Category Archives: Museums

A Mexican polished pebble at Carnac

By Nathalie Richard, Le Mans Université

In the storerooms of the Carnac Prehistory Museum there is an ordinary-looking pebble, labelled as a “pre-Columbian archaeological polished pebble”. Protected in a plastic bag, it rests in a box alongside other objects also identified as pre-Columbian, authentic or facsimile, several of which are broken.

Nowadays, this pebble has no place in the permanent exhibition of the museum dedicated to the rich local archaeological heritage. However, although it has been put away in the storerooms, it still has a lot to say to the historians of science and collections when they look at it from all sides and analyse the old labels and annotations that are attached to it with the help of the museum archives.

The first story that this pebble recounts is that of the museum and its transformations. Founded in 1882, in a village famous for its Neolithic remains, notably its enigmatic alignments of menhirs, the museum was created thanks to the donation of a private collection and funds for the construction of a dedicated building. As indicated by the number on the pebble and the notation on the sleeve that protects it, this object was part of the collection of the founder, James Miln (1819-1881). This wealthy Scottish aristocrat is a representative of a type of 19th-century science enthusiasts who are sometimes called “grand amateurs”. Given their level of education, leisure time, financial means and social networks they were able to mobilize, these amateurs practiced a science that was little or no different from that of the few professionals. A heir to important estates in Scotland, James Miln practiced the arts and sciences. Before coming to Brittany, he was a member of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, and is also known as a pioneer photographer. He drew and painted. He came to visit Carnac where he became fascinated with archaeology and carried out excavations. The artefacts he discovered formed the core of the museum’s collection in 1882. But James Miln was a man of his time and the collection he donated also contained ethnographic objects and pieces that were very fashionable at the time and which any archaeological collection worthy of the name had to include. Such was the case of the remains then called “pre-Columbian”, “Mexican” or “Peruvian”, the vestiges of a civilization whose richness was discovered in the 19th century, and that, viewed from Europe, was located in a rather imprecise space and in time. It is not surprising to find such objects in James Miln’s collection.

As this pebble, the first handwritten inventories and printed catalogues indicate, the Carnac Museum was not always as specialized as it is today. Like all museums, it is not a rigid institution and like many of them, it has gradually become specialized, leading to the relegation to its storage rooms, or the outright disappearance, of pieces that belonged to its collections. Alongside the local archaeological pieces and a few ethnographic and “pre-Columbian” objects of the Miln collection, the James Miln Museum displayed collections of natural history and objects related to the local economic activities, notably oyster farming which was developed and modernized in the last decades of the 19th century. The museum’s archives reveal that a lot of energy and funds were devoted to building up a collection of stuffed birds that has now disappeared. These disappearances are not rare, contrary to what one might think. Some collections, such as those of ornithology or entomology, are fragile and when they ceased to be of interest to the museum, they could eventually deteriorate and disappear. The pieces that survived, like this pebble, remind us of this.

The label pasted on the polished pebble tells yet another story, that of the trade in archaeological remains in the 19th century. In the field of archaeology, the worlds of excavators and collectors did not completely overlap. Many collectors did not discover the objects that formed their collections but obtained them through exchanges, gifts or purchases. Auctions of archaeological objects, including prehistoric ones, played an important role in this period. Collectors could also buy from specialized dealers. For “Mexican” antiques, the dealer Eugène Boban (1834-1908) played an important role. After living, collecting and selling archaeological objects in Mexico, Boban opened a Parisian store around 1870 and became one of the leading experts and suppliers of Pre-Columbian objects in the Parisian marketplace. He donated and sold collections to museums and renowned collectors. The objects he sold may be authentic or facsimiles, but some had a provenance that was difficult to establish. Boban’s name is associated with a famous case of forgery, when he sold allegedly Aztec crystal skulls in the 1880s. His name and the address of his store are still visible on the label of the pebble, showing that Miln was one of Boban’s many clients and that he was integrated, as a collector, in the networks dominated by expert dealers.

Thus a simple polished pebble, forgotten in a crate in the basement of a museum, tells us multiple stories of science, collecting and trade. It connects a Breton village of the end of the 19th century to networks of circulation of people and objects on a global scale. In small museums and in their storages, many objects similar to this pebble exist.

Bust of the Neanderthal Man

By Marina Laura Sardi, Universidad Nacional de La Plata

[read in Spanish]

This bust is inspired by the fossil recovered in 1856 in the Feldhofer cave, in the Neander Valley (Germany). It is one of the first Neanderthal specimens which informed the representation of the Cave Man in the imaginary of the 19th century. This fossil – vault fragments, with a great development of the supraorbital torus, and fragments of postcranial bones – intervened in the first controversy around human evolution in which transformist intellectuals disputed against those who adopted creationist and catastrophist perspectives. The former interpreted in this specimen a race antecedent to a period of the Germans and Celts; the second, a modern individual who suffered from some physical or mental disease that deformed his skull.

According to Brian Regal (2004), the images about life in prehistory had an immediacy and a power that rocks and fossils could not. Thus, museums included visual representations -scientific or supposedly scientific- about evolution, such as sculptures, drawings, paintings, and dioramas, sometimes derived from scientific spaces, or from spaces more linked to popular culture. They were destined to satisfy the interest of an audience curious to know phenomena distanced in time and space. Judith Berman (1999) suggests that an iconographic history was built around the Cave Man where characteristics such as the long and wild hair and the hairy body were visual signifiers that constituted our ancestors as “Not Us” or “Not Quite Us”, and those signifiers were associated with connotations of primitivism, animal behaviour, amorality, perversion, and madness; qualities also attributed to the natural world. The individual represented in the bust, in addition to the hirsute body, has a frown, red eyes, and shows his teeth, signs associated with aggressiveness and anger.

This sculpture (height of 54.6 cm) is housed at the División Antropología of the La Plata Museum (Argentina) and was exhibited for decades together with other plaster casts representing the Fossil Man. It was sold at the end of nineteenth century by the Ward’s Natural Science Establishment, in Rochester (United States) with a price of 7 (white) to 8 (bronzed) dollars. The Catalogue promotional text stated: “This bust is an ideal restoration, based upon the famous “Neanderthal skull,” found in 1857 in the Neanderthal, near Düsseldorf, Rhenish Prussia. Prof. Huxley says of the skull: “First, that its extraordinary form is due to a natural conformation hitherto not known to exist, even in the most barbarous races. Secondly, that it belongs to a period antecedent to the time of the Celts in Germany, and was in all probability derived from one of the wild races of north-western Europe. Thirdly, that it is beyond doubt traceable to a period at which the diluvium still existed.” As an effort to represent a Primitive Man, this bust is of interest to Archaeologists, and finds a very appropriate place over a case or cabinet of archaeological relics.” (p. 77).

Bibliography

Berman, Judith C. 1999. Bad Hair Days in the Paleolithic: Modern (Re)Constructions of the Cave Man. American Anthropologist. 101(2): 288-304.

Regal, Brian. 2004. Human evolution. A guide to the Debates. Santa Barbara, California: ABC-CLIO, Inc.

Ward’s Natural Science Establishment, inc. 1893. Catalogue of human skeletons, human and comparative anatomical models, botanical models, busts and masks. 6th ed. Rochester, N.Y.: Ward’s Natural Science Establishment.

Busto del Hombre de Neandertal

Por Marina Laura Sardi, Universidad Nacional de La Plata

[leer en inglés]

Este busto está inspirado en el fósil hallado en 1856 en la cueva Feldhofer, en el valle del Neander (Alemania). Es uno de los primeros ejemplares de Neandertal y comenzó a representar en el imaginario del siglo XIX al Hombre de las Cavernas. Este fósil – fragmentos de calota, con un gran desarrollo del torus supraorbitario, y fragmentos de huesos postcraneales- intervino en la primera controversia en torno de la evolución humana en la que intelectuales transformistas confrontaron a quienes adherían al creacionismo y al catastrofismo. Los primeros interpretaban en este espécimen una raza anterior a la de los germanos y celtas; los segundos, un individuo moderno que sufría alguna enfermedad física o mental que había dejado marcas en su cráneo.

Según Brian Regal (2004), las imágenes acerca de la vida en la prehistoria tuvieron una inmediatez y un poder que las rocas y los fósiles no lograron. Por eso, los museos incorporaron representaciones visuales -científicas o pretendidamente científicas- sobre la evolución, como  esculturas, dibujos, pinturas y dioramas, surgidos a veces en los propios espacios del saber, o en espacios más vinculados a la cultura popular. Estaban destinados a satisfacer el interés de un público curioso por conocer aquello que estaba distante en el tiempo y en el espacio. Judith Berman (1999) sugiere que en torno del Hombre de las Cavernas se construyó una historia iconográfica en donde características como el cabello largo y salvaje y el cuerpo peludo fueron un significante visual que constituyeron a nuestros ancestros como “No nosotros” o “No del todo nosotros” y a dicho significante se le asociaron connotaciones de primitivismo, comportamiento animal, amoralidad, perversión y locura; cualidades atribuidas también al mundo natural. El individuo representado en el busto, además del cuerpo hirsuto, tiene el ceño fruncido, ojos enrojecidos y muestra sus dientes, señales asociadas a la agresividad y enojo.

Esta escultura (54,6 cm de altura) se encuentra conservada en la División Antropología del Museo de La Plata (Argentina) y estuvo durante décadas exhibida junto a otros moldes de yeso en representación del Hombre Fósil. Era vendida a fines del siglo XIX por el Ward’s Natural Science Establishment de Rochester (Estados Unidos) con un precio de 7 (blanca) a 8 (bronceada) dólares. El texto de promoción en el Catálogo de venta indicaba: “Este busto es una restauración ideal, basada en el famoso ‘cráneo Neanderthal’, hallado en 1857 en Neanderthal, cerca de Dusseldorf, Rhenish Prussia. El Prof. Huxley dice del cráneo: “Primero, que su extraordinaria forma es debida a una conformación natural que hasta ahora no se sabía que existía, aún en las más bárbaras razas. Segundo, que pertenece a un período antecedente al tiempo de los celtas en Alemania y fue con toda probabilidad derivado de una raza salvaje del noroeste de Europa. Tercero, que es sin duda fácil de ubicar en un período en que el diluvio todavía existía.” En un esfuerzo por representar al Hombre primitivo, este busto es de interés para los arqueólogos, y encuentra un lugar apropiado en una caja o gabinete de reliquias arqueológicas.” (p. 77).

Bibliografía

Berman, Judith C. 1999. Bad Hair Days in the Paleolithic: Modern (Re)Constructions of the Cave Man. American Anthropologist. 101(2): 288-304.

Regal, Brian. 2004. Human evolution. A guide to the Debates. Santa Barbara, California: ABC-CLIO, Inc.

Ward’s Natural Science Establishment, inc. 1893. Catalogue of human skeletons, human and comparative anatomical models, botanical models, busts and masks. 6th ed. Rochester, N.Y.: Ward’s Natural Science Establishment.

Le tatou de la collection Maulny au Musée vert

N° MHNLM 2003,28,200

par Nathalie Richard, L’Université du Mans, et Nicolas Morel, Musées du Mans

De son nom scientifique Tolypeutes matacus, le tatou à trois bandes habite le centre de l’Amérique du Sud. Généralement, ce petit mammifère vit seul dans des habitats secs. Sa carapace formée de plaques le protège des prédateurs. Contrairement aux autres tatous, les tolypeutes ont la capacité de s’enrouler entièrement sur eux-mêmes en présence d’un danger. Cet animal nocturne est un insectivore mais son régime alimentaire peut varier en fonction des saisons. Son excellent odorat et ses griffes acérées lui permettent de collecter sa nourriture. Malheureusement, cette espèce est considérée comme menacée par l’Union internationale pour la conservation de la nature du fait de la destruction de son habitat et de la chasse. Sa reproduction est également lente avec un seul petit par portée.

Ce spécimen desséché est originaire du Brésil. Sur sa carapace, l’inscription « Tatou » est visible. Il provient du cabinet de curiosité Louis Maulny (1758-1815), collectionneur et naturaliste manceau qui l’a probablement acheté dans un commerce d’histoire naturelle.

Les collections de naturalias conservées au musée Vert sont issues de plus de 200 ans d’acquisitions depuis l’ouverture du premier musée au Mans en 1799. Fortes aujourd’hui de plus de 450.000 objets, elles correspondent à des ensembles très variés liés à la nature et à l’environnement : animaux naturalisés, insectes, coquillages, herbiers, fossiles, minéraux, roches… Des spécimens uniques issus de cabinets d’histoire naturelle du XVIIIe siècle, notamment deux autres tatous, font partie de ses collections les plus précieuses.

Ce tatou est un exemple parmi d’autres des spécimens qui ont voyagé jusqu’à des collections européennes et qui sont ensuite passés d’une collection à une autre. Un autre spécimen avec une histoire comparable, un tatou à neuf bandes, est conservé au Musée des sciences naturelles de Barcelone et faisait partie du Cabinet Salvador.

The armadillo from the Maulny collection at the Musée vert

N° MHNLM 2003,28,200

by Nathalie Richard and Nicolas Morel

From its scientific name Tolypeutes matacus, the three-banded armadillo lives in central South America. Generally, this small mammal lives alone in dry habitats. Its carapace formed of plates protects it from predators. Unlike other armadillos, tolypeutes have the ability to curl up entirely on themselves in the presence of danger. This nocturnal animal is an insectivore but its diet can vary according to the seasons. Its excellent sense of smell and its sharp claws allow it to collect its food. Unfortunately, this species is considered threatened by the International Union for Conservation of Nature because of the destruction of its habitat and hunting. Its reproduction is also slow with only one young per litter.

This dried specimen is native to Brazil. On its carapace, the inscription “Armadillo” is visible. It comes from the curiosity cabinet of Louis Maulny (1758–1815), a collector and naturalist from Le Mans who probably bought it in a natural history shop.

The collections of naturalias kept in the Musée Vert are the result of more than 200 years of acquisitions since the opening of the first museum in Le Mans in 1799. With more than 450,000 objects, they correspond to a wide variety of objects related to nature and the environment: naturalized animals, insects, shells, herbaria, fossils, minerals, rocks… Unique specimens from 18th-century natural history cabinets, including two other armadillos, are among its most valuable collections. This armadillo is just one example of specimens that travelled to European collections and then passed from one collection to another. Another specimen with a similar history, a nine-banded armadillo, is kept in the Museum of Natural Sciences in Barcelona and was part of the Salvador Cabinet.

Gabinet Salvador (video)

One of our researchers, Neus Ibáñez, talks about preventive conservation of the Salvador Cabinet in the Institut Botànic de Barcelona (Barcelona Botanical Institute, IBB) under the guidance of the Preventative Conservation Laboratory at the Museu de Ciències Naturals de Barcelona (Natural Science Museum of Barcelona).

To learn more about the Salvador Cabinet, read our previous blog posts:

The Salvador collection in Barcelona

by José Pardo-Tomás, Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científica

Salvador’s Cabinet of Curiosities

by Neus Ibáñez, Museu Ciencies Naturals Barcelona (Institut Botanic de Barcelona)

Un galet poli mexicain à Carnac

Par Nathalie Richard, Le Mans Université

Dans les réserves du Musée de préhistoire de Carnac se trouve un galet d’apparence ordinaire, étiqueté comme « galet poli archéologie précolombienne ». Protégé dans une pochette plastifiée, il repose dans une caisse au côté d’autres objets également identifiés comme précolombiens, authentiques ou fac-simile, dont plusieurs sont brisés.

De nos jours, ce galet n’a plus sa place dans les vitrines d’un musée qui est consacré au riche patrimoine archéologique local. Mais, bien que remisé dans les réserves, il a encore beaucoup de choses à dire aux historiens des sciences et des collections lorsqu’on l’examine sous toutes ses faces, en analysant aussi les étiquettes anciennes et les annotations qui l’accompagnent et en mobilisant les archives du musée.

La première histoire que ce galet évoque est celle du musée et de ses transformations. Fondé en 1882, dans un village célèbre pour ses vestiges néolithiques, notamment ses mystérieux alignements de menhirs, le musée est créé grâce à la donation d’une collection privée et de fonds destinés à la construction d’un bâtiment. Comme l’indique le numéro inscrit sur le galet et la notation sur la pochette qui le protège, cet objet faisait partie de la collection du fondateur, James Miln (1819-1881). Ce riche aristocrate écossais est représentatif d’un type d’amateurs de sciences du 19e siècle que l’on qualifie parfois de « grands amateurs ». Par leur niveau d’éducation, par les loisirs dont ils disposent, par les moyens financiers et par les réseaux sociaux qu’ils sont capables de mobiliser, ces amateurs pratiquent une science qui ne se distingue pas ou peu de celle que font les rares professionnels. Héritier d’importants domaines en Ecosse, James Miln pratique les arts et les sciences. Avant de visiter la Bretagne, il est membre de la Société des antiquaires d’Ecosse et est aussi connu comme un pionnier de la photographie. Il dessine et il peint. Venu visiter Carnac, il s’y passionne pour l’archéologie et pratique des fouilles. Les objets qu’il découvre constituent le cœur de la collection du musée en 1882. Mais James Miln est un homme de son temps et la collection qu’il donne contient aussi des objets ethnographiques et des pièces alors très à la mode, que toute collection archéologique digne de ce nom devait intégrer. Tel est le cas des artefacts alors appelés « précolombiens », « mexicains » ou « péruviens », traces d’une civilisation dont on découvre au 19e siècle toute la richesse et que, depuis l’Europe, on situe de manière parfois assez imprécise dans l’espace et dans le temps. Il n’est donc pas étonnant de trouver de tels objets dans la collection de James Miln.

Comme l’indique ce galet, les premiers inventaires manuscrits et les premiers catalogues imprimés, le Musée de Carnac n’a pas toujours été aussi spécialisé que de nos jours. Comme tous les musées, il n’est pas une institution figée et comme beaucoup d’entre eux, il s’est progressivement spécialisé, entraînant la relégation dans ses réserves, ou la disparition pure et simple, de pièces qui figuraient dans ses collections. A côté des pièces archéologiques locales et des quelques objets ethnographiques et « précolombiens » de la collection Miln, le Musée James Miln s’est enrichi de collections de sciences naturelles et d’objets qui renvoyaient aux activités économiques locales, notamment l’ostréiculture qui s’est modernisée et développée dans les dernières décennies du 19e siècle. Les archives du musée révèlent ainsi que beaucoup d’énergie et des fonds ont été mobilisés pour constituer une collection d’oiseaux naturalisés qui a aujourd’hui disparu. Ces disparitions ne sont pas rares, contrairement à ce que l’on pourrait penser. Certaines collections, d’ornithologie ou d’entomologie par exemple, sont fragiles et lorsqu’elles perdent leur intérêt pour le musée, elles peuvent finir par se dégrader et par disparaître. Les pièces qui survivent, comme ce galet, nous le rappellent.

L’étiquette collée sur le galet poli raconte encore une autre histoire, celle du commerce des objets archéologiques au 19e siècle. Dans le champ de l’archéologie, les mondes des fouilleurs et des collectionneurs ne se recoupent pas totalement. Beaucoup de collectionneurs n’ont pas découverts eux-mêmes les objets qui composent leurs collections, mais ils les ont obtenus par des échanges, par des dons ou par des achats. Les ventes aux enchères d’objets archéologiques, y compris d’objets préhistoriques, jouent un rôle important à cette époque. Mais les collectionneurs peuvent aussi se fournir chez des marchands spécialisés. Pour les « antiquités mexicaines » ou « précolombiennes », le marchand Eugène Boban (1834-1908) joue un rôle essentiel. Ayant résidé, collecté et vendu des pièces archéologiques au Mexique, Boban ouvre un magasin parisien autour de 1870 et devient l’un des principaux experts et l’un des principaux fournisseurs d’objets précolombiens sur la place parisienne. Il a donné et vendu des collections à des musées et à des collectionneurs réputés. Les objets qu’il vend peuvent être authentiques ou des fac-similé, mais certains ont une provenance difficile à établir. Le nom de Boban est ainsi associé à une célèbre affaire de faux, lorsqu’il vendit dans les années 1880, des crânes de cristal prétendument aztèques. Son nom et l’adresse de son magasin sont encore lisibles sur l’étiquette du galet, montrant que Miln est l’un de ses très nombreux clients et qu’il s’intègre, en tant que collectionneur, dans ces réseaux dominés par des marchands-experts. Ainsi un simple galet poli, oublié dans une caisse dans les sous-sols d’un musée, peut nous raconter de multiples histoires de science, de collection et de commerce, et connecter un village breton de la fin du 19e siècle à des réseaux de circulations d’hommes et d’objets d’échelle mondiale. Il existe, dans les petits musées et dans leurs réserves, de nombreux objets similaires à ce galet.

Collections of the “Cesare Lombroso” Museum of Criminal Anthropology

By Cristina Cilli, University of Turin, Italy

Cesare Lombroso positivism was expressed as extreme attention to statistics, the accumulation of documentary evidences, and application of the scientific method to existing disciplines or those he helped establish, with special attention to deviance: psychiatry, criminal anthropology, sociology of the genius, the madman and the criminal, (presumed) paranormal phenomena.

The Main Room of the Museum

The Museum today houses important collections concerning the study of crime and criminals, of insanity and the insane. Lombroso collected a rich series of objects made in prison and in the insane asylum. In addition, he collected an extensive documentation of the physiognomy of criminals and the insane, inspired by a widespread European tradition.

The museum displays numerous human remains collected and studied by Lombroso and his students, including a rich collection of more than 700 skulls: murders skull “presents the maximum of criminal traits”, i.e. “narrow forehead, enormous frontal sinuses, orbits, mandible and zygomata, asymmetry of the face, of the nose, of the orbits…”. To finalize the theorem, the fossa identified on the skull of the “brigand Villella” was proof of the fact that cranial anomalies reflect cerebral anomalies and primitive biological traits. The collection of comparative anatomy tends to show the presence of the brigand Villella’s cranial anomaly in mammals evolutionarily distant from man.

Death masks: 30 wax death masks reproducing the faces of criminals who died in prison were given to Lombroso by Lorenzo Tenchini, professor of Anatomy at the University of Parma. The masks were made in the 1880s and 90s as a personal gallery of anatomical, physiognomic and anthropometric aspects typical of criminals. Other 30 death masks are in plaster.

Giuseppe Villella’s Skull Room and showcases with clothes made by insane person

Material evidence: for Lombroso the material evidence of crime consisted not only of “things” but also of “signs.” The material evidence tells something, or a lot, about the criminal man. Illuminating the crime scene, it demonstrates the modus operandi and motives of the criminal, also providing indications about the criminal’s full or partial liability to punishment. The Museum houses more then 350 material evidences like knifes, daggers, picklocks, blunt objects, ropes, etc…

Lombroso views tattoos as an indicator of criminality, which he would later closely relate to “atavism”: it would be this regression toward primitive biological forms that drives criminals to indelibly engrave designs, symbols and writings on their bodies. Tattoos collection is composed by drawings on paper (about 150), pieces of skins, photographs (about 100) represent one of the richest and most important collection of the second half of the 19th century.

Collection of artistic manufacturing made by insane people (outsider art or “art brut”). Lombroso was interested in the artistic expressions of mentally disabled persons: if the rather mad person preserves the appearance of genius, albeit deprived of substance, the lunatic will connect us to the substance, albeit formally inadequate substance, of genius: drawings on paper (more than 200), furniture, pipes, sculptures in wood, object in paper, clothes, etc.

The collection of more than 80 water pitchers, engraved with writing and drawings by prisoners in Turin’s “Le Nuove” Prison represents a unique collection of all the world as well as the clay sculptures. The model of the Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia (USA) and 6 models of cells coming from several European prisons complete the collection concerning the places of imprisonment.

Finally the historical Archive of the Museum preserves a fund of over than 6000 photographs, about 1900 Lombroso’s professional and personal letters, documentations of his activities of research, more than 500 writings from insane people and prisoners. The majority of this documentation is digitalized.

Un tren de gliptodontes, Museo de La Plata, Argentina

Por Irina Podgorny, CONICET/Archivo Histórico del Museo de La Plata, Argentina

[Leer en inglés]

En la segunda mitad del siglo XIX y mucho antes de la manía por los dinosaurios, todo museo que se preciara debía contar con, al menos, una coraza de gliptodonte, un animal extraño, acorazado y de dimensiones gigantescas que, desde 1839 formaba parte del catálogo de los gigantescos mamíferos fósiles procedentes de la América del Sur.

Los primeros en viajar llegaron en la década de 1840 a las colecciones del Royal College of Surgeons de Londres y, a partir de allí, no hubo museo del hemisferio norte o del sur que no deseara o comisionara el envío de semejante portento. En Londres, Richard Owen los llamó Glyptodon, un nombre genérico que remarcaba la forma esculpida de sus dientes, la pieza en la que basó su existencia.

El esqueleto y, sobre todo, su cubierta, no eran fácil de transportar: aunque la coraza apareciera con todas  o casi todas sus piezas, una vez extraída de la tierra, la coraza se partía en cientos de pedazos. Se pagaban caro y los proveedores de especímenes debieron ingeniársela, inventar maneras para que lo que se desarmaba en las pampas se volviera a unir del otro lado del mar o donde fuera que se instalara. Una de las soluciones consistió en concebir el caparazón como una suerte de mosaico pompeyano: numerado en el papel y en cada una de sus piezas, se lo enviaba desarmado para que las placas (tesserae), una vez en el gabinete y con una gran inversión de  tiempo y trabajo, se pudieran recomponer en su forma ideal. Los gliptodontes que hoy vemos son el resultado de la anatomía comparada y de ese trabajo artesanal que combina las prácticas de la carpintería, la herrería y la albañilería.

Sin embargo, una vez montados, pegados con cola y sostenidos por estructura de metal o de madera, la fragilidad del montaje no desaparecía: gracias a la misma, el director del Museo Público de la ciudad de Buenos Aires (entonces capital de provincia y no de la nación), en 1883 apeló a esa característica para argumentar la imposibilidad de mudar las colecciones a otro edificio, a otra ciudad. Los gliptodontes, una vez armados, se hacían sedentarios y servían para negociar espacios, cargos y presupuestos.

A fines del siglo XIX el Museo de La Plata, museo general de la nueva capital de la provincia de Buenos Aires establecida en 1882, a falta de uno, instalaba un tren, una verdadera manifestación de la variedad de los esqueletos acorazados que la provincia podía ofrecer al mundo. Con ello no solo demostraba la riqueza de las pampas: le enrostraba al pequeño y algo vetusto museo de la capital de la Nación- ahora Museo Nacional, las dimensiones que la exhibición de la naturaleza podía adquirir en las nuevas instituciones de la provincia.

Mientras tanto, el gliptodonte llevaba medio siglo de vida como espécimen de museo y poblaba, entero o en pedazos, las salas, las colecciones y los depósitos de los museos de varias decenas de ciudades de todo el mundo. Esta foto y estas palabras son una invitación a revisar las vitrinas más cercanas para constatar su presencia y trazar los caminos del gliptodonte en los museos del mundo.

Para seguir leyendo:

Irina Podgorny, Fossil dealers, the practices of comparative anatomy and British diplomacy in Latin America, 1820–1840

Irina Podgorny, Mercaderes del Pasado: Teodoro Vilardebó, Pedro de Angelis y el comercio de huesos y documentos en el Río de la Plata, 1830–1850

A train of glyptodonts, La Plata Museum, Argentina

By Irina Podgorny, CONICET/Archivo Histórico del Museo de La Plata, Argentina

[Read in Spanish]

In the second half of the 19th century and long before the dinosaur craze, every self-respecting museum had to have at least one glyptodon carapace, a mighty, armoured animal of gigantic dimensions that since 1839 was part of the catalogue of strange and gigantic fossil mammals coming from South America.

The first one arrived in the collections of the Royal College of Surgeons in London in the 1840s, and from then on there was no museum in the northern or southern hemisphere that did not wish and commission such a wonder. In London, Richard Owen called them Glyptodont, a generic name that emphasized the sculpted shape of their teeth, the element on which he based their existence.

The skeleton, and above all its shell, were not easy to transport: even if the carapace appeared with all or almost all its pieces, once extracted from the ground, it could break into hundreds of fragments. They were expensive, and the dealers of natural history specimens had to find a way to make what was disassembled in the pampas come together again on the other side of the ocean, or wherever it was installed. One of the solutions consisted in conceiving the carapace as a sort of Pompeian mosaic: numbered on paper and in each of its pieces, it was sent disassembled so that the plates (tesserae), once in the cabinet and with a great investment of time and work, could be recomposed in their ideal form. The glyptodonts we see today are the result of comparative anatomy and of the craftsmanship that combines the practices of carpentry, blacksmithing, and masonry.

However, once assembled, glued, and supported by a metal or wooden structure, the fragility of the assembly did not disappear. Thanks to this, in 1883, the director of the Public Museum of the city of Buenos Aires (then the capital of the province and not of the nation) invoked this fact to argue the impossibility of moving the collections to another building or another city. The glyptodonts, once armed, became sedentary and served to negotiate spaces, positions, and budgets.

At the end of the 19th century, the Museo de La Plata, the main museum of the new capital of the province of Buenos Aires established in 1882, for the lack of one installed a train, a true manifestation of the variety of armoured skeletons that the province could offer to the world. By doing so, it not only demonstrated the richness of the pampas: it showed the small and somewhat old-fashioned museum in the capital of the nation – now Museo Nacional – the dimensions that the exhibition of nature could acquire in the new institutions of the province.

Meanwhile, the glyptodont had been living for half a century as a museum specimen and populated, whole or in pieces, the halls, collections, and deposits of museums in dozens of cities around the world. This photo and these words are an invitation to review the nearest showcases to verify its presence and trace the paths of the glyptodont in world museums.

To read more:

Irina Podgorny, Fossil dealers, the practices of comparative anatomy and British diplomacy in Latin America, 1820–1840

Irina Podgorny, Mercaderes del Pasado: Teodoro Vilardebó, Pedro de Angelis y el comercio de huesos y documentos en el Río de la Plata, 1830–1850