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Women Archaeologists
under Communism,
1917–1989
Breaking the Glass Ceiling
Florin Curta
Iurie Stamati
Women Archaeologists under Communism,
1917–1989
“Incisively and with erudition, Women Archaeologists under Communism examines

the lives of a group of pioneering scholars whose achievements have been largely
overlooked. The role of five women in establishing medieval archaeology as a dis-
cipline in Eastern Europe after 1945 is critically explored, along with their ambi-
tions, careers, and struggles. The authors offer stimulating new perspectives on
how women working within Communist regimes helped shape understanding of
the human past.”
—Helena Hamerow, Professor, Early Medieval Archaeology,
University of Oxford, UK
“The basic idea of this book is simply wonderful: a close systematic look at a num-
ber of individual women archaeologists of the Soviet period, embedded in a dis-
cussion of modern feminist and gender perspectives. The result is a fascinating
interweaving of disciplinary history, personal experiences and political context,
with illuminating details of the lives and careers of women professionals in
Communist Eastern Europe. At the same time and going well beyond the geo-
graphical and chronological parameters of the case studies, the volume helps us to
understand the formation and workings of “disciplinary culture” in archaeological
disciplines, located as they are on the borderline of humanities and sciences.”
—Heinrich Härke, Professor, Archaeology, Higher School of Economics
University, Moscow, Russia
“An exciting, unique and fundamentally innovative examination of the archaeol-

ogy of the Middle Ages as seen through the biographies of five pioneering women
archaeologists. The authors reveal the profound impact of the political context of
Communist regimes on their careers, and indeed how the very discipline of medi-
eval archaeology in Eastern European countries originated and developed in this
context.”
—Alejandra Chavarria Arnau, Professor, Medieval Archaeology,
University of Padova, Italy
Florin Curta • Iurie Stamati
Women Archaeologists
under Communism,
1917–1989
Breaking the Glass Ceiling
Florin Curta Iurie Stamati
University of Florida Laurentian University
Gainesville, FL, USA Sudbury, ON, Canada
ISBN 978-3-030-87519-0 ISBN 978-3-030-87520-6 (eBook)

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87520-6
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer
Nature Switzerland AG 2021
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Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of
translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on
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The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
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For Daniela and Lucia
Acknowledgments
For those holding this book in their hands, these words are at the begin-
ning. For the authors, they come at the end: the final words written after
a long and exhausting attempt, lasting six years. During all that time, we
strove to bring to life an idea that first emerged in discussions in a chalet
at Saint-Donat on the shore of Lake La Clef (Québec province of Canada),
the key to our friendship and cooperation. There are many debts, and not
enough ways to say thank you. Our journey led us across many boundar-
ies, of nation-states and academic disciplines. During the initial phase of
the project, one of the authors benefitted from a two-year fellowship of
the Fonds de recherche Société et culture, Québec. The other author
would like to thank the participants in the annual workshop of the
Department of History at the University of Florida, for their insightful
comments on an earlier draft of the book. Invaluable observations and
critical remarks on various chapters came from our respective spouses—
Daniela Moisa (an anthropologist) and Lucia Curta (a historian). We are
also indebted to Alexandra Comşa, Igor Gavritukhin, Rumiana Koleva,
Ágnes Ritoók, and Bartłomiej Szymon Szmoniewski, without whom we
would never have come across some of the most interesting materials for
this book, including precious photographs. At different stages of this
book, Hajnalka Herold, Evgenia Komatarova-Balinova, Daniela Marcu-
Istrate, Andrei Soficaru, and Daniela Tănase read and offered feedback.
Any mistakes in the text are entirely our own.
vii
Contents
Introduction 1
Chapter 1: Women in Eastern Europe, 1917–1989 11

Summary 15
Chapter 2: Archaeology Under Communism 21

Summary 26
Chapter 3: A Woman’s Place Is in Slavic Archaeology:

Irina Rusanova 37
Summary 47

Chapter 4: Under the Glass Ceiling: Zhivka Văzharova and
Maria Comşa 59
Summary 70
Chapter 5: Reaching Through the Glass Ceiling:

Ágnes Cs. Sós and Helena Zoll-Adamikowa 83
Summary 92
ix
x Contents
Chapter 6: Research Topics, Gender and Marxism105

Research Topics 105
Relations with Male Archaeologists 108
Marxism and Gender 110
Summary 116
Conclusion139
Bibliography169
Index221
List of Figures
Chapter 1: Women in Eastern Europe, 1917–1989

Fig. 1 The landscape and political map of (post-Communist) Eastern
Europe: 1—Belarus (within the Soviet Union before 1991);
2—Bulgaria; 3—Hungary; 4—Moldova (within the Soviet Union
before 1991); 5—Poland; 6—Romania; 7—Russia (within the
Soviet Union before 1991); 8—Ukraine (within the Soviet Union
before 1991) 14

Chapter 3: A Woman’s Place Is in Slavic Archaeology: Irina
Rusanova
Fig. 1 Principal sites mentioned in the text 38
Fig. 2 Irina Rusanova and the two granddaughters of Boris Timoshchuk
sorting out and marking the ceramic material resulting excavations
of the Subcarpathian expedition in Zbruch (near Chernivtsi, now
in Ukraine), 1988. Photo by Tat’iana Timoshchuk, courtesy of
Igor Gavritukhin 40
Fig. 3 Irina Rusanova and Boris Timoschuk, on the day of their marriage
ceremony in Moscow, November 3, 1981. Photo by Tat’iana
Timoshchuk, courtesy of Igor Gavritukhin 45
Fig. 4 Irina Rusanova (sitting, on the right), next to Boris Timoshchuk,
and surrounded by participants in the Subcarpathian
archaeological expedition of the Institute of Archaeology in
Moscow at Zbruch (1987). Standing, from left to right: Vasilii
Kuza, Iurii Boliavskii, Valeriia Tumanova, Marina Iagodinskaia,
and Igor Gavritukhin. Photo from the archive of Iurii
V. Boliavskii, courtesy of Igor Gavritukhin 46
xi
xii List of Figures

Chapter 4: Under the Glass Ceiling: Zhivka Văzharova
and Maria Comşa
Fig. 1 Maria Comşa, shortly after her doctoral studies in Moscow
(1957). (Source: “Colect ̦ia bibliografică Eugen şi Maria Comşa”
(https://comsa.cimec.ro/, visit of January 7, 2020)) 60
Fig. 3 Maria Comşa in 1957 visiting the newly discovered rock-cut
church at Murfatlar (near Constant ̦a, Romania), together with a
group of archaeologists. From left to right: Emil Condurachi,
Maria Comşa, Radu Florescu, Ion Barnea, unknown, Constantin
Nicolăescu-Plopşor. (Source: “Colecti̦ a bibliografică Eugen şi
Maria Comşa” (https://comsa.cimec.ro/, visit of January 7, 2020)) 68
Fig. 4 Zhivka Văzharova at the central railroad station in Sofia, to meet
the Soviet delegates to the 1976 Soviet-Bulgarian archaeological
meeting. Photo taken by Valerii Flerov. Courtesy of Evgeniia
Komatarova-Balinova69

Chapter 5: Reaching Through the Glass Ceiling: Ágnes Cs. Sós
and Helena Zoll-Adamikowa
Fig. 1 Ágnes Cs. Sós among Hungarian archaeologists in Brno-Líšeň,
Czechoslovakia, October 31, 1955. From left to right: László
Barkóczi, Mária Alföldi, Ágnes Cs. Sós, Edit Thomas, Ida Kutzián,
unknown, Ilona Kovrig, László Vertes. The original photograph was
owned by Éva Garam and is now in the archive of the Hungarian
National Museum in Budapest. Courtesy of Ágnes Ritoók 85
Fig. 3 Helena Zoll-Adamikowa (in the middle) surrounded by her
colleagues in Igołomia, near Cracow (late 1960s), in front of the
Pracownia Archeologiczne of the Institute of the History of
Material Culture in Cracow. From left to right: Anna
Dzieduszycka-Machnikowa, Stanisław Koziel, Kazimierz
Godłowski, Jan Gurba (with glasses), Jan Machnik, Helena
Zoll-Adamikowa, two unknown persons, Władysław Morawski,
unknown person, Grażyna Zakrzewska, and Anna Kulczucka-
Leciejewiczowa. Photograph from the archive of the Institute of
Archaeology in Cracow. (Courtesy of Bartłomiej Szymon
Szmoniewski)90
Chapter 6: Research Topics, Gender and Marxism

Introduction
Ever since the late 1980s, gender has become a major problem of archaeo-
logical research. The first archaeological studies to address gender were
prompted by a feminist critique of androcentrism, and, as a consequence,
almost all the initial approaches were about “finding women.” This, how-
ever, referred both to women in prehistory, and to female archaeologists
who had been excluded from disciplinary history. In tune with the claims
of second-wave feminism, studies dedicated to women in the history of
archaeology were primarily concerned with issues of equality between the
sexes and operated within a paradigm defined by standpoint theories.1
Those theories were based on the idea that certain social groups have epis-
temic privilege because of their marginalized situation. While people in
privileged situations tend to be uncritical, people placed in subjugated
positions are motivated to understand the reasons of their own oppres-
sion.2 Such ideas derived directly from Marxist notions of the privileged
epistemic position of the proletariat. They simply substituted women for
the proletariat, as well as patriarchal societies in general for capitalism.
Women seeking to advance in the discipline were struggling to break the
“glass ceiling,” the invisible, yet impenetrable barrier separating them
from the uppermost levels of the academic life.3 The lives and experiences
of these women—the heroic predecessors of the feminists of the 1990s—
needed to be retold and used as a source of inspiration. In an attempt,
perhaps, to offer an alternative to the impersonal style of the androcentric
© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 1

Switzerland AG 2021
F. Curta, I. Stamati, Women Archaeologists under Communism,
1917–1989, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87520-6_1
2 F. CURTA AND I. STAMATI
archaeological literature written in a conspicuously objectifying, “scien-

tific” language, feminist archaeologists writing about women archaeolo-
gists in the past favored biography.4
With the advent of the third-wave feminism in the early 1990s, femi-
nists transferred their attention from issues of (in)equality to issues of dif-
ference. At stake now were historically and socially constructed differences
between men and women, or among men and women of contrasting sexu-
alities, ethnicities, and social classes.5 With gender positioned as only one
social determinate among other identity markers, one of the main argu-
ments for studying women in archaeology became to discover some of the
characteristics of the disciplinary culture and the factors affecting its devel-
opment. Are there any systematic patterns in women’s participation? Did
women work in particular areas (Near Eastern or Egyptian archaeology,
for example), or with specific topics and materials (e.g., pottery or tex-
tiles)?6 Such questions became of outmost importance because of the
rapid increase in the number of women employed in archaeology, both in
the United States and in Europe.7 In some European countries, such as
Greece, Cyprus, Slovenia, and Norway, the majority of the workforce is
currently made up of women.8 Despite such rapid demographic transfor-
mations, the topical and methodological structure of the discipline did not
undergo any significant changes. More women archaeologists did not
mean a greater interest in gender archaeology. In Greece, for example, the
first and only international conference devoted to gender archaeology
took place in Rethymno in 2005. Interest in gender in the past remains
limited in Greece, Poland, Slovenia, or Romania—all countries with high
numbers of women working in the field.9 This situation is commonly
explained in terms of the weak relation between feminism and gender
archaeology. Presumably, there can be no gender archaeology in those
countries in which feminism is not a political movement. However, while
dominating in the workforce, women seem to prefer certain topics of
archaeological research, even in the absence of any preoccupation with
gender theory. In Germany, women work primarily in the early medieval
and classical archaeology. Their preferred subjects are pottery, clothes,
dress accessories, and paleobotany.10 In Australian archaeology, on the
other hand, women do not seem to write in ways and from perspectives
different from those of men, but women have made such key contribu-
tions to regional surveys, ethnohistory, and ethnoarchaeology that with-
out them such foci of research would not exist at all.11 The examination of
citation practices in four archaeology journals—American Antiquity,
INTRODUCTION 3
Journal of Field Archaeology, Ancient Mesoamerica, and Southeastern

Archaeology—has demonstrated that in three of them, men cite women at
rates statistically similar to those at which women cite women, but that is
a relatively recent trend (after 1990).12 Similarly the ratio between male
and female authors in Arheološki vestnik—the main archaeology journal in
Slovenia—became relatively balanced only after 1990.13 While the repre-
sentation of female authors in two of the leading Polish journals of archae-
ology, Archaeologia Polona and Wiadomos ́ci Archeologiczne, remains
considerably lower than that of men, 42.8 percent of all 1042 articles
published in Sprawozdania Archeologiczne are written by women. The dif-
ference is important, for in both specialized periodicals and at conferences,
women tend to prefer specialized topics and quite detailed analyses to
broad generalizations, surveys of topics, and theory.14 Such contrasts sug-
gest the existence of a disciplinary culture, with long established patterns
of inequality.
The most recent focus on gender in archaeology has left archaeological
practices largely untouched.15 To be sure, Joan Gero’s research has high-
lighted the gender division of labor in the construction of the archaeologi-
cal knowledge in the United States.16 More recently, on the basis of
interviews with Australian archaeologists, Stephanie Moser has analyzed
the professional and organizational culture of archaeology and the central
role of the fieldwork in shaping both a sense of identity for the profession
and the gendered (highly masculine) attributes of the professionalization.
Since fieldwork is perceived as an overtly physical pursuit demanding
strength and experience, as well as the ability to work under tough condi-
tions, the archaeologist in the field is ideally a male, not a female. Since
fieldwork is still viewed as fundamental for the advancement of the disci-
pline, all topics related to the results of fieldwork are promoted and pub-
lished more than others.17 But can one generalize from the experience of
women in the United States and Australia? Among the most important
feminist contributions to archaeology, recent studies have listed the role of
hunting in human evolution, the origins of women’s oppression, ancient
goddess worship, and nonbinary gender systems.18 However, the work of
women archaeologists in Central, Southern, or Eastern Europe has
brought contributions in areas of research that have little, or nothing to
do with the feminist contributions to American, West and North European,
or Australian archaeology. Nor is there any scholarly concern with specific
theoretical choices that women archaeologists in Europe (or in Asia) have
made when tackling the issues of interest to them.19
Conspicuously rare in the literature is the attempt to gauge the experi-

ence of women in the professional and organizational culture of archaeol-
ogy in Eastern Europe, particularly under the Communist regimes. If
standpoint theories postulate that women are the subjugated group within
patriarchal societies, it should be of scholarly concern whether such a
model may apply to societies (re-)organized along Marxist principles. If
the disciplinary culture is blamed for the pronounced differences between
men and women in research foci, publication, promotion, and funding,
then how can the leading role of women archaeologists be explained in
those countries of Eastern Europe in which Communist regimes have
been established after 1945? The practice of archaeology under
Communism has been the object of much scholarly interest in recent
years, but most studies focus on ideology and its reflection in archaeologi-
cal practice.20 Little if any attention has been paid to individual archaeolo-
gists, and to the way in which they adopted and adapted Marxism to the
archaeological practice, from fieldwork to interpretation. Equally neglected
is the lack of any concern with gender issues in the archaeology of
Communist countries.21 Finally, with a few exceptions, there are very few
studies dedicated to women archaeologists.22 This is both surprising and
regrettable, given the extraordinary opportunity offered by the study of
women archaeologists working under the Communist regime. Because
the equality between women and men was a postulate of Marxist ideology,
such a study could serve as a good testing ground for some of the key
tenets of third-wave feminism, especially the idea that gender inequality is
rooted in disciplinary culture.
Our book is meant to explore that uncharted territory through the
biographies of five women archaeologists—Irina Rusanova in the Soviet
Union, Zhivka Văzharova in Bulgaria, Maria Comşa in Romania, Ágnes
Cs. Sós in Hungary, and Helena Zoll-Adamikowa in Poland. They were all
working in medieval archaeology, with a specific focus on the (early) Slavs.
The choice of specialists in medieval archaeology (and not prehistoric
archaeology, for example) has much to do with the authors’ own research
interests and expertise. However, as the core chapters of the study will
show, there is another, much more profound reason. Despite some pio-
neering work in the late nineteenth century, medieval archaeology in all
the five East European countries considered in this book began to develop
into a serious discipline less than a century ago. The main catalyst for the
sudden rise of medieval archaeology was a dramatic shift in emphasis from
traditional, political, and constitutional to social and economic history. In
INTRODUCTION 5
all five countries, the rise of medieval archaeology thus coincides in time,
and was ultimately caused by the imposition of Communist regimes. The
five women were therefore true pioneers in their field, and respective
countries.
The structure of the book is designed to highlight those historical con-
nections. The first chapter is dedicated to the position of women in the
political discourse of the Communist regimes in Eastern Europe. Particular
emphasis is laid upon the discrepancy between the official discourse pro-
moting gender equality and the social reality that was far from those ideals.
Equally significant is that, over time, the political discourse about the role
of women in socialism changed. The second chapter shifts the emphasis
onto the newly created (sub-)discipline of medieval archaeology and its
(re)institutionalization. We pay special attention to the way in which
Marxism penetrated (or not) the (sub-)discipline, as well as to the political
and ideological significance of the research on the (early) Slavs. While in
many respects in the Communist countries of Eastern Europe gender
equality remained an unfulfilled ideal, there can be no doubt that under
the Communist regimes in all five cases considered in this book, women
gained unprecedented access to higher education, as well as to professions,
which, like archaeology, had until then been restricted to men.
The analysis of the biographies of the five women archaeologists spe-
cializing in medieval archaeology covers three chapters (A Woman’s Place
Is in Slavic Archaeology: Irina Rusanova; Under the Glass Ceiling: Zhivka
Văzharova and Maria Comşa; and Reaching Through the Glass Ceiling:
Ágnes Cs. Sós and Helena Zoll-Adamikowa). Instead of five different
vignettes, we have built two out of those chapters in a comparative mode,
and therefore examined pairs of cases together. The guiding principles of
that approach are Pierre Bourdieu’s ideas about the “scientific field.”23
While covering the lives and activity of the five women archaeologists, we
will of course highlight their contributions to the study of the (early)
Middle Ages in Eastern Europe. However, we will deal with their attitude
toward Marxism and gender issues only in the last chapter. The conclusion
will tie together all those strings of arguments to advance the idea that the
way in which each one of the five women was perceived in her country
among archaeologists had less to do with the ideals of the Communist
society or with the disciplinary culture, and much more with the pervasive
nationalism embedded in the discipline of medieval archaeology.
Notes
1. Michał Pawleta, “Where do we stand? Exploring the contours of gendered
archaeology,” Archaeologia Polona 44 (2006), 232. See also Laurie
A. Wilkie and Katherine Howlett Hayes, “Engendered and feminist archae-
ologies of the recent and documented pasts,” Journal of Archaeological
Research 14 (2006), no. 3, 243–64.
2. Sandra Lozana Rubio, “Gender thinking in the making: feminist episte-
mology and gender archaeology,” Norwegian Archaeological Review 44
(2011), no. 1, 28–29. The feminist standpoint theory is commonly associ-
ated with such works as Nancy C. M. Hartsock, Money, Sex, and Power
(New York: Longman, 1983) and “The feminist standpoint: developing
the ground for a specifically feminist historical materialism,” in Discovering
Reality. Feminist Perspectives on Epistemology, Metaphysics, Methodology,
and the Philosophy of Science, edited by Sandra Harding and Merrill Hintikka
(Dordrecht: Reidel, 1983), pp. 283–310 (republished in Nancy
C. M. Hartsock, The Feminist Standpoint Revisited and Other Essays
[Boulder: Westview Press, 1998], pp. 105–32); Sandra Harding, The
Science Question in Feminism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1986);
Dorothy Smith, “Women’s perspective as a radical critique of sociology,”
in Feminism and Methodology, edited by Sandra Harding (Bloomington:
Indiana University Press, 1987), pp. 84–96; and Patricia Hill Collins,
Black Feminist Thought (Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1990). For a direct paral-
lel between proletarians in Marxist theory and women in standpoint femi-
nism, see Nancy C. M. Hartsock, “Comment on Hekman’s ‘Truth and
method: feminist standpoint theory revisited’: truth or justice?” Signs.
Journal of Women in Culture and Society 22 (1997), no. 2, 368.
3. The phrase “glass ceiling” was coined in 1986 by two American journalists,
Carol Hymowitz and Timothy Schellhardt. In the 1990s, it had already
become part of the everyday language, and was incorporated into the title
of a United States Commission. The Glass Ceiling Commission issued the
Civil Rights Acts 1991, with the mission to study the barriers and to issue
recommendations for their removal. See Claire Smith and Heather Burke,
“Glass ceilings, glass parasols, and Australian academic archaeology,”
Australian Archaeology 62 (2006), 13. That early feminist ideas derived
from Marxism is not just a matter of theory. Emma Lou Davis (1905–1988),
one of the earliest women archaeologists to call herself a feminist, took her
archaeology degree after an eclectic career as an artist and Communist
activist. See Kelley Hays-Gilpin, “Feminist scholarship in archaeology,” in
Feminist Views of the Social Sciences, edited by Christine L. Williams
(Thousand Parks: Sage, 2000), p. 94.
INTRODUCTION 7
4. This is particularly true for the biographical vignettes in Women in

Archaeology, edited by Cheryl Claassen (Philadelphia: University of
Pennsylvania Press, 1994): Mary Ann Levine, “Creating their own niches:
career styles among women in Americanist archaeology between the wars,”
pp. 9–40; Diane L. Bolger, “Ladies of the expedition: Harriet Boyd Hawes
and Edith Hall at work in Mediterranean archaeology,” pp. 41–50;
Rosemary A. Joyce, “Dorothy Hughes Popenoe: Eve in an archaeological
garden,” pp. 51–66; Susan J. Bender, “Marian E. White: pioneer in
New York archaeology,” pp. 85–95; Nancy Mary White, Rochelle
A. Marrinan, and Hester A. Davis,” Early women in Southeastern archae-
ology: a preliminary report on ongoing research,” pp. 96–106; and Lynne
P. Sullivan, “Madeline Kneberg Lewis: an original Southeastern archaeolo-
gist,” pp. 110–19.
5. Third Wave Feminism. A Critical Exploration, edited by Stacy Gillis,
Gillian Howie, and Rebecca Munford, 2nd edition (Basingstoke: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2000).
6. Marie Louise Stig Sørensen, “Rescue and recovery. On historiographies of
female archaeologists,” in Excavating Women. A History of Women in
European Archaeology, edited by Margarita Díaz-Andreu and Marie Louise
Stig Sørensen (London/New York: Routledge, 1998), p. 43.
7. Dana N. Bardolph, “A critical evaluation of recent gendered publishing
trends in American archaeology,” American Antiquity 79 (2014), no.
3, 525–26.
8. Irena Lazar, Tina Kompare, Heleen van Londen, and Tine Schenk, “The
archaeologist of the future is likely to be a woman: age and gender patterns
in European archaeology,” Archaeologies 10 (2014), no. 3, 257–80, here
258. According to the authors, Poland is one of the countries in which
men still dominate the discipline. This is in contradiction with the data
offered by Liliana Janik and Hanna Zawadzka, “Gender politics in Polish
archaeology,” in Excavating Women. A History of Women in European
Archaeology, edited by Margarita Díaz-Andreu and Marie Louise Stig
Sørensen (London/New York: Routledge, 1998), p. 94. Between 1945
and 1980, out of 1440 archaeologists employed in Poland, 50.7 percent
were women, and 49.3 percent were men.
9. For Greece, see Liv Helga Dommasnes and Sandra Monton-Subías,
“European gender archaeologies in historical perspective,” European
Journal of Archaeology 15 (2012), no. 3, 373. For Slovenia, see Lazar,
Kompare, van Londen, and Schenk, “The archaeologist of the future,”
pp. 261–65. For Romania, see Nona Palincaş, “Living for the others: gen-
der relations in prehistoric and contemporary archaeology of Romania,” in
Situating Gender in European Archaeologies, edited by Liv Helga
Dommasnes, T. Hjørungdal, Sandra Monton-Subías, M. Sánchez-

Romero, and Nancy Wicker (Budapest: Archaeolingua, 2010), pp. 93–116.
10. Mirial Noël Haidle and Linda R. Owen, “Ur- und Frühgeschichtlerinnen
nach der Promotion: eine schützenswerte Spezies?” Ethnographisch-
archäologische Zeitschrift 39 (1998), 563–94, here 565.
11. Sandra Bowler and Genevieve Clune, “That shadowy band: the role of
women in the development of Australian archaeology,” Australian
Archaeology 50 (2000), 27–35.
12. Scott R. Hutson, “Gendered citation practices in American Antiquity and
other archaeology journals,” American Antiquity 67 (2002), no. 2,
331–42. Both men and women cite women less than expected given the
rate at which women publish.
13. Lazar, Kompare, van Londen, and Schenk, “The archaeologist of the
future,” p. 263.
14. Janik and Zawadzka, “Gender politics,” p. 100.
15. Silvia Tomášková, “Mapping a future: archaeology, feminism, and scientific
practice,” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 14 (2007),
no. 3, 280.
16. Joan Gero, “Socio-politics of archaeology and the woman at home ideol-
ogy,” American Antiquity 50 (1985), 342–50; “Gender division of labor
in the construction of archaeological knowledge in the United States,” in
Social Construction of the Past. Representation as Power, edited by G. C. Bond
and A. Gilliam (New York: Routledge, 1994), pp. 144–53. However, see
the pertinent remarks of Hays-Gilpin, “Feminist scholarship,” pp. 91–92.
17. Stephanie Moser, “On disciplinary culture: archaeology as fieldwork and
its gendered associations,” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 14
(2007), 235–63. Cheryl Classsen, “Homophobia and women archaeolo-
gists,” World Archaeology 32 (2000), no. 2, 173–79 goes as far as to claim
that women did not enter the field of archaeology in great numbers until
1950 for fear of being labeled lesbians because they had to fit into the
predominantly male ideal of professionalization.
18. Hays-Gilpin, “Feminist scholarship,” pp. 97–100, who noted that “it is
nonarchaeologists who tend to raise” the issue of the origins of women’s
oppression.
19. Hays-Gilpin, “Feminist scholarship,” p. 101: the most highly valued con-
tributions feminism has made to archaeology is “the use of nonstandard
media, presentation formats, and writing styles to present results and inter-
pretations. These include biographical narratives and personalized accounts
of the research experience, dialogue, and hypertext.” The question remains,
however: are there any specifically feminist modes of interpretation (as
opposed to modes of presentation)?
INTRODUCTION 9
20. Paul M. Barford, “Marksizm w archeologii polskiej w latach 1945–1975,”

Archeologia Polski 40 (1995), 7–75; Jacek Lech, “Małowierni. Spór wokól
marksizmu w archeologii polskiej lat 1945–1975,” Archeologia Polski 42
(1997), 175–228; Werner Coblenz, “Archaeology under Communist con-
trol: the German Democratic Republic, 1945–1990,” in Archaeology,
Ideology, and Society. The German Experience, edited by Heinrich Härke
(Frankfurt a.M./Berlin/Bern: Peter Lang, 2000), pp. 304–38; Grażyna
Rutkowska, “Czy archeologia służyła ideologii PRL? Tematyka archeolog-
iczna na łamach ‘Trybuny ludu’ w latach 1948–1970,” in Hereditatem
cognoscere. Studia i szkice dedykowane Profesor Marii Mis ́kiewicz, edited by
Zbigniew Kobyliński (Warsaw: Wydział nauk historycznych i społecznych
Uniwersytetu Kardynała Stefana Wyszyńskiego, 2004), pp. 308–33;
Alexandru Dragoman and Sorin Oant ̧ă-Marghitu, “Archaeology in
Communist and post-Communist Romania,” Dacia 50 (2006), 57–76;
Mircea Anghelinu, “Failed revolution: Marxism and the Romanian prehis-
toric archaeology between 1945 and 1989,” Archaeologia Bulgarica 11
(2007), no. 1, 1–36; Alexandru Madgearu, “The Dridu culture and the
changing position of Romania among the Communist states,” Archaeologia
Bulgarica 11 (2007), no. 2, 51–59; Lev S. Klein, Soviet Archaeology.
Schools, Trends, and History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012);
Eduard Krekovič and Martin Bača, “Marxism, Communism and
Czechoslovak archaeology,” Anthropologie 51 (2013), no. 2, 261–70;
Iurie Stamati, “Two chapters of the Sovietization of the Romanian archae-
ology (from the late 1940s to the mid-1950s),” Archaeologia Bulgarica 19
(2015), no. 1, 81–95. For an archaeology of (as opposed to under)
Communism and its repressive regime, see Radu-Alexandru Dragoman,
Materialitatea experimentului Piteşti. Eseu arheologic despre memoria repre-
siunii şi rezistenţei în România comunista ̆ (Baia Mare: Eurotip, 2015).
21. In the subfield of medieval archaeology, all studies of gender published in
East Central Europe post-date the fall of the Communist regimes: Iurii
M. Lesman, “Variazhskoe nasledie v zhenskoi subkul’ture drevnei Rusi,” in
Skify, khazare, slaviane, drevniaia Rus’. Mezhdunarodnaia nauchnaia kon-
ferenciia, posviashchennaia 100-letiiu so dnia rozhdeniia professora Mikhaila
Illarionovicha Artamonova. Sankt-Petersburg, 9–12 dekabria 1998 g. Tezisy
dokladov, edited by A. D. Stoliar (Sankt-Petersburg: Izdatelstvo
Gosudarstvennogo Ermitazha, 1998), pp. 158–62; Dmitrii A. Stashenkov,
“Polovozrastnaia stratifikaciia novinkovskogo naseleniia (po materialam
ukrashenii kostiuma),” in Kul’tury evraziiskikh stepei vtoroi poloviny I tysi-
acheletiia n.e. (iz istorii kostiuma), edited by Dmitrii A. Stashenkov, Anna
F. Kochkina and Anna M. Kuznecova, vol. 2 (Samara: Samarskii oblastnyi
istoriko-kraevedcheskii muzei im. P.V. Alabina, 2001), pp. 141–65; three
studies by Jacek Kowalewski, Przemysław Sikora, and Arkadiusz
Koperkiewicz in a collection of studies titled Kobieta, s ́mierć, męzċ zyzna,

edited by Wojciech Dzieduszycki and Jacek Wrzesiński (Poznań:
Stowarzyszenie Naukowe Archeologów Polskich, 2003), pp. 227–35,
299–306, and 307–24; Anton Distelberger, Österreichs Awarinnen. Frauen
aus Gräbern des 7. und 8. Jahrhunderts. (St. Pölten: Niederösterreichischer
Institut für Landeskunde, 2004); Laurynas Kurila, “Socialinis statusas ir
lytis: Geležies amžiaus Rytų Lietuvos socialinės organizacijos analyze,”
Lietuvos archeologija 35 (2009), 153–92. All those articles have been writ-
ten by men, with no contribution so far from female archaeologists making
an explicit reference to gender theory. This is also true for the very few
theoretical approaches to the question of gender in archaeology, such as
Ioan Marian Ţ iplic, “Probleme generale ale arheologiei medievale la
început de mileniu,” Studia Universitatis Cibinensis Historica. Seria
Historica 3 (2006–2007), 27–45, or Pawleta, “Where do we stand?”
22. For a few exceptions pertaining to the subfield of medieval archaeology, see
Igor O. Gavritukhin and Andrei M. Oblomskii, “Rusanova Irina Petrovna
(1929–1998),” in Institut arkheologii, istoriia i sovremennost’. Sbornik
nauchnykh biografii, edited by V. I. Guliaev (Moscow: Institut arkheologii
RAN, 2000), pp. 207–10; Anna L. Khoroshkevich, “Sud’ba—arkheolo-
giia. Issledovateli slavianskoi istorii—Irina Petrovna Rusanova i Boris
Anisimovich Timoshchuk,” Slavia Antiqua 41 (2000), 191–210; Totiu
Totev, “D-r Ivanka Akrabova-Zhandova i preslavskata risuvana keramika,”
in Ivanka Akrabova Zhandova. In memoriam, edited by Magdalina
Vaklinova, Irina Shtereva, Violeta Nesheva, Pavlin Dimitrov and Mariia
Manolova-Voikova (Sofia: Nacionalen Arkheologicheski Institut s Muzei,
2009), pp. 1–5; Stamati, The Slavic Dossier, pp. 168–76.
23. According to Pierre Bourdieu, “La spécificité du champ scientifique et les
conditions sociales du progrès de la raison.” Sociologie et sociétés 7 (1975),
91–92, the scientific field is the stage of the struggle for the monopoly of
scientific competence or authority (understood as social power).
Chapter 1: Women in Eastern Europe,
1917–1989
Marx, Engels, and Lenin were no advocates of feminism.1 However, the

Bolshevik (and, after 1922, Soviet) regime launched an unprecedented
campaign for the emancipation of women and their transformation into a
political and economic force of the new state. One of the first measures
taken by the new government was to introduce the legal equality between
women and men. The Bolsheviks desacralized the institution of marriage,
considerably simplified the legal procedures for divorce, and legalized
abortion for the first time in history. Moreover, the legislative changes
were accompanied by a sustained propaganda employing such slogans as
“Let’s free women from the kitchen slavery” or the struggle against the
“capitalist reminiscences” concerning the intellectual and professional
abilities of women. Under the direct aegis of the party, a special institution
was established in 1919, Zhenotdel, the women’s department in the
Secretariat of the Central Committee of the All-Russian Communist Party.
Its primary mission was the political mobilization of women for the build-
ing of the new social order.
Although women were given a key role in the construction of the new
society, they were also viewed as “retrograde” and therefore dangerous
from an ideological point of view. The task of Zhenotdel was therefore to
“enlighten” women politically.2 According to official statistics, the effort
to draw women on the side of socialism was a complete success. By the
mid-1980s, women made up 33 percent of the members in the Supreme

Switzerland AG 2021
1917–1989, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87520-6_2
Soviet of the Soviet Union, 36 percent of the Supreme Soviets in the

Soviet republics, 40 percent in those of the Bashkir and Tatar autonomous
republics, and 50 percent of the members of local soviets. However, such
numbers do not mean much in terms of the Soviet women’s participation
in the decision-making process. Their membership in those legislative
bodies was rather decorative, since members in the supreme soviets were
appointed, not elected. Both male and female members of the soviets were
expected to approve decisions handed to them by the superior echelons of
the party. The number of female members of the real decision-making
bodies, such as the Political Bureau of the Central Committee of the
Communist Party of the Soviet Union (politburo) or the Council of
Ministers remained small throughout the history of the Soviet Union. For
example, women never represented more than 1.9 percent of the members
of the politburo.3 As a matter of fact, equality between women and men
never became a reality of the socialist society. What the Soviet project
managed to do was simply to turn women into an important labor
resource, for more than half of those employed in the Soviet economy
were women.4 Even in economy (both industry and agriculture), women
occupied most of the lower and worst paid positions.5
The situation in the academe is a somewhat different matter. On one
hand, the Bolshevik government launched a vast program of eliminating
illiteracy, especially among women. Quotas were established for women in
professional schools affiliated with specific factories, but also in institutions
of higher education. Such quotas varied between 25 and 60 percent of all
students.6 A special institution was also created inside the Academy of
Sciences entirely dedicated to women’s studies—the Museum for Women’s
Study.7 Official statistics painted a rosy picture in this respect as well. While
in 1926 the rate of literacy among Soviet women reached only 42 percent,
female illiteracy had been completely eradicated only five years later. Just
before World War II, women made up 43 percent of all students in Soviet
schools of various kinds. Even if one treats official statistics with a grain of
salt, a radical transformation has most certainly taken place under the
Soviet regime in terms of women’s access to education. For the first time
in history, women in that part of the world had the right, and were encour-
aged to seek education, including that at the highest level possible. By the
late 1980s, women made up 55 percent of all students at institutions of
higher education.8
However, much like in economy, women in the academe occupied
positions of secondary importance, often under directors or research
CHAPTER 1: WOMEN IN EASTERN EUROPE, 1917–1989 13
directors who were men.9 Tedious tasks ranging from typing to compiling
and (lab) data recording were more often assigned to women, who tended
to remain longer than men in positions associated with such tasks. Equally
significant is the rate of delays among women finishing and defending dis-
sertations: while the rate for men was 40 percent, that for women never
moved higher than 26 percent.10 By the late 1980s, women represented
34.4 percent of all those who held the first postgraduate degree (Candidate
of Sciences), 14.9 percent of those with a doctoral degree (Doctor of
Sciences), but only 1.6 percent of the full or corresponding members of
the Academy of Sciences of the USSR.11
Despite local variations, the situation of women in other socialist coun-
tries was not different from that in the Soviet Union (Fig. 1). More often
than not, the official discourse about women’s rights was simply an imita-
tion of the Soviet rhetoric on that matter, and the corresponding legisla-
tion a mere translation of the Soviet laws.12 Much like in the USSR, one of
the first measures taken by the pro-Soviet governments established after
the war in East Central and Southeastern Europe was to introduce laws
establishing the equality between women and men. As in the Soviet Union,
the access of women to the higher echelons of the ruling parties in Poland,
Romania, Bulgaria, or Hungary remained difficult. However, women
quickly became a key component of the labor force in each one of those
countries, much like in the USSR.13 However, women were never given
the same positions of leadership and decision-making that men had, a situ-
ation symmetrically similar to that in the Soviet Union.14
There are also strong (although perhaps not surprising) similarities in
respect to the access of women to education and position in the academe.
After the establishment of the Communist regimes in the satellite coun-
tries, the number of women in universities began to grow rapidly, and
soon surpassed that of male students. However, more well-paid and
important positions in the academic system were taken by men than by
women. The higher one goes in the academic hierarchy, the smaller the
number of women.15 For example, during the late 1980s, about 55 per-
cent of all students in institutions of higher education in Bulgaria were
women. Meanwhile, however, no more than 22 percent of all associate
professors were women, and only 9 percent of the full professors.16
Most scholars explain this situation in terms of the survival of deeply
entrenched, patriarchal attitudes toward women through the dramatic
changes brought by the implementation of the socialist society. Despite
the radical changes in society and the promises of the new regimes to
Fig. 1 The landscape and political map of (post-Communist) Eastern Europe:

1—Belarus (within the Soviet Union before 1991); 2—Bulgaria; 3—Hungary;
4—Moldova (within the Soviet Union before 1991); 5—Poland; 6—Romania;
7—Russia (within the Soviet Union before 1991); 8—Ukraine (within the Soviet
Union before 1991)
condemn to oblivion the “old order,” women continued to be regarded

primarily as wives and mothers. This was supposedly reinforced by the
family traditions in which girls were educated to become future wives and
mothers.17 Such traditions were transferred to school curricula. Although
most subject matters were taught with no gender distinctions whatsoever,
during vocational training classes in which the emphasis was placed on
acquiring skills for future professions, boys were introduced to such
“male” occupations as carpenter or locksmith, while girls were taught
cooking, knitting, and sewing.18 In reality, such attitudes were entrenched

in state policies as well. Despite the declared equality between women and
men, the former had increasingly additional roles and obligations in the
face of the law. Besides being an important component of the labor force,
women were gradually assigned reproductive tasks, as they were made
responsible for producing the future citizens of the socialist society. It has
long been noted that soon after the establishment of the Communist
regimes in East Central and Southeastern Europe, women were increas-
ingly regarded as mother-workers. Historians have pointed out that, side
by side with the official discourse about the public role of Soviet women,
after 1930 they were also increasingly assigned roles in the domestic
sphere, with the accompanying subordination to men. The change is epit-
omized by such slogans as “Women are the support of men and
families!”19
Between old traditions and new laws, women rapidly found themselves
in a particularly disadvantageous position in relation to men. The begin-
ning of their academic careers often coincided with the years of their lives
in which they were expected to give birth.20 To have access to really impor-
tant positions of leadership often implied geographic and administrative
mobility, especially the ability to switch from expertise in agriculture to
some industrial sector, or vice versa, as well as participation in multiple
activities (especially business or political meetings) covering extra-hours
beyond the workload. Participation in such meetings also implied the abil-
ity to cope with an almost exclusively male participation, as well as with
socializing events in which alcohol consumption, often in abundance, was
to be expected.21 In party political structure, in economy, or in the aca-
deme, women were constantly confronted with prejudice and stereotypes
regarding their intellectual (especially their skills for career in science) or
leadership abilities. Many women were therefore inclined to doubt that
they would ever have a chance to succeed in their careers or to occupy
decision-making positions.22 Much like in the contemporary “West,” the
glass ceiling appeared to be much too resistant to be broken simply
through the implementation of a socialist society.
Summary
Since the fall of the Communist regimes in Eastern Europe, 32 years ago,
many assumptions about the social position, economic role, and political
participation of women in the Soviet Union and the satellite countries
have been questioned; there are very few controversies or ambiguities

about what is certain in this regard. Despite the creation of a number of
legal instruments and institutions meant to ensure the equality of men and
women in the new regime, women were often kept at a distance from the
decision-making process. They were often paid lower salaries and be given
positions lower than those of men. However, truly dramatic changes took
place in education, with female illiteracy being eliminated relatively soon
after the establishment of the Communist regimes. Women gained unprec-
edented access to education, but, much like in economy, they could rarely
reach to positions of directors and directors of research. The number of
female members in national academies of sciences remained very low, and
few full professors in institutions of higher education were women. On the
other hand, women were gradually assigned reproductive tasks with roles
in the domestic sphere subordinated to men. Whatever the large-scale
consequences of the radical changes in society and the promises of the new
regimes, equality between women and men never became a reality of the
socialist society.
Notes
1. All three have been very critical of, and even mocked the early feminist
movement, especially the suffragettes. See N. L. Pushkareva, “‘Zhenskii’
vopros v teorii marksizma (pochemu brak marksizma s feminizmom oka-
zalsia neschastlivym?),” Zhenshchiny v rossiiskom obshchestve (2002), no. 1,
2–13. According to Susan Himmelweit, “Reproduction and the materialist
conception of history: a feminist critique,” in The Cambridge Companion
to Marx, edited by Terrell Carver (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge
University Press, 1991), p. 210, Marx was far less progressive in his think-
ing with respect to women than Engels. Meanwhile, Heather H. Brown,
Marx on Gender and the Family. A Critical Study (Leiden/Boston: Brill,
2012) still wants to salvage Marx for feminism, but there is no mention in
her book either of suffragettes or of women’s right to vote.
2. E. A. Zdravomyslova and A. A. Temkina, “Gosudarstvennoe konstru-
irovanie gendera v Sovetskom obshchestve, ” Zhurnal issledovanii social’noi
politiki 1 (2003), nos. 3–4, 307–10. For Zhenotdel, see also Mary Buckley,
Women and Ideology in the Soviet Union (Ann Arbor: University of
Michigan Press, 1989), pp. 65–69.
3. E. V. Kochkina, “Politicheskaia sistema preimushchestv dlia grazhdan
muzhskogo pola v Rossii, 1917–2002 gg.,” in Gendernaia rekonstrukciia
politicheskikh sistem, edited by N.M. Stepanova, and M.M. Kirichenko,
E.V. Kochkina (St. Petersburg : ISPG-Aleteia, 2003), pp. 479–88.
4. Luciana M. Jinga, Gen și reprezentare în România comunista ̆ 1944–1989.

Femeile în cadrul Partidului Comunist Român (Bucharest: Politom,
2015), p. 176. The participation of women in the labor force, however,
was to be limited by their supposedly innate physical and psychological
capacities. See Wendy Goldman, Women, the State, and Revolution. Soviet
Family Policy and Social Life, 1917–1936 (Cambridge/New York:
Cambridge University Press, 1993); Diane Koenker, “Men against women
on the shop floor in early Soviet Russia: gender and class in the socialist
workplace,” American Historical Review 100 (1995), no. 5, 1438–64;
Melanie Ilic, Women Workers in the Soviet Interwar Economy. From
“Protection” to “Equality” (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 1999); Amy
Randall, “Legitimizing Soviet trade: gender and feminization of the retail
workforce in the Soviet 1930s,” Journal of Social History 37 (2004), 965–90.
5. As late as 1989, the average monthly wages of better-educated white-collar
women in the non-private spheres of the economy in Hungary were below
those of blue-collar men. See Julia Szalai, “Some aspects of the changing
situation of women in Hungary,” Signs. Journal of Women in Culture and
Society 17 (1991), no. 1, 159–60 with table 3.
6. N. I. Pushkareva, “Zhenshchiny v sovetskoi nauke 1917–1980-e gg.,”
Voprosy istorii (2011), no. 11, 92–102; O. A. Khazbulatova, “Zhenshchiny
i obrazovanie v Rossii: istoricheskii obzor (1860–2000),” Zhenshchiny v
rossiiskom obshchestve (2003), nos. 1–2, 31–35.
7. Pushkareva, “Zhenshchiny,” p. 93.
8. Pushkareva, “Zhenshchiny,” pp. 92–102.
9. Although women were already present in the academic life of the Soviet
Union between 1920 and 1940, their number increased rapidly after the
war. This had nothing to do with state policies meant to encourage women
to apply for positions in the academe, but was a direct consequence of the
dramatic losses inflicted upon the male population during the war. See
N. I. Pushkareva, “’Akademiki v chepce?’ Istoriia diskriminacionnykh prak-
tik v otnoshenii rossiiskikh zhenshchin-uchenykh,” Zhenshchina plius 1
(2004), available at http://www.owl.ru/win/womplus/2004/01_11.
htm (visit of January 7, 2020).
10. Pushkareva, “Zhenshchiny,” pp. 7–8.
11. Vitalina Koval, “Soviet women in science,” in Women in Science, Token
Women or Gender Equality?, edited by Veronica Stolte-Heiskanen, and
Feride Acar, Nora Ananieva, and Dorothea Gaudart (Oxford/New York:
BERG, 1991), p. 127.
12. A. Luleva, “Konstruirovanie gendera v bolgarskom socialisticheskom pro-
ekte: zhenskii vopros,” Zhenshchina v rosiiskom obshchestve (2008), no. 1,
3–24; Elena Ananieva and Evka Razvigorova, “Women in state
administration in the People’s Republic of Bulgaria,” Women & Politics 11
(1991), no. 4, 31–32.
13. In 1974, for example, women represented 45.2 percent of the total labor
force in Romania. The percentage was much higher in certain sectors—63.3
percent of those employed in education, culture, and the arts, 72 percent
of those employed in public health and social services, and 75.7 percent of
those employed in the textile industry. Similarly, women represented in the
1980s 92 percent of the labor force in hospitals and medical facilities in
Hungary, 85 percent among draftspersons, 71 percent among clerical
employees, and 72 percent among teachers. By contrast, among all manag-
ers of firms in the socialist sector in Hungary, only 3.6 percent were
women. See Ivan Volgyes, “Blue-collar working women and poverty in
Hungary,” in Women, State, and Party in Eastern Europe, edited by Sharon
L. Wolchik and Alfred G. Meyer (Durham: Duke University Press, 1985),
pp. 222–23; Jill Massino, “Workers under construction: gender, identity,
and women’s experiences of work in state socialist Romania,” in Gender
Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe,
edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino (New York: Palgrave Macmillan,
2009), p. 21.
14. Jinga, Gen și reprezentare, pp. 181–296; Sharon L. Wolchik, “Women and
the politics of gender in Communist and post-Communist Central and
Eastern Europe,” in Eastern Europe. Politics, Culture, and Society since
1939, edited by Sabina P. Ramet (Bloomington/Indianapolis: Indiana
University Press, 1998), pp. 285–93.
15. Ágnes Haraszthy, “Equal opportunities for women? Women in science in
Hungary,” in Women in Science, Token Women or Gender Equality?, edited
by Veronica Stolte-Heiskanen, and Feride Acar, Nora Ananieva, Dorothea
Gaudart (Oxford/New York, BERG 1991), pp. 195–97; Małgorzata
Fuszara and Beata Grudzińska, “Women in Polish academe,” in The Gender
Gap in Higher Education, edited by Suzanne Stiver Lie, and Lynda Malik,
Duncan Harris (London/Philadelphia: Kogan Page, 1994), pp. 143–46;
Renata Siemieńska, “Women in academe in Poland: winners among los-
ers,” Higher Education in Europe 25 (2000), no. 2, 163–65.
16. Nicolina Sretenova, “The nation’s showcase: Bulgarian academic women,
between the Scylla of totalitarianism and the Charybdis of change,” in The
Gender Gap in Higher Education, edited by Suzanne Stiver Lie, and Lynda
Malik, Duncan Harris (World Yearbook of Education 1994)(London/
Philadelphia: Kogan Page, 1994), pp. 37–43.
17. Pushkareva, “Zhenshchiny,” pp. 92–102. See also Elizabeth Waters, “The
modernization of Russian motherhood, 1917–1937,” Soviet Studies 1
(1992), 123–35; David L. Hoffman, “Mothers in the motherland: Stalinist
pronatalism in its pan-European context,” Journal of Social History 34
(2000), no. 1, 35–54; E. Thomas Ewing, “Maternity and modernity:
Soviet women teachers and the contradictions of Stalinism,” Women’s
History Review 19 (2010), no. 3, 451–77.
18. Rózsa Kulcsár, “The socioeconomic conditions of women in Hungary,” in

Women, State, and Party in Eastern Europe, edited by Sharon L. Wolchik
and Alfred G. Meyer (Durhma: Duke University Press, 1985), p. 201;
Jinga, Gen și reprezentare, p. 227.
19. Luleva, “Konstruirovanie,” pp. 3–24; O. A. Khazbulatova, “Dvizhenie
zhenshchin-obshchestvenic v 1930-e gody kak tekhnologiia gosudarstven-
noi politiki po vovlecheniiu domashnikh khoziaek v obshchestvennoe
proizvodstvo,” Zhenshchiny v rossiiskom obshchestve (2004), nos. 1–2,
43–56; Galia Chimiak, “Bulgarian and Polish women in the public sphere,”
International Feminist Journal of Politics 5 (2003), 5–6; Zdravomyslova
and Temkina, “Gosudarstvennoe konstruirovanie,” pp. 308–14. One of
the most interesting cases in this respect is Poland during the years follow-
ing Stalin’s death, at a time of increasing political autonomy in relation to
the Soviet Union, as well as of revival of the Catholic traditions. During
that period, the political discourse of the first years of the Communist
regime, which had emphasized the equality of women and men, was con-
demned for having contributed to a moral degradation of the incipient
socialist society. The emancipation of women through their access to the
public sphere, the labor market, and the political life of the country was
regarded as unnatural. The official discourse of the Communist regime
therefore insisted now upon the exclusively reproductive and domestic
roles of Polish women. See Joanna Z. Mishtal, “How the Church became
the State: the Catholic regime and reproductive rights in state socialist
Poland,” in Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and
Central Europe, edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino (New York: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2009), pp. 133–49, here 137–42; Małgorzata Fidelis, Women,
Communism, and Industrialization in Postwar Poland (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2010), pp. 170–203.
20. Pushkareva, “‘Akademiki v chepce?’”; Koval, “Soviet women”, pp. 123–24;
Sarunas Milisauskas, “Historical observations on archaeology in the Polish
People’s Republic, 1945–1989,” in Archaeology of the Communist Era. A
Political History of Archaeology of the 20th Century, edited by Ludomir
R. Lozny (Cham: Springer, 2016), p. 134. It is important to note that such
changes coincide in time with the introduction of natalist policies and the
abolition of abortion—1936 in the Soviet Union, 1967 in Romania,
1968 in Bulgaria. Abortion became illegal in Poland only after the fall of
Communism, while in Hungary no attempt was made to abolish abortion
after its legalization under the Communist regime in 1953. The attempts
to tighten the abortion laws in 1975 were fiercely opposed by what has
been dubbed as the “proto-feminist” movement in Hungary, one of the
leading figures of which was Júlia Rajk. See Andrea Pető, “Stories of wom-
en’s lives: feminist genealogies in Hungary,” in Gender Relations in South
Eastern Europe. Historical Perspectives on Womanhood and Manhood in

19th and 20th Century, edited by Slobodan Naumović and Miroslav
Jovanović (Münster: Lit, 2004), p. 218. For the contrast between demo-
graphic policies in Hungary and Romania, see Robert J. McIntyre,
“Demographic policy and sexual equality: value conflicts and policy
appraisal in Hungary and Romania,” in Women, State, and Party in Eastern
Europe, edited by Sharon L. Wolchik and Alfred G. Meyer (Durham: Duke
University Press, 1985), pp. 270–85.
21. Most leadership positions were reserved for those who had already been in
such positions either in agriculture or in industry. Most women in party
structures had been trained in education, humanities, or social sciences. As
a consequence, women were often perceived as incapable of dealing with
the “real world out there,” which was supposedly too harsh or too cruel for
them. See Kochkina, “Predstavitel’stvo zhenshchin.”
22. Jinga, Gen și reprezentare, p. 146; Pushkareva, “Zhenshchiny,” pp. 92–102;
Nora Ananieva, “Women and science in Bulgaria: the long hurdle-race,” in
Women in Science, Token Women or Gender Equality?, edited by Veronica
Stolte-Heiskanen, and Feride Acar, Nora Ananieva, Dorothea Gaudart,
(Oxford/New York, BERG 1991). pp. 109–14; Haraszthy, “Equal oppor-
tunities,” pp. 193–98.
Chapter 2: Archaeology Under Communism
From the very beginning of Soviet power, archaeology was perceived as an

academic discipline with great political and ideological potential. That is
why the archaeological practice and thought received much attention, in
the form of a legislative framework, as well as generous funding for
research in archaeology. The need to control that research results clearly
from the early efforts at institutional centralization. There were several
centers of archaeological research in pre-Bolshevik Russia—the Society for
History and Antiquities in Odessa, the Imperial Archaeological
Commission in St. Petersburg, and the Imperial Archaeology Society in
Moscow. Shortly after the Bolshevik takeover, the Academy for the History
of Material Culture was created in Petrograd, with a branch in Moscow.1
In 1937, the Academy was reorganized as an Institute for the History of
Material Culture, which was then placed under the Academy of Sciences.
Six years later, its headquarters were moved from Leningrad to Moscow,
and in 1959 the name was changed again to the Institute of Archaeology.
This was meant to be the institute supervising archaeological research
throughout the Soviet Union. However, several other institutions, such as
regional museums, were also in charge with archaeological research. Each
Soviet republic in fact had at least one central institution of archaeological
research, either a museum or an institute of archaeology (or at least an
archaeology department in some other institute).2
The political and ideological potential of archaeology and the generous
government funding were replicated after World War II in all satellite

Switzerland AG 2021
1917–1989, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87520-6_3
countries occupied by Soviet troops or in which Communist regimes were

established with Soviet support. Much like in the Soviet Union, archaeo-
logical research was organized centrally.3 In Bulgaria, the two institutions
of archaeological research created before 1945—the National Museum of
Archaeology and the Bulgarian Archaeological Society—were merged into
a National Institute of Archaeology with Museum, which was, much like
in the Soviet Union, integrated into the Academy of Sciences.4 In Hungary,
a group of archaeological research formed after the war was similarly
turned into the Institute of Archaeology under the Academy of Sciences.
However, the National Hungarian Museum established in 1802 remained
a separate, albeit drastically reorganized institution. Archaeological
research in Hungary was not coordinated and supervised by any of those
two institutions, but by the Archaeological Commission of the Hungarian
Academy of Sciences.5 Ever since the late 1940s, the archaeological
research in Romania was under the control of the Institute of History and
Philosophy of the Romanian Academy. The National Museum of
Antiquities, established in 1834, was incorporated into that institute in the
mid-1950s, soon to be turned into a separate Institute of Archaeology.
However, much like in Hungary, the archaeological research was not
entirely under the control of the Institute in Bucharest, for two other
Institutes of History and Archaeology were created in Cluj (1949) and
Iaşi (1964).6 Poland was the only satellite country that, like the Soviet
Union, had an Institute for the History of Material Culture.7 Communist
regimes in all satellite countries encouraged the activity of regional muse-
ums, which they regarded as centers of government propaganda. Such
museums had been established, in many cases, before 1945 and already
had sections of archaeology dedicated to the research of local sites.
Moreover, departments of history in some universities also ran campaigns
of archaeological excavations.8
The institutional Sovietization also involved the creation of a shared
informational space, the primary purpose of which was to implement thor-
oughly in each satellite country the theoretical and ideological tenets of
Soviet archaeology inspired by Marxism. Equally important was the pro-
motion of certain research themes, particularly the history of the Slavs.
Romanian, Bulgarian, Polish, and Hungarian archaeologists were thus
invited to draw inspiration from the works of Soviet archaeologists, since
the Soviet school of archaeology was regarded as the most progressive in
the world. That is the reason for which young archaeologists from satellite
countries were sent to study in the USSR. Soviet archaeologists and
CHAPTER 2: ARCHAEOLOGY UNDER COMMUNISM 23
historians in turn paid “friendly visits” to “sister Communist countries,”

thus contributing to the consolidation of their ties to the Soviet Union. By
the late 1950s, contacts with Soviet archaeologists and historians were the
only form of international cooperation in which archaeologists in satellite
countries were allowed to engage.9
The earliest efforts toward the introduction of a thoroughly Marxist
approach into Soviet archaeology may be dated to the mid-1920s and are
associated to young archaeologists trained at the Marxist schools in
Moscow. Convinced that they would be able to turn archaeology into a
Marxist science, they promoted the so-called “ascension method.” On the
basis of that method, they hoped to use archaeological remains, particu-
larly tools and “means of production,” to reconstruct the modes of pro-
duction and the social and economic formations about which Marx had
written. In the early 1930s, however, the young Muscovites lost ground
to archaeologists from Leningrad who promoted the stadial theory,
inspired by the works of the linguist Nikolai Marr.10 Particularly influential
was Marr’s idea that as a consequence of radical transformations, a lan-
guage could go through “dialectical leaps” or revolutions, and turn into a
completely different language, at the same time as the associated social
and economic formation changed as well. The archaeological variant of
that theory maintained that with the change in mode of production came
not only a change in material culture, but also in ethnic identity. This was
the basis for a thorough critique of diffusionist and migrationist ideas used
at that same time in Western Europe for explaining changes in material
culture.11 By the mid-1930s, but especially after the war, the abandon-
ment of the idea of a world revolution and the adoption of an increasingly
nationalist discourse led to a gradual shift in emphasis from social to ethnic
topics. As a consequence, the stadial theory was abandoned when Stalin
repudiated Marrism in 1950.12
After Stalin’s death, Nikita Khrushchev condemned his perversion of
Marxist-Leninist ideals and insisted upon the restoration of the “true”
Marxist doctrine. To archaeologists, that meant a return to social and eco-
nomic topics of research. Despite the apparent revival of Marxist tenets,
however, no attempt was made to turn archaeology into a Marxist science,
as in the 1920s. In the 1950s, Marxism in Soviet archaeology consisted of
little more than obligatory citations from Marx, Engels, and Lenin, often
with no connection whatsoever to one’s subject or the methodology
employed in one’s work.13 Meanwhile, however, the research agenda in
satellite countries was tied to the new cultural policies promoted by the
Communist regimes and to the predominantly Marxist philosophy, which

had inspired them. For example, the conclusion of the First Congress of
Yugoslav archaeologists (1950) was that “archaeology as a social-historic
discipline has to be directed into research of material and spiritual culture
entirely on the basis of historical materialism.”14 Economic and social
issues were to be preferred to any of the traditional topics of historical
inquiry, especially political and church history.15 In reality, in the satellite
countries, with the notable exception of Poland, Marxism was also treated
superficially. In order to publish in the late 1940s and early 1950s, archae-
ologists had to cite the “classics of Marxism-Leninism,” but much like in
the Soviet Union, citations rarely had anything to do with the topic or the
methodology of research.16 Most, if not all, archaeologists were actually
quite skeptical about the new theoretical orientation. In Romania, at least,
archaeologists even expressed, albeit privately, anti-Soviet or even anti-
Russian sentiments, for they had been educated before the war and had
embraced nationalist and anti-Soviet ideas. To be sure, there were attempts
in the late 1940s to implement Marr’s ideas in satellite countries, but
before anything could be seriously done in that direction, Stalin con-
demned Marrism, while “old-school” archaeologists felt vindicated in
their skepticism.17 Ten years later, even the obligatory citations from the
“classics of Marxism-Leninism” began to fade away, as ethnicity became
the main topic of research in the satellite countries. Recent studies have
shown that the cultural-historical paradigm adopted before the war was
never abandoned in those countries, not even at the time of the greatest
pressure to turn archaeology into a Marxist science. The true impact of
Marxism on archaeology has been a matter of recent debate, especially in
Poland and Romania. In both cases, the conclusion seems to be that, far
from causing a paradigm change, Marxism remained a superficial phe-
nomenon in both archaeological interpretation and archaeological
practice.18
The earliest excavations on sites dated to the Middle Ages were carried
out in Russia in the nineteenth century. Slavic archaeology emerged as a
special, separate discipline in the context of Russian pan-Slavism and
nationalism, as the first archaeologists interested in the medieval period
began searching for the remains of medieval Russians and early Slavs.19
The political and social turmoil of the early twentieth century—World War
I, the Bolshevik revolution, and the civil war—slowed down the develop-
ment of Slavic archaeology and prevented its institutionalization. The
anti-nationalist ideology of the Bolshevik regime further contributed to
the isolation of the subdiscipline, as Slavic archaeology was perceived as

supporting and promoting Russian nationalist claims that had been largely
responsible for the backwardness of non-Slavic peoples in the Russian
Empire. Similarly, Pan-Slavism was now condemned as the ideology of
Russian imperialism. Those were primarily the reasons for which the study
of Russian and Slavic history, languages, ethnography, and archaeology
was pushed aside, and those who still manifested interest in such endeav-
ors were branded as chauvinists.20
Things changed radically in the mid-1930s together with Stalin’s reha-
bilitation of the Russian nationalist discourse in response to Nazi propa-
ganda and ideas about the cultural and political inferiority of Slavic peoples.
Suddenly, the ethnogenesis of the Slavs (particularly that of the Eastern
Slavs), the identification of their Urheimat and their lifestyle, as well as the
rise of towns and of the medieval state in Rus’ became hot issues for the
Soviet propaganda. Soviet historians and archaeologists were now
prompted to concentrate their research on those topics. The revival of
Slavic studies continued after World War II, when it took on new ideologi-
cal dimensions.21 Most importantly, the discovery of Slavic remains in ter-
ritories recently occupied by the Red Army in East Central and Southeastern
Europe played a major role in the ideological justification of that occupa-
tion and the promotion of the Soviet myth of friendship between all social-
ist countries. Medieval and especially Slavic archaeology remained key
components of the Soviet discourse despite the fact that, shortly after
Stalin’s death in 1953, its ideological manipulation diminished
considerably.
In most satellite countries, medieval archaeology, especially the study of
the Slavs, emerged only after World War II. The Communist regimes that
had just been established with Soviet support required archaeologists to
redirect their efforts toward the study of Slavic material culture. Such an
insistence upon what had not until then been a topic of scholarly interest
is often interpreted as an attempt to please the Soviets, but in some cases
it also responded to local problems. For example, in Yugoslavia, an empha-
sis on the (early) Slavic past was meant to consolidate the unity of the six
republics in the federation.22 In Poland, the Slavic theme served a different
purpose, as it was associated with a very strong anti-German sentiment
combined with the desire to justify the occupation, after World War II, of
territories that had until then been German. Anti-German feelings were in
fact the main reason for launching in the late 1940s a grandiose program
of archaeological research dedicated entirely to the rise of the Polish state
and its Christianization, both regarded as major blocks against German

expansion.23 The celebration in 1966 of the millennial anniversary of the
Polish state prompted more research programs and greatly contributed to
the professionalization of medieval archaeology in Poland.24 In Bulgaria,
Slavic archaeology served yet another purpose. Before World War II, many
Bulgarian historians had denied the participation of Slavs in the Bulgarian
ethnogenesis. The development of Slavic archaeology was meant to coun-
ter that tendency and to prove, once and for all, that Bulgarians were Slavs
and friends with the Soviet Union. Much like in Poland, the anniversary in
1981 of 1300 years of Bulgarian statehood caused large state investments
in archaeological research and a flurry of publications dedicated to medi-
eval archaeology.25
Despite the ideological pressure, the implementation of a Slavic agenda
in medieval archaeology often met the stiff resistance of local archaeolo-
gists. In Romania, for example, the profoundly anti-Soviet sentiments of
most senior archaeologists prevented them from responding favorably to
the directives of the Communist regime. Moreover, beginning with the
late 1950s, such sentiments were promoted even inside the Romanian
Communist party, eager to revive the nationalist discourse and to mark by
such means its supposed autonomy from the Soviet Union.26 The situa-
tion in neighboring Hungary was not very different. While Soviet archae-
ologists were happy to learn that the first Slavic sites had been explored
archaeologically in Hungary after the country’s “liberation” by the Red
Army, they were also concerned that the interpretation of the finds was
somewhat superficial. Soon, however, serious disagreements emerged
between Soviet and Hungarian archaeologists about the ethnic attribution
of some archaeological finds, which the latter regarded as specific to large
areas in Eastern Europe, and not just to the Slavs.27 Even in
Czechoslovakia—a Slavic country—the anti-Soviet sentiment after the
Prague Spring made the local Communist regime wary of any attempt to
manipulate archaeology politically. As a consequence, more than in any
other satellite country, funding for the discipline dropped considerably.28
Summary
The background to the image of a rapidly developing research in archaeol-
ogy under the Communist regimes in Eastern Europe was its perception
as a discipline of great political and ideological potential. In both the
Soviet Union and the satellite countries, considerable state investments
were made in archaeology with no parallels either in the previous period

or elsewhere in Europe. The institutional centralization, often through
the creation of specialized institutes or research and studies, went hand in
hand with the reorganization of the network of regional museums, all of
which were regarded as key institutions for political propaganda. In some
cases, national museums of history were given the foremost task of plan-
ning archaeological excavations across the country, particularly in relation
to development and major building projects (such as reservoirs or large
industrial centers). In other cases, leading universities (such as those of
Leningrad or Prague) ran their own campaigns of archaeological excava-
tions on sites transformed into “schools of archaeology.” The model of
Soviet archaeology, a paradigmatic change implemented for a brief while
in the 1920s, was exported after World War II, if only temporarily and
partially, to some of the satellite countries. However, at that time in the
Soviet Union, Marxism had ceased to inspire archaeological research.
With the exception of citations from the “classics of Marxism-Leninism,”
few archaeologists seriously engaged in a Marxist interpretation of the
archaeological evidence and even fewer applied Marxist principles to the
archaeological practice. This situation is best illustrated by developments
in medieval archaeology, a subfield that came into being only after World
War II, and largely as a consequence of the insistence of the Communist
regimes, especially in the satellite countries, on the need to study the Slavic
material culture. Slavic Studies, in general, have been almost abolished in
the Soviet Union, but topics such as the Slavic ethnogenesis became
important after Stalin’s rehabilitation of the Russian nationalist discourse
in response to the Nazi propaganda. After the war, Slavic archaeology
became a key component of the Soviet discourse meant to justify the occu-
pation of the Eastern, Southeastern and East Central parts of the European
continent by the Red Army. The ideological manipulation of medieval
archaeology, and especially of the research on the early Slavs, is also evi-
dent at the local level, in each one of the satellite countries. While Slavic
archaeology was promoted in Yugoslavia, in order to advance the idea of
South Slavic unity in the federation, in Poland, it served to justify the
occupation of territories until then belonging to Germany. In both
Romania and Hungary, Slavic archaeology developed with a great degree
of resistance and even opposition from senior archaeologists, many of
whom entertained anti-Soviet sentiments. More than any other subfield of
archaeology, medieval archaeology under the Communist regimes was
therefore prone to political manipulation.
Notes
1. Gleb S. Lebedev, Istoriia otechestvennoi arkheologii, 1700–1917 gg. (St.
Petersburg: Izdatel’stvo Sankt-Peterburgskogo universiteta, 1992), p. 421,
and V. I. Guliaev, “Vvdenie,” in Institut arkheologii: istoriia i sovremen-
nost’. Sbornik nauchnykh biografii, edited by V. I. Guliaev (Moscow:
Institut arkheologii RAN, 2000), p. 3, maintain that the Academy was the
successor of the Imperial Archaeology Commission. However, the
Academy was initially not a purely archaeological institution, since it
employed art historians, philologists, architects, ethnographers, and
anthropologists. In other words, the initial purpose of the Academy was
not just archaeological research, but also heritage preservation and man-
agement, as well as the theory of archaeology, ethnography, or art history.
2. A. D. Priakhin, Istoriia sovetskoi arkheologii (1917-seredina 30kh g.)
(Voronezh: Izdatel’stvo Voronezhskogo universiteta, 1986), pp. 12–14
and 145–55; Lebedev, Istoriia, pp. 418–27; Guliaev, “Vvedenie,” pp. 3–23;
Nadezhda I. Platonova, Istoriia arkheologicheskoi mysli v Rossii. Vtoraia
polovina XIX-pervaia tret’ XX veka (St. Petersburg: Nestor Istoriia, 2010),
pp. 215–53; Klein, Soviet Archaeology, pp. 3–17; P. G. Gaidukov,
I.V. Belozerova, S.V. Kuz’minykh, “Iz istorii Instituta arkheologii RAN v
1920–1940-e gody,” in Institut arkheologii RAN: 100 let istorii, edited by
N.A. Makarov (Moskva: IA RAN, 2019), pp. 11–25. Although it was ini-
tially designed to be the central institution of archaeological research in the
Soviet Union, during the 1920s and 1930s, the Academy for the History
of Material Culture gradually lost ground to ethnography and anthropol-
ogy museums activating under the aegis of the Academy of Sciences, to the
Association of Orientalists, and even to universities, such as that in
Leningrad, that were capable of running their own campaigns of archaeo-
logical excavations (Priakhin, Istoriia, pp. 18–23). For archaeology in
Soviet universities, see Lev S. Klein and I. L. Tikhonov, „The beginnings
of university archaeology in Russia,” in Die Anfänge der ur- und frühge-
schichtlichen Archäologie als akademisches Fach (1890–1930) im europäischen
Vergleich. Internationale Tagung an der Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin
vom 13.–16. März, edited by Johan Callmer, Michael Meyer, Ruth Struwe
and Claudia Theune (Rahden: Marie Leidorf, 2006), pp. 197–207. For
the University of Leningrad as a center of archaeological research, see
I. L. Tikhonov, Arkheologiia v Sankt- Petersburgskom universitete.
Istoriograficheskie ocherki (St. Petersburg: St. Peterburgskogo gosudarst-
vennyi universitet, 2003); Gleb S. Lebedev, “Peterburgskaia shkola
Rossiiskoi arkheologii,” in Ladoga i istoki russkoi gosudarstvennosti i
kul’tury. Mezhdunarodnaia nauchno-prakticheskaia konferenciia provedena
v Staroi Ladoge Leningradskoi oblasti pod egidoi Organizacii obăedinennykh
nacii po voprosam obrazovaniia, nauki i kul’tury, 30 iuniia-2 iuliia 2003 g.,

edited by Anatolii N. Kirpichnikov (St. Petersburg: Vesti, 2003),
pp. 142–56. For the institutionalization of archaeology in the Soviet
republics, see the literature cited in Iurie Stamati, The Slavic Dossier.
Medieval Archaeology in the Soviet Republic of Moldova: Between State
Propaganda and Scholarly Endeavor (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2019),
pp. 247–50.
3. Ludomir R. Lozny, “Sickle, hammer, and trowel: theory and practice of
archaeology under Communism,” in Archaeology of the Communist Era. A
Political History of Archaeology of the 20th Century, edited by Ludomir
R. Lozny (Cham: Springer, 2016), pp. 11 and 42–45. For Poland, see
Jacek Lech, “Between captivity and freedom: Polish archaeology in the
20th century,” Archaeologia Polona 35–36 (1997–1998), 59–60, 61–65,
and 78–84; Sarunas Milisauskas, “Observations on Polish archaeology
1945–1995,” Archaeologia Polona 35–36 (1997–1998), 233. For
Romania, see Stamati, “Two chapters,” p. 82.
4. Douglass W. Bailey, “Bulgarian archaeology. Ideology, sociopolitics and
the exotic,” in Archaeology under Fire. Nationalism, Politics, and Heritage
in the Eastern Mediterranean and Middle East, edited by Lynn Meskell
(London/New York: Routledge, 1998), p. 96; Lolita Nikolova and Diana
Gergova, “Contemporary Bulgarian archaeology as a social practice in the
later twentieth to early twenty-first century,” in Archaeology of the
Communist Era. A Political History of Archaeology of the 20th Century,
edited by Ludomir R. Lozny (Cham: Springer, 2016), p. 179.
5. V. S. Titov and István Erdélyi, “Sovremennaia organizacionnaia struktura
arkheologii v Vengerskoi Narodnoi Respublike,” Sovetskaia arkheologiia
(1973), no. 3, 249–56; V. S. Titov, “Vvedenie,” in Arkheologiia Vengrii.
Konec II tysiacheletiia do n. e.- I tysiacheletiia n. e., edited by V. S. Titov and
István Erdélyi (Moscow: Nauka, 1986), pp. 7–36; László Török, “The
Archaeological Institute of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences,
1958–1999,” Antaeus 25 (2002), 17; László Bartosiewicz, “Archaeology
in Hungary, 1948–1989,” in Archaeology of the Communist Era. A Political
History of Archaeology of the 20th Century, edited by Ludomir R. Lozny
(Cham: Springer, 2016), pp. 195–233, here 202. A special committee
(Ásatási Bizottság) was created to plan and to finance archaeological
excavations.
6. Ion Nestor, “Despre cercetările şi săpăturile arheologice executate în 1948
în regiunile extracarpatice ale Republicii Populare Romîne,” Studii. Revista ̆
de ştiint ̧a ̆ şi filosofie 1 (1949), 152–59; Damaschin Mioc, “Institutul de
istorie şi arheologie—Cluj,” in Enciclopedia istoriografiei româneşti, edited
by Ştefan Ştefănescu (Bucharest: Editura ştiinti̧ fică şi enciclopedică, 1978),
pp. 366–67; Mircea Babeş, “Marile etape ale dezvoltării arheologiei în
România,” Studii şi cercetări de istorie veche şi arheologie 32 (1981), no. 3,
319–30; Vasile Chirică and Dan Aparaschivei, Institutul de Arheologie Iaşi
(Iaşi: Helios, 2004), p. 7.
7. Iurii V. Kukharenko, Arkheologiia Pol’shi (Moscow: Nauka, 1969), p. 217;
Günter Mangelsdorf, “Zur Lage der Mittelalterarchäologie in
Ostdeutschland, Polen und Tschechien,” Zeitschrift für Archäologie des
Mittelalters 25–26 (1997), 45; Milisauskas, “Observations,” p. 129; Jerzy
Ga ̨ssowski, “Archaeology and Marxism in Poland: a personal account,” in
Archaeology of the Communist Era. A Political History of Archaeology of the
20th Century, edited by Ludomir R. Lozny (Cham: Springer, 2016),
pp. 101–21, here 110–11.
8. Kukharenko, Arkheologiia, pp. 218–19; Titov and Erdélyi, “Sovremennaia
organizacionnaia struktura,” pp. 253–56; Ioan Opriş, Istoria muzeelor din
România (Bucharest: Mouseion, 1994); Lech, “Between captivity and
freedom,” pp. 61–65; Aurelia Duţu, “Scurt istoric al muzeelor şi colecţiilor
din România,” in Muzee şi colect ̧ii din România, edited by Irina Oberländer-
Târnoveanu and Aurelia Duţu (Bucharest: Institutul de Istorie Culturală,
2009), pp. 6–12; Lozny, “Sickle, hammer,” p. 45.
9. Bartosiewicz, “Archaeology in Hungary,” pp. 215–16 and 220; Ga ̨ssowski,
“Archaeology and Marxism,” p. 105; Lozny, “Sickle, hammer,” p. 21;
Nikolova and Gergova, “Contemporary Bulgarian archaeology,” p. 182;
Iurie Stamati, “‘Long live Romanian Soviet friendship!’ An exploration of
the relationship between archaeologists from USSR and the People’s/
Socialist Republic of Romania,” Ephemeris Napocensis 26 (2016), 235–52.
10. S. N. Bykovskii, “Klassovaia sushchnost’ burzhuaznoi arkheologii,” intro-
duction to G. Khudiakov, Dorevolucionnaia russkaia arkheologiia na slu-
zhbe ekspluatatorskikh klassov (Leningrad: GAIMK, 1933), p. 13;
Khudiakov, Dorevolucionnaia russkaia arkheologiia, pp. 84–87; Aleksandr
A. Formozov, “Arkheologiia i ideologiia (20–30-e gody),” Voprosy filosofii
(1993), no. 2, 70–82. For Nikolai Marr’s theories and Marxism, see Gisela
Bruche-Schulz, “Marr, Marx and linguistics in the Soviet Union,”
Historiographia Linguistica 20 (1993), nos. 2–3, 455–72; Yuri Slezkine,
“N. Ia. Marr and the national origins of Soviet ethnogenetics,” Slavic
Review 55 (1996), no. 4, 826–62; Vladimir M. Alpatov, Istoriia odnogo
mifa. Marr i marrizm (Moscow: Nauka, 2011), pp. 168–90.
11. William Y. Adams, “On migration and diffusion as rival paradigms,” in
Diffusion and Migration: Their Roles in Cultural Development, edited by
P. G. Duke, J. Ebert, G. Langemann and A. P. Buchner (Calgary: University
of Calgary, 1978), pp. 1–5; Jack A. Lucas, “The significance of diffusion in
German and Austrian historical ethnology,” in Diffusion and Migration:
Their Roles in Cultural Development, edited by P. G. Duke, J. Ebert,
G. Langemann and A. P. Buchner (Calgary: University of Calgary, 1978),

pp. 30–44.
12. Mikhail I. Artamonov, “Trudy tovarishcha Stalina po voprosam iazykozna-
niia i sovetskaia arkheologiia,” Sovetskaia arkheologiia 15 (1951), 7–16;
Aleksandr D. Udal’cov (ed.), Protiv vul’garizacii marksizma v arkheologii
(Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Akademii Nauk SSSR, 1953); Priakhin, Istoriia,
pp. 131–40; Lev S. Klein, Istoriia arkheologicheskoi mysli, vol. 2 (St.
Petersburg: Izdatel’stvo Sankt-Peterburgskogo universiteta, 2011),
pp. 3–21.
13. Klein, Istoriia, pp. 21–22; Lev S. Klein, Fenomen sovetskoi arkheologii (St.
Petersburg: FARN, 1993), pp. 24–28 and 70–78; Lev S. Klein, Trudno
byt’ Kleinom. Avtobiografiia v monologakh i dialogakh (St. Petersburg:
Nestor-Istoriia, 2008), pp. 300–10.
14. Božidar Slapšak and Predrag Novaković, “Is there national archaeology
without nationalism? Archaeological tradition in Slovenia,” in Nationalism
and Archaeology in Europe, edited by Margarita Díaz-Andreu and Timothy
C. Champion (Boulder/San Francisco: Westview Press, 1996), pp. 256–93,
here 286–87 with n. 50; Predrag Novaković, “Archaeology in five states. A
peculiarity or just another story at the crossroads of ‘Mitteleuropa’ and the
Balkans: a case study of Slovene archaeology,” in Archäologien Europas.
Geschichte, Methoden und Theorien, edited by Peter F. Biehl, Alexander
Gramsch and Arkadiusz Marciniak (Münster: Waxmann, 2002),
pp. 323–52, here 342; Monika Milosavljević, Osvit arheologije. Geneza
kulturno-istorijskog pristupa u arheologiji Srbije (Belgrade: Dosjie studio,
2020), p. 124. For the First Congress of the Yugoslav archaeologists, see
Josip Korošec, “Prvo posvetovanje jugoslovanskih arheologov,” Zgodovinski
c ̌asopis 4 (1950), 212–15.
15. Florin Curta, “Medieval archaeology in South-Eastern Europe,” in
Reflections: 50 Years of Medieval Archaeology, 1957–2007, edited by Roberta
Gilchrist and Andrew Reynolds (London: Maney Publishing, 2009),
p. 192. The evidence for that was derived first and foremost from the exca-
vation of cemetery sites, the first archaeological sites to be published as
monographs. Cemeteries were preferred because of the firm belief that the
analysis of grave goods would produce conclusions about social structures,
which could in turn serve for the writing of the new social history. See
Josip Korošec, Staroslovenska grobišc ̌a v Severni Sloveniji (Celje: Tiskarna
družbe Sv. Mohorja, 1947); Jozo Kastelić, Slovanska nekropola na Bledu.
Arheološko in antropološko poroc ̌ilo za leto 1948 (Ljubljana: Slovenska
Akademija Znanosti in Umetnosti, 1950); Josip Korošec, Staroslovansko
grobišc ̌e na Ptujskem gradu (Ljubljana: Slovenska akademija znanosti in
umetnosti, 1950); Franjo Ivaniček, Staroslavenska nekropola u Ptuju
(Ljubljana: Slovenska akademija znanosti in umetnosti, 1951); Ján Eisner,
Devínska Nová Ves. Slovanské pohr ̌ebište ̌ (Bratislava: Nákladem Slovanskej

Akadémie Vied a Umení, 1952); Jerzy Da ̨mbski, Wczesnosredniowieczne
́
cmentarzysko w Końskich (Wrocław: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe,
1955); Vilém Hrubý, Staré Me ̌sto. Velkomoravské pohrě ̌bište ̌ “Na Valách”
(Prague: Nakladelství Č eskoslovenske Akademie Věd, 1955); Michał.
́
Godycki, Wczesnosredniowieczne cmentarzysko na Ostrowie Lednickim
(Wrocław: Polska Akademia Nauk, 1956); Leszek Sarama, Leszek.
Wczesnos ́redniowieczne cmentarzysko w Samborcu (Wrocław: Państwowe
Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1956); Elemér Zalotay, Gellértegyházai
Árpádkori temető (Budapest: Magyar Némzeti Múzeum, 1957).
16. Bartosiewicz, “Archaeology in Hungary,” p. 215; Ga ̨ssowski, “Archaeology
and Marxism,” pp. 104 and 111; Lozny, “Sickle, hammer,” pp. 41–42;
Milisauskas, “Historical observations,” pp. 125–27; Evžen Neustupný,
“Czech archaeology under Communism,” in Archaeology of the Communist
Era. A Political History of Archaeology of the 20th Century, edited by
Ludomir R. Lozny (Cham: Springer, 2016), 151–66, here 155; Nikolova
and Gergova, “Contemporary Bulgarian archaeology,” p. 180.
17. Andrzej Abramowicz, Historia archeologii polskiej. XIX i XX wiek
(Warsaw/Łódź: Ossolineum, 1991), pp 148–49; Stamati, “Two chapters,”
pp. 83–84; Bartosiewicz, “Archaeology in Hungary,” p. 215; Milisauskas,
“Historical observations,” pp. 130–31.
18. For Poland, see Paul M. Barford, “Paradigms lost: Polish archaeology and
post-War politics,” Archaeologia Polona 31 (1993), 257–70; Barford,
“Marksizm”; Stanisław Tabaczyński, “A future for the Marxist paradigm in
Central European archaeology? The Polish case,” in Whither archaeology?
Papers in Honour of Evzen Neustupny, edited by Martin Kuna and Natalie
Venclová (Prague: Institute of Archaeology, 1995), pp. 69–81; Lech,
“Małowierni” and “Between captivity and freedom,” pp. 84–97; Zbigniew
Kobyliński, “Theoretical orientations in archaeology in Poland
(1945–1995),” in Theory and Practice of Archaeological Research, edited
by Witold Hensel, Stanisław Tabaczyński and Przemysław Urbańczyk, vol.
3 (Warsaw: Scientia, 1998), pp. 225–58; Przemysław Urbańczyk, “Political
circumstances reflected in post-war Polish archaeology,” Public Archaeology
1 (2000), 49–56; Paul M. Barford, “Reflections on J. Lech’s vision of the
history of ‘Polish’ archaeology,” Archaeologia Polona 40 (2002), 171–84;
Jacek Lech, “On Polish archaeology in the 20th century: remarks and
polemic,” Archaeologia Polona 40 (2002), 185–252; Stanisław Tabaczyński,
“L’école des Annales, la ‘nouvelle histoire’ et l’archéologie polonaise,” in
Archéologie, edited by Bartłomiej Sz. Szmoniewski (Warsaw/Paris: Polska
Akademia Nauk. Stacja Naukowa, 2003), pp. 14–17; Milisauskas,
„Historical observations,” pp. 223–27. For Romania, see Mircea
Anghelinu, Evoluţia gândirii teoretice în arheologia din România. Concepte
şi modele aplicate în preistorie (Târgovişte: Cetatea de Scaun, 2003),

pp. 155–256; Dragoman and Oanţă-Marghitu, “Archaeology”; Anghelinu,
“Failed revolution”; Stamati, “Two chapters,” pp. 83–85.
19. Lebedev, Istoriia, pp. 62–172 and 247–52; S. P. Shchavelev, Istorik russkoi
zemli. Zhizn’ i trudy D. Ia. Samokvasova (Kursk: Izdatel’stvo Kurskogo
medicynskogo Universiteta, 1998); A. N. Golotvin, “D. Ia. Samokvasov i
razvitie slaviano-russkoi arkheologii,” Vestnik Voronezhskogo gosudarstven-
nogo universiteta 2 (2007), no. 2, 173–78; Lebedev, Istoriia, pp. 62–172
and 247–52; Lev S. Klein, Istoriia rossiiskoi arkheologii: ucheniia, shkoly i
lichnosti (St. Petersburg: Evraziia, 2014), pp. 329–59 and 504–24. For the
role of the Czech archaeologist Č enek (Vikentyi) Chvojka, see also
G. M. Shovkoplias, “Vikentiy V’iacheslavovych Khvoyka—vidatnyi
ukrains’kyi arkheolog,” in Vikentiy V’iacheslavovych Khvoyka ta iogo vnesok
u vitchyznianu arkheologiiu (do 150-richchia vid dnia narodzhennia).
Tematichnyi zbirnyk naukovykh prats’, edited by N. G. Kovtaniuk (Kiev:
Natsional’nyi muzei istorii Ukrainy, 2000), pp. 4–25; Vitalyi K. Koziuba,
“Fotografii ta maliunki rozkopok V. V. Khvoyky 1907–1908 rr. v sadybi
M. M. Petrovs’kogo u Kyevi,” in Naukovo-doslidnyts’ka ta prosvitnits’ka
diial’nist’ Vikentiia Khvoyky do 160-richchia z dnia narozhdennia.
Materialy naukovo-praktychnoi konferentsii s. Khalep’ia, 19 liutogo 2010
roku (Trypillia: Kyivs’koi oblasnoi derzhavnoi administratsii KZKOR
“Kyivs’kyi oblasnyi arkheologichnyi muzei”, 2010), pp. 59–78; Florin
Curta, “With brotherly love: the Czech beginnings of medieval archaeol-
ogy in Bulgaria and Ukraine,” in Manufacturing Middle Ages. Entangled
History of Medievalism in Nineteenth-Century Europe, edited by Patrick
J. Geary and Gábor Klaniczay (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2013), pp. 388–92.
20. Viktor A. Shnirel’man, “Zlokliucheniia odnoi nauki: etnogeneticheskie
issledovaniia is stalinskaia nacional’naia politika,” Etnograficheskoe obozrenie
(1993), no. 3, 54; Iu. V. Krivosheev and A. Iu. Dvornichenko, “Izgnanie
nauki: rossiskaia istoriografiia v 20kh-nachale 30kh godov XX veka,”
Otechestvennaia istoriia (1994), no. 3, 146–53; A. N. Gorianov,
“Slavianskaia vzaimnost’ v traktovke sovetskoi istoriografii 1920–1930kh
godov,” in Slavianskaia ideia: istoriia i sovremennost’, edited by
V. A. D’iakov (Moscow: Logos, 1998), pp. 147–59; E. P. Aksenova,
“Slavianskaia ideia i sovetskoe slavianovedenie pered Vtoroi mirovoi
voiny,” in Slavianskaia ideia: istoriia i sovremennost’, edited by V. A. D’iakov
(Moscow: Logos, 1998), pp. 160–73; E. P. Aksenova, Ocherki iz istorii
otechestvennogo slavianovedeniia 1930e gody (Moscow: Institut slavianove-
deniia RAN, 2000); M. A. Robinson, Sud’ba akademicheskoi elity.
Otechestvennoe slavianovedenie, 1917-nachalo 1930kh godov (Moscow:
Indrik, 2004).
21. N. G. Bruevich, “O plane nauchno-issledovatel’skikh rabot Akademii nauk

na 1946 god,” in Obshchee sobranie Akademii nauk SSSR 15–19 ianvaria
1946 goda (Moscow/Leningrad: Izdatel’stvo Akdaemii Nauk SSSR,
1946), pp. 137–38; N. Voronin, “Razvitie slaviano-russkoi arkheologii v
SSSR,” Slaviane 7 (1948), 25–30; Boris A. Rybakov, “Mesto slaviano-
russkoi arkheologii v sovetskoi istoricheskoi nauke,” Sovetskaia arkheolo-
giia (1957), no. 4, 58; Shnirel’man, “Zlokliucheniia,” pp. 58–68; Viktor
A. Shnirel’man, “From internationalism to nationalism: forgotten pages of
Soviet archaeology in the 1930s and 1940s,” in Nationalism, Politics, and
the Practice of Archaeology, edited by Philip Kohl and Clare Fawcett
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), pp. 129–38; Viktor
A. Shnirel’man, “The faces of nationalist archaeology in Russia,” in
Nationalism and Archaeology in Europe, edited by Margarita Díaz-Andreu
and Timothy C. Champion (Boulder/San Francisco: Westview Press,
1996), pp. 218–42, here 233–36; Florin Curta, “From Kossinna to
Bromley: ethnogenesis in Slavic archaeology,” in On Barbarian Identity.
Critical Approaches to Ethnicity in the Early Middle Ages, edited by Andrew
Gillett (Turnhout: Brepols, 2002), pp. 207–10.
22. Lozny, “Sickle, hammer,” pp. 49–50. See also Piotr Węcowski, “Między
nauka ̨ a ideologia ̨, między historia ̨ a archeologia ̨. Kierownictwo Badań nad
pocza ̨tkami państwa polskiego (1949–1953),” in Marxismus a medievis-
tika: spolec ̌né osudy? edited by Martin Nodl and Piotr Węcowski (Prague:
Filosofia, 2020), pp. 59–100.
23. Such feelings fed on the anti-German discourse developed in the nine-
teenth century in reaction to claims in German historiography that Slavic
people were politically and culturally inferior. It was in response to such
claims that Polish and Czech intellectuals contributed to the ideology of
Pan-Slavism, particularly to its political program of liberating all Slavic
peoples from German, as well as Ottoman oppression. German historians
were now accused of Germanizing the history of territories that had been
Polish since times immemorial. Since the nationalist discourse of the
nineteenth-century historiography was adopted by the Nazi regime, after
World War II Polish historians and archaeologists rehashed the old ideas of
their nineteenth-century predecessors. See Lech, “Between captivity and
freedom,” pp. 43–44, 61, 63, 65–71, and 97–98; Milisauskas,
“Observations,” p. 225; Danuta Piotrowska, “Biskupin 1933–1996:
archaeology, politics, and nationalism,” Archaeologia Polona 35–36
(1997–1998), 255–85; Przemysław Urbańczyk, “Medieval archaeology in
Polish historic-political discourse,” in Politik und Wissenschaft in der
prähistorischen Archäologie. Perspektiven aus Sachsen, Böhmen und Schlesien,
edited by Judith Schachtmann, Michael Strobel and Thomas Widera
(Göttingen: V&R Unipress, 2009), pp. 237–49, here 243–47; Andrzej
Buko, “Early medieval archaeology in Poland: the beginnings and devel-

opment stages,” Post-classical Archaeologies 2 (2012), 361–72; Ga ̨ssowski,
“Archaeology and Marxism,” pp. 103–04 and 115–16; Milisauskas,
“Historical observations,” pp. 126–28 and 131–32. For the claims of
German archaeologists that Slavic peoples were inferior and in need to be
civilized by Germans, see Volker Klimetzek, “Lothar Zotz im Spiegel
seiner Veröffentlichungen,” in Politik und Wissenschaft in der prähisto-
rischen Archäologie. Perspektiven aus Sachsen, Böhmen und Schlesien, edited
by Judith Schachtmann, Michael Strobel and Thomas Widera (Göttingen:
V&R Unipress, 2009), pp. 99–109. For the influence of German upon
Polish archaeology, see also Sławomir Kadrow, “The German influence on
Polish archaeology,” in A History of Central European Archaeology. Theory,
Methods, and Politics, edited by Alexander Gramsch and Ulrike Sommer
(Budapest: Archaeolingua, 2011), pp. 125–42. For the use of Slavic
archaeology as justification for the occupation of formerly German territo-
ries, see Zbigniew Kobyliński and Grażyna Rutkowska, “Propagandist use
of history and archaeology in justification of Polish rights to the ‘recovered
territories’ after World War II,” Archaeologia Polona 43 (2005), 51–124.
24. Mangelsdorf, “Zur Lage,” p. 45.
25. Bailey, “Bulgarian archaeology,” p. 93; Jerzy Ga ̨ssowski, “Introduction to
archaeology of the Communist era,” in Archaeology of the Communist Era.
A Political History of Archaeology of the 20th Century, edited by Ludomir
R. Lozny (Cham: Springer, 2016), p. 4; Nikolova and Gergova,
“Contemporary Bulgarian archaeology,” pp. 181–83. For the problem of
the Bulgarian ethnogenesis and the contribution of the Slavs, see Diana
Mishkova, “Differentiation in entanglement. Debates on antiquity, ethno-
genesis, and identity in nineteenth-century Bulgaria,” in Multiple
Antiquities—Multiple Modernities. Ancient Histories in Nineteenth Century
European Cultures, edited by Gábor Klaniczay, Michael Werner and Ottó
Gecser (Frankfurt/New York: Campus Verlag, 2011), pp. 213–45; Stefan
Dechev, “Who are the Bulgarians? ‘Race’, science and politics in fin-de-
siècle Bulgaria,” in We, the People. Politics of National Peculiarities in
South-East Europe, edited by Diana Mishkova (Budapest: CEU Press,
2013), pp. 3–29; Stefan Dechev, “Between Slavs and Old Bulgars: ‘ances-
tors’, ‘race’ and identity in late nineteenth-century Bulgaria,” in
Manufacturing Middle Ages. Entangled History of Medievalism in
Nineteenth-Century Europe, edited by Patrick J. Geary and Gábor Klaniczay
(Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2013), pp. 347–76.
26. Perhaps encouraged by Pan-Slavism, many non-Romanian scholars have
meanwhile taken some peculiar aspects of the Romanian medieval civiliza-
tion, such as the use of Old Church Slavonic in church and state adminis-
tration, as well as the large number of Slavic loans in the Romanian
Another random document with
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"I'm sorry John couldn't come with us," Pritchard commented between
puffs of his pipe as he swung the car rapidly from the bluestone drive onto
the macadam road. "He sticks too close to the grind. A chap needs some
sport over the week-end. I'd pass out cold if I didn't get in my eighteen holes
Sundays."
Prichard was evidently well known and well liked at the Greenwich
Country Club. He had no difficulty in making up a foursome from among
the crowd clustered about the first tee. Rodrigo was introduced to a Mr.
Bryon and a Mr. Sisson, men of about Pritchard's own age and standing. The
latter and his guest teamed against the two other men at a dollar a hole.
Rodrigo was quite aware that the eyes of the other three players were
critically upon him as he mounted the tee. He made a special effort to drive
his first ball as well as possible. He had learned golf at Oxford and was a
good player. But he had not hit a ball for months and was uncertain how the
lay-off and the strange clubs he was using would affect his game. However,
he got off a very respectable drive straight down the fairway and was
rewarded by the approbation of his mates.
After the first few holes, in which Rodrigo more than held his own, the
other developed a more friendly and natural attitude toward the titled
foreigner. Rodrigo, due to his English training, his predilection for
Americans like Terhune at Oxford, and his previous visit to the States,
together with his unaffectedness and adaptability, had few of the marked
unfamiliar characteristics of the Latin. Soon he was accepted on a free and
easy footing with the others. He laughed and chaffed with them and had a
very good time indeed.
Warren Pritchard took golf too seriously to derive much diversion out of
it. The money involved did not mean anything to him, but he was the sort of
intensely ambitious young American who always strove his utmost to do
even the most trivial things well. He whooped with childish joy at
extraordinary good shots by either himself or Rodrigo. At the end of the
match, which the Dorning representatives won by a substantial margin, he
congratulated the Italian heartily and uttered an enthusiastic tribute to his
game. Pritchard seemed more at home with average, go-getting Americans
like Bryon and Sisson than he had with the Dornings, Rodrigo thought. On
the way back from the links, they post-mortemed the match gayly. Warren
Pritchard, who had been inclined to look a little askance at first at his
brother-in-law's rather exotic acquaintance, was now ready to concede
Rodrigo was very much all right.
Having taken a shower and changed his clothes, Rodrigo came down and
pulled up a chair beside Henry Dorning on the front piazza. Alice had at the
last moment joined John in his ride over to the Fernalds, it seemed, and
Warren was down at the stables talking with the caretaker of the estate.
Henry Dorning remarked pleasantly that John and Alice had not returned
as yet but would doubtless be back any moment. "I am somewhat worried
about John," the elderly man continued. "He is not so very strong, you know,
and he applies himself altogether too steadily to business. He tells me that
you are rapidly taking hold and are of great assistance to him already." He
looked intently at Rodrigo, as if debating with himself whether or not to
make a confidant of him. Then he asked quietly, "You like my son very
much, do you not?"
"Very much," Rodrigo said promptly.
"He is a young man of honor and of considerable artistic and business

ability besides," said John's father. "Sometimes though, I wonder if he is not
missing something in life. For a man of his age, he is singularly ignorant of
some things. Of the world outside of his own business and family, for
instance. I feel that I can speak freely to you, Rodrigo—if you will permit
me to call you that upon such short acquaintance. He admires you very
much, and I think you are destined to be even closer friends than you are
now."
"I hope so," acknowledged Rodrigo.
"You are a man of the world. You can see for yourself that John's
development has been—well, rather one-sided. It is largely my own fault, I
admit. He has been reared upon Dorning and Son from the cradle. But there
are other things in life. He has no predilection whatever, for instance, for
feminine society. Oh, he adores his sister and he mingles with women and
girls we know. But he takes no especial interest in any of them except Alice.
That is wrong. Women can do a lot toward developing a man. They can do a
lot of harm to a man, too, but that has to be risked. A man has not reached
real maturity until he has been violently in love at least once. He does not
acquire the ability to look upon life as a whole until he has been through
that. Of that I am quite convinced."
Had John told his father of Rodrigo's former career of philandering? The
Italian wondered. Then he decided that John was no tale-bearer. Henry
Dorning must have deduced from his guest's general air of sophistication and
his aristocratic extraction that he was worldly wise.
The elder Dorning went on, "I have sometimes wondered what will
happen to John when he has his first love affair. Because sooner or later it
will happen, and it will be all the more violent because of its long
postponement. And the girl is quite likely to be of the wrong sort. I can
imagine an unscrupulous, clever woman setting out deliberately to ensnare
my son for his money and succeeding very handily. He is utterly
inexperienced with that type of woman. He believes they are all angels.
That's how much he knows about them. He is so much the soul of honor
himself that, though he has developed a certain shrewdness in business
matters, in the affairs of the heart he is an amateur.
"John is such a sensitive, high-strung boy. It is quite conceivable that an

unfortunate love affair would ruin his whole life. He would be without the
emotional resiliency to recover from such a catastrophe that the average man
possesses. I am boring you with all this, Rodrigo, because I believe you can
help him. Without in any way appointing yourself either his chaperon or his
guide to worldly things, I think you can gradually draw him a little out of his
present narrow way of life. You are a very attractive man, and John is not
exactly unpleasing to the feminine eye. Together you could meet people who
are engaged upon the lighter things of life. Frivolous, pleasure-loving
people. People of Broadway. Enter into New York's night life. Go to
Greenwich Village, Palm Beach, Newport. Loaf and play. It will do you both
good.
"Of course I am very selfish in this as far as you are concerned. I am

thinking primarily of my son and his future. As soon as he told me about
you, I secretly rejoiced that he had made such a friend—a cosmopolitan, a
man who presumably knew the world. I had hoped that my son-in-law,
Warren, might prove such a companion for John. But Warren is too much in
love with his wife and too engrossed in his business. In the matter of taking
time to play, he is almost as bad as John."
Rodrigo smiled rather dourly to himself. He appreciated that Henry

Dorning's diagnosis of John was correct. He was sensible of the honor paid
him by the elderly man's confidence and request. But it impressed him as
ironical that he should now be urged by John's father to resume his former
mode of life, and to resume it to aid the very man for whom he had forsaken
it.
Nevertheless, he was about to indicate his willingness to conspire with

Mr. Dorning for the education of his son when the object of their discussion,
accompanied by Alice, was whirled up the drive in the limousine. John
joined the two men on the porch and Alice, with the object of speeding
dinner, disappeared into the house.
With a significant and quite unnecessary glance at Rodrigo, Mr. Dorning

changed the subject. John offered some laughing comment upon the
eccentric ideas of his friend, Edward Fernard, as to interior decoration and
inquired about Rodrigo's golf. The conversation lulled a bit and then Henry
Dorning, as if recalling something that had for the time being escaped his
mind, said, "Mark Rosner is back from Europe. He was up to see me the
other day."
"Yes, I told you he crossed with us," John replied. "I understand he has
bought a building on Forty-Seventh Street, a converted brown-stone front
and intends opening up an antique shop very soon."
"That's what he came to see me about," Mr. Dorning commented dryly.

"He wanted me to take a mortgage on the property, so that he could buy it."
"Did you do it?"
"Yes. Fifteen thousand dollars."
John frowned. "I wish he hadn't bothered you about that. He is such a
nervous, irritating little man. He could just as well have come to me, and you
wouldn't have been annoyed."
"I didn't mind. And you needn't either, John. I got in touch with Bates
and he is taking care of the whole matter. We can both dismiss it from our
minds." Emerson Bates was the Dornings' very efficient and very expensive
lawyer. Mr. Dorning smiled reminiscently. "Rosner was always such a fretty,
worried type, as you say. I tried diplomatically to dissuade him from
attempting a big undertaking such as he is in for. He hasn't the temperament
or the business ability to swing it. If anything goes wrong, he is liable to
suffer a nervous breakdown or worse. This failure in London nearly did for
him for a while, I understand. And he tells me he married over there, and
they have two small children. Such men should be kept out of large business
undertakings. They aren't built for it."
"And yet you advanced him fifteen thousand dollars," John smiled
affectionately at his father. He knew this white-haired man's weakness for
helping others. He had inherited it himself.
"Well, Rosner was with me quite a while at the shop. He is getting along
in years now, and he is fearfully anxious to make a success. We old chaps
have to stick together, you know."
As Alice appeared in the broad doorway, announcing dinner, John

Dorning put a tender arm about his father to assist him from his chair. There
was something touching and ennobling in the scene to Rodrigo, watching
them, and something a little pathetic too.
CHAPTER VII
When Rodrigo reached his office the next morning, his exasperatingly
efficient spinster secretary had long since opened his mail and had the
letters, neatly denuded of their envelopes, upon his desk. That is, all but one.
She had evidently decided that this one was of too private a nature for her to
tamper with. The envelope was pale pink and exuded a faint feminine scent.
It was addressed in the scrawly, infantile hand of Sophie Binner and was
postmarked Montreal. Rodrigo fished it out of the pile of business
communications, among which it stood out like a chorus girl at a Quaker
meeting, and, breaking the seal, read it:
Dearest Rod,
Why the elusiveness, dear boy? I called you up three times. I

hope it was accidental that I couldn't reach you, though it
looks bad for poor Sophie, since you never tried to get in
touch with me as you promised. Or did you?
Well, I'm here with the show in Montreal. They decided to

get us ready up here among our own land before springing us
upon the Yankees. But it's so lonesome. Christy is such a
bore.
We open in New York a week from to-night. Times Square

Theatre. How about a party after the show? I can get some of
the other girls if you like. But would prefer just us two. You
know—like the good old days in London. I miss you
dreadfully, dear boy. Do drive my blues away as soon as I get
back to the U.S.A. Be nice to me. And write.
Your loving
SOPHIE.
Rodrigo smiled wryly as he folded up the letter and slipped it into his
pocket. He had received scores of such communications from Sophie. He
had been used to replying to them in kind. He had seldom been temperate in
his letters to her. He rather prided himself upon the amount of nonsense he
was able to inject into plain black ink. That had been the trouble in the case
of his billets doux to Rosa Minardi.
But he was not thinking of Rosa at the present moment. It had occurred
to him that some use might be made of the invitation in the pink letter in
connection with the promise he had made to Henry Dorning to broaden
John's horizon. By Jove, he would take up Sophie's suggestion for a party on
the night of the New York opening of the Christy Revue. He would invite
John and another of Sophie's kind to accompany them. Pretty, thrill-seeking
Sophie—she was certainly a great little horizon-broadener. And he would
leave it to her to pick from the Christy company another coryphee of similar
lightsomeness.
He resolved to set the ball rolling at once and, the rest of his mail unread,
rose and started into the neighboring office. Opening the door of John's
sanctum, he stopped for a moment to view the tableau inside.
Two blond heads were bent absorbedly over a letter on John's desk, a
man's and a woman's. They were talking in low voices, and Mary Drake's
pencil was rapidly underscoring certain lines in the letter. She was advancing
an argument in her soft, rapid voice, evidently as to how the letter should be
answered. John was frowning and shaking his head.
Rodrigo, standing watching them, wondered why they were not in love
with each other. Here was the sort of woman John needed for a wife. Though
he could not catch her exact words, he gathered that she was trying to
influence him to answer this letter in much more decided fashion than he had
intended. That was Mary Drake all over. Thoroughly business-like,
aggressive, looking after John's interests, bucking him up at every turn. That
was the trouble as far as love was concerned. John regarded her as a very
efficient cog in the office machinery rather than as a woman. And yet she
was very much of a woman. Underneath the veneer of almost brusqueness,
there was a tender stratum, as Rodrigo thought he had discovered in her
unguarded moments. Love could be awakened in Mary Drake by the right
man, and it would be a very wonderful sort of love.
Rodrigo asked himself if he really wanted John Dorning to be the

awakener. Something in his own heart seemed to protest. Watching her, a
feeling of tenderness for her swept over him. He had never again sought
jauntily to flirt with her as he had attempted to do that first day he met her. A
deeper feeling for her, such as he had never experienced before for any
woman, was being slowly kindled within him. And this feeling was steadily
growing deeper as she began admitting him to her friendship on much the
same status that John Dorning enjoyed.
She glanced up and saw Rodrigo. Smiling good-morning to him and
quickly gathering up John's letters, including the one under debate, and her
stenographic notebook, she made a movement to retire to her own office.
"Don't let me drive you away, Mary," Rodrigo said in a genial voice.
"You're not. I was just going anyway." She turned to Dorning. "Then I'll
write Mr. Cunningham we cannot take care of him until he pays for the other
consignment?"
John hesitated, then he nodded affirmatively. "You're absolutely ruthless,

Mary," he protested ruefully, "and you may lose us a good customer, as well
as the money he owes us. But perhaps you know best. Go ahead—write him
as you like."
She enjoyed her little triumph. "Don't worry, John. I know Mr.
Cunningham, and he's no person to be treated with silk gloves on." And she
hurried into her office and closed the door behind her. In an instant they
heard the hurried clack of her typewriter.
"John, I can't tell you how much I enjoyed that little visit with your
folks," Rodrigo began sincerely.
John beamed. "That's fine. And I can tell you they liked you too."
Rodrigo continued, "Maybe I'm to have the chance soon to repay you in
some small measure. Do you remember Sophie Binner, the English actress
we met on the ship coming over? The pretty blonde we walked around the
deck with?" After a slight pause, John concluded he did.
Rodrigo produced the little pink missive from his pocket and flourished
it. "Well, Sophie has invited you and me to a party the night her show opens
here in town. A week from to-night. It will be a nice, lively time. You'll like
it. Shall I answer her it's a date?"
John shot a questioning glance at Rodrigo. The latter wondered uneasily

if his friend was interpreting the invitation as a sign Rodrigo was back-
sliding a bit. "She particularly wants to see you," Rodrigo hastened to lie.
Then, impulsively, "Oh, let's go, John. We both need a change, a little tonic.
I know you don't care for Sophie's kind of people or entertainment usually.
Neither do I—any more. But, for one night, I think it would be a lot of fun.
We could go to some night club, see the sights, dance around a little, leave
them at their hotels, and go on home. What do you say?"
Perhaps John agreed with him. Perhaps it was merely the eagerness in
Rodrigo's voice that swung him. At least he finally concluded, "You're right.
We have been sticking pretty close. I'll be glad to come along, though the
girls will probably find me a bit slow."
"Nonsense," cried Rodrigo, and slapped his friend lustily on the back.
"That's fine," he added. "I'll write Sophie directly."
Falling into an old habit, he started the letter "Dearest Sophie" almost
subconsciously and he used rather intimate language, without paying much
heed to what he was doing. He would rather like to see Sophie again and
bask in her effulgence for a few hours. But as she would be merely the
means of carrying out his and Henry Dorning's purpose, he excused himself.
There would be none of the old thrill in flattering her in ink, he feared, as he
sat down to write her. Yet he surprised himself with the warmth he worked
up in the letter to her.
"COME ON OUTSIDE AND I'LL SHOW YOU HOW MUCH OF A
SHEIK YOU ARE," SNARLED HIS ANTAGONIST.
He received an immediate reply from her. She was tickled as pink as her
note-paper, he gathered. He wrote her two more notes, even more
affectionate than the first—one had to pretend to be mad over Sophie or she
would lose interest at once—and was rewarded with many long, scrawled
pages telling of joy over their coming meeting, the selection of one Betty
Brewster as "a great sport and a neat little trick" as the fourth member of the
party, complaints about Christy and the neutral reception the show had
received in Canada.
John Dorning's coming-out party was assuming the proportions of a

festive affair.
John himself made no further mention of it. Rodrigo did not remind him,
having a feeling that his friend might shy off if he gave the matter much
thought. Then, on the morning of the Christy Revue opening, Rodrigo as off-
handedly as possible spoke of their engagement that evening. And John,
looking blankly, and then confusedly, said, "Why, Rodrigo, I thought I told
you. I'm leaving for Philadelphia this afternoon to attend the dinner of the
Rand Library trustees. You knew we'd put in a bid to furnish the fresco work
for the new building."
Rodrigo's face fell. But his first feeling of irritation and disappointment
passed quickly. John was so frankly mortified. He had so completely
forgotten all about Sophie. It was almost funny. Rodrigo said, "Can't you put
off your trip? Sophie will be very much disappointed."
"You know I can't postpone it," John faltered. "The dinner at

Philadelphia was arranged especially for me. I'll have to go."
Rodrigo shrugged. "Well, I dare say I can patch it up with Sophie. We'll
make it some other time. I'll give her a ring later and call it off for to-night."
"Rodrigo, I hope I haven't caused you any inconvenience. I'll be glad to

go out with your friends any other time you say," John pleaded.
"Oh, don't worry, old boy. I'll fix it up. You just go right ahead down to
Philadelphia, and bring home that contract. Business before pleasure, you
know."
But, around six o'clock, Rodrigo wondered if that were such an excellent
motto after all. He had been too busy all day to call Sophie. Dorning and Son
closed at five o'clock, and he was all alone there now in the deserted quasi-
mausoleum. Mary Drake, who was usually a late worker, had left in the
middle of the afternoon, because her mother was not feeling well. Now that
the party with Sophie was definitely off and he had nothing but a long
lonesome evening to look forward to, Rodrigo had a feeling of
disappointment. He had been working hard and faithfully for three months,
and he had been looking forward to this evening of pleasure. He deserved it,
by Jove.
On an impulse, he located Bill Terhune's telephone number and picked
up the instrument. Waiting while the bell buzzed, he told himself that
Terhune had probably long since left his office. He half guiltily hoped the
former Oxonian had. But Terhune's familiar voice smote his ear with a bull-
like "Hullo!"
This was followed by a roar of joyous surprise as Rodrigo identified

himself. Agitated questions and replies. Rodrigo broached the proposition of
appointing his delighted listener a substitute for John Dorning on the Sophie
Binner junket.
"Fine! Great!" fairly shouted Terhune. "I'll call my wife up and tell her
I've dropped dead or something."
"Bill—you're married?" questioned Rodrigo.
"Sure. All architects have to get married. It gives them the necessary
standing of respectability that gets the business. I even live in Jersey. Think
of that, eh? Don't worry about my wife. I can fix it up. She's used to having
me stay in town over-night, and has gotten tired of asking questions. I'll
bring the liquor, too. What's that? Oh, sure—we need liquor. This Binner
baby's a regular blotter, if I remember her rightly. I've got a stock right here
in the office. Good stuff too. I'll meet you in the lobby of the Envoy. I'll take
a room there for the night. What's that? Oh, no—couldn't think of staying at
your place. You know me, Rod—what would your cultured neighbors say,
eh? Don't forget now—lobby of the Envoy at six-thirty. I'll dash right around
there now and book a room."
Bill Terhune had already registered at the plush-lined Hotel Envoy and
was waiting at the desk, key in one hand and a suitcase in the other, when
Rodrigo walked in. Terhune was bigger, especially around the waistline, and
more red-faced than ever, Rodrigo saw at a glance. The waiting man
greeting the Italian with a lusty roar, bred on the broad Dakota prairies, that
could be heard all around the decorous, palm-decorated lobby.
"Well, well," Bill rumbled, "who would have thought the Count would
have come to this, eh? But say, boy, I'm sure glad to see you. Come up and
have a drink. Hey, bellboy! Grab that bag, will you, and be very careful with
it too. It contains valuable glassware."
Up in the twelfth floor room which Bill had hired for the night at a
fabulous stipend, the American at once dispatched the bellboy for ice,
glasses, and White Rock. Then he disrobed, sputtered in the shower-bath for
a few minutes, rubbed himself a healthy pink and dressed in his dinner
clothes, which he had brought along in his bag.
"Always keep them at the office," he chuckled. "I can't tell when I might
have an emergency call." He poured bootleg Scotch into the glasses and
rocked the ice around with a spoon.
"How do you get away with it, Bill?" Rodrigo asked, smiling. "I thought
American wives were regular tyrants."
"That's how much you foreigners know," scoffed Bill. "All women love
my type. You can always keep their love by keeping them wondering. That's
my system—I keep my wife wondering whether I'm coming home or not."
He handed Rodrigo a full glass with a flourish. "To good old Oxford," he
toasted with mock reverence. Rodrigo echoed the toast.
The Italian refused another drink a few minutes later, though his action
did not discourage Terhune from tossing off another. In fact, the genial Bill
had three more before he agreed that they had better eat dinner if they
wished to make the Christy Revue by the time the curtain rose. Rodrigo did
not fancy Bill's taking on an alcoholic cargo that early in the evening. Bill
was a nice fellow, but he was the sort of chronic drinker who, though long
habit should have made him almost impervious to the effects of liquor,
nevertheless always developed a mad desire to fight the whole world after
about the fifth imbibing.
They descended in the elevator, Bill chattering all the while about his
pleasure at seeing his old friend again and about the extreme hazards of the
architect business in New York. A small concern like his didn't have a
chance, according to Bill. The business was all in the hands of large
organizations who specialized in specific branches of construction, like
hotels, residences, restaurants and churches, and made money by starving
their help.
After dinner the two men made jerky, halting taxicab progress through
the maelstrom of theatre-bound traffic and reached their seats at the Times
Square Theatre over half an hour late. The house was filled with the usual
first-night audience of friends of the company, critics, movie stars, society
people, chronic first-nighters, men and women about town, and
stenographers admitted on complimentary tickets given them by their bosses.
It was a well-dressed, lively crowd, and one that was anxious to be very kind
to the show. In spite of this, Rodrigo was quite sure by the middle of the first
act that the revue wouldn't do. It was doomed to the storehouse, he feared.
The girls were of the colorless English type, comparing not at all with the
hilariously healthy specimens one found in the American musical comedies.
Christy had skimped on the costumes and scenery, both of which items were
decidedly second rate. The humor had too Londonish a flavor, and the ideas
behind the sketches were banal in the extreme.
However, when Sophie Binner came on quite late in the act, Rodrigo sat
up and admitted that the sight of her again gave him decided exhilaration.
She was alluring in her costume of pale blue and gold, a costume which
exposed the famous Binner legs to full advantage and without the
encumbrance of stockings. The audience liked her also. She was the prettiest
woman the footlights had revealed thus far, and she had a pleasing, though
not robust voice. Coupled with this was an intimate, sprightly personality
that caught on at once. She responded to two encores and finally disappeared
amid enthusiastic applause.
Rodrigo turned to comment upon her success to Bill Terhune, and

discovered that the Dakotan had fallen fast asleep.
During the intermission, Rodrigo left his somnolent seat-mate and,

buttonholing an usher, sent him back-stage with his card. In a few minutes,
he followed the card to the dressing room of Sophie, where, in contrast to the
noisy confusion outside, he was permitted to gaze upon her gold-and-tinsel
liveliness at close range. She was sitting at her dressing-table, a filmy wrap
thrown carelessly about the costume she has worn in the first act. Her slim,
white body looked very girlish. Her wise, laughing blue eyes welcomed him.
With a swift look at the closed door, she invited, "Kiss me, Rodrigo, and say
you're glad to see me."
He obeyed, not altogether because it is always polite to accommodate a

pretty lady who asks to be kissed. He wanted to kiss her. He would have
done it without the invitation. He did it very expertly too. Sophie waved her
hatchet-faced English maid out of the room. But that gesture was
unnecessary. Rodrigo explained that he could only stay a minute. He had left
the other male member of their contemplated foursome, sleeping. They
laughed merrily over that. Sophie said she would be overjoyed to see Bill
Terhune again. "I was afraid you were going to bring that sober-faced
business partner of yours," she interjected. Rodrigo stiffened a little, but
decided that this was neither the time nor the place to start an impassioned
defence of John Dorning. The principal thing, he said, was to be sure Sophie
and her companion were set for the festivities after the show. They were, she
cried. She and Betty Brewster would meet them at the stage door fifteen
minutes after the final curtain.
CHAPTER VIII
For an enormous bribe, the head waiter at the Quartier Latin removed the
"Reserved" sign from a cozy table very near the dance floor and assisted the
two ladies in draping their cloaks about their chairs. The "club" was crowded
with the usual midnight-to-dawn merry-makers—brokers, theatrical
celebrities, society juveniles of both sexes, sweet sugar daddies and other
grades of daddies, bored girls, chattering girls, and plain flappers.
The Quartier Latin, Bill Terhune, awake, loudly proclaimed, was

Broadway's latest night club rage. Well protected by the police.
Powdered white cheeks matched laundered white shirt-fronts as their

owners "charlestoned" in each other's arms to the nervous, shuffling, muffled
rhythm of the world's greatest jazz band. The air was full of talk, laughing,
smoke, the discreet popping of corks and the resultant gurgle. The walls of
the Quartier Latin were splashed with futurist paintings of stage and screen
stars. The Frenchy waitresses wore short velvety black skirts, shiny silk
stockings and artists' tams. They carried trays shaped like palettes. The
tables were jammed so close together that one little false move would land
one in one's neighbor's lap. Which would probably not have annoyed one's
neighbor in the least, such was the spirit of the place. Everybody seemed to
be working at top speed to have a good time as quickly as possible. It was
rowdy, upsetting, exciting.
With the orchestra in action, one had to almost shout across the table to
be heard above the din. Bill Terhune shouted at once to the waitress for
glasses and the non-spiritous ingredients of highballs. They arrived, were
flavored with libations from Bill's hip, and were consumed with approval.
Then they danced, Rodrigo with Sophie and Bill with Betty Brewster. The
latter was older than Sophie and much less vivacious and attractive. There
were suggestions of hollows in her neck, her hair was that dead blond that
comes from an excessive use of artificial coloring, and her eyes had a lack-
lustre gleam. She was a typical show-girl who is nearing the declining period
of her career. Next year one would find her on the variety stage, the
following in a small-time burlesque production, then God knows where. To
Rodrigo, there was, at first glance, something a little pathetic about her. He
had expected that Sophie would invite a girl somewhat less radiant than
herself. It is the habit with beauties to eliminate as much competition as
possible of their own sex in their engagements with men.
But Rodrigo had little time to think about Betty. The highball, the
disarmingly close presence of Sophie, and the general hilarious laxity of his
surroundings were lulling his feelings. Sophie snuggled more closely to him.
He breathed the faint, sweet perfume of her hair. The throbbing jungle music
beat. The close atmosphere scented with cigarettes and cosmetics, the faces
of dancing couples near him smothered thoughts of Dorning and Son. For
the time being, he was the old Rodrigo.
"Boy, you can dance," breathed Sophie, slowly disengaging herself from
his embrace as the music stopped.
He looked at her. "You're a witch, Sophie, a soft, white witch," he
whispered.
They had another round of highballs. Bill Terhune, fast attaining a

fighting edge, began abusing the waitress. In his growing quarrelsomeness,
he noticed that Betty Brewster was not to be compared in pulchritude to
Sophie. He breathed alcoholically upon the latter and demanded with
unnecessary peremptoriness that she dance next with him. With a little
grimace of annoyance at Rodrigo, she turned smilingly to Bill and
acquiesced.
After the next dance, Terhune again produced his enormous flask, whose
contents seemed capable of flowing endlessly, like Tennyson's brook.
Rodrigo suggested mildly that they had all had enough. But the motion was
overruled, three to one. Bill's watery and roving eye caught the equally
itinerant optics of a sleek, dark girl two feet from him, at the next table. She
smiled veiledly, and he elaborately offered her a drink. Rodrigo was not
pleased with this by-play. He had been watching the girl's escort, a florid
chubby stock-broker type who had also been drinking copiously and who
now eyed Bill Terhune with a decidedly disapproving frown. With a defiant
toss of her shiny bobbed head at her middle-aged table-mate, the dark girl
accepted the glass and bent her ear to hear Bill's blurred invitation to dance
that accompanied it. The tom-toms and saxophones commenced their lilting
cadence, and Bill's new conquest and Bill arose simultaneously to dance. So
did the fat man. He seized Bill's wrist, which was around the girl.
Rodrigo was to his feet in a flash. He knew Bill Terhune. He caught the
Dakotan's wrist as, eluding the jealous sugar daddy's grip, it was whipped
back and started on its swift devastating journey to the corpulent one's jaw.
"No rough stuff, Bill," Rodrigo cautioned rapidly in a low voice. Bill turned
angrily upon his friend, but the Italian held his wrist like a vise. The eyes of
all three girls were popping with excitement. They were in the mood to
enjoy the sight of embattled males.
"Come on outside and I'll show you how much of a sheik you are,"
snarled Bill's red-faced antagonist.
Bill was keen to comply, and Rodrigo, welcoming the chance at least to
transfer the impending brawl to a less conspicuous battleground, loosed him.
The two champions set off for the lobby, picking their way unsteadily
through the staring dancers, Rodrigo by Bill's side, endeavoring to talk him
into a less belligerent mood, hopeless as the task was. Once in the wide open
spaces of the lobby, Bill suddenly eluded Rodrigo's arm upon his shoulder,
leaped toward his adversary, and smote him cleanly upon the jaw. The fat
man crashed against a fantastic wall painting of Gilda Grey and remained
huddled quietly where he had landed. All the fight had been knocked out of
him by this one sledge-hammer blow. Bill, his honor vindicated, was
contented also. All that remained was for Rodrigo to soothe the feelings of
the worried manager, who arrived on the run, and two husky bouncers, now
standing by to toss the embroiled patrons out upon the sidewalk.
Rodrigo did his task of diplomacy very nicely. The manager cooperated,
being anxious to avoid trouble. Cold water was administered to the fallen
gladiator. The girl who had caused all the trouble was summoned. Contrite at
the sight of her escort's damaged countenance, she readily agreed to take him
home, and the two were bundled into a taxicab.
Then the manager turned to Rodrigo and insisted firmly that the other
brawler should leave also. He could not afford further disturbances, which
might involve the police, however loathe the bluecoats might be to interfere
with the licensed Quartier Latin. Bill began to see red all over again at this
edict. But there were two husky bouncers at his elbow, and Rodrigo
supported the manager. Betty Brewster was paged, and Bill, muttering and
defiant to the last, followed in another taxi in the wake of his enemy.
Having banished Bill Terhune to the cool night air, Rodrigo turned to
hasten back to Sophie, who, he was afraid, would be furious at him for
leaving her sitting alone for such a long time.
"Good evening, Count Torriani," said a melting feminine voice at his

elbow. He stopped and turned to confront Mrs. Porter Palmer, who seemed
gushingly delighted to see him. He bowed and saw that, accompanying Mrs.
Palmer, was a young woman of such striking appearance as to arrest his eye
at once and hold it. Jet black hair caught tight to the head set off the waxen
pallor of her face. Her dark eyes were slightly almond-shaped and singularly
bright. She was dressed in a shimmering black satin evening gown that
displayed the graceful lines of her slim, svelte body and the creamy
whiteness of her shoulders. She was American, but not in appearance. In
Paris and Monte Carlo, Rodrigo had met beauties like this, but never in
America. She looked exactly like the type of woman who, in the old days,
had been irresistible to him. But that first swift impression, he told himself,
was nonsense. She was probably the soul of modesty.
"I want you to meet my niece, Elise Van Zile," said Mrs. Palmer.
He bent and kissed the glamorous lady's hand and was aware of her
languid eyes upon him. A moment later, he was introduced to Mr. Porter
Palmer, the twittering bald-headed little man who had been disposing of his
ladies' wraps.
"Elise has just come on from San Francisco for a few weeks, and we are
showing her the sights," explained Mrs. Palmer, and then to her husband. "It
seems terribly crowded and noisy in there, Edward. Do you think it's quite
respectable?" Mr. Palmer waved his hands in the air, deprecating his wife's
fastidiousness. She turned to Rodrigo, "Won't you join us at our table, Count
Torriani?"
"Thanks, really, but the lady I am with and I are just leaving," he made
haste to reply, immediately afterward wondering why he had invented this
falsehood. He glanced at the coolly beautiful Miss Van Zile, on whom his
refusal had apparently made no impression. Was he foolish in sensing, at his
very first glimpse of this girl from the West, something that warned him?
"But you will come to the tea I am giving for Elise next Saturday
afternoon at the Plaza, will you not, Count Torriani?" Mrs Palmer insisted.
He hesitated, then accepted. He again kissed the hand of Elise Van Zile,
and he raised his eyes to find her looking enigmatically at him. Somehow he
was reminded of the Mona Lisa, in whose dark eyes are painted all the
wisdom and intrigues of the world.
Rodrigo returned to a petulant Sophie. Both her white elbows were on

the table, and she was impatiently fingering the blazing diamond pendant at
her throat. It was a magnificent bauble, set in clusters of sapphires and
platinum. Her position revealed also her gorgeous diamond bracelets and the
large dazzling assortment of rings upon her fingers. Sophie was an assiduous
collector of jewelry, and, in the absence of something more interesting to do,
she was offering an exhibition of her arsenal to the crowd about her.
"Where have you been, Rodrigo?" she fretted as he sat down. "At least
you might have come back as soon as you made Betty leave me. I have felt a
perfect fool—sitting here alone, with everybody in the place staring at me."
He apologized profusely. She was right. People were staring at her. He

stared back so intently at the two young men with too-slicked hair and ill-
fitting evening clothes who had taken the table vacated by Bill Terhune's
antagonist, that they dropped their bold eyes.
"In that case," he answered her complaint, "let's leave. We can go to

some other place."
"I've a very pretty little apartment on the Drive," she suggested

demurely.
In the shadowy depths of the taxi tonneau a few moments later, she made
herself comfortable against his shoulder. It was long after midnight. Save for
machines bound on errands similar to theirs, the streets were deserted. The
car sped westward toward the river. Sophie broke a long silence by
murmuring, "You write the most wonderful letters, Rodrigo. I've saved them
all. Though I don't suppose you mean a word you say in them."
Rodrigo laughed contentedly. Close to him thus, Sophie was again

stirring his senses.
"Do you love me, Rodrigo—more than you ever did in London?" she
asked suddenly.
"You are lovelier than you ever were in London, Sophie," he quibbled.
"You are the loveliest girl I have ever known." But the image of Elise Van
Zile obtruded itself and rather spoiled this bit of flattery.

Women Archaeologists Under Communism 1917 1989 Breaking The Glass Ceiling 1St Edition Florin Curta All Chapter

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Women Archaeologists Under Communism 1917 1989 Breaking The Glass Ceiling 1St Edition Florin Curta All Chapter

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Women Archaeologists under

Communism, 1917-1989: Breaking the

Breaking the Glass Ceiling

“Incisively and with erudition, Women Archaeologists under Communism examines

“An exciting, unique and fundamentally innovative examination of the archaeol-

ISBN 978-3-030-87519-0 ISBN 978-3-030-87520-6 (eBook)

Chapter 1: Women in Eastern Europe, 1917–1989 11

Chapter 2: Archaeology Under Communism 21

Chapter 3: A Woman’s Place Is in Slavic Archaeology:

Chapter 5: Reaching Through the Glass Ceiling:

Chapter 6: Research Topics, Gender and Marxism105

Chapter 1: Women in Eastern Europe, 1917–1989

Chapter 6: Research Topics, Gender and Marxism﻿￼

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 1

archaeological literature written in a conspicuously objectifying, “scien-

Journal of Field Archaeology, Ancient Mesoamerica, and Southeastern

Conspicuously rare in the literature is the attempt to gauge the experi-

4. This is particularly true for the biographical vignettes in Women in

Dommasnes, T. Hjørungdal, Sandra Monton-Subías, M. Sánchez-

20. Paul M. Barford, “Marksizm w archeologii polskiej w latach 1945–1975,”

Koperkiewicz in a collection of studies titled Kobieta, s ́mierć, męzċ zyzna,

Marx, Engels, and Lenin were no advocates of feminism.1 However, the

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 11

Soviet of the Soviet Union, 36 percent of the Supreme Soviets in the

Fig. 1 The landscape and political map of (post-Communist) Eastern Europe:

condemn to oblivion the “old order,” women continued to be regarded

cooking, knitting, and sewing.18 In reality, such attitudes were entrenched

have been questioned; there are very few controversies or ambiguities

4. Luciana M. Jinga, Gen și reprezentare în România comunista ̆ 1944–1989.

18. Rózsa Kulcsár, “The socioeconomic conditions of women in Hungary,” in

Eastern Europe. Historical Perspectives on Womanhood and Manhood in

From the very beginning of Soviet power, archaeology was perceived as an

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 21

countries occupied by Soviet troops or in which Communist regimes were

historians in turn paid “friendly visits” to “sister Communist countries,”

Communist regimes and to the predominantly Marxist philosophy, which

the isolation of the subdiscipline, as Slavic archaeology was perceived as

and its Christianization, both regarded as major blocks against German

were made in archaeology with no parallels either in the previous period

nacii po voprosam obrazovaniia, nauki i kul’tury, 30 iuniia-2 iuliia 2003 g.,

G. Langemann and A. P. Buchner (Calgary: University of Calgary, 1978),

Devínska Nová Ves. Slovanské pohr ̌ebište ̌ (Bratislava: Nákladem Slovanskej

şi modele aplicate în preistorie (Târgovişte: Cetatea de Scaun, 2003),

21. N. G. Bruevich, “O plane nauchno-issledovatel’skikh rabot Akademii nauk

Buko, “Early medieval archaeology in Poland: the beginnings and devel-

"Very much," Rodrigo said promptly.

"He is a young man of honor and of considerable artistic and business

"I hope so," acknowledged Rodrigo.

"John is such a sensitive, high-strung boy. It is quite conceivable that an

"Of course I am very selfish in this as far as you are concerned. I am

Rodrigo smiled rather dourly to himself. He appreciated that Henry

Nevertheless, he was about to indicate his willingness to conspire with

With a significant and quite unnecessary glance at Rodrigo, Mr. Dorning

"That's what he came to see me about," Mr. Dorning commented dryly.

"Did you do it?"

"Yes. Fifteen thousand dollars."

As Alice appeared in the broad doorway, announcing dinner, John

Why the elusiveness, dear boy? I called you up three times. I

Well, I'm here with the show in Montreal. They decided to

We open in New York a week from to-night. Times Square

Rodrigo asked himself if he really wanted John Dorning to be the

John hesitated, then he nodded affirmatively. "You're absolutely ruthless,

John shot a questioning glance at Rodrigo. The latter wondered uneasily

Chapter 1: Women in Eastern Europe, 1917–1989 11

Chapter 2: Archaeology Under Communism 21

Chapter 6: Research Topics, Gender and Marxism105

Chapter 1: Women in Eastern Europe, 1917–1989

Chapter 6: Research Topics, Gender and Marxism