, Rudolf Swoboda. Voyeuristic in nature, these paintings display women in the harem, the splendor of architecture, bazaars, and interiors, and thus stage the culture of the Middle East as an exotic picturesque travel attraction.51 Picturing the Middle East through the aesthetics of the panorama was also utilized by German writers of travel literature. The following pages about Ida von Hahn-Hahn’s travelogues highlight the connection between colonial fantasies and the panorama, and in so doing provide a comparative literary view that demonstrates how the aesthetics of the panorama function also in Ranke’s writing.52

Ida von Hahn-Hahn’s Literary Travelogues Ida von Hahn-Hahn (born in 1805 as the daughter of an aristocratic family in Mecklenburg-Schwerin) became one of the most popular female authors of 49 “erweiterter Süden,” Sternberger, Panorama 66. 50 Susanne Zantop, Colonial Fantasies: Conquest, Family, and Nation in Precolonial Germany, 1770–1870, Durham: Duke UP, 1997. 51 For an extensive discussion about visualizing the Middle East in painting, see Linda Nochlin, “The Imaginary Orient,” The Politics of Vision: Essays on Nineteenth-Century Art and Society, London: Thames and Hudson, 1991. 52 For an analysis of the panorama and its role in German travel literature, see Kathrin Maurer, “Der panoramatische Blick auf das Fremde in Ida von Hahn-Hahns Reisebericht Orientalische

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travel literature in nineteenth-century Germany. She took adventurous journeys to the Middle East and wrote numerous essays, letters, and travelogues about her experiences. As a woman writing she broke with many societal conventions and traditional gender roles. However, until today her life and work remains controversial. Her xenophobic descriptions of the Middle East and its people, in particular women, make it difficult to herald her writing as an example of a proto-feminist perception of society and culture. Her work is not only interesting because of these controversial aspects, but also because her writing utilizes the optics of the panorama in order to represent a foreign culture and its history. Hahn-Hahn began her journey to the Middle East in 1842, she travelled from Vienna, to Constantinople and then to Beirut, Damascus, Jerusalem, and Greece. She recorded her travel experiences in letters addressed to her family members, and she published them as Oriental Letters (Orientalische Briefe) in 1844.53 The letter form and the presence of historical and geographical dates suggest a high degree of authenticity of her writings. However, it is important to note that Hahn-Hahn’s letters are literary constructions, in which she projects herself as one of the first female travellers to the Orient. She mentions neither her companion Baron Adolf von Bystram nor the servants that accompanied her. In these letters she often describes the lands and cityscapes from elevated points, such as towers and mountaintops, and she captures her view by utilizing the narrative optics of the panorama. Note the following passage from a letter to her sister in which she describes an overview of Constantinople: I was going astray from my panoramic view, dear Clärchen! I just wanted to say, that the city, which expands from the tower of Galata in its full extent, beginning with the brilliant beautiful tip of the Serais, ending with the majestic beautiful mosque of Ejub. Across the city, one can see the sea of Marmora, but only as a narrow strip, bounded by the mountain chain of Bithynia, whose Olympus Mountain, crowned for days with snow, rises like a light cloud at the horizon. The remaining parts of the circular painting consist of the view of the Bosporus, and of the barren hills, that begin just behind the mountain of Pera, and that extend into the land and gradually ascend to the Balkan.54

Briefe (1843),” The German Quarterly 83.2 (2010): 149–167. Parts of the following section are based on this article. 53 Ida von Hahn-Hahn, Orientalische Briefe, 3 Vols., Berlin: Alexander Duncker, 1844. In the following quoted as Oriental Letters within the main text. 54 “Ich bin auf einen Abweg von meinem Panorama geraten, liebes Clärchen! Ich wollte nur sagen, daß die Stadt sich vor dem Turm von Galata in ihrer ganzen Ausdehnung hinbreitet, mit der glänzend schönen Spitze des Serais beginnend, mit der ernsthaft schönen Moschee von Ejub endend. Über die Stadt hinweg gewahrt man das Marmorameer, aber nur als schmalen Streif, begrenzt von der Bergkette Bithyniens, deren Olymp, seit einigen Tagen mit Schnee gekrönt, wie eine lichte Wolke am Horizont aufsteigt. Die übrigen Teile des Rundge-

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Hahn-Hahn explicitly refers to the medium of the panorama to describe the surrounding landscape. She sees the environment as a “circular painting” and the passage attempts to picture this view by composing an all-encompassing perspective onto the landscape; it conveys the impression as if the viewer would hover above the landscape and would attain a grand overview. However, the text does not only suggest this kind of “omniscient” view similar to Ranke’s panorama, but it also employs the aesthetic of the picturesque. By using the words “beautiful,” “light” and “crowned” Hahn-Hahn paints a picturesque image conveying an idyllic and pastoral setting, and in so doing she makes the landscape into a familiar territory that could potentially associate with German idyllic landscape paintings of the nineteenth century. Hahn-Hahn’s use of the picturesque never suggests a concept of the aesthetic sublime found in German Romantic literature, such as Ludwig Tieck’s depictions of landscape, in which the subject becomes overwhelmed by the beauty of the landscape. Rather, Hahn-Hahn models an image of beauty through the aesthetics of tourism and the cliché. Thus Hahn-Hahn’s panoramic-picturesque gaze crafts a colonialist fantasy, such as a pre-conceived image of the Middle East based on stereotype and cliché. This image can be possessed, completely unlike the sublime, which possesses the viewer. HahnHahn commodifies the visual experience of the Middle East by relating it to the commercial panorama. Her perception presses the “other” as the distinctive into the indistinctive and homogenizes it into the already known: that is, the image of the Orient as a colorful, spectacular, magic travel location, which in turn attributes the Orient with the predicates of artificiality, an illusion, and a lack of originality. This picturesque visualization also entails a historical dimension; the Middle East is described as a childlike state of civilization that needs European Enlightenment to gain maturity. Hahn-Hahn’s letters shape images of history from the landscape of the Middle East. The following passage describes a panoramic view from the Cheops pyramid and highlights this historical dimension: On the highest building of the world – there I sat. […] The history of the world expanded in such a depth in front of me, that our couple thousand years seemed to me just like foam on waves. I felt as I would sit on an island in the clouds, without any connection to all, what is happening on the ground. The time tore a chasm around me deeper that icy ravines in the high mountains of the Alps.55

mäldes bestehen aus der Ansicht des Bosporus, und aus den kahlen Hügeln, welche unmittelbar hinter dem Berg von Pera beginnen, und sich in das Land hinein, allmählich bis zum Balkan aufsteigend, wellen,” Hahn-Hahn, Orientalische Briefe, Vol. 1, 237–238. 55 “Auf dem höchsten Gebäude der Welt – da saß ich! […] Mir dehnte sich die Weltgeschichte zu einer solchen Tiefe aus, daß unsre paar tausend historische Jährchen mir nur wie der Schaum auf ihren Wellen vorkamen. Ich kam mir vor wie auf einer Insel in den Wolken, ohne

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Similar to Ranke’s gaze, also the narrator of this passage can survey the history of the worlds from an elevated point of view (“highest building of the world,” “clouds”); a view that can extend into infinity. In this context history loses its temporal dimension; the metaphors of island, gap and gorge attribute to history a spatial dimension: history is based on the deep gorges of prehistoric time (“icy ravines of the mountains of the Alps”). Accordingly Ranke no longer suggests a model of history based on events and subjects, but rather pictures a structural history-space. Hahn-Hahn does not connect this space to geological history, but rather formulates a religious beginning; the gaze from the clouds projects a timeless, otherworldly perception of history. From the perspective of a modern notion of history based on development and perfectibility, HahnHahn’s panorama of history entails a pre-modern dimension: history lacks progressive movement and represents a static entity. Hahn-Hahn’s historical panorama sheds light onto a perfect time – a nostalgic look back to the condition of paradise. The narrator in her Oriental Letters searches for traces of this condition of paradise within the cultural and natural landscapes of the Orient. For her, the civilization of the Orient is the product of a pure religion, however this state of completion is lost in the course of cultural developments and civilization. It is precisely this fixation of the history onto a religious origin that leads to an orientalist perception of the history of the Middle East, because all the processes of human development, civilization, and cultural traditions that came after this original state are seen as non-authentic, false and artificial. This historical fixation suggests that the Orient is not able to develop at all or only by means of Western civilization. Ranke precisely utilizes this picturesque travel optics of the panorama and, like Hahn-Hahn, conveys in his writing a touristic gaze as a vehicle for orientalist views on history.

The Oriental Panorama In order to display this orientalist optics and its ramifications of political power, I chose Ranke’s writing on Italian history, in particular his writings on Venetian history. I could have made other selections; representations of the Orient can be found in his Universal History (Weltgeschichte, 1886–1888) or in German History at the Age of Reformation (Deutsche Geschichte im Zeitalter der

Zusammenhang mit Allem, was da unten die Herzen bewegt. Die Zeit riß eine Kluft um mich, tiefer als die eisigen Schluchten im Hochgebirge der Alpen,” Hahn-Hahn, Orientalische Briefe, Vol. 3, 86–88.

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Reformation, 1839–1847),56 to name but a few examples. However, I do not aim to show the role of the Orient in Ranke’s historiography in general or discuss its implementations for his construction of world history.57 Rather I intend to give some representative readings that demonstrate how Ranke utilized panoramic travel optics in his writings to exoticize and orientalize the past. Ranke’s texts on Venetian history (“About Venetian History,” “Zur venezianischen Geschichte” published in 1878, written in the 1830s)58 contain many passages that reflect a panoramic aesthetics. A few illustrative examples will suffice. Ranke himself was a passionate traveler and in his many letters to his wife Clara and his brothers he writes enthusiastically about his stays in Prague, Vienna, and France. One of his most important journeys was probably his visit to the archives in Venice, where he researched the sources for his studies on Italian history. This trip was never solely a scholarly project; Ranke as an academic tourist combined it with the pleasure of traveling. Note the letter to Heinrich Ritter from October 19, 1828: Please know that I am in Venice. After the meal you should imagine me in a barque […] a soft wind blows into the sail, without any human’s labor the barque glides over the water: nothing but stillness over the lagoons, over Venice and me. Just imagine me like that. Early from 9–3 I am in the library; then I eat; then I visit some monument […]; then I take a stroll on the Riva amongst the lively, noisy people: at 8:30 begins the theater […].59

Ranke connects his research with pleasant tourist activities, such as boat trips, sightseeing, and theater performances. But he also employs the language of a tourist when he describes his academic research, specifically his work in the archives in Venice; emphasizing the cool temperature in the archives during the hot August days, their architectural beauty, and the sheer pleasure of being there. For Ranke the visit to the archive meant more than merely the study of 56 Leopold von Ranke, Deutsche Geschichte im Zeitalter der Reformation, ed. Willy Andreas, Wiesbaden: Vollmer, 1976. 57 For more information on this topic, see Ernst Schulin, Die weltgeschichtliche Erfassung des Orients bei Hegel und Ranke, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1958. 58 Leopold von Ranke, “Zur Venezianischen Geschichte,” Studien und Portraits zur Italienischen Geschichte, ed. Willy Andreas, Wiesbaden: Vollmer, 1957, 86. 59 “Wisse, daß ich in Venedig bin. Denke mich nach Tische in einer Barke. […] Ein leichter Wind bläst in das Segel, ohne Menschenarbeit gleitet die Barke dahin: lauter Ruhe über den Lagunen, über Venedig und mir. So denke mich nur. Früh bin ich in der Bibliothek von 9– 3 Uhr; dann esse ich; dann besehe ich irgendein Denkmal […]; dann wandle ich auf der Riva unter dem lebenslustigen, lärmenden Volke auf und ab: um halb neun geht das Theater an […],” “An Heinrich Ritter. [Venedig] am 19. Oktober 1828,” Leopold von Ranke: Das Briefwerk, ed. Walther Peter Fuchs, Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe, 1949, 172

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lifeless texts and scriptures: the archives were places in which history became alive and extended beyond it.60 Often the archives were located in the areas where the historical events took place and the environment around them, such as buildings and landscape, embodied historical places that stored knowledge about the past. Ranke was a historian who liked to travel directly to the sources and thus promoted the idea that the writing of history also entails a form of “being there,” a physical presence of the historian in the actual location of history. In his writings on Italian history, he notes: “The palace of the republic is still standing; it is like an open book; its columns and its entrance, its staircases, and its halls gradually bring back the old stories into our memory […].”61 It is notable that for Ranke not only the textual documents, but also actual physical monuments and buildings can work for him as historical sources. The palace and its architecture represent a book of history evoking memories in the reader about its past. The palace evokes a form of recollection similar to the effects of a touristic sight or to the visit to a panorama: history becomes a travel location, which promises the experience of great sights and attractions. After Ranke had explored numerous archives in Italy in the late 1820s, he wrote several studies on Venetian history during the 1830s that were finally published in his collected works in 1878. There are three studies that focus on the political situation in Venice during the sixteenth- and seventeenth century. In broad strokes, they tell the history from the founding of the Venetian Republic, its growth into a trading power, and the conspiracy against Venice by the Spanish Vice Regent in 1618. Ranke’s first study on Venice during the sixteenth century describes its foundation, constitution, administration, and its historical rise to become a great economic power. The following passage depicts the beginnings of the Venetian Republic. Ranke starts his depiction with a largescale panoramic picture of the Venetian lagoon: Only a few decades ago around the Lago Santo in the area of Comacchio lived a small community of 2,000 people, their houses were built on posts in the middle of the water, their whole wealth consisted of having a boat and a couple fishing nets, their only food was fish and seabirds; they were unknown to the world and the world was unknown to them. The inhabitants of the Venetian lagoons in ancient times lived in a very similar fashion; Cassiodorus says, that they build their houses like the water birds with branches

60 Anthony Grafton mentions in his book The Footnote: A Curious History, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard UP, 1997 Ranke’s pleasure of being in the archive. 61 “Noch steht der Palast der Republik; er ist wie ein aufgeschlagenes Buch; Schritt für Schritt mit seinen Säulen und seinem Eingang, seinen Treppen und Sälen, Verzierungen und Bildwerken, bringt er uns die alten Begebenheiten unwillkürlich in Erinnerung […],” Ranke, “Zur venezianischen Geschichte” 86.

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of willow and clay, they tie their boats like cattle to the walls; their nourishment consists of fish, and their wealth comes from salt; food and housing is equal to everyone. As one has often compared the air of the lagoons with the air of the mountains as similar, the mentalities of these peoples are also quite alike. Both are characterized by strength, docility and boldness. The inhabitants of the lagoons of the Adriatic Sea awaited a great future.62

This passage opens a grand view, a panorama onto the landscape where the Venetian empire started. The text represents the history of Venice with a panoramic-picturesque depiction of what will become one of the most powerful colonial powers during the seventeenth century. Ranke’s passage about the lagoon suggests an idyllic picture; the life around the ocean and the lakes is peaceful. The inhabitants are frugal and live in harmony with their environment. The ocean gives them food and a place for their houses. There is no suffering, no enemies, and no wars. The community lives in a naive innocence that suggests a utopian state; a type of paradise that exists in harmony with nature and culture. Ranke’s picture of the beginnings of Venetian power shows some similarities to the panoramas about other cultures since – by means of the picturesque – it displays the natives in an innocent state and in beautiful harmony with nature. Like the appearance of the Native Americans or Egyptians and their affinity to nature in Egan’s and Lear’s panoramas, Ranke’s early Venetians also display a peaceful humility and naïveté. The comparison with birds aestheticizes them into creatures of nature that follow determined, but yet unenlightened, their historical destiny. This depiction of the Venetian natives suggests naturalization of power, since this innocent people is naturally destined to become a great colonial force. Like the images of Egan’s Native Americans, that convey that the unenlightened state of these cultures has to be naturally transformed into Western culture, these original Venetians have as their natural destiny a powerful colonial future. Ranke portrays the Venetian nation, which attacked many other countries and fought bloody battles, under the guise of an innocent beauty. His writings 62 “Noch vor wenigen Jahrzehnten wohnte im Lago Santo bei Comacchio eine kleine Gemeinde von 2,000 Menschen, deren Häuser mitten im Wasser auf Pfählen gebaut, deren ganzer Reichtum ein Kahn und ein paar Netze, deren einzige Nahrung Fische und Seevögel waren, unbekannt in der Welt und mit der Welt. Nicht viel anders waren vor alters die Einwohner der venezianischen Lagunen; Cassiodor sagt, daß sie wie Wasservögel ihre Häuser aus Weidengeflecht und Lehm bauen, an den Wänden seien die Kähne wie Haustiere angebunden; ihre Nahrung Fische, ihr Reichtum Salz; in Speise und Wohnung einander alle gleich. Wie man die Luft der Lagunen oft mit der Luft der Gebirge verglichen hat, so hat auch die Sinnesweise der Bevölkerungen derselben etwas Verwandtes. Beide zeichnen sich durch Kraft, Gelehrigkeit und Kühnheit aus. Den Bewohnern der Lagunen am Adriatischen Meere stand nun eine große Zukunft bevor,” Ranke, “Zur venezianischen Geschichte” 1.

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on Venetian history stage this idealizing perspective, praising not only the courage and intelligence of the Venetians, but also their constitution and their conquests. Highlighting the beautiful sides of the colonial empire, Ranke aestheticizes its imperialism. Even though he distances himself from the writings of the cardinal Gasparo Contarini, who glorified the Venetian constitution, Ranke’s support for Venetian politics controlled by the aristocracy is evident in all his writings on Italian history. The picturesque constitutes the vehicle for this aestheticization of power. This conveyance of colonial supremacy in Ranke’s writings also shapes the basis for the orientalist perception of the Middle East. Note the following passage from Venetian History, which promotes the idea that trade with the Middle East was the central factor in Venice’s wealth: One of our documents reports that Venice sent annually 25,000 pieces of cloth to Turkey, each costing 200 ducats; they were mainly scarlet, violet, and carmine colored cloth, as the Orient loves them; this brought a tremendous advantage and fed a great number of people. That this is not exaggerated is proven by Texeira’s travel writings about the Orient. Texeira assures that Venice brings over 5,000 pieces of cloth to Aleppo; he adds, that also as many pieces of brocade and silk are transported there: his trade makes one and half million of ducats. The shah of Persia often orders cloth from Aleppo for his army. And the Constantinopolitan traffic certainly was also important. The splendor of the harem demanded a lot of wealth!63

Ranke describes Venice’s trade with the Middle East as the main reason for its rise to the stature of a trade emporium, a connection that is well known in the historical research on Venice’s history.64 Ranke’s affirmation of Venice’s colonial power might not be a surprise since his writings often represent the history of the powerful – dukes, popes, military commanders. However, it is notable that he employs the visual optics of the panorama to execute this form of history writing. The passage displays plenty of picturesque elements, that in

63 “Eine unserer Relationen berichtet, Venedig habe jährlich 25,000 Stück Tuch nach der Türkei versendet, von denen jedes 200 Dukaten gekostet; es seien hauptsächlich scharlache, violette, karmensine Tuche gewesen, wie sie der Orient sie liebt; dies gebe dann einen ungemeinen Vorteil und nähre eine große Zahl Menschen. Daß das nun nicht übertrieben ist, bezeugt die Reisebeschreibung Texeiras nach dem Orient. Texeira versichert, dass Venedig jährlich 5,000–6,000 Stück Tuch nach Aleppo bringe; er fügt hinzu, ebenso viele Stücke führe es dahin in Brokat und Seide: sein Verkehr belaufe sich daselbst auf anderthalb Millionen Dukaten. Oft ließ der Schah von Persien für seine Armee Tuch von Aleppo holen. Nicht minder bedeutend war gewiss der eigentliche konstantinopolitanische Verkehr. Was forderte allein die Pracht des Harems!” Ranke, “Zur venezianischen Geschichte” 14. 64 See for example, Peter Feldbauer and Jim Morrissey, Weltmacht mit Ruder und Segel: Geschichte der Republik Venedig, 800–1600, Essen: Magnus-Verlag, 2004.

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turn should form a vision of the “Orient:” the colors of precious cloth, the “oriental” preference for scarlet red, and the desire for luxury and excess. The text evokes the harem as a place of abundance, exoticism and luxuriousness. Ranke’s chapter mentions frequently the treasures of the Middle East, such as pearls, spices, carpets, and jewelry. All of these descriptions emphasize the aspect of material excess, which shapes a common stereotype about Middle Eastern culture. This is the optics of the cliché, which Sternberger mentioned as key for the panoramic gaze. The panoramic gaze entails an expansionist dimension, and the picturesque travel optics translates into the ideology of owning, controlling, and expansion. For Ranke the Orient always remained a form of counterforce and opposite to Western European history. Even though, in contrast to Hegel, Ranke always approached history through its particularities, the holy alliance of European nations remains a universal counterpoint to the Orient. Ranke is often seen as the universal cosmopolitan thinker; an assumption that might be true with regard to his outline of European history, but does not apply for the history of the Orient. As Schulin puts it: “Ranke considers the Orient and the Occident during antiquity as a worldly opposition, during the Middle Ages until the crusades as a religious opposition, and since then as one of civilizations.”65 The omniscient observer in Ranke’s panorama of history evokes a fantasy of omniscience as the author of history and characterizes a gaze of colonial expansion. Traces of this colonial gaze, which was trained in front of the panoramas as a collective cultural perception, can also be discerned in Ranke’s writing on the history of the discovery of America.

The Colonial Panorama Alongside the scenes from Middle Eastern culture, representations of the Americas (New World, Latin America) were probably the most popular themes of panorama paintings. The famous Austrian panorama painter Hubert Sattler, for example, invited his viewers to travel to the architectural wonders of the Mayans. His painting Orizaba Temple Mexico (Orizaba Tempel Mexiko, 1856) shows a panoramic view of the ancient Mayan temple structure. Trees surround the large temple gate, and some of the ruins are covered with roots, lianas, agaves, and cacti. The picture displays a peaceful encounter between natives

65 “Ranke sieht Orient und Okzident im Altertum als weltlichen Gegensatz, im Mittelalter bis zu den Kreuzzügen als religiösen und erst seitdem entschieden auch als einen zivilisatorischen,” Schulin, Die weltgeschichtliche Erfassung 284.

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and Western travelers and it depicts an idyllic scene in which nature and culture, ancient past and present, the Western and Non-Western culture aim to convey a serene harmony. Not only do the natives appear as “noble savages” and thus diminish the fear of the foreign culture, but also the picturesque painting style suggests overcoming the threat of the jungle as a vast unknown space. In Ranke’s depictions of the discovery of the New World in the Histories one can find precisely this travel optics of Sattler’s panorama, for example in chapter two, “The Wars of Spain and the League against Charles VIII 1495– 1496” (“Spanien und Liga im Kampfe gegen Karl VIII 1495–1496”). The passage describes the discovery of the New World by Christopher Columbus and, talented dramatist that he is, Ranke depicts the first glimpse of the New World’s coast from the perspective of Christopher Columbus’s fleet: Tradition goes, that these coast-seamen, after spending week by week between heaven and water, only gazing upon seaweed and seeing no land, threatened to murder their captain. The captain the while, working by day with the lead, and by night keeping his eye intent upon the fixed stars, and even in his dreams full of visions of success, remained firm of purpose and managed to curb all opposition; until at last looming clouds inspired hopes, and in the night a sailor shouted “light and land;” when day broke, hills, high trees, and green land were discovered; he shed tears, and falling on his knees, said the “Te Deum Laudamus.” They erected on the coast an enormous cross, heard the notes of the first nightingale, saw the timid good people, and returned to tell their king of the country they had taken possession of in his name.66

The sailors and explorers depicted in the quotation experienced a full panoramic view for weeks surrounded only by sky and water. Ranke displays the atmosphere of exhilaration, hope, promise, and anticipation of fulfillment. The gaze of the sailors upon the new land can be read as a glance to a secularized paradise – a promised land that awaits the settlers from the Old World. The description of their waiting, the tears of Columbus, the falling on his knees,

66 Ranke, History 69; “Die Überlieferung ist, daß diese Küstenfahrer, als sie Woche auf Woche zwischen Himmel und Wasser waren und nur Meergras und kein Land erblickten, den Hauptmann sogar zu ermorden drohten, er aber, bei Tage mit dem Senkblei, bei Nacht die Fixsterne im Auge und selbst im Traume voll Gesichte vom Gelingen, immer seines Sinnes blieb und die Widerstrebenden festzuhalten wußte, bis endlich leichte Wolken etwas hoffen ließen, und in der Nacht ein Matrose “Licht und Land” rief, und mit dem Morgen die Berge und die hohen Bäume und das grüne Land sich enthüllten, da sank er mit Thränen auf die Knie und sprach: “Te deum laudamus;” da errichteten sie an der Küste ein ungeheures Kreuz, hörten die erste Nachtigall schlagen, sahen die scheuen guten Menschen und kehrten um, ihrem Könige von dem Lande zu sagen, das sie für ihn in Besitz genommen,” Ranke, Geschichten 46. I examine different aspects of this passage in my book Discursive Interaction 44–45.

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the nightingale, the hopeful gaze into the sky, the light clouds that promise the arrival in the new land, and the utopian glimmer of that green land shape the moment of discovery into an idyllic scene: the New World is beautiful and picturesque. Its inhabitants are well meaning, shy, and peaceful. The idyllic functions as a topos to familiarize the unknown and to make it “safe” to process the new, strange, and the other. The narrator aesthetizes the history of the discovery of the New World and omits the bloody battles with natives, the forced baptism, and the exploitation of the natives. Rather the passage represents this historical moment as a harmonious, beautiful picture, with sentimental tones. As Sattler does in his painting, Ranke also describes the experience of the “other” with a confrontation with vastness, such as the endless ocean. On the one hand, as John Noyes has shown, this experience of infinity can lead to a euphoric state of having found the new paradise. The panoramic eye of the discoverer is then, to use Noyes words, like a “solar eye,”67 which positions itself as superior to the discovered land and “hovers” over its inhabitants. On the other hand, this “solar eye” can also be threatened by the experience of infinite space and the passage shows this anxiety by depicting the sailors and the captain. According to Noyes, writers of colonialist literature often portray vast spaces as a type of existential threat, which has to be overcome. One strategy to surmount the threat is the aesthetization of the “other” with familiar aesthetic categories, such as the picturesque (Noyes, Colonial Space 146– 162). Behind the optics of the picturesque in Ranke’s text lies an affirmation of colonization as a constitutive moment in history and a necessary political force. The depiction of the Native Americans in Ranke’s historical panorama of the New World confirms the Eurocentric perspective on the history of the Roman-German nations. As mentioned in Ranke’s introduction to the Histories Ranke considers colonization as one of the integrative moments, which create unity and stability among the six “European” nations and shape their common historical development. Ranke’s depictions of the New World show some congruencies with colonial panoramas about the German colonies exhibited in the German Colonial Museum in Berlin during the last decade of the nineteenth century. This museum was ideologically and financially supported by the German Colonial Association (Deutscher Kolonialverein). Even though Ranke’s panorama does not show bloody battles between the colonizer and the colonized, he never-

67 John Noyes, Colonial Space: Spatiality in the Discourse of German South West Africa 1884– 1915, Reading: Harwood, 1992, 164. In the following quoted as Noyes, Colonial Space within the main text.

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theless conveys an aggressive colonial gaze. Under the veil of the beautiful and idyllic, his texts convey the idea that history has to be conducted by the powerful and that conquests, invasions, and a strong military force are necessary means to ensure that power. This gaze implies, as is essential for an imperialist politics, the superiority of the observer’s culture and state organization. Ranke’s European “unique confederation” represents a form of a holy alliance, which allows only nations with Roman and German elements. According to Ranke, the alliance includes exclusively the French, Spanish, Italians, German, English, and Scandinavians. The Turks, the Russians, and all the Slavic people are excluded since they do not share the common history of migration, crusading, and colonization. Ranke’s works (in particular the Histories) have often been heralded as a cosmopolitan vision of history, in which nations can coexist in their heterogeneity and individuality without highlighting the superiority of one specific nation. Reading his works through the optics of the panorama changes this perception and shows that his view on history and culture is shaped by a gaze that legitimatizes the politics of imperialism, colonization, and Eurocentrism.

Historical Landscapes Alpinism During the eighteenth century a change occurred in the representation of landscape within the geosciences. This was a shift away from aesthetic idealization and formalization towards topographical accuracy. Particularly in the field of “geognosy” (cartography, biology, geology, and geography) the representation of space sought to convey a form of geographical realism. Even though these fields of earth studies had not yet differentiated into specific academic branches and were not developed into autonomous modern scholarly disciplines, they aimed to scientifically describe and understand the shape, formation, and history of the earth. The scholars produced illustrations that corresponded with their factual and empirical evaluations of earth formations, geological treatises, as well as geographical descriptions.68 These illustrations served the purpose of representing the landscape in a factual and precise fashion, avoiding aesthetic idealization. In these geo-scientific illustrations of

68 I owe this insight on the representational modes of the early earth sciences to Oettermann. He mentions that the “new” topographical realism in landscape representation also affected the aesthetic realm of landscape painting (Oettermann, Panorama 32).

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mountain formations the panoramic perspective became an important tool. Already in the middle of the eighteenth century the physicist and mathematician Jacques-Barthélemy Micheli du Crest used a vertical panorama of a Swiss mountain formation, which informed precisely about height, mountain names, and the geological layers.69 The Swiss journalist, engineer, naturalist and statesman Hans Konrad Escher von der Linth developed his ideas and crafted a number of small 360-degree mountain panoramas of the Swiss Alps dating from 1792. Together with many more draftsmen Micheli du Crest and von der Linth established the foundations for the growing popularity of mountain panoramas. The panoramic representation of landscape boomed in the course of the first half of the nineteenth century, and it was particularly used for the exploration of the Alps. The mountain panoramas could convey the landscape in a topologically precise fashion necessary for scholarly representation as well as were able to give an impression of the whole mountain formation. These mountain panoramas also gained popularity in non-academic circles and became an important inventory in Alpine Clubs (Alpenvereine). When during the mid-nineteenth century hiking in the Alps thrived as a popular leisure-time activity, and Alpinism accordingly began to boom, the mountain panorama became a product of mass consumerism. The mountain panorama was not only a great means of orientation and identifying the names, heights, and location of the mountain peaks, it was also a commercial item. Oetterman describes this development as follows: Astute publishers flooded the market with countless versions of small-scale Alpine panoramas between 1850 and 1910; Alpine clubs sent them to their members as supplements to their newsletters and encouraged members to submit their own efforts. No respectable hikers’ cabin was complete without a panorama of its surroundings. The library of the German Alpine Club alone contained more than six hundred panoramas, not counting those contained in books (Oettermann, Panorama 37).

The mountain panorama belonged in the backpack of every enthusiastic alpinist who intended to explore the Alps and many travel books, such as the Baedeker, employed them as orientation tools and souvenirs for hikers. However, mountain panoramas were not only important for geographers and tourists: they also played a role in nineteenth-century historiography, particularly in Ranke’s early writings on Swiss history. In his letters Ranke identifies himself as a devoted alpinist and writes passionately about his experiences of the mountains. For example, when seeing the panorama of the Alps on his hikes

69 See Oettermann for more information about the founders and functions of mountain panoramas (Oettermann, Panorama 32–38).

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in France, he wrote to his wife: “What a sight! The image of the chain of the Alps […] unfolds in front of my eyes. All the greatest heights, the Mont Blanc as well as the many individual granite rocks, like gigantic jewels.”70 The letter reports Ranke’s impression of the Alps as an aesthetically and visually sublime experience. Like the description of the Alps by literary authors, such as Goethe’s glimpse from the St. Gotthard Pass, Ranke too depicts the overwhelming impression of the view from the mountain tops. However, Ranke’s alpinist experience goes beyond a personal infatuation with the mountains, for he also integrates its perception mode into his historical writings. The preface of Ranke’s works on A History of England, Principally in the Seventeenth Century (Englische Geschichte vornehmlich im 17. Jahrhundert, 1877–79) compares the task of the historian with that of a mountain climber. Note the following passage: “My work would not have satisfied me, if I had not tried to climb the last mountain peak, from which one could expect a full survey of the past and of the coming times, the whence and the whither.”71 On the one hand, the mountain top embodies a metaphor for the challenges and demands that a modern historian encounters. In Ranke’s case one can speculate that those are painstaking research, thorough studies of the sources, and the art of “ocular” synthesis. On the other hand, the mountain perspective also displays the all-encompassing gaze on history as well as the sublime perspective of the historian, that structure Ranke’s historical writings. From an elevated perspective, namely the mountain top, the historian aims to have a total view of history, which allows him to survey the past and even get a glimpse of the future.

The Mountain Panorama Ranke uses the mountain views not only in a metaphorical sense, but also describes mountain vistas in his historiography and thus contextualizes history

70 “Welch ein Anblick! Die Kette der Alpen […] breitet sich vor den Augen aus. All die größten Höhen vom Mont Blanc her wie ebenso viele einzelne Granitfelsen, ebenso viele gigantische Edelsteine.” Ranke, Das Briefwerk 351. 71 “Meine Arbeit würde mich selbst nicht befriedigt haben, hätte ich nicht um im Bilde zu bleiben, auch noch diese letzte Höhe zu ersteigen unternommen, von welcher aus sich die volle Ansicht der vergangenen und der folgenden Zeiten, das Woher und Wohin erwarten ließ.” Ranke, Englische Geschichte, Vol. 22, 40. I discovered this passage in Hebekus, Klios Medien 66.

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within landscape.72 One can find mountain views in many of Ranke’s works, such as his writings on The Serbian Revolution (Die Serbische Revolution, 1829)73 as well as The Roman Popes [Die Römischen Päpste], 1834–1836.74 For my analysis of Ranke’s utilization of mountain panoramas, I chose to use a passage about Swiss and German history from his early work the Histories. In the fourth chapter one can find a particularly striking connection between a mountain view and the representation of history. In the chapter the narrator describes the decline of the Sforzian-Aragonese dynasty and, thus the fall of the Duke of Milan known as Lodovico, who was a descendant of the powerful Medici family. Lodovico was involved in a close alliance with Maximilian I, King of Germany and the Holy Roman Empire. The king of France, Louis XII, was against their alliance and he used the conflicts between the Swiss and the Swabians (both allies of Maximilian and Lodovico) to turn against their protectors and thus eventually bring Lodovico to a fall. In the section entitled “Swiss and Swabians implicated in the War,” (“Die Schwaben und Schweizer im Krieg”) the passage depicts the battle between Swiss and Swabian groups: High among the mountains, where spring the sources of the Inn and the Adige, along the Rhine valley lying between Sennwald in Appenzell and the red wall of the Vorarlberg, on both shores of the Lake of Constance, down to where the Rhine finishes its upper course and leaps downwards to the plain, they stood; men from the Grisons against the Tyrolese and troops from Appenzell and St. Gall against the King’s landsknechts and countrymen, the nine districts in Thurgau against Constance and the cities of the Swabian League, Zürich and Solothurn, against the nobles of Sundgau and Hegau. Between flowed the Rhine, both its banks adorned with the gorgeous mantle of spring.75

72 I found this insight in Hebekus’s analysis of Ranke’s representation of mountain landscape in conjunction with his writings on Serbian history (Hebekus, Klios Medien 43–86). However, whereas Hebekus emphasizes that Ranke’s panoramic representation of history connects to a pre-modern theological figure (apokatastasis) of history, my analysis on landscape, panorama, and topography highlights the environmentalist and geo-determinist aspects in Ranke’s representation of history. 73 Leopold von Ranke, Die Serbische Revolution: Aus Serbischen Papieren und Mittheilungen, Hamburg: Friedrich Perthes, 1829. 74 Leopold von Ranke, Die Römischen Päpste in den letzten vier Jahrhunderten, ed. Walther Peter Fuchs, Frankfurt a. M.: Insel Verlag, 1986. 75 Ranke, History, 146; “Hoch von den Quellen des Inn und der Etsch her, das Rheinthal zwischen dem Senniwald von Appenzell und der rothen Wand des Vorarlbergs entlang, an beiden Ufern des Bodensees, bis hinab, wo der Rhein seinen Lauf vollbracht hat und zum Thale stürzt, standen sie, die Graubündener wider Tiroler, Appenzeller und St. Galler, wider des Königs Landsknechte und Landvolk, die neun Orte im Thurgau wider Constanz und die Städte vom schwäbischen Bund, Zürich und Solothurn wider den Adel im Sundgau und Hegau. Mitten zwischen ihnen floß der Rhein und schmückte beide Ufer mit der Pracht seines Frühlings,” Ranke, Geschichten 113.

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The battle between the Swiss and the Swabians is set on a mountain formation affording a panoramic view and its description starts from an elevated point of view (“high among the mountains”) and extends into the valley. As in Ranke’s writings on Venetian and Spanish history, the text again employs the stylistic mode of the picturesque; the battle is underlined by an image of the beautiful Rhine River, whose shores bloom in the springtime. This image picturesquely frames the brutal war for power and domination. Ranke employs topographical references such as river, mountain, valley, forest, and village names in order to picture the battle between the Swiss and Swabians. It aims to give an impression of the shape, formation, and proportions of the landscape by listing geographical and geological data, and, thus it assumes the quality of a map and this passage is based on cartography rather than on narrative strategies. It does not tell a story, rather it catalogues topographical details. Thus, Ranke’s texts suggests like a cartographic image a dominance of space – landscape, topography, geographical data – within the representation of time. The historical scene in the passage about the Swabian and Swiss troops is described by showing territory, spatial borders, and landscape. On this spatial map of history individuals do not play a crucial role. As they would be permanent fixtures of the landscape they convey stasis rather than movement; an impression that is even enhanced by the fact that the text mentions the motionlessness of the troops (“they stood”). The historical event, in which they take part, does not seem to be determined by their actions and deeds. Rather the space on which they are located constitutes the past and the passage suggests that nature-space is closely connected with history. Ranke describes throughout chapter four of the Histories the different places of the war, the weather conditions, the locations of the villages, and the different areas of the battles. The locations are the primary object of description; the individuals recede into the background. The text particularly emphasizes the geological formations, such as mountains peaks, rivers, and valleys and, thus, joins the representation of the past with nature space.

Historical Environmentalism The connection between history and geographical and geological space was indeed quite prominent during the early nineteenth century. However, the historians did not conduct this association, but rather it was the field of geography that initiated it. The famous nineteenth-century geographer Carl Ritter considered the historicization of geography essential in order to shape it into

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a modern scholarly discourse.76 In his essay “On the Historical Element in Geographical Science” (“Über das historische Element in der geographischen Wissenschaft,” 1833)77 he develops the idea that geography needs the historical aspect in order to shape the relations of space in the world: “The science of the earthly space relations cannot manage without a time measure or a chronological synthesis, likewise the sciences of time relations [history K.M.] cannot manage without a location on which they had to develop themselves.”78 Ritter suggests, on the one hand, that geography has to incorporate a temporal element and he writes against a physical conception of geography based on compendia prominent in the eighteenth century. On the other hand, and more importantly for my purposes, the passage also proposes that the profession of history should consider the aspect of space. The earth, its geological formations, and its geological structures are decisive layers shaping the history of humanity. Ritter proposes that the earth represents the “house of education for humanity” [“Erziehungshaus des Menschengeschlechts”] (Ritter, “On the Historical Element” 161); a metaphor that suggests that the material space of the earth, its topography, and its climate are constituent for the processes of history. This spatialization of history, articulated by Ritter, is well received among representatives of the spatial turn in the discipline of history. The contemporary German historian Karl Schlögel emphasizes the decisive and necessary interlinking of history and geographical space began with Ritter’s theories of geology. Ritter opened a window of opportunity to spatialize the historical discipline; a chance that was missed by the dominant discourses of historicism and anthropocentrism. After Ritter the discipline of historicism abandoned space and neglected aspects of topography, climate, and geographical data: From the perspective of this rich program of a historicized earth science around 1830 the whole further development of earth science represents a continuous decline, or differently

76 For this contextualization of history, geology, and geography see also the article of Jürgen Osterhammel “Geschichte, Geographie, Geohistorie,” Geschichtsdiskurs: Die Epoche der Historisierung, Vol. 3, eds. Wolfgang Küttler, Jörn Rüsen, and Ernst Schulin, Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1997, 257–271. 77 Carl Ritter, “Über das historische Element in der geographischen Wissenschaft,” Einleitung zur allgemeinen vergleichenden Geographie, und Abhandlungen zur Begründung einer mehr wissenschaftlichen Behandlung der Erdkunde, Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1852, 152–181. In the following cited as “On the Historical Element” within the main text. 78 “Die Wissenschaft der irdisch erfüllten Raumverhältnisse kann also eben so wenig eines Zeitmaaßes oder eines chronologischen Zusammenhanges entbehren, als die Wissenschaft der irdisch erfüllten Zeitverhältnisse eines Schauplatzes, auf dem sie sich entwickeln mussten,” Ritter, “Über das historische Element” 153.

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put: the marginalization of the whole discipline. In any case, the point of focus shifted. At the same time the inexorable rise of historicism happened, which in turn embodies the history of the suppression and marginalization of the spatial. This process does not come across as an open, manifest, and outspoken hostility and as an aggressive hegemony, but primarily as a silent disappearing, a silencing of spatiality (Edward Soja).79

By neglecting the importance of Ritter’s approach the discipline of history missed its opportunity to integrate the category of space as a vital aspect of interpreting and representing the past. Whereas Schlögel’s observation of Ritter’s connection between history and geographical space, as well as his insight on the dominance of the temporal paradigm of temporality in historicism, is appropriate, it is necessary to reevaluate the history-writing of Ritter’s contemporary colleagues in the historical discipline. Even though Ranke is often seen as the founding father of professional historicism, and, thus, the main representative of event-history, his writings evince a close intertwinement with aspects of geography and geology.80 As demonstrated with the example on the war between the Swiss and the Swabians, this interlocking of history and geographical space can be made visible by Ranke’s depictions of mountain panoramas. It is not the events, subjects, individuals, human plans and strategies that constitute the foreground in this passage, but rather the focus is on geographical space and on the location where the battle took place. What are precisely the consequences of this spatialization of history in Ranke’s writings? What model of history do these passages suggest and to which intellectual traditions do Ranke’s spatial-historical observations connect? The following passage from Ranke’s preface to the History of England should help in finding some answers to these questions. Ranke constructs here clear analogies between processes of history and geological developments:

79 “Von diesem reichen Programm einer ihrer Sache sicheren Erdkunde um 1830 nimmt sich die weitere Entwickelung wie ein kontinuierlicher Abstieg oder besser: wie eine Marginalisierung einer ganzen Disziplin aus. In jedem Fall verschieben sich die Gewichte. Parallel dazu erfolgt der unaufhaltsame Aufstieg des Historismus, der zugleich die Verdrängungs- und Marginalisierungsgeschichte des Räumlichen ist. Es geht dabei weniger um eine offene, manifeste, erklärte Feindschaft und Durchsetzung von Hegemonie, sondern in erster Linie um ein stillschweigendes Verschwinden, um silencing spatiality (Edward Soja),” Karl Schlögel, Im Raume lesen wir die Zeit: Über Zivilisationsgeschichte und Geopolitik, Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 2007, 44. 80 As an exception, see the article about Ranke and Wilhelm von Humboldt by Peter Hanns Reill, “History and the Life Sciences in the Early Nineteenth Century: Wilhelm von Humboldt and Leopold von Ranke,” The German Conception of History: The National Tradition of Historical Thought from Herder to the Present, ed. Georg Iggers, Middletown: Wesleyan UP, 1983, 21– 35.

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When we contemplate the framework of the earth, those heights which testify to the inherent energy of the original and active elements attract our special notice; we admire the massive mountains which overhang and dominate the lowlands covered with the settlements of man. So also in the domain of history are we attracted by epochs during which the elemental forces, whose joint action or tempered antagonism are the foundations of states and kingdoms, rise in sudden war against each other and amidst the surging sea of troubles heave up into the light new formations that give subsequent ages their special character.81

The geological forces – the unpredictable and eruptive elementary powers – can build monumental mountain formations. Ranke claims that the development of nations and states are similar to these geo-dynamic archaic forces; states and nations can also suddenly break out like volcanoes. Thus, historical development is compared to natural and organic processes. Ranke’s analogy between the geological forces and the processes of history confirms the antiHegelian model of historical development in his historiography. Like the geologists, Ranke too does not conceptualize history as a linear process and as a narrative of constant progress. Rather, history happens in sudden movements, which can be contradictory, chaotic, and unpredictable. Whereas scholars have always emphasized the important role of the individual in Ranke’s writing, I suggest that the spatial dimension of history, made visible via the optics of the (mountain) panoramas, precisely questions the powerful position of the historical individual and, in so doing, can show a form of historical environmentalism. Discussions about this term can already be found in the philosophical mediations about history by, for example, Johann Gottfried Herder, Wilhelm Humboldt, as well as the work by Montesquieu. Environmentalism emphasizes the role of the outer world, the geographical location as well as the geological structures as key factors determining the course of human history. The individual is no longer an entity which can control and steer history, and, thus, the past is no longer only the doing of the human kind, but rather a product of 81 Ranke, “Preface to History of England (1859),” The Theory and Practice of History, eds. Georg Iggers and Konrad von Moltke, trans. Wilma Iggers and Konrad von Moltke, Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merill Company, 1973, 154–155. The passage in German: “Wie im Gezimmer der Erde vor allem die Bodenerhebungen, in deren Aufbau die den wirksamen Urstoffen inwohnende Macht sich kundgetan hat, jene Massengebirge, von denen die mit den Ansiedlungen der Menschen bedeckten Tiefländer beherrscht werden, die Aufmerksamkeit anziehen, so gibt es in der Völkergeschichte Begebenheiten, in welchen die elementaren Kräfte, auf deren Zusammenwirken oder auch gemäßigtem Gegensatz die Staaten und Reiche beruhen, sich in plötzlichem Kampfe gegeneinander erheben und in dem Wogen getümmelvoller Verwirrung neue Bildungen hervortreiben, von welchem die folgenden Zeitalter ihr Gepräge empfangen,” Ranke, Englische Geschichte IX.

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external and material factors. History does not exclusively represent a product of human action but rather as one of natural processes and their inherent laws and rules (Naturgesetze).82 Ranke’s writing suggests that history becomes dependent on supra-individual forces, such as on physical natural laws that determine geographical locations and climate conditions. The fate of individual kings, people, and nations become dependent on these environmental factors, and thus the power of the autonomous individual as the controller of history is correspondingly diminished; then, using the words of Fernand Braudel, the past gains a quality of the long durée.83 Ranke’s “environmentalist” representation of history does not imply, however, that humans have no impact on the past, but points to the idea that human history is closely associated with the laws of natural history. The presence of historical environmentalism clashes with the traditional event-historical approaches to Ranke’s historicism as well with conception of modern temporality. Ranke’s representation of history is often portrayed as a historical discourse, in which the human individuals gain an autonomous role. This perspective is in line with the program of Gustav Droysen who pointed in his work on the theory and methodology of modern history to the following idea: “History is in the most eminent sense the history of the moral cosmos; it belongs to the world of human beings.”84 For Droysen history is primarily the history about human individuals; a perspective that also influences his choice of topics, such as his historiography on Alexander the Great.85 Historical individuals embody leaders of a process of reaching a moral telos, and history gradually approaches a higher state of freedom. Ranke’s historical environmentalism and determinism furthermore stand at odds with the paradigm shift from natural models of time to temporal models of processes, acceleration and progress in modernity. Michel Foucault dated this shift into the time span between 1775–1825 in Europe and in line with Reinhart Koselleck’s concept of the Sattelzeit, the transitional period, they both consider this time as a crucial period for modernity, in which teleological models of temporality came to the

82 These laws of nature should not be understood in a juridical sense (Naturrechte), but rather as physical laws that determine geological and natural processes. 83 Fernand Braudel, On History, trans. Sara Matthews, Chicago: The U of Chicago P, 1982, 25– 54. 84 “Geschichte im eminentesten Sinne ist die des moralischen Kosmos, die der Menschenwelt,” Droysen, Historik 397. 85 For this tradition, see for example Kathrin Maurer, “Literary Crossings: The Representation of Nation in Academic Historiography and Historical Prose in Nineteenth-Century Germany,” Nineteenth-Century Contexts: An Interdisciplinary Journal 29.4 (2007): 359–372.

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forefront.86 Wolf Lepenies has likewise investigated this shift within a close focus on the decline of spatially oriented history of nature (Naturgeschichte) and shown that this epistemological field was defined by processes of historization, empiricization, and a-chronology.87 Reading Ranke’s work through the lens of the panorama, one can however detect oppositional trends in this model of modern temporality. Inspired by the arguments of the historian and anthropologist Bruno Latour88 about the asymmetry of modernity and his critique of this defined shift from the premodern to the modern model of temporality, I argue that Ranke’s historiography shows roots in natural historical discourses of the eighteenth century. This does not mean that Ranke and his “panoramatic” historiography completely abandon developmental models of time, but my point is to show the multifacetedness, or in Latour’s terms hybridity, of his modes of representing history. Certainly one has to be aware that Ranke is not a historian who can be read as the forerunner to the radical geo-deterministic thinkers such as Friedrich Ratzel and Karl Haushofer. Rather, Ranke’s integration of space fits more Ritter’s aspirations since the geographer was not a radical geo-determinist and he always considered that humans are able to shape and intervene into the processes of natural history. However, it is productive to detect with the help of the panoramic optics the environmentalist tendencies in Ranke’s writing. These tendencies demonstrate that for Ranke the notions of the temporal, the individual and the narrative are not the only pillars of his brand of historicism, but that geographical and geological space plays an important role in the shaping of history. Thus by the help of the mountain panorama, one can see that scholarly historicism of the nineteenth century represents a multi-medial discourse, with popular visual and spatial modes of representation, that coexist with temporal narrative structures.

Ranke and the Panorama: Concluding Remarks My focus on visuality in Ranke’s historiography contextualized his writing with discourses not commonly associated with scholarly historicism: media culture 86 Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: An Archeology of the Human Sciences, trans. by Tavistock/Routledge, London: Routledge, 2007 and Reinhart Koselleck “Über die Theoriebedürftigkeit der Geschichtswissenschaft,” Theorie der Geschichtswissenschaft und Praxis des Geschichtsunterrichts, ed. Werner Conze, Stuttgart: Klett, 1972, 10–28. 87 Wolf Lepenies, Das Ende der Naturgeschichte: Wandel kultureller Selbstverständlichkeiten in den Wissenschaften des 18. und 19. Jahrhunderts, München: Carl Hanser, 1976, 1–130. 88 Bruno Latour, We Have Never Been Modern, trans. Catherine Porter, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard UP, 1993.

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(panorama), tourism, colonialism, and historical environmentalism. Reading Ranke visually thus suggests a critical view on his historiography; a view that invites reflection about the ways in which history is made and constructed. Aspects of the aesthetics of the panorama, such as omniscience, the picturesque, and mountain views, highlight a visual and non-narrative configuration of history. This not only goes against the grain of historicism’s monopoly of narration, but also suggests critical observation of history as a product of the cultural discourse we inhabit and shape. The panoramic-omniscient perspective on history has shown that Ranke’s wish for self-eradication exemplifies a perception mode practiced in the panorama and that behind the rhetoric of self-effacement lies a powerful fantasy of omniscience. Even though the historian wishes to remain invisible he nevertheless casts himself as being able to see the whole past and have access to the secrets of individuals and whole epochs. This fantasy of omniscience is reminiscent of God’s all-encompassing gaze on history, in which the historian believes he is able to participate. This aesthetics of the picturesque in Ranke’s historiography reflects a concept of colonial space. The panorama was revolutionary also because it embodied the fantasy of spatial expansion for the bourgeoisie. Oettermann described the panoramic gaze, which was not only trained in front of panoramic paintings, but also from hot air balloons, towers, ship masts, as a literal and metaphorical “eye-opening” of the bourgeoisie. This metaphor indicates that the panorama was more than an optical spectacle, but provided an experimental room in which to practice a modern gaze. The panorama staged the self-perception of the self-empowering emancipated bourgeoisie. Its theoretical infinitude of viewpoints suggests a gaze of freedom, in which the viewing subject is not controlled by an absolute monarch or a religious institution. However, this gaze reinserts a new discourse of power: colonialism, imperialism and Euro-centrism. The aspect of spatiality is also taken up in my discussion of the aesthetics of the mountain panorama. Ranke’s interest in mountain views, topographies, and geology suggests a spatialization of history in which the material surface of the earth, the actual landscape, and its climatic conditions become an important factor influencing the course of history. This environmentalism sheds a different light on the power and autonomy of action of the individual. They become determined by external factors, and thus again history also loses momentarily its temporal and innovative dimension. All these aspects of the panorama served the purpose of rereading Ranke’s “ocularism.” Rather than proclaiming that Ranke’s preference for the visual is derived from textual hermeneutics as well as from Classicist aesthetics, the panorama locates Ranke’s “ocularism” in the realm of visual culture. This shift in perspective places the

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historian in another cultural context of his time than so-called “high literature” and shows that Ranke’s work is also a product of “mass culture.” The aesthetics of the panorama, though, does not undermine his status as scholarly historian. Rather it shows once again that nineteenth-century scholarly historiography was always also an interdiscursive project, which utilized literary, poetic and visual strategies of representation. To focus on the visual aspect of this aesthetic pre-configuration of historicism sheds light on its multi-dimensionality and shows how many diverse and also non-narrative modes (visual and descriptive modes) of historical representation were at stake. There are indeed aspects in Ranke’s writing in which he was, as Yorck von Wartenburg suggested, “entirely eye” – that is the eye of the visitor in the panorama, the tourist, the colonial explorer, and the Alpinist.

Part II: Jacob Burckhardt and Photography “Since the invention of photography I no longer believe in a possible disappearance and powerlessness of greatness.”1 This statement was written by the famous art historian Jacob Burckhardt in a letter to his friend and student Heinrich Wölfflin on September 24, 1896. Burckhardt’s praise of photography might come as a surprise, since his writings frequently attack popular mass media as one of the symptoms of the crisis of modern society and civilization. The Swiss art historian considered his own time as hopelessly superficial, observed political developments with great skepticism, and despised the growth of German nationalism. Burckhardt was born in 1818 in Basel as the son of a Reformed Church priest. He studied theology in his hometown, but eventually changed his subject to historical and art historical studies. This move, a typical career shift for the German educated class, left its traces in his art historical writings. In many of his works on the art of Renaissance Italy, on the cultural history of ancient Greece, as well as in his philosophical writings, an aesthetic configuration of history should counteract the crisis of modernity. Given Burckhardt’s aestheticism as well as his interest in ancient high culture, it is remarkable that he acclaims photography, a prime manifestation of popular culture, as a potential instrument for preventing the decay of civilization. This part of the book explores Burckhardt’s passions for the medium of photography and his expectations thereof. Burckhardt used photographs as educational tools in his lectures on art history at the University of Basel. The following sections, however, concentrate on the parallel between a photographic aesthetics (in particular the one of a photograph collection as well as the aesthetic iconicity of a photograph) and Burckhardt’s style of writing in his art historiography. I analyze organizational principles of Burckhardt’s private photo collection, which contained over 10,000 photographs. I argue that the principles by which Burckhardt ordered this collection, namely according to topographic, typological and serial parameters, also structure his early writings, such as his The Cicerone: A Guide for the Enjoyment of Italy’s Art (Der Cicerone: Eine Anleitung zum Genuss der Kunstwerke Italiens, 1855).2 These 1 “Seit der Photographie glaube ich nicht mehr an ein mögliches Verschwinden und Machtloswerden des Großen,” Jacob Burckhardt, “1622. An Heinrich Wölfflin, Basel, Donnerstag 24. September 1896,” Jacob Burckhardt: Briefe, Vol. 10, ed. Max Burckhardt, Basel: Schwabe, 1986, 294. 2 Jacob Burckhardt, Der Cicerone: Eine Anleitung zum Genuss der Kunstwerke Italiens, Jacob Burckhardt Werke: Kritische Gesamtausgabe, Vol. 2, eds. Bernd Roeck, Christine Tauber, and Martin Warnke, München/Basel: Beck/Schwabe, 2001. In the following cited Cicerone within the main text.

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principles of collecting configure his representation and philosophical construction of the past, which in turn goes against the grain of traditional art history and its methodology during this time.

Jacob Burckhardt’s Photo Collection In September 1839 Burckhardt left his hometown Basel to study history in Berlin. In the Prussian capital, he found an intellectual elite teaching at the Humboldt University, and he heard lectures by historian Gustav Droysen, art historians August Böckh, and Franz Kugler. One of Burckhardt’s most important intellectual encounters in Berlin, however, was probably his contact with Leopold von Ranke. Burckhardt participated in his seminars, and he was truly impressed by the historian’s work, methods, and thinking. “I realized,” he wrote to a friend, “that the same thing had befallen me as befell the knights in Don Quixote with their dames: I had loved my science on hearsay, and suddenly it was appearing in front of me in gigantic proportions – and I had to lower my eyes.”3 As a philologist, Burckhardt shared Ranke’s devotion to the original sources, the necessity of thorough scholarly analysis, and the importance of the archive. However, during the course of Burckhardt’s career, many differences between the two historians emerged.4 Ranke was primarily a historian who focused on political history by giving accounts of wars, the deeds of great statesmen, diplomacy, and nation building. As a staunch conservative, he defended the Prussian regime against the challenges of liberalism and asserted that each nation has the right to follow its own political logic in defiance of individual liberty. Thus, his historiography legitimizes the nationalist power politics of the emerging German state and considers nation states as spiritual forces ordained by God.5 3 Jacob Burckhardt, “Letter to Heinrich Schreiber, 15th January 1848,” The Letters of Jacob Burckhardt, ed. and trans. Alexander Dru, New York: Pantheon, 1955, 49; “Ich sah, es war mir bisher ergangen, wie jenen Rittern im Don Quixote mit ihren Damen, ich hatte meine Wissenschaft auf Hörensagen hin geliebt, und nun trat sie plötzlich in gigantischer Größe vor mich, und ich mußte die Augen niederschlagen,” Jacob Burckhardt, “40. An Heinrich Schreiber, Berlin, 15. Januar 1840,” Briefe, Vol. 1, 131. 4 Richard Franklin Sigurdson even speaks of a “Ranke-Burckhardt dichotomy” in order to characterize their respective approaches to history, a dichotomy that is based on the opposition between the history of politics and cultural history. See Richard Franklin Sigurdson, Jacob Burckhardt’s Social and Political Thought, Toronto: U of Toronto P, 2004, 58. For more information on Burckhardt’s biography, see Werner Kaegi, Jacob Burckhardt: Eine Biographie, Vol. 1– 7, Basel: Schwabe, 1947–1973. 5 Friedrich Meinecke has emphasized the differences between Ranke and Burckhardt in his evaluation of German historicism after World War II. Even though Meinecke did not agree with

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Whereas Ranke’s works focus on political history, Burckhardt’s are entrenched in the realm of culture. They suggest more of a backward-looking approach, namely the immersion into the great epoch of Ancient Greek and Roman culture. Of course, Burckhardt’s prioritization of culture is the result of his field of art history, but there is also a conceptual and political distinction between the two historians. Burckhardt did not share Ranke’s optimism about the national genius of European states, but rather saw nationalism as a route to despotism. Although Burckhardt had a short political involvement with radical groups emerging during the 1848 revolution (embodied in his friendship with one of the leaders of the 1848 German revolution Georg Kinkel), he extricated himself from political life and devoted himself into the study of ancient cultures. He explored the period of Greek antiquity in his Greek Cultural History (Griechische Culturgeschichte, 1898–1902)6 and the cultural history of Italy in Cicerone to only name two of his main works. Burckhardt’s long journey to Italy in 1846 also suggests an escape from political issues during this time. His self-imposed exile can be seen as an expression of his “unwillingness to acknowledge the social changes tied to economic developments of the nineteenth century.”7 When, later in his career, he was offered Ranke’s prestigious chair of history in Berlin, Burckhardt refused and decided to teach at the University of Basel instead. He preferred to stay in the comparatively provincial city with its unconventional thinkers such as Friedrich Nietzsche, the anthropologist and sociologist Johann Jakob Bachofen, and the theologian Franz Overbeck.8 Despite their differences, Ranke represented an important figure in Burckhardt’s life, and an autobiographical note, which was read during Burckhardt’s

Burckhardt’s criticism of the democratic state, he was impressed with his predictions about modern mass movements. See Friedrich Meinecke, Ranke und Burckhardt: Ein Vortrag gehalten in der deutschen Akademie der Wissenschaften in Berlin, Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1948. In this context see also Jörn Rüsen, Konfigurationen des Historismus, Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1993, 276–328. 6 Jacob Burckhardt, Griechische Culturgeschichte. Band 1, Jacob Burckhardt Werke: Kritische Gesamtausgabe, Vol. 19, ed. Leonhard Burckhardt, Barbara von Reibnitz, and Jürgen von Ungern-Sternberg, München/Basel: Beck/Schwabe, 2002. In the following quoted as Greek Cultural History within the main text. 7 Felix Gilbert, History: Politics or Culture? Reflections on Ranke and Burckhardt, Princeton: Princeton UP, 1990, 66. 8 For more information on the role of Basel in Burckhardt’s career as an art historian as well as the differences between academies in the Swiss town and Berlin, see Lionel Gossman, Basel in the Age of Burckhardt: A Study in Unseasonable Ideas, Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2000. On Bachofen see Peter Davies, Myth, Matriarchy and Modernity: Johann Jakob Bachofen in German Culture 1860–1945, Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2010.

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funeral, reveals his great devotion to his former teacher: “He [Burckhardt K.M.] had the good fortune to present two substantial studies in Ranke’s seminar and was rewarded with the approval of the great teacher.”9 This note embodies a formal tribute to his teacher and shows that he shared certain aspects of Ranke’s scholarly historicism. Alongside the practice of source study,10 Burckhardt also connects the project of scholarly history with the aesthetic realm. Like his teacher, he does not see it as a contradiction to synthesize scholarly (art) history with aesthetics. However, whereas Ranke aims to instrumentalize the aesthetic realm for scholarly purposes, Burckhardt had a different program in mind. He describes aspects of modern political and cultural life as existing in a state of crisis, in which human beings no longer live in harmony with nature, society, and culture, but rather live in a state of disorientation. He polemicizes against social phenomena that are connected with the masses, such as the emergence of popular media and processes of democratization. These phenomena are symptomatic of the “massification” of society, which, according to the art historian, leads to the alienation and isolation of the individual. In the same vein as Friedrich Schiller’s thoughts on aesthetics, Burckhardt attributed the aesthetic field the potential to free humanity from the symptoms of crisis of modern civilization. Studying art history thus embodies a project following the Enlightenment tradition, which stimulates philosophical reflection, increases individual freedom, and expands consciousness.11 Burckhardt’s aesthetic idealism also affects the modes of representing the past: whereas Ranke programmatically states that aesthetic representation has to be conducive to the scholarly purposes of academic historiography, Burckhardt emphasizes poetry. Adopting a stance much more radical than Ranke’s, he considers poetry as the true source of history: “History for me is still for the greater part poetry, a series of the most beautiful artistic compositions.”12 9 “Er hatte das Glück, für Rankes Seminar zwei umfangreichere Arbeiten zu liefern und die Zufriedenheit des großen Lehrers als Lohn zu empfangen,” Jacob Burckhardt, Jacob-Burckhardt-Gesamtausgabe, Vol. 1, eds. Hans Trog and Emil Dürr, Berlin: Deutsche Verlagsanstalt, 1930, VIII. The narrative perspective was modified from first to third person by the editors. 10 For the importance of source study in Burckhardt’s work, see Urs Breitenstein, Andreas Cesana, and Martin Hug, eds. Unerschöpflichkeit der Quellen: Burckhardt neu editiert – Burckhardt neu entdeckt, Basel: Schwabe, 2007. 11 For Burckhardt, aesthetic education was crucial and he saw in it a kind of antidote to the political crisis, which in turn connects to the humanist aspects of Wilhelm von Humboldt’s and Johann Gottfried Herder’s theories on education, and, accordingly, diverges from Nietzsche’s radical critique of culture. 12 “Die Geschichte ist mir noch immer großenteils Poesie; sie ist mir eine Reihe der schönsten mahlerischen Compositionen,” Burckhardt, “62. An Willibald Beyschlag, Berlin, 14. Juni 42,” Briefe, Vol. 1, 204.

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While it is doubtful that this statement should be understood as an invitation to invent facts, Burckhardt bases his consideration of the representation of history on poetic principles. He considers myths as keys to decipher historical, cultural, and political meaning.13 Ranke regarded myths as a seductive incitement to literary invention and false rhetoric; Burckhardt regarged them as central tools for historical representation, interpretation, and understanding. These aspects, such as autonomy, poetry, and myth, emphasize the aesthetic configuration of Burckhardt’s writing, which constructs the basis for the constitutive role of the visual in his historicism. Burckhardt regards the image as a central stylistic element in the representation of history, and in his introduction to his lectures on Greek cultural history, he suggests the importance and special nature of the image: Above all, our speech is only successive, gradually chronicling, while the objects consisted mostly as a simultaneous, powerful unity. Quite different from the mere conventional narrative of events! A great continuum that would be most correctly shaped as an image, as πίνάξ [pinax], incessantly irritating the viewer, by showing that the same individual object can appear on the periphery and thus seems to be close by, but then seems far away again, and then appears to be in the center.14

Burckhardt conceptualizes history as a great continuum of simultaneous historical processes; a powerful totality beyond linguistic representation. Discursive language is marked by a successive model of temporality (one-after-the other) not able to express the ubiquity of history. Burckhardt emphasizes the pictorial form – the pinax – as means of going beyond chronology and of showing history all at once. The pinax refers to a visual form of representation in ancient Greece and represents a board on which specific themes such as mythological figures are carved. These votive tablets of painted wood, marble or terracotta could generally be found in a sanctuary or burial chamber.15 The centrality of the pinax demonstrates the importance of the concept of the image

13 For an extensive analysis of the role of myth in Burckhardt’s work, see Joseph Mali, Mythistory: The Making of a Modern Historiography, Chicago: The U of Chicago P, 2003, 91–132. 14 “Vor Allem ist unsere Rede immer nur successiv, allmälig berichtend, während die Dinge ein großentheils gleichzeitiges, gewaltiges Eins gewesen sind. Ganz anders schwer als die bloße conventionelle Erzählung der Ereignisse! Ein ungeheures Continuum, das am richtigsten als Bild zu gestalten wäre, als πίνάξ (pinax), beständig den Darsteller schon damit irre machend, daß derselbe einzelne Gegenstand uns bald an der Peripherie und leicht zu erreichen, bald schon entfernter, bald geradezu im Centrum erscheint,” Burckhardt, Griechische Culturgeschichte, 365. 15 See entry “Pinax” in Brockhaus Enzyklopädie in 20 Bänden, 17th edition, Vol. 17, Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1996, 624.

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in Burckhardt’s historicism.16 History should be expressed in the mode of the image, not only because an image is more prone to represent simultaneity, but also because it challenges the viewer’s expectations. It is able to decentralize its objects via perspectivalism and thus escapes models of linearity, origin, and teleology.17 Scholars often connect Burckhardt’s visual style of representation predominantly to the discourse of painting. I suggest a different take.18 What role did the medium of photography play in Burckhardt’s life? What is the impact of photography on his writing and representation of history? In which ways does photography insinuate a discourse of aesthetic representation which goes against Burckhardt’s reputation as an elitist anti-modernist and anti-popular art historian? In order to find some answers to these questions I examine Burckhardt’s personal obsession with collecting photographs, the organizational structure of his photo collection, and how modes of photographic representation determine his art historical writing. However, before I embark on Burckhardt’s interaction with photography, a short insight into the history of photography is in order. The first experiments with permanent photography were conducted by Joseph-Nicéphore Niépce at a time when the public still adored the grand panoramas in Paris. Niépce combined light-sensitive substances in conjunction

16 See Andrea Schütte, Stilräume: Jacob Burckhardt und die ästhetische Anordnung im 19. Jahrhundert, Bielefeld: aisthesis, 2004, 38–61. Her book contextualizes Burckhardt’s representation of art history in relation to nineteenth-century practices of reality construction, such as historiography, museums, and taxidermy. She shows the pictorial modes of representation in Burckhardt’s historicism, but does not address the realm of photography in particular. In the following cited as Stilräume within the main text. For Burckhardt’s critique of historicism, see also the article by Gottfried Boehm, “Genese und Geltung: Jacob Burckhardts Kritik des Historismus,” Umgang mit Jacob Burckhardt, ed. Hans R. Guggisberg, Basel/München: Schwabe/Beck, 1994, 79–86. 17 This visual aspect of Burckhardt’s historicism is also captured by his important notion of intuition (Anschauung). This term represents a form of historical perception based on hermeneutic understanding and thus challenges rational, a priori methods of cultural historiography. Intuition opens a dialogue with the reader, which mutually constructs the representation of the past rather than explaining it. John R. Hinde, Jacob Burckhardt and the Crisis of Modernity, Montreal: McGill-Queen’s UP, 2000, 199–231. 18 For a discussion about photography, see the article by Nikolaus Meier, “Der Mann mit der Mappe: Jacob Burckhardt und die Reproduktionsphotographie,” Jacob Burckhardt: Storia della Cultura, Storia dell’Arte, eds. Maurizio Ghelardi and Max Seidel, Venice: Marsilio, 2002, 259– 297. In the following cited as The Man with the Folder within the main text. Whereas Meier mainly focuses on Burckhardt’s passion for photography from an autobiographical perspective, my approach strengthens its methodical and philosophical implications of the representation, interpretation, and conceptualization of art history.

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with the camera obscura, and in 1826 (after 6 years of experiments), he was finally able to fix the images. Whereas the panorama still remained on the level of a trompe l’oeil painting, which aimed to give a totalizing impression of reality, the medium of photography aimed for the technically perfect imitation of nature. Building on Niépce’s experiments, the creator of the diorama, Louis Jacques Mandé Daguerre, improved the techniques of his heliographs and in 1838 he announced the invention of the so-called daguerreotype. Daguerre claimed that if a copperplate is covered with silver iodide and then exposed to light, fumed with mercury vapor, and fixed with common salt, a permanent image can be created.19 In co-operation with the Académie des Sciences in Paris, Daguerre published numerous essays, practical instructions, and pamphlets about his invention and fostered its popularity with the general public. Not only did academic journals await Daguerre’s experiments with excitement; daily newspapers, tabloids and magazines also followed developments in this new medium. In the late 1830s, it was possible to acquire a photographic apparatus (weighing ca. 110 pounds), which enabled everyone who could afford to buy the gear and was willing to follow the instructions to engage in the photographic reproduction of reality. According to Heinz Buddemeier, this early commerce led to a downright boom in daguerreotypes: Everywhere in Paris, first on the window sills, then on the streets and squares, one could see daguerreotype apparatuses. Characterizing this trend the cartoonist Théodore Maurrisset coined at the end of 1839 the expression of “Daguerréotypomanie.”20

One of the reasons for this public enthusiasm about the new invention lies in the fascination with the exact reproduction of reality. A photograph enables the viewer to focus on an isolated section of reality, and he or she can analyze this “clipping” with intense scrutiny. Thus the photograph entails a privileged view of reality, which allows the viewer to dissect, evaluate, and isolate elements of the representation. This perception mode corresponds to the intellectual spirit of positivism, which was a prominent epistemological method, for example in the philosophy of Auguste Comte (Buddemeier, Panorama 80). These attributes of popularization, scientific exactitude, and the spirit of posi19 For more information on the relationship between Daguerre and Niépce and about the history of early photography, see Heinz Buddemeier, Panorama, Diorama, Photographie: Entstehung und Wirkung neuer Medien im 19. Jahrhundert, München: Fink, 1970, 65–145. 20 “Überall in Paris, erst auf den Fensterbänken, dann auf den Straßen und Plätzen, sah man Daguerrotypapparate. Es herrschte jener Zustand, für den der Karikaturist Théodore Maurrisset Ende 1839 in einer berühmt gewordenen Karikatur den Ausdruck Daguerréotypomanie prägte,” Buddemeier, Panorama 77.

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tivism, however, seem to fit neither Burckhardt’s persona as the critic of modern times nor his mission of collecting and restoring the great spirit of the ancient cultures. What was it then that made Burckhardt an owner of one of the largest collections of art photographs and a dedicated photograph enthusiast?

Photograph Shopping Tours In 1843, Burckhardt went to a photographer in Paris and had his picture taken. On the daguerreotype, the 25 year old Burckhardt gazes wide-eyed into the camera: a curious look that already marks the beginning of his life-long fascination with photography. The development of photography into a medium that could reproduce artifacts also emerged around this time, and in this context the art historical photographs of Italian architecture by the photographic firm Fratelli Alinari can be acknowledged as the beginning of this new visual genre.21 Although the daguerreotype displays Burckhardt’s enthusiasm for photography, his work and passion for it took time to grow. During the 1850s and 1860s, no interaction between Burckhardt and the medium is recorded, which of course does not exclude the possibility that he was interested in it. Only editions of his work after his death were illustrated with photographs. Burckhardt’s The Architecture of the Renaissance in Italy (Die Baukunst der Renaissance in Italien, 1867)22 was illustrated, but exclusively with drawings and aquarelles by the author. Not until the early 1870s did his passion for photography began to flourish. Even though he neither actively tried to learn the technique of taking pictures nor wrote substantial theoretical essays on the medium, photography played an important role in his life and research, predominantly in the form of the photograph collection. During his life Burckhardt compiled a collection of almost 10,000 photographs, mostly reproductions of art historical objects such as architecture, sculpture, and painting. One of the reasons for his collecting was the use of the pictures in the lectures for his students:23 21 For more information on the beginnings of art photography, see Hans-Peter Wittwer, “Über die Photographie als Begleiterin von Burckhardts Geschichtsschreibung,” Das Italien Jacob Burckhardts: Architekturphotographie aus seiner Sammlung, ed. Paolo Rosselli, Basel: Architekturmuseum, 1997, 10–18. 22 Jacob Burckhardt, Die Baukunst der Renaissance in Italien, Jacob Burckhardt Werke: Kritische Gesamtausgabe, Vol. 5, ed. Maurizio Ghelardi, Basel/München: Schwabe/Beck, 2000. 23 He also saw photographs as means of academic intellectual exchange. Already in 1869, Burckhardt discussed Portuguese decorative art with the art historian Albert von Zahn via the

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For the illustration of my lectures, I have to increase my own photograph collection by purchasing works in Paris, which is the only place where greater selections of individual photographs as well as illustrated art publications at fair prices are available.24

Burckhardt’s prime motivations for collecting photographs were academic. His lectures were famous for his use of photographs, and he often had stacks of pictures circling through the rows of the audience. His former student Hans Trog notes in 1898: “The technology and art of photography has perhaps possessed few truer friends than Jacob Burckhardt.”25 Burckhardt saw the medium as an indispensable aid for the interpretation and representation of art history. “The fact is,” he writes, “that in art history one only believes photography, and rightly so.”26 To use photographs as visual illustrations in art historical lectures marks a trend in the discipline in mid-nineteenth century Europe – a trend that had already begun before Burckhardt started to write so enthusiastically about it.27 The famous art historian John Ruskin was a pioneer in using art historical photographs for academic presentation, and as early as 1845 he used daguerreotypes of Venetian architecture in his lectures. For him photography became an important visual source and also embodied a new school of perception. The application of visual aids in art historical lectures encompassed several fundamental effects on the discourse of art history. Even though the photographic lens is still controlled by a human gaze, in contrast to sketches and paintings the photographs convey a higher degree of authenticity. They suggest a perception beyond the human eye, which could provide a precise analogy with nature and thus establish new demands for the disciplines of art history. Whereas traditional art history was mostly based on literary descriptions of postal exchange of photographs. The medium could facilitate an academic dialogue independent of local restrictions. 24 “Zum Behuf der Vorlesungen dagegen werde ich meine eigene Sammlung durch Ankäufe hauptsächlich in Paris vermehren müssen, welches der einzige Ort ist, wo vereinzelte Blätter und Lieferungen von Kunstpublicationen sammt Photographien in grösserer Auswahl und zu leidlichen Preisen zu haben sind,” Burckhardt, “617. An Wilhelm Vischer-Bilfinger, Basel, 20. August 1873,” Briefe, Vol. 6, 208. 25 “Die Technik und Kunst der Photographie hat vielleicht wenig treuere Freunde besessen als Jacob Burckhardt,” Hans Trog and Jacob Christoph Burckhardt, Jacob Burckhardt: Eine biographische Skizze, Basel: Reich, 1898, 139–143. 26 “Tathsache ist, daß man in der Kunstgeschichte nur noch der Photographie glaubt, und daß man dabei recht hat,” Burckhardt, “933. An Joh. Oeri-Burckhardt, Florenz, Freitag 19. Aug 1881,” Briefe, Vol. 7, 276. 27 See for example Anthony Hamber, “The Use of Photography by Nineteenth-Century Art Historians,” Visual Resources 7 (1990): 135–161; Trevor Fawcett, “Visual Facts and NineteenthCentury Art Lecture,” Art History, Vol. 6.4 (1983): 442–460.

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the artwork, the integration of the photograph in art historical lectures (or in art historical writings) established new standards of analysis.28 Many of Burckhardt’s letters, though, prove that his collecting of photographs was more than teaching aid. It was also a personal obsession, which cost him quite a fortune and determined many routes of his art historical journeys. Burckhardt is frequently termed the quintessential art historical traveler of the nineteenth century; an occupation which he also shared with historian Ranke. Burckhardt often traveled in order to collect photographs, and even changed his routes according to the presence of photograph dealers and sales. His journeys to France in the 1870s were for example motivated by the desire to stock up on photographs; he went to Paris in 1874 in order to buy engravings, lithographs, and photographs.29 His photo-journeys shed a different light on Burckhardt’s image as an educational traveler (Bildungsreisender), a term usually used to describe someone who only travels in order to experience high art and the culture of classicism. One should understand the word Bildungsreisender in a literal sense: Burckhardt was on the hunt for Bilder (pictures) on a grand photograph-buying tour! Burckhardt’s letters give a vivid impression of the market for art historical photographs in nineteenth-century Europe. The frugal scholar, who meticulously registered all the expenses associated with his passion in small notebooks, never tires of complaining about the high prices of pictures.30 Burckhardt visited the photographic firm Alinari in Florence only on exceptional occasions, since he was too expensive. He preferred dealers in other places in Italy and France where photographs could be bought at what he considered reasonable prices. After already having spent 400 Marks on photographs during the journey, I fell in the beginning of October into the hands of my old acquaintance in Rome, the photography

28 The photograph did not provide a substitute for image description, but demanded a new form of reading, processing, and interpreting artworks. For the relationship between visual and textual description in art history, see Gottfried Boehm and Helmut Pfotenhauer, Beschreibungskunst, Kunstbeschreibung: Ekphrasis von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart, München: Fink, 1995. 29 “In April I was in Paris for 16 days, in order to buy engravings, lithographs, photographs,”; “Im April war ich 16 Tage in Paris, um Stiche, Lithographen, Photographien zu kaufen für mein neues kunsthistorisches Amt das ich seither angetreten habe,” Burckhardt, “629. An Friedrich von Preen, Basel, 31. Mai 1874,” Briefe, Vol. 5, 224. 30 “The prices of photographs in the actual art shops here reached a quite ridiculous degree,” “Die Theurung der Photographien in den eigentlichen Kunstläden erreicht hier einen ganz lächerlichen Grad; […],” Burckhardt, “749. An Max Alioth, München, Samstag 11. August 1877 Abend,” Briefe, Vol. 6, 168.

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dealer Carlo Crippa, who sold his goods here for 8 days. Due to the great discount which the seducer gave me, he pocketed another 300 Marks and more again, so that my friends raised the question whether I should be put under guardianship for my own good.31

This passage is symptomatic of the way in which Burckhardt writes about his endeavors to collect and buy photographs. He stylizes himself as someone who is a helpless victim of a passion that he cannot control. Burckhardt often describes his shopping tours as an “odyssey” (Burckhardt, Briefe Vol. 8, 56) and dealers allure him with special offers that he can almost never resist. On another occasion, he mentions that photographs trigger a “magic buying obsession.”32 Of course one should not lose sight of the irony when Burckhardt writes about his photo-shopping sprees. He was very aware of this personal whim, and he joked about it with his closest friends. Nevertheless, even his ironic comments do not diminish the fact that photographs played a central role in his life. This passion, however, superseded the realm of Burckhardt’s private obsession. Photography influenced his historical writings on art history, such as the Cicerone, and here one can find modes of perceiving history that corresponds to the organization of his photograph collection.

The Photo Collection When Burckhardt wrote about his photograph collection in letters to his friends, he often mentioned that the sheer quantity of pictures of his compilation had a threatening effect on him. He feared that the whole collection, which he stored in his own apartment in specially made furniture, could crash into the room downstairs.33 His photograph collection expanded in ways that 31 “Nachdem ich schon auf der Reise 400 Mk in Abbildungen verthan, fiel ich hier Anfangs October meinem alten Bekannten von Rom her, dem Photographiehändler Carlo Crippa in die Hände, welcher hier 8 Tage lang Bude hielt. Bei dem starken Rabatt, welcher dieser Verführer mir gönnte, sind wieder 300 Mk und drüber an Photographien in die Rappuse gegangen, sodaß unter meinen Leuten die Frage ventilirt worden ist, ob ich nicht eigentlich zu meinem eigenen Besten unter Curatel zu stellen wäre?,” Burckhardt, “768. An Friedrich von Preen, Basel 28. November 1877,” Briefe, Vol. 6, 221. 32 Burckhardt, “magischem Kaufzwang,” “1122. An Max Alioth Basel, 30. Dezember 1885,” Briefe, Vol. 8, 318. 33 “And now, the carpenter Siegrist, a bit slow in understanding, has to make the new furniture and the bookbinder Müller has to make folders and sort countless photographs. And at the end my library will become so heavy that it will crash into the room below. Leave me horrible prospect!”; “Und nun muß erst der Schreiner Siegrist, so etwas langsam von Verstande, das Möbel machen das ich neu brauche, und der Buchbinder Müller muß Mappen machen und zahllose Photographien und Blätter aufziehen. Und am Ende wird meine Biblio-

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caused anxiety for the owner, and he frequently used metaphors of drowning, submerging, and suffocation when he described his treasures: “Incidentally, I am swimming in a stock of photographs […].”34 Burckhardt writes about his anxiety to get lost, as he called it, in a “morass”35 of chaotic and impenetrable information. It is notable that not only his piles of photographs could exert a threat to Burckhardt, but also the plentitude of historical data in his field of art history could cause this feeling. In his essay Reflections on History Burckhardt notes: “The merest textbook on a single period or a single branch of historical knowledge opens up a vista onto an infinity of established facts. A desperate prospect at the beginning of the study of history!”36 Taking the perspective of a beginner in the study of art history, Burckhardt assumes anxieties in light of the mass of information, concerns that also reflect his own questions on how to cope with historical data. The photo collection gives clues about how Burckhardt encountered art historical information, and how he processed it in his works. In Greek Cultural History Burckhardt ponders about where to begin the historical analysis: “In terms of representation as well as whilst the studies one asks oneself with trepidation, where one should begin? Answer: at least somewhere. Above all: as all objects are congenial to each other, repetitions are unavoidable […].”37 The author answers his own question on the whereabouts of his starting point in a rather unusual and un-scholarly fashion: the historian should start “somewhere.” It does not matter precisely where, since thek so schwer, daß sie ins untere Zimmer stürzt. Weiche von mir Graungedanke!” Burckhardt, “765. An Robert Grüninger, Frankfurt a/M, 4. September 1877,” Briefe, Vol. 6, 215. 34 “Im Übrigen schwimme ich schon in einem Vorrath von Photographien […],” Burckhardt, “671. An Eduard Bernoulli, Rom, 8. April 1875,” Jacob Burckhardt: Briefe, Vol. 6, 24. 35 “dawn breaks over photographs, lithographs and other muck I have drug in;” “In Photographien, Lithographien und anderm hergeschlepptem Morast beginnt es zu tagen,” Burckhardt, “767. An Robert Grüninger, Basel, 19. September 77,” Briefe, Vol. 6, 218. 36 Burckhardt, Reflections on History 47; “Schon jedes Handbuch über eine einzelne Epoche oder über einen einzelnen Zweig des geschichtlichen Wissens weist eine Unendlichkeit von ermittelten Tatsachen hinein. Ein verzweiflungsvoller Anblick beim Beginn des geschichtlichen Studiums!” Jacob Burckhardt, “Weltgeschichtliche Betrachtungen in der Fassung von 1905,” Jacob Burckhardt Werke: Kritische Gesamtausgabe, Vol. 10, ed. Peter Ganz, München/Basel: Beck/Schwabe, 2000, 364. In the following quoted as Reflections on History within the main text. This translation is used: Jacob Burckhardt, Reflections on History, ed. Gottfried Dietze and trans. M. D. Hottinger, Indianapolis: Liberty Classics, 1979. This translation, however, does not cover all the cited passages in this chapter. In these cases I give my own translation. 37 “In der Darstellung wie beim Studium frägt man sich mit Zagen, wo man nur anfangen solle? Antwort: jedenfalls irgendwo. Vor Allem: da die Dinge sich allerorten berühren, sind Wiederholungen unvermeidlich […],” Burckhardt, Griechische Culturgeschichte, 365.

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all objects (referring here to the ones of art historical investigations, such as architecture, paintings, and monuments) are related to each other. Since the objects are all connected, they repudiate a temporal analysis based on a point of origin, middle, and definite end. Thus, Burckhardt undermines a generic model of investigation. Instead, the word “somewhere” suggests a spatial marking, from which the hermeneutic process could begin and develop in arbitrary directions. Repetitions can occur; in Burckhardt’s work, however, they do not indicate a lack of scholarly quality, but rather represent a product of arthistorical interpretation. Again a parallel to Burckhardt’s photograph collection can be constructed: the “somewhere-approach” also structures how he organized and ordered the pictures of his collection. As mentioned, Burckhardt’s passion for collecting photographs left an immense compilation of pictures after his death in 1897. Burckhardt did not plan to leave his collection to the University of Basel, but bequeathed his pictures to his academic fellows and traveling companions, Robert Grüninger and Gustav Stehelin (Meier, The Man with the Folder 265). Grüninger gave his part of the collection, around 9,500 pictures, to the library of the public art collection in Basel, where they are still available today, and Stehelin’s heirs sold around 2,900 photographs to the art institute in Florence in 1972 (Meier, The Man with the Folder 265). The Grüninger collection still adheres to the order that Burckhardt had chosen for organizing his photographs. They are contained in the large blue folders that became a trademark of Burckhardt’s lectures on art history, as he always took plenty of these folders with him in order to illustrate his presentations. However, Burckhardt did not just stuff the pictures randomly into folders and stack them in his apartment and his office. He ordered his photographs according to specific organizational principles. According to Meier, his collection was structured in the following way: “The collection is divided by countries as follows: 61 folders on Italy, 11 folders on Germany, 10 folders on the Netherlands, 5 folders on France, 2 folders Spain; by genre, architecture 33 percent, ca. 20 percent sculpture, and finally 50 percent painting.”38 The two principles, namely “countries” and “genres” (there is the third principle of serialisation and will be discussed subsequently), structure Burckhardt’s photo collection; they begin “somewhere” and from this point clusters and piles of pictures are mapped together.

38 “Nach Ländern verteilt sich die Sammlung wie folgt: 61 Mappen Italien, 11 Mappen Deutschland, 10 Mappen Niederlande, 5 Mappen Frankreich, 2 Mappen Spanien; nach Gattungen: Architektur 33 Prozent, etwa 20 Prozent Plastik und schließlich 50 Prozent Malerei,” Meier, “Der Mann mit der Mappe” 265.

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Mapping the Past The folders with different countries (such as Italy, Germany, the Netherlands, France, and Spain) in Burckhardt’s photo collection embody a topographical strategy to organize the pictures. Architectural monuments of Italy, for example, are collected in one folder, which is next to a folder of churches in France. This order, however, does not fix its objects onto a precise topographical surface with exact measurements and proportions. Although Burckhardt’s folders create piles of artifacts based on location, the individual pictures can shift position, move around, and can be related with each other; a church in Florence can be placed next to one in Germany. Thus, Burckhardt’s photograph collection does not set the church into a linear and chronological narrative, but rather orders it spatially onto a type of map that constantly changes its elements around and shifts its constellation. This mapping that is intrinsic to Burckhardt’s photo collection can also be found as a strategy of representing art historical objects in the Cicerone.39 It is well known that Burckhardt characterizes Cicerone (published in 1855) as a travel book, and its title impersonates a tour guide, the “cicerone” who leads the way through a collection or an exhibition of artifacts. The “cicerone,” graced with the name of the erudite and eloquent Roman, was expected to command an encyclopedic knowledge of local antiquities in guiding his clients.40 Burckhardt notes in the preface to Cicerone: The intention of the author was to provide an overview of the more important artworks in Italy, which provides the hasty traveler with quick and easy information about the sights, the longer-lingering traveler with the necessary style parallels and the basics of the respective local art history, but the traveler who knows Italy with a pleasant memory.41

39 Burckhardt wrote large parts of the book in Italy “on site,” and back at home in Switzerland, he completed it with the help of notes and sketches. Similar to Ranke’s desire to study the sources in the archives on location, Burckhardt also valued the idea of “being there,” and thus his passion for photography never substituted for his actual journals on the cultural artifacts. Thoughts or attempts by Burckhardt to illustrate the Cicerone with photographs are not recorded; only editions after his death deploy photographic illustration. Nevertheless, as this section demonstrates, even his early work Cicerone was shaped by “photographic aesthetics.” I found the reference to Burckhardt’s desire to write on location mentioned in Stella von Boch, Jacob Burckhardts Die Sammler: Kommentar und Kritik, München: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 2004, 43. 40 Cicerone is the Italian word for tour guide: “Cicerone […] tour guide, who is due to his eloquence jokingly compared to Cicero,” “Cicerone […] Fremdenführer, der wegen seiner Redseligkeit scherzhaft mit Cicero verglichen,” Brockhaus Enzyklopädie in 20 Bänden, 17th edition, Vol. 4, Wiesbaden: Brockhaus, 1968, 61. 41 “Die Absicht des Verfassers ging dahin, eine Übersicht der wichtigern Kunstwerke Italiens zu geben, welche dem flüchtig Reisenden rasche und bequeme Auskunft über das Vorhandene,

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The passage conveys that the Cicerone intends to give a spontaneous overview of the most important sites and cultural artifacts of Italy to different traveler types. Burckhardt’s reference to a traveling book evokes associations with one of the most popular travel guides of the nineteenth century, the Baedeker. The first Baedeker was published in 1829, and in the course of the nineteenth century it became Germany’s bestselling travel guide. It was available in numerous editions and languages, and it covered all kinds of travel destinations such as Britain, Italy, and France.42 Particularly the first traveler type that Burckhardt mentions in the preface, the “hasty traveller,” as well as the emphasis on enjoyment, is suited to the potential audience of the Baedeker guide. It is remarkable that Burckhardt connects one of his most important books on Italian art history to such a popular genre. It not only hints at Burckhardt’s dialectical interest in the mass media, but also clearly conveys a provocation of traditional methods in the discipline of art history during this time. Already by the end of the eighteenth century, art historians were expressing intentions to articulate their subject into a scholarly and academic discipline. Questions on empiricism, methodology, and the objects of art historical investigation began to be raised, and scholars started to differentiate art history from aesthetics as well as from writing biographical accounts of great artists. The works by Johann Joachim Winckelmann were groundbreaking in their articulation of an art historical discipline in the modern fashion, as his writings were the first to contextualize art history, its origins, its developments, and its different styles. Together with Hegel’s thoughts on aesthetics, these two authors were perhaps most influential for the discipline of art history in the eighteenth and nineteenth century. Hegel’s lectures on aesthetics draw a parallel between the development of art and the development of the “truth of the spirit” (“Wahrheit des Geistes”); a parallelization that connects the representation and interpretation of art history with his teleological-systematic philosophy of history. Historical processes demarcate the development of the spirit towards the goal of freedom; thus, all events are already expressions of the spirit and follow a teleological movement to a higher state of freedom in the course of history. Art history follows the same dialectical principles as world

dem länger Verweilenden die nothwendigen Stylparallelen und die Grundlagen zur jedesmaligen Local-Kunstgeschichte, dem in Italien Gewesenen aber eine angenehme Erinnerung gewähren sollte,” Burckhardt, Der Cicerone 3. 42 The Baedeker was a product (as well as perhaps one of the generators) of the booming interest for traveling in nineteenth-century Germany. See Rudy Koshar, “Baedeker’s Germany,” German Travel Cultures, Oxford, UK: Berg, 2000, 19–64. For the impact of the Baedeker onto the discipline of scholarly archaeology, see Kathrin Maurer “Archeology as Spectacle: Heinrich Schliemann’s Media of Excavation,” German Studies Review 32 (2009): 303–319.

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history, and thus the study of art history serves a higher moral and philosophical means. Burckhardt clearly provoked this idealist tradition of art history when he published the Cicerone under the auspices of a popular travel book. It was precisely its popular design and the pretension of being amateurish that in turn fostered innovative modes of art historical representation. As mentioned, the Baedeker wrote history based on a topographical mode, representing the touristic site according to the most popular travel routes and locations. There was no systematic approach, but rather the descriptions of the tourist sites were based on their specific location and “enjoyment factor.” Besides the aspect of enjoyment, the Cicerone is also organized by topography, but whereas the Baedeker addresses mainly the needs of a traveller, the topographical aspects in Burckhardt’s Cicerone are constitutive for methods of art historical understanding. The Cicerone guides the reader from one place to the next transversely through the Italian cultural landscape, such as the cities of Ravenna, Bologna, Siena, Pisa, Genoa, and Rome, to name but a few. Burckhardt’s text visits the art pieces, monuments, and cultural treasures according to the way the author visited them: Now it is my first duty to identify the main shortcomings of the work. Those places and regions which I have not visited at all, or only in transit, or at an immature age are the following: Turin and all Piedmont. Cremona, Lodi, Pavia. Mantura, Treviso, Udine. Imola, Faenza, Cesena, Rimini. Pesaro, Urbino, Loreto. Volterra, San Gimignano, Monte Oliveto, Pienza. Subiaco, Palestrina. From the kingdom of Naples all that is south of the Paestum, east of Capua and Nola.43

Burckhardt apologizes to the readers that he did not cover the artworks of certain areas, but the reason for their omission does not lie in a scholarlytheoretical factor, but simply because Burckhardt did not visit them. The chapter on Germanic architecture, for example, adheres to this topographical order, which is structured by the places he visited during his journey. The chapter from the quoted passage describes and discusses the cathedrals of Milan, Siena, Arezzo, and Orvieto without ordering them into a chronological narrative. This traveling aesthetics corresponds to the Baedeker’s modes of repre-

43 “Nun ist es meine erste Pflicht, die wesentlichsten Lücken des Werkes zu bezeichnen. Diejenigen Orte und Gegenden, welche ich entweder gar nicht, oder nur auf flüchtiger Durchreise, oder in unreifem Alter besucht habe, sind folgende: Turin und ganz Piedmont. Cremona, Lodi, Pavia. Mantura, Treviso, Udine. Imola, Faenza, Cesena, Rimini. Pesaro, Urbino, Loreto. Volterra, S. Gimignano, Monte oliveto, Pienza. Subiaco, Palestrina. Vom Königreich Neapel alles was südlich über Pästum, östlich über Capua und Nola hinaus liegt,” Burckhardt, Der Cicerone 3.

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senting cultural landscapes as well as to the topographical order of Burckhardt’s photo collection. Similar to his photograph collection and its folders about “countries,” the Cicerone is structured according to locations. Already the table of contents of the Cicerone displays this spatial order, for example, in the chapter on Romanesque architecture: Romanesque architecture: Buildings in Pisa Page 99 – Crooked Construction and Unevenness in Building Structure Page 103 – Buildings in Lucca Page 107 – Remaining Toscana Page 108 – In Florence Page 109 – Churches of Genoa Page 112 – Buildings of Venice Page 113 – The Rest of Northern Italy Page 118 – Mark and Umbria Page 123.44

The table of contents promises the reader a travel tour through Italy, on which he or she is able to learn about art historical monuments without being guided by a systematic or philosophical principle. The reader has to follow a spatial travel route, which organizes the perception and analysis of the art historical monuments. As in his photograph collection, Burckhardt creates a map of artworks on which the reader can move along; there are no direction signs that lead into the one or the other way. Like leafing through piles of photographs, the reader can begin his study with the architecture in Pisa and then jump to Venice, and from there go back to other parts of Italy. In this context, Burckhardt’s photograph collection precisely matches this topography of history in the Cicerone. His collection as well as the Cicerone project a map of cultural historical items, that can constantly be brought into different constellations with each other. The process of art historical understanding is neither focused on one goal, nor can it ever be finished. There is no origin. Like a map, it does not show a fixed entry point that demarcates a beginning and an end.45 Burckhardt also proposes this idea of mapping art history in his Reflections on History, and he states: “We should like to conceive a vast spiritual map on the projection of an immense ethnography, embracing both the material and the spiritual world and striving to do justice to all races, peoples, manners, and religions together.”46 Cultural history should be conceptualized as a map, 44 “Romanische Architektur: Bauten in Pisa S. 99 – Schiefbau und Bauungleichheiten S. 103 – Bauten in Lucca S. 107 – Im übrigen Toscana S. 108 – In Florenz S. 109 – Kirchen von Genua S. 112 – Bauten von Venedig S. 113 – Das übrige Oberitalien S. 118 – Mark und Umbrien S. 123,” Burckhardt, Der Cicerone 7. 45 This concept of a historical map is reminiscent of what Schütte has described with the notion of the “workbench,” on which the features of objects can be isolated and re-arranged to new forms and interpretative contexts (Schütte, Stilräume 62–65). 46 Burckhardt, Reflections, 36; “Man möchte sich eine riesige Geisteslandkarte auf der Basis einer unermeßlichen Ethnographie denken, welche Materielles und Geistiges zusammen umfassen müßte und alle Rassen, Völker, Sitten und Religionen im Zusammenhang gerecht zu werden strebte,” Burckhardt, Weltgeschichtliche Betrachtungen 357.

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which is able to comprise the totality of historical phenomena. The image of the map helps to realize the concept of “somewhere” as a random starting point in the process of historical understanding without getting lost in the picture. Thus, on the one hand, the map as a visual mode of representation invites hermeneutic openness and methodologically innovative experiments (e.g. spatialization versus temporalization) and, on the other hand, it can also provide an orientating overview. History represented in such as way counteracts a narrative representation and pictures the past as a series of spatial tableaux. Burckhardt’s historical approach considered the narrative form, which conveys a teleological model of history, as a philosophical mistake. The photocollection came much closer to what he had in mind for an art historical analysis. Note the following passage from the Cicerone: We shall, further, make no attempt at system, nor lay any claim to ‘historical principles.’ On the contrary, we shall confine ourselves to observation, taking transverse sections of history in as many directions as possible. Above all we have nothing to do with the philosophy of history.47

These “transverse sections” do not order history according to the principles of chronology, progress, and linearity, but rather begin in a non-systematic fashion from potentially many directions. History is no longer organized in a temporal fashion according to a Hegelian teleology, which for Burckhardt consists in “longitudinal sections.”48 The individual material of the past, namely artifacts, monuments, and paintings, are projected “somewhere” onto a large spatial surface, whose points of beginning and ending depend on one’s individual perspective and perception. However, as with the photograph collection, the topographical projection of the past does not completely suffice and Burckhardt suggests a further principle of ordering historical data, namely typology.

Typology Burckhardt’s friend Robert Grüninger followed the art historian’s suggestions and ordered his photographs according to specific genre, such as folders on 47 Burckhardt, Reflections 32; “Wir verzichten ferner auf alles Systematische; wir machen keinen Anspruch auf ‘weltgeschichtliche Ideen,’ sondern begnügen uns mit Wahrnehmungen und geben Querdurchschnitte durch die Geschichte, und zwar in möglichst vielen Richtungen; wir geben vor allem keine Geschichtsphilosophie,” Burckhardt, Weltgeschichtliche Betrachtungen 354. 48 Burckhardt, Reflections, 32; “Längendurchschnitte,” Burckhardt, Weltgeschichtliche Betrachtungen 355.

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architecture, sculpture, and painting. This principle of organizing the photograph collection by genre represents a mode of creating order by defining a category, in this respect a specific form of art via a specific set of criteria. In his photo collection as well as the Cicerone Burckhardt chose to represent the fields of architecture, sculpture, and painting; fields that entail large genre types and contain plenty of subgenres. Burckhardt’s collection of architecture photographs, for example, contains different types of architectural constructions (temples, churches, obelisks, basilicas, baths, and palaces) and these subgenres are again divided by diverse architectural styles. Like to the topographical form of organizing the photographs, the principle of genre also suggests a non-linear mode of representation. Instead of integrating the photos, for example, into an art historical narrative with a beginning and an end, Burckhardt put them into folders according to different genre types. These folders highlight much more a taxonomic order and convey a visual inventory of art historical treasures, and therewith a cultural-historical catalogue that is reminiscent of the classificatory systems and nomenclatures of natural historians of the eighteenth century. Like the photograph collection, the Cicerone also arranges a multitude of art historical observations according to specific genre, such as architecture, sculpture, and painting. These three generic categories contain subgenres; for example, the section on sculpture focuses on specific representations of antique sculpture. What are the criteria for these genres and how does Burckhardt suggest distinctions? The preface to the Cicerone refers to the “stylistic parallels” (“Stylparallelen” Burckhardt, Cicerone 3) and thus suggests the construction of a relational network by which the reader can learn about different styles in art history by comparing certain typical features. The Cicerone works with typologies, conceptual images that are used across time and can, despite historical modifications, shape lines of tradition.49 Burckhardt’s concept of art historical typologies opened up a revolutionary venue for the rewriting of art history against the tradition of German Idealism. To consider art history based on “prototypes” provides opportunities to abandon, at least partially, the predominating norms of classicism and thus also to integrate other historical epochs as relevant and tradition-making. The Cicerone’s section on sculpture, for example, refers explicitly to the existence of specific art historical “types” and Burckhardt writes: “The arrangement of antique sculptures by types, which now follows, should by no means

49 The aspect of typology represents a key to Burckhardt’s theory of history. For this debate on typology and Burckhardt, see Jürgen Große, Typus und Geschichte: Eine Jacob-BurckhardtInterpretation, Köln: Böhlau, 1997.

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be considered as the only possible way or even as specifically methodical, but rather as a guideline that most easily provides access to the matter.”50 Of course, Burckhardt was not interested in providing a simple method, the point of focus in this passage embodies the idea of “matter.” In ways similar to Ranke, Burckhardt wanted to experience the material of his art historical investigation. His desire for immersion fits with his mode of interacting with his photo collection. Even though the photographs are only reproductions of the art historical objects, Burckhardt’s collecting obsession reflects a desire for a bodily immersion with the material: he lived in his collection, it belonged to his personal-domestic sphere, the pictures surround him, and he is in immediate contact with the “matter.” Although Burckhardt’s photo collection was immense, he did not drown in the abundance of pictures, neither as the collector nor as the narrator in the Cicerone. Like the photo collection also the Cicerone is structured by typological principles, since it suggests, for example, a typology of ancient sculpture by ordering the genre into specific sub-groups: representations of Zeus, Poseidon, Hera, athletes, women, muses, etc. It is symptomatic of Burckhardt’s method that he selects an archetype, which is the ideal type of all its similar representations. One of these ideal types is the representation of Otricoli Zeus. After having described its typical features, such as curls, long hair, the serene facial expression, and beard, the Cicerone mentions that this sculpture is the most complete of its kind: “What else occurs by way of Zeus heads is far below this work.”51 The ideal type has the heuristic function of evoking comparisons to other representations and of creating groups and genres of certain types of art. On the one hand, this typological organization suggests a construction of a systematic approach to art history. There is one ideal type, which functions as the matrix for a genre. This genre, then, can be used to differentiate others and eventually create a catalogue and list of criteria. On the other hand, Burckhardt insists that his typological “method” is not a stringent one that can create a closed system of art historical criteria. As mentioned previously, he follows his idea by beginning “somewhere” and avoiding closure via categories or explanations. Thus, the cluster of typologies is based on contingency. Already the fact that Burckhardt discusses only the art pieces that he was able

50 “Die Anordnung der antiken Sculpturen nach Typen, welche nunmehr folgt, soll keineswegs als die einzig mögliche oder besonders methodisch gelten, sondern nur als derjenige Leitfaden, welcher am leichtesten in die Sache hineinführt,” Burckhardt, Der Cicerone 338. 51 “Was sonst von Zeusköpfen vorkömmt, steht tief unter diesem Werke,” Burckhardt, Der Cicerone 339.

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to visit undermines the idea of a closed classificatory system that is able to trace all phenomena. His typologies depend on the arbitrariness of the presented material that was accessible during his time: “We will not be afraid to investigate the very modest and late works, inasmuch as they happen to be the only known and accessible copies of exquisite ancient concepts of art.”52 Burckhardt does not claim to have achieved completion; rather, he creates his typological clusters on the basis of the material available to him.53 This intertwinement of systematizing and non-systematizing aspects of Burckhardt’s art historical experiments with typologies reflects in quite a unique way how his photo collection and its organizational principles prefigure his art historical approach. The photo-collection fosters processes of systematization by simultaneously undermining them. Burckhardt can arrange the photos (topographically, as shown in the previous section) as well as typologically. However, these arrangements propose no fixed and permanent orders. As one could rearrange the photos into different folders, piles, and contexts, also the typologies in the Cicerone do not suggest a permanent order. The typological approach might help to get an impression and an “entry” to the material, but how the material is evaluated and processed is not precisely defined or fixated. This typological (as well as topographical) approach of Burckhardt’s work was a decisive stepping stone for comparative analysis within art history; an analysis that is well established in today’s discourses of structuralism, but was in Burckhardt’s times quite revolutionary. The cradle for this comparative approach lies in Burckhardt’s photo collection, which allowed him to place representations of historical artifacts next to each other, set historical cultures and times in relation.

Serialisation In a letter to his friend Max Alioth, Burckhardt proposes to arrange his photos by a temporal order: “Moreover my photographs have to be sorted, given to the bookbinder in series, subsequently labeled and finally arranged in portfo-

52 “Wir werden uns nicht scheuen, selbst sehr geringe und späte Arbeiten zu nennen, sobald sie zufällig die einzigen bekannten oder zugänglichen Exemplare vorzüglicher alter Kunstgedanken sind,” Burckhardt, Der Cicerone 338. 53 This comparative approach also resonates in the works of his student Heinrich Wölfflin, who develops a formal approach to art history concentrating on stylistic principles and compares them across time and space.

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lios.”54 Burckhardt intended arranging the pictures into series. But what kind of model of temporality did these photo-series convey? As one can imagine, these series were not connected to linear narrative that made sense out of the individual pictures in a chronological fashion. The pictures reference specific time points in history, but they do not convey the idea that epochs represent historical periods that have evolved from a teleological course of history demarcating time frames of a golden age, classicism, and high culture. Rather, like the images that made it into the series-folder more by chance and contingency, they are constituted through abrupt shifts: “The intellectual developments do not happen logically, but with leaps, delays, and relapses.”55 Development is not defined by an evolutionary model with a beginning and an end point. Burckhardt’s model of historical time is revolutionary for art history, since many (art) historians viewed epochs according to a Hegelian dialectical model, in which one epoch is the sublimation of the previous. Further, the model of the series also rules out the idea that there is uniqueness in each epoch on the basis of God’s power, as Ranke had suggested. Rather, in Burckhardt’s historicism, epochs are constructions of specific features and types. These non-linear aspects of serialisation can also be observed in Burckhardt’s Cicerone. Reading through its art historical descriptions of monuments, one gains the impression of scrolling through a stack of photographs placed in a picture atlas. The (textual) images follow a topographical pattern, tracing a path among geographical locations in the landscape of Italy. Often, there are repetitions of certain monuments, which the Cicerone describes under different aspects. Time periods, such as Christian, Roman and Germanic Art, are organized around Burckhardt’s depiction of specific genres types and their characteristics. In the chapter on the architecture of the early Renaissance in the Cicerone, for example, the text provides one image after the other of places, churches, and other architectural monuments in different regions (Burckhardt, Cicerone 144–189). The Cicerone mainly lists certain features and characteristics of these buildings, which in turn should be considered as typical for that time. The text does not put all these images into narrative form, which suggests a gradual evolution of these types. Even though the types refer to the concept of an art historical epoch, in this case the Early Renaissance, they do not 54 Burckhardt, The Letters of Jacob Burckhardt 205; “Daneben werden die gekauften Photographien sortirt, in Serien an den Buchbinder gegeben, nachher etikettiert, und zuletzt in Mappen vertheilt.” Burckhardt, “939. An Max Alioth, Basel, 10. September 1881,” Briefe, Vol. 7, 289. 55 “Die geistigen Entwicklungen vollziehen sich nicht logisch, sondern mit Sprüngen, Zögerungen, und Rückfällen,” Jacob Burckhardt, Über das Studium der Geschichte: Der Text der Weltgeschichtlichen Betrachtungen auf Grund der Vorarbeiten von Ernst Ziegler nach den Handschriften herausgeben von Peter Ganz, ed. Peter Ganz, München: Beck, 1982, 158.

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represent this epoch as an organic model of development based on the organic triadic model of seed, blossom, and decay. Rather, the epochs acquire the function of labels, which demarcate a relational system, in which the elements can be arranged and rearranged in series.

The Picture Atlas Taking these aspects of serialization together with the topographical and typological modes of representation, the Cicerone evokes a medium of visual historical representation that was on the verge of evolving in the discipline of art history during Burckhardt’s time: namely the medium of the picture atlas. Broadly put, a picture atlas means a collection of images within a type of binder or book. The pictures of an atlas can represent geographical, historical, aesthetic, and natural themes. Whether it is an atlas on insects or Italian painting, the representation of the image does not follow the mode of a grand narrative, but it constructs sequences based on themes and topics. What model of cultural history does Burckhardt’s picture atlas, alias the Cicerone, convey? The Cicerone aims at a grand cultural conservation project, in which artworks are collected and stored. This image of a cultural storage, a type of museum archive, indeed fits in with the author’s passion for collecting photographs as well as with his cultural and aesthetic conservatism. In this picture atlas, art history is mummified against the present and conserved as a collection of relicts of a great culture.56 Burckhardt meditated on the possibilities of the picture atlas in his correspondence with the architectural historian Gustav von Bezold. As the director of the German National Museum in Nuremberg, Bezold sent him examples of his work on church architecture in Europe, which consisted of text volumes and compendia of photographs. Burckhardt’s reaction to Bezold’s work was enthusiastic: “The art history books that are only written and partially illustrated have had their time. Your work belongs to the new and self-evident kind, because the text provides essentially major summarizing overviews, and the picture atlas shows the continuous transfor-

56 According to researchers, the Cicerone suggests a typological model of history, which excludes the idea of progression toward a higher qualitative level in the present or future and glances back in nostalgia to the ancient time as the ideal state of history. Researchers have characterized Burckhardt’s model of history along the lines of this cultural conservation project as a pre-modern interpretation of history, one that excludes the diachronic parameters of change, progress, and development. See Hannelore Schlaffer and Heinz Schlaffer, Studien zum ästhetischen Historismus, Frankfurt a. M: Suhrkamp, 1975, 72–120.

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mations of forms.”57 Burckhardt sees the necessity of a complementary image atlas that accompanies the text, and the atlas represents the ideal form to follow his typological method. According to Burckhardt, the atlas can fulfill the representational challenge of embracing the changes of forms across time and thus can articulate historical complexity by showing the types and their variations. Burckhardt suggests in his essay The Altarpiece (Das Altarbild, 1889): It would be an important and instructive task to investigate the various forms that the decoration of the Christian altar has assumed in every country throughout history. Ideally, such an investigation would consist not only of verbal description but also of comparative illustrations, so that individual types would emerge more clearly.58

Burckhardt refers implicitly to the aesthetics of the picture atlas and thus supports a typological view of history beyond narrative models of representation, in which the images highlight the individual types. However, as with the typological patterns in the Cicerone, this projected image atlas does not embody a systematic classificatory project. Rather it interpolates a typological analysis based on “leaps” across time and thus enables a comparative analysis. This aesthetics of the picture atlas provides the opportunity to the historian to escape from the restrictions of teleology to find the most “beautiful” archetype of a genre. Burckhardt writes of Leonardo da Vinci’s representation of the Last Supper: “See the Last Supper of Paul Veronese, Ghirlandaio, Benjamin West, Holbein, Poussin, etc., and seek out the most beautiful among the beautiful, but you will find nothing that would compare to this work [Leonardo da Vinci’s work K. M.].”59 The gaze of the art historian compares works by different paint-

57 “Die bloß geschriebenen und bloß stellenweise illustrierten Kunstgeschichten haben ihre Zeit gehabt. Ihr Werk ist von der neuen und fortan selbstverständlichen Art, da der Text wesentlich die großen zusammenfassende Übersichten gibt, und der Atlas die fortlaufende Wandelung der Formen gibt,” Burckhardt, “1078. An Gustav von Bezold, Basel, 16. September 1884,” Briefe, Vol. 8, 248. 58 Burckhardt, The Altarpiece in Renaissance Italy, ed. and trans. Peter Humfrey, Cambridge, UK: Cambridge UP, 1988, 15; “Es wäre eine sehr wichtige und lohnende Aufgabe, die sämmtlichen Kunstformen des christlichen Altares in allen Ländern, wenigstens nach den zeitlichen und örtlich herrschenden Typen zu verfolgen, und zwar nicht bloß in Worten sondern in parallelen Abbildungen, welche wenigstens den einzelnen Typus als solchen kenntlich machten,” Burckhardt, “Das Altarbild,” Jacob Burckhardt Werke: Kritische Gesamtausgabe, Vol. 6, eds. Stella von Boch, Johannes Hartau, Kerstin Hengevoss-Dürkop, and Martin Warnke, München/Basel: Beck/Schwabe, 2000, 15. 59 “Siehe die Abendmahle von Paul Veronese, Ghirlandaio, Benjamin West, Holbein, Poussin, usw., und suche unter den schönen das schönste aus, aber nichts wirst du finden, das diesem Werke zu vergleichen wäre,” Jacob Burckhardt, “III. Bilder aus Italien, Leonardo’s [sic] Abend-

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ers across time and space and comes back to the most beautiful archetype: the work of Leonardo da Vinci. This mode of relating art works cannot be achieved by the aesthetics of the grand narrative, but it is the picture atlas (for which Burckhardt’s photograph collection is the archetype) that facilitates this form of historical understanding. Even though Burckhardt came close with his photograph collection as well as the Cicerone to the aesthetics of a picture atlas, he never actually composed one. One of the first to do so was the famous art historian Aby Warburg, whose cultural-historical approach to art history still influences contemporary art historical research as well as other intellectual discourses.60 His collections of art photographs in his work The Picture Atlas Mnemosyne (Der Bilderatlas Mnemosyne, 1924–1929)61 traces the traditions of antiquity in the modern visual arts and connects his research with political history, mythology, religion, literature, and philosophy. In this respect, Burckhardt can be seen as a predecessor of an iconological approach to art history articulated in the works of Warburg as well as in those of the German art historian Erwin Panofsky who became highly influential in the study of art history in the twentieth century. This iconological approach is not only evident in the way Burckhardt experimented with the genre of the picture atlas, but also in his specific writing style. The following section demonstrates that the Cicerone suggests a “photographic gaze” as a mode of representing art history.62

The Photographic Gaze in Jacob Burckhardt’s Cicerone (1855) From ancient rhetoricians, to theoreticians on images of the Enlightenment, to contemporary theory on rhetoric, the discourse of image perception and interpretation is often contextualized with description. In this context ekphramahl,” Jacob Burckhardt Werke: Kritische Gesamtausgabe, Vol. 9, eds. Elisabeth Oeggerli and Marc Sieber, München/Basel: Beck/Schwabe, 301. 60 In the wake of the so-called visual and cultural turn in the academic field of literature (as well as other disciplines) Warburg’s work has experienced renewed attention. For new culturalcritical studies on Warburg, see for example Phillippe-Alain Michaud, Aby Warburg and the Image in Motion, New York: Zone Books, 2004. 61 Aby Warburg, Der Bilderatlas Mnemosyne, eds. Martin Warnke and Claudia Brink, Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2008. 62 I have previously published an article on Jacob Burckhardt’s and Austrian literary author Adalbert Stifter’s usage of visual description “Close-Ups of History: Photographic Description in the Works of Jacob Burckhardt and Adalbert Stifter,” Monatshefte für deutschsprachige Literatur und Kultur 97.1 (2005): 63–77. This part of the present chapter builds on some ideas in this article, but draws new conclusions about Burckhardt’s photographic aesthetics.

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sis, a technique of depicting images in, for example, literary and poetic works,63 represents a key concept to designate the correlation between visual representation and description. Whereas Burckhardt’s descriptive style of writing as well as his interest in the visual has often been seen in the context of painting (Schütte, Stilräume 175–275), I emphasize rather the correspondence between image description in the Cicerone and photography. The strategies the Cicerone utilizes in order to picture art historical monuments are structurally similar to the ones of photography. My choice of text passages from the Cicerone does not aim to give an overview of the whole oeuvre, but should be read in an exemplary fashion demonstrating the visual-photographic configuration of Burckhardt’s art historical writing. Note the following passage from the section on architecture in the Cicerone on the columns of the antique temples in the Graeco-Roman city of Paestum, located in the Campania region of Italy. The passage artfully connects the representation of ancient art works with a photographic mode of seeing: The first technique that came under consideration here was the narrowing of the column upwards. It gives the eye the assurance that the column could not fall over. The second was the grooves. They indicate that the column inwardly condenses and hardens, as if to summon its strength; simultaneously they also enhance the impression of striving upward. But nowhere in the whole building or in the column are the lines mathematically hard; moreover, a slight swelling sheds light on their inner creative life most beautifully. Animated and inspired, the column approaches the joist. The powerful pressure of the joist spreads its upper end out to a bulge (Echinus), which here shapes the capital. Its profile is in every Doric temple the most important gauge of force; the keynote of the whole. At the bottom, it is surrounded by three grooves, just as if the delicate, loose skin of the column had shifted.64

63 On the history and rhetorical function of the notion of “ekphrasis” see Gert Ueding and Gert Steinbrink, Grundriss der Rhetorik: Geschichte, Technik, Methode, Stuttgart: Metzler, 1994, 331 and Hans-Christoph Buch, Ut pictura Poesis: Die Beschreibungsliteratur und ihre Kritiker von Lessing bis Lukács, München: Carl Hanser, 1972. 64 “Das erste Mittel, welches hier in Betracht kam, war die Verjüngung der Säule nach oben. Sie giebt dem Auge die Sicherheit, dass die Säule nicht umstürzen könne. Das zweite waren die Cannelirungen. Sie deuten an, dass die Säule sich innerlich verdichte und verhärte, gleichsam ihre Kraft zusammennehme; zugleich verstärken sie den Ausdruck des Strebens nach oben. Die Linien aber sind wie im ganzen Bau nirgends, so auch in der Säule nicht mathematisch hart; vielmehr gibt eine leise Anschwellung das innere schaffende Leben derselben auf das Schönste zu erkennen. So bewegt und beseelt nähert sich die Säule dem Gebälk. Der mächtige Druck desselben drängt ihr oberes Ende auseinander zu einem Wulst [Echinus], welches hier das Capitäl bildet. Sein Profil ist in jedem dorischen Tempel der wichtigste Kraftmesser, der Grundton des Ganzen. Nach unten zu ist er umgeben von drei Rinnen, gleich als verschöbe sich hier eine zarte, lockere Oberhaut der Säule,” Burckhardt, Der Cicerone 14.

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The quotation centers on the eye as the vital organ of perception. These metaphors of the eye, seeing, and perceiving are characteristic of Burckhardt’s Cicerone and they can be found practically on every page in the section on antique architecture. Even though Burckhardt is no doubt referring to the natural human eye in the passage quoted, it is also a clear allusion to photography. Bernd Stiegler mentions the ophthalmologist Christian Theodor Georg Ruete, who in 1850 compared the “architecture” of the human eye to the mechanics of the camera obscura.65 It was indeed common in the nineteenth century not only to associate the human eye with the artificial eye of the camera, but also to consider the power of seeing in the camera obscura as much more superior. Samuel Morse, who contributed to the invention of the single-wired telegraph and the Morse code, met Daguerre on his travels in Europe and wrote a letter about the new invention of the daguerreotype and its superiority to the natural eye to the New York Observer on April 20, 1839: One of Mr. Daguerre’s plates is an impression of a spider. The spider was not bigger than the head of a large pin, but the image, magnified by the solar microscope to the size of the palm of the hand, having been impressed on the plate, and examined through a lens, was further magnified, and showed a minuteness of organization hitherto not seen to exist. You perceive how this discovery is, therefore, about to open a new field of research in the depth of microscopic nature. We are soon to see if the minute has discoverable limits. The naturalist is to have a new kingdom to explore, as much beyond the microscope as the microscope is beyond the naked eye.66

The daguerreotype embodies a potential tool for the natural sciences. Similar to the optical devices of the telescope, microscope, and magnifying glass, the photograph can also “widen” the horizon of the natural eye and make it more efficient. Morse considers the task of photography as one of supporting the natural sciences that can gain through the new medium a more scholarly, exact, and precise perspective. Whereas Burckhardt despised the scientific principles of positivism, it is nevertheless intriguing that his writing on historical monuments in Italy also shows traces of this “naturalist-positivist” fascination with the new medium 65 Stiegler mentions the ophthalmologist Christian Theodor Georg Ruete who in 1850 compared the “architecture” of the human eye with the mechanics of the camera obscura in his work Lehrbuch der Ophtalmologie für Ärzte und Studierende, Braunschweig: Vieweg, 1855, 176. See Bernd Stiegler, Philologie des Auges: Die photographische Entdeckung der Welt im 19. Jahrhundert, München: Fink, 2001, 56–57. 66 Helmut Gernsheim, The Origins of Photography, New York: Thames and Hudson, 1982, 87. I owe this reference to Buddemeier’s discussion of the contextualization of the daguerreotype in relation to positivism (Buddemeier, Panorama 80).

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common among natural scientists at that time. In the quoted passage about the temples in Paestum in the Cicerone, the narrator also suggests that the human eye is subject to deficiencies, illusions, and misperception. The eye needs the artful construction of the monument, e.g. the diminution of the column (“the narrowing of the column upward,” Burckhardt, Cicerone 14) should suggest a stable and correct vision (“it gives the eye assurance,” Burckhardt, Cicerone 14). The incompetence of the eye is compensated for by the simulation of a photographic gaze, which can register all kinds of minute details of the surface (“grooves,” Burckhardt, Cicerone 14) and texture (“delicate loose skin,” Burckhardt, Cicerone 14) of the column. These references suggest a gaze that surpasses the capability of the natural human eye, registering details that would remain unseen without a photographic lens. The passage evokes a picture that has the photographic quality of a close-up: the temple seems to appear right in front of the eye of the reader, flattened in a microscopic fashion focusing on isolated qualities. From a rhetorical point of view, we see again the ancient rhetorical technique of hypotyposis, now in a modern-photographical fashion. Burckhardt employs the device of hypotyposis within a new discourse of perception provided by the medium of photography, which expands the natural abilities of the human eye into areas such minute surface analysis. In this context, Burckhardt’s goal of giving an overview of the major cultural objects in Italy does not represent panoramic vistas, but rather a mosaic of many individual closeups. Burckhardt provides a narrow-focus perspective on the Paestum temple by zooming in on its details and highlighting small sections of it.67 This dissecting gaze on the art historical monuments stages a scientific-positivistic gaze that is focused on the surface and materiality of the objects. Thus, this gaze does not claim transcendent ideas of art or aim for an essentialist philosophy of art history, appropriately for Burckhardt’s attempt to rewrite art history against the aesthetic theories of German Idealism. In this respect the photographic gaze shows similarities to Roland Barthes’s ideas of photography.

Roland Barthes’s Theory of Photography Barthes had a life-long fascination with photography and wrote many essays about the medium. In his work Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography 67 Andrea Schütte discusses the connection between description and visuality, emphasizing the dynamic between spatiality and temporality in Burckhardt’s project of writing cultural history: “Bilder/Schreiben im Historismus Jacob Burckhardts,” Medien der Präsenz: Museum, Bildung, Wissenschaft im 19. Jahrhundert, eds. Jürgen Fohrmann, Andrea Schütte, and Wilhelm Voßkamp, Köln: DuMont, 2001, 170–184.

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(1980)68 he traces the reasons why this medium exerts such an attraction on him and seeks to “define” it. He proposes: “I was overcome by an ‘ontological desire’: I wanted to learn at all costs what photography was ‘in itself,’ by what essential feature it was to be distinguished from the community of images” (Barthes, Camera Lucida 3). Even though his contemplations conclude that the medium escapes definitions and that one cannot pinpoint its aesthetic essence, he provides some quite enlightening observations about this form of visual reproduction. One of photography’s defining principles is its power of authenticity, and Barthes notes: “The name of Photography’s noeme will therefore be: ‘That has been,’ or again: the Intractable” (Barthes, Camera Lucida 77). The noeme refers to the Greek word for meaning and thought and is, for example, used in Edmund Husserl’s phenomenology, which aims to perceive and understand the world beyond metaphysical categories and thus emphasizes modes of existence. Barthes often refers to the philosophical vocabulary of phenomenology when reflecting about photography, which could be indicative that his theory does not intend to rationalize the medium, but rather suggests a mode of photographic seeing and perceiving. The feature of “showing this has been” embodies such a way of seeing, since it highlights the materiality of objects without connecting them to a metaphysical horizon of meaning. This authority of the material, which photography is able to emphasize, might also have been one of the reasons why Burckhardt was so fascinated with the medium. The photographic images only showed the shape, form, material, surface, and structure of the art works without referencing the philosophical-idealistic narrative of art historical discourse. Burckhardt’s textual photographs in the Cicerone highlight this interest in the materiality of the objects and thus also reflect the gaze of the natural scientist who analyzed daguerreotypes enthusiastically with a magnifying glass. In this respect, Burckhardt’s “pictures” in the Cicerone are not so far away from the botanical photographs taken by the nineteenth-century British photographer Anna Atkins.69 Her photographs of plants, close-ups of seaweed or ferns foreground their shape, material, and structure, and dissect the individual parts of each object, while Burckhardt trains the photographic dissecting gaze onto architectural monuments, sculptures, and paintings. This dissecting gaze evacuates the conditions for the possibility of metaphysical claims and extracts the traces of the subject or subjectivity from the

68 Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography, trans. Richard Howard, New York: Hill and Wang, 1981. In the following cited as Camera Lucida within the main text. 69 I owe this insight to Stiegler, Philologie des Auges 353. For works by Anna Atkins, see Sun Gardens: Victorian Photograms, eds. Larry Schaaf and Hans Kraus, New York: Aperture, 1985.

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visual representation. Theoretical discourses on photography consider specifically the latter aspect as a decisive marker of the medium and often see the vanishing of the subject as an experience of death.70 Whereas in the context of botanic and zoological photography the disappearance and death of the subject is quite plausible, Barthes also observes this phenomenon for photography in general, specifically portrait photography. According to Barthes, photography can erase the life of the “subject,” which here refers to the subject reproduced on the photographs: In terms of image-repertoire, the Photograph (the one intended) represents that very subtle moment when, to tell the truth, I am neither subject nor object but a subject who feels he is becoming an object: I then experience a micro-version of death (of parenthesis): I am truly becoming a specter. (Barthes, Camera Lucida, 13–14)

Barthes suggests that the process of taking a picture petrifies the subject and thus turns the experience of being photographed into a process of mortification. The subject transforms into an object by striking a pose performing a type of mimicry. However, this merging with the object-world does not entail a potential of freedom, as Walter Benjamin and Theodor W. Adorno have suggested in their writings on mimesis. Rather, the photograph petrifies the subject via repetition and simultaneously anticipates the death of the subject, the absence of the body in the future. This mortifying aspect of photography was also the dominating theme in photographic discourses in the nineteenth century and many intellectuals, literary authors and philosophers were highly critical of Daguerre’s new invention.71 Symptomatic is the view of the literary author and cultural critic Georg Schirges, who saw the aspect of death in photography mostly in conjunction with the possibilities of aesthetic representation and poetic creation: This unfortunate invention of Mr. Daguerre breaks all art, makes the artist into mere machine, makes him, like a miller with his windmill, dependent on the weather, annihilates his creative genius, the progress, the greatness, and flattens his inner divine nature […].72

70 For the connection between photography and death, see Gerhard Plumpe, Der tote Blick: Zum Diskurs der Photographie in der Zeit des Realismus, München: Fink, 1990. 71 Christiane Arndt’s book Abschied von der Wirklichkeit: Probleme bei der Darstellung von Realität im deutschsprachigen Realismus, Freiburg: Rombach, 2009 discusses photographic aesthetics in the context of the literary works of German ninteenth-century realism. 72 “Diese unglückliche Erfindung des Herrn Daguerre bricht aller Kunst den Hals, macht den Künstler zur bloßen Maschine, macht ihn, wie einen Windmüller, abhängig von der Witterung, zernichtet in ihm das schöpferische Genie, den Fortschritt, die Größe, und verflacht seine innere göttliche Natur; […],” Georg Schirges, Das Lichtbild, Hamburg: n.p., 1844.

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Schirges’s negative attitude towards photography as an invention that can not only reduce the artist to a mere machine, but also destroy the artistic spirit, was not an unusual position in German literary circles during the mid-nineteenth century. Authors of Literary Realism such as Karl Gutzkow, Theodor Storm, and Theodor Fontane regarded the photographic reproduction of reality as an offense against what they viewed as the essential function of art. In their theoretical writings on aesthetics and photography, they emphasized that the literary representation of reality should aim to articulate ideal concepts such as the ideas of morality, beauty, and truth.73 For Fontane, for example, the aesthetic process is an activity in which the artist arranges carefully selected elements of reality within his or her aesthetic creation. The aesthetic representation of reality created through this process of selection, or to use his term, “transfiguration,” is not a naturalistic copy. Rather, the realist artwork is “the reflection of all real life, of all real forces and interests in the aesthetic element.”74 Through transfiguration the artwork can create a perspective on reality that highlights and emphasizes its ideal qualities. Many authors shared Fontane’s attitude towards aesthetics, and, particularly in their theoretical discussions on art, articulated their belief in the aesthetic paradigm of idealrealism. As a consequence, photography was often considered an anti-aesthetic medium. In fact, a common practice of this negative criticism was to describe an author’s work as a daguerreotype, implying that the literary representation lacked ideal aesthetic qualities such as beauty and truth.75 In contrast to the French movement of literary realism during the mid-nineteenth century, which explored the possibilities of photographic naturalism as constitutive for the aesthetic process, German literary authors insisted on the synthe-

73 All three authors commented on the relationship between photography and realist literature in their theoretical writings and letters: Karl Gutzkow, “Der Roman und die Arbeit,” Karl Gutzkow: Werke, Vol. 10, ed. Reinhold Gensel, Berlin: Bong, 1910, 138–41; Theodor Storm, “Brief an Erich Schmidt vom 14. April 1877,” Theodor Storm-Erich Schmidt: Briefwechsel, ed. Karl Ernst Laage, Berlin: Erich Schmidt, 1972, 40; Theodor Fontane, “Brief an Emilie Fontane vom 24. Juni 1881,” Theodor Fontane: Briefe, Vol. 1, ed. Karl Schreinert, Berlin: Propyläen, 1968, 154. 74 “die Widerspiegelung alles wirklichen Lebens, aller wahren Kräfte und Interessen im Elemente der Kunst,” Theodor Fontane, “Unsere lyrische und epische Poesie seit 1848,” Theodor Fontane: Sämtliche Werke, Vol. 21/1, ed. Edgar Gross, München: Nymphenburger Verlagshandlung, 1963, 12. 75 Stiegler mentions Otto Ludwig, Berthold Auerbach, and August Wilhelm Iffland as authors who have been criticized to only represent “daguerreotypes” of reality (Stiegler, Philologie des Auges 211–17).

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sis between realism and idealism as a condition of true art.76 At this point a short discussion about a piece of Adalbert Stifter’s literary prose should illustrate this “photograph-hostility” of authors of German Realism.77

Adalbert Stifter’s Photographic Aesthetics The Austrian literary author Adalbert Stifter expresses skepticism about the new medium of photography in a letter to Gustav Heckenast in 1857: I am a wholehearted enemy of photographs, they must be out of proportion because each lens only delivers true images, if the object is not in the depths of space, but in a plane, which is parallel to the lens width, and because every person, who is caught from the lens, petrifies in that moment, thus, he is not who is he is; although it is the photograph’s lack of life that moves the viewer.78

The quotation shows how well Stifter understands photography, since he reflects about its possibilities of perception, its potential to represent reality in disproportion, its effect of petrifaction, and its lack of “life.” Stifter clearly dislikes these qualities of representation, and the quotation articulates the common anti-photographic attitudes shared by many German realist authors. Despite his animosities about the medium, his prose nevertheless employs “photographic” strategies of representation in his writing, for example in his novel the Indian Summer (Nachsommer, 1857).79 The novel follows the life of the autodidact geologist and natural scientist Heinrich Drendorf. On one of his exploratory hikes, which take him from his Austrian hometown into the countryside, he meets the mansion owner Baron Risach, who slowly introduces him to his property, to his life style, and to his relationship with Mathilde 76 On the differences between German and French realism during the mid-nineteenth century see Stephan Kohl, Realismus: Theorie und Geschichte, München: Fink, 1977, 81–89; Gerhard Plumpe, Theorie des bürgerlichen Realismus, Stuttgart: Reclam, 1985, 185–209. 77 The following part on Adalbert Stifter is based on my article, “The Poetics of Collecting: Representing History in Adalbert Stifter’s Granit,” Modern Austrian Literature 40.1 (2007): 1–17. 78 “Im ganzen bin ich den Photographien feind, sie müssen außer Verhältnis sein, weil jede Sammellinse nur treue Bilder gibt, wenn der Gegenstand nicht in der Raumtiefe sondern in einer Ebene ist, die parallel der Linsenbreite ist, und weil jeder Mensch in dem Augenblicke, als er von der Linse gefangen wird, starr sein muss, also nicht er ist, wobei meistens der Mangel an Leben in den Photographieen rührt,” Adalbert Stifter, “Brief an Gustav Heckenast, 20. Juli 1857,” Sämtliche Werke, Vol. 19, ed. Gustav Wilhelm, Reichenberg: Kraus, 1919, 35. 79 Adalbert Stifter, Der Nachsommer: Eine Erzählung, Historisch-Kritische Gesamtausgabe, Vol. 4.1–4.3, eds. Wolfgang Frühwald and Walter Hettche, Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1997.

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Tarona. During the course of the novel Heinrich becomes more and more intimate with inhabitants of the mansion, and after many years he marries Tarona’s daughter Natalie. Stifter’s novel is mostly structured by passages of description interspersed with theoretical discourses on art and natural science as well as the observations of the protagonist. The action is kept to a minimum, and only approximately a third of the novel is concerned with narrating events, such as Heinrich’s education, his love for Natalie, the movement between the city and the village, and the change of the seasons. All these events have a repetitive universal structure, and they are programmed to happen again and again throughout the course of history. The more the protagonist Heinrich gets to know Risach’s world, the more he immerses himself into a motley collection of objects. Risach’s villa represents a museum-like treasury of numerous artifacts: jewelry, paintings, sculptures, coins, books, tapestries, precious furniture, and crafts from classical antiquity to the Middle Ages, the Baroque, and nineteenth-century Germany. The narrator depicts these treasures in a descriptive style that is highly reminiscent of Burckhardt’s passages in the Cicerone. Heinrich’s observations also concentrate on the surface of the objects, highlighting their composition, shape, and texture, as we see in the following passage on the interior design of Risach’s house: The floor was composed of the most colorful marble, which can be found in our mountains. The panels matched in such a fashion, that gaps between them were hardly to be seen, the marble was polished very fine and smoothened, and the colors were put together, that the floor looked like a lovely picture. Moreover, the floor shimmered in the light that streamed from the windows.80

Heinrich does not give an overview of the inner architecture of the house, which connects the floors to the other furniture and interior constructions. Like Burckhardt’s description, Heinrich’s resembles a close-up taken through a photographic lens, providing singular, isolated shots of the objects. The passage focuses on the surface of the floor, extracting its material (“marble”), texture (“polished very fined and smoothened”), and technique of craftsmanship. This emphasis on surface is reinforced through the description of lighting conditions, since the light falls through the windows and provides a sparkling shimmer on the floor. The scene has the atmosphere of a photo studio, in which the conditions of light are manipulated to illuminate the object’s specific 80 “Der Fußboden war aus dem farbigsten Marmor zusammengestellt, der in unseren Gebirgen zu finden ist. Die Tafeln griffen so ineinander, daß eine Fuge kaum zu erblicken war, der Marmor war sehr fein geschliffen und geglättet, und die Farben waren so zusammengestellt, daß der Fußboden wie ein liebliches Bild zu betrachten war. Überdies glänzte und schimmerte er noch in dem Lichte, das bei den Fenstern hereinströmte,” Stifter, Nachsommer 86.

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features that might otherwise remain invisible. However, this image does not suggest a “portrait” of the room or offer an overview of its interior design. Rather the quotation extracts the specific qualities of the floor, which in turn classifies the floor into a certain type. This description continues on cataloguing different artifacts in Risach’s mansion never lifting its “gaze” from the surface of the object to allow the narrator to address his readers or convey a subjective sensation. In contrast to Burckhardt, Stifter’s representations of artifacts neither interact with the recipient, nor do they trigger a dynamic mutual process of projecting and understanding the past. Like dead, untouchable monuments from the past, they suggest no traces of life. Rather, they freeze history into a timeless vacuum. This impression is reinforced by the fact that the inhabitants of the villa constantly dust the objects, wearing felt shoes to protect the art pieces in their original state, and conserve them as long as possible. Stifter’s photographic close-ups of cultural objects de-subjectivize history; they become components of a large historical archive project. Stifter’s text connects in many ways to the aspects of death and loss of subjectivity articulated in Barthes’s theory on photography and thus decisively differs from Burckhardt’s negotiations with the medium.

Living Monuments Barthes’s theory of photography does not condone completely the lament of the German Realist authors about the loss of life, aesthetic creation, and idealism. Research on the aspect of death in Barthes’s photographic aesthetics often overlooks the fact that he gives a very “life-affirming” and constructive perspective on how one can read, see, interpret, and interact with photographs. Barthes’s thoughts on the reception of photographs are in my assessment of greater importance than his analysis of the photographed subject. He highlights the moment of taking the picture, and, in doing so, emphasizes the aspects of presence, life, and an element of the dialogic. According to Barthes, there are certain pictures that can animate, touch the viewer; they act as invitations to contemplate: In this glum desert, suddenly a specific photograph reaches me; it animates me, and I animate it. So that is how I must name the attraction which makes it exist: an animation. The photograph itself is in no ways animated (I do not believe in lifelike photographs), but it animates me: this is what creates adventure. (Barthes, Camera Lucida 20)

Photographs have the ability to speak and to communicate with the viewer; however, not all pictures are able to do that and a specific mode of perception

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is necessary to evoke this effect. This is not the mode of what Barthes terms the studium, a contextualization into a cultural discourse that historicizes, and processes pictures as “classical information.”81 Barthes suggests a different perspective to the interpretation of photographs, namely that of punctum, which is less an approach than a kind of reaction triggered by photographs: This second element which will disturb the studium I shall therefore call punctum; for punctum is also: sting, speck, cut, little hole – and also a cast of the dice. A photograph’s punctum is that accident which pricks me (but also bruises me, is poignant to me). (Barthes, Camera Lucida 27)

The aspect of punctum represents a certain focus point on the picture, which does not place the picture into historical or cultural narrative, but rather crystallizes an aspect of contingency; it signifies something random, outside an established (popular) discourse of knowledge. The punctum highlights a detail, which invites the viewer to reflect, observe, and contemplate in non-logical, non-conventional, and spontaneous modes: “I am a primitive, a child – or a maniac; I dismiss all knowledge, all culture, I refuse to inherit anything from another eye than my own” (Barthes, Camera Lucida 51). The concept of the punctum projects a constructive view on photographic perception, which can train an “other” understanding of culture: a gaze from outside, against the traditions of making sense via grand narratives and ideological contextualization. Barthes’s discussion of the relationship between photography and death as well as his distinction between punctum and studium has inspired scholarship on photography and the representation of the historical trauma. Marianne Hirsch, for example, considers in her study on Holocaust photographs the punctum in a photograph as a trajectory for “productive look of heteropathic identification.”82 The punctum opens a specific type of second-generation memory, which is characterized by belatedness and displacement. I interpret the punctum in Burckhardt’s photographs less as departure point for traumatic memory, but rather as dialogic moment with the past interrupting constructions of historical linearity and continuity.

81 Barthes notes about the concept of studium: “The first [studium], obviously, is an extent, it has the extension of a field, which I perceive quite familiarly as a consequence of my knowledge, my culture; this field can be more or less stylized, more or less successful, depending on the photographer’s skill or luck, but it always refers to a classical body of information […].” Barthes, Camera Lucida 25–26. 82 See Marianne Hirsch, “Projected Memory: Holocaust Photographs in Personal and Public Fantasy,” Acts of Memory: Cultural Recall in the Present, eds. Mieke Bal, Jonathan Crewe, and Leo Spitzer, Hanover: Dartmouth College Press, 1999, 10.

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Even though Burckhardt’s photographic gaze as exemplified in the Cicerone might not be as radical and as revolutionary as Barthes’s model, there are some similarities to the tenets of his theory. Rather than joining the skeptical approach towards photography of German intellectuals of his time, Burckhardt articulates constructive views on photography, focusing specifically on the way in which photographic images (including his “textual” photographs in the Cicerone) could interact with, indeed animate the reader. Let’s return to the Cicerone and to the chapter on the temples and architecture of Paestum. In addition to the microscopic view, one can also find this dimension of life and animation. In the quoted passage about the surface of the temple in Paestum, one can find a sentence about the lines of the columns: “But nowhere in the whole building or in the column are the lines mathematically hard; moreover, a slight swelling sheds light on their inner creative life most beautifully.”83 Burckhardt describes the lines as an organic formation evoking a “slight swelling,” suggesting that the column has the quality of a human or animal skin, whose swelling indicates the pulsation of life. How was this monument enlivened? The viewer plays a central role in this process since he or she has the capacity to “awaken” these objects and animate them. The viewer has to be understood as the aforementioned perceiving subject (referred to within Burckhardt’s texts as “the eye”) as well as the actual reader of his works. The quotation suggests that the eye of the viewer is able to interact with the monument and is even able to bring it to speak and respond. The following quotation from the Cicerone makes this interactive dynamic even more explicit: Of the three remaining temples of the ancient Poseidon, the eye seeks longingly the largest, the middle part. It is the sanctuary of Poseidon; the blue sea shimmers from afar through the open halls of ruins, […] What the eye sees here and in other Greek buildings are not mere stones, but living beings.84

As in the previous quotation from the Cicerone, this passage also centers on the eye as it interacts with the monuments it observes. The verbs “to seek” and “to see” suggest that this is not the inanimate glance of the camera, but rather an anticipatory, longing, and active gaze. And the anticipation is rewarded: the monuments are able to look back as “living beings.” Indeed, 83 “Die Linien aber sind wie im ganzen Bau nirgends, so auch in der Säule nicht mathematisch hart; vielmehr gibt eine leise Anschwellung das innere schaffende Leben derselben auf das Schönste zu erkennen,” Burckhardt, Cicerone 14. 84 “Von den drei erhaltenen Tempeln der alten Poseidonia sucht das Auge sehnsüchtig den grössten, mittlern. Es ist Poseidons Heiligthum; durch die offenen Trümmerhallen schimmert von fern das blaue Meer. […] Was das Auge hier und an anderen griechischen Bauten erblickt, sind eben keine blossen Steine, sondern lebende Wesen,” Burckhardt, Der Cicerone 13.

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Burckhardt has achieved the stylistic goal formulated in his preface, in which he states that he intends to show “outlines […], which could vitalize the feelings of the spectator with a lively sentiment.”85 The recipient should feel as if he or she is directly observing the artifact. In other words, even though Burckhardt’s descriptions isolate features in a photographic style, his texts also display a type of affect that perhaps Barthes had in mind when he wrote about the punctum. His writing suggests that the representation of monuments is highly dependent on the constructive activity of the recipient, who can make them live and “speak” to a present audience. Burckhardt’s postulation of a recipient who is able to bring the monuments to life counteracts the de-subjectifying effects of photography. His positioning of the recipient evokes – or at least expects – realist effects. As Barthes suggests in his essay “The Reality Effect,” these effects are moments of referentiality based on the use of specific rhetorical strategies.86 Historical novels, for instance, integrate historical documents into the literary body of the text in order to intensify the text’s referentiality to the world outside of the text. This intensification of referentiality increases the impression of the authenticity of the text. One of the primary media for evoking realist effects is photography, because its main function is to convey the impression of “this is how it has been” and it thus works as an agent to endorse authenticity. Endowing the monuments in the Cicerone with life through interaction with the reader, Burckhardt’s text intensifies its simulation of authenticity. However, this effect is not gained solely through a naturalistic copy of reality, but rather through the text’s emphasis on its dependency on the viewer or reader. The text does not simply describe reality. It re-creates a moment of life in an aestheticmimetic process that takes place within the reader’s perception. Through this dynamic between monuments and recipient, Burckhardt emphasizes a model of cultural history that suggests a close link to the present time and the context of the reader. Since the interpretative process that Burckhardt desires for his text is highly dependent on the reader’s constructive effort, his representations of cultural history do not envision a sealed archive of collected objects, untouchable by the course of history. By using these “realist effects,” the Cicerone suggests that the representation and understanding of cultural history is highly dependent on the idea of an active, living experience, which is re-created during the process of reception. Burckhardt aims to produce a text which

85 “Umrisse […], welche das Gefühl des Beschauers mit lebendiger Empfindung ausfüllen könnte,” Burckhardt, Der Cicerone 4. 86 Roland Barthes, “The Reality Effect,” The Rustle of Language, trans. Richard Howard, Oxford, UK: Basil Blackwell, 1986, 141–148.

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enables the reader to relive the past, imagining himself or herself as a present participant in this historical epoch. Cultural history, then, is no longer a subject accessible only to scholars in dusty archives; rather, it gains the quality of a subjective, “living” experience constructed by the actual reading subject. Photography for Burckhardt embodies a medium that can facilitate communication about the past and be conducive to experiencing and understanding the present. In his letters to his friend Max Alioth, he notes: “Just wait, I will bring to you a very modest, but evocative photograph, the side view of the staircase of Palazzo Madama in Turin!”87 This reference mentions that the photograph is not of a high value, but that it can speak. It can communicate about the past and has relevance for the presence. For Burckhardt, photographs do not de-subjectify the viewer or freeze cultural monuments into a lifeless state. On the contrary, they are means that foster an exchange about art and can connect art with the present. Indeed, they also require contemplation, a reception mode reserved only for high art: “Meanwhile, the cabinet maker Fuchs in Basel works on my ordered new furniture for my photograph collection, and my soul already immerses itself with great longing into the image of the entirety of my whole photograph collection.”88 The idea that photographs are pictures that invite contemplation goes against the view on photography held by many literary authors, academic (art) historians, and intellectuals. Burckhardt’s idea of photographs as means of contemplation implies that they require a reception based on reflection. The Cicerone imitates the aesthetics of photography both structurally and stylistically. It suggests the shape of a textual image atlas, in which the reader can perceive art history under the auspices of the visual. Photographic aesthetics not only complies with Burckhardt’s approach on art history, in which he promotes a comparative analysis. It also supports his goal of focusing on the concrete materiality of art pieces achieved via photographic description. The Cicerone’s similarities to photographic aesthetics show that Burckhardt rates photographs in a much more optimistic way than his contemporaries: he saw in photography a form of living aesthetic memory which can counteract the crisis of forgetting he considered as a signature of modern times. 87 “Warten Sie nur, ich bringe für sie eine nur geringe, aber sprechende Photographie mit, die Seitenansicht der Treppe vom Palazzo Madama in Turin!” Burckhardt, “674. An Max Alioth Rom Freitag 16. April 1875,” Briefe, Vol. 6, 29–30. 88 “Inzwischen arbeitet in Basel der Schreiner Fuchs an genau bestellten neuen Möbeln für meine Photographiensammlung, und in das Bild des Ganzen meines Besitzes von Abbildungen versenkt sich jetzt schon meine Seele mit gründlichem Verlangen,” Burckhardt, “1394. An Robert Grüninger, Baden-Baden, Verenahof, Sonntag 7. August 1892,” Briefe, Vol. 10, 46.

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Photography as Cultural Memory Burckhardt intended to conserve art of ancient times, and he hoped that by means of the study and enjoyment of ancient culture, modern society could be prevented from drifting into barbarism. As mentioned previously, he understood modern society as a culmination of crisis and alienation, a condition in which imperialism, nationalism, and democratization led the individual into a state of alienation. Sigurdson points out that Burckhardt can be seen as an “astute political”89 thinker, and whereas he gives convincing arguments that Burckhardt’s writings articulate a theory of state, freedom, and society, it is important to note that he developed these political categories from the perspective of the “aesthetic” realm. Burckhardt pins his hopes on aesthetics and culture, particularly the age of Greek classicism, which he often refers as the Golden Age of history and culture. Through memorizing the culture of the past, the arts of painting, sculpture, and architecture, Burckhardt hoped to save modern society. Even though he never aimed to instrumentalize art as a rational tool of political enlightenment, he believed (according to the tradition of German Idealism) in the therapeutic potential of art to prevent a further decline of humanity. Memorizing ancient culture was a way to create historical continuity with the past; cultural treasures of the past could disappear and vanish. The loss of cultural monuments would thus erase the basis of Burckhardt’s aesthetic restoration and education project. If art works vanish (due to wars, accidents or climate changes) society will no longer be able to remember its cultural ideals and is doomed to decline. Burckhardt’s writings offer the idea that photography could prevent this downturn, and particularly in his later years, he articulated his great hopes for this modern medium: But for those who think a little further ahead the truly providential mission of photography for the transmission of art history to the coming generations can no longer be a secret. Benefitting from improved and more complete methods photography should be used every day. Photography can help the future to avoid a relapse into barbarism.90

89 Sigurdson, Jacob Burckhardt’s Political Thought 221–226. 90 “Wer aber etwas weiter voraus denken will, dem kann die wahrhaft providentielle Sendung der Photographie für die Überlieferung der ganzen vergangen Kunst an die kommenden Geschlechter kein Geheimnis mehr sein. Möge sie in immer mächtigeren und vollkommeneren Methode wirkend jeden hellen und lichten Tag ausnutzen. Sie kann der Zukunft dem Rückfall in die Barbarei entsagen helfen,” Burckhardt, “Textkritische Anmerkungen Die Sammler,” Jacob Burckhardt Werke: Kritische Gesamtausgabe, Vol. 6, eds. Stella von Boch, Johannes Hartau, Kerstin Hengevoss Dürkop, and Martin Warnke, München/Stuttgart: Beck/Schwabe, 2000, 542.

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Photography can help to preserve cultural treasures that are threatening to disappear and the passage even employs religious metaphors (“providential mission”) to underscore photography’s task of saving society from the fall into barbarism. Photography represents a substitute for the originals and it can have the same impact as an original painting. Even though, as his travels to the locations of the originals proves, Burckhardt preferred to see the original work, the passage points to photography as a medium that can speak the same language as the “original” work. Photography can store the spirit of the great artists and prevent the decline of high culture, and Burckhardt’s photographic collection and photographic aesthetics can be interpreted as a storage place, against the forgetting of ancient beauty and life, which can thus preserve the continuity of history. His positive evaluation of photography creates a paradox in regards to his lament about modern society. Whereas he considers the acceleration of reproduction, newspapers, and other mass media as the trigger that fosters a culture of forgetting, photography, as a modern media of information per se, can also preserve the memory of the past. The in many ways rather dubious world of today has also its particular advantages: in a few years, cheap photographs, which can be also be good, will help to record all memories, just as the classics of all literature and the piano scores of all great composers will be accessible in a manner that was unthinkable in the times of our youth.91

Burckhardt hints in an almost uncanny way at the possibilities of aesthetic reproduction in the twentieth century, in which literature, music and art acquire a high degree of accessibility. However, Burckhardt does not condemn this medial development, but rather considers it as a positive and constructive mode of interacting with the cultural past. Even though the art historian does not suggest that photographs can save the world, he considers as useful insofar as they can help to counteract forgetting. Burckhardt’s negotiations with photography connect to Siegfried Kracauer’s theories on photography articulated in his essay Photography (Die Photographie, 1927). This essay suggests that photography can store “time” in a kind of spatial continuum. However, this storage space or archive does not order time, but rather presents culture in a state of disorder, contingency, and randomness. Like Burckhardt’s idea of the image, which allows the beginning 91 “Auch hat das in so manchem Betracht eher bedenkliche heutige Weltalter auch seine besondern Vortheile: bis in einigen Jahren werden wohlfeile Photographien welche zugleich gut sein können, alle Erinnerungen festhalten helfen, gerade wie die Classiker aller Literaturen und die Clavierauszüge aller großen Componisten auf eine Weise zugänglich werden von welcher zu den Zeiten unserer Jugend nicht von ferne die Rede war,” Burckhardt, “An Adolf Keller, Basel, 31. August 1894,” Briefe, Vol. 10, 183.

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of a process of interpretation “somewhere,” the photographs according to Kracauer can highlight details, fragments, and remnants of culture: “The photographic archive assembles in effigy the last elements of a nature alienated from meaning. This warehousing of nature promotes the confrontation of consciousness with nature.”92 Photographs have the ability to suggest a mode of perception that can point to the alienation of modern society, since they facilitate a view on the materiality and nature that subverts an ideological (for Kracauer, historicist) narrative of history. Even though Burckhardt’s and Kracauer’s political positions diverge, they nevertheless share ideas about the potential of photography. Burckhardt’s musings about the medium did not develop into a Marxist critique of capitalism, but nevertheless, he too hoped that photographs could bring back a focus on the materiality of the culture and an interactive, creative, vitalizing mode on the part of the viewer. According to Burckhardt, photographs can “speak” and communicate, as well as invite contemplation, aspects that are usually associated with the original. This optimistic view on photography is quite revolutionary in the context of opinions on photography among intellectuals during his time. Even though there were pioneers, such as the British art critic and literary author John Ruskin and the Italian art historian Giovanni Morelli, photography was often viewed with great skepticism. Many art historians, including Burckhardt’s student Heinrich Wölfflin, doubted the power of the medium and criticized its potential to contort the proportions of the art work, as well as its true aesthetic values. They considered copperplate engravings as the more adequate medium to convey the art work’s beauty and aesthetic value. There is no doubt that photography played an important role in Burckhardt’s life, and a discussion of the “photographic aesthetics” of his writings sheds new light on his work. Highlighting his passion for collecting photographs creates a different image of the famous art historian, since he is still often portrayed as the enemy of any modern innovation, the highly cultured aesthete despising any form of mass media, and the cultural pessimist who finds himself reflected in Arthur Schopenhauer’s philosophy. Showing that Burckhardt was enthusiastic about photography changes this view and characterizes him as a researcher who was open to the technical innovations of his time.

92 Siefried Kracauer, “Photography,” The Mass Ornament: Weimar Essays, ed. and trans. Thomas Y. Levin, Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1995, 47–63, 62; “Das photographische Archiv versammelt im Abbild die letzten Elemente der dem Gemeinten entfremdeten Natur. Durch ihre Einmagazinierung wird die Auseinandersetzung des Bewusstseins mit der Natur gefördert,” Siegfried Kracauer, “Die Photographie,” Das Ornament der Masse, Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1977, 21–39, 38.

Part III: Illustrated History Books Images have been used to illustrate historical events ever since mankind started to record the past for the coming generations.1 The famous Bayeux tapestry of the Middles Ages shows the history of the Norman conquest of England in 1066 via images on embroidery. In the sixteenth- and seventeenth centuries, French and Italian histories incorporated portraits of monarchs and other aristocrats into the written text. In Germany illustrated history books were produced during the seventeenth century. Matthäus Merian created the chronicle The Theater of Europeans (Theatrum Europeum, 1643), which represents pre-modern European history by means of illustrations, maps and topographies. The frontispiece of the chronicle shows a globe lit by the eye of God; the illumination of the earth displays an understanding of history based on Christian eschatology.2 In Merian’s work, history incorporates the expression of the events and ideas of the Bible, and the historical illustration gains an exemplary and typological quality. In the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, illustrators in Germany broke with this tradition. Under the influence of the eighteenth-century historian Johann Martin Chladenius and his idea of the relativity of the historical perspective, historiographies tended to portray the historical event as unique and individual. Johann Matthias Schröckh’s Universal World History for Children (Allgemeine Weltgeschichte für Kinder, 1792),3 for example, aims to reach a larger younger audience and is based on pedagogical intentions. Its illustrations are meant to show historical events within a personalized and intimate setting, which in turn should have the effect of bringing history closer into the world of the individual reader. This trend to portray history under the auspices of individuality can be also found in Johann Wilhelm von Archenholz’s historiography on the Seven Years’ War.4 The painter and drawer Daniel Niklaus Chodowiecki illustrated his work and portrayed the historical events through lively, dramatic, and individualized scenes. 1 For a comprehensive history of historical illustration, see Francis Haskell, History and its Images: Art and the Interpretation of the Past, New Haven: Yale UP, 1993. 2 For more information on Johann Martin Chladenius, see Hans Jakob Meier, Die Buchillustration des 18. Jahrhunderts und die Auflösung des überlieferten Historienbildes, München: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 1994, 27–31. 3 Johann Matthias Schröckh, Allgemeine Weltgeschichte für Kinder, Leipzig: Weidmann und Reich, 1783. 4 For Archenholz’s historiography, see Stephan Jaeger, Performative Geschichtsschreibung: Forster, Herder, Schiller, Archenholz und die Brüder Schlegel, Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2011, 263–310.

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Whereas illustration of literary works, such as novels, dramas, and poems prospered in the beginning of the nineteenth century, the production of illustrated history books, however, was rather low.5 Within the rise of scholarly historicism, they were often seen as unprofessional, trivial and unscholarly. In contrast to France, where historiography was written by “romantic” historiographers, such as Augustin Thierry, Amable Guillaume Prosper Brugière de Barante, and Jules Michelet who used many illustrations, German academic historians tended to avoid illustration.6 With the increase of French illustrated history books, however, this situation also changed in Germany, and the genre began to prosper in the 1840s. It may have been the case that the Napoleon cult in France during that time had an influence upon the amplified production of illustrated history books in Germany. But most probably it was the trend to popularize historical knowledge that led to this change. Academic historicism began to serve the general education and, thus, popular works on history used illustration to optimize access and sales numbers. Illustrated history books were no longer focused on Bible scenes or the time of antiquity. Instead, they focused on national historiography. Johann Sporschil’s The Great Chronique: History of the War of European Allies Against Napoleon Bonaparte, in the years of 1813, 1814 and 1815 (Die große Chronik: Geschichte des Krieges des Verbündeten Europas gegen Napoleon Bonaparte, in den Jahren 1813, 1814 und 1815)7 published in 1841 embodies a good example of this national education project. This illustrated history book – addressed to a larger public audience – utilizes the Wars of Liberation as a key moment in writing national German history. Since it employed steel etchings for visual reproduction, it was not able to be reproduced on the same mass scale as later illustrated history books. Nevertheless, this book already shows the shift in representation that was typical

5 Karl Riha, “Bilderliteratur,” Buchillustration im 19. Jahrhundert, ed. Regine Timm, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1988, 47–66; Günter Häntzschel, “Gedichte und Illustrationen in Anthologien und Prachtausgaben des 19. Jahrhunderts: Das Beispiel Heinrich Heine,” Buchillustration im 19. Jahrhundert 67–85. 6 France had a much greater visual historical culture during the eighteenth- and nineteenth centuries. For a discussion of the French tradition of book illustration, see Viola Düwert, Geschichte als Bildergeschichte: Napoleon und Friedrich der Große in der Buchillustration um 1840, Weimar: Verlag und Datenbank für Geisteswissenschaften, 1997, 21–126; Dorothee Entrup, Adolph Menzels Illustrationen zu Franz Kuglers Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen: Ein Beitrag zur stilistischen und historischen Bewertung der Kunst des jungen Menzel, Weimar: Verlag und Datenbank für Geisteswissenschaften, 1995, 173–232; Maurice Samuels, The Spectacular Past: Popular History and the Novel in Nineteenth-Century France, Ithaca: Cornell UP, 2004. 7 Johann Sporschil, Die große Chronik: Geschichte des Krieges des Verbündeten Europas gegen Napoleon Bonaparte, in den Jahren 1813, 1814 und 1815, Braunschweig: Verlag von Georg Westermann, 1841.

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for the nineteenth century: the focus on conveying an individual “experience” of the historical events addressed to a mass bourgeois audience. Beginning in the 1840s more and more illustrated history books were produced in Germany, and one of their favorite topics was the Prussian king Frederick II. The 100th anniversary of Frederick II’s accession to the throne in 1740 was celebrated by multi-media commemorations: novels about the king, statues, musical compositions, and paintings about the life of Frederick II were rife in this period, all designed to contribute to the popular celebration of the era of the Prussian monarch.8 Amidst these textual, visual, and aural forms of remembering, many illustrated history books about the king were written.9 Most of these historical accounts were biographically structured and often used illustrations to highlight Frederick II’s career; a trend that would continue into the twentieth century.10 One of the most famous illustrated history books is Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel’s History of Frederick the Great (Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen) published in 1842.11 Kugler and Menzel’s book represents an excellent example of how the past was popularized through visual media in nineteenth-century Germany.12 The first section of this part demonstrates that Menzel’s images can gain an autonomous visual power: they make sense out of history by not telling a single grand narrative. They represent the past under the auspices of visuality. This visual representation of history suggests a dimension of space. On the one hand, it can construct the past by a form of bourgeois spacializing, a concept of space that is derived from Martina Löw’s sociology of space, and on the other hand demonstrate a geographical configuration. These two spatial dimensions of history are closely related, and my analysis examines how they construct national history based on criteria often overlooked in the texts of national historicism: “social spacializing,” natural determinism, and environmentalism. Particularly the latter aspect, 8 For a further expansion of the Frederick cult during the 1830s and 1840s, see Brent Orlyn Peterson, History, Fiction, and Germany: Writing the Nineteenth-Century Nation, Detroit, Michigan: Wayne State U P, 2005, 97–145. 9 The works by the eighteenth-century historians Karl von Rotteck, Friedrich Christoph Schlosser, and Johann David Erdmann Preuss are exemplary. For more information on eighteenth-century historiography about Frederick II, see Hans Dollinger, Friedrich II. von Preußen: Sein Bild im Wandel von zwei Jahrhunderten, München: List, 1986, 115–136 10 For the change of the image of Frederick II from the nineteenth century to the twentieth century, see Dollinger 115–216. 11 Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel, Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen, Leipzig: Hermann Mendelsohn, 1876. In the following quoted as History of Frederick the Great within the main text. 12 See also Kathrin Maurer, “Visualizing the Past: The Power of the Image in Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel’s Illustrated History Book Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen (1842),” Germanic Review 87.2 (2012): 103–122.

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environmentalism, becomes crucial for the sections that analyze the shaping of the German national past in “Hausbücher,” a type of handbook on Prussian history as well as in illustrated history books on the German colonies. These sections demonstrate that aspects of historical environmentalism and climate theory are utilized in a national and global context by academic historians to legitimatize imperialist state ideologies.

Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel’s History of Frederick the Great (1842) The publishers of the History of Frederick the Great, Carl Berendt Lorck and Johann Jakob Weber, had already very successfully published the German translation of the French illustrated history book History of the Emperor Napoleon (Histoire de l’Empereur Napoléon, 1839), written by Paul Mathieu Laurent de L’Ardèche and illustrated by Horace Vernet.13 During the 1830s these two German publishers aimed to produce a book of similar design devoted to a German historical figure. Frederick II was not as popular a figure as Napoleon, but during the 1840s, the period of the 100th anniversary of his accession to the throne, his image began to evolve into a national icon. During this renaissance of Frederick II, an illustrated history book on the Prussian king seemed to be a project that would attract a large readership.14 In 1838 Lorck and Weber asked the art historian Franz Kugler if he would be interested in writing the text for a biography of the Prussian king. At the time Kugler was the cultural administrator for the Prussian state, wrote on art history, taught at the University of Berlin, and was a teacher of Jacob Burckhardt. One reason for the publishers contacting Kugler was their belief that he would agree with this idea to write a popular version of Prussian history. Indeed, Kugler responded that he would be very interested in writing a history book on Frederick II “[…] in a noble, but folksy tone – a popular book, a common property for all ranks, providing that latter are not completely outside

13 The French text published by J.J. Dubochet in 1838–39 in Paris. In German translation: Paul Mathieu Laurent de l’Ardèche, Geschichte des Kaisers Napoleon, Leipzig: Weber, 1839. 14 When the book first came on the market in 1842, the sales figures were rather low. However, the many editions in the following decades (the book is still in print today) made it into an extraordinary publishing success. For the history of reception of the Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen, see Entrup, Adolph Menzels Illustrationen 114–121.

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the educated class.”15 Kugler agreed with the intention of the publishers to popularize the history of Frederick the Great, which in turn led to a contract between them: Kugler was “employed” to write Frederick’s life story and he was in need for an illustrator. Kugler recommended the German painter and printmaker Adolph Menzel. Known for his historical oil paintings of the Prussian regime, Menzel is famous for works that satisfied the public’s taste and supported the continual expansion of Prussia’s power throughout the nineteenth century. Despite Menzel’s reputation as the “Prussian painter,” many of his paintings, particularly his later works, often displayed ambivalence about and criticism of the regime.16 In 1839, however, the twenty-three year old Menzel was not yet famous and had only run his father’s lithography work shop. The work with Kugler provided Menzel with the opportunity to establish his reputation as an artist. As their preface to the book demonstrates, Kugler and Menzel shared the intention to represent Frederick II’s life as a vehicle for national identification for a larger audience. The book has the dedication “To the friends of the fatherland.”17 In the preface, they suggest that Frederick II’s era should be portrayed as exemplary for the national power of Germany and that Prussia is the true heir to the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation. The book exudes a proPrussian attitude, backing the militaristic and aggressive power politics of the regime. The final sentence of the preface sums up this intention: “We hope that this book succeeds in fostering a vivid interest in Frederick today and thus nurture the love for the fatherland!”18 The idea of “interest” is central for the project (the German word “Teilnahme” is used and emphasizes the implication of “participation” or “investment”). The book pointedly portrays Prussia’s past as a national project and fosters the idea of building a German nation state under Prussian leadership. In their view, national movements in the mid-nineteenth century should identify with the national policies of the Prussian king. This attitude was not an unproblematic undertaking, because the monarch would not necessarily have agreed with the politics of Romantic nationalism

15 “Darstellung […], welche – in einem edel volksthümlichen Tone gehalten – ein Volksbuch, ein Gemeingut aller Stände werde, sofern die letzteren nicht etwa gänzlich außerhalb der Kreise der Bildung stehen,” Letter from Kugler to Weber (Februar 1839), Neue Rundschau (1911): 1723. Cited after Entrup, Adolph Menzels Illustrationen 19. 16 Hubertus Kohle, Adolph Menzels Friedrich-Bilder: Theorie und Praxis der Geschichtsmalerei im Berlin der 1850er Jahre, München/Berlin: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 2001. 17 “Den Freunden des Vaterlands,” Kugler/Menzel, Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen V. 18 “Möge es denn diesem Buch beschieden sein, die Theilnahme für Friedrich auch heute im weitesten Kreise lebendig zu erhalten und hierdurch der Liebe zum Vaterlande neue Nahrung zu gewähren!” Kugler/Menzel, Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen VIII.

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and liberalism. In order to win readers for their political and national ambitions, Kugler and Menzel aimed to actively integrate the reader into the era of Frederick the Great. They did not plan to convey a stylized Ancient hero along the lines of many French illustrated history books on Napoleon that showed the French ruler in the fashion of a Roman emperor. Rather Kugler and Menzel wanted to show Frederick II as a unpretentious hero, tailored for a bourgeois audience. The eighteenth-century historiographer Johann Wilhelm von Archenholz and illustrator Daniel Nikolaus Chodowiecki had already attempted to portray Frederick II as a “human” king in the 1700s. Chodowieki, who worked with German literary author Gotthold Ephraim Lessing’s theory of drama as a constitutive model for his own drawings of people, focused on emotion, affects, and sentiments.19 As my close analysis of Menzel’s illustrations show, his style of personalizing and dramatizing the representation of the king is deeply indebted to Chodowieki’s work: with the decisive difference, however, that Kugler and Menzel insisted upon writing a popular and a scholarly book. Both Kugler and Menzel describe their work in ways similar to how academic historians characterize their research: […] we believe that the sheer depiction of the facts, […] should suffice to attract your attention. By means of word and image we have tried to shape this work as graphic as possible, so that the man and his era will become alive in front of your eyes.20

Like historian Leopold von Ranke, they emphasize that they want only to show the facts, and that they repudiate poetic embellishment. They intend to write in a vivid and accessible style and aim to capture the reader’s attention, but at the same time aspire to be professional and scholarly. Menzel emphasizes in his foreword that he conducted many in-depth scholarly studies to prepare himself for the book illustrations. He mentions that he sought out collections of images to learn about fashion, military uniforms, and architecture and that he “copied” from oil paintings and copper engravings. Kugler and Menzel’s book contains over 400 illustrations. They can be divided into four categories: title illustrations for the four volumes, initial letters for every chapter, vignettes in the beginning and end of each chapter, and illustrations within the text.

19 Menzel also often portrays Frederik as an emotional person who not only can be fearless in the heat of the battle, but also can shed a tear over beautiful music and literature. 20 “[…] wir glaubten, dass die Schilderung der Thatsachen, […] schon an sich genügen dürften, um Eure Teilnahme zu fesseln. Wir haben uns nur bemüht, hierin, durch Wort und durch Bild, so anschaulich wie möglich zu verfahren, auf dass der Mann und seine Zeit Euren Blicken aufs Neue gegenwärtig werde,” Kugler/Menzel, Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen VIII.

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Even though Menzel inserts some allegories and still-lifes (mostly as vignettes and initial letters), his main focus lies in the illustrations within the text. Kugler also thoroughly researched sources on Prussian history for his project. As a devoted supporter of Prussia and an academic himself, Kugler was well versed in analyzing the sources of Prussian history and he studied works about Frederick II by contemporary historians.21 Kugler also reflected on the narrative form and style of his oeuvre: “Above all the narrative should be simple. As little reasoning as possible; as few interjections as possible! But they should be arranged in a fashion, that, when the events begin to rush, the reader is carried away.”22 Kugler wants to write history as a story which unfolds the events and he does not intend to teach any lessons, but rather let the educational message evolve within the natural flow of the narrative. Similar to historical novels as well as to Ranke’s ideas about conveying historical events, Kugler wants to give the impression that history tells itself. He mostly used the form of parataxis, which in turn made the narrative accessible and thus agreeable with the idea of writing a history for the people. Kugler structured the narrative in 4 volumes (all integrated in one book) and 44 chapters. The book begins with the birth, childhood, and youth of Frederick II, the second volume shows his first political actions independently from his father. Volume 3 describes the Seven Year’ War and the expansion of Prussia. Volume 4 is devoted to the final years of the king and the incipient decline of his Prussian empire. Kugler’s text follows Frederick II’s life as if it were a classical Bildungsroman, narrating the protagonist’s gradual progression to maturity and the improvement of his moral character. In order to demonstrate the development of the Prussian king, the narrative tells the events in a linear fashion. The beginning and the end of Frederick II’s life are the frames for a progressive development towards the goal of a unified German nation state. This teleological mode of narrative representation shapes Kugler’s text into a grand narrative; a story that is based on a strong historical individual, a hero who leads, controls, and steers “history.” In addition to this grand narrative format there are also plenty of anecdotes included in Kugler’s text. These relate details about Frederick II’s life. Since the genre of the anecdote is supposed to convey personal and intimate knowledge, it represents a suitable strategy to “personalize” the king, 21 Entrup mentions Friedrich Ludwig Georg Raumer, Christian Friedrich Nicolai, and Karl Friedrich Reiche (Entrup, Adolph Menzels Illustrationen 49–52). 22 “Vor allem möglichst einfache Erzählung, möglichst wenig Raisonnement, möglichst wenig Interjectionen! Aber eine solche Anordnung, daß, wenn sich die Begebenheiten sich zu überstürzen beginnen, der Leser unwillkührlich mit [fort] gerissen wird,” Letter from Kugler to Weber (1.3.1839). Cited after Entrup, Adolph Menzels Illustrationen 46.

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and add individual flavor and color. Scholars often see Menzel’s engravings as the visual correlates of the anecdotes, and that they give Frederick II a “real life” touch serving to popularize the figure of the king.23 While there is no doubt that one can indeed find examples of this relationship, my close readings of the Kugler and Menzel’s text and image juxtapositions are intended to show that the images do not always harmonize with the anecdotes or the narrative, but that they develop their own visual power of interpretation and representation. The popular technique of wood engraving enabled this visual power of Menzel’s illustrations.

Wood Engraving: The Revolution for Text and Image In the nineteenth century, the text and image relationship was renegotiated, because new printing techniques enabled innovative modes of visual and textual interaction. Lithography (stone print) and xylography (wood print) revolutionized the function of the image within the text.24 In contrast to traditional image reproduction printing (e.g. steel etchings), images could now be worked directly to the printing material, which in turn increased the flexibility in inserting images into the text. In this context the invention of wood engraving was especially important, because it was now finally possible to print text and image simultaneously in one set in a more efficient way than with lithography or traditional wood cuts. In the late eighteenth century, the British printmaker Thomas Bewick25 developed the technique of wood engraving, which printed from small hardwood (boxwood) blocks. In his study on French illustrated history books, Maurice Samuels characterized this technique with the following words: “Unlike traditional woodcuts, in which the image was carved on a plank with the grain running horizontal to the surface (“bois de fil”), the new technique, pioneered in England in the eighteenth century, used harder wood (boxwood), cut the engraving into the end of the wood (“bois du bout”), with the grain perpendicular to the surface, and used a burin instead of a knife.”26 23 See for example, Françoise Forster-Hahn, “Adolph Menzel’s ‘Daguerrotypical Image’ of Frederick the Great: A Liberal Bourgeois Interpretation of German History,” Art Bulletin 59.2 (1977): 242–261. 24 Claus W. Gerhart, “Die Wirkungen drucktechnischer Neuerungen auf die Buchgestaltung im 19. Jahrhundert,” Buchgestaltung in Deutschland 1740–1890, ed. Paul Raabe, Hamburg: Hauswedell, 1980, 146–180. 25 For more information on Thomas Bewick, see Eckhard Schaar, “Zum Bilddruckverfahren in Deutschland während des 19. Jahrhunderts,” Buchillustration im 19. Jahrhundert, 189–211. 26 Maurice Samuels, “The Illustrated History Book: History between Word and Image,” The Nineteenth-Century Visual Culture Reader 239.

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This process allowed for higher precision and for a greater number of impressions without the loss of detail. Most importantly, however, unlike metal engraving and lithography, wood engravings could be printed along with typographical characters, allowing a high-quality image to appear on the same page as the text for the first time. Wood engraving was used in mass-produced illustrated newspapers and magazines. One of the most successful magazines was the Penny-Magazine for the Diffusion of the Useful Knowledge (Pfennigmagazin zur Verbreitung gemeinnütziger Kenntnisse), which appeared every Saturday and was published in Leipzig. This magazine was inspired by the same-titled American and British magazin, which started publication in 1832. It is notable that it was Johann Jakob Weber, one of the publishers of the History of Frederick the Great who took over the production of the Penny-Magazine and who also published the successful Illustrated Newspaper (Illustrierte Zeitung) in 1843.27 Thus practices of visual popular culture directly influenced the production as well as the aesthetic design of Kugler and Menzel’s book.28 Wood engraving was already very popular in French illustrated history books and Laurent de L’Ardèche’s History of the Emperor Napoleon as well as Jacques Marquet de Montbreton, baron de Norvins History of Napoleon (Histoire de Napoléon, 1839)29 used it with great success. Menzel knew these books and began to make known this technique of book illustration in Germany, where at the time wood engravers were still rare. Menzel tried to have the wood engraving done in Paris, home to much more advanced techniques, but he had great difficulties with the wood engravers. After three years Menzel found wood engravers in Berlin who met his high ambitions and expectations. The following examples show how well Menzel and the wood cutters mastered this new technique. These artistic initial letters that Menzel set at the beginning of each chapter give an impression not only of the possibilities of precision of this new technique, but also of the intricate ways the image merged with the text. In many cases the letter is part of the image and sometimes even hard to make out within the picture. The image infuses into the text and pushes the text into 27 I owe this reference to the Pfennigmagazin to Düwert, Geschichte als Bildergeschichte 127– 188. 28 Kirsten Belgum has explored the genre of illustrated newspapers and its impact on the discourse of nation in mid-nineteenth-century Germany in her book Popularizing the Nation: Audience, Representation, and the Production of Identity Die Gartenlaube, 1853–1900, Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 1998. 29 Jacques Marquet de Montbreton, baron de Norvins, Histoire de Napoléon, Paris: Furne & Cie, 1839.

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Fig. 1: Menzel’s engraving fuses the initial letter F of Frederick II with the contours of an oak tree. A typical example to show how text and image merge in Kugler and Menzel’s History of Frederick the Great (1842).

the background. At this point it already becomes evident that any traditional idea of illustration as an image that supplements a text is no longer adequate to describe the relationships between text and image in these works. Hans Holländer summarized the function of illustration as follows: If an illustration should not be superfluous, then it has to offer something that the text with its medium, namely words, cannot achieve, but it should also not be counterproductive. Illustration can be pictorial commentary, supplement, paraphrase, association of the illustrator, and reference to analogies in other books.30

30 “Wenn eine Illustration nicht überflüssig sein soll, dann muss sie etwas bieten, was der Text in seinem Medium, eben in Worten nicht kann, aber was ihm auch nicht widerspricht.

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On the contrary, I argue that illustrated history books of the nineteenth century can redefine this traditional view of illustration as a visual supplement to the text and point to the idea that the image can gain a power of representation that goes beyond the narrative. Precisely these autonomous visual processes are constitutive for my following analysis of Menzel’s images. I argue that these visual processes of representation remember the past under the auspices of space. What kind of spatial dimension do these text-visuals convey? In which ways does this dimension affect Kugler’s historical narrative? I propose that two models of space that are crucial for shaping Kugler and Menzel’s representation of the past. On the one hand, the text and images suggest a form of bourgeois spacializing, a spatial representation of a bourgeois order and worldview inspired by Martina Löw’s theory of space in Space Sociology (Raumsoziologie, 2001).31 On the other hand, I show that Kugler and Menzel’s medial hybrids can convey a material aspect of historical space. My close readings of the visual and textual constellations in the History of Frederick the Great demonstrate that these two (perhaps at first glance contradictory) space conceptions supplement each other. Their mutual intertwinement should demonstrate not only that there are many diverse spatial orders at stake in the culture of German historicism, but also that the aspects of bourgeois spacializing as well as territorial, geographical space are conducive to the representation of national history in the nineteenth century.

Bourgeois Spacializing Chapter 37 of the History of Frederick the Great tells of the Prussian battles against Russia during the Seven Years’ War. The hopes for peace between the two powers that emerged after the death of Elizabeth of Russia in 1762 and the coming to power of the pro-Prussian Emperor Peter III, were destroyed when a revolution had eliminated him and the reconciliation with Prussia was seen as shameful for Russia. One of the many battles during that period took place in Swidnica in 1762, and Kugler’s story recounts the sustained fighting, the use of new weapon technology, and Frederick II’s military leadership. After days of unsuccessful combat, the king takes over the leadership of the siege and – according to the narrative – most courageously guides the Prussian troops to their victory. In the middle of Kugler’s story about Frederick II’s military actions, a Menzel engraving is inserted and it shows the king on horseback riding through the raging battle. Illustration kann bildhafter Kommentar sein, Ergänzung, Paraphrase, Assoziation des Illustrators, Anspielung auf Analogien in anderen Büchern,” Hans Holländer, “Der modus illustrandi in der deutschen Malerei des 19. Jahrhunderts,” Buchillustration im 19. Jahrhundert 13. 31 Martina Löw, Raumsoziologie, Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 2001.

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Fig. 2: Adolph Menzel portrays Frederick the Great in the History of Frederick the Great (1842) as a mounted military leader in the Seven Years’ War. The image seems to emerge out of the text and draws the spectator right into the historical event.

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Text and image do not convey information about the historical scene separately, but rather the insertion of the image creates a “symphonic signification,”32 which breaks down the division between the textual and the visual. This fusion between the text and the image decisively differs from other forms of layout in illustrated history books. Carl Traugott Heyne’s historiography History of Napoleon from Birth to Death (Geschichte Napoleons von der Wiege bis zum Grabe in Wort und Bild, 1843)33 used steel etchings to illustrate the historical narrative and the images are put on a separate page vertically juxtaposed to the text. This image remains external to the narrative and functions as a supplement, whose separate status is signalled by a para-textual apparatus such as tissue paper. The reader as well as the viewer has to pause, turn his or her head causing an interruption in the flow of the narrative. By means of this textual externalization, the historical figure conveys the impression of being distanced, untouchable and otherworldly. In contrast, Menzel’s image of Frederick II is not set off by a precise frame, margin or “veil.”34 By means of this type of bordering, Napoleon conveys a mythical appearance, untouchable, beyond human emotions and otherworldly. Unlike Heyne’s illustration, Menzel’s image of Frederick fuses with the narrative. The effect of this technique is a seamless transition from the text to the image and back to the text. In fact, through the loss of the frame, the text becomes visual and the visual textual. This blurring of text and image has the effect a kind of curtain being lifted up opening the view into the historical world of Frederick II: the historical scene seems to have come to life and appears in front of the reader’s eyes. However, the image is not marked by a fixed frame; rather through the fading of the image’s contours the scene remains undefined and open. The image invites the reader to use his or her power of imagination to fill in the blanks and go beyond the narrative settings by using his or her own fantasy. The image does not function in the classical notion as a “window onto the world,” i.e. a picture that remains discrete, distinct and compartmentalized. Rather it reaches out and draws the reader almost bodily into the action as an active participant. To again make use of a rhetorical figure, Menzel’s image infuses ekphrasis into the narrative and the work 32 I owe this term to Samuels’s analysis of French illustrated history books that also work with wood engraving and display similar text and image compositions, see Samuels, “The Illustrated History Book” 242. 33 Carl Traugott Heyne, Geschichte Napoleons von der Wiege bis zum Grabe in Wort und Bild, Leipzig: Binder, 1843. 34 The tissue paper embodies a type of veil that covers and protects the picture. It is not visible in the illustrations from Heyne’s historiography.

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Fig. 3: Carl Traugott Heyne’s History of Napoleon from Birth to Death (1843) portrays Napoleon as a mythical and distanced hero.

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no longer tells about the past, but rather the image functions as a type of “time machine,”35 which leaves the narrative rules of historical continuity and chronology behind, and beams itself to the present of history. The reader can easily loose her or his discursive distance to the historical event and rather assumes the position of an eyewitness, e.g. someone who has been present at the historical location and experienced the past.36 The simultaneity of text and image suggests that the reader could become an active shaper of history. Thus, the era of Frederick II was no longer marked as the period of anti-bourgeois absolutism; the visual-textual compositions convey that Frederick II was the beginning of the liberal tradition in Germany and it is the reader’s task to continue this history. But the composition not only makes the reader into an eyewitness and shaper of bourgeois history, the representation of Frederick II’s past is also configured by a form of bourgeois spacializing as suggested in Löw’s theory of space. Löw’s theory investigates the question of the relationship between space and social order and repudiates the idea of space as an essential aspect of nature. This trend was already proposed by the sociologist Émile Durkheim, who rejected the idea that the spatial aspect of social organisation is defined as an unchangeable physical idea of space. Georg Simmel, Michel Foucault, and Marc Augé continued this anti-physical concept of space. Even though their theories of space diverge, they nevertheless share the idea of not defining space as a container, but rather utilizing a relational model. Thus, space is no longer a given physical entity, but rather a constellation of social space organizations (Simmel), a discursive order (Foucault) or locations of memory (Augé). Löw endorses this relational model of space; however in many ways much more radically than her predecessors. She defines space in the following way: “Space is a relational order of social goods and humans (creatures) on locations.”37 Her notion of social goods characterizes primarily material goods, which can be placed at locations. Löw’s emphasis on location does not indicate that she defines space via geography, but rather the locations are being marked as such through the synthesis of social goods and subjects, thus locations are the results of space-processing interactions and are not placed already. In other words, space is always thought of as a dynamic relationship between subjects and objects. Going beyond the materialist theories of space

35 I discovered the metaphor of the time machine in this context in Samuels’s interpretations of the text and image constellations in French illustrated history books (Samuels, “The Illustrated History Book” 245). 36 For a discussion about eyewitnessing, see Peter Burke, Eyewitnessing: The Uses of Images as Historical Evidence, London: Reaktion Books, 2007. 37 “Raum ist eine relationale (An)Ordnung sozialer Güter und Menschen (Lebewesen) an Orten,” Löw, Raumsoziologie 224.

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of Henri Lefebvre and Pierre Bourdieu, she eliminates any dependence on a physical aspect of space without losing its social concreteness. What relevance does Löw’s space sociology have for the interpretation and writing of history? Text and image relationships in Kugler and Menzel’s historiography on Frederick II display a construction of social space and its corresponding markers of family, intimacy, and the domestic. In contrast to the image of Napoleon, the image of Frederick II, which displays his facial expressions, his gaze, and his emotions, does not embody a distanced mythical hero, but rather (as Menzel and Kugler mentioned in the foreword) was designed to represent a human individual. Frederick II is no longer a distanced king who separates himself from the people, but rather a soldier who fights with his troops for his country. However, even though he is shown as a bourgeois, the image of him riding on the horse nonetheless does not suggest a “realist” representation of history as Menzel has promised in his introduction. Rather, through the blurring of the text and the image, the composition empties out a form of historical factuality and opens up a projection screen for the intended bourgeois audience: the psychological representation of Frederick II as a human portrays him as the bourgeois patriarch, who takes care of his family (in this case his soldiers and his people). In other words, the text-image constellation does not function, as it is often assumed in scholarship, as a daguerreotype within the historical narrative and thus evoke a realist effect. Rather, the text and the image merge into a genre image illustrating of daily bourgeois life. Genre painting represents a distinct field of painting (and later also an academic discipline), which existed in Germany from 1815.38 The models for genre paintings came from the seventeenth-century Dutch painters who emphasized the representation of daily scenes and connected them with symbolic meanings. In the beginning of the nineteenth century this symbolism in genre painting faded and painters aimed to show daily scenes of bourgeois and farm life. The stylistic mode of these paintings was the picturesque and the idyllic. Even though these genre paintings concentrated on daily life and lost their symbolic configuration, they nevertheless aimed to show a “typical” quality. In contrast to the historical paintings of the nineteenth century, the genre paintings were not intended to highlight the great events and unique moments of history, but rather to emphasize the order of daily life in its repetitions. Thus, these genre images highlighted an allegorical form of referencing: the image (signifier) refers to a horizon of meaning (signified) which is beyond the actual representation. As is typical for allegory, the signified is often much more in the realm of the concrete and the worldly as opposed to the symbol.39 Through 38 Regine Timm, “Zur Einführung,” Buchillustration im 19. Jahrhundert 7–11. 39 See Wiebke Freytag, “Allegorie,” Historisches Wörterbuch der Rhetorik, Vol. 1, Tübingen: Max Niemeyer, 1992, 330–393.

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sculptures, monuments, museums as well as illustrated history books the allegorical was often used to represent historical figures and historical epochs.40 In the nineteenth century, genre painting played an important role for book illustration, and it was used to illustrate poems, literary prose and historiographies. This tradition of (allegorical) genre painting is constitutive for Kugler and Menzel’s work and it shapes the world of Frederick II into a specifically bourgeois space, since not only is Frederick II portrayed as the bourgeois family patriarch, but his surroundings (interior) and social interactions also construct a domestic sphere. In contrast to French historiographies on Napoleon, Kugler and Menzel’s book dedicates much more space to the telling and showing of the king’s birth, childhood and youth. The book displays many domestic scenes, which give an insight into Frederick II’s private life such as his early love of music, charades and his close relationship with his mother. Menzel drew an idyllic scene that shows how the young prince and his father are involved in a children’s ball game; it was most unusual to portray the Prussian king like this. The ball game displayed on Menzel’s illustration functions as a spatial marker of the bourgeois. The image shows the family unified in one domestic location; the father takes care for the son’s education and he displays affection,

Fig. 4: Adolph Menzel’s portrait of Frederick the Great in History of Frederick the Great (1842) as a playing child domesticizes the king and situates him into a bourgeois milieu.

40 As Günter Hess has shown, the allegorical form has a close connection to the practices of representation within historicism. Günter Hess, “Allegorie und Historismus: Zum ‘Bildgedächtnis’ des späten 19. Jahrhunderts,” Verbum et Signum, Vol.1., eds. Hans Fromm, Wolfgang Harms, and Uwe Ruberg, München: Fink, 1975, 555–591.

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love and care of his son. Kugler and Menzel’s book strongly focuses on Frederick’s conflict with his father and their eventual reconciliation.41 Another important image in this context is the scene in which Frederick has his hair cut, an image that shows how the haircutter secretly left more of Frederick’s hair without the knowledge of the strict father. The comb, the hair dresser, and the professional outfit of the hair dresser work like markers to delineate a bourgeois space; a space based on social

Fig. 5: Adolph Menzel’s image and Franz Kugler’s narrative in History of Frederick the Great (1842) provide a glance into the private sphere of the monarch.

41 I owe this insight to Jürgen Fohrmann, “Versuch über das Illustrative (am Beispiel des 19. Jahrhunderts),” Schriftlichkeit und Bildlichkeit: Visuelle Kulturen in Europa und Japan, eds., Ryozo Maeda, Teruaki Takahashi, and Wilhelm Vosskamp, München: Fink, 2007, 133–148.

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interactions (the king gets a haircut) and objects (comb, scissors, mirror). Menzel’s illustration shows a moment of deceit in the facial expression of the haircutter, his holding of the comb, and the absent-minded-gaze of the father through the window. But only more conflicts will arise, such as Frederick II’s tragic friendship with Hans Hermann von Katte, who helped the crown prince to escape and was executed on the orders of the father. The picture showing the crown prince kneeling in front of the father suggests that the father’s regime has won and that the prince has matured into a responsible follower of the throne. Menzel’s artistic skill of using light in his illustrations also further achieves this conveyance of intimacy and enhances the simulation of bourgeois spacializing. He was later known as an artist who was an expert on lighting effects and who mastered, by adopting the pictorial aesthetics of Rembrandt, the impressionistic style of illumination. However, also in his early works as an illustrator, he handled light with great variety and skill. Most notable are his so-called night images, in which he draws historical scenes such as conspiracy, secret military campaigns, and meetings in Sans Souci. Often these scenes are

Fig. 6: The reconciliation scene between Frederick II and his father in History of Frederick the Great (1842) dramatizes the representation of the king’s history.

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illuminated with indirect light sources such as moonlight, fire, and candlelight, which in turn evoke a realist effect in these illustrations. The 35th chapter of the History of Frederick the Great gives a great example of his night images. Kugler describes a nightly conversation between Frederick and his old trusted friend, Major Zieten. Whereas Kugler’s text mentions Frederick II’s struggles with the military losses (the Seven Years’ War is in its 4th year and the situation for the Prussian troops is desperate), Zieten is optimistic about Prussia’s fate (Kugler/Menzel, 73).

Fig. 7: Menzel’s intense black and white image invites the reader of the History of Frederick the Great (1842) to listen in on the conversation between the king and Major Zieten.

The picture breaks in right in the middle of their conversation. It shows them standing outside in the night, the moon is hidden behind the roof of a

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hut, and they are only illuminated through its sallow light. One can only see their silhouettes, and their backs. Zieten’s face is completely dark and only the king’s profile is visible. Through these lighting effects, the scene gains a “here and now” character, a picture of a moment made vivid by the natural and irregular distribution of the light. This effect of presence is enhanced by the composition of the illustration. Since the moon is almost covered up by the hut and the point of view is entirely located in the foreground of the picture, the scene conveys an insight into an intimate and secret moment. Kugler mentions that Frederick II spoke about the military campaign in the utmost secrecy. The reader-viewer gains the perspective of a voyeur; a secret eyewitness who is an unknown participant in history. These examples of the text and visual constellations may suffice to show how Menzel and Kugler’s book record the Prussian past via a form of bourgeois spacializing. Frederick II represents the family patriarch, who takes care of his own kin, who lives in a domestic space and displays emotional closeness. Through this domestication of Frederick II, the images gain an autonomous relation from the narrative because they push Kugler’s narrative of the great events of Prussian history into the background. The images are not about the unique historical events that propel the German past into a national future. Rather these genre pictures of Frederick II freeze the teleological story of Prussia’s glory and the allegorical images gain power over the text. The king represents the archaic family order. Kugler’s stories about Prussia’s military power are constitutive not only in articulating the project of national education, but also in the construction of bourgeois space encoded with tokens such as family, intimacy, and the display of emotions. This bourgeois spacializing of Frederick II suggests that the German nation is a safe home, which clearly marks its inhabitants as family members.42 These images of the bourgeois convey the belief in an archaic repetitive order of history, and they also themselves have a repetitive character. As mentioned, they work as genre images and in this function they do not claim to have an authentic realist force of documentation, but rather convey clichés, such as the patriarch of the family, the maturing of the son, and the sentimental display of affects and emotions. These images are meant are for a mass audience and should appeal to a common popular taste. The power of the pictures, however, does not make the book less nationalistic, but it emphasizes a different aspect of nation: that is the bourgeois space as a national signifier,

42 Fohrmann mentions in this context the idea that the world is imagined as a house, in which everything belongs and nothing unknown comes in from the outside (Fohrmann, “Versuch über das Illustrative” 140–141).

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which in turn receives its power of persuasion precisely by its repetitiveness and loss of difference. Kugler and Menzel’s work shapes an image of national identity, which utilizes tokens of bourgeois spaces for its visual constitution. To use Benedict Anderson’s words, the image and text compositions convey an imagined community, a vision of collectivity based on medial processes.43 Although Menzel and Kugler utilize an image of a national community via images, clichés, and stereotypes, the representation of national history in their work involves yet another dimension: that is, the demarcation of geographical and topographical locations of history; an aspect which has not attracted attention in scholarship on Menzel and Kugler’s work.

Geographical Space and Landscape Karl Schlögel’s much-discussed work about the role of space in writing and understanding history aims to draw attention to the aspect of space in the discipline of history, historiography and historical discourses.44 According to Schlögel, history happens within a concrete geographical location, which in turn shapes, forms, and determines how we understand the past. Even though Schlögel’s project of making space stresses the materiality of space, his approach is nevertheless indebted to constructivist and rhetorical theories and thus geographical space is also seen as a product of social and cultural communication.45 In Schlögel’s project of making space visible for the discipline of history, the representatives of German historicism of the nineteenth century as well as its current adherents embody a prime example of shaping a historical discourse that “silences” the spatiality of history. According to Schlögel, historicism promotes a model of history that is monopolized by the notion of temporality (events, development, and narrative) and neglects the factor of geographical space. Whereas it may be true that current researchers often overlook the spatial aspect of historicism, this does not mean that the works of nineteenth-century historicist authors abandon aspects of space altogether. Not only was space, specifically the spatial expansion of territory, always an 43 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, London: Verso, 1991. 44 Karl Schlögel, Im Raume Lesen wir die Zeit: Über Zivilisationsgeschichte und Geopolitik, Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 2007, 9–15. See also the discussions about Schlögel in Part I and Part IV. 45 For a rhetorical approach to cartography and geography, see for example the work of J. B. Harley, The New Nature of Maps: Essays in the History of Cartography, ed. Paul Laxton, Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins UP, 2001.

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issue in nationalist historicism (for example in the writings of the academic historians Gustav Droysen and Heinrich von Sybel), but also the connection between geography and history was prominent during the early nineteenth century. As mentioned in Part I, the geographer Carl Ritter considered in his essay “Concerning the Historical Element in the Geographic Sciences” (“Über das historische Element in der geographischen Wissenschaft,” 1833)46 the historicization of geography essential and saw the earth’s geological formations as conducive layers that shape the history of humanity. He proposed that the earth represents “humanity’s house of education”47 and that the material space of the earth is a constituent in the processes of history. As shown, Leopold von Ranke’s historiography displays analogies to geological formations, topographies, and geographical descriptions. Examining Menzel’s images in the History of Frederick the Great, one can also situate a visual interdiscursivity between geographical references, landscapes, topographies, and the representation of the past; an aspect that is commonly overlooked in Menzel’s “societal” work. Whereas Kugler’s narrative conveys an “anthroprocentric” view of the past by writing a history of events, military generals, and soldiers, Menzel’s images can focus on the materiality of historical locations. His war images highlight space by showing the locations of the battle site. In the representation of the battle of Soor, which took place on September 30, 1745 between the Prussian and the Austrian-Saxon armies, the narrator in History of Frederick the Great mainly praises the courage, virtues and honorable behavior of the Prussian soldiers. The text omits the early setbacks of the Prussians, the depredations they inflicted on the people of Moravia, and the lack of discipline in the Prussian troops. But Menzel’s representations of the battles profoundly deviate from the narrator’s idealizing tones. Note the following text and image composition, in which the narrative stresses the tactical execution of the battle plans, the military results as well the calculations of the gains and losses. In the context of the ending of the battle of Soor, the narrator notes briskly: “Victory was complete” (Kugler/Menzel, Geschichte 195). In contrast to the narrative, Menzel’s illustration shows the horrors of this war, the fear of dying, the dead soldiers, and the atrocities of the fighting. The engraving devoted to the battle of Soor displays a pile of corpses, a lonely wounded soldier resting on one of his arms surrounded by his fallen comrades.

46 Carl Ritter, “Über das historische Element in der geographischen Wissenschaft,” Einleitung zur allgemeinen vergleichenden Geographie, und Abhandlungen zur Begründung einer mehr wissenschaftlichen Behandlung der Erdkunde, Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1852, 152–181. 47 “Erziehungshaus des Menschen,” Ritter, “Über das historische Element” 161.

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Fig. 8: Adolph Menzel’s drawings of battlefields and wounded soldiers in the History of Frederick the Great (1842) do not correspond to Franz Kugler’s glorifying narrative about the victorious Prussian troops.

The image no longer corresponds stylistically to a genre image, but rather demonstrates the brutality of war. Menzel contributes many more such pictures that portray war as grim, bloody, and inhuman, such as a funeral in the ruins of a captured city, close-ups of wounded soldiers and piles of corpses. All these images depict details that are missing in Kugler’s narrative, and thus they shape a different interpretation of Frederick II’s historical legacy. Whereas the narrative continues to construct Frederick II as the national and military hero, as the savoir of Protestantism, the helper of the poor, the artist and the patriot, Menzel’s images do not always match these hagiographic intentions. Particularly the images of the battlefields express reservations towards Prussia’s imperialism, and whereas Kugler’s text is full of admiration, Menzel’s illustrations convey a critical perspective on Prussia’s military machine. Menzel’s war images should not be interpreted as radical interventions against the grand narrative of Frederick II’s ideology, but they can point to the tensions between the narrative and the images and refer to the pluralistic modes of historical interpretations that coexist. Menzel’s visual commentary on the narrative even opens up a further trajectory that also sheds light onto another factor underexposed in Kugler’s narrative: namely, the aspect of landscape.

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Menzel does not enjoy a reputation as a landscape painter.48 Unjustly so, since he not only produced a number of landscape drawings, but his illustrations for the History of Frederick the Great also display quite an impressive amount of landscape. Art historian Simon Schama stated that any representation of landscape, whether natural, rural or urban is always affected by cultural conventions: “Even the landscapes that we suppose to be the most free of our culture may turn out, on closer inspection, to be its product.”49 This intertwinement of landscape and culture guides my following investigation of the iconicity of Menzel’s landscape drawings and their power to interpret history. Chapter 18 in the History of Frederick the Great concerns the beginnings of the Second Silesian war in 1744. This chapter begins with an image of a great valley, which opens up a view onto mountains, meadows, and forests. It is notable that Kugler’s narrative entirely skips over describing the valley. One can only guess from the context of the chapter, that the valley is perhaps somewhere in Austria, where Frederick II’s troops were headed in the year 1744. Menzel’s image comprises a number of landscape painting styles of nineteenth-century Germany: its symbolic-subjective elements (a cross in the middle of the valley, a tree stump, and a piece of a conifer tree) suggest an atmosphere of decay, transcendence, and loneliness often found in pictures of German Romanticism.50 The image conveys the impression of an actual space; a space that exits and carries meaning for the history of the Prussian battles. In the appendix Menzel comments that he drew the image of the valley according to a map of that area: “Drawing the location I oriented myself according to historical local maps.”51 Thus, this image can be seen in the tradition of realist landscape portrayal, which oriented itself according to meteorological, geological, and geographical data and used “scholarly precision” in its representation of nature.52 These “realist” and “scholarly” traces in Menzel’s repre48 With the exception of the following works, that discuss Menzel and the genre of landscape: Werner Busch, “Menzels Landschaften: Bildordnung als Antwort auf die Erfahrung vom Wirklichkeitszerfall,” Adolph Menzel 1815–1905: Das Labyrinth der Wirklichkeit, eds. Claude Keisch, Marie Ursula Riemann-Reyher, and Helmut Börsch-Supan, Berlin: Dumont, 1996, 457–68, and Cornelia Dörr, “Menzel in Kassel: Landschaft und Geschichte,” Jahrbuch der Berliner Museen 41 (1999): 91–102. 49 Simon Schama, Landscape and Memory, New York: Vintage Books, 1995, 9. 50 See Robert Suckale “Menzels Querblick und die Ästhetik des Subjektivismus,” Jahrbuch der Berliner Museen 41 (1999): 19–31. Suckale presents Menzel’s subjectivism as an extension of Romantic aesthetics as well as an aspect of modern painting. 51 “Die Örtlichkeit ist nach der Angabe gleichzeitiger Kreiskarten entworfen” Kugler/Menzel, Die Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen XI. 52 Nils Büttner mentions in this context the mid-nineteenth-century French school around Théodore Rousseau and American painters, such as Frederic Edwin Church (Nils Büttner, Die Geschichte der Landschaftsmalerei, München: Hirmer, 2006, 279–304).

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Fig. 9: Franz Kugler’s image of the empty battlefield in the History of Frederick the Great (1842) centers on the environment of the historical scene.

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sentations of landscape become crucial in conjunction with the representation of history. In contrast to Kugler’s narrative, which casts an “anthroprocentric” view of the past by writing a history of events, military generals, and soldiers, Menzel’s landscape image focuses on the local environment of history. According to W. J. T. Mitchell53 the representation of landscape is always combined with power, and thus one could conclude that given the nationalistic agenda of the History of Frederick the Great representations of landscape act as visual vehicles to support the ideologies of the Prussian regime and its imperialist interests in territorial expansion. In fact, German nationalist landscape paintings often portray the homeland’s nature as an intricate part of the national community that demands protection and defence against foreigners. Menzel’s images, however, refuse to be as easily instrumentalized as they develop their own rather unconventional modes of interlocking history, landscape, and power.54 The following picture shows Prussian and Austrian soldiers in a thick forest during the final phase of the battle in Thorgau in 1760. This battle was one of the bloodiest fights against Austrian-Saxon troops, which after long and difficult encounters was eventually won by the Prussians. The picture portrays the Prussians and their enemies as almost disappearing within the overpowering natural space; the trees appear as monumental in comparison to the soldiers. It is quite difficult to discern who is fighting against whom; the thick forest not only blocks the soldier’s view, but also that of the reader. The forest represents a great obstacle that worsens the conditions of fighting; nature is not to be controlled by man, but rather it is nature that controls the course of history. This portrayal of the forest as a threatening environment surprises for within the process of nationalizing history it often embodied a screen for patriotic identification.55 Take for example the idealization of the German forest by Ernst Moritz Arndt, its romanticization by Caspar David Friedrich, and the glorification of the forest as a space of freedom in the writings of the cultural historian Heinrich Riehl. In Menzel’s representation of the forest, nature has lost these idealized connections. Rather than a space that needs protection, the forest represents a hostile environment. Menzel’s picture of a ravine in Silesia, which shows Prussian and Hungarian soldiers

53 According to Mitchell landscape functions as a “medium of exchange.” See W. J. T. Mitchell, “Imperial Landscape,” Landscape and Power, Chicago: The U of Chicago P, 1994, 5. 54 See Susanne von Falckenhausen, “Zeitzeuge der Leere: Zum Scheitern nationaler Bildformeln bei Menzel,” Das Labyrinth der Wirklichkeit, 493–502. Falckenhausen problematizes a one-dimensional nationalization of Menzel’s paintings. 55 See Joachim Radkau, Natur und Macht: Eine Weltgeschichte der Umwelt, München: Beck, 2000, 254–260.

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Fig. 10: These soldiers seem to have lost their orientation in the thick forest portrayed by Adolph Menzel in the History of Frederick the Great (1842).

fighting against each other in the year 1745 towards the end of the Second Silesian War, evinces a similar connection. Kugler’s narrative mentions the following: “The march through the narrow mountain gorges was interrupted by battles, in which Hungarian light troops attacked the Prussian army: but the losses were on the side of the Hungarians.”56 In this passage (as well as in the narrative around the image) the narrator only refers to the fighting soldiers, the victories and defeat, as well as the strategies of the military generals. Menzel’s image of the gorge, however, draws attention to the actual battle site, its geographical location, and its topography. The representation of the shape of the canyon, such as its narrowness, steepness, and ruggedness, dominates the picture; the soldiers seem to disappear between the two steep cliffs of the gorge. Thus, the image suggests the impression that the environment exerts an overpowering influence on the humans, who can get lost in it, lose their individuality and be absorbed by it.

56 “Der Marsch durch die Engpässe der Gebirge war nicht ohne Gefechte vor sich gegangen, indem die preußische Armee von leichten ungarischen Truppen umschwärmt ward; doch blieben die größeren Verluste auf Seiten der letzteren,” Kugler/Menzel, Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen 197.

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Fig. 11: The troops are trapped quite desperately in a ravine. Adolph Menzel’s image in the History of Frederick the Great (1842) highlights the natural and geographical environment of the battle scene.

These examples of Menzel’s landscape drawings attract the attention to the geological, geographical, and climatic conditions around historical battle scenes. The forces of nature become decisive factors for historical processes and highlight the aspect of “space” within the discourse of historicism. According to the historian Karl Schlögel, history happens within a geographical environment, which in turn shapes, forms, and determines how we understand the past. Schlögel criticizes the representatives of German historicism for shaping

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a historical discourse that “silences” the spatiality of history.57 Historicism has ever since promoted a model of history monopolized by the notion of temporality (events, development, and narrative) and neglected the factor of “space.” Menzel’s images accuse historicism for this absence. Whereas research has always emphasized the important role of the individual in The History of Frederick the Great, Menzel’s focus on space suggests some counterpoints. His images put historical events and individuals into the large frame of earth history and, making use of Fernand Braudel’s famous expression, they portray the past under the auspices of the long durée.58 Amidst Kugler’s history of the powerful subject (Frederick II), traces of earth history thus come to the surface and hint at the fact that history is not entirely controlled by humans, but that natural processes can also influence the outcome of human actions. Menzel’s landscape images work as brakes towards the teleological direction of Kugler’s narrative; they slow down the historical events by fixating them as dependent on geographical and geological formations. Historical temporality recedes from these pictures and they emphasize the simultaneity of factors that shape history according to unpredictable laws of nature, geographical formations and climate conditions. These natural processes work against an emphatic notion of the “new,” which is often seen as a key to the understanding of historical processes in historicism. This visual display of environmental causation within historical processes raises again questions about power. Radical geo-deterministic thinkers of the nineteenth century, such as Frederick Ratzel, emphasized the influence of the natural environment on human beings and their history. According to Ratzel the driving force of history is the struggle for space and the geographical position of a country determines the course which history can take. If one accepts these ideas of natural determinism, then one can utilize them as arguments for legitimizing colonial and imperial expansion; expanding territory thus belongs to a natural and necessary process proscribed by the laws of nature. However, Menzel’s images do not quite fit into this logic. They portray a history that can be controlled by natural processes, but they do not connect it to a discourse on power, that in turn would naturalize wars and territorial expansion. Rather Menzel’s images relativize the centered position of the human to control history. Exhibiting the soldiers as being lost in the forest, trapped by rock formations, and disoriented in mountains they work against Kugler’s

57 Schlögel, Im Raume Lesen wir die Zeit 44. 58 This category was used by the French Annales School, which analyzes history under the auspices of long-term structures. See Fernand Braudel, On History, trans. Sarah Matthews, Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1980, 25–54.

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grand narrative of national territorial expansion and critically question the subject-centered representation of the past within historicism.

Illustrating Prussian and Colonial History Handbooks of Prussian History The rise of Bismarck’s power as well as the founding of the German Empire ushered in a high tide of nationalist conservatism. These events generated a great interest in recording German national history, such as academic history writing, literature, monuments, and historical painting. A new crop of scholarly historians used their writings as a tool to propagate Prussian ideology. This group of nation-oriented historians often classified as the “Prussian School,” included Gustav Droysen, Heinrich von Treitschke, Heinrich von Sybel, and Theodor Mommsen.59 All of its members subscribed to the idea that the historian had to overcome political impartiality: they demanded the building of a German nation state under Prussian leadership (excluding Austria), and they backed the imperialist power politics of the Prussian regime.60 Heinrich von Treitschke, for example, used his German History of the Nineteenth Century (Deutsche Geschichte im 19. Jahrhundert, 1879–1894)61 as a vehicle to advocate Prussia as the true heir of the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation, it also expresses his admiration for the Hohenzollerns and his dislike of Duke Metternich. Many literary authors of historical realist fiction affirmed these ideological positions. Novelists Joseph Victor von Scheffel, Georg Ebers, and Felix Dahn wrote historical literary prose that glorified German national history and Prussia’s reactionary politics.62 In the midst of these scholarly and fictional negotiations of the representation of the German nation many illustrated history books were also published. Theodor Linder’s illustrated book The War Against France and the Unification

59 See my discussion of the Prussian School of historians in the introduction and in Part I. 60 This political position, which is also known as the “Gotha-position,” is associated with a group of historians at the time of the Frankfurt National Assembly that anticipated the goals of the Prussian School. See Robert Southard, Droysen and the Prussian School of History, Lexington: The UP of Kentucky, 1995, 194–216. 61 Heinrich von Treitschke, Deutsche Geschichte im 19. Jahrhundert, Leipzig: Hirzel, 1906–1909. 62 Harro Müller, “Historische Romane,” Bürgerlicher Realismus und Gründerzeit 1848–1890 (= Hansers Sozialgeschichte der Deutschen Literatur vom 16. Jahrhundert bis zur Gegenwart, Vol. 6), eds. Edward McInnes and Gerhard Plumpe, München: Hanser, 1996, 690–707.

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of Germany (Der Krieg gegen Frankreich und die Einigung Deutschlands, 1895)63 was explicitly written to commemorate the foundation of the German empire. Linder states in its preface that he aimed to keep the remembrance of these historical developments alive by showing a “vivid” picture of these events, but at the same time deploying scholarly methods in researching the historical data. Wilhelm Müller’s German History Until the Year 1888 (Deutsche Geschichte bis zum Jahre 1888, 1888)64 embodies yet another example of an illustrated history book on Prussian history and it aimed to show the development of German national history up to its date of publication. One could name many more examples, but instead of giving an overview, I shall focus rather on the text-image relationships by conducting one exemplary analysis. I investigate Ferdinand Schmidt’s illustrated history book titled Prussia’s History in Text and Image (Preußens Geschichte in Wort und Bild, 1864).65 The book’s four parts show and relate history from the archaic times of the Germanic tribes right up to the Vienna Congress in 1815. Its text-image constellations focus mainly on Prussian history, devoting the longest chapters to Schmidt’s heroes of Prussian history: Duke Friedrich Wilhelm of Brandenburg and Frederick II. This book shares with works above their aggressive nationalistic agendas and aims to politicize its reader in support of the German unification. Schmidt emphasizes in his preface that the book is crafted in a scholarly tradition and that the author consulted the sources and conducted thorough research. In the same manner that Menzel and Kugler emphasized that they are doing professional academic work, Schmidt also notes that he compiled a bibliography, worked with documented sources, and that his book contains an index of illustrations. Schmidt further emphasizes that his scholarly approach is closely connected to the concept to popularize historical knowledge. Schmidt’s book has the subtitle Ein Hausbuch für Alle; a title not easy to translate and its meaning might be grasped with the idea of a “domestic” book for the household; a useful book, a type of “manual” concerning national history. Books for the “household” were quite popular during the nineteenth century and circulated primarily in bourgeois families. They focused on topics such as life style, traditions, literature, and art. Like almanacs or magazines these books were cheap to print and thus affordable to larger groups of people. It is

63 Theodor Linder, Der Krieg gegen Frankreich und die Einigung Deutschlands, Berlin: Asher, 1895. 64 Wilhelm Müller, Deutsche Geschichte bis zum Jahre 1888, Stuttgart: Carl Krabbe, 1888. 65 Ferdinand Schmidt, Preußens Geschichte in Wort und Bild: Ein Hausbuch für Alle, Berlin: Verlag von Franz Lobeck, 1864. In the following cited as The History of Prussia within the main text.

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notable that the author does not address the working class, but his book is geared towards a specifically middle class audience.66 Schmidt’s book came out with Bismarck’s rise to power, and the author notes that in light of Prussia’s increasing dominance, that the time has come to remind the German people of their “own” history. The preface to the book pushes an aggressive demand to build a German nation state under Prussia’s command and the author almost attacks the reader by posing the following question: You want to learn about the history of your people? Then you have to return to the darkest prehistoric time and you have to look at our ancestors. Then the sons of the forest will appear in their pure natural power in front of your soul, then you will see with an unbiased eye the original great beginnings of Germanic life on our home soil, and then you have to take the giant image of this great era into your soul.67

This sentence already comprises the program of the book: the idealization of the German history; the attempt to get the reader to identify with it and utilize it for the phantasm of a German empire in the present. Schmidt appeals to the importance of a naive perception of the past (“an unbiased eye”), which in turn should allow the understanding of history in an un-obstructed manner. This could be seen as anti-scholarly, but the author endorses precisely the “ocularic” program of German academic historicism and echoes Ranke’s motto “to show what actually happened.”68 It is notable that Schmidt emphasizes the visual aspect of national history; the past presents itself as a gigantic image that the reader should take into his or her soul. This image roots in the German landscape, which the native Germans once inhabited. According to Schmidt it is necessary to understand first the nature, the geography, the vegetation and the climate of the German territory before one can extract a specific national 66 See David Blackbourn’s introduction and differentiation on the social group of the bourgeois in his work The German Bourgeoisie: Essays on the Social History of the German Middle Class from the late Eighteenth to the Early Twentieth Century, eds. David Blackbourn and Richard J. Evans, New York: Routledge, 1991, 1–45. 67 “Deines Volkes Geschichte willst du lernen? Dann musst Du bis in die graueste Vorzeit zurückkehren und mit deinen Betrachtungen bei den Vorvätern beginnen. Dann müssen sie, die Söhne des Waldes, in ihrer ungebrochenen Naturkraft vor Deine Seele treten, dann musst du den naturgroßen Anfang des germanischen Lebens auf heimischen Boden mit unbefangenem Auge anschauen, das Riesenbild jener großen Zeit in deine Seele aufnehmen,” Schmidt, Hausbuch 9. 68 Leopold von Ranke, “The Historian’s Craft,” The Secret of World History: Selected Writings on the Art and Science of History, ed. Roger Wines, New York: Fordham UP, 1981, 58; “zeigen, wie es eigentlich gewesen [ist K.M.],” Ranke, Geschichten der romanischen und germanischen Völker von 1494 bis 1514, Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1885, VII.

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character. The following example of the initial letter joined with an image of the forest shows this. The initial letter D, which blends the first letter of the chapter with an image, is shaped as a tree branch, and it is surrounded by the forest. The humans are in the background (a hunter shoots an arrow through the D) and the animals and vegetation dominate the picture. The first sentence continues this visual dominance of natural space into the narrative on the history of the German nation: “In addition it is important to note that the character of the country and the character of its inhabitants are closely intertwined. One cannot be understood without the other.”69 The text reiterates what the image of the initial letter already implicated: the geographical space represents the basis for a community and only on its basis can a national character develop. In the introduction Schmidt also mentions that it is necessary to decipher the scriptures of ancient places in order to construct a common language: “The scriptures of the barrows, of the rusty swords with their mystical signs, of the altars, of the sacrifice stones – these scriptures, which we still find in our country, still speaks, still bears witness to the long-passed life of our ancestors.”70 These images of nature dominate the text and aspects of culture (such as language and character of the people) seem to grow out of this image of a natural space. Particularly in the first part, images of landscape, forests, Gods of the underworld, and images of Walhalla construct this dominance of space. Again proliferated by means of the wood engraving, these images can sometimes extend over as much as three-quarters of the page and the text is pushed towards the margins. Often Schmidt’s writing enforces the iconic dominance by utilizing description. Note this depiction of the landscape of the German tribes: Anyone who would have had the chance to look down to our valleys from an airship during that time would have had a wonderful sight. Almost nothing but dark woods, bordered with shrubs, green and brownish-shining moors, and brilliant blue waters, rivers, streams, and countless lakes could one have seen from this view.71

69 “Dazu kommt, dass der Charakter des Landes und der seiner Bewohner in einem engen Zusammenhang stehen. Eines ohne das Andere ist nicht verständlich,” Schmidt, Hausbuch 6. 70 “Die Schrift der Hünengräber, der verrosteten Schwerter mit ihren geheimnisvollen Zeichen, der Altäre, der Opfersteine – diese Schrift, die wir noch in unserem Lande finden, sie spricht, sie legt heut noch Zeugnis ab über das dahin geschwundene Leben der Altvorderen,” Schmidt, Hausbuch 1. 71 “Wer in jener Zeit von einem Luftschiffe hätte hernieder schauen können auf unsere Mark, würde einen wunderbaren Anblick gehabt haben. Fast nichts als dunkle Wälder, mit Buschwerk eingefasst, grün und braunschimmernde Moore und blitzende, das Blau des Himmels abspiegelnde Gewässer, Flüsse, Bäche und eine Unzahl von Seen hätten sich seinen Blicken gezeigt,” Schmidt, Hausbuch 1.

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Fig. 12: Ferdinand Schmidt’s book Prussia’s History in Text and Image (1864) works with images of nature in order to convey the impression of a mythological national past. This book was meant to reach a large bourgeois readership.

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This bird’s eye image of the “German” landscape connects to idea of the giant image given in Schmidt’s introduction and hints at “Germany’s” geographical magnitude, beauty and vastness. This descriptive style is continued with Schmidt’s listings of the different kinds of Gods such as Loki, Odin, and Thor well as many more depictions of the German landscape. The text does not tell a history of events, but rather also constructs an omnipresence of the German soil. However, similar to Menzel’s landscape illustrations, the texts as well as the images do not provide any precise information about the geographical data on the land of the Germans. As the open margins of Schmidt’s initial letter D already indicated, the visual textual compositions convey an imaginary place, which can be shaped in the creative imagination of the reader; the life world of the Germans encompasses a mythical, fictional space based on imaginary forests. Even though the author points to his intention to not depict the Germans in the theatrical fashion customary for a mass consumption – Schmidt refers to “theater Germans” [“Theater Germanen”] (Schmidt, The History of Prussia 3) – his book precisely popularizes and stereotypes this image of the Germans. The text-image constellation constructs them into popular political clichés that should propagate their national heritage to the generations of the nineteenth century and carry out the political agenda of building a unified German nation state under Prussian control. This imaginary mythical place of the German nation, which Schmidt constructs in his illustrated history book shapes the nation under very specific signifiers. Nation is not primarily understood as the history of events and of episodes that add up to the great story of Prussian history. Even though the book constructs continuity between ancient times and the time of the national events in 1864 and 1872, one cannot characterize this continuity as teleology of history. The topoi of the ground and land suggests the history of nation under the auspices of space. The main idea of the book is to show that there is a national continuity in German history, but this it is predominately done by typological vision of the past. The geographical “grounds” of German history are holy, and thus fighting for the German unity during the 1860s gains a religious mission. This connection between the “holy” soil and nation anticipates already the ideology of “blood and soil” (Blut und Boden) that connects decent and homeland as the key determinants for ethnicity and was later propagated by the Nazi regime. Schmidt particularly addresses the younger generations to make them understand Germany’s national mission and hopes to activate supporters for Bismarck. Prussia for him is not a militaristic power machine, but rather a government in line with the tradition of Germania’s holy history. Reader, do you realize, that you are not introduced a Prussia whose desire it is to massacre the other countries in order build – in defection from the national spirit – a Prussia of a

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greater number of square miles instead of one unified German Reich; no, reader, the author who writes these lines is a Prussian who, through a serious gaze into the history of his fatherland, became a German who sees the good fortune for his fatherland only when the banner of his royal house, bathed in light, flies protectively over all of Germany, no matter whether there is a change in the map or not.72

The author distances himself from the ideology of military expansion and tries to convince his readers that Prussia is the most suitable government for the Germans; with or without geographic expansion. Nevertheless, even though he repudiates the role of geography, the topoi of the land and soil dismantle the spatial ties of Schmidt’s conceptualization of nation. Even though the size seems not to matter (a rhetorical strategy of simulating humility), the concepts of space, boundaries and territory are the central components of the book’s political mission. According to Schmidt, the Prussian ideology suggests having higher goals than imperialism, and it follows a religious calling to build a German nationhood. In the preface the author states that the book should be like a cathedral: “That is all that I, reader, have to say to you in my introductory words. Now enter with reverence the hallowed halls of the history of your people!”73 Even though times have changed, Schmidt’s conceptualization of German national history rests on this archetype (Urbild), which comprises the ideal of natural strength, beauty, expansion, and destiny. He conveys the “glorious” future of Prussia by legitimizing, justifying and interpreting the past under the auspices of spatial parameters. Schmidt’s text-image constellation tries to make us believe that the land of the Germans was always part of a religious destiny to become a God-given nation: the pagan history of its beginnings transformed into a Christian eschatology, ideologically in sync with Prussia’s Protestantism. This aggressive nationalist agenda was typical of this genre, and it functioned as an instrument for national propaganda. In the Prussian history books the image develops an autonomous power, which interprets the

72 “Leser, Du erkennst es, dass du es hier nicht mit einem Preußen zu thun hast, dessen Wunsch es ist, Preußen solle sich die übrigen deutschen Länder gleichsam ‘ins Haus schlachten,’ um, im Abfalle von dem nationalen Geiste, statt des einigen deutschen Reiches, ein Preußen von größerer Quadratmeilenzahl zu gründen; nein, Leser, der diese Zeilen schreibt, ist ein Preuße, den ein ernster Einblick in die Geschichte seines weiteren und namentlich engeren Vaterlandes zu einem deutschen Manne gemacht hat, der nur Heil für das ganze deutsche Volk sieht, wenn die lichtumflossenen Banner seines Fürstenhauses – ob mit Veränderung der Landkarte oder nicht – schützend über ganz Deutschland wehen,” Schmidt, Hausbuch IX. 73 “Das ist Alles, was ich Dir, Leser, in meinem einleitenden Worte zu sagen habe. Tritt nun mit Andacht ein in die den Lebendigen ferne Zeit, in die heiligen Hallen der Geschichte Deines Volkes!” Schmidt, Hausbuch 12.

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past beyond the textual modes of the grand narrative. Instead of the story, spatial forms of organization have become crucial in representing national history. Schmidt’s illustrated history book utilized different forms of spatial imagination as a means of propagating a powerful image of the German nation based bourgeois space, territorial expansion, and environmentalism. This aggressive tone of propagating German nationalism, however, did not determine all illustrated history books in Germany. The following section discusses illustrated history books in a “de luxe” format, in German known as Prachtausgaben. These “editions de luxe” are notable since their visual modes of representation also spatialize national history, but in a fashion that could be read as a counterpoint to Kugler and Menzel’s work and particularly Schmidt’s book on Prussia.

Editions de Luxe: Museums of the Past In the beginning of the 1870s the genre of the so-called editions de luxe emerged on the book market, and its boom would last until the turn of the century. They were often oversized editions with precious gilded covers, high quality paper, lavish ornaments, and many different types of images. The visuals are no longer only wood engravings but cover a whole spectrum of techniques: photo mechanical reproductions, colored light-prints, reproductions of paintings on copper or metal engravings, and lithography. Frequently they have fold-out maps or “authentic” reproductions of letters, tickets, documents, or diaries. According to Alfred Lichtwark, who was one of the reformers of the craft of book illustration, the editions de luxe were products of the bourgeois salon culture of the fin de siècle: Everything had to look old, the cabinets, the chairs, the wallpapers, the curtains. To create an old-fashioned cozy atmosphere, the windows were made of crown glass and covered with dark curtains. Glasses and vases were put onto all the cabinets, the walls were adorned with old plates. Even on the back-rest of sofa a shelf for old-German-style pitchers was installed, and when the cousin from the countryside was forced sit in this place of honor, they fell onto his head.74

74 “Alles mußte alt aussehen, die Schränke, die Stühle, die Tapeten, die Vorhänge. Um eine altertümlich gemütliche Stimmung zu erwecken, waren die Fenster aus Butzenscheiben gemacht und dann noch mit dunklen Gardinen verhängt. Auf alle Schränke wurden Gläser und Vasen gestellt, die Wände bedeckten sich mit alten Tellern. Sogar an der Sofalehne wurde ein Bord für altdeutsche Krüge angebracht, und wenn der Vetter vom Lande auf diesen Ehrenplatz genötigt wurde, fielen sie ihm auf den Kopf,” Alfred Lichtwark, Makartbouquet und Blumenstrauß, München: Verlagsanstalt für Kunst und Wissenschaft, 1902, 19.

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One has to place the genre of these editions de luxe in this bourgeois interior; it is also close to the so-called coffee table books that were popular in England during late nineteenth century. The main purpose of these editions is to represent a bourgeois living standard, status of material wealth, as well as a cultivated and educated life style. The genre can be seen as a reaction against the development of industrialized book publishing, which made books into products of mass consumerism. The publisher Reclam, for example, created a universal library (Reclams Universalbibliothek), whose editions were cheap and created accessibility for a mass audience. The editions de luxe can be seen as a gesture against this trend of the “democratization” of the book, and they aimed to make the book in its material quality into something unique and exclusive. Besides intellectual fields, such as literature, medicine, and traveling, these editions de luxe also display a keen interest in the representation of history. So how do these lavish and richly ornamented books represent the past? What is the relationship between text and image? In what ways does the image gain even more autonomy as in Menzel and Kugler’s History of Frederick the Great and in Schmidt’s work? What image of the German nation is promoted in these editions de luxe? In order to answer these questions Adolf Bär and Paul Quensel’s book Gallery of German History: Two Millennia of German Life in Image and Text (Bildersaal Deutscher Geschichte: Zwei Jahrtausende deutschen Lebens in Bild und Wort, 1890)75 will serve as model to demonstrate the representation of history on these editions de luxe. Like the other illustrated history books of the nineteenth century, Bär and Quensel’s book also has nationalist ambitions and the foreword states that the book aims to evoke patriotic enthusiasm and national pride (Bär, Gallery of German History XI). As the following analysis shows, the representation of nation differs however from the pro-Prussian attitudes in Kugler and Menzel’s and Schmidt’s book. The dominate theme of the Gallery of German History is the representation of the German past in eighteen chapters from the beginnings of the Ancient Germans, through the Reformation, the era of Frederick II, and the 1848 revolution to the foundation of the German Empire. This oversize book with Art Nouveau ornaments on the cover is filled with almost 500 images including reproductions or reprints of paintings, photographs, woodcuts, lithographs, and steel etchings. Many of the visuals are colored, which in turn enhances the effect of “luxuriousness.” Particularly for the era of Prussian history the

75 Adolf Bär/Paul Quensel, Bildersaal Deutscher Geschichte: Zwei Jahrtausende deutschen Lebens in Bild und Wort, Stuttgart: Union Deutsche Verlagsgesellschaft, 1890. In the following cited as Gallery of German History within the main text.

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authors used many of Menzel’s wood engravings; however often positioned them completely differently and partly colored and polished. Their foreword praises the visual medium as the most suitable to represent history, since it can show much more than a story and is able to convey the character of historical individuals, the atmosphere of historical events, and can point to “secret causes” (“geheime Ursachen,” Bär/Quensel, Gallery of German History XI). Furthermore, images function as useful educational tools, since they can help to memorialize the past in a more profound fashion: “In addition, what one has seen remains longer and more vividly alive in one’s memory than the representation mediated by the word.”76 This aspect of creating a visual memory that is more lasting than textual forms of representations demarcates a specific form of historical representation in these editions de luxe. In the Gallery of German History the texts and their narratives play only a marginal role; the book does not convey action, stories, plots and events. Rather its main purpose is to develop an art historical storage place, a museum of history, which in turn conserves rather than retells history. In this context, Bär and Quensel’s emphasis on art history also plays a crucial role. The visuals of the book are mainly reproductions of historical paintings77 that – according to the editors – should give the best insight to the German past and are supposed to tell the truth about history. Not only is the mode of visual reception connected with this quality of authenticity, but also image itself, its beauty and its totality, is supposed to provide a perspective on history unobstructed by discursive language. The preface states that the book is intended to convey an image gallery, which shapes history into harmonious totality, a historical panorama in the shape of a large coffee table book. The Gallery of German History, for example, focuses on the era of Frederick II and a reproduction of Menzel’s wood engraving (which has also been used in Menzel and Kugler’s History of Frederick the Great) displays the scene where the Prussian king gazes into the coffin of Duke Friedrich Wilhelm von Brandenburg. In Menzel and Kugler’s book this wood engraving is integrated in the text; the coffin lid literally opens at the moment, when the text tells about that moment and thus image and text merge together. The text and image relationship is completely different in same scene in the Gallery of German History. Menzel’s image takes up almost half of the page, is aligned to the right margin and catches the initial gaze. The image dominates the whole page, its 76 “Dazu kommt, dass das Geschaute dem Gedächtnis länger und lebendiger erhalten bleibt als die durch das Wort übermittelte Vorstellung,” Bär/Quensel, Bildersaal XI. 77 “The bulk of its illustrations are from important paintings, indeed universally recognized masterpieces of the visual art”; “Hauptteil seiner Abbildungen sind bedeutende Gemälde, ja allgemein anerkannte Meisterwerke der bildenden Kunst,” Bär/Quensel, Bildersaal XI.

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Fig. 13: Adolph Menzel’s image portrays the Duke Friedrich Wilhelm von Brandenburg in Adolf Bär and Paul Quensel’s Gallery of German History (1890).

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frame is clear cut, and the small margin of text surrounds the image. There are no tensions or interactions between the visual and the text, rather the image achieves autonomy from the verbal. The reader gets drawn into the large reproduction in the center of page, attempts to find the text and then tries to match the text to the image. Even though there is also some text that describes this scene at the coffin in very similar ways to Kugler’s narrative, the visual effects of spacializing history are completely different in the Gallery of German History. As the title of Bär and Quensel’s book suggests, the image of Frederick the Great appears much more as one in a large image gallery of history. Thus, the edition de luxe preserves national history in the form of a museum that collects and stores individual images of the national past. One could give many more examples of this museum-like style of historical representation. Be it wood engravings, reproductions of paintings, photographs, etchings and copper engravings, all these images are dominating and often they take a whole page or even a double page. The text is pushed into the background or around the pictures, and sometimes the reader actually has to turn the book in order to the see the pictures in their vertical format. Reading is relegated to the status of a secondary task and its mode of reception is clearly overpowered by the observing of images. It is up to the reader how he or she wants to move through this museum: they can turn in any direction desired since the narrative has lost its guiding function. Even though the chapters give a macrostructure to the historical events depicted, the images suggest a rather random reading direction: there is the portrait of the Duke of Brandenburg, followed by Frederick II’s large portrait, and then a picture of an evening supper at Sans Souci. The images suggest a walk through a museum, gazing at history here and there, without a larger systematic or narrative order. This museum effect suggests a very different view of national history than in the History of Frederick the Great as well as in Schmidt’s book. It neither connects the image with the narrative nor does it follow a similar form of spatial order. The overpowering image of Frederick II, for example, does not perform a form of bourgeois spacializing nor does it highlight geographicalterritorial aspects of history. Even though one can find nationalistic tones in the book, its illustrations serve the impetus to describe history, to collect historical images, and to store them in a large collection. The book has much more a kind of conserving function; an archive that can be bought and exhibited in the private home of the bourgeois family. This archive should represent a status symbol and point to the material wealth and education of the family. It displays a private museum of history, in which its readers can visit one image after another, stopping at one picture and going to the next without adhering to a narrative logic. The discontinuities between text and image invite one to flip

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through the book according to a visual logic; a logic that does not emphasize teleology, but rather aims to put together a “complete picture” [“Gesamtbild” (Bär, Gallery of German History XI)]; a mosaic out of singular pictures. This whole picture, which is constructed mainly from aesthetic reproductions of historical paintings creates, an artificial space of historical representation; an aestheticized museum of the past. This gallery of historical images conveys a sense of conservation, which goes against the nationalist tones in the preface. Written when the end of the nineteenth century was close, the book represents a type of collecting project, a visual memory that could counteract the anxieties about the changes awaiting in the twentieth century.

Illustrated Books on Colonial History During the last decade of the nineteenth century Germany expanded its power overseas and colonized places in, for example, Togo, Cameroon, West- and East Africa, the South Pacific, and New Guinea.78 Current scholars have shown that although Germany did not represent a leading colonial power, like Britain or France, German colonialism had a tremendous impact on the societies of the colonized lands as well as on Germany’s historical, political, and aesthetic development. Particularly in the field of German Studies the topic of German colonialism has become crucial and has shaped discussions on canon, representation, literary aesthetics, and questions concerning the political ramifications of literature, to name only a few issues. Susanne Zantop’s work on the power and impact of colonial fantasies was groundbreaking for these debates.79 Russel Berman and Todd Kontje built on her work, but expanded the debate by deliberating on the ways German colonialism differs from that of the British Empire and question if Anglo-Saxon theories on colonialism are applicable to the German case.80 Scholars in Germany, such as Andrea Polaschegg, researched the specific case of German colonialism and its aesthetic and political implications.81 These scholars represent only a few examples of

78 For an introduction of the history of colonialism, see Jürgen Osterhammel, Kolonialismus: Geschichte, Formen, Folgen, München: Beck, 1995. 79 Susanne Zantop, Colonial Fantasies: Conquest, Family, and Nation in Precolonial Germany, 1770–1870, Durham: Duke UP, 1997. 80 Russell Berman, Enlightenment or Empire: Colonial Discourse in German Culture, Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 1998; Todd Curtis Kontje, German Orientalisms, Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 2004. 81 Andrea Polaschegg, Der andere Orientalismus: Regeln deutsch-morgenländischer Imagination im 19. Jahrhundert, Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2005.

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works on German colonialism. Scholarship on German colonialism as a political, cultural, historical, and aesthetic phenomenon is by no means a marginalized topic, but rather represents a current interdisciplinary issue. My intention is to add to current debates by showing that colonialism also played a crucial role in the culture of German academic historicism. In the course of the following pages I analyze the representational practices in “colonial” illustrated history books in nineteenth-century Germany. These are works by German historians who aim to show and retell the history of the German colonies towards the end of the nineteenth century and applied visual material, such as reprints of photographs, drawings, and maps to “illustrate” the representation of the German colonies. Investigating these works, the following questions are crucial. How does the visual interact with the textual? In what ways do these textual-visual hybrids introduce an element of space into the historical representation? What are the political ramifications to spatialize the past of German colonialism? In order to answer these questions I concentrate on illustrated history books on colonial history around the turn of the nineteenth century. As in my analysis of the national illustrated history books (Menzel/Kugler, Schmidt), my discussion on colonial history can also only focus on a few representative works. The genre of illustrated colonial history books is as extensive as the national one, and it embodies a close bond between the realm of scholarly history and popular historical memory discourses. As it was the case for Kugler and Menzel’s work, newspapers and magazines were formative in the modes of how the history of the colonies was presented in the scholarly works on colonial history. There were many newspapers and magazines about the German colonies, such as Globe (Globus), Colonial Journal (Koloniale Zeitschrift), The Farmer in the Tropics (Der Tropenpflanzer), and Over Land and Sea (Über Land und Meer) and they decisively shaped the reception, interpretation, and discussion of the cultural “other” in popular debates.82 The illustrated history books on the German colonies copied journalistic modes of representation, such as the reproduction of photographs, serial publication, and orientation towards a mass audience. They thereby also often transcribed and elevated a “popular” and stereotype image of the natives into the realm of a scholarly discourse of history. The following reading of two colonial history books demonstrates that

82 For the popularization of the colonies in the medium of colonial newspapers, see for example Michael Schubert, “Kolonialpropaganda als Kolonialdiskurs: Die Disponibilität des ‘Negerbildes’ in der deutschen Kolonialzeitung 1884–1919,” Deutsche Sprache und Kolonialismus: Aspekte der nationalen Kommunikation, 1884–1919, ed. Ingo Warnke, Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2009, 265–290

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the academic historians recycled modes of popular representation for their academic works, and the usage of visual material fostered these processes of popularization. For investigating the role and effects of visual popularization in academic historicist works, I have chosen to analyze Franz Hutter’s Germany Overseas: The German Colonies in Text and Image (Das überseeische Deutschland: Die deutschen Kolonien in Wort und Bild, 1903).83 The work of the German general represents a prime example of a colonial illustrated history book, and it aims to tell the history of eight German colonies in eight respective chapters (these chapters were written by different authors and the editor Hutter contributed the preface and the chapter on Cameroon). When the book Germany Overseas was published, it was available as a whole book, but could also be bought in journal form in individual chapters as parts of a bi-monthly series. Most of its numerous illustrations are reprints of photographic images and they are inserted with clearly marked frames into the text. The preface to the book discusses the history of colonialism within a German context and mentions that the German people always had a desire to move and wander, from the Migration Period (Völkerwanderung) to the time of the Mayflower. The German Duke of Brandenburg is glorified as a great predecessor of Bismarck’s colonial enterprises. Hutter concludes in the preface that the historical events of 1870/71 gave rise to the colonial power of Germany and that his book supports these developments by relating the history of the German colonies. Thus, the preface proposes to write history from the perspective of the colonizers and aims to represent the phenomenon of German colonialism as a historical continuity: Then the year 1870–71 came. It gave the Germans a newly reunited fatherland. All the colonializing efforts that have appeared since Ancient Germans in different periods of world history were revitalized to new life in the newly greened branches of the Germanic family tree.84

The historical event of 1870/71 triggered the revitalization of Germany’s colonizing efforts and established continuity within German national and colonial history. For Hutter, this event, steered by “great” historical individuals desig83 Franz Hutter, Das überseeische Deutschland: Die Deutschen Kolonien in Wort und Bild, Vol. 1, Stuttgart: Union Deutsche Verlagsgesellschaft, 1903. In the following cited as Germany Overseas within the main text. 84 “Da kam das Jahr 1870–71. Es brachte den Deutschen ein neugeeintes Vaterland. Alle Beweggründe, die seit dem Auftreten der Germanen in der Weltgeschichte in den verschiedenen Zeitabschnitten als Triebfedern zu kolonisierender Tätigkeit gewirkt haben, erstarkten damit zu neuem Leben in den wiederergrünten Sprossen des germanischen Völkerbaumes,” Hutter, Das überseeische Deutschland 4.

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nates a teleological resumption of Germany’s historical goal of global expansion. In order to narrate this telos of history, Hutter’s book employs the form of the grand narrative. Thus, the occupation of the different colonies as well as the historical developments in Europe are organized within a temporal mode of representation, which points to the progressive development of Germany’s becoming a historical world power. However, when “telling” the history of the natives in the colonies the authors of Hutter’s book employ descriptive modes of representation and visual material. Hutter’s chapter on Cameroon, for example, tells the story of its German occupation and how the Germans managed to take over this land. The text suggests the mode of the grand narrative, which integrates this particular episode of the past into the framework of German history as a teleological process. However, dealing with the past of the African tribes, the author expresses doubt as to whether one can even use the term “history”: In order to attain a rather clear picture of the current state of the population and their ethnic elements, we need to study the history of these migrations (to the extent the term “history” can be used at all in this context).85

The passage suggests the importance of studying the history of the people in Cameroon in order to understand the anthropological and ethnological dimension of the natives. At the same time Hutter suggests that an understanding of history based on telos, events, and grand narrative seems not to be appropriate for the African tribes. This emphasis already embodies the different modes of historical representation at stake; for the representation of German (colonial) history the grand narrative is suitable, but for the natives this mode does not suffice. How then do the authors of Germany Overseas write the history of the natives? In Hutter’s chapter on Cameroon modes of historical representation invert the order of a progressive temporal telling of the past. His account of the Sudanese, for example, does not follow a narrative mode, but rather projects an ethnographic topography. The text describes minutely the living environment the people, the geographical formations, the geographical boundaries to other native tribes. There is no story about the past directed by events, but rather the historical representation amounts to a depiction of the environment and its physical features. This mode of topographical description minutely

85 “Um nun ein einigermaßen klares Bild von dem derzeitigen Stand der Bevölkerung und der Gruppierung der volklichen Elemente uns zu verschaffen, müssen wir die Geschichte dieser Völkerwanderungen (soweit von einer “Geschichte” gesprochen werden kann) studieren,” Hutter, Das überseeische Deutschland 79–80.

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matches the ways how the images work in Hutter’s book. Note the textualvisual composition about the three Sudanese women.

Fig. 14: The image of the three Sudanese women in Franz Hutter’s colonial history book Germany Overseas (1903) portrays them according to European aesthetic norms.

The text to the left of the picture minutely lists the anatomical features of these three women mentioning their height, their build, and their facial distinctions. All these characteristics are noted in a comparative relationship to European norms, such as the shape of the skull and the forehead. This taxonomic form of representation corresponds with the visual representation. Even though the image of the three Sudanese women is marked clearly with a decisive frame, and thus does not blur with the verbal as was the case in Menzel’s illustrations, the textual and image do cooperate, because the text has also become non-narrative, descriptive, and exudes a visual quality. The image of the women should serve a scholarly purpose and provides the viewer with ethnological information, which is, however, based on European norms.

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The composition of the image (their cross-legged standing position, their facial profile, their loose embrace, their gaze) adheres to classic aesthetic norms of European representation. In this context the images of the three women in Hutter’s book (as well as many other pictures in his work) shows some parallels to Gustav Fritsch’s ethnographical atlas titled The Natives of South-Africa: Atlas Containing Thirty Race Types (Die Eingeborenen Süd-Afrika’s [sic]: Atlas enthaltend dreissig Racentypen, 1872).86 Fritsch was educated in physiology and anatomy and worked as a professor in these fields at the University of Berlin. He conducted extensive ethnographical research in South Africa. Fritsch’s atlas exhibits different groups of natives in South Africa in the style of portrait photography and his 30 plates contain four portraits each that show the persons in profile and front view. His ethnographic study is based on a typology of what he considered different “race types” and by means of photographic positioning the atlas aims to suggest a scholarly and factual evaluation. The portraits, however, blend European standards of classical aesthetics with scholarly and scientific norms.87 Similarly to Fritsch’s ethnological atlas Hutter’s representation of the Sudanese women is also based on a mode of ethnographical taxonomy. These types are always portrayed in comparison to a Western “ideal” type, which is supposed to be the norm of beauty, health, and intellectual development. What type of model of the past, then, does this mode of taxonomic representation convey? In contrast to the “heroic” historiographical narrative, the history of the native is conveyed via images, description, and taxonomic lists of distinctions. Thus, the representation of the “native” past escapes temporal and teleological narrative modes and is primarily based on constructing an ethnographical topography; a system of physiognomic, anatomic, and bodily features; a form of representation which also finds its correspondence in Hutter’s geographical depictions of the land of the natives. Their past does not contain an element of progression, change, and dynamic, but rather it is projected onto a spatial surface, which fixates their existence as a taxonomy of ethnographical distinctions. This spatial image of the natives’ past can also be read as a metaphor for an unknown topography, which has to be discovered, 86 Gustav Fritsch, Die Eingeborenen Süd-Afrika’s [sic]: Atlas enthaltend dreissig Racentypen, Breslau: Ferdinand Hirt Königliche Universitäts- und Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1872. 87 Wolfgang Kabatek, “Photographie im Einsatz 1891: Die Zeitschrift für Ethnologie führt die Autotypie als Reproduktionsverfahren ein,” Mit Deutschland um die Welt: Eine Kulturgeschichte des Fremden in der Kolonialzeit, eds. Alexander Honold and Klaus Scherpe, Stuttgart: Metzler, 2004, 145–152.; Michael Wiener, Ikonographie des Wilden: Menschenbilder in Ethnographie und Photographie zwischen 1850 und 1918, München: Trickster, 1990.

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explored and controlled. The author describes the flora, fauna, locations, the people, but he does not connect them into a historical meta-narrative. Their culture, existence and civilization remain static and fixed. The descriptive style corresponds to the stasis; there is no development, no change, no time. The book describes a place that is ultimately emptied of history. The loss of historical temporality is a common aspect of colonialist perceptions of the colonized land; the land of the natives has not reached any form of enlightenment and represents the conservation of a pure state of nature.88 In Hutter’s case this colonial place has to be investigated by scholarly methods such as the descriptions and interpretations of the people, their social and political systems, their habits and customs, as well as their cultural and aesthetic production. Once this unknown land is made known to the colonizer – by means of adapting the other into the standards of European culture – the colonies gain the ability to develop, change: they become historical. Edward Said mentions in his work Orientalism that it is symptomatic of colonialist conceptions of history to drain the temporal aspect out and, in turn, spatialize the processes of the past. The following quotation illustrates the connection between the de-historiziation of the Orient and its spatialization: Against this static system of ‘synchronic essentialism’ I have called vision because it presumes that the whole Orient can be seen panoptically, there is a constant pressure. The source of pressure is narrative, in that if any Oriental detail can be shown to move, or to develop, diachrony is introduced into the system. What seemed stable – and the Orient is synonymous with stability and unchanging eternality – now appears unstable. Instability suggests that history, with its disruptive detail, its currents of change, its tendency towards growth, decline, or dramatic movement, is possible in the Orient and for the Orient.89

Said points to the concept of “synchronic essentialism,” which fixates the Orient into an a-historical state of civilization. It is notable that Said uses the metaphor of the panopticum to illustrate this historical stasis. He claims that narrative can introduce the element of change, which is necessary to foster processes of autonomy. The historical fixation of the Orient repudiates narrative aspects, such as story, dynamic, and development and thus implies that

88 See Jürgen Osterhammel, Die Entzauberung Asiens: Europa und die asiatischen Reiche im 18. Jahrhundert, München: Beck, 1998. In reference to Edward Said, Osterhammel shows that in works of European Enlightenment (Montesquieu and Edward Gibbon) the Orient is portrayed in a condition of historical immaturity and it can only become mature via assimilation to Western civilization (Osterhammel, Die Entzauberung Asiens 68–80). 89 Edward Said, Orientalism: Western Conceptions of the Orient, New York: Pantheon Books, 1978, 240.

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the colonized world can only become historical through the help of Western civilization. One can also detect this form of synchronic essentialism in Hutter’s work, since it emphasizes that colonies do not have the capacity to construct a history of their own, but need Western (German) civilization in order to develop into a culture with a past. Hutter’s chapter on Cameroon also emphasizes this aspect of historical stasis by intertwining his ethnographical observations with the idea that the environment (climate and geography) shapes the mentality and state of civilization of a culture. Note the following passage, which explains the development of race types with a model of historical environmentalism: Among the external factors that have fostered the creation of races, undoubtedly the different geographical locations, in other words the climate, play by far the most important role. The more extreme the climate, the more vigorous must be the effect on the human organism. Thus, the desert creates different people than the humid tropics and polar regions, the high mountains other ones than the lowlands.90

Different race types are the products of different climate zones and geographical determinants. This environmentalist determinism, which assumes that geographical conditions control the mentality, intellectuality, and social behavior of humans, intensifies the aspect of historical stasis that Hutter’s text proclaims for the African people. Not only their bodily features are cast into a firm taxonomy, but also their development as a whole people is determined by natural laws. Thus, in contrast to the “event history” that is used when the authors write about “German” history, Hutter’s notes on climate emphasizes the lack of history of the African natives. The prevalence of natural laws, of course, does not abandon history and completely eradicate the historical development, but it highlights that historical change happens slow and often beyond the control of human subjects. Hutter’s work spatializes the past by projecting an ethnographic topography as a substitute for history, which in turn claims the necessity of European (German) rule over the colony as the beginning of a new time and so of history. The following example of an illustrated history book on German colonialism also spatializes the past, but whereas Hutter’s book highlights an ethnological topography, this one represents the colony of Samoa as a place in “paradise.” 90 “Unter den äußeren Faktoren, die zur Schaffung der Rassen selbst zusammengewirkt haben, nimmt unzweifelhaft die verschiedene geographische Lage, mit anderen Worten das Klima, weitaus die erste Stelle ein. Je extremer ein Klima nach der einen oder anderen Seite hin ist, umso energischer muss seine Einwirkung auf den menschlichen Organismus sein. So schafft die Wüste andere Menschen als die feuchten Tropen- und Polarländer, das Hochgebirge andere als die Tiefebenen,” Hutter, Das überseeische Deutschland 85.

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Samoa: Images of the Exotic “Other” Germany acquired parts of the islands of Samoa in the year 1900. The United States, Great Britain and France had shown colonial interest in this territory for decades, and at the turn of the century the treaties for the distribution of the islands were made. This part of Oceania was conquered not only for trade, but also served as a place of adventure and inspirational source for literature and art. The islands were popularized as places in paradise in newspaper reports, popular bestsellers, exhibitions, and postcards.91 The land of Samoa has been frequently the object of colonialist fantasies in German literature and colonial exhibitions.92 Gustav Meinecke’s The German Colonies in Text and Image: History, Regional Studies, Ethnography, Flora and Fauna, Trade- and Economic Relations in Colonies of the German Empire (Die deutschen Kolonien in Wort und Bild: Geschichte, Länder- und Völkerkunde, Tier-und Pflanzenwelt, Handels- und Wirtschaftsverhältnisse der Schutzgebiete des deutschen Reiches, 1902)93 also devotes a chapter to Samoa. Meinecke was the director of the German Colonial Museum in Berlin, which was founded in 1899 and had to close due to economic problems in 1915. The museum informed its visitors about the German colonies, and it was well known for its popular modes of ethnographic representation. It employed, for example, panoramas and dioramas to portray the people and the landscape of the German colonies.94 Before his career at the German Colonial Museum, Meinecke was one of the editors in the German Colonial Press (Deutscher Kolonialverlag), a publishing house that also published the famous German Colonial Newspaper (Deutsche Kolonialzeitung). These print-media propagated the expansion of the German colonies overseas and promoted the idea that an increase of colonial expansion would foster economic growth, political power, and scholarly competitiveness on a 91 See for example Kathrin DiPaola, “Samoa: Perle der Deutschen Kolonien? Bilder des exotischen Anderen in Geschichte(n) des 20. Jahrhunderts,” Diss: U of Maryland 2004 and Joachim Meißner, Mythos Südsee: Das Bild von der Südsee im Europa des 18. Jahrhunderts, Hildesheim: Olms, 2006. 92 Wolfgang Liedtke, Samoa 1880–1914: Bibliographie deutschsprachiger kolonialer Literatur zu Quellen der Ethnographie und Geschichte annotiert, Dresden: Staatliches Museum für Völkerkunde Dresden, 1999; George Steinmetz, The Devil’s Handwriting: Precoloniality and the German Colonial State in Qingdao, Samoa, and Southwest Africa, Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2007. 93 Gustav Meinecke, Die deutschen Kolonien in Wort und Bild: Geschichte, Länder- und Völkerkunde, Tier-und Pflanzenwelt, Handels- und Wirtschaftsverhältnisse der Schutzgebiete des deutschen Reiches, Leipzig: Weber, 1901. In the following cited as German Colonies in Text and Image within the main text. 94 See for example the work by Ralph Jessen and Jakob Vogel, Wissenschaft und Nation in der europäischen Geschichte, Frankfurt a. M.: Campus Verlag, 2002.

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national and global basis. Both the colonial press and the newspaper worked closely together with the German Colonial Association (Deutscher Kolonialverein) which was founded in 1882 and its members were often political leaders, business men, and scholars. Meinecke’s illustrated history book shares this popularizing aspect on conveying historical knowledge of the German colonies to a mass audience. His book investigates the history of some German colonies and contains 191 illustrations, 17 portraits, and 10 maps. Some of these illustrations are reprints of photographs, but the book mainly displays copper etchings from photographs. There are also wood engravings and ornamental drawings at the beginning of each chapter. All these different visual media are mixed and correlated with the text suggesting a multi-medial representation of German colonial history. As the title of this large-format book already indicates, the atlas aims to give an overview of the history of the German colonies, which integrates aspects from ethnography, zoology, biology, and economics. The book is structured geographically, and after two chapters on the development of German colonial history, the book focuses on individual colonies in Togo, Cameroon, East Africa, and Samoa. In the first two chapters on the history of the German colonial politics (in Germany), the author tells about the historical impact of the Thirty Years’War as well as the religious conflicts, which inhibited the opportunities that Germany would have had to become a colonial empire like Britain or Spain. Similarly to Hutter’s book, the Duke of Brandenburg is portrayed as the first Prussian who fights for the idea of Germany as an imperial power; the Duke is followed by Bismarck, who embodies for Meinecke the ultimate founder of German colonialism. With Bismarck begins a new era for Germany and the possibility to become a world power based on colonialism, imperialism and militarism is established. According to Meinecke Bismarck realized that the true mission of the German nation is to colonize other people and expand its territories. It is notable that this vision of German colonial world power is not necessarily coded with an aggressive militaristic vocabulary, but rather it is clothed in a language of moral obligation. Meinecke cites the speech of Emperor Wilhelm II: “Everybody should be clear about the fact that the German Michel has put his shield (adorned with the eagle) firmly onto the ground, in order to grant once and for all protection to the person, whose protection is our responsibility.”95 The German Michel embodies a personification of the German national 95 “Möge jedem, mit dem wir zu thun haben werden, klar sein, dass der deutsche Michel seinen mit dem Reichsadler geschmückten Schild fest auf den Boden gestellt hat, um dem, der ihn um Schutz angeht, ein für allemal diesen Schutz zu gewähren,” Meinecke, Die deutschen Kolonien in Wort und Bild 8.

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character. Often depicted with a nightcap and nightgown, the figure usually communicated a negative image of the Germans. However, Hutter’s image presents the German Michel as a soldier that has woken up to realize his mission of colonization. The image is as euphemistic as Hutter’s language legitimizing colonialism. The word “protection” points to the German colonial mission of “civilizing” the inhabitants of the German colonies. Similar to the construction of a German nation in Schmidt’s illustrated history, the politics of imperialism is attached to a moral discourse which uses the term of protection as a euphemism for aggressive colonization. Whereas the introductory chapters, illustrated with portraits of Bismarck and the duke of Brandenburg, tell Germany’s colonial history in a narrative mode based on a glorious future, historical continuity, and victory, the textual and visual style in the individual chapters on German colonial history is, however, quite different. Similar to Hutter’s work, the history of the native is also not told in a narrative mode, which recounts the events of Samoan history, but rather their culture, their past, and the people are depicted via visual media (reprints of photographs, drawings, and maps). This visualization of native history is particularly evident in Meinecke’s chapter on Samoa. Note the introductory depiction of Apia, the capital of Samoa: When the traveller finally arrives at Apia, the harbor of the capital of Samoa, after he had been on a long monotonous voyage for one or two weeks, where sky and water were the only attractions, he is delighted, virtually overwhelmed by the magnificent tropical splendor, which is offered to him; probably no other German country has shown such as similar tropical splendor such as Samoa, no harbor is situated so picturesque as the one in Apia.96

This passage is reminiscent of the panorama perspective in Ranke’s historical writings about the discovery of the New World, which transformed the optics of traveling, tourism, and the picturesque into the medium of scholarly historiography. The gaze in this passage is similar to the gaze of Ranke’s discoverers: it simulates a landscape of utmost beauty, of untouched nature, and of innocent people. The unknown land seems to promise the discovery of the ultimate paradise, in which humans live in perfect harmony with nature. Like the actual panoramas that allowed visitors to see the sights from far away countries, this passage also suggests the picturesque optics of a tourist. In the German version 96 “Kommt der Reisende nach ein- bis zweiwöchiger eintöniger Seefahrt, mit Himmel und Wasser als einziger Augenweide, vor die Reede der Hauptstadt von Samoa, Apia, so ist er entzückt, ja geradezu überwältigt von der herrlichen Tropenpracht, die sich ihm dort darbietet; wohl kein anderes deutsches Land hat eine ähnliche Tropenpracht auszuweisen wie Samoa, kein Hafen ist so malerisch gelegen wie Apia,” Meinecke, Die deutschen Kolonien in Wort und Bild “Die Samoa-Inseln” 1.

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of the passage this reference is particularly pertinent, since it describes the experience of seeing Apia as an idyllic place. The representation of Apia as a picturesque place also creates the basis for recognizing this land as something known and as property. The “German tropical landscape” is connected to the aesthetics of the home country, which is evinced in the following quotation: For Samoa is like a little piece of Switzerland in the South Seas, featuring equally imposing, albeit not as high mountains and picturesque scenic vistas, with equally beautiful valleys, lush canyons, sparkling waterfalls, extensive forests and small lakes, as well as the splendor of the ever-green tropical vegetation and the mild, balanced delicious climate!97

This depiction of the “tropical Switzerland” illustrates how the unknown landscape is perceived as something European and already known. As mentioned in the context of Ranke’s panorama of history, Dolf Sternberger noted that the panorama is the medium that expands the European gaze into the South; makes far away countries connectable and suitable for a European aesthetics and worldview. Even though the image utilizes the mode of the picturesque, its aesthetics embodies the chauvinism of the German colonizers; a fact that can be also observed in image of the panorama of Apia.

Fig. 15: The image of the bay of Apia in Gustav Meinecke’s illustrated history book The German Colonies in Word and Image (1901) portrays the Samoan landscape in a picturesque and panoramic fashion.

97 “Dafür ist Samoa aber wie ein Stückchen Schweiz in der Südsee, mit ebenso kühn auftretenden, wenn auch lange nicht so hohen Bergen und malerischen Fernsichten, mit ebenso schönen Thälern, lauschigen Schluchten, schäumenden Wasserfällen, ausgedehnten Wäldern und kleinen Seen, und dazu noch die übrige Pracht der ewig grünen Tropenvegetation und das milde, gleichmäßige köstliche Klima!” Meinecke, Die deutschen Kolonien in Wort und Bild 3.

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The image shows the long beaches, the palms, the water, the European houses, the Samoan hut, and the mountains in the background. The image is framed, but the contours within the picture are rather blurred; the land, ocean and village seem to merge with each other. This “imprecision” of the image, which in this context suggests a non-photographic quality, matches the panoramic visualization of Samoa an imagined paradise. It suggests a type of purity and authenticity, something that is untouched by nature. Not only is the landscape described as a picturesque European paradise, the inhabitants are also depicted via clichés. Note the following passage about the women of Samoa: Great fiery eyes look out under her bushy black eyebrows, the little mouth with lips nearly too full carries the most beautiful pearl teeth, the facial features are so pleasing and regular that one could take many Samoan women as daughters of sunny Italy or Andalusia, if their body shapes did not possess such voluptuousness and opulence. 98

The Samoan women are exoticized by describing them with stereotypical signifiers of the “other” beauty such as the white teeth, the large dark eyes. This exoticized status, however, has to be normalized and they are compared to the beauty of European women. Via this comparison, the women are to become part of the culture of the colonizers, and they lose their difference by becoming Italian or Portuguese. Portraying and describing the Samoan women, the author uses several photographs. The photograph of the Samoan women functions as an authentic proof that this paradise of Samoa actually exists; the precision of the photographic reproduction enables us to see precisely her build, shape of face, posture and even her smile. The photograph is composed according to a European aesthetics of the portrait photo; one can see her left ear, the head is slightly tilted, and her shoulders. The photo conveys authenticity, but at the same time its visual rhetoric is geared towards making her match with the standards of European beauty. In contrast to the images in Hutter’s atlas, the photo’s primary intention is not exclusively to report about the colonies in a scholarly fashion, but rather transform the colonial fantasy in to a real place. Like Hutter’s ethnographical topography, Meinecke’s historical atlas similarly does not tell about the history of the natives. Only when the author deals with the German historical events that lead to colonialism, does he employ the

98 “Große feurige Augen blicken unter den buschigen schwarzen Brauen hervor, der kleine Mund mit seinen etwas übervollen Lippen birgt die schönsten Perlenzähne, die Gesichtszüge sind so ansprechend und regelmäßig, daß man viele Samoanerinnen für Töchter des sonnigen Italiens oder Andalusiens halten könnte, wenn Ihre Körperformen nicht allzu große Üppigkeit und Fülle besäßen,” Meinecke, Die deutschen Kolonien in Wort und Bild 3.

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Fig. 16: The photograph of the Samoan woman in Gustav Meinecke’s The German Colonies in Word and Image (1903) is composed according to a European aesthetics of the portrait photo.

modes of the grand narrative. When the text depicts the history of the colonies, images and picturesque description are employed. This picturesque representation of Samoa suggests a type of a-historicity, because the colony embodies the goal of history. Historical development is no longer necessary because the colony embodies an authentic and pure society; the fulfillment of German colonial policies. However, this view only entails the historian’s perspective of the colonizers. Samoa is portrayed as an idyllic oasis, and the author describes it by means of many cultural stereotypes: from the beautiful women, to the breathtaking landscape, and to the “peaceful” organization of society, Samoa embodies a location of culminating colonialist fantasies. The land and culture represented in Meinecke’s book display a panorama of popular images of the “other” that have nothing to do with the people of Samoa or with the political reality of German colonialism; these pictures do not display the atrocities of the German colonizers or the oppression of the natives. It does not surprise, then, that the history of the natives is muted in this book. Instead of recounting their own past, the author collects one colorful image after the other. With

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every image, be it of the beautiful eyes of the Samoan women or the pristine water, the writing of history is deferred and is condensed into a picturesque topography of European fantasies.

Part IV: Historical Cartography Mapping Europe Cartography and Construction Cartographers and geographers from all over the world (in particular in the Anglo-American academic communities) increasingly reflect on the representative modes of maps and explore questions about their rhetorical construction, their “language,” their iconic design, and their socio-political implications. John Brian Harley was one of the important pioneers in opening new sets of questions into the tradition of cartography. His books and essays essentially question an approach to maps in which they have the status of factual representations of geographical truth. Harley challenges the myth that the evaluation of maps can constitute a positivistic science and that they mirror an objective world of facts. He states: “Maps cease to be understood primarily as inert records of morphological landscapes or passive reflections of the world of objects, but are regarded as refracted images contributing to dialogue in a socially constructed world.”1 According to Harley maps have lost their factual innocence and his work dismantles their rhetorical strategies, their authorial intention, and their ideological underpinnings. Like the rhetorical turn in the field of history, Harley’s work also explores the power of linguistic, visual, and iconic strategies, such as perspective, coloring, proportion, and visual design. His rhetorical approach on cartography, however, does not exhaust itself to a formal analysis, but rather he critically examines the social dimension and ideological function inherent in these means of representation. Harley observes: “The social history of maps, unlike that of literature, art, or music, appears to have a few genuinely popular, alternative, or subversive modes of expression. Maps are preeminently a language of power, not of protest” (Harley, “Maps, Knowledge, and Power” 79). Harley’s work shows how specific cartographic designs were utilized for political propaganda, and “mapping” represents a discourse that demarcates negotiations of power, authority and control (Harley, “Maps, Knowledge, and Power” 57–59). Harley’s work on carto1 John Brian Harley, “Maps, Knowledge, and Power,” The New Nature of Maps: Essays in the History of Cartography, ed. Paul Laxton, Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins UP, 2001, 53. In the following cited as “Maps, Knowledge, and Power” within the main text. Harley was also strongly influenced by the works of David Harvey. See David Harvey, “Between Space and Time: Reflections on the Geographical Imagination,” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 80 (1990): 418–434.

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graphic power has inspired many recent geographers, such as Christian Jacob, John Pickles and Derek Gregory, to name but a few.2 Even though these scholars investigate diverse topics, one could perhaps formulate one common denominator of their works: they all pursue questions regarding the representative practices of maps and investigate how they can function as agents for the political production of space, geopolitics, and national and colonial power. These debates in the field of cartography have not been without impact on other academic disciplines, such as cultural and literary studies. German studies developed a keen interest in the discourse of mapping, for example the discussions on memory, landscape literature and topographical theory.3 The discourse of “mapping” also became crucial in current trends in the discipline of history. Most prominent is the work by the historian Karl Schlögel who implements the reading of maps as a constitutive representational mode of the past in his historiographies. As mentioned in Part I and III in this book, he is often seen as the advocate of the spatial turn, since he introduces the element of space into the discussions of historical representation by focusing on the logic, power, and function of maps – among other spatial media, such as landscapes, urban spaces, and timetables. Based on tenets from Harley’s theoretical considerations on cartography, Schlögel reads the “language” of maps and how they construct time-space relationships within modern society.4 The 2 See the works by the following authors who have all been influenced by Harley/Harvey interpretation of geography: Christian Jacob, The Sovereign Map: Theoretical Approaches in Cartography throughout History, Chicago: The U of the Chicago P, 2006; John Pickles, A History of Spaces: Cartographic Reason, Mapping and the Geo-coded World, New York: Routledge, 2004; Denis Cosgrove, Apollo’s Eye: A Cartographic Genealogy of the Earth in the Western Imagination, Baltimore: The John Hopkins UP, 2001; Derek Gregory, Geographical Imaginations, Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell, 1994; Peter Gould, The Geographer at Work, New York: Routledge, 1989; Geoff King, Mapping Reality: An Exploration of Cultural Cartographies, New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1996; Mark Monmonier, How to lie with Maps, Chicago: The U of Chicago P, 1991. 3 Sigrid Weigel, “Zum ‘topographical turn’: Kartographie, Topographie und Raumkonzepte in den Kulturwissenschaften,” Kultur.Poetik 2.2 (2002): 151–165; Hartmut Böhme, ed. Topographien der Literatur: Deutsche Literatur im transnationalen Kontext, Stuttgart: Metzler, 2005; Robert Stockhammer, “Bilder im Atlas: Zum Verhältnis von piktorialer und kartographischer Darstellung,” Der Bilderatlas im Wechsel der Künste und Medien, eds. Sabine Flach, Inge MünzKoenen, and Marianne Streisand, München: Fink, 2005, 342–361; Paolo Bianchi and Sabine Folie, eds. Atlas Mapping: Künstler als Kartographen, Kartographie als Kultur, Wien: Turia & Kant, 1997. 4 Karl Schlögel, Im Raume lesen wir die Zeit: Über Zivilisationsgeschichte und Geopolitik, Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 2007, 81–107. Besides Schlögel there are many historians that debate the aspect of space, geography, geopolitics in their works, such as Jürgen Osterhammel, “Geographie, Geohistorie und historische Geographie,” Neue Politische Literatur 43 (1998): 374–395.

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prominence of maps in different academic disciplines illustrates that cartography has opened up to interdisciplinary discussions. Not all these debates in literary and cultural studies, as well as in the discipline of history, gained their initial momentum from the reflections of the academic field of cartography. The interdisciplinary connections are reciprocally intertwined just as debates about the role of rhetoric in literary and historical studies have influenced each other. Within discussions about mapping, it is, however, surprising that historical atlases are relatively neglected and rarely considered as a genre. Historical mapping still represents a marginal topic, and even in the field of cartography research on historical mapping is rather sparse. In the German academy the practice of investigating historical atlases by defining their generic criteria and historicizing them describes a dominant methodological tradition.5 Scholars in the US that work on historical atlases are often inspired by the theoretical tenets of the generation of new cartographers of the Harley school. The works by Jeremy Black on the historical atlas claim that every historical map has a specific “visual language” by which it can fixate history: its perspective, its measure, its color, its symbols, its proportions; all these are visual aspects that can express power relations of political authority. Of particular interest is Black’s book Maps and History: Constructing Images of the Past,6 in which he investigates the visual language of historical The main topic for the German “Historiker Tag” (“historian’s day”) in 2004 was space. See also Wolfgang Behringer and Christof Dipper, Kartenwelten: Der Raum und seine Repräsentation in der Neuzeit, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2006. 5 See the works of Johannes Dörflinger, “Geschichtsatlanten vom 16. bis zum Beginn des 20. Jahrhunderts,” 400 Jahre Mercator, 400 Jahre Atlas: ‘Die ganze Welt zwischen zwei Buchdeckeln’; eine Geschichte der Atlanten, ed. Hans Wolff, Weissenhorn in Bayern: Konrad, 1995, 179–198; Norbert Ohler, “Historische Atlanten: Tendenzen und Neuerscheinungen. Eine Auswahlbibliographie,” Militärgeschichtliche Mitteilungen 22 (1977): 141–162; Ursula Gehrecke, “Der historische Atlas: Ein ungelöstes Problem,” Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterricht 1959 (10.1): 18–27. Irmgard Hantsche historicizes the historical atlas as a genre by contextualizing it with the political systems in Germany. See Irmgard Hantsche, “Karten im Schulgeschichtsbuch,” Internationale Schulbuchforschung 19 (1997): 383–398. See also Patrick Lehn’s book Deutschlandbilder: Historische Schulatlanten zwischen 1871 und 1990, Köln: Böhlau, 2008. Cited as Images of Germany within the main text. His book focuses on visual rhetoric and he emphasizes that maps reflect political ideology. My approach, however, suggests that maps shape conceptions of space that in turn constitute ideologies of power. There is also research on cartography in Germany that positions itself closer to the Harley/Harvey school, such as Ute Schneider, Die Macht der Karten: Eine Geschichte der Kartographie vom Mittelalter bis heute, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2004. 6 Jeremy Black, Maps and History: Constructing Images of the Past, New Haven: Yale UP, 1997, 2–4. In the following cited as Maps and History within the main text; see also the following, all by Jeremy Black: “Historical Atlases,” The Historical Journal 37.3 (1994): 643–667; Maps and Politics, Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2002; “The Historical Atlas: Teaching Tool or Coffee Table

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maps in a cultural-comparative and diachronic fashion. My examination of historical atlases in Germany builds on Black’s approach, but changes the perspective on the role of rhetoric. Whereas Black’s rhetorical analysis often operates only as a short prelude to historical and political contextualization, I emphasize the constitutive function of visual rhetorical strategies of maps, such as their use of color, their cartographic signs, their geographical markers, and their text-image compositions, in shaping spatial conceptions of history. Close and extensive readings of this “visual vocabulary” stress the aspect of construction: maps do not reflect political power relations but they rather represent a medium that creates forms of political power by suggesting specific “space” orientations.7 In the course of this section I analyze examples of German historical maps during the nineteenth century and my examination is guided by the following questions. How do historical maps of the nineteenth century construct national history? What are the predominant visual representational practices in these historical maps? What are the relationships between image and text, the visual and the verbal, picture and narrative, space and time? In what ways do historical maps configure the past under the auspices of space? Investigating representative examples, I show that historical maps exhibit a spatial-geographical dimension of the past. Of course, the spatial element is in many ways intrinsic to the medium of historical cartography, but in nineteenth-century German historical maps the aspect of space gains a specific weight and dimension. In contrast to earlier historical maps from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries these maps highlight the environment of historical events and portray territorial dimensions with utmost precision. Spatial features, such as territorial lines, location markers, and geographical references no longer solely embody an illustrative function as was the case in historical atlases on classical and biblical times. Rather the environment constitutes a determining power of historical development and is closely bracketed with the politics of imperialism and colonialism in late-nineteenth-century Germany.8 Book?” The History Teacher 25.4 (1992): 489–512; “Maps and Chaps: The Historical Atlas: A Perspective from 1992,” Storia della Storiografia 21 (1991): 91–114. 7 My approach is inspired by theoretical considerations of space that view space as a medium of social relations as well as a product of rhetorical strategies. See Jörg Dünne, “Die Karte als Operations- und Imaginationsmatrix. Zur Geschichte eines Raummediums,” Spatial Turn: Das Raumparadigma in den Kultur- und Sozialwissenschaften, eds. Jörg Döring and Tristan Thielmann, Bielefeld: transcript Verlag, 2008, 49–69; Gerhard Hard, “Der Spatial Turn, von der Geographie aus betrachtet,” Spatial Turn: Das Raumparadigma in den Kultur- und Sozialwissenschaften, 263–315. 8 Norman Pound’s article highlights the aspect of territory and space in imperial Germany “Historical Geography,” Imperial Germany: A Historiographical Companion, ed. Roger Chicker-

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The following sections trace this “environmental” configuration of the past offering three exemplary readings of German historical cartography of the nineteenth century by Christian Kruse, Friedrich Wilhelm Putzger, and Gustav Droysen. Whereas Kruse’s atlas (published in 1818) still represents a type of universalist (yet at the same time Eurocentric) view on history, I demonstrate with Putzger’s and Droysen’s works that in the last decades of the nineteenth century historical atlases became agents of German nationalism. As it was the case with academic historiography, particularly after 1871 historical atlases were utilized as tools to convey the nationalist and imperialist ideologies of the Prussian regime. Discussing these examples I show that they convey national history primarily under the auspices of historical environmentalism. This aspect is also crucial for mapping colonial history as the last section will demonstrate. My choice of historical atlases can only be selective and my aim is not to give an exhaustive overview over the genre; that would go beyond the scope and intentions of these sections. The cases of historical atlases have an exemplary function, and they should serve to demonstrate that the focus on visual modes of representation can open trajectories to tracing the spatial element of history that was crucial to so many conceptions of the past in the nineteenth century.

Historical Mapping Cartographic representations of geography, topography, and geological structures are always a statement about history. A historical map focuses on the representation of topics, such as time periods (antiquity, biblical and national history), historical individuals, journeys of discovery to new worlds, and military inventions. It can display shifts of political frontiers after wars and revolutions, the outline of new boundaries around a nation state, lost or gained territory, or the expansion of empires. In contrast to the single-layer format of historical maps, historical atlases are systematic compendia of cartographic sheets and organize these according to a thematic or temporal focus. Thus, the historical atlas does not constitute a singular phenomenon, but rather forms a genre; a specific type of cartographic representation that has its own history. Considering the historical atlas as a genre is crucial since it is still often understood in the sense of an old “historical” cartographic representation and its focus on its specific mode of historical interpretation is accordingly overlooked.

ing, Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1996, 13–32. See also David Blackbourn, The Conquest of Nature: Water, Landscape, and the Making of Modern Germany, New York: Norton, 2006.

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Already the stone carvings of Native American cultures could be considered as ancient forms of historical maps. Even though these maps – together with the maps of Ancient Egypt, Aztec Mexico and Aborigines in Australia – could not be reproduced, they nevertheless shared some aspects of modern historical maps: that is, the translation of historical information about territories, religion, and culture into a spatially organized projection. The tradition of historical mapping was neither a product of modern printing techniques and cartography nor limited to the European part of the world. As Jeremy Black has shown, historical maps in China can be located as early as 2100 BCE and this date marks the beginning of a long map-using and map-producing tradition (Black, Maps and History 2). Since the focus of my analysis is geared towards printed and in many cases mass-produced historical maps in nineteenth-century Germany, I draw attention to only some major works of European historical cartography preceding this period. Relating a few highlights of pre-nineteenth-century historical mapmaking should assist in acquiring a firmer grasp of the specificities of the representational practices of German cartography. The map book of the cartographer Abraham Ortelius Theater of the World (Theatrum Orbis Terrarum, 1570),9 and its supplement of historical maps Parergon (1579), is often identified as the first printed historical atlas in Europe. In the spiritual tradition of the Renaissance Ortelius’ maps are mainly concerned with the representation of antiquity (e.g. journeys of Odysseus) and biblical history (e.g. the journeys of the apostle Paul).10 Besides the trend to map the classical and the biblical world, there was another theme and motivation for historical maps: the exploration of new worlds in the sixteenth and seventeenth century. Not only were maps then produced to mark the findings of the explorers and to demarcate the conquests and new empires, there was also a demand and increase in historical maps, which marked the development and the expansion of countries. The fixation of borders, frontiers, rivers, coastlines and physical outlines became central. This was the case in Pierre van der Aa’s historical atlas The New and Remarkable Atlas of the Most Famous Routes (Atlas Nouveau et Curieux des plus Célèbres Itinéraires, 1714),11 which entails a map of Magellan’s travel routes in 1520 in South America. The German cartographers of the eighteenth century broke also with traditions of mapping that mainly focused on 9 Abraham Ortelius, Theatrum Orbis Terrarum, Antverpia: Apud Aegid. Coppenium Diesth, 1570. 10 For an overview of the history of historical maps, see Dörflinger, “Geschichtsatlanten vom 16. bis zum Beginn des 20. Jahrhunderts,” 179–198. 11 Pierre van der Aa, Atlas Nouveau et Curieux des plus Célèbres Itinéraires, Leiden: Pierre van der Aa, 1714.

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classical, biblical and traveling themes and explored the world. One of the most famous cartographers of the eighteenth century is Alexander von Humboldt, who between 1799 and 1804 traveled to Latin America in order to record the flora, fauna, and geography from a naturalist-scientific point of view. His works can in many ways be seen as essential for the development of nineteenth-century cartography, since his maps focused on the geographical elements.12 All these cartographic traditions – classical, biblical, travel – came together in the map making practices of the first decades of the nineteenth century in Germany. At this time many classical and biblical historical atlases were still produced, and they functioned as educational tools for the general public (Black, Maps and History 27–35). However, already in the mid-eighteenth century one can find examples of historical map making that explored new modes of representation. The cartographer Johann Matthias Hase published historical maps that were compiled after his death in 1750 into an atlas. This atlas is not limited to the representation of classical antiquity but shows for the first time maps of the political history of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Almost all of his maps focus on a specific historical point in time or time period; some maps mark political developments via a sequence of maps. The orientation towards territoriality perhaps received its strongest impetus from the French Revolution. Under the impact of the French Revolution historical cartographers – equipped with new measurements, such as the meter and new calendars – had the task to record events in modern history (Black, Maps and History 25– 26). Instead of portraying mythical ancient worlds and the journeys of the Greek heroes, for example, French historical atlases focused on the history of political territories, the shifts of power, and state authority. In Germany one can also trace this shift. Particularly in the second half of the nineteenth century historical mapmaking in Germany became more and more a trajectory through which to voice national ideologies and to propagate the power of the Prussian regime. Together with the institutionalization of national history writing, historical maps aimed to show and convey historical knowledge based on sources and evidence. The fusion of these scholarly purposes with the representation of national history indeed reflects the nationalist scholarly historiography practiced at German universities during the mid-nineteenth century. Whereas in German academic historiography national history was commonly associated with narrative modes of historical representation, the con12 See the work by Chenxi Tang on Alexander von Humboldt’s work on modern geography and its impact on the aesthetic realm. Chenxi Tang, The Geographic Imagination of Modernity: Geography, Literature, and Philosophy in German Romanticism, Stanford: Stanford UP, 2008.

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ception of nation in the historical atlases highlights a model of (national) history based on geographical determinism. Determinism, as a philosophical concept, refers to the idea that everything that happens in the world, including human action, is pre-determined by nature; a worldview that was particularly dominant in the seventeenth century.13 Thus, human beings are not able to control their actions via free will and free decision making, but rather are bound to unchangeable laws of nature (Naturgesetze).14 A discourse on laws of nature had its beginnings as early as ancient Greek philosophy, and it describes, in broad strokes, the idea that phenomena are determined by immanent rules of nature. In terms of geography, determinism suggests that nonhuman factors, such geographical conditions (the location of rivers, mountains and cities), climate conditions, and territorial characteristics (say the topographical location of a battlefield) are important determinants of human history.15 One could also term this relationship a form of environmental causation, which basically implies that the forces of nature decide and control human history.16 Black describes the relationship between environmentalist causation and nineteenth-century historical atlases with the following words: Such features [geographical data K.M.] were not intended as an indication of environmental causation in history; they were illustrative rather than descriptive, let alone prescriptive. This situation changed towards the close of the nineteenth and in the early decades of the twentieth century. Notions of environmental influence in history became more prominent (Black, Maps and History 81).

13 Gerhard Frey, “Determinismus/Indeterminismus,” Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie, Vol. 2, ed. Joachim Ritter, Karlfried Gründer, and Gottfried Gabriel, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1972, 150–157. 14 Gerhard Frey, “Naturgesetzlichkeit, Naturgesetz,” Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie, Vol. 6, eds. Joachim Ritter, Karlfried Gründer, and Gottfried Gabriel, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1984, 528–531. 15 For my analysis of the visual representation of the past on historical maps, it is important to consider that the power of human beings is not completely eradicated, but rather that humans still represent constitutive parts within the historical processes. These questions also evoke the connection to the discourse of human geography. Whereas I focus on the aspect of determinism, contemporary discourses on human geography highlight specifically the role, relation, and interactions of humans and space: Chris Perkins, “Cartography–Cultures of Mapping: Power in Practice,” Progress in Human Geography 28.3 (2004): 381–391; Rob Kitchin, Martin Dodge, and Chris Perkins, eds. Rethinking Maps: New Frontiers in Cartographic Theory, New York: Routledge, 2009. 16 I owe the term “environmental causation” to Black’s investigation of historical atlases in nineteenth-century Germany (Black, Maps and History 81–101). I use this term, however, in a different way, since I emphasize that the historical maps do not mirror political power relations, but that they construct political space based on historical environmentalism through their visual-spatial design.

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Maps always carried physical features, and on maps from the Middle Ages, for example, the representation of rivers and mountains was important to show traffic routes. According to Black these representations of geographical features had primarily an illustrative function and they described certain spatial formations. In the late nineteenth century, however, one can discern a shift from the illustrative and descriptive to a prescriptive tendency. Friedrich Wilhelm Putzger’s historical school-atlas and Gustav Droysen’s historical atlas show that the visual design of maps focused much more on geography than in the preceding epochs of historical map making. The cartographic representation of the location of rivers, mountains, and cities on these maps is contextualized with historical data as well as political and military agendas. By projecting the past onto a geographical topography, history becomes intertwined with geography, and thus the past gains a dimension that coincides with geographical processes. This shift from description to prescription made the profession of historical cartographers quite important since their knowledge, craft and techniques became a crucial aspect in the processes of world history. This role of historical cartography invoked the necessity of redesigning historical maps of the nineteenth century and it is one of the reasons for the boom in the genre. Technologically advanced visual techniques, such as color lithography and innovative printing techniques, that facilitated making the atlases into “scholarly,” exact, and historically “true” documents, fostered the environmentalist aspect of the historical atlas in the nineteenth century.

Christian Kruse’s Historical Atlas: Bird’s Eye Views on History Christian Kruse, native of Oldenburg in Germany, court counselor and professor of history in Leipzig, created one of the most innovative historical atlases in nineteenth-century Germany. The first complete edition of his Survey Atlas of European Countries and States from their First Population to 1816 (Atlas zur Übersicht der Geschichte aller Europäischen Länder und Staaten von ihrer ersten Bevölkerung an bis zum Jahre 1816) was published in 1818 and many revised editions were to follow.17 Kruse’s large-format atlas consists of altogether 17 maps that are made from copper engravings and are always printed onto a

17 The first edition was titled Tabellen und Charten der drey letzten Jahrhunderte bis zum Jahre 1816, Halle: Rengersche Verlags-Buchhandlung, 1802–1818 and it took Kruse 16 years until he was satisfied to publish the complete edition in 1818. I work with the 3rd edition: Christian Kruse, Atlas zur Übersicht der Geschichte aller Europäischen Länder und Staaten von ihrer ersten Bevölkerung an bis zu den neuesten Zeiten, Halle: Rengerische Verlags-Buchhandlung, 1818.

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two-page spread. Each map is connected to corresponding appendices of tables and charts that display historical data. Kruse’s atlas exemplifies new trends in nineteenth-century cartography and one innovation is that Kruse restricts himself to the representation of European history. Even more radical than his contemporary colleague in France, the cartographer Emmanuel-Auguste Dieudonné de Las Cases and publisher of the The Historical, Genealogical, Chronological and Geographical Atlas (Atlas Historique, Généalogique, Chronologique et Géographique, 1802–1804),18 Kruse omits the representation of ancient or biblical history. Kruse’s atlas, however, does not represent the history of Europe in partially dissected maps, but rather always focuses on Europe as a whole continent. Kruse states: “The history of each individual state is interwoven with the history of the neighboring state [and] some events appear to the reader as incomprehensible or in a quite wrong light, unless he has both the geographical and political position of all the surrounding states in front of his eyes.”19 Like Ranke’s panorama of history, Kruse’s atlas also intends to give an all-encompassing overview of the past. It models history as a complex totality, which cannot be dissected and isolated, but rather must always be approached and represented as a whole. Kruse used the same base map of Europe and the Near East and constructed a series of maps covering each century from 400 CE to 1700, and then 1788, 1811, and 1816. This cartographic perspective through which Kruse constructed his 17 maps represents a further innovative element in the genre of historical maps. In the report to the 3rd edition of the atlas, Kruse states: As an individual work this atlas should, according to my intention, present to any history enthusiast a brief but complete overview of the history of all the individual European countries and states, and through its synchronistic combination of the individual it should serve anyone who directs his attention to the context of unknown events in light of preceding and simultaneous condition of the universal, and who wants to achieve a quick overview of the whole. Certainly these maps and tables show much more clearly than is possible in any other way how Europe gradually progressed out of a state of childhood and barbarism to its present civilization, as from vast deserts arose blooming landscapes, as from the savage tribes gradually evolved ordered states, and how, finally, after a long

18 Emmanuel-Auguste Dieudonné de Las Cases, Atlas Historique, Généalogique, Chronologique et Géographique, Paris: Impr. de P. Didot l’aîné, 1806. 19 “die Geschichte eines jeden einzelnen Staates sich oft in die Geschichte der benachbarten Länder verwebt [und] manche Ereignisse dem Leser unbegreiflich sind oder in ganz verkehrtem Licht erscheinen, wenn er nicht zugleich die geographische und politische Lage aller umliegenden Staaten […] vor Augen hat,” Christian Kruse, Kurze Anzeigen und Erläuterungen über meinen Atlas zur Geschichte aller Europäischen Länder und Staaten, Halle: Rengersche Verlags-Buchhandlung, 1812, 23.

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series of changes that were all interrelated with each other, each state was given its present form and constitution.20

The passage designates a both synchronic and diachronic view on history. On the one hand, the passage stresses that the atlas should give an overview over historical developments from 400 CE to 1816 and that the viewer should gain an impression of the whole. From this diachronic perspective a teleological model of European history is constructed, in which Europe matured from a condition of barbarism to civilization. For Kruse, the idea of civilization is based on the gradual development of a European state order, in which the individual nation states are autonomous and have their own constitutions. On the other hand, this teleological perspective on history and its progress towards a “higher” state of civilization does not quite match the visual design of Kruse’s maps, and the individual maps do not always suggest such a teleological model. They also convey a synchronic view of the past and a focus on individual time points and periods. All 17 maps use the same base and their only differences are spatial shifts in their borderlines and territories. Thus, the view on these geographical templates of Europe is reminiscent of that of a nature photographer who takes pictures of an object and records its changes over time. The perspective on Europe always remains the same: an all-encompassing view of Europe, each map representing the same angle, measure, and geographical information about rivers and mountains. The center of the map always consists of Germany and France, and the margins are North Africa in the south, a tiny tip of Greenland in the north, Portugal as the most western point and the Caspian Sea the most eastern. There are no close-ups and partial maps. Kruse’s representations of countries, rivers, mountain chains, and borders are often not in the correct proportion and he sacrificed cartographic exactitude for the sake of 17 images of Europe.

20 “Als Werk für sich sollte dieser Atlas, meiner Absicht nach, jedem Geschichtsfreunde eine kurze, aber dennoch gewissermaßen vollständige Übersicht der Geschichte aller einzelnen Europäischen Länder und Staaten vorlegen, und durch die synchronistische Zusammenstellung des Einzelnen zugleich demjenigen, der seine Aufmerksamkeit mehr auf den Zusammenhang merkwürdiger Begebenheiten mit dem vorhergehenden oder gleichzeitigen Zustande des Allgemeinen richtet, den schnellen Überblick des Ganzen erleichtern. Gewiß zeigt auch eine solche Folge von Charten und Tabellen deutlicher, als es auf irgend eine andere Art möglich ist, wie im Fortgange der Zeiten allmälig ganz Europa aus einem Zustande von Kindheit und Barbarey bis zu seiner jetzigen Cultur sich durchgearbeitet hat, wie aus ungeheuren Wüsten nach und nach blühende Länder, aus den Verbindungen roher Horden allmälig geordnete Staaten wurden, und wie endlich nach einer langen Reihe von Veränderungen, deren eine immer in die andre wirkte, jeder einzelne Staat seine jetzige Gestalt und Verfassung erhielt,” Kruse, Atlas 4 no pagination.

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Kruse’s atlas highlights territorial power-shifts and maps the frontier lines throughout history. In doing so, the maps provide geographical information (mountain ranges, rivers, the location of major cities and coastlines) and ethnographic information (names of people). This focus on geographical-ethnographical data embodies the most important novelty about Kruse’s atlas and these features, in turn, mark the beginning of a new era in historical cartography. As mentioned, every historical map processes the past under the auspices of geographical and territorial configurations. It comes with the genre of historical atlases that the past as temporal process is projected onto a spatial-geographical element. I argue, however, that there is a difference in this spatialgeographical configuration of historical maps in the nineteenth century. Let us take a comparative look at Abraham Ortelius’s famous map about the travels of the biblical patriarch Abraham, which was published in the Parergon. Ortelius’ map displays biblical history. It is not only the theme that marks differences to Kruse’s atlas, but also the cartographic style of representation. Ortelius’ map shows many more aspects than just geographic information. It provides a picture history of the story of Abraham, decorative titles and illusionary frames that organize text and images. In the middle of the map, on a type of notice-board, geographical data is displayed and the land of Canaan is shown. In contrast to nineteenth-century maps, however, this geographical information fits the decorative and illustrative style of the whole map. The map is to illustrate the bible and its visual-spatial elements are connected to the biblical grand narrative. In contrast, in Kruse’s atlas, as well as in many other historical atlases of the nineteenth century, the geographical information is no longer illustrative, but it rather becomes “prescriptive.” Note for example how Kruse’s map of Europe around 900 CE (“Tabula geographica a Europae ad statum quo sub finem Anni 900 post Christ. nat. fuit.”) displays the European continent in the dimensions mentioned. Kruse’s map conveys a fixation of history since it focuses only on specific boundaries pointing to the different territories and states. Germany is marked with a yellow borderline reaching to Italy and France. Specifically in the case of Germany the map is deceptive, since it creates the impression of a homogenous territory and it conveys a clear outline of static states. However, in the course of 100 years many small changes and border shifts happened and the boundaries were not as fixed as the map suggests. The map does not display any arrows that mark the movement of people; there are no dates (except the one it the title oval) and thus the map omits any information about historical events, castles, forts, battles or cultural information such as language. In other words, the map is primarily about territory, and it highlights the boundaries as markers of great states and unions. For Kruse, the base of history, or better,

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Fig. 17: The map of Europe around 900 CE in Christian Kruse’s Survey Atlas of European Countries and States from Their First Population to 1816 (1818).

the platform remains always the same; the location and the ground remains the stable and unchangeable base for historical events. The temporal element comes into play only when one leafs through the whole atlas and can observe the changes of the state lines, changes in borders and territory. Elements of time and change occur only when reading through the atlas, and accordingly have to be evoked by the comparative and hermeneutic work of the reader. This individual map suggests a spatialization of history, and it removes the temporal element of the past. Again, this is innate to the genre of the historical atlas but there are different modes of how history can be spatialized. In some historical atlases the narrative-temporal dimension is still dominant, as demonstrated in the Ortelius atlas. But also in the nineteenth century one can find historical maps that organize their visual language into narrative patterns. I. V. Ehrenkreutz’s atlas titled Hermann: A Historical, Chronological, Geographical Hand Atlas for the Visualization of German History (Hermann: Ein historisch,

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chronologisch, geographischer Handatlas zur Versinnlichung der Deutschen Geschichte, 1840)21 prints the text about the historical events directly onto the maps and sometimes the text-blurbs and word-lines specify the shifts in territorial boundaries and movement of people. By means of the integration of story elements on this cartographic image, the map acts like a story-teller and it gains an authorial voice. Kruse’s individual maps do not tell stories and except for city names and their titles they hardly have any text printed on the cartographic image. Rather the maps convey the impression of a collection of objects, a natural science compendium. Kruse labels history like a natural historian who empirically observes the form and constitution of a given phenomenon across time. His maps do not show traces of human action, heroes, or historical individuals. Rather his maps suggest that shifts of power happened without any protagonist, and investigating his maps conveys the impression that nature and geography work entirely on their own to shape history.

Text and Image Relationships The representation of geography (rivers, mountains, valleys, coasts) was an innovation in nineteenth-century historical atlases and Kruse was one of its pioneers. Kruse’s maps are mainly focused on the territorial shifts and give much attention to the geographical details; thus, they omit ornaments, the representation of humans, in-printed stories or mythological figures, and instead the surface of the earth becomes central. Against this environmentalist perspective one could object that Kruse provided a textual appendix that he considered a necessary tool to understand his maps. However, as the following investigation of his charts and tables proves, Kruse’s textual supplements suggest much more a spatial ordering of history than a temporal grand narrative. Kruse’s text-tables are always constructed by a number of horizontal and vertical rows by which the latter list the decades and the former different locations in Europe. For the map that shows the historical events around 900 CE, Kruse created the table titled “TAB. XIV Europe in the years 900 to 1000 after Christ.”22 The vertical time line lists events from 901 to 1000, the horizontal line lists different locations (e.g. France, Germany, and Italy), and one can read 21 I. V. von Ehrenkreutz, Hermann: Ein historisch, chronologisch, geographischer Handatlas zur Versinnlichung der Deutschen Geschichte von den ältesten bis zu den neuesten Zeiten nebst Text und genealogischen Tafeln der jetzt regierenden Hohen Häuser zur schnellen Übersicht der deutschen Geschichte und leichteren Verständlichkeit, Düsseldorf: Publisher unknown, 1840. 22 “TAB. XIV Europa vom Jahre 900 bis 1000 nach Christi Geburt,” Kruse, Atlas, no pagination.

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information about the history of these countries in the individual columns. The text under the chart for Germany, for example, goes like this: “Louis the Child, 901–911; Feud of Bamberg, 902–905; Bavaria regains its duke due to the invasions of the Hungarians, 908–10; The Hungarians ravage Saxony, Thuringia, Alemannia. Louis ends the Carolingian dynasty in Germany.”23 Except for an occasional verb and a conjunction, which connects the name to some actions, these charts are highly descriptive and there is hardly any narrative structure. They do not tell a story of European history nor do they suggest a teleological narrative in a certain direction. In other words, the text too is organized in a spatial fashion and corresponds with the aesthetics of the maps. The charts and genealogical trees (aimed to give an overview of events, dates, and facts) suggest additional information for interpreting the map, but they do not form a story, functioning rather as a cartographic symbol. The tables convey a schematic cluster of historical knowledge; a cluster that is predominantly organized by catalogic, factual information. Like the actual maps, history remains fixed in a static mode that does not represent any development or change. According to the quotation in Kruse’s report of his atlas, the diachronic synthesis of all the 17 maps and their corresponding charts should serve to convey a teleological model of history: the progression of Europe into a modern system of states. But is it possible to construct such a teleological story from the templates? If one puts the maps in sequence, can one trace such a narrative structure? These questions are not so easy to answer. Firstly, if one puts the 17 maps into a sequence, the cartographic images can convey the development of Europe into nation states. The last map of 1816, for example, clearly outlines the territories of the individual European nations and demarcates the German territories of Prussia, Bavaria, Württemberg, and Hannover. Europe is no longer a territory with undefined and unclear boundaries, but rather a network of autonomous states and countries. The problem is, however, that the early maps in Kruse’s atlas also convey these clear cut territorial boundaries. The map of 900 CE equally focuses on territorial control and shows blocks and territory separated by clear frontiers. This image is misleading, since during that time the boundaries were not as clear and further during the period from 901 to 1000, as Kruse constructed it, were constantly in flux. In this sense, it is difficult to see the “progressive” element that Kruse highlighted in his introduction,

23 “Ludwig das Kind, 901–911; Bambergische Fehde, 902–905; Bayern erhält bey den Einfällen der Ungarn 901 wieder einen Herzog. 908–10 Die Ungaren verheeren Sachsen, Thüringen, Alemannien. Ludwig endigt den Carolingischen Stamm in Deutschland,” Kruse, Atlas TAB. XIV.

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since also the beginnings of Europe are already marked by the existence of independent nation states. Secondly, even if one accepts that Kruse’s latter maps display a development towards a modern European state order, the question still remains, whether the atlas conveys this in a teleological fashion since the atlas as a whole does not (visually and textually) comment on the meaning of this development. In contrast to later atlases, Kruse’s maps do not emphasize the building of the German nation state is a crucial and politically necessary aspect. The visual vocabulary does not, for example, highlight the Prussian territory in a specific fashion in order to point to its dominance and power. Rather, the perspective is always the same and always focused on Europe as a whole. In this context, one could argue that Kruse’s atlas narrates a form of Eurocentric history. All the individual maps show the same perspective of Europe and always have Germany and France in the center. The 17-fold repetition of this gaze on Europe as well as the use of the same cartographic image of Europe highlights Europe as a powerful authority and center of history. However, this Eurocentric perspective does not utilize a teleological narrative. Rather the power of Europe is conveyed by focus on the cartographic space, which always remains stable in its fundamentals and shows changes only on the surface. In other words, if one leafs through the historical atlas, one does not come to a final map that would suggest a goal in history. Rather the gaze as such is already a gaze of power and territoriality; it is powerful precisely by omitting the temporal elements of progress and teleology and showing the sheer geographical presence of Europe. Thirdly, the mechanical sequencing of 100 years blocks works also counterproductively in relation to a teleological narrative. Kruse, who was criticized by his contemporaries for the 100 year sequences, justified his idea of historical periodization: “What are the periods on which I should have based this division? One universal-historian takes many. Another one takes only a few; and the reasons, that each one has are rather of equal weight.”24 Within the spirit of scholarly historicism and its enthusiasm for organic models of historical periodization, this constructivist view is quite unusual. Kruse’s schematic and mechanical conception of historical time corresponds to his perspective of a natural historian. History seems to be phenomenon that can be analyzed,

24 “Welches sind die Perioden, die ich bei dieser Eintheilung hätte zum Grunde legen sollen? Der eine Universal-Historiker nimmt viel, der andere wenig an; und die Gründe, welcher jeder für sich hat, sind von ziemlich gleichem Gewichte,” Christian Kruse, Kurze Anzeigen und Erläuterungen über meinen Atlas zur Geschichte aller Europäischen Länder und Staaten, Halle: Rengersche Verlags-Buchhandlung, 1812, 22.

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dissected and systematically evaluated. Historical data describe taxonomies of facts that can be represented within artificial sequences of time on fixed surfaces. The facts and data as well as the 17 maps form clusters of historical knowledge and leave it to the reader to create a story out of them. Kruse’s taxonomies do not suggest a story line and manifest his teleological promises in this foreword, but rather highlight the perspective of a natural historian and a materialistic and environmentalist approach to the past. Kruse’s atlas displays the attempt to map European history in a universalistic fashion. Similar to the efforts of Leopold von Ranke’s early academic historiography, the atlas aims to provide a panoramic image of universal history, and the prioritization of the history of the German nation was not yet in the main focus. This perspective on history was to change drastically in the course of the nineteenth century.

Historical School-Atlases Mapping Prussia for School Children During the second half of the nineteenth century professional academic historiography historians, such as Gustav Droysen, Heinrich von Treitschke, and Heinrich von Sybel were eager to politicize their research and made their works into means of national education. This trend to utilize scholarly history for building and maintaining the German national community also determined historical cartography. From the 1850s onwards, specifically after the proclamation of the German Empire in 1871, historical cartographers were eager in their enterprise of mapping and recording the development of national German history. The genre of historical atlases boomed and particularly the ones that focused on “recent” national events were popular items on the market. No longer was the representation of universalist-world historical perspectives at stake, but rather German cartographers mapped the courses of the Prussian battles and of German national history in general. This nationalizing trend was by no means an exclusive German phenomenon; historical atlases produced in France, Britain, Poland, the Netherlands, North America, and Russia also exhibit this nationalist turn (Black, Maps and History 51–80). What kind of visual rhetoric do these atlases and their respective maps display to represent German national history? What are the effects of their visual design in shaping a concept of national history? What are the political ramifications of these maps and how do they construct political space? In order to find answers to these questions I analyze a historical school-atlas such as F. W. Putzger’s Historical School-Atlas of Ancient, Medieval, and Recent His-

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tory in 36 Maps (F. W. Putzgers Historischer Schul-Atlas zur alten, mittleren und neuen Geschichte in 36 Karten, 1877)25 as well as Gustav Droysen’s historicalmilitary atlas Professor G. Droysen’s Universal Historical Hand Atlas with 96 Maps and Text (Professor G. Droysens Allgemeiner Historischer Handatlas in 96 Karten mit erläuterndem Text, 1886).26 These historical atlases intertwine the representation of history with a geographical discourse and present history under the auspices of territorialism, natural determinism, and historical environmentalism. Again, it does not come as a surprise that historical atlases convey the past with physical features, such as rivers, towns, and mountains. As demonstrated in my analysis of Kruse’s atlas, I argue, however, that the national Prussian historical maps display a physical awareness that goes beyond merely showing some geographical features. These maps stress that the geographical environment is more than an illustration: it is prescriptive and thus determinant for historical processes. Putzger’s school-atlas bases history on the idea of territorialism; a trend that, without its particularly nationalistic ambitions, was already innate to Kruse’s work. This territorialzing aspect is radicalized in Droysen’s historical atlas, whose maps exude a natural-deterministic view on history, an aspect that becomes particularly crucial in the context of Droysen’s colonial maps.

F. W. Putzger’s School-Atlas During the second half of the nineteenth century historical atlases became more and more a part of the public sphere. They were no longer limited to some private collectors or university libraries, to which only selected scholars had access, but, rather like to calendars, journals and newspapers, and illustrated history books, historical atlases became part of everyday life. In this context public schools represented an important place where historical atlases circulated. Historical atlases gained an increasing popularity in history lessons in middle and high schools of the nineteenth century. The history lesson embodied the occasion in which official ideologies of national politics could be conveyed by the teachers and their learning materials. The Prussian state and its reforms of the education system strictly regulated the logistics 25 Friedrich Wilhelm Putzger, F. W. Putzgers Historischer Schul-Atlas zur alten, mittleren und neuen Geschichte in 36 Karten, Bielefeld und Leipzig: Velhagen & Klasing, 1877 (1st edition). In the following cited as School-Atlas within the main text. 26 Gustav Droysen, Professor G. Droysens Allgemeiner Historischer Handatlas in 96 Karten mit erläuterndem Text. Ausgeführt von der geographischen Anstalt von Velhagen und Klasing in Leipzig unter der Leitung von Dr. Richard Andree, Bielefeld/Leipzig: Velhagen & Klasing, 1886.

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of school education, such as teacher employment, the content of the exams, and teacher salaries. The state also intervened and determined the content of the teaching schedules, which in many cases had to be in line with the official Prussian politics of the German Empire. In his extensive study about the historical school-atlases in Germany between 1871 and 1990, Patrick Lehn characterizes the teaching of history during the Wilhelmine era in the following way:27 The teaching of history in the lower and secondary schools was already before the founding of the German empire dynastic and authoritarian. After 1872 history lessons should take even more the German national tradition and its “glorious” completion by the Hohenzollern in the newly created little-German Empire into their account.28

In the context of teaching national history the historical atlas represented a suitable tool, since the maps gave the teachers the possibility of making their lessons more vivid and the visual representation of the past offered new possibilities for conveying national history. There are many examples of historical school-atlases, such as the atlas by Eduard Rothert.29 His school-atlas was followed by his collection of atlases with the title Historical Cartography: Composed for Easy Memorization and Commented by Eduard Rothert (Historisches Kartenwerk: Zur raschen und sicheren Einprägung zusammengestellt und erläutert von Eduard Rothert, 1894),30 which consists of 179 maps of different historical epochs. The two titles themselves emphasize the conception of the historical atlas as a pedagogical instrument as well as its intention to educate pupils in national German history. Another example of a historical school-atlas from this era is provided by C. E. Rohde’s Historical School-Atlas for Ancient, Middle,

27 Lehn has impressively shown that the Putzger atlas cannot be understood without this context of Prussian educational policy and his comparative analysis (with a special focus on the Putzger) traces the cartographic images of German national history diachronically from 1871–1990. Whereas Lehn mainly traces the changes of the “image of Germany” in historical atlases throughout history, my intention is to give an in-depth close reading of the visual design of some exemplary maps. Thereby I am specifically interested in investigating how cartographic visual vocabulary shapes and configures imaginations of political space. 28 “War der Geschichtsunterricht in den niederen und höheren Schulen schon vor der Reichsgründung dynastisch-obrigkeitsstaatlich orientiert gewesen, sollte er nach 1872 mit dem Blick auf den entstandenen Nationalstaat die deutsche Tradition und ihre ‘ruhmreiche’ Vollendung durch das Werk der Hohenzollern im neugeschaffenen kleindeutschen Kaiserreich zunehmend berücksichtigen,” Lehn, Deutschlandbilder 40. 29 Eduard Rothert, Karten und Skizzen aus der vaterländischen Geschichte drei letzten 100 Jahre, Düsseldorf: Bagel, 1893. 30 Eduard Rothert, Historisches Kartenwerk: Zur raschen und sicheren Einprägung zusammengestellt und erläutert von Eduard Rothert, Düsseldorf: Bagel, 1893 (17 editions until 1911).

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and Recent History (Historischer Schulatlas zur alten, mittleren und neueren Geschichte, 1861).31 The Rohde atlas was mostly used in public schools, for example in middle schools (Realschulen), whereas the Rothert atlas was also studied at military academies and teacher training seminaries.32 One of the most well-known representatives of this genre of the schoolatlas was authored and published by the high school teacher Friedrich Wilhelm Putzger. Besides being a teacher of geography at German public schools, he also participated in the Franco-Prussian war in 1870–71. After the war he worked as a school principal and studied geography, history and pedagogy in Leipzig. In 1876 the publishing house Velhagen and Klasing decided to publish a historical atlas and selected Putzger as their author. For them Putzger was an ideal choice since as a teacher he was not only well versed in geography and history, but also knew the guidelines of the Prussian ministry of education concerning history teaching at public schools (Lehn, Images of Germany 49). Putzger’s atlas was first published in 1877, and during the time span from 1877 to 1918 it achieved no less than 41 editions; it reached its 101st edition in 1990 (Lehn, Images of Germany 20, 336). One reason for this popularity and sales success in this early phase (from 1877 on) was the new mass printing technologies. During the last third of the nineteenth century printing techniques for maps drastically improved since the printing of color became easier, and as a result more information could be presented on maps. Also the quantity of production increased since the print machines were driven by a steam engine and it was possible to print on cheaper paper. Putzger’s atlas was printed by means of the relatively inexpensive technique of zincography, and the sale price for the first edition was accordingly low (1.50 Marks each). The publishers saw a close connection between the price of the copy and an educational and pedagogical mission: “Every student without exception should be able to possess a historical atlas.”33 This economic concept was highly successful and the Putzger became one of the most widespread didactic tools in the history lessons of German schools. As mentioned, the first edition was called F. W. Putzger’s Historical SchoolAtlas about Ancient, Middle, and Recent History in 36 Maps and this edition still integrated the history of Germany within world and ancient history, a 31 C. E. Rohde, Historischer Schulatlas zur alten, mittleren und neueren Geschichte, Glogau: Flemming, 1861 (12 editions until ca. 1890). 32 For more information about the different school-atlases during the last third of the nineteenth century in Germany, see Lehn, Deutschlandbilder 72–85. 33 “Jeder Schüler ohne Ausnahme [sollte] einen Geschichtsatlas besitzen [können],” Putzger, Schul-Atlas, (1877, 1st edition). The citation is located in the preface and not paginated.

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perspective that was changed however in 1892, when the Prussian government ordered that the curriculum should put the main emphasis on recent German Prussian history (Lehn, Images of Germany 140). But also in the first edition of Putzger’s atlas, the historical development of Prussia took a center position. This focus on Prussia was formative right from the beginnings of Putzger’s atlas, and thus it was always supporting Prussian education politics. According to Putzger’s mission to teach students about the development of the German state, his atlas devoted a great deal of attention to the aspect of Germany’s state particularism (Kleinstaaterei) – the political situation in Germany during the time of the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation and the German Confederation. During the seventeenth century, apart from the states of Habsburg and Prussia, Germany lacked centralization and consisted of numerous principalities. National historians of the nineteenth century, such as Heinrich von Sybel and Heinrich von Treitschke, considered this historical heritage of state particularity as counterproductive in their efforts to convey a national continuity of German history. In their historiographies they often attempted to overwrite Germany’s heterogeneity by highlighting the origins of a German unified nation state as a process that had its beginnings as early as with the Ancient Germans.

The Construction of National Unity Putzger’s atlas also focuses on Germany’s particularism, and one can find even in its early editions maps that attempt to instrumentalize this phenomenon for a political agenda to build national identification. In this context Putzger’s map “Deutschland im 17. Jahrhundert” [“Germany in the Seventeenth Century”] (Putzger, School-Atlas 21) is of particular interest since it displays Germany’s territorial division into numerous dukedoms, kingdoms, and principalities during the seventeenth century. The numerous principalities on the maps are marked in many different colors and it is difficult to recognize which territories are connected with each other and where the main boundaries are precisely located. The use of a variety of colors enhances the impression of a splintered territory lacking a national unity. The cartographic image neither suggests a central focus nor does there seem to be a clear structure. Rather the representation of small individual territories conveys a form of visual chaos; one cannot always decipher the precise territorial boundaries, the names seem to merge with each other and it leaves a diffuse cloud of color. It is notable that the only strong and visually clear lines are the borders of the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation

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Fig. 18: Germany in the seventeenth century in Friedrich Wilhelm Putzger’s Historical SchoolAtlas (1877).

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and the German Confederation. This representation of Germany does not conform to seventeenth century mapping traditions, since this extreme accentuation of territorial borders contradicts the spatial order of the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation. The map functions as a “negative” image, which should project a “positive” one into the future. The presentation of every little border with different colors implies the desire for order and unity; the unity of a political and national project. On the one hand this cartographic “patchwork” image of Germany can be used to construct a teleological narrative of national history. German history developed according to a model of historical progress, in which the historical events and political changes were all constitutive in building the unified German nation state. A process that in (1871–72) reached its final goal with the foundation of the German empire. This narrative was related to the students in the classrooms and reflected the official political agendas of Prussia. The historical maps and atlases were to illustrate this grand narrative. On the other hand, one can also read this image differently. If one only takes the map as it is presented in the atlas, the image opens up a cartographic semiotics that goes beyond narrative patterns of historiography. By means of its “exaggerated” display of territoriality, the map enacts a performative gesture. The map seems to state: “Look! History is all about territory.” Whereas maps by Abraham Ortelius, as mentioned in the previous section, displayed geographical data by also showing other aspects such as image narratives, ornamental frames, small stories on the map, this map asserts that history can only be thought of in territorial and geographical terms. There is no textual appendix and the only textual signifiers on the maps are the geographical place names, the title, and the explanation of the cartographic signs. This image is not “disturbed” by narratives and an abundance of historical written data and thus it can condense the temporal-historical processes of history into one cartographic image. This image of history does not show traces of human action, rather it highlights a multitude of locations; there is no development, no direction of history, the past came to a standstill. It conveys history by stressing geographical data such as the location of rivers, oceans, lakes, cities, mountains and, most importantly, national borders. Whereas the inclusion of physical data had been integrative to the aesthetics of historical atlases, these features on Putzger’s map obtain a prescriptive task: they show that geographical data, cartographic knowledge, and the natural formation of landscape are crucial factors in the course of human history. The representations of the rivers, mountains, and state boundaries have a political agenda and their placement on the map translates into the ideology of national expansion.

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Thus, this cartographic image proposes an alternative to the narrative monopoly of history-telling. In German historicism the scholarly historians were the ones who were entitled to tell history in a “true” fashion; a mode that was primarily defined by temporal organization and storytelling. This narrative monopoly was even fortified by the increase of historical novels that affirmed the official representational practices of German academic historicism.34 The historical cartographers, however, inverted this paradigm. Particularly Putzger’s map shows that national history is configured precisely by emptying out narrative aspects. The “language” of the cartographer does not relate, but maps history spatially according to the geographical formations, the knowledge of the environment, and landscape measurement. As a result of the geographer’s representation of history, national history has to be understood in close conjunction and even dependent on environmental configurations. The physical environment becomes a crucial factor that determines the course of history. Knowing its laws, principles, and materiality thus becomes essential for the constitution of national history. These environmentalist aspects of the historical maps of the nineteenth century makes them so specific and interesting when one considers them as a part of German academic historicism. Putzger’s map neither highlights a teleological historical process towards a state of freedom nor emphasizes the importance of historical events and individual subjects. Rather on these cartographic images only the territory rules, and they suggest that history is dependent on these geographical dimensions, an aspect that will be further explored with the analysis of another map in Putzger’s atlas. The plate titled “Germany from 1815–71” (“Deutschland von 1815–71”) (Putzger, School-Atlas 24) was integrated with Putzger’s atlas right from the very early editions. The plate and its attendant page shows six maps about the history of Germany from 1815 to 1871. The largest map displays Germany up to the time of the German confederation (from 1815 to 1866). Next to this on the right side, there is a map about the Northern German confederation (from 1866 to 1871), below that a map concerning 1871. Three small maps are positioned at bottom of the map, showing (in black and white) the battlefields of Königgrätz, Metz, and Sedan. The choice of the historical dates makes it quite clear that these maps aim to show Germany’s national history under the auspices of the Prussian regime.

34 For discussions on the historical novel as a popular genre, see Hartmut Eggert, Studien zur Wirkungsgeschichte des deutschen historischen Romans 1850–1875, Frankfurt a. M.: Vittorio Klostermann, 1971; Fritz Martini, Deutsche Literatur im bürgerlichen Realismus 1848–1898, Stuttgart: Metzler, 1962.

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Fig. 19: Germany from 1815–71 in Friedrich Wilhelm Putzger’s Historical School-Atlas (1877).

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But also the formal visual elements denote Prussia as the center of the map. Prussia’s borders are in all three color maps continuously marked by the color pink, a strong color and quickly recognized. In all three maps one can trace easily the border line of Prussia and it emphasizes Prussia as a center-point in history. Prussia is portrayed as the constant force of historical development and represented the continuous power of history. Thus, one could argue along the lines of Lehn that the map recounts history in a teleological fashion that accords with the narratives of official Prussian ideology. This is true, but again, this is not the whole story of this map. Even though there is no doubt that this map conveys a pro-Prussian attitude to the building of a German nation state, the maps do not exclusively function as an illustration to the grand narrative of national historiography. Taking a look at the six maps individually, they all, like the preceding map, lack narrative and textual elements, and they convey six snapshots of history. When one investigates them, however, as they are placed on the page, they do not highlight aspects of progress, change, and time. Rather, like the other maps, they highlight territory. History is coded as territorial formations and clusters, which the cartographer has constructed and put together. From the perspective of the cartographer, the most important aspect of the past is that it can be measured and reproduced in precise topographical images. Thus, history is no longer controlled by historical individuals and meta-historical ideas, rather the idealistic ideas found a type of grounding in the territories. On the “ground” other laws are decisive. No longer is it exclusively human will that determines the course of historical events, the territories with their specific geographical formations are determinants of history. In other words, both of Putzger’s maps imply tendencies that aim to naturalize historical processes, and that historical processes gain a natural-deterministic dimension. This dimension has political implications since history is then no longer seen as a process primarily directed by decisions of human subjects, but rather it is pre-determined and follows the course of natural laws. In this sense, invasions, occupations, and imperialism no longer have to be justified in accordance with human moral and ethical values, but can be seen as realizations of the laws of nature (Naturgesetze) that determine history.

Historical Cartography of Imperialism and Colonialism Gustav Droysen’s Atlas of Military History In the last two decades of the nineteenth century the boom in historical cartography continued unabated. Not only were schools important institutions for

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these maps, but historical maps were produced to educate the general public. In Germany one of the most influential and groundbreaking historical national atlases was the work by the Bavarian army officer Karl von Spruner. Although von Spruner was educated as a military officer, and a layman in scholarly geography, his historical atlas received the highest praise by German academics, who acclaimed its rigorous method, its thorough source investigation, and its scholarly astuteness. The first edition of his historical atlas Historicalgeographical Hand Atlas about the History of Europe from the Middle Ages to Recent Time (Historisch-Geographischer Handatlas zur Geschichte der Staaten Europas von Anfang des Mittelalters bis auf die neueste Zeit) was published as early as 1846.35 One of its main goals was to show the change of the size of states, territories and borders of European states. Whereas this work was still focused mainly on European history, the later revised edition,36 which was co-edited by Theodor Menke, made an effort to highlight German national history and display the expansion of the German nation state. Spruner’s work was trendsetting for the efforts of German cartographers to nationalize Germany’s past and in its emphasis on military history. It represents a prime example of this connection with nationalist agendas and military interventions since it devotes many maps to Prussian battles, the war campaigns of Frederick II, and there are numerous maps about the formation of Germany during the years 1866– 1871. Military history also had been displayed by earlier historical atlases, such as British and American atlases of the eighteenth century, but in nineteenthcentury Germany, however, the genre of military historical maps prospered and it served the task of national education (Black, Maps and History 47). Spruner and Menke’s atlas played a crucial role in shaping other historicalnational atlases in Europe and specifically influenced the atlas by Gustav Droysen (junior). Droysen crafted the atlas titled Professor G. Droysen’s Universal Historical Hand Atlas with 96 Maps and Explanatory Text (Professor G. Droysens Allgemeiner Historischer Handatlas in 96 Karten mit erläuterndem Text) and the work was published 1886.37 Gustav Droysen (junior) was the son of the famous nineteenth-century historian Gustav Droysen who was one of the 35 Karl Merz von Spruner, Historisch-geographischer Handatlas zur Geschichte der Staaten Europas vom Anfang des Mittelalters bis auf die neueste Zeit, Gotha: Perthes, 1854. 36 Karl Merz von Spruner and Thomas Menke, Spruner-Menke: Handatlas für die Geschichte des Mittelalters und der neueren Zeit, 3rd edition, Gotha: Perthes, 1880. 37 Gustav Droysen, Professor G. Droysens Allgemeiner Historischer Handatlas in 96 Karten mit erläuterndem Text: Ausgeführt von der geographischen Anstalt von Velhagen und Klasing in Leipzig unter der Leitung von Dr. Richard Andree, Bielefeld und Leipzig: Velhagen & Klasing, 1886. In the following quoted as Hand Atlas within the main text.

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leading scholars in nineteenth-century historicism. His work History (Historik, 1855)38 represents the most important theoretical reflections about the academic representation of history. The interest in history stayed in the Droysen family; while Hans became an author of Greek and Ancient history, Gustav wrote historical novels and created historical atlases. Droysen (junior) worked closely together with the German geographer Richard Andree, who co-authored the atlas and was the director of the Geographical Institute of Velhagen and Klasing in Leipzig. Andree was particularly interested in ethnographical cartography and stood in close academic contact with the works of geographer Friedrich Ratzel. Whereas early-modern historical maps displayed geographical data in an illustrative mode, Droysen’s maps utilize the exhibition of geographical elements and thus convey a model of national history based on territorial environmentalism and natural determinism. Even more radical than Putzger’s atlas, Droysen’s maps point to the formative role of the environment in historical processes. In tracing this environmentalism through Droysen’s cartographic material, Ratzel’s theories of space and natural determinism provide the theoretical framework. Particularly in Droysen’s colonial maps Ratzel’s concepts about traffic demonstrate the paradigm of naturalizing historical processes in historical atlases in the late nineteenth century.

Mapping Wars Droysen titled his work partially as Universal Historical Hand Atlas and the word “universal” raises expectations that history might be represented in similar ways as to the Kruse atlas highlighting a macro-history of Europe without specific nationalist interests. Even though Droysen’s atlas includes 88 map pages (containing a total of 280 main and side maps), which cover representations of antiquity, Middle Ages, early modern period, as well as aspects of nonEuropean history such the Middle East and South- and North America, reading the atlas one realizes that the work predominantly focuses on German and Prussian history. More than a third of the maps show German national history, such as Germany during the Reformation, during the Thirty Years’ War, and during the numerous Prussian wars. The visual and spiritual center of the atlas lies in the representation of the history of the Prussian expansion and the German wars with France; Droysen’s map “Germany in the Year of 1812”

38 Gustav Droysen, Historik: Historisch-kritische Ausgabe, ed. Peter Leyh, Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: frommann-holzboog, 1977.

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Fig. 20: Map of Germany in 1812 in Gustav Droysen’s Universal Historical Hand Atlas (1886).

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(“Deutschland im Jahre 1812,” Droysen, Hand Atlas 49) embodies a good example for this representation. The variety of colors displayed on this map demonstrates that Droysen’s atlas as technically advanced, and it looks very similar to the atlases we know from the twentieth century. By the time Droysen published the atlas the technology of map printing had drastically improved. Most innovative was the use of color lithography, which was already in use in the 1820s, but then increasingly improved towards the end of the nineteenth century. As a result the atlas can display a multiplicity of color facets in an exact and homogeneous fashion and thus convey a much more complex impression of territory in contrast to hand-colored historical atlases. Borders and territories are represented with the utmost precision and often state lines are indicated by two different colors highlighting the individual districts. Droysen’s map displays topographical information with great precision: it indicates a meticulous overview of country borders, rivers, cities (also often close-ups of cities), and mountain ranges. Map typography has greatly improved and texts and topographical lines are very detailed. Droysen’s atlas is clearly a product of technological changes and its design was geared to reach a mass audience; its format as a handatlas and its mass mechanic reproduction made it into a popular medium that could spread political agendas among a large public audience. Droysen’s atlas provides a large textual appendix, which accompanied the maps and aimed to elucidate their visual language by connecting them to a “story.” Much more than Kruse’s tabular appendix, Droysen’s text attempts to provide a narrative to the maps; mentioning historical individuals, events, facts, anecdotes, as well as historical-political commentary. For the map “Germany in the Year of 1812” the text tells about the “glorious” Prussian military coup against the Napoleonic territories, about the enthusiasm and the willingness of the Russian and Prussian soldiers to fight against France during the wars of freedom, and about the “weakness” of the French (Droysen, [Appendix] Hand Atlas 49). The narrator in the appendix relates for example the following about the events of 1812–1813: The Russian campaign had destroyed the spell of Napoleon’s invincibility. The subjugated peoples were able to breathe again and regained confidence. […] King Frederick William III of Prussia’s ‘Call to my People’ of February 3, 1813 produced a tremendous effect in the nation and inspired the youth to participate in battle. All ranks of society made self-sacrifices to defend the fatherland. Within a short time not only a strong, armed, mostly-volunteer army was formed, but also a militia (Landwehr) constituted itself in the towns and villages and was ready to fight. (Droysen, [Appendix] Hand Atlas 53)39

39 “Der russische Feldzug hatte den Zauber der Unüberwindlichkeit Napoleons zerstört. Die unterjochten Völker atmeten auf und gewannen wieder Selbstvertrauen zu sich. […] König Friedrich Wilhelms III von Preußen ‘Aufruf an mein Volk’ vom 3. Februar 1813 brachte eine

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This passage accompanying the map clearly glorifies Prussia and its military power and the representation of the wars of freedom reflects the nationalist and pro-Prussian agenda of the atlas. Black notes that Droysen’s maps are not comprehensible without the text in the appendix: “the text was the narrative that the map illustrated” (Black, Maps and History 93). Basing his arguments on the harmony between text and image, Black rewrites a common attitude about visual illustration that was prominent concerning nineteenth-century historical atlases. He suggests that the historical atlases function as illustrations to official Prussian ideology and mirror the political agendas of historians and politicians. A statement by the nineteenth-century cartographer Carl Wolf supports Black’s reading. Wolf mentions in his Historical Atlas (Historischer Atlas, 1877): It is the duty of the vivid word to help explaining the cartographic image projected on the paper and to achieve a vibrant effect: the vivid word, be it that of the speaker, be it that which resounds from the works of our historiographers.40

Image and text are here imagined in a harmonic interaction, in which the image supplements the words in creating an effect of presence. Thus, the cartographic image is considered as not strong enough to make sense out of history and it needs the “vitality” of the word to explain the historical events. This statement is strongly reminiscent of scholarly historicist attitudes about the role of images, in which the visual should function as a supplement, an addition and a tool to illustrate the text. Does Droysen’s historical map really suggest such visual-textual harmony? Do the map and the text build a balanced unity? There is a friction between the visual and the narrative mode and the iconic signs of the map convey a historical model, which escapes the narrative in Droysen’s appendix. First of all, processing the textual-narrative information in the appendix entails a disturbance in the reading flow; the reader has to find the information at the back, then find the map again, and then compare between the cartographic and textual information. There is no visual-textual

ungeheure Wirkung im Volke hervor und begeisterte die Jugend zum Teilnahme am Kampfe. Alle Stände trugen opferfreudig zur Verteidigung des Vaterlandes bei. Binnen kurzem stand nicht nur ein starkes, größtenteils aus Freiwilligen gebildetes Heer unter den Waffen, sondern auch eine in Städten und Dörfern errichtete Landwehr stand kampfbereit auf dem Platz,” Droysen, [Appendix] Handatlas 53. 40 “Es ist die Aufgabe des lebendigen Wortes hier erklärend beizuspringen und das auf dem Papiere entworfene kartographische Bild zu lebensvollem Effect zu gestalten: das lebendige Wort, sei es, des Vortragenden, sei es, wie es uns aus den Werken unserer Geschichtsschreiber entgegentönt,” Carl Wolf, Historischer Atlas: Neunzehn Karten zur neueren und mittleren Geschichte, Berlin: Dietrich Reimer, 1877, III.

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intertwinement on Droysen’s maps, such as that on the Ehrenkreutz’s maps. Droysen’s large single-sided map shows the different states of the confederation of the Rhine (Rheinbund) in diverse colors: Bavaria in dark green, Saxony in purple, Württemberg in pink, Westphalia in light green, and Prussia with an orange line. France’s border with Germany is marked in a pink-red color highlighting not only the French “threat” from outside, but also functioning as a line that suggests stabilizing Germany from the inside as one strong unified power. The strong colors used for Germany as well as its centralization on the map underline the impression of dominance and the map conveys an image of France as an aggressive enemy who invaded German territories. So far the visual signifiers of the map seem to correspond to the glorious story told in the appendix of Droysen’s notes. However, if one looks at the color composition more closely it becomes evident that the color shades suggest a palimpsest of German national unity, which is based on precise geographical and topographical data. The purple area of Saxon, for example, only gains its form and stability, because the color is distributed according to precise geographical markers, such as the precise location of rivers (Neisse), cities (Dresden), and towns (Torgau, Görlitz). All these geographic data function like pins on a pin board that holds together the historical purple layer, which marks the historical-political situation in 1812 in Saxony. In other words, Droysen’s map blends geographical data with historical-political territory, and in doing so the map suggests the impression that history, in this particular case, Prussian history, is not simply shaped by human forces, great events, and the control of military leaders, but rather that the driving force of national history lies in the territory and geography of the Germany. Thus, in contrast to the narrative in the appendix, Droysen’s map attempts to make the viewer believe that German unity becomes a natural condition, which is not shaped via human control, but rather by intrinsic laws of nature (Naturgesetze). The following map by Droysen about the FrancoPrussian war in 1870–1871 embodies another example of how history is modeled according laws of nature. Droysen devoted several maps to representation of the Franco-Prussian wars in the nineteenth century. There are small maps that show the territorial changes of Prussia from the fifteenth century to the nineteenth century, maps about the wars of freedom and eventually the battles of 1864–1871, and 1870– 71. The plate “German-French War 1870–71” (“Deutsch-Französischer Krieg 1870–71”) shows a map of battlefields in Metz, Saarbrücken-Spichern, and Wörth. The map of Metz has a scale of 1:100,000 and it shows a detailed plan of the city Metz, the surroundings of Metz, major routes, mountain formations, roads, rivers, fields and forests. There are no colored layers, but Droysen used

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Fig. 21: The Franco-Prussian war in 1871 in Gustav Droysen’s Historical Hand Atlas (1886).

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blue and red “blocks” to mark the position of the Prussian and French troops. The map gives an exact account of the infantry and cavalry brigades and how they were positioned in the mountains and the surroundings of Metz. The blue and red blocks are signified with numbers and letters to mark their correct positions in the respective armies. It also lists the major lieutenants and generals responsible for the troops. The map fixates the military formations according to precise points in time and it is noted that the battles in Vionville-Mars-Latour took place on August 16th at 5 o’clock in the afternoon (Vionville is close to Metz). The map displays minutely the formation of armies during that point in time and the table next to the map provides the numbers, which help to identify the infantry, cavalry and army troops. The maps highlight the victory of the Prussians, which they achieved by means of their strategy and calculation. In the appendix accompanying the maps about the Franco-German wars, the text gives short narrative summaries of the battles (Droysen, [Appendix] Hand Atlas 58/59). Besides some dates and locations, the reader learns about the courage of the German troops, assumed characteristic features of the French, and the lack of strategic war planning of the French general: The internal cause of the war was rooted in the jealousy of the French against the military successes of the Prussians in 1864 and 1866; the external cause for its outburst was the candidacy of Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern for the Spanish throne, even though as it had already been withdrawn. When on July 13, 1871 King William of Prussia criticized the arrogance of the French ambassador Benedetti, Paris considered this as a declaration of war, and on July 14 called up the reserves, but the formal declaration of war was not presented until July 19 in Berlin.41

The quotation tells the story of the historical events in a chronological, progressive fashion, in which the causes and effects of specific historical actions, individuals and contexts are mentioned. Thereby the narrator interprets the reasons for this war by shifting the focus onto France as the aggressor, to whom Germany had to react and defend not only its territory, but also its morals. Whereas the dates in this narrative overlap with the cartographic timesegment, the map does not cooperate with the narrative. Looking at Droysen’s

41 “Die innere Ursache des Krieges lag in der Eifersucht der Franzosen gegenüber den Waffenerfolgen der Preußen von 1864 und 1866; den äußersten Anlass zum Ausbruch bot die Kandidatur des Erbprinzen Leopold von Hohenzollern für den spanischen Thron, selbst als diese schon zurückgezogen war. Als am 13. Juli 1871 König Wilhelm von Preußen die Anmaßung des französischen Gesandten Benedetti in gebührende Schranken verwies, betrachtete man in Paris den Krieg als erklärt, und berief am 14. die Reserven ein, doch ward die förmliche Kriegserklärung erst am 19. in Berlin überreicht,” Droysen, [Appendix] Handatlas 58.

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visual templates as singular and individual layers, they do not mark historical development or progress. Rather his battles maps “freeze” history and there is no action and no progress; there is only material data, such as the number of the troops, the size of the artillery, the power of the army, and geographical data. The maps have a “statistical” character and they report on history like charts illustrating natural sciences. History is no longer about time, but about the environment and the topography of the battlefield. Droysen’s map displays precise geographical information, such as showing the exact locations of villages, the formations of the mountains and their heights, the rivers and traffic routes (railroads, roads). The map reminds one of a modern hiking map, which provides minutely the trails and altitude; only the blue and red blocks remind us that this is map recording military history. This synthesis of material and environmental information does not construct a narrative, in which national history is conveyed according to a story of events and heroes as it is present in Droysen’s textual appendix. Rather the maps inscribe history into the surface of a geographic topography, and thus the past is no longer based on the categories of time, change and progression. Droysen’s maps present history as political territories that are shaped according to natural formations. Like mountains and landscapes, these political territories cannot be moved or changed by the power of man; they represent entities beyond human will and moral discourses; they can only be accepted.

Geopolitics This naturalization of history becomes a central aspect of the rhetoric of geopolitical discourses in the late nineteenth as well as the twentieth century, and in many ways Droysen’s maps anticipate aspects of political space conceptions in Friedrich Ratzel’s works. Ratzel first studied the natural sciences and (after some journalistic work) became professor of geography in Munich and in Leipzig. His work Anthro-Geography (Anthropo-Geographie), 1882–9142 emphasizes the influence of the natural environment on human beings. The driving force of his philosophy of space is his idea of a struggle for space, which in turn suggests that history is based on environmental causation. The geographical dispositions of a country (whether it has mountains, oceans, or valleys) are all factors which determine history and the acting of historical subjects. In terms of state history, Ratzel considers that every state has natural frontiers. As a 42 Friedrich Ratzel, Anthropo-Geographie oder Grundzüge der Anwendung der Erdkunde auf die Geschichte, Vol. 1, Stuttgart: Engelhorn, 1882.

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trained natural scientist and highly influenced by the theories of Charles Darwin, he saw states as organic wholes, in which the struggle for space is one of the main momentums. He is also seen as the founding father of the so-called geopolitical school, since in his work connects geographical analysis, theories of migration, and political analysis. In the wake of the recent spatial turn, his work has been discussed widely, since – according to Schlögel – Ratzel shows the importance of the (forgotten) element of space in historical analysis. Ratzel’s renaissance has been controversial, since his theories of space were used to legitimize geopolitics during the Third Reich and his idea of the so-called Lebensraum would legitimize its aggressive imperialism. Keeping these theories of political space in Ratzel’s philosophy in mind, I argue that his concept of a geographic determinism is formative of the spatial configuration in the scholarly historical atlases in nineteenth-century Germany. Droysen’s maps construct conceptions of political space as outcomes of natural processes, and they highlight the fight over territory as the dynamic force of history. His maps aim to build on a representation of a national community by visual cartographic strategies, which illustrate the power of the Prussian military, the control of territory, and the sovereignty of modern warfare. This cartographic image highlights the power over territory as the major constituent of nation building. The territorial features of maps prescribed the necessity for national expansion and territorialism. The prescriptive elements shed light on the role of the environment and its crucial role in determining, controlling, and deciding the battles. Exact cartographic knowledge about the environment is necessary for military victories and thus the outcome of battles is no longer solely dependent on military leaders, but rather on the material forces of the environment. This crucial role of environmentalism in the shaping of national history leads to a phenomenon that also strongly affected models of history in the twentieth century: the naturalization of historical processes. Highlighting the external factors of war actions, such as topographical conditions, climate, and geographical location, the historical events appear to be a natural process. Droysen’s maps aim to make the reader believe that the expansion of Germany is a process that is intrinsic to a nation until it reaches – to use a term by Ratzel – its “natural frontier.”43 Ratzel emphasized the role of environmental circumstances in the process of building national states. In his Anthro-Geography Ratzel develops the idea that the land not only shapes the people and their history, but also their national character, their culture and their spirit. As 43 Friedrich Ratzel, Die Erde und das Leben: Eine vergleichende Erdkunde, Vol. 1, Leipzig: Bibliographisches Institut: 1902, 610–612.

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he outlines in his chapter “Natur und Geist” (“Nature and Spirit”), the external factors, such as climate, geological surfaces of the earth, flora, and fauna can shape the national character of the people and determine the people’s spiritual development.44 In his discussion of the theories of Henry Thomas Buckle, Ratzel also supports the idea of a dependency between the environment and the national character of a people. However, in contrast to Buckle, he points to the complexity of this relationship between nature and spirit. He does not simply assume that, for example, cold regions shape a melancholic character, but rather he points to the power of nature through which it can shape images in our soul: “The soul does not simply reflect nature, but attempts by reaching outwards, to spiritualize nature in a process of extensive assimilation. Therefore, nature is most accessible for the human, when it is most similar to himself.”45 He considers nature as an active force that influences human imagination and perception, and is constitutive for aesthetic, spiritual and cultural processes. Although Ratzel’s theories base their environmentalism on “aesthetic” assumptions, they nevertheless provide a trajectory to develop a geo-determinist perspective on nations and national characters. Nature gains a dominating power over historical processes and determines the expansion and movement of the people. The organic state concepts as well as his ideas about the national character enable Ratzel to develop his idea of Lebensraum, in which he states that the expansion of people, the struggle for space, as well as the appropriation of territory, is a natural law (Naturgesetz). This view on historical processes, which gains – similarly to Darwin’s theories – its dynamic force from the idea of struggle, does not address moral, ethical, and humanistic aspects in the writing of history. Rather history is governed by overpowering natural processes, in which the human can only intervene to a certain extent. Humans have an inborn desire to wander, to expand, and to fight for space; an argumentation that can be used to legitimize ideologies of imperialism and colonialism. Indeed, Ratzel’s theories were not only used (and abused) by the ideology of the National Socialists in the twentieth century, but also became crucial in legitimizing and representing Germany’s colonial power during the end of the nineteenth century. Ratzel’s thoughts suggested that the expansion of “national frontiers” embodies a natural process, intrinsic to the connection of the people and the land. 44 Ratzel, Anthropo-Geographie Vol. 1, 384–471. 45 “Die Seele spiegelt nicht die Natur einfach wieder, sondern sucht nach aussen wirkend, die Natur im Sinne der weitesgehenden Verähnlichung zu vergeistigen. Daher ist dem Menschen die Natur am zugänglichsten, wo sie ihm selbst am ähnlichsten,” Ratzel, AnthropoGeographie, Vol. 1, 433.

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Colonial Historical Maps Droysen’s atlas centers on German national history and pays particular attention to the historical events in Prussia. This enterprise to record national history by means of a cartographic atlas, however, does not stop at Germany’s European borders, but also attributes a global and colonial dimension to German history. Particularly in the last two decades of the nineteenth century the German empire fostered colonial efforts, and established colonies in Africa and the Pacific Ocean. Until the 1880s Bismarck hesitated to foster German colonialism with an aggressive action plan and his primary concerns were internal politics.46 Nevertheless in 1884–85 Bismarck declared Germany a colonial power over territories in Togo, Cameroon and the Pacific Islands. This step not only brought electoral success and a better co-orporation with France against England, but also most importantly put Germany in the race for global colonial power; a trend further fostered by the politics of Wilhelm II. During this time mapmaking played an important role in Germany’s colonizing efforts. Colonial maps enabled German colonizers to orient themselves in unknown territory and paved the way for strategic military occupation of the foreign lands. Colonial cartography also functions as a tool to visualize imperialist power by popularizing the dominance of the Western world.47 I am particularly interested in the aspect of how Droysen’s colonial maps suggest the impression that the history of German colonization embodies a natural process; an argument that corresponds to my observations about national history in the preceding section. Droysen’s atlas devotes several of the historical maps to German colonialism, such as maps of the German colonies in Africa and the Pacific and “colonial” world maps. One of the most interesting maps on colonial history in Droysen’s atlas is the “Colonial- and World Traffic Map” (“Kolonial- und Weltverkehrskarte,” Droysen, 86–87). A double page shows one main map of the world, including a small partial map on Cameroon, and five partial maps titled the “Gold and Slave-Coast,” “West-India,” “Senegambia and Sierra Leone,” “South Africa,” and “Hindus-

46 Volker Berghahn, “Das Kaiserreich 1871–1914: Industriegesellschaft, bürgerliche Kultur und autoritärer Staat,” Gebhardt: Handbuch der Geschichte: Reformen, Restauration und Revolution 1806–1848/49, Vol. 16, eds. Hans Werner Hahn and Helmut Berding, Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 2003, 387–396. 47 See for example Thomas Rottland, Von Stämmen und Ländern und der Macht der Karte: Eine Dekonstruktion der ethnographischen Kartierung Deutsch-Ostafrikas, Berlin: Klaus Schwarz, 2002; Topografien der Nation: Politik, kartografische Ordnung und Landschaft im 19. Jahrhundert, eds. David Gugerli and Daniel Speich, Zürich: Chronos, 2002.

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Fig. 22: The “Colonial- and World Traffic Map” in Gustav Droysen’s Historical Hand Atlas (1886).

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tan.”48 The main map gives an overview of the territories of colonial powers, such as England, France, Portugal, and the Netherlands, to name but a few. As in the early maps in Droysen’s atlas, for example, those on the FrancoPrussian wars, this map too displays a clear demarcation of the individual territories (separated by different colors), geographic features (rivers, mountains, cities), and a detailed key to the cartographic symbols. The German territories are marked in a strong orange color, which in turn is much more dominating than the light pink for the British colonies. Droysen’s map aims to make the viewer believe that Germany represents a central power in the race for colonial power. The representation of traffic lines is particularly crucial in this context as they endorse the image of Germany as an emerging imperialist world-dominating power. The map displays German territories in the whole world and at the same time one can follow the individual ship and traffic lines throughout the whole world. One can trace, for example, that there is ship connection from Hamburg to Montevideo (32 days) and from Hamburg to Valparaiso (52 days). Besides the shipping lines the map also displays railroad and road connections as well as communication lines such as telegraphic lines and cables. The cartographic focus on traffic lines connects the map to some aspects of Ratzel’s theory of traffic. Ratzel considers traffic a decisive factor in political history: Traffic creates a lot more than it intended, and its effects go far beyond the material sphere. […] Traffic also precedes the formation of states, paves their ways, demarcates the borders of the expanded areas; one can most clearly observe these processes in the context of those young, emerging states that are called the colonies. […] When we come to write the history of the young German colonies, we shall consider the factories of Hamburg’s and Bremen’s trading houses on the coasts of Africa and the Pacific islands as their first seeds.49

According to Ratzel, traffic is not only a means of transportation, but rather an anthropological principle that determines the expansion of peoples and the developments of states. Traffic expresses the need for movement and the spa48 “Gold und Sklavenküste,” “Westindien,” “Senegambien und Sierra Leone,” “Südafrika,” and “Vorderindien.” 49 “Insofern schafft der Verkehr viel mehr, als er bezweckt, und seine Wirkungen gehen weit über das materielle Gebiet hinaus. […] Der Verkehr geht auch der Staatenbildung voraus, bahnt ihr die Wege, steckt ihr die Grenzen erweiterter Gebiete ab; das zeigt am deutlichsten die Bildung jener jungen, werdenden Staaten, die man Kolonien nennt. […] Wenn man einst die Geschichte der jungen deutschen Kolonien schreiben wird, wird man finden, daß ihre ersten Keime die Faktoreien von Hamburger und Bremer Handelshäuser an den Küsten Afrikas und pacifischer Inseln waren,” Ratzel, Die Erde und das Leben 634.

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tial expansion of humans and people who have the best infrastructures is most likely to lead to their becoming a dominating state power. This in itself does not mark an imperialist ideology. However, in Ratzel’s theories the idea of traffic does not describe a neutral concept, because it is regarded as a natural process of expansion and colonization and thus can be easily used as a legitimizing of colonial politics. It also implies that strong states, the ones who have the best traffic network, have a given natural right to overrule and dominate the ones with fewer infrastructures. It is precisely this type of imperialist “subtext” that is also conveyed in Droysen’s map and its minute display of the traffic lines. The German shipping routes and telegraphic communication connection convey a pre-vision of potential territorial boundaries and “natural frontiers” of Germany as a global power. The exact geographical information, the precise border lines of the different territories and the rule over the oceans by modern traffic lines make the colonization process appear as a logical result of natural history. Germany’s occupation of “overseas” territories becomes part of a natural process of expansion and a steady shift of boundaries; the borders of the colonies become “natural frontiers.” The partial map of Cameroon, which is inserted into the right corner of Droysen’s map, marks the German territory in West Africa. One can see detailed information about rivers, the mountain areas are shaded, and one can imagine their height, and even the lakes are marked and colored blue. Most decisive is the translation of the African names into German names, such as the toponym “Elephant-sea,” “Rumbi-mountains,” (“Elephanten-See,” “Rumbi Gerbirge”), or replacing them with the name of a German general. The map conveys the impression that the expansion of the German territory is a natural process, which is marked by a continuation of German space imaginations to African territories and the different native cultures are overwritten by inserting German names for the African territories. The map highlights furthermore the strategic importance of Cameroon and thus affirms the idea that the position of a country is crucial for the execution of military and political power. It displays the position of the Spanish colonies and suggests its political potential of expansion and exploitation. The appendix of Droysen’s atlas affirms this emphasis on location and geographical conditions and in this case text and image cooperate by conveying the ideology of the struggle for space. Note the passage that accompanies the map of Cameroon: The convenient location of the Biafrabai contributed to the fact that the German government got interested in the Spanish island Fernando Po, where the establishment of a coaling station was planned. The opposite coast, Victoria, is governed by the British mission since 1858, but in the neighboring locations the Hamburgian businesses were working in a vibrant trade, and those lacked effective protection. After special treaties

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with the chiefs in 1884, the whole area of Bimbia, the old King Williamstown, east to Great Batanga, was put under a German protectorate. The trade center is constituted by the 15 villages (or towns) that are located on both sides of the Cameroon River and are known as Cameroon. In order to save Germany’s prestige, bloody battles were fought, and rebellious Negros, perhaps egged on by the British, were vigorously disciplined in December. Thereby the famous Bells Town was destroyed by the rebels. The area of Cameroon can be roughly estimated at 4300 square kilometers. Possessing it will become even more valuable when the bordering areas are occupied and the Negro population is educated to an orderly work rhythm on the plantations.50

In contrast to the other examples of national historical atlases, this passage cooperates with the visual design of the map, since it reiterates the spatialization of history. This passage characterizes aspects of a colonial gaze; a gaze that is focused on the appropriation of territory and its expansion. There are no moral or historical reasons given that would legitimize the process of colonialization, the only argument – accordingly to the map – is the strategic location. It is the space itself that legitimizes the expansion and annexation of the territories. This idea of space as the basis for political action beyond a moral and ethical framework can be directly linked to Ratzel’s concept of the struggle for space as well as his idea of the intrinsic human drive for expansion. The quotation also shows the acceptance of violence and cruelties towards the indigenous people; in fact, the violence is justified because the Cameroonians were not working according to the historical necessity of the expansion of natural frontiers. The quotation displays colonization as a necessary process of education, in which the natives not only have to accept to the new boundaries, but also become a part of the colonizer’s concept of civilization and exploitation. The ideology of space is the determining principle that guides the visual and political design of Droysen’s atlas. His maps, the war maps on

50 “Die günstige Lage der Biafrabai ließ die deutsche Regierung ihr Augenmerk auf die spanische Insel Fernando Po richten, wo die Anlage einer Kohlenstation projektiert wurde. An der gegenüberliegenden Küste, in Viktoria, wirkte seit 1858 die englische Mission, aber in den benachbarten Plätzen waren Hamburger Faktoreien in lebhaftem Handel tätig, denen es bisher immer an wirksamen Schutze gebrach. Nach Spezialverträgen mit den Häuptlingen wurde 1884 das Gebiet von Bimbia, dem alten King Williamstown, östlich bis Großbatanga unter deutsches Protektorat gestellt. Das Handelszentrum bilden die zu beiden Seiten des Kamerunflusses gelegenen etwa 15 Dörfer (oder Towns), welche den Sammelnamen Kamerun führen. Um das Prestige Deutschland zu wahren, ist hier schon Blut geflossen, und aufständische Neger, vielleicht von Engländern verhetzt, wurden im Dezember energisch gezüchtigt. Dabei ist das bekannte Bells Town von den Rebellen zerstört worden. Das Areal des Kamerungebietes lässt sich ungefähr auf 4300 qkm schätzen. Der Besitz desselben wird umso wertvoller, sobald die Hinterländer erschlossen werden, und die Negerbevölkerung zu einer geregelten Plantagenarbeit erzogen ist,” Droysen, [Appendix] Handatlas 91.

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the Franco-Prussian wars as well as those of the colonies, highlight the importance of territory and its significance for shaping nation and global history.

Territorial Expansion Putzger’s and Droysen’s historical atlases show that this genre attributes to national history a dimension of territoriality and natural determinism. National history is no longer conveyed as a story that follows teleological ideas, but rather is condensed in cartographic images that highlight geographical data, geological formation, and the environment of history. This aspect of territory, specifically its acquisition, has always embodied an aspect of national history and the historiographies of nationalist historians of the nineteenth century evince this quest for territorial expansion. The historical maps, however, do not illustrate this aspect of territoriality via a grand narrative, but rather they take the spatial configuration of history as its natural condition. They do not merely mirror imaginations of political space, boundaries, and territories as suggested in the narratives of Prussian official politics or in the nationalist historiographies. Rather, they define national history via spatial parameters: the driving forces of history are not exclusively the ideas and historical subjects, they are encoded in geographical space. The laws of the environment, its geological processes, the geographical surface of territory, and the actual grounds on which history took place determine historical events. Identifying cartographic environmentalism does not, however, propose a radical geological determinism in the way the school around Fernand Braudel has suggested. Rather, due to the linkage between historical and social aspects the environmentalism of maps gains a strong political dimension and thus connects to the tenets of the geopolitical school of geographers, their political theories, and their political practice. These maps detract from an idealist-humanist or moralist view of historical processes and construct a dominant rhetorical strategy used to legitimize the political imperialism of the late nineteenth and twentieth century. Processes of history follow natural-scientific laws, and thus the politics of aggressive imperialism are “naturally” legitimate. It was precisely this rhetoric of following the natural determination of people and “their” countries which aimed to legitimize the imperialist politics of Wilhelm II and later the Lebensraum politics of the National Socialists. My reading of these historical maps does not claim that they already contain equally radically the geopolitical dimension that was crucial to the politics of the Third Reich. Nevertheless, particularly in light of Droysen’s colonial maps, my point is that these historical maps of the nineteenth century foster conceptions of territory that in turn gave legitimization to political decisions and geo-strategies.

Conclusion Against the text-centered background of German historicism, this book analyzes this phenomenon in close conjunction with visual popular culture. From its formation in the early nineteenth century and through to the twentieth century, historicism’s methods, strategies of representation, and understanding of history have most often been defined by hermeneutics, philology, textual source criticism, and narrative representation. In the light of current discussions about the visual turn in the fields of history, literary studies, and cultural studies, it is time to show that the works of academic historians in nineteenthcentury Germany utilized modes of reconstructing the past that are structurally similar to those of popular visual memory culture. The nineteenth century witnessed the invention of quite a number of optical media, many of which exhibited historical events, individuals and topics. The early mass medium of the panorama shaped perception modes of the past that were in turn transposed in Leopold von Ranke’s scholarly historiography; mass-produced art photography inspired Jacob Burckhardt’s academic art historical writings; and new printing techniques structured the representation of Germany’s past in illustrated history books as well as in historical cartography. Tracing these popular visual configurations of German academic historicism does not radically challenge the validity of its textual paradigm. Of course the historians of the nineteenth century did use narrative and wrote “great” stories. My study, however, has indicated that this is not the whole story. Visualizing historicism bequeaths Clio with a pair of eyes, and when she begins to see history, she provokes discursive disturbances and causes epistemological shifts. The panorama, photography, and new visual illustration techniques were popular media that were occupied with representing the past, and these media (and one could mention more, such as dioramas, postcards, illustrated newspapers) shaped a visual historical memory culture that scholars often see as being in contradistinction to scholarly historicism. Classic academic historicism it not usually associated with popular visual memory culture – a perspective that still dominates scholarship on historicism today. The cultural theoretician Pierre Nora describes the division between memory culture and institutionalized practices of reconstructing history in the following term: “Memory is rooted in the concrete: in space, gesture, image, and object. History dwells exclusively on temporal continuities, on changes in things and in the relations among things. Memory is absolute, while history is always relative.”51 51 Pierre Nora, Realms of Memory: Rethinking the French Past, Vol. 1, New York: Columbia UP, 1996, 3.

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In this passage, Nora offers mémoire as a form of historical imagination that differs from an histoire, which is taken to be the intellectual, critical analysis of history. Deeply rooted in the aspects of personal experience and affection, mémoire embodies a mode of dealing with the past based on visual and spatial configurations (“in space, gesture, image”). In contrast histoire, which demands intellectual endeavor, seeks the status of universal authority and calls for rational analysis, while mémoire reconstructs the past by means of iconic and spatial strategies against the backdrop of narrative and temporal organization. Nora’s lament for the loss of authentic mémoire in modernity and his line of nostalgic culture criticism is accordingly of lesser relevance. More important is the circumstance that mémoire questions historicism’s status as differentiated scholarly discourse resting on the triad of narrative, teleology, and the written word, and in doing so also critiques the strict divisions between these two forms of historical discourse. On the one hand, Nora’s division follows in many ways Maurice Halbwachs’s strict separation between the works of historians (histoire) and forms of social memory (mémoire); the academic historian equipped with scholarly methods and theories works beyond a social mode of remembering. But on the other hand, Nora also undermines this opposition in his work and perceives in his analysis of nineteenth-century French historiography an interdiscursivity between scientific positivism and popular national memory.52 Investigating historicist culture in nineteenth-century Germany reveals that these strict divisions do not hold there either. Academic works are deeply enmeshed in popular memory culture, and the discursive boundaries are constantly in flux. Even though many German historians emphasized that they practiced scholarly historicism, their rhetorical, interpretive and political strategies of reconstructing the past are structurally similar to the ones utilized in popular memory culture. Reading about French memory culture I became intrigued by the idea of re-installing elements of visual mémoire within our understanding of the discourse of academic historie in nineteenth-century German historicism. Linking academic historie and visual mémoire establishes a spatial dimension in the discourse of German academic historie, which in turn challenges Reinhart Koselleck’s paradigm of temporalization. Whereas the “textual” paradigm, with its tools of the narrative, story, event, and actants entails a temporal dimension in the academic processes of reconstructing the past, the presence of the visual with its iconic, static, and descriptive modes of representation opens up the trajectory of a spatial configuration of history. 52 See Uwe Hebekus, Klios Medien: Die Geschichtskultur des 19. Jahrhunderts in der historistischen Historie und bei Theodor Fontane, Tübingen: Max Niemeyer, 2003, 28.

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Space takes on distinct formations and does not exist as one unified homogenous spatial paradigm throughout academic historicism. Ranke’s historiography and his panoramic representation of history have pointed to spatial models based on the construction of geography, landscape and tourism. His historiography simulated the past as a picturesque travel location, “apparently” attainable for the historian as well as for the “popular” reader whose perception modes have been trained by the mass medium of the panorama. Thus, history is no longer coded as a teleological progress developing into the future, but rather Ranke’s panoramic gaze can freeze historical time onto the screen of a historical landscape painting. The historical maps emphasized a representation of the past closely connected to models of natural determinism, environmentalism and natural laws.53 Thus, the historical maps no longer consider the past in terms of a development that is steered by human beings and events, but it is put into the perspective of natural history. Or to put it another way: the reconstruction of the past is not defined by events, but rather focuses on slowly evolving structures and processes (longue durée) the past is subject to the processes of the environment, geological processes, climate changes and natural laws. In particular the maps on German national and colonial history indicated this naturalization of historical processes and in so doing contextualized imperialist ideologies within natural laws and geopolitics. The visual analysis of Jacob Burckhardt’s art historiography also highlighted spatial conceptions of history, but in these works space was less connected to a model of natural determinism, and suggested rather non-teleological and anti-narrative epistemologies of reconstructing the past. The genre of the picture-atlas in Burckhardt’s work conveyed descriptive modes of historical representation, and in so doing the dimension of time is spatialized by means of topographical, typological, and archival modes of organization. Even though these scholarly historicist works negotiate space under different auspices, they all show that space has to be understood as a historical, social and aesthetic construction. These spatial representations of history do not refer to a material reality beyond the text, but rather shape an insight into how conceptions of space are constructed by historical discourses and then translated into political concepts and geopolitical decisions. It is important to note that although visual-spatial configurations of German historicism can uncover “alternative” constructions of the past, these works of the scholarly historians nonetheless did not produce a politically “alternative” history. The visual-spatial models of 53 I have shown that environmentalism and natural determinism are also already at stake in Ranke’s writing, but the genre of cartography highlights these aspects even more visibly.

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reconstructing the past are deeply imbricated with discourses of official Prussian imperialism and nationalism. German nationalism represents the central tenet within the remembering practices of both popular visual memory culture and academic historicism. The building of national statues and monuments (such as the sculptural cult around Barbarossa and the Hermann monument in the Teutoburg Forest), and of national museums, and the diverse historical festivals focusing on German national figures or regions, served the formation of national identity and were intended to shape a national community. For academic historians issues of German nationalism, as well as philosophical-political evaluations of the essence and coming into being of the German nation state, played a crucial role. The so-called Prussian historians supported the idea that the academic historian should be politically active and should intervene in the political sphere. Droysen, for example, projected a philosophical concept of nation which is based on a model of teleological history, ideas of morality,54 and the political programs of the Prussian state. According to Droysen, the course of history is guided by the development of the ideas of morality, and the optimal development of history is reached when the moral ideas materialize in the building of a German-Prussian nation state.55 In terms of nationalizing and politicizing academic historiography, Droysen and his colleagues were much more radical than Ranke, since they considered it their moral and academic obligation to form their research into mouthpieces for German nation-building. However, one should not forget that Ranke always remained a devoted supporter of Prussian politics, and that his picturesque-panoramic historiographies can also epitomize political chauvinism and imperialism. The works of academic historians, however, show that their authors did not exclusively understand nation according to an idealistic philosophy of history and teleological models. Ranke’s academic historiography, illustrated history books as well as historical cartography, integrate visual popular modes of representing national history. In these scholarly works nation is no longer solely conceptualized on the basis of development, temporality, telos, and ideas, but rather the element of space sheds light on discourses of natural laws, historical environmentalism as well as geographic conceptualizations of history. Thus, these works demonstrate how national history gains a territorial 54 The translation of Droysen’s “Idee der Sittlichkeit” as “ideas of morality” is mine. See Johann Gustav Droysen, Historik: Historisch-kritische Ausgabe, ed. Peter Leyh, Stuttgart: frommann-holzboog, 1977, 388. 55 See Georg Iggers, “The Highpoint of Historical Optimism: The Prussian School,” The German Conception of History: The National Tradition of Historical Thought from Herder to the Present, Middletown: Wesleyan UP, 1983, 90–124.

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dimension, and how the enlarging of the national borders is considered a necessary historical task justified by the natural laws of the territory. The laws of the environment determine human history and legitimize spatial expansion. In particular historical cartography demonstrates this merging of national history and natural laws, an intellectual construction that became increasing popular during the politics of German imperialism in first half of the twentieth century. But even in nineteenth-century historicism one can observe that the naturalization of historical processes served as a conduit for aggressive nationalism and imperialism. Encountering the visual-spatial paradigm within German historicism does not embody an attempt to diminish the nationalistic and imperialistic agendas of German historicism and consider these texts as critical reflections about Prussian state ideology. One has to investigate the realm of literature, in particular nineteenth-century German historical fiction, to be able to find works that constitute a critical counter discourse towards official history writing. As is well known, historical prose boomed in nineteenth-century Germany, and historical novels as well as shorter forms of historical prose achieved extraordinary sales in the literary market.56 Many literary authors, however, rewrote the aesthetic and ideological premises of academic historicism and their works are in fact quantitatively more significant than the prose that aims to write history from “alternative” points of view. Through its topics as well as its writing practices this branch of historical prose puts itself in close conjunction with academic historiography. The German literary author Joseph Victor von Scheffel, for example, wrote a best-selling novel about the medieval monk Ekkehard, which included over 200 footnotes to historical sources and is saturated with national slogans designed to build a German national community.57 Scheffel’s novel serves as a prime example for a type of historical prose that affirms the stylistic as well as the political tenets of scholarly historicism. However, besides this type of affirmative historical prose, one can also find a critical branch of literature that questions and reflects the official representa-

56 Hartmut Eggert, Studien zur Wirkungsgeschichte des deutschen historischen Romans 1850– 1875, Frankfurt a. M.: Vittorio Klostermann, 1971; Fritz Martini, Deutsche Literatur im Bürgerlichen Realismus 1848–1898, Stuttgart: Metzler, 1962. See specifically Martini’s comments on the genre of the so-called Professorenromane and the historical-archeological novel (390–498). 57 Joseph Victor von Scheffel, Ekkehard. Eine Geschichte aus dem zehnten Jahrhundert, Sämtliche Werke, ed. Johannes Franke, Leipzig: Hesse & Becker, 1876. For an analysis of Scheffel’s relation to academic historiography, see for example Kathrin Maurer, “Footnoting the Fictional: Historical Novels and Scholarly Historiography in Nineteenth-Century Germany,” Angermion (Yearbook for Anglo-German Literary Criticism, Intellectual History and Cultural Transfers/Jahrbuch für britisch-deutsche Kulturbeziehungen) 2 (2009): 45–56.

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tions of history in German academic historicism. These include for example prose by Gottfried Keller, Heinrich Heine and Wilhelm Raabe.58 Scholarship has extensively investigated these works of “alternative” historical prose. It would, however, be interesting to find literary historical texts that specifically employ visual strategies of historical representation in order to experiment with and reflect critically on official modes of interpreting and politicizing national history. An author that would fit into this genre of literature is Theodor Fontane. His literary writings such as his Ramblings through the MarkBrandenburg (Wanderungen durch die Mark Brandenburg, 1862–1882)59 utilize visual techniques such as descriptions of monuments, statues, and architecture to represent the past within a cultural-natural landscape.60 Even though the texts concentrate on Prussian military history, Fontane does not create a grand narrative about the Prussian empire, but rather describes these monuments by focusing on their actual appearance, their materiality, and surface qualities. His visual descriptions create a kind of “picture-atlas” of Prussian history in which the images are juxtaposed in a dissociated fashion. This “picture-atlas” depicts the past as subjective memory, location, and as transitory images. Fontane’s visual rhetoric disintegrates the claims of the grand narrative of history and in this way questions belief in its representability, narratibility, and its utilization for political agendas. However, providing a full account of the vicissitudes of the visual-spatial paradigm within the realm of historical novels would have superseded the ambition of this book. Here I concentrated on non-literary and non-fictional historical discourses in order to show that academic historicism exists in close conjunction with visual popular culture. My intention was to show that discourses of nationalism from popular memory culture and academic history interact and shape representations and conceptions of national history within academic historicism.61 Ultimately the question at stake is whether one can 58 Hans Vilmar Geppert calls this historical fictional prose “der andere historische Roman,” that subverts and criticizes positions of historiography. See Geppert, Der andere historische Roman. Theorie und Strukturen einer diskontinuierlichen Gattung, Tübingen: Max Niemeyer, 1976, 123–281. 59 Theodor Fontane, “Wanderungen durch die Mark Brandenburg,” Werke, Schriften und Briefe: Theodor Fontane, Vols. 1–3, eds. Walter Keitel and Helmuth Nürnberger, München: Hanser, 1987. 60 Sigrid Thielking, “Denkmal, Turm, Grab und Gruft. Orte der ‘Memoria’ und des ‘KulturBildlichen’ bei Theodor Fontane,” Theodor Fontane: Am Ende des Jahrhunderts, Vol. 3, eds. Hanna Delf von Wolzogen and Helmuth Nürnberger, Würzburg: Könighausen & Neumann, 2000, 15–27. 61 Academic historicism with its eagerness to reconstruct the past also had an impact on popular memory culture and this relationship has been extensively researched with works on German museum and monument culture during nineteenth century. See for example the work

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still distinguish these two realms of historicist culture – mémoire and historie – since my discussions showed that popular and academic historicist culture constantly merge, intertwine and shape each other. The choice of works I examine combines a narrow definition of historicism as a scholarly discipline and a broad approach to historicism as a cultural phenomenon. By focusing on works that insist on their scholarliness, my analysis moves within narrow parameters and consciously excludes literary formations of historicism. This view enabled me particularly to analyze the effects that visuality (and visual memory culture) had on academic historicist works. It is precisely the perspective on visual culture that allows us to question the narrow definition of scholarly historicism and demonstrates that the boundaries between the academy and popular visual memory culture are constantly renegotiated. Scholarly historicism still remains its own discursive field, but it utilizes strategies of representation stemming from popular visual culture. This evidence of popular-visual mémoire does not mean that the scholarly discourses no longer entail academic and scientific validity, but it broadens the notion of historicism into a multi-medial and heterogeneous phenomenon with a visual-spatial configuration.

by Susan Crane, Collecting and Historical Consciousness in Early-Nineteenth-Century Germany, Ithaca: Cornell UP, 2000.

List of Illustrations Fig. 1: Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel. Die Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelsohn, 1876. 251. Fig. 2: Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel. Die Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelsohn, 1876. 425. Fig. 3: Traugott Heyne. Geschichte Napoleons von der Wiege bis zum Grabe. Leipzig: Binder, 1843. n.p. Fig. 4: Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel. Die Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelsohn, 1876. 17. Fig. 5: Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel. Die Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelsohn, 1876. 24. Fig. 6: Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel. Die Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelsohn, 1876. 73. Fig. 7: Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel. Die Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelsohn, 1876. 404. Fig. 8: Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel. Die Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelsohn, 1876. 195. Fig. 9: Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel. Die Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelsohn, 1876. 175. Fig. 10: Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel. Die Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelsohn, 1876. 390. Fig. 11: Franz Kugler and Adolph Menzel. Die Geschichte Friedrichs des Großen. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelsohn, 1876. 197. Fig. 12: Ferdinand Schmidt. Preußens Geschichte in Wort und Bild: Ein Hausbuch für Alle. Berlin: Verlag von Franz Lobeck, 1864. 1. Fig. 13: Adolf Bär and Paul Quensel. Bildersaal Deutscher Geschichte: Zwei Jahrtausende deutschen Lebens in Bild und Wort. Faksimiledruck der Ausgabe von 1890. Struckrum: Verlag für ganzheitliche Forschung und Kultur, 1890. 280. Fig. 14: Franz Hutter. Das überseeische Deutschland. Vol. 1. Stuttgart: Union Deutsche Verlagsgesellschaft, 1903. 87. Fig. 15: Gustav Meinecke. Die deutschen Kolonien in Wort und Bild: Geschichte, Länder- und Völkerkunde, Tier- und Pflanzenwelt, Handels- und Wirtschaftsverhältnisse der Schutzgebiete des deutschen Reiches. Leipzig: Weber, 1901. 1.

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Fig. 16: Gustav Meinecke. Die deutschen Kolonien in Wort und Bild: Geschichte, Länder- und Völkerkunde, Tier-und Pflanzenwelt, Handels- und Wirtschaftsverhältnisse der Schutzgebiete des deutschen Reiches. Leipzig: Weber, 1901. 5. Fig. 17: Christian Kruse. Atlas zur Übersicht der Geschichte aller Europäischen Länder und Staaten von ihrer ersten Bevölkerung an bis zu den neuesten Zeiten. Halle: Rengerische Verlags-Buchhandlung, 1818. Fig. 18: Friedrich Wilhelm Putzger. F. W. Putzgers Historischer Schul-Atlas zur alten, mittleren und neuen Geschichte in 36 Karten. Bielefeld und Leipzig: Velhagen & Klasing, 1877. 21. Fig. 19: Friedrich Wilhelm Putzger. F. W. Putzgers Historischer Schul-Atlas zur alten, mittleren und neuen Geschichte in 36 Karten. Bielefeld und Leipzig: Velhagen & Klasing, 1877. 24. Fig. 20: Gustav Droysen. Professor G. Droysens Allgemeiner Historischer Handatlas in 96 Karten mit erläuterndem Text. Ausgeführt von der geographischen Anstalt von Velhagen und Klasing in Leipzig unter der Leitung von Dr. Richard Andree. Bielefeld und Leipzig: Velhagen & Klasing, 1886. 49. Fig. 21: Gustav Droysen. Professor G. Droysens Allgemeiner Historischer Handatlas in 96 Karten mit erläuterndem Text. Ausgeführt von der geographischen Anstalt von Velhagen und Klasing in Leipzig unter der Leitung von Dr. Richard Andree. Bielefeld und Leipzig: Velhagen & Klasing, 1886. 55. Fig. 22: Gustav Droysen. Professor G. Droysens Allgemeiner Historischer Handatlas in 96 Karten mit erläuterndem Text. Ausgeführt von der geographischen Anstalt von Velhagen und Klasing in Leipzig unter der Leitung von Dr. Richard Andree. Bielefeld und Leipzig: Velhagen & Klasing, 1886. 86–87.

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Index of Names Aa, Pierre van der 178 Abraham 184 Adam 33 Adorno, Theodor W. 102 Alexander the Great 69 Alinari (Fratelli) 80, 82 Alioth, Max 82 n. 30, 83 n. 32, 93, 94 n. 54, 110 Anderson, Benedict 136 Andreas, Willy 54 n. 56 and 58 Andree, Richard 200 Ankersmit, Franklin Rudolf 18 n. 60 Anne of Brittany 42, 46 Apollo 174 n. 2 Archenholz, Johann Wilhelm von 115 Arendt, Hannah 6 n. 20 Arminius → Hermann Arndt, Christiane 102 n. 71 Arndt, Ernst Moritz 141 Atkins, Anna 101 Auerbach, Berthold 103 n. 75 Augé, Marc 129 Bachelard, Gaston 22 n. 67 Bachofen, Johann Jakob 75 Bal, Mieke 47 n. 43, 107 n. 82 Bann, Stephen 18 n. 60 Bär, Adolf 153–157 Barante, Amable Guillaume Prosper Brugière de 116 Barbarossa → Frederick I Barbarossa Barker, Henry Aston 32, 43–45 Barker, Robert 30f., 37 Barthes, Roland 13 n. 45, 44, 100–104, 106– 109 Barton, William 32 Baßler, Moritz 15 n. 52 Behringer, Wolfgang 175 n. 4 Belgum, Kirsten 2 n. 6, 123 n. 28 Belting, Hans 5 n. 16 Bender, John 37 n. 24 Benedetti, Vincent 206 Benjamin, Walter 6, 25, 32, 102 Bennington, Geoff 17 n. 58 Bentham, Jeremy 37

Berding, Helmut 29 n. 6, 48 n. 45, 210 n. 46 Berger, Stefan 12 n. 40 Berghahn, Volker 210 n. 46 Berkhofer, Robert 17 n. 59 Berman, Russel 157 Bernouilli, Eduard 84 n. 34 Bewick, Thomas 122 Beyschlag, Willibald 76 n. 12 Bezold, Gustav von 95f. Bialas, Wolfgang 29 n. 5 Bianchi, Paolo 174 n. 3 Bismarck, Otto von 145, 147, 150, 159, 166f., 210 Black, Jeremy 175f., 178–181, 189, 199, 203 Blackbourn, David 23 n. 70, 147 n. 66, 177 n. 8 Boch, Stella von 86 n. 39, 96 n. 58, 111 n. 90 Böckh, August 74 Böcklin, Arnold 27 Boehm, Gottfried 5 n. 12, 78 n. 16, 82 n. 28 Böhme, Hartmut 174 n. 3 Böhme, Jacob 33 Bono, James 14 n. 45 Börne, Ludwig 33 Börsch-Supan, Helmut 139 n. 48 Bourdieu, Pierre 130 Božovič, Miran 37 n. 25 Braudel, Fernand 16, 18 n. 60, 69, 144, 215 Brecht, Christoph 15 n. 52 Bredekamp, Horst 5 n. 12 Breitenstein, Urs 76 n. 10 Breysig, Johann Adam 31 Briggs, Asa 7 n. 23 Brink, Claudia 97 n. 61 Brunner, Otto 8 n. 25 Buch, Hans-Christoph 98 n. 63 Buckle, Henry Thomas 209 Buddemeier, Heinz 31 n. 9, 79, 99 n. 66 Burckhardt, Jacob 20–22, 29 n. 8, 73–113, 118, 217, 219 Burckhardt, Leonhard 75 n. 6 Burckhardt, Max 73 n. 1 Burger, Ludwig 146 n. 65

244

Index of Names

Burke, Peter 5 n. 14, 7 n. 23, 19 n. 64, 129 n. 36 Busch, Werner 139 n. 52 Büttner, Nils 139 n. 48 Bystram, Adolf von 51 Carr, Edward Hallett 11 n. 34 Carrard, Philippe 18 n. 60 and 63 Cassiodorus 55 Cesana, Andreas 76 n. 10 Chamisso, Adelbert von 33 Charles V 39 Charles VII of Valois 40f., 43 Charles VIII 39f., 42f., 45, 47, 59 Chartier, Roger 18 n. 60 Chickering, Roger 176f. n. 8 Chladenius, Johann Martin 115 Chodowiecki, Daniel Nikolaus 115, 120 Church, Frederic Edwin 139 n. 52 Cicero 4, 86 n. 40 Clio 1, 3, 18 n. 60, 19, 25, 27, 28 n. 2, 63 n. 71, 64 n. 72, 217, 218 n. 52 Cohn, Dorrit 18, 36f. Colli, Giorgio 14 n. 47 Collins, Frank H. 47 n. 43 Columbus, Christopher 59 Comte, Auguste 79 Conrad, Sebastian 24 n. 73 Contarini, Gasparo 57 Conze, Werner 8 n. 25, 70 n. 86 Cosgrove, Denis 174 n. 2 Crane, Susan 222f. n. 61 Crary, Jonathan 7, 42 Crewe, Jonathan 107 n. 82 Crippa, Carlo 83 Culler, Jonathan 37 n. 23 Daguerre, Louis Jacques Mandé 31, 79, 99, 102 Dahn, Felix 145 Dalberg-Acton, John Emerich 11 n. 34 Darwin, Charles 208f. Davies, Peter 75 n. 8 Delf von Wolzogen, Hanna 222 n. 60 Dennis, George Ravenscroft 11 n. 33, 39 n. 27 Deutsch, Ernst Ludwig 50 Dietze, Gottfried 84 n. 36

Dilthey, Wilhelm 28, 29 n. 7 DiPaola, Kathrin 165 n. 91 Dipper, Christof 175 n. 4 Dodge, Martin 180 n. 15 Dollinger, Hans 117 n. 9 Donovan, Mark 12 n. 40 Dörflinger, Johannes 175 n. 5, 178 n. 10 Döring, Jörg 3 n. 9, 176 n. 7 Dörr, Cornelia 139 n. 48 Dotterweich, Volker 12 n. 39 Droysen, Gustav Jr. 198–208, 210–215 Droysen, Hans 200 Droysen, Johann Gustav 12f., 15f., 35, 38 n. 26, 69, 74, 137, 145, 177, 181, 189f., 199f., 220 Dru, Alexander 74 n. 3 Du Crest, Jacques-Barthélemy Micheli 62 Dubochet, J. J. 118 Dünne, Jörg 176 n. 7 Durkheim, Émile 129 Dürr, Emil 76 n. 9 Düwert, Viola 116 n. 6, 123 n. 27 Ebers, Georg 145 Edward III of England 40f. Egan, John J. 49, 56 Eggert, Hartmut 25 n. 75, 196 n. 34, 221 n. 56 Ehrenkreutz, I. V. 185f., 204 Ekkehard 221 Eley, Geoff 23 n. 70 Elizabeth of Russia 125 Elvert, Jürgen 30 n. 8 Entrup, Dorothee 116 n. 6, 118 n. 14, 121 n. 21 Escher von der Linth, Hans Konrad 62 Evans, Richard J. 147 n. 66 Falckenhausen, Susanne von 141 n. 54 Faulenbach, Bernd 29 n. 6 Fawcett, Trevor 81 n. 27 Feldbauer, Peter 57 n. 64 Flach, Sabine 174 n. 3 Fohrmann, Jürgen 100 n. 67, 132 n. 41, 135 n. 42 Folie, Sabine 174 n. 3 Fontane, Emilie 103 n. 73

Index of Names

Fontane, Theodor 19 n. 65, 28 n. 2, 103, 218 n. 52, 222 Forster, Georg 115 n. 4 Forster-Hahn, Françoise 122 n. 23 Foucault, Michel 37, 69, 129 Franke, Johannes 221 n. 57 Frederick II 1, 20, 23, 116 n. 6, 117–126, 129–135, 137–144, 146, 153f., 156, 199 Frederick I Barbarossa 1, 220 Frederick William I 133 Frederick William III of Prussia 202 Frederick William of Brandenburg 146, 154– 156, 159, 166f. Frey, Gerhard 180 n. 13 and 14 Freytag, Wiebke 130 n. 39 Friedrich, Caspar David 141 Fritsch, Gustav 162 Fromm, Hans 19 n. 65, 131 n. 40 Frühwald, Wolfgang 104 n. 79 Fuchs, Walther Peter 12 n. 39, 54 n. 59, 64 n. 74 Fuchs-Felber, Leonard 110 Fulda, Daniel 1 n. 1, 11 n. 36, 13 n. 44 and 45 Gabriel, Gottfried 180 n. 13 and 14 Ganz, Peter 84 n. 36, 94 n. 55 Gatterer, Johann Christoph 11 Gehrecke, Ursula 175 n. 5 Genette, Gérard 36 Gensel, Reinhold 103 n. 73 Geppert, Hans Vilmar 25 n. 75, 222 n. 58 Gerhart, Claus W. 122 n. 24 Gernsheim, Helmut 99 n. 66 Ghelardi, Maurizio 78 n. 18, 80 n. 22 Ghirlandaio, Domenico 96 Gibbon, Edward 163 n. 88 Giersch, Ulrich 32 n. 12 Gilbert, Felix 75 n. 7 Goethe, Johann Wolfang von 13, 33, 35 n. 18, 63 Goetz, Hans-Jürgen 5 n. 15 Gossman, Lionel 75 n. 8 Gould, Peter 174 n. 2 Grafton, Anthony 11 n. 38, 55 n. 60 Gregory, Derek 174 Greimas, Algirdas J. 47 n. 43 Grimm, Jacob 34 n. 16

245

Grimm, Wilhelm 34 n. 16 Große, Jürgen 91 n. 49 Gross, Edgar 103 n. 74 Gründer, Karlfried 180 n. 13 and 14 Grüninger, Robert 83f. n. 33, 84 n. 35, 85, 90f., 110 n. 88 Gugerli, David 210 n. 47 Guggisberg, Hans R. 78 n. 16 Guicciardini, Francesco 11, 47 Gutenberg, Johannes 7 n. 23 Gutzkow, Karl 103 Hahn, Hans Werner 210 n. 46 Hahn-Hahn, Clara von 51 Hahn-Hahn, Ida von 50–53 Halbwachs, Maurice 218 Halsall, Albert 46 n. 41 Hamber, Anthony 81 n. 27 Hantsche, Irmgard 175 n. 5 Häntzschel, Günter 33 n. 13, 116 n. 5 Hard, Gerhard 176 n. 7 Harley, John Brian 136 n. 45, 173–175 Harms, Wolfgang 19 n. 65, 131 n. 40 Hartau, Johannes 96 n. 58, 111 n. 90 Harvey, David 173 n. 1, 174 n. 2, 175 n. 5 Hase, Johann Matthias 179 Haskell, Francis 115 n. 1 Haushofer, Karl 70 Hebekus, Uwe 19 n. 65, 28 n. 2, 63 n. 71, 64 n. 72, 218 n. 52 Heckenast, Gustav 104 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich 10, 48, 54 n. 57, 58, 68, 87, 90, 94 Heine, Heinrich 33, 116 n. 5, 222 Hengevoss-Dürkop, Kerstin 96 n. 58, 111 n. 90 Henry V 40 Heppe, Karl Bernd 49 n. 47 Hera 92 Herder, Johann Gottfried 8f., 67 n. 80, 68, 76 n. 11, 115 n. 4 Hermann 1, 220 Hess, Günter 19 n. 65, 32 n. 13, 131 n. 40 Heßler, Martina 5 n. 13 Hettche, Walter 104 n. 79 Heyne, Carl Traugott 127f. Hinde, John R. 78 n. 17 Hinrichs, Carl 13 n. 44 and 45, 35 n. 18

246

Index of Names

Hirsch, Marianne 107 Holbein, Hans the Younger 96 Holert, Tom 6 n. 19 Holländer, Hans 124, 124f. n. 30 Honold, Alexander 162 n. 87 Hottinger, M. D. 84 n. 36 Howard, Richard 13 n. 45, 44 n. 38, 101 n. 68, 109 n. 86 Hug, Martin 76 n. 10 Hugh Capet 40 Humboldt, Alexander von 179 Humboldt, Wilhelm von 67 n. 80, 68, 76 n. 11 Humfrey, Peter 96 n. 58 Husserl, Edmund 101 Hutter, Franz 159–164, 166f., 169 Hyde, Ralph 31 n. 9 Iffland, August Wilhelm 103 n. 75 Iggers, Georg 9 n. 27, 10 n. 32, 12 n. 40, 67 n. 80, 68 n. 81, 220 n. 55 Iggers, Wilma 68 n. 81 Jacob, Christian 174 Jaeger, Friedrich 12 n. 40 Jaeger, Stephan 115 n. 4 Jäger, Georg 33 n. 13 Jay, Martin 6 n. 19 Jessen, Ralph 165 n. 94 Joan of Arc 40, 42 Jolas, Maria 22 n. 67 Kabatek, Wolfgang 162 n. 87 Kaegi, Werner 74 n. 4 Kant, Immanuel 28 Katte, Hans Hermann von 133 Keisch, Claude 139 n. 48 Keitel, Walter 222 n. 59 Keller, Adolf 112 n. 91 Keller, Gottfried 222 Kellner, Hans 18 n. 60 King, Geoff 174 n. 2 Kinkel, Georg 75 Kitchin, Rob 180 n. 15 Kleist, Heinrich von 31 Klenze, Leo von 1 Kohl, Stephan 104 n. 76 Kohle, Hubertus 119 n. 16

Kontje, Todd Curtis 157 Koselleck, Reinhart 1 n. 2, 8, 16 n. 55, 29 n. 8, 69, 218 Koshar, Rudy 87 n. 42 Kracauer, Siegfried 112f. Kraft, Herbert 8 n. 26 Kraus, Hans 101 n. 69 Krauß, Sabine 30 n. 8 Kretschmann, Carsten 2 n. 8 Kruse, Christian 177, 181–190, 200, 202 Kugler, Franz 20, 23, 74, 116 n. 6, 117–146, 152f., 156, 158 Kundrus, Birthe 24 n. 72 Küttler, Wolfgang 29 n. 5, 66 n. 76 L’Ardèche, Paul Mathieu Laurent de 118, 123 Laage, Karl Ernst 103 n. 73 LaCapra, Dominick 18 n. 60 Lacoue-Labarthe, Philippe 9 n. 30 Langlois, Jean-Charles 32 Las Cases, Emmanuel Augustin Dieudonné de 182 Latour, Bruno 70 Laxton, Paul 136 n. 45, 173 n. 1 Lear, Edward 49, 50, 56 Lefebvre, Henri 130 Lehn, Patrick 175 n. 5, 191–193 Léon-Gérôme, Jean 50 Leonardo da Vinci 96f. Leonhardt, Nic 7 n. 24 Leopold of Hohenzollern 206 Lepenies, Wolf 70 Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim 98 n. 63, 120 Levin, Thomas Y. 113 n. 92 Lewin, Jane E. 36 n. 21 Leyh, Peter 16 n. 54, 35 n. 19, 200 n. 38, 220 n. 54 Lichtwark, Alfred 152 Liedtke, Wolfgang 165 n. 92 Linder, Theodor 145f. Louis XII 64 Lodovico of Milan 45, 64 Loki 150 Lorck, Carl Berendt 118f. Louis of Orleans 42f., 45 Louis the Child 187 Louis the Pious 41 Löw, Martina 117, 125, 129f.

Index of Names

Lucas-Schneider, Deborah 31 n. 9 Ludwig, Otto 103 n. 75 Lukács, Georg 98 n. 63 Luther, Martin 12, 35 Lyotard, Jean-François 17 Maeda, Ryozo 132 n. 41 Magellan, Ferdinand 178 Mali, Joseph 77 n. 13 Margaret 45f. Martini, Fritz 196 n. 34, 221 n. 56 Martino, Alberto 33 n. 13 Marx, Karl 113 Matthews, Sara 69 n. 83, 144 n. 58 Maurer, Kathrin 27 n. 1, 50f. n. 52, 59 n. 66, 69 n. 85, 87 n. 42, 97 n. 62, 104 n. 77, 117 n. 12, 221 n. 57 Maurrisset, Théodore 79 Maximilian I 64 McInnes, Edward 145 n. 62 Meier, Hans Jakob 115 n. 2 Meier, Nikolaus 78 n. 18, 85 Meinecke, Friedrich 13, 19, 74f. n. 5 Meinecke, Gustav 165–170 Meißner, Joachim 165 n. 91 Menke, Theodor 199 Menzel, Adolph 20, 23, 116 n. 6, 117–146, 150, 152–155, 158, 161 Merian, Matthäus 115 Metternich, Klemens von 145 Michaud, Philippe-Alain 97 n. 60 Michelet, Jules 116 Miller, D. A. 37 n. 24, 38 Mirzoeff, Nicholas 6 n. 18 Mitchell, W. J. T. 3–5, 141 Moltke, Konrad von 68 n. 81 Mommsen, Theodor 12f., 145 Monmonier, Mark 174 n. 2 Montbreton, Jacques Marquet de 123 Montesquieu, Charles-Louis d Secondat, Baron de la Brède et de 68, 163 n. 88 Montinari, Mazzino 14 n. 47 Morelli, Giovanni 113 Moretti, Franco 22 n. 67 Morrissey, Jim 57 n. 64 Morse, Samuel 99 Muhlack, Ulrich 29 n. 8 Müller, Harro 145 n. 62

247

Müller, Philip 29 n. 8 Müller, Wilhelm 146 Münz-Koenen, Inge 174 n. 3 Nancy, Jean-Luc 9 n. 30 Napoleon Bonaparte 8, 116, 118, 120, 127f., 131, 202 Nicolai, Christian Friedrich 121 n. 21 Niefanger, Dirk 10 n. 31 Niépce, Joseph Nicéphore 78, 79 Nietzsche, Friedrich 14, 75, 76 n. 11 Nochlin, Linda 50 n. 51 Nora, Pierre 217f. Noyes, John 60 Nürnberger, Helmuth 222 n. 59 and 60 Odin 150 Odysseus 178 Oeggerli, Elisabeth 96f. n. 59 Oeri-Burckhardt, Johann 81 n. 26 Oettermann, Stephan 2 n. 5, 31 n. 9, 32 n. 12, 37, 41 n. 32 and 33, 44 n. 37, 45, 61 n. 68, 62, 71 Oexle, Otto Gerhard 1 n. 1, 15, 19 Ohler, Norbert 175 n. 5 Oldenberg, Friedrich 7 Ortelius, Abraham 178, 184, 195 Osterhammel, Jürgen 66 n. 76, 157 n. 78, 163 n. 88, 174 n. 4 Overbeck, Franz 75 Panofsky, Erwin 97 Paret, Peter 15 n. 51 Passmore, Kevin 12 n. 40 Paul (apostle) 178 Perkins, Chris 180 n. 15 Perron, Paul J. 47 n. 43 Peter III 125 Peterfreund, Stuart 14 n. 45 Peterson, Brent Orlyn 1 n. 3, 117 n. 8 Peuckert, Will-Erich 33 n. 15 Pfotenhauer, Helmut 82 n. 28 Philip the Fair 40 Philipp August 40 Pickles, John 174 Plato 35 n. 18 Plessen, Marie-Louise 32 n. 12

248

Index of Names

Plumpe, Gerhard 102 n. 70, 104 n. 76, 145 n. 62 Polaschegg, Andrea 157 Porter, Catherine 70 n. 88 Poseidon 92, 108 Pound, Norman 176f. n. 8 Poussin, Nicolas 96 Powell, James 10 n. 32 Preen, Friedrich von 82 n. 29, 83 n. 31 Preuss, Johann David Erdmann 117 n. 9 Preuss, Peter 14 n. 47 Prometheus 35 n. 18 Przyblyski, Jeannene M. 6 n. 17 Pückler-Muskau, Hermann von 33 Putzger, Friedrich Wilhelm 177, 181, 189– 198, 200, 215 Quensel, Paul 153–156 Raabe, Paul 122 n. 24 Raabe, Wilhelm 222 Radkau, Joachim 141 n. 55 Randeria, Shalini 24 n. 73 Ranke, Clara von 54 Ranke, Heinrich von 34f., 54 Ranke, Leopold von 10–12, 13 n. 42, 14f., 17, 19, 22–24, 27–72, 74–77, 82, 86 n. 39, 92, 94, 120f., 137, 147, 167f., 182, 189, 217, 219f. Ratzel, Friedrich 70, 144, 200, 207–209, 212–214 Raumer, Friedrich Ludwig Georg 121 n. 21 Reibnitz, Barbara von 75 n. 6 Reiche, Karl Friedrich 121 n. 21 Reill, Peter Hanns 67 n. 80 Rembrandt 133 Reynolds, Joshua 30 Ricœur, Paul 16 Riehl, Heinrich 141 Riemann-Reyher, Marie Ursula 139 n. 48 Riha, Karl 116 n. 5 Ritter, Carl 65–67, 70, 137 Ritter, Heinrich 54 Ritter, Joachim 180 n. 13 and 14 Roeck, Bernd 73 n. 2 Rohde, C. E. 191f. Rosselli, Paolo 80 n. 21 Rothacker, Erich 28 n. 2

Rothert, Eduard 191, 192 Rotteck, Karl von 117 n. 9 Rottland, Thomas 210 n. 47 Rousseau, Théodore 139 n. 52 Ruberg, Uwe 19 n. 65, 131 n. 40 Ruete, Christian Theodor Georg 99 Rüsen, Jörn 1 n. 1, 12 n. 40, 13, 16f., 19, 29 n. 5 and 8, 66 n. 76, 75 n. 5 Ruskin, John 81, 113 Sachs-Hombach, Klaus 5 n. 16 Said, Edward 23f., 163 Samuels, Maurice 116 n. 6, 122, 127 n. 32, 129 n. 35 Sattler, Hubert 58–60 Sautermeister, Gert 33 n. 14 Schaaf, Larry 101 n. 69 Schaar, Eckhard 122 n. 25 Schama, Simon 139 Scheffel, Joseph Victor von 145, 221 Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von 35 n. 18 Scherpe, Klaus 162 n. 87 Schieder, Theodor 28 n. 4, 48 n. 45 Schiffermüller, Werner 16 n. 55 Schiller, Friedrich 8f., 13, 76, 115 n. 4 Schinkel, Karl Friedrich 31 Schirges, Georg 102f. Schivelbusch, Wolfgang 7 n. 21, 42 Schlaffer, Hannelore 15 n. 51, 95 n. 56 Schlaffer, Heinz 15 n. 51, 95 n. 56 Schlegel, August Wilhelm 115 n. 4 Schlegel, Friedrich 115 n. 4 Schleier, Hans 14 n. 48, 29 n. 5 Schliemann, Heinrich 87 n. 42 Schlögel, Karl 22, 66f., 136, 143f., 174, 208 Schlosser, Friedrich Christoph 117 n. 9 Schmid, Ulrich 33 n. 14 Schmidt, Erich 103 n. 73 Schmidt, Ferdinand 146–153, 156, 158, 167 Schneider, Ute 175 n. 5 Schopenhauer, Arthur 113 Schopenhauer, Johanna 49 Schreiber, Heinrich 74 n. 3 Schreinert, Karl 103 n. 73 Schröckh, Johann Matthias 115 Schubert, Michael 158 n. 82 Schulin, Ernst 29 n. 5, 54 n. 57, 58, 66 n. 76

Index of Names

Schütte, Andrea 78 n. 16, 89 n. 45, 98, 100 n. 67 Schwartz, Vanessa R. 5f. Schwarz, Angela 2 n. 8 Schweppenhäuser, Hermann 6 n. 20, 25 n. 76, 32 n. 11 Seidel, Max 78 n. 18 Sieber, Marc 96f. n. 59 Sigurdson, Richard Franklin 74 n. 4, 111 Simmel, Georg 129 Soja, Edward 67 Southard, Robert 12 n. 41, 145 n. 60 Speich, Daniel 210 n. 47 Spitzer, Leo 107 n. 82 Sporschil, Johann 116 Spruner, Karl von 199 Stafford, Barbara Maria 7 n. 23 Stehelin, Gustav 85 Steinbrink, Gert 98 n. 63 Steinmetz, George 165 n. 92 Stempel, Wolf-Dieter 1 n. 2, 16 n. 55, 29 n. 8 Stern, Fritz 15 n. 53 Sternberger, Dolf 49f., 58, 168 Stiegler, Bernd 99, 101 n. 69, 103 n. 75 Stifter, Adalbert 97 n. 62, 104–106 Stockhammer, Robert 174 n. 3 Storm, Theodor 103 Streisand, Marianne 174 n. 3 Suckale, Robert 139 n. 50 Suphan, Bernhard 9 n. 29 Süssmann, Johannes 29 n. 8 Sutterlüty, Beate 24 n. 73 Swoboda, Rudolf 50 Sybel, Heinrich von 12, 38 n. 26, 137, 145, 189, 193 Taine, Hippolyte 29 n. 8 Takahashi, Teruaki 132 n. 41 Talkenberger, Heike 5 n. 15 Tang, Chenxi 179 n. 12 Tauber, Christine 73 n. 2 Teixeira, Pedro 57 Thielking, Sigrid 222 n. 60 Thielmann, Tristan 3 n. 9, 176 n. 7 Thierry, Augustin 116 Thor 150 Tieck, Ludwig 52

249

Tiedemann, Rolf 6 n. 20, 25 n. 76, 32 n. 11 Tielker, Johann Friedrich 31 Timm, Regine 2 n. 7, 116 n. 5, 130 n. 38 Treitschke, Heinrich von 12, 38 n. 26, 145, 189, 193 Troeltsch, Ernst 14f., 19 Trog, Hans 76 n. 9, 81 Ueding, Gert 4 n. 11, 10 n. 31, 46 n. 41, 98 n. 63 Ungern-Sternberg, Jürgen von 75 n. 6 Vernet, Horace 118 Veronese, Paolo 96 Vierhaus, Rudolf 29 n. 6 Vischer-Bilfinger, Wilhelm 81 n. 24 Vogel, Jakob 165 n. 94 Voltaire 15 n. 53 Voßkamp, Wilhelm 100 n. 67, 132 n. 40 Wachsmuth, Wilhelm 35 Warburg, Aby 97 Warnke, Ingo 158 n. 82 Warnke, Martin 73 n. 2, 96 n. 58, 97 n. 61, 111 n. 90 Weber, Johann Jakob 118f., 121 n. 22, 123 Wehler, Hans-Ulrich 29 n. 6 Weigel, Sigrid 22 n. 67, 174 n. 3 Werner, Anton von 2, 32 West, Benjamin 96 White, Hayden 1 n. 1, 13 n. 45, 17 Wiener, Michael 162 n. 87 Wilhelm, Gustav 104 n. 78 William I of Prussia 206 William 215 William II 166 Winckelmann, Johann Joachim 87 Wines, Roger 13 n. 42, 28 n. 3, 34 n. 17, 147 n. 68 Wittwer, Hans-Peter 80 n. 21 Wolf, Carl 203 Wolff, Hans 175 n. 5 Wölfflin, Heinrich 73, 93 n. 53, 113 Wunberg, Gotthart 15 n. 52 Yorck von Wartenburg, Paul 28f., 72 Zahn, Albert von 80f. n. 23

250

Index of Names

Zantop, Susanne 24 n. 74, 50, 157 Zenge, Wilhelmine von 31 n. 10 Zeus 92

Ziegler, Ernst 94 n. 55 Zieten, Hans Joachim von 134f. Zohn, Harry 6 n. 20