Law, Morals and the Parthenon Marbles

Treachery, subterfuge and "a steady flow of bribes." Writer Bruce Clark unpicks the dubious legality of Lord Elgin's removal of the Parthenon sculptures.

When Melina Mercouri went to London in 1983, she put the point in her own inimitable way: “This is a moral issue more than a legal issue.” Kyriakos Mitsotakis took a similar line in November when he visited his counterpart Boris Johnson and declared that the sculptures were stolen – a view which Johnson himself, in his student days, had espoused.

The British Museum’s position is diametrically opposed. Its website argues that Elgin acted with the full knowledge and permission of the legal authorities of the day in both Athens and London. Lord Elgin’s activities were thoroughly investigated by a Parliamentary Select Committee in 1816 and found to be entirely legal.

Provocative as it sounds to most Greek ears, the case for the legality of the marbles’ transfer is worth studying. It rests mainly on a document that was apparently issued by an Ottoman official, the kaymakam, at the request of the British embassy to the High Porte, around the beginning of July 1801. It emerged at a high point in Anglo-Ottoman relations, when the two powers were acting in lockstep to expel Napoleon’s forces from Egypt. It was not, strictly speaking, a firman – a term which refers to a decree issued by the sultan himself. But the kaymakam was a high-ranking figure.

Its terms had virtually been dictated by Elgin’s assistant, a shrewd Anglican cleric, Philip Hunt. It allowed a team of mainly Italian artists employed by Elgin to visit the Acropolis, which was also the Ottoman garrison, make drawings and moulds of the antiquities, and specified that …“When they wish to take away some pieces of stone with old inscriptions, and figures, no opposition be made…”

Historians agree that when that text was issued it was understood to refer to picking up objects from or below the ground. (Ever since the explosion of 1687, when a Venetian mortar bomb ignited an Ottoman powder-keg and blew the roof off the Parthenon, plenty of valuable debris had been scattered around on the citadel).

In the course of July 1801, Anglo-Ottoman relations became closer still as fears grew that Napoleon might invade Greece. Hunt was sent back to Athens – on a mission to stiffen the backs of the Ottoman commanders. As he boasted afterwards, this provided an opportunity to “stretch” the meaning of the permit and remove sculptures that were still attached to the temples. In the careful words of historian William St Clair, “Lord Elgin’s agents, by a mixture of cajolery, bribes and threats, persuaded and bullied the Ottoman authorities in Athens to exceed the terms” of the kaymakam’s decree.

As Elgin would later explain, such a document was in any case not the last word – it was a basis for negotiation with local officials, and it did not preclude the need to keep up a steady flow of bribes to ensure that the stripping of the Acropolis continued unimpeded.

Conveniently for Elgin, the post of disdar, or head of the Acropolis garrison, changed hands in mid-1801, as an elderly incumbent, who’d made a steady income in bribes, passed away and the job was taken over by his son. The new disdar felt trapped in the middle of a high-stakes transaction, and he feared dire punishment if he miscalculated. Elgin and his associates made sure that he remained frightened. In May 1802, the disdar became anxious that he might get into trouble with his Ottoman masters because he had been slightly too zealous in accommodating Elgin’s project. But as Lady Elgin smugly reported, one of her husband’s agents “whistled in his lug (ear)” that he had nothing to fear. Or to put it another way, “You have nothing to fear but us…”

Even then, the Ottoman attitude to the legality of the project was never a settled matter. In autumn of 1802, both the disdar and the voivode (governor) of Athens became worried that they might get in trouble with the Porte, because the existing text did not justify the mass stripping which was in progress. Elgin duly procured a fresh document which retroactively legalized the actions of the two officials.

But then fast-forward to 1808, by which time the kaleidoscope had shifted: the Ottomans were at peace with France and spasmodically at war with the British. Many of the sculptures collected by Elgin were still in Greece.

A new British envoy to the Porte tried to get the sculptures released, and was bluntly told that Elgin’s entire operation had been illegal. Only after January of 1809, with the signature of a new Anglo-Ottoman treaty, did the atmosphere change, leading to a fresh document that enabled the export of the sculptures to resume.

During the parliamentary investigation which the British Museum mentions, Elgin was questioned hard as to whether he had abused his position as ambassador to pursue a personal transaction; he replied, absurdly, that, in his antiquarian activities, he was no different from any private archaeologist. But many legislators were unconvinced.

It seemed obvious that the objects for which Elgin was about to be paid £35,000 had been obtained by careful exploitation of diplomatic privilege and of the sweet state of Anglo-Ottoman relations. Elgin got his money, but that does not mean he was believed.

Is this really the kind of behaviour on which British officials should be basing their case? By stressing the very dubious argument for the legality of Elgin’s actions, they risk drawing further attention to the fundamental moral issues.

* Bruce Clark writes for The Economist on history, culture and ideas. He is author of his latest book “Athens: City of Wisdom.”

This article was previously published in Greek at kathimerini.gr, 18 February 2022

Bruce Clark also contributed his article 'Stealing Beauty' to BCRPM's articles section of this website. 

The new Acropolis Museum may prove to be the most lavishly appointed white elephant in history. Nothing will change the view of the British Government that the intended centrepiece, the magnificently sculpted Elgin Marbles, must remain permanently in the British Museum.

Not that the museum will be empty. There will be 4,000 exhibits including the remaining Parthenon sculptures. But the crown jewels, the 247ft of the original 524ft frieze, 15 of 92 metopes and 17 figures from the pediments, all dating to the 5th century BC, will remain 1,500 miles away in London.

Britain has long argued that when the Earl of Elgin took the Marbles between 1801 and 1805, he was acting legally and that, had he not done so, they would have suffered further deterioration. The Parthenon was already a ruin. Also, fearing their destruction in the conflict between the Greeks and the Turks, Elgin got permission from the Turks, whose empire then ruled Greece, to remove the antiquities.

But the British Museum's ownership of the sculptures has been called into question by a challenge to the validity of a crucial 19th-century legal document. A specialist in Ottoman law says that without the signature and seal of the Sultan as supreme head of the Ottoman Empire, Lord Elgin had no legal right to remove the ancient sculptures from the Acropolis.

Professor Vassilis Dimitriadis, of the University of Crete, says that the document of 1801 — an Italian translation of an Ottoman firman or licence which the British Museum acquired two years ago as the only legal evidence of ownership — is invalidated by vital missing elements. More here.

The British Museum argues that the translated document is from a lost original firman in which the Sultan's acting grand vizier was authorised to permit Elgin to acquire the sculptures.

Professor Dimitriadis claims that the original was not a firman because only the Sultan could issue one by Ottoman law, that it lacks the Sultan's emblem (a tougras), and an invocation to God (da'vet tahmid).

More on this topic also here. (18 July 2000)

28 July 2011

 John Melville-Jones writes for neokosmos.com

In recent years the nature of the document that was presented to the British Parliament in 1816, which authorised Lord Elgin to study and copy the ancient Greek sculptures on the Acropolis of Athens, has been investigated.

It is clear that it was not, as has so often been claimed, a 'firman' from the Ottoman sultan, because it lacks some of the formal elements that a true 'firman' would have had. Its exact nature is, however difficult to define. If an official 'firman' was ever issued (and no evidence now exists to prove that this happened), the Italian text that Lord Elgin laid before the parliament with an English translation may have been a précis of this. But it is more probable that it was a more or less accurate translation of an ad hoc document created by an Ottoman official in Athens. For this reason the translation of the document into English that was made by Lord Elgin's chaplain the Reverend Philip Hunt should have been faultless. But it contains a small but significant mistake.

The authorization to remove material from the Acropolis was repeated in the document, essentially in the same words (Hunt's translations follow): e quando volessero portar via qualche pezzi di pietra con vechie inscrizioni, e figure, non sia fatta lor' oposizione …'and should they wish to take away any pieces of stone with old inscriptions, and figures, that no opposition be made …' and: non si faccia opposizione al portar via qualche pezzi di pietra con inscrizioni, e figure … 'nor hinder them from taking away any pieces of stone with inscriptions, and figures …' Two other translations of this document have been made (as noted in the article by Williams cited above).
 
They all translate the Italian phrase 'qualche pezzi di pietra' in the same way, as 'any pieces of stone'. But this is wrong. Anyone who looks up qualche in an Italian-English dictionary will find that 'any' is one of its meanings. But dictionaries often lead the unwary astray, and 'any' is only a permissible translation in some circumstances. For example, hai qualche libro che posso leggere? might be translated as 'Do you have any book(s) that I can read?' But the proper translation of qualche pezzi di pietra is not 'any pieces of stone' but 'a few pieces of stone' (the Italian of the document is not the best in this case - it is normal to use the singular form of a noun with qualche, so we would expect to read qualche pezzo, but this is not important).

The only time, to my knowledge, that this phrase has been translated correctly into English was in a speech made by Melina Mercouri (the Greek Minister for Culture) to the Oxford Union in 1986.

This does not seem to have attracted any general attention. How many 'pieces of stone' would be implied by qualche pezzi? It is possible to suspect that the language is deliberately vague, but if you ask an Italian what number the phrase might imply, he will smile happily and make supportive gestures if you suggest three or five or seven, but when you reach ten or a larger number he will begin to look doubtful.

So if the conditions of the alleged 'firman' had been strictly observed, Lord Elgin would not have been allowed to take away as many pieces of stone from the Parthenon and other buildings as he did. And if the British Parliamentary Select Committee had had a more exact translation before it in 1816 when it was formed to discuss the possible acquisition of the Elgin Marbles, this might have led to some modification of their decision.

There is no record of any objection from the Ottoman authorities to Lord Elgin's removal of the large number of 'pieces of stone' that he did in fact take, so the mistranslation of this phrase in the 'firman' now has little force in the current argument concerning the repatriation of the Parthenon sculptures. But it is desirable to put the correct translation of the Italian text on the record.

John Melville-Jones is an associate Professor in Classics and Ancient History at University of Western Australia. This note has been prepared on behalf of the Australian Macedonian Advisory Council.

Ta Nea, 12 March 2019 

Greece’s daily newspaper, Ta Nea, has seen, studied and photographed the controversial ‘firman’, the Ottoman document used by Lord Elgin to remove the Parthenon Sculptures and bring them to London. It is the Italian version of the ‘firman’ which was acquired by the British Museum 13 years ago and has since been kept in its Department of Greek and Roman Antiquities.

Ioannis Andritsopoulos,Ta Nea's UK Correspondant

The original ‘firman’ allegedly written in the Ottoman language has been lost, with several experts questioning both if it ever existed and the authenticity of the document currently held in London. The so-called firman played a key role in the House of Commons’ decision to buy the Sculptures from Elgin in 1816.

To read Yannis Andritsopulos' article in Ta Nea, follow the link here.

Several historians and lawyers cast doubt on whether Elgin legitimately removed the Marbles from the Acropolis site.

“Concerning the precise wording of the two 'firmans' (legally binding official royal permits) that the Ottoman Sultanate is said to have granted to His Britannic Majesty's Ambassador to the Sublime Porte (Thomas Bruce, the 7th Lord Elgin), all or almost all is smoke and mirrors. For no literal transcripts of the original Turkish documents exist - or are known to exist - today. One thing, however, all sane commentators agree on: no firman can possibly have granted Elgin explicit permission to do what he and his agents in fact did, namely destroy rather than remove to safekeeping significant portions of the original Parthenon marbles.”, said Paul Cartledge, A.G. Leventis Professor of Greek Culture emeritus, University of Cambridge, and Vice Chairman of the British Committee for the Reunification of the Parthenon Marbles.

Professor Paul Cartlege

“The so-called 'firman' was an official communication from the Grand Vizier or in his absence his deputy to the Governor and Judge of Athens. It was not, as has been claimed by staff of the British Museum 'permission given to Lord Elgin'. Plentiful contemporary historical sources confirm that the local Ottoman officials exceed the terms of the document, as the Ottoman Government itself acknowledged. It was their understanding that the pieces had been removed 'without remonstrance' that persuaded a Parliamentary Select Committee in 1816 to recommend the purchase of the Elgin collection. They had, of course, no authority to pronounce on Ottoman law, nor did their decision to waive doubts about legality, on which they did not make a recommendation, amount to asserting legal ownership. What some may take from Dr Fischer's remark is that he is claiming that an act of the British Parliament could somehow give legitimacy to a messy business of what in modern terms would be described as bribes, threats, and political pressures” commented renowned William St. Clair, senior research fellow at the Institute of English Studies, School of Advanced Study, University of London.

William St Clair

What do the Parthenon and a weird Brazilian dinosaur known as “Ubirajara jubatus”* have in common? Apparently, not much. Yet, they are both protagonists of international restitution claims. On one side, Greece’s claim for the return of the Parthenon sculptures held in the British Museum, which will soon become a bicentenary dispute. On the other, Brazil’s claim for the restitution of a fossil holotype previously held in the State Museum of Natural History in Karlsruhe and demanded since early 2021. While Brazilians got to see their fossil return home this month, Greece’s claim remains the longest-standing dispute in the field.

Despite the obviously distinct nature of both claims, they complete each other so as to form a perfect example of how relentlessly repetitive and fallacious the “arguments” presented by retentionists are. In my Master's Thesis (Munich, 2020) I analyzed Greece’s claim against the British Museum and the United Kingdom under the International Human Rights Law framework. For that, I had to deconstruct a recurrent argument for dismissing Greece’s stance: that Lord Elgin had the authorization to remove and export the sculptures.

The argument goes: Elgin obtained a written authorization (the famous “firman”) to remove and export the Parthenon Sculptures, issued in 1801 by the competent Ottoman authority, as Greece was under Ottoman rule. This claim is deeply flawed for a myriad of reasons I explored in the Thesis, but let us assume, for argument’s sake, that the surviving versions of the “firman” do reflect the content of a real document issued prior to the Parthenon’s dismemberment and the dispatch of the sculptures.

Under Ottoman Law in the early 1800s, the Sultan had absolute control over antiquities and only he could authorize such removal. Nonetheless, the document so often relied upon by the UK and the British Museum is signed by Caimacan Seged Abdullah, an acting Grand Vizier who, regardless of his high status in the Ottoman Government, had no authority to issue a firman – definitely not one concerning the export of antiquities.

Likewise, when arguing that the “Ubirajara” fossil was legally exported from Brazil, the authors that described the species claimed they had a written export authorization from an agent of the National Department for Mineral Production. The claim completely ignores that Brazilian Law forbids any export of holotypes (as the “Ubirajara”) and that, even if it were a regular fossil, the competent authority to issue such an authorization would be the National Council for Scientific and Technological Development (CNPq).

Back to the other side of the Atlantic, let us look at what this “firman” actually states. The supposed text of the 1801 Document (as the original has never been found) begins with a description of the activities Elgin wanted his workers to conduct – with no indication that he sought permission to remove any sculptures. The second part of the document expresses that it is the desire of the Ottoman Court to favor Elgin’s requests. The widespread argument that the “firman” authorized the removal of the Parthenon Sculptures relies on an extract from the last paragraph: “[no one should] hinder them from taking away any pieces of stone with inscriptions or figures”. The decontextualized interpretation of this quote ignores that, just above, the document presents an express condition to the authorization: “particularly as there is no harm in the said figures and edifices being thus viewed, contemplated, and designed”.

The sculptures were affixed to the Parthenon and were an integral part of the building. There is simply no good faith interpretation that could lead to the conclusion that the document allowed for the Parthenon’s dismantling. This quote, when properly contextualized, clearly refers to objects dug from the rubble of the Parthenon’s surroundings, which is compatible with what Elgin requested. Thus, even if we were to deem this document reliable, there is no way it authorized the export of the sculptures. What probably happened is that they left Greece in packages with misleading content descriptions (and under heavy bribes, but that's a story for another day...).

Now, it is time to zoom in on the authorization that supposedly allowed for the “Ubirajara” fossil to be exported from Brazil. As explained by Aline Ghilardi, a leading Brazilian paleontologist in the #UbirajaraBelongstoBR campaign, the “authorization” presented by the authors does not mention anything about definitively exporting the materials and does not specify the boxes’ content. In her words, “as it was written, the authors could continue to describe new species for the next 20 years alleging that all holotypes were inside of it”. In any event, the narrative by the authors was considered untrue by German authorities (but that’s another story for another day...).

Almost 200 years separate Greece's first claim over the Parthenon Sculptures and the #UbirajaraBelongstoBR campaign. Apparently, not enough to come up with better excuses for illegal and unethical behavior. Their arguments are old, weak, and honestly – and I say this as a Brazilian – offensive. We will continue to counter them all.

I end this brief commentary by drawing a last parallel between Greece and Brazil, Sculpture and Dinosaur. Two obvious statements that somehow still must be echoed:

#UbirajaraBelongstoBR

#ParthenonBelongstoGreece.

* In case you are wondering about the quotation marks, the article describing the species has since been retracted, which means that this name currently holds no taxonomic value.

Letícia Machado Haertel, Master of Laws (LMU), Specialist in Int. Cultural Heritage Law

BCRPM would like to thank Letícia  for this excellent article.

Editorial Footnote: on the pseudo-legality of Elgin’s in fact theft, see now, definitively, Catharine Titi The Parthenon Sculptures and International Law(Springer, 2023).