Researchers of the Gennadius

Bejamin Anderson

Louis Francois-Cassas’s Voyage Pittoresque de la Syrie, specifically this plate (=Vol. 2, Plate 56).  

The Temple of Venus in Baalbek (present-day Lebanon) is distinguished by its unusual circular ground-plan. When the British scholar Robert Wood visited in 1751, he noted that “the lower or Ionic story is at present converted into a Greek church, and separated from the higher or Corinthian story for that purpose.” In his 1758 publication of the site, Wood included a view of this temple-church, and drew attention both to the modern wall that rendered it suitable for worship and to the surrounding houses. Joannes Gennadius owned the 1827 reprint of this volume. 

By contrast, the view published by the French artist Louis-Francois Cassas based on his visit of 1785 shows neither the wall nor the houses, and Cassas does not mention the church. Had this house of worship been abandoned in the intervening 30 years, or did Cassas alter its appearance to suit his Romantic aesthetic? In either case, the presence of both Wood’s and Cassas’s volumes in the collection of Joannes Gennadius is a testament to his capacious conception of Hellenism, which extended well beyond the Aegean and embraced the Romantic alongside the Classical. 

Fiona Antonelaki

In my research, for more than a decade, on the Modern Greek literary archives of the ASCSA, housed at the Gennadius Library, I have been particularly interested in the audio files of these collections: vinyl records, magnetic tapes, cassettes. Among the Constantine Tsatsos Papers, I am delighted to have come across an undated vinyl record made by Tsatsos’s brother-in-law, Angelos Seferiadis (1905-1950), younger brother of Ioanna Tsatsou (1904-2000) and the celebrated poet George Seferis (1900-1971). In 1967 Seferis brought together and published the remaining poems of his beloved brother Angelos under the title Sēma. Angelos’s recording presented here contains his reading of the poems “Messolonghitiko” and “Spring rain” by Miltiadis Malakasis (1869-1943) as well as the prose text “The Little Drummer Boy” (by an unidentified author), which had been included in a Greek schoolbook printed in 1947.  

Our recording provides rare empirical evidence for the study of prosody and performance style, and confirms that Malakasis’ poems enjoyed popularity as recitation pieces. More importantly, it relates a fascinating story from the early Cold War period: when he left Greece for the United States after WWII, Angelos Seferiadis struggled to secure a job in New York as he had been accused of being a communist. Finally, that brilliant man was hired as a Greek language instructor at the U.S. Army Language School in Monterey, California, where he worked until his untimely death in 1950. This recording takes us to the final years of his migrant life: apparently, it was used as instruction material to accompany Angelos’s classes. Preliminary research has revealed that the Army Language School actually housed a recording studio with “state-of-the-art phonographic record-making equipment.”   

As the principal investigator of the project “Reading Poetry Aloud: Education, Culture and the Media in Greece, 1930-1960”, funded by the Hellenic Foundation for Research and Innovation and hosted at Laboratory of Modern Greek Philology at the University of Athens, I look forward to collaborating further with the Archives of the ASCSA. I thus hope to contribute to the digitization, critical investigation and dissemination of rare audio archives that enable us to reconstruct ephemeral histories of reading and sound cultures of the past.  

Roderick Beaton

When the news of the Turks' arrival in Smyrna first broke, George must have believed that the two people he loved most in the world, his mother and his sister, were trapped there. By the time the fires had stopped smouldering in Smyrna, and in Paris the full extent of the destruction could be read in the newspapers, he knew that Despo and Ioanna, at least, were still in Athens and unharmed. He wrote to them there, a letter raw with grief, bewilderment and anger. Twisting and turning through its disjointed phrases is the thought of what must have happened to their relatives.  

There is nothing of the 'poet' about this letter. It is a letter that any young man, whose life had been turned upside-down by such events, might have written to his mother. Touchingly, incongruously even, it plucks the hope of renewed family life, love and the possibility of happiness for those who mean most to him, out of the destruction.  

Monday evening 

Dear mum 

Your first letter came two days ago with the newspapers on the eve of the catastrophe almost. From then events have tumbled out of control, the Turk has entered our Smyrna, burnt it and is massacring us. How can I describe for you the days, the agonies we're suffering here in a foreign land and what an inhospitable foreign land it is. ... Thankfully, you two are now safe. You and Ioanna are the most important thing. Our only terrible anxiety now is our relatives in Smyrna. Dad has cabled you. No reply so far. He went to Le Temps to ask about Uncle Kokos. They don't know anything. We're driven mad. Write to me as soon as you can with details. ... I'm sitting writing to you because I must write to you. I can't gather my thoughts, everything comes to me as though in a dream and then I think of you and your nervous disposition and so sensitive, my poor little mother what kind of a state can she be in? ... Can the human mind find room for such a thing, in the twentieth century, the century of humanity, a city of three hundred thousand people can be made into a graveyard in just four days. Cable me at once: where is Uncle Kokos, Uncle Socrates, Aunt Elli? Where have they ended up – because I can't bring myself to imagine that they didn't get out somehow, write to me what they're thinking about the future. Write to me everything about the state of Greece, hysterical, false Greece that without the least heroism, the least self-sacrifice, without the least protest even, could sacrifice a hundred thousand of her children. ... Angelos has a room next to mine, a clean little room, it's warm and we have our meals together, every lunchtime and evening Dad comes round after we've eaten, and we have coffee the three of us, we think about you and talk. He's wretched too. He's thinking of taking an appartement and sending for the two of you to come and all live together for the time being in Paris. Who knows if all this mightn't even be to the good if we can draw together tightly as a family once again. That's why you shouldn't be sad, if people are together with love and health everything else can be mended. ... If there's the least thing you need, send us a telegram. Take care of Ioanna and tell her to write to me. I kiss you and I kiss her. George.i 

Shortly after this, a telegram arrived at the rue Bréa: sauves seferiades. The whole family had come through safely. 

Harriet Blitzer

Among the professions (σιναφια, επαγγελματα, iσναφια, συντεχνίες) listed in 17th through early 20th century texts in the Gennadius Library, there are many that have disappeared from Greek society, their cultural, economic, and technological roles now abandoned, or replaced by new societal functions.  An unusual example of a profession that existed in early modern Greece, the ταταρης, or ταταρος, as it was sometimes spelled, had a very different label from the 20th century onward - that is, the ταχυδρομος.  Ταταρης and ταχυδρομος are even listed as synonymous terms in the 1959 publication of Δημητριος Σαλαμαγκας, Τα ισναφια και τα επαγγελματα επι Τουρκοκρατιας στα Γιαννινα.  

Identifying the origin of ταταρης in early modern Greek usage is not a simple task. And although the root of the word is indeed to be found in the Eurasian cultural group from the steppes, known as the Tatars, it is hard to imagine how this became connected with the profession of postman in early modern Greece.  However, late 18th and 19th century cultural studies in the Gennadius describe the ταταρης as a position of great trust among the public, with postmen, as riders carrying messages, official documents and private letters over well-defined routes from town to city throughout the later Ottoman Empire.  It is this trust in those who held the position of ταταρης that suggests a very long association with the term Tatar, perhaps as far back as late antiquity.  Tatars were known, even in the Persian Empire, as official messengers skilled in riding horses and carrying important, and often secret, documents over long distances.  It is therefore no surprise that in the early 20th century, the Greek postal service continued to be perceived as a trusted part of modern Greek society.   

Catherine Boura

ATHANASIOS SOULIOTIS–NIKOLAIDIS (1878–1945) 

With care and foresight worthy of Gennadius himself, Athanasios Souliotis—an officer in the Greek army, known for his behind-the-scenes role in the Macedonian Struggle and for his activity in Constantinople between 1908 and 1912 under the pseudonym Nikolaidis—carefully preserved historical records, documents, letters, and photographs that vividly reflect both his work and his times. His archive was donated by his widow, Sophia Proveleggios-Soulioti, to the Gennadius Library and is now kept in the Archives of the American School of Classical Studies. 

As I was studying Souliotis’s archive, I was unexpectedly struck by a small portrait sketch of him. On the back, in his own handwriting, he had written: “Paris, myself.” 3  The drawing must therefore date from after the Balkan Wars, when Souliotis was in Paris on what would be his final national mission, from October 1913 to August 1914. 

Looking at this modest sketch, my thoughts turned naturally to Joannes Gennadius. Fully aware of the enduring value of archives, he entrusted to the Library not only his own personal papers but also those of his learned father. Among his collections are volumes of albums filled with countless clippings—scrapbooks in which he gathered newspaper articles, photographs, sketches, and cartoons on the major historical issues of his day. These volumes bear witness to the importance he attached to the “image” as a form of documentation—one capable of capturing people and events, and of serving as vital evidence for understanding societies, historical developments, and cultures. How might he have viewed this particular sketch? Where would he have placed it within his carefully ordered collections? 

In contrast to the formal photographs of the period, in which subjects often arranged their posture with deliberate care, sketches tend to reveal something more intimate and human. They bring into sharper focus people’s efforts, emotions, and limitations within the flow of history. Souliotis’s sketch encourages the researcher to look more closely at the many facets of a complex personality—a man who worked passionately to shape a new historical reality for the Hellenism of the Ottoman Empire, only to see his vision ultimately collapse. Within this archive, beyond the man of action, we encounter a restless spirit who felt that, “deep in his soul, he was an artist.” 4 

Alexandra Burkot

Levidis' L'iliade manuscript 

Is it silly to say when the first time I laid eyes on the digitized manuscript of Dimitry Levidis’ L’iliade it was love at first sight? I remember excitedly texting my friends about this wonderful discovery I’d made—a mid-century Greek oratorio set to an adaptational text of Homer!—and feeling a little like I was gushing over a new partner. Even before I had applied for the Schwarz Fellowship on Music, I was already picturing the grand finale of this project. An edited manuscript, a new premiere, the discovery of a lost masterpiece—my imagination ran wild, intoxicated by infinite, ambitious opportunity. 
 
I was—and still am—infatuated with this manuscript. Like any relationship, it was not without its difficulties, such as messy handwriting or a lack of external scholarship. These difficulties, however, led to the most marvelous opportunity of the whole project: the opportunity to learn about myself. In many ways, the history of this manuscript is also the history of my family. Levidis lived and worked in Faliro, where my mother had lived as a little girl, and had published this work in 1942, when my grandmother had just been born. Levidis’ L’iliade has not only given me academic and scholastic purpose, but has helped strengthen my connections to my family and my history, for which I am forever grateful.  

Katerina Carpinato

My first visit to the Gennadius Library dates back to the autumn of 1986. I wanted to study Dimitrios Zinos's translation of the Batrachomyomachia (Venice 1539) to make a comparison "from Greek to Greek." I was 23 years old and had a classical education. I didn't want to become a "Modern Greek scholar," but simply I tried to understand the reasons for the historical evolution of the Greek language. At that time, it was possible to purchase a facsimile reprint of the Iliad by Nikolaos Loukanis (Venice 1526), in paperback (with a blue cover) or hardback. That (blue) book marked a turning point for me. Those were times when, for reading manuscripts and ancient books "off-site," we relied on expensive and difficult-to-find (and preserve) microfilms. The Internet did not yet exist, and digitization of rare texts was not yet available. The decision to reproduce the book was due to Francis R. Walton, who wanted to make the first translation of the Iliad into a modern language available to the public. Thanks to the sensitivity of the Gennadius Library administrators and their heritage promotion policies, I have learned not only the importance of studying ancient and modern texts but also of valorizing knowledge through the creation of activities, initiatives, and products aimed at a wider audience. 

Maria Christina Chatziioannou

Rereading Ioannis Gennadius personal correspondence 

Ioannis Gennadius is one of the most important figures in the world of Greek diplomacy, combining a multifaceted political education with negotiating skills and British cultural standards. Gennadius entered British life during the heyday of the British Empire. This was also the period when Ioannis Gennadius built his personal social network. The 1860s were a preparatory stage for his acclimatization to England through the circles of Greek diaspora merchants. After 1875, from his position as diplomatic representative of the Greek state, he would penetrate the world of liberal politics in England. From 1902, after his marriage to an Englishwoman, he adopted the cultural behaviors of Edwardian society, which opened up new social and political opportunities for him. Gennadius created a social network through careful management, outside of family and local ties. Ioannis Gennadius managed client/patronage networks that had their roots in traditional forms of power, which continued to function as evidenced in his archive, a personal journey that intersects economic power, political authority, and intellectual inquiry. He embodies the archetype of the social, political, and cultural mediator, and the concept of identity in a state of "in-betweenness." 

Sarah Clark

Eleftheria Daleziou

The Greek refugee crisis, the post effect of the Asia Minor catastrophe, had mobilized Greeks abroad and international organizations alike. Joannes Gennadius, without an official diplomatic role since his retirement in 1918, remained very much involved in steering support for Greece and the refugee plight. Among his personal papers one can find an open call to the British people, in his capacity as the President of the Anglo-Hellenic League, for contributions to the Imperial War Relief Fund in support of the refugees in Greece. Gennadius was among the founding members of the Anglo-Hellenic League, a group of London based Greeks in December 1913, with the aim to act in support of the Greek interests in Britain. The Imperial War Relief Fund was one of the most well-known charitable organizations in the country for the provision of aid in post-WWI Europe with empire-wide appeals for funds and assistance.  Gennadius authored an emotional open call to support the Imperial War Relief Fund’s campaign for the Greek refugees. Dated March 1924, Gennadius, in his effort to raise awareness and funds for the Greek case, cited numbers, “over a million old men, women and children,” made parallels “it is as if seven or eight million people were thrown on the shore of Great Britain,” and asked the British people to remember “Byron’s supreme sacrifice of his life to bring freedom to Greece.” This 1924 appeal was one of Gennadius’s last contribution to a series of initiatives and projects in the provision of assistance to the Greek people and their plights during his life and long career.