4 5

Contents

Foreword  ...................................................................................................... 7

MICHAEL KRAUS
Exploring the Archive. An Introduction  ............................................................... 9

HORST JUNKER
The Berliner Gesellschaft für Anthropologie, Ethnologie und Urgeschichte
and its Photograph Collection  ...........................................................................49

KERSTIN BARTELS
Hans Heinrich Brüning’s silver gelatin glass negatives as research source material  .... 69

PASCAL RIVIALE
Archaeological collections in Peru and their international influence
during the nineteenth century  . . .........................................................................89

STEFANIE GÄNGER
Picturing Antiquities. Photographs of Pre-Columbian Objects from
the Collection of José Mariano Macedo (1870s – 1890s)  .........................................109

MARGRIT PRUSSAT
Carte de visite photography in South America. The mass-produced portrait  ..............129

HINNERK ONKEN
Postcards from Latin America  . . .........................................................................151

FRANK STEPHAN KOHL

Commercial photography from the Upper Amazon and Early Anthropology  ...............175

ANDREAS VALENTIN
The Kroehle-Hübner photographic collection  .......................................................193
Inhalt

PAUL HEMPEL
Paul Ehrenreich – the photographer in the shadows during the
second Xingu expedition 1887 –  88  .....................................................................209

MICHAEL KRAUS
“More news will follow” – Wilhelm Kissenberth’s ethnographic photographs
from Northeast and Central Brazil  .....................................................................245

FEDERICO BOSSERT AND DIEGO VILLAR

Max Schmidt in Mato Grosso  ............................................................................281

ADRIANA MUÑOZ
Making the ethnographical archive in Gothenburg. The exchange of photographs
in the beginning of the twentieth century between Gothenburg and Berlin  ................299

MANUELA FISCHER
Images from the colony Nueva Germania in Paraguay  ...........................................319

INGRID KUMMELS
Indigenous long-distance runners and the globalisation of sport in the 1930s.
The Tarahumara (Rarámuri) in the photography of the sports reporter Arthur E. Grix  .... 339

FRANZ THIEL
Abel Briquet’s Photograph Collection  .................................................................361

CLAUDINE LEYSINGER
Teobert Maler and Mexican Archaeology.
An Exploration of a Discipline in the Making  . . ......................................................367

HEIKO PRÜMERS
Hans Heinrich Brüning and Archaeology  .............................................................387

Index of Peoples  . . ...........................................................................................411

Index of Persons  ............................................................................................413

About the authors  . . .........................................................................................421

 280 281

FEDERICO BOSSERT AND DIEGO VILLAR

Max Schmidt in Mato Grosso

German Ethnology and Mato Grosso

On 19 March 1900, after spending some months in Cuiabá waiting for the end of the
rainy season and listening to the stories of rubber tappers about the hostility of the
Xingu Indians, the young Max Schmidt set out on his much-anticipated expedition to
Mato Grosso. It was here that he penetrated the forest in search of the Bakairí located
on the banks of the Kuliseu River. Schmidt was accompanied by a modest retinue: a
young man, a boy, three donkeys and a mule. His material resources were rather limited,
as was his command of the Portuguese language, which he had only begun to learn
during his boat journey from Asunción. As a geographical and linguistic guide, and
as a letter of introduction to the natives, he was carrying Karl von den Steinen’s works.
Just a few months prior to embarking on this voyage, Schmidt, following in his
father’s footsteps, had worked as an official for the provincial court of Blankenese
while preparing his thesis on the jural rationale of Roman law. In 1899, Schmidt asked
for a leave of absence from work and travelled to Berlin to sign up as a volunteer at
the city’s ethnological museum. It was there that he met von den Steinen, his teacher
in the then-budding ethnological sciences. Von den Steinen had studied under Adolf
Bastian, the great promoter of German ethnology during the last decades of the nine-
teenth century and founder of some of the institutions where Schmidt would study
and work: the colossal Königliches Museum für Völkerkunde and the Berliner Gesellschaft
für Anthropologie, Ethnologie und Urgeschichte.1 Several of Bastian’s fields, which drew
on his Humboldtian roots, can be identified in Schmidt’s ethnographic research. These
include a non-essentialist definition of Naturvölker and their figuring as a privileged
object in ethnological study;2 and the focus on ‘salvage ethnography’ in the face of the
colonial advance and the expansion of European cultural influences.3 However, most
important of all were his convictions that travel, fieldwork, and the direct observation
of cultures were the only genuine ways to gain ethnological knowledge, and that only
strictly inductive investigations were valid insofar as documentation was based upon
reliable empirical evidence attentive to the slightest details of the culture under study.4
After Bastian’s death, and with the advent of the new German-speaking anthropological
schools that proposed ambitious universal models such as Graebner’s Kulturkreise or
Pater Wilhelm Schmidt’s primitive monotheism, Max Schmidt remained faithful to

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Federico Bossert and Diego Villar

his more cautious commitment to inductive empiricism. He vigorously challenged the

diffusionist notions that were prevalent at the time, and at some cost to his academic
career.5 Von den Steinen was the most prominent figure among a series of German
ethnographers interested in the South American rainforest. By 1884, he had accomplished
the remarkable exploit of travelling down the hitherto unexplored Xingu River from its
headwaters to its confluence with the Amazon. In 1887, he returned to the region to study
its then virtually unknown indigenous societies. His resulting publications, particularly
Unter den Naturvölkern Zentral-Brasiliens, stirred up ethnological debate at the time and
provided an ethnic and linguistic classification of the Xingu area that, in general terms,
was to be endorsed by ethnologists and linguistics during subsequent years.6 Under his
influence, a whole generation of German ethnologists became interested in the region,
and expeditions to Brazil proliferated: Paul Ehrenreich (between 1884 and 1885, and 1887
and 1889), Herrmann Meyer (in 1896 and 1899), Theodor Koch-Grünberg (between
1903 and 1905, and 1911 until 1913). Schmidt’s interest in Mato Grosso was undoubtedly
fuelled by this academic florescence. The region offered unique attractions: on the one
hand, to a large extent it was a terra incognita, apt for pioneering exploration (which
at the time went hand in hand with ethnology) and for coming into contact with true
Naturvölker. On the other hand, it contained a wide variety of ethnic groups that were
ideal for studying inter-ethnic contact and the processes of reciprocal transformation
among indigenous societies.
Although Schmidt started replicating von den Steinen’s voyage in 1887, his first trip
was unique in several ways. First, unlike the typical expeditions of the time consisting
of several researchers accompanied by a large company, Schmidt travelled by himself
with a series of native guides. Second, and most importantly, the goal of his trip was
not mere ethnological exploration. Following a plan of research devised by von den
Steinen, Schmidt intended to conduct a thorough investigation of the Kamaiurá
people and to live among them for several months. His project was rather unusual
at the time, as ethnologists only rarely embarked upon extended localised research.
Over the years, each of his trips to the Upper Xingu River and the Upper Paraguay
River areas reflected his approach to ethnology – a combination of methodological
choice and inner spiritual yearning.
However, despite his unremitting endeavours, Schmidt never got to see the Kamaiurá.
His account of his trip to the Upper Xingu River is a succession of accidents, misfortunes
and mishaps, described in Indianerstudien in Zentralbrasilien 7 with a characteristic mix of
relentless optimism and scientific meticulousness. Schmidt emerges as a kind of tropical
Quixote: thin, very tall, stoical, and always thoughtful, penetrating the forest in the
company of natives he could hardly understand and with a pile of books as his sole guide.

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Max Schmidt in Mato Grosso 282 283

Jungle travels
Forty-four days after leaving Cuiabá, Schmidt finally arrived at the Kuliseu River, which
together with the Ronuro, Batoví, Kuluene and von den Steinen rivers make up the
so-called ‘Upper Xingu’ region. He came across the Bakairí, with whom he adopted a
series of diplomatic strategies that he later used on countless occasions during his trips:
showing the old engravings in von den Steinen’s books or playing the song Margarethe,
Mädchen ohne Gleichen on his violin. Accompanied by a number of Bakairí Indians, he
began to paddle down the Kuliseu, sharing their life, food, nakedness, and even having
body paintings made on his arm: “Those days in the midst of virgin nature, sharing life
in the wild without heed for the cares and needs that I yet felt, are the finest memories
I have of that journey”.8 Things would quickly change upon entering the Nahukuá
territory. Along their several stopovers, where he was forced to barter, Schmidt started
to realise with great dismay that his supply of trinkets, which he was using to buy food,
goods and services, was dwindling fast. In addition, his relationship with the Nahukuá
guides became rather tense, filled with distrust, pilfering, and sleepless nights with
guns at the ready. He then arrived in Aweti territory. This visit had originally been
planned as a mere stopover on the way to the Kamaiurá, but it actually turned into
the end of his journey. Described with a subtle sense of humour, Schmidt’s and his
partner André’s sojourn in this village is one the most memorable scenes in the book.
The Aweti invited them to stay and happily descended upon their luggage, offering to
carry it. In a state of shock, Schmidt saw his already scarce belongings disappear into
the forest. Upon arriving at the village, he checked his inventory and noted that very
little was left to exchange with the Kamaiurá. His plans had been frustrated at a blow.
Indefatigably, he decided to adapt to the circumstances and remain among the Aweti;
but events precipitated. While the travellers were asleep, some of their last possessions
disappeared. In the morning, Schmidt tried to reach an agreement with the indifferent
headman, which led to a tempestuous finale:

Leaving the headman briefly in charge of our luggage, André and I went to bathe in a nearby
lake. On returning, we found the headman encircled by natives to whom he was distributing
the last items in our clothes bag. All I now had was the shirt I was wearing and some ragged
trousers. Everything in the sack had gone, down to the least trifles. I therefore announced to
André that we would be leaving at first light to return to the Bakairí.9

The travellers spent the night keeping an eye on their guns inside the hut and listening
to the ritual dances held at the plaza without a chance of watching them. On the
following day, as they headed for the boats, the Indians made off with Schmidt and

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Federico Bossert and Diego Villar

André’s last personal effects, including their ethnographic collections. Their subsequent
trip to Bakairí territory was a dismal and silent flight, during which they avoided
contact with the natives as much as possible, except for the purchase of some fish using
their last remaining buttons and rings. Their disappointment was not mitigated by
the arrival of an Aweti canoe returning their collections. Schmidt actually supposed
that it was a measure taken to ward off revenge: “I had not found what I had come in
search of: conviviality with the children of the forest. The prodigious effort required
and the constant anxiety afforded me scarce moments of pleasure… and now I was
leaving”.10 During his last days among the Bakairí, he was unable to devote himself to
ethnographic work. Confined to a hammock by a bout of malaria, he was tormented
at night by ritual songs and dances that prevented him from sleeping, and during
the day by children and women who sat on him and demanded he play Margarethe
again and again.
On returning to Cuiabá, the epilogue of his adventure ended in a similar manner
to the earlier part of his trip. His canoe capsized spoiling his photographic plates,
and the ethnographic collections had to be left behind. The last leg of his journey,
including a long walk lasting several days, was extremely painful as he was starving and
desperate. However, as an example of poetic justice merited by Schmidt’s immutable
optimism, the collections he had abandoned in the forest and had considered lost
forever arrived in Berlin three years later, after being rescued and conveyed to Cuiabá
by his Bakairí friends.
Although sick with malaria, he was able to make up for his Xingu defeat soon
afterwards, by spending three weeks among the Guató on the upper reaches of
the Paraguay River. These were the fabled inhabitants of the wetlands mentioned
in the chronicles written by Alvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca and Félix de Azara. In
1901, there were few Guató left and their culture was already demonstrating the
impact of their contact with Brazilian society, so much so that Schmidt ascribed
the group’s “spiritual indolence” to this contact. In any case, he managed to gather
field notes, vocabulary, and numerous items for the museum’s collections, which he
would analyse in detail later on while studying the Guató acculturation process.11
He met them again ten years later, when he took advantage of his attendance at the
International Congress of Americanists held in Buenos Aires to travel afterwards
to Mato Grosso.12 Determined to make the most of his journey and accompanied
only by a young Brazilian assistant, he visited the territory of a Paresí group (a
southern Arawak group self-designated as ‘Kozarini’) who still enjoyed a life of
relative independence and among whom he managed to collect abundant data and
take numerous photographs.13

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Max Schmidt in Mato Grosso 284 285

1 Guató men. Photographer:

Max Schmidt, 1901. EMB,
VIII E 1411.

This last field experience with an Arawakan group seems to have impressed him
most, since on returning to Germany, he devoted his doctoral thesis to an overall
study of this linguistic family:

From the geographical point of view, this was the last actual remaining terra incognita. Here,
in this corner of the Earth, remote from European culture, by living together with the Indians I
had the novel chance of experiencing part of the expansion of the Paresí culture (as one part
of the Arawak cultures) into the surrounding populations.14

The observations made about the Paresí in 1910–their farming techniques and the
conservation of surplus food, the incorporation of captives from neighbouring groups,
the division into dominant and dependent social classes, and their legitimation in
mythological or ceremonial terms – could now be reinterpreted in the light of a much
broader comparative perspective.15 Indeed, Schmidt’s thesis proved to be ahead of his

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Federico Bossert and Diego Villar

2 Guató women from Caracara River, Brazil.

Photographer: Max Schmidt, 1910. EMB, VIII E 2670.

time in several ways. First, because he traced a dense network of borrowings, connec-
tions, and transformations between the Arawak and various Amazonian, piedmont,
and Andean cultures that justified regarding the former as ‘high cultures’ according
to the evolutionary categories of the time. Second, because Schmidt’s field experience
enabled him to admirably contextualise his museographical knowledge of Amerindian
material culture, thus anticipating a good deal of the modern archaeological, ethno­
historical, and anthropological findings on this linguistic family.16 Third and most
important, his interpretive logic was truly groundbreaking. To Schmidt, the expansion
of the Arawak peoples could neither be explained by seemingly mass migrations, as
postulated by the old diffusionist theoreticians, nor by ecological factors, as posited
by later North American cultural ecologists. Instead, the best way to understand
this expansion was to resort to an ‘ethnological political economy’, which was still in
its infancy.17 According to this interpretation, the remarkable Arawak diffusion was
due to the expansive policy of its ‘dominant classes’, which either through peaceful
means (marriage alliances, exogamy) or violent means (warfare, marriage by capture,
abduction of children) constantly pursued three goals: occupying land, obtaining labour,

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Max Schmidt in Mato Grosso 286 287

3 Group of Paresí-Kabishi in Uazirimi close to source of the Jauru River, Brazil.

Photographer: Max Schmidt, 1910. EMB, VIII E 2721.

and acquiring means of production. Therefore, rather than an expansion, the Arawak
diffusion represented a true ‘colonisation’. This form of colonisation was characterised
by ethnic intermixing, processes of hybrid identity formation, diplomacy, opposition
to endogenous war, sedentism and intensive farming capable of generating surpluses.
On the other hand, it was particularly constituted by a hierarchical social structure
consisting of a dependent and dominant class, as well as a well-defined ideology that
materialised in hereditary rank, genealogical kinship, and the symbolic legitimacy of
certain families. Thus, the cultural, linguistic and ethnic differences among the various
Arawak groups were due, in each case, to different processes of symbiosis between
these elites and their dependent populations.
After successfully defending his doctoral thesis, Schmidt was appointed professor
of ethnology at the Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität (now Humboldt-Universität) in
Berlin and director of the South American Department of the Museum für Völkerkunde.
Until 1926, he devoted most of his time to theoretical and comparative research work,
particularly in connection with the issues of material culture. However, he missed
the rainforest, and a year later he embarked on his last great journey to Mato Grosso.

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Federico Bossert and Diego Villar

4 Paresí-Kabishi women
and girls in Uazirimi close
to the source of the
Jauru River. Photographer:
Max Schmidt, 1910.
EMB, VIII E 2715.

This trip was punctuated by as many unforeseen events as the first one. Schmidt
started by visiting his old Bakairí friends at Cuiabá and Paranatinga, where he sadly
learnt that many of them had died during a flu epidemic. The son of one of his guides
from 1900 was his sole companion during many parts of his journey. By now, the
Bakairí had become too ‘pacified’ for his liking. The Telegraph Commissions and the
Brazilian Indian Protection Bureau, promoted by the active Mato Grosso explorer
General Cândido Mariano da Silva Rondon, were building many telegraph stations
and ‘outposts’ in the forest with the purpose of attracting and ‘civilising’ the Indians.
Simultaneously, rubber tappers were moving into different regions and frequently en-
gaged in bloody disputes with the natives. Carrying a letter of recommendation from
Rondon, Schmidt travelled down the Paranatinga River with the idea of studying the
Kaiabi of Tupí affiliation. If the Bakairí seemed to be acculturated, the news brought
by the military, explorers and rubber tappers regarding the Kaiabi portrayed them as
bellicose and savage, and this undoubtedly appealed to Schmidt. In spite of scarce

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Max Schmidt in Mato Grosso 288 289

5 Kaiabi. Pedro Dantas, Brazil. Photographer: Max Schmidt, 1927. EMB, VIII E 4885.

supplies, losing his canoe, and having frequent bouts of fever, Schmidt managed to
reach the Pedro Dantas outpost, situated amidst Indian territory, and study the Kaiabi
as they approached the post in search of food, medicine and metal tools. However,
he was soon forced to return to Cuiabá due to a malaria infection.18
Once recovered, in 1928 he visited the Paresí of the Utiariti River. Many of these
people lived in outposts, and had even worked laying telegraph lines. Schmidt was
able to gather plenty of information, but he also heard terrible news of widespread
indigenous deaths due to epidemics.19 Although he had a chance to meet some
Iranche men who were visiting the telegraph station, his brief interviews were not very
productive.20 He then decided to travel south to an Umotina village located near the
Humaitá outpost on the banks of the Upper Paraguay River. Although he arrived in
the middle of the rainy season, his stay was very fruitful; he lived with the indigenous
population for two weeks, closely observed their daily interactions, gathered items,
collected the vocabulary of a “primordial language”, and in the evenings he delighted
his hosts by playing his battered violin, and was allowed to photograph them with-
out further ado. Encouraged by these good results, he resolved to look for a nearby
group. Following a confused skirmish between the ‘civilised’ and the ‘savage’ Umotina,

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Federico Bossert and Diego Villar

6 Umotina in Upper
Paraguay. Photographer:
Max Schmidt, 1928.
EMB, VIII E 4937.

which nearly ended in a hail of arrows, Schmidt had to resort to all of the aspects of
his personal diplomatic arsenal – including, naturally, a display of photographs from
previous trips and some songs played on his violin – before he was allowed into the
Masepo village. This finally enabled him to witness their daily life for several days,
take pictures and gather quite a good collection of items through patient bartering.
He also became friends with headman Kaimanepa, a rather grumpy elder, who was
highly respected because on several occasions he had bravely confronted the rubber
tappers invading their territory. It is therefore not surprising that his new Umotina
friend declined Schmidt’s invitation to accompany him to Cuiabá, as he did not want
“to look at the faces of the whites”.21
Finally, on his way back to Corumbá, he studied the rock paintings at Morro do
Triumpho for a few days. Guided by an elderly expert guide, a 73-year-old “tiger
hunter”, the modest party consisting of three men and some hunting dogs paddled
up the swampy delta of the Upper Paraguay River. Even the heat, fever, exhaustion,

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Max Schmidt in Mato Grosso 290 291

schools of piranhas, and clouds of vicious mosquitoes could not deflate Schmidt’s
enthusiasm for the rock paintings that today decorate his tombstone at the cemetery
in Asunción, Paraguay, and which he described as “the most interesting ones that I
have ever seen throughout all my travels”.22 His return to Germany in 1928 marked
the end of his scientific expeditions for the Museum für Völkerkunde in Berlin.

Ethnography and Photography

When reading Max Schmidt’s experience in Mato Grosso, one of the first aspects
that attracted our attention was his peculiar zeal for photographing Indian life even
under the most unfavourable circumstances. During the pioneer expeditions at the end
of the nineteenth century, ethnographic photography posed considerable difficulties
and was usually limited to items of material culture, travel scenes and physical types.
Schmidt’s early endeavours must be understood in this context. It was not an easy
task to obtain such photos. On the one hand, the delicate photographic apparatus
constituted a heavy burden that had to be carried on his expeditions. On the other
hand, although natives appreciated photos and portraits printed in books, they were
not too keen to pose in front of a camera, and sometimes long diplomatic parleys
were needed to obtain the first image:

I managed to convince one of the headmen of the Maimaieti of the inoffensive character of my
photographic apparatus. I had him look in the mirror, and I too placed myself in front of the
apparatus. On verifying that I suffered no injury, he followed my example and so I was able to
photograph the whole group.23

In addition, the technical procedures added to the many difficulties suffered during
the journey. The development of photographs required spending tiring nights under a
wool blanket, working with a red lamp and photographic instruments, with his body
left to the mercy of the mosquitoes.
Although Schmidt understood the artistic potential of the technique, it is clear
that he also valued photographs as a letter of introduction and, above all, as a way
of keeping scientific records. Therefore, his insistence on taking pictures had a prac-
tical motive. His experience with von den Steinen’s engravings (made by his cousin
Wilhelm) had taught him that images – either their own or those of their neigh-
bours – were hugely valued by the Xingu Indians, and had facilitated the first contact
tremendously. Furthermore, photographs were a scientific end in themselves. Schmidt
had reservations about anthropometric analysis, which he never implemented. Quite

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Federico Bossert and Diego Villar

unlike portraits of natives posing naked, facing front or in profile, his photographs
attempted to record everyday gestures and situations. In fact, what could be referred
to as his professional ethics testifies to Bastian’s and von den Steinen’s long-lasting
influence: both the strength and weakness of Schmidt’s work lies in the fact that he
nearly always remained a staunch empiricist, and was usually content with p ­ roviding
faithful ethnographic information. His perception of Indian life also attests to this
legacy. Schmidt often took a moral stance influenced by traces of the romantic exoti­
cism that prevailed in the second half of the nineteenth century. His writings demon-
strate an exaltation of aboriginal life as spontaneous, true to instincts and devoid of
the impostures and alienation of bourgeois life; in sum, it was a ‘natural’ existence.
Some of his most poetic passages reveal a certain degree of idealisation of life in the
forest; undoubtedly, this was one of the reasons he sought the company of natives;
indeed, the interest of his academic circle in the Naturvölker also represented a kind
of nineteenth century exoticism.
Nevertheless, Schmidt’s perception of Indian life, with which he became closely
acquainted, was not a simple variation on Rousseauian ideas forged for European
consumption. Far from a static or archaic perception of Indian mentality, he frequently
underlined the insatiable curiosity of Mato Grosso’s inhabitants, their eagerness to learn
words in German, and their seemingly boundless desire to listen to Margarethe played
on his violin. He thus conveyed a dynamic image of the contact between the solitary
scientist and his hosts, where ethnological curiosity was certainly not restricted to the
former and marvel at their mutual ‘discovery’ was always shared. Indeed, Schmidt’s
notes usually acknowledge the natives as truly rational agents. Thus, for example, an
anecdote from his fieldwork reflects both the notion of humanity’s psychological
unity and Schmidt’s respect for Indian social philosophy:

During my stay among the Guató Indians, an Indian woman, in unconscious imitation of the
Homeric question τίς ποθεν εἰς ἀνδρῶν; [What man are you and whence?] desired to know
whence I had come. Her question took the form of ‘Diruadé iókaguahe nitoavi?’ (What are things
like on your shore?) She asked further, ‘Are there many people on your shore? Are there many
houses there?’ Her question as to the length of my journey was put thus: ‘Was the river large
when you travelled? Was the road clear of brushwood?’ Even these few words give us a peep
of these Guato, and reveal how deeply the river enters into their thoughts.24

Unlike other notions in vogue at the time, this humanistic conception was the legacy
of the German ethnological tradition condensed in the figure of Bastian, for whom
Indian culture was a manifestation of the universal spirit and as valid and instructive

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Max Schmidt in Mato Grosso 292 293

7 Paresí boy in Utiariti.

Photographer: Max
Schmidt, 1928.
EMB, VIII E 4920.

as European culture. Schmidt shared this general stance, which kept him away from
the vices of evolutionist or diffusionist postures; although in his case it did not imply
replicating their idealistic assumptions and conclusions. Instead, his studies were
always localised, based on empiricism in the strictest sense, without turning Mato
Grosso into a cultural or psychological laboratory with the aim of generating general
assumptions about humanity. Thus, in his accounts of the expeditions, a certain tension
exists between the ideal of Naturvölker as a primordial object of ethnology and the
more hybrid and complex realities he encountered in the field. This is seen, for instance,
in his interest in the acculturation and cultural change that was provoked by contact
between Indians and settlers, as shown in his analysis of Guató acculturation 25 or of
the contrast between the Bakairí of the Paranatinga River (“Europeanised”) and their
relatives of the Kuliseu River (“wild”).26 Schmidt’s ethnographic writings are, above all,
a display of empiricism and respect for the uniqueness of the case. However, they also
offer a sometimes overwhelming mass of details, such as the names of oxen, each of

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Federico Bossert and Diego Villar

8 Umotina Kodonepa in a dugout canoe. Photographer: Max Schmidt, 1928. EMB, VIII E 4934.

the wild animals seen or hunted, the members of the various expeditions, a description
of the landscape, the different types of knots used, each of the dishes tasted, a list of
transactions, the items delivered, obtained or lost. Thus, his accounts define rather
exuberantly the exact context from which each piece of data was obtained. Far from
offering a static description of abstract sanitised indigenous life, Schmidt spares no
effort in contextualising the background against which his contact with a certain
group of Indians took place, at a specific time and in a specific place.
In relation to his studies on aboriginal social organisation, Schmidt’s empiricism
is clear from his marked descriptive individualism. For instance, in the case of the
Bakairí, some sections recalling Malinowski’s most brilliant remarks depict a headman
and his stepson relentlessly competing for political power. Staying well away from the
diffusionist interests that dissected culture or conceived of it as museological taxa, and
even farther away from racial or evolutionist speculation, Schmidt attempts offer an
intimate and thorough sketch of the natives’ interests and psychological motivations
as individual agents. Hence, quite a few of Max Schmidt’s ethnographic characteris-
tics attest to his having been a forerunner of the type of scientific ethnographer that
would only prevail decades later. These include his determination to travel without

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Max Schmidt in Mato Grosso 294 295

European companions, his rigorous observations, the genuine relationship he strove

to establish with native people, and above all his unrealized intention to settle down
among one group for a long time to conduct intensive studies. These intentions
were not simply the result of planning in Berlin or the practical organisation of his
expeditions (a peculiar combination of personal humility, misanthropy, and limited
financial resources), but responded to a philosophical conception of the type of
knowledge he hoped to acquire.
In 1929, upon returning from his last expedition, Schmidt made a complete turn-
around in his life. He retired, gave up his academic positions in Germany, and returned
to Brazil with the aim, which he failed to achieve, of settling down near Cuiabá in
the midst of Mato Grosso. He never returned to Germany. We do not know the
exact reasons for his decision and have little information about this stage of his life,
but his old and persistent scientific and personal ideals are still clear.27 He wrote of
his personal utopia, which was nurtured by Bastian’s and von den Steinen’s teachings,
and above all, of the best recollections of his initial travels:

From the shoreline of a vast expanse of water rimmed with mountains and wrapped in the dark­
ness of night, I felt an ardent desire to spend a few months living in that beautiful landscape,
amid the contented simplicity of its people. […] A cold gust of wind blew off the surface of
the misty water, interrupting my thoughts with strange sensations. From the forest came the
distant sound of a viola and song. The natives were beginning another cururú dance, and I
was reminded that unfulfilled hopes do not justify dismissing what the present has to offer. So
I went and waltzed merrily with young Maria.28

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Bossert, Federico and Diego Villar. 2013. Hijos de la selva. La fotografía etnográfica de Max
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Bunzl, Matti. 1996. “Franz Boas and the Humboldtian Tradition: From Volksgeist and
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Past Identities from Archaeology, Linguistics, and Ethnohistory. Boulder: University of
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Notes
1 Gingrich 2005, 84.
2 Penny 2002, 23; Kraus 2007, 142.
3 Bunzl 1996, 48; Thieme 1993, 45.
4 Kraus 2007, 148; Penny 2002, 19 – 20.
5 Gingrich 2005, 91 – 92; Kraus 2007, 148.
6 Schaden 1993, 112.
7 Schmidt 1942a.
8 “Os dias que passei aí, em meio da natureza virgem, compartilhando de uma vida
­selvagem, sem os cuidados e as necessidades que ainda sobreviriam, são os mais belos
na recordação que tenho dessa viagem”, Schmidt 1942a, 55.
9 “Deixei o chefe tomar conta por um instante das bagagens, enquanto André e eu fomos
até uma lagoa próxima tomar banho. Ao voltarmos deparamos com o nosso cacíque
distribuindo as últimas peças de nosso saco de roupa entre índios que formavam circulo
em torno dêle. Possuía eu agora apenas a camisa que tinha sobre o corpo e uma calça
esfarrapada. As mínimas miudezas que havia guardado no saco também se foram, pelo
que declarei a André a minha intenção de madrugar no dia seguinte, afim de voltarmos
para junto dos bacairís”, Schmidt 1942a, 65.
10 “O que eu tinha vindo buscar – uma vida confortável entre os filhos da selva –não encon-
trara. Os esforços sobrehumanos despendidos, a constante inquietação, tudo isso poucos
momentos de prazer me proporcionou e agora já estava regressando”, Schmidt 1942a, 75.
11 Schmidt 1942a, 1942b.
12 Schmidt 1914b.
13 Schmidt 1914a, 1943.
14 “Auch in geographischer Hinsicht war dies letztere bisher völlig terra incognita geblieben.
Hier in diesem der europäischen Kultur so lange abgelegenen Erdenwinkel sollte sich
mir die Gelegenheit bieten, im Zusammenleben mit den Indianern die Ausbreitung
der Paressí-Kultur, also eines Teils der Aruak-Kulturen, auf die umwohnenden Bevöl­
kerungseinheiten gewissermaßen mitzuerleben”, Schmidt 1917, 7 – 8.
15 Schmidt 1917.
16 Susnik 1994; Heckenberger 2002; Heckenberger and Goés Neves 2009; Hornborg and
Hill 2012; Bossert and Villar 2013.
17 Schmidt 1920; 1921; 1926, 27 – 28.
18 Schmidt 1942c.

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Federico Bossert and Diego Villar

19 Schmidt 1943, 10.

20 Schmidt 1942d.
21 “que él no gustaba mirar las caras de los blancos”, Schmidt 1941, 9.
22 “Pero la pena era recompensada en abundancia porque los grabados del Morro de
­Triumpho eran los más interesantes que yo había visto en todos mis viajes”, Schmidt
1940, 69.
23 “Desta vez consegui convencer um dos caciques de Maimaieti da inofensividade do meu
aparelho fotográfico. Mande que êle olhasse para o espelho, e eu mesmo me coloquei
diante do aparelho. Ao verificar que isso não me causára mal algum, seguiu o bom
exemplo e pude fotografiar todo o grupo”, Schmidt 1942a, 55.
24 Schmidt 1926, 41.
25 Schmidt 1942a, 264.
26 Schmidt 1947.
27 Baldus 1951, 254; Susnik 1991, 9.
28 “Assim estava eu cismando à noite, na praia tendo diante de mim o vasto lençol de
água e as montanhas no fundo. Pensava que o meu desejo mais ardente foi viver
alguns meses nêsse pequenino e lindo recanto da terra, entre essa gente simple […]
Um vento frio vinha da superfície das águas mergulhadas em neblina. Uma sensação
estranha apoderou-se de mim. A viola e o canto lá na floresta soavam de longe aos
meus ouvidos, os índios preparavam-se de novo para um cururú, fazendo-me lembrar
que, por causa de esperanças perdidas, eu não devia deixar passar o que o presente
me ofereceia. Dessa maneira fui até a lá e dansei uma alegre valsa com a pequenina
Maria”, Schmidt 1942a, 123 – 124.

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