Berthold Küttner and the 1896 Olympiad in Athens
The ARV at the 1st Olympiad in Athens
By AH Berthold Küttner.
Editorial note:
On February 6, 1936, the Winter Olympics began; only a few months would remain until the Olympic bell rang to signal the start of the main games in Berlin. German sport, in all its forms, prepared for them with unprecedented zeal, a testament to how deeply the Olympic ideal had taken root in Germany. When it was first promoted 40 years ago, it encountered considerable resistance; it fills us ARV members with all the more pride that the ARV played a leading role in overcoming this resistance. At the request of the editorial staff, Berthold Küttner, Germany's first Olympic rower, has kindly agreed to describe the course of the first Olympic regatta and its background in a series of essays.
Few German rowers, and even ARV members, are likely aware that our rowing club was a pioneer in the field of Olympic rowing. Forty years ago, not a single one of the numerous bourgeois clubs and associations across Germany had the courage and entrepreneurial spirit to compete against other nations in an international regatta. Thus, it was the ARV that had the distinction of being the first and only German rowing team to participate in the first Olympic Games in Athens in 1896. The idea of reviving the Olympic Games, just as in classical times, every four years, originated with a Frenchman, Baron de Coubertin, who personally contacted all countries and launched an enormous campaign for his idea. It wasn't easy for Coubertin to generate interest everywhere, as sport was still considered an immense luxury at that time, affordable only to those with ample time and money.
In 1893, Coubertin convened a congress, which then issued a call to all sports associations worldwide to send representatives to a new sports congress in Paris. The congress took place in 1894, and it was decided that the Olympic Games would be held first in Athens in 1896, and then every four years in different world capitals. The participation of Germany proved particularly problematic, as it naturally harbored an aversion to anything originating in France, but felt especially slighted at having been invited too late. The gymnasts refused, because they did not want to be confused with sportsmen in general; they were, after all, gymnasts. The Greek envoy, Rangabé, who was keen to win Germany over, was in despair, for no one in Greece seemed to embrace the Olympic ideal.
But at the last minute, he managed to find his man in the person of Dr. Willibald Gebhardt, who was about to launch the General Exhibition for Sport, Games, and Gymnastics in the old Reichstag building in Berlin in 1895. Dr. Gebhardt enthusiastically embraced the project, interested government officials, sports associations, and leading figures, and on December 13, 1895, he called his supporters to a meeting at the Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten (Four Seasons) in Berlin. Forty gentlemen attended, including high-ranking and even the highest-ranking officials. I, as a prominent rower at the time, also received an invitation, as I had met Dr. Gebhardt through our capable Max Schotte, who asked me to attend the meeting. At this gathering, a "committee" was formed, with various leading figures assuming honorary patronage. Thus, Dr. Gebhardt prevailed: Germany participated in the Olympic Games, and the committee contacted the various sports federations to obtain nominations from capable and proven athletes in the different sports. I was chosen as a sculler, and I also managed to secure Brother Jäger's nomination for the double sculls.
Dr. Gebhardt later joined our organization as an AO member, and thus the ARV was a champion of the Olympic ideal in Germany and a co-founder of the "Reich Committee for the Olympic Games." I hope that our propaganda will be able to utilize these facts in a correct and advantageous way for us. Unfortunately, Dr. Gebhardt died in an accident in 1921 (run over by a truck); otherwise, he and the ARV, as co-founders of the Olympic ideal in Germany, would likely have been particularly highlighted and celebrated during the Berlin Games.
It is also worth mentioning that Dr. Gebhardt, together with the well-known architect March, designed the first German stadium in Grunewald, thus creating a sacred site for combat games for German athletes, which restored to them the classical nimbus that combat games enjoyed in antiquity.
The successes of the German athletes in Athens 1896 so astonished foreigners that they expressed their appreciation for the German achievements through enthusiastic applause and demonstrations in front of the Germans' homes and meeting places. The first Olympic Games in Athens were a glorious chapter in the history of German sport and of great importance in fostering international understanding.
After the Olympic Committee had chosen the ARV (Arnolds-Ruderverein) to represent German rowing in Athens, specifically Jäger and myself in the double sculls and single sculls, we immediately began intensive training in January 1896. This was possible because the frost had been mild up to that point, and there was no sign of ice. We were lucky and made the most of it; rowing could have been suspended for weeks at any moment. Some days were quite unpleasant, and despite rowing hard, we didn't get warm. Our hands, in particular, froze so badly that it was difficult to hold the oars. Nevertheless, we had to persevere, as we were competing against Italy, England, and Greece, who had open water for training all winter. We were able to row until the beginning of February; then it was over, and one morning quite large ice floes drifted down the Spree River. To stay in some semblance of shape, we had to replace rowing with other sports, such as running, cycling, and horseback riding. The frost persisted throughout February, and rowing was out of the question. We therefore decided to pack up the boats and head to more southerly regions to continue our training. The committee granted us permission to depart two weeks earlier than the other 14 participants, with whom Dr. Gebhardt was traveling. Thus, we set off separately and began our journey from Anhalter Bahnhof station in early March 1896, taking the Munich night train. Half of the ARV (German Rowing Association) was at the station to escort us, and everyone present was filled with pride at belonging to an association chosen from among a hundred others to represent German rowing at the first Olympic Games abroad. It must be remembered that we were still a small group at that time, with only about 60 members. Therefore, such an expedition was quite a sensation and an experience for everyone.
As the train started moving, a triple "Hip, hip, hurray!" rang out from 20 throats through the station hall, alarming half the train's crew, as such ovations were still quite unheard of at the time. They inquired about its meaning, and upon hearing that we were traveling to the Olympics in Athens, we became the center of attention for several hours. The female passengers, in particular, found the whole affair exceptionally charming and romantic. At many of the larger stations, visiting ARV members gathered to wish us a good journey and a safe trip. The last to arrive was Leux (AHWagner), who was waiting for us in Bolzano, and with whom we celebrated a proper farewell. We quickly approached the Brenner Pass, and after crossing it, we were quite astonished to find ourselves in the most beautiful springtime. In Verona, we had our first encounter with our former allies, who hurled insults and stones at us. When we advanced against the crowd with our revolvers drawn, the brave group fled as fast as their legs could carry them. After a few hours' stay, the journey continued to Venice, and we were lucky again; for when we stepped from the train into the gondola that took us to the hotel, the most beautiful moonlight shone from the sky. Venice without moonlight is nothing but the stench of the putrid canals; but to be rocked through the lagoons accompanied by this celestial guardian is an experience that, enhanced by singing and mandolin playing, is unforgettable (which is why the place is especially popular with honeymooners). After visiting the main sights such as the Campanile and the Doge's Palace, we continued along the east coast of Italy via Bari to Brindisi. This journey, which lasted for hours, would have been tedious had it not taken place along the blue Adriatic and had the local population not been so interesting despite their garlicky smell. In Brindisi, we immediately boarded an Italian steamer, which weighed anchor at midnight in force 5 winds. By morning, the wind had increased to force 8, which was very unpleasant for port Jäger, who had to flee the breakfast table. He didn't reappear until we dropped anchor in the port of Corfu. The beautiful girls of Gasturi then had a very reviving effect on him, and he was soon back to his old self. The steamer stayed there for about three hours, giving us time to visit the famous olive groves, the Isle of the Dead, and the Achilleion. Towards evening, we continued on to Patras, which we reached early the next morning. There, we immediately went to the train, which took us directly to Athens without incident. The Greek landscape is characterized by its stony soil,The scattered olive trees and their herds of goats were extraordinarily strange and interesting. The contrast between ancient and modern architecture was particularly striking. The magnificent colonnades of the old temples and villas, compared to the modern mud huts and simple houses of the time, vividly illustrate Greece's cultural regression. The train was terribly rickety, and the carriages were decommissioned vehicles of English origin. After being jostled for about 12 hours and receiving nothing to eat but olives, oranges, dry white bread, and roast chickens, which also seemed to belong to antiquity, we reached Athens, which lies in a valley and makes a fairytale impression with its many marble temples and villas. At the station, we were very kindly received by several gentlemen from the German community and the ministry and immediately shown to our private accommodations, which had been provided by members of the German community. Brother Jäger and I stayed with a German merchant family on Lake Lycabettus, who did everything to make us feel at home and confirmed the old German hospitality, which is particularly traditional abroad.
One day, as we were having our usual lunch, an official from the Foreign Office came to our table in a terrible state of agitation to inform us of the arrival of the foreign rowers. The enemy was advancing. We were also told that Dr. Gebhardt would be arriving with more Olympic athletes. Well, we were glad to see some life in the place; things were starting to get quite boring, since we'd already been away from home for half a month. Our guides were also beginning to show less interest in us, which was understandable, since they all had to go to work, and "underground" restaurants were off-limits to us because of the training regime. So we were starting to get on each other's nerves.
So, with particular interest, we went to the Pyreus the next morning to scout out our opponent. We arrived early and left late, but there was no sign of the enemy, at least not in human form. However, I soon experienced a considerable thrill, albeit of a very unpleasant kind; and I believe I set a record time that day to win the match that had been forced upon me. While practicing starts and sprints in the single scull—we had already rowed in the double scull—I saw something approaching me at considerable speed from about 150 meters away. At first, I thought it was a lateen sail, of which many are used there, but I couldn't spot the boat. The distance decreased rapidly, and at about 100 meters, to my horror, it became clear to me that the object was not a sail, but the dorsal fin of a shark, which seemed to have targeted me. Perhaps it just wanted to play with me or have a little race.
I didn't have much desire to investigate his intentions further, but was only thinking of getting out of there as quickly as possible, despite my considerable interest in natural history. But where to? The coast, which was the safest refuge, would have been the closest; sharks often get stuck there when pursuing prey, or turn away beforehand. However, I didn't know if the coast was shallow enough for this. So the only option left was to reach the small, inner harbor of Phaleron. I had to decide quickly, because the sluice gate was approaching terribly fast, so I opted for the harbor and started to sprint. To my satisfaction, I noticed that he was only slowly approaching, and with a stroke rate of 38, I could easily make up the time. I was also now quite certain that he was after me. The harbor entrance was very narrow, only about 20 meters wide, and no shark goes in there unless it's starving terribly. I still had 150 meters to go, and he was about 60 meters away. I won the handicap and my calculation was correct; because as I narrowly passed through the entrance, he turned away, about 20 meters behind me, and showed me his silvery-white belly, approximately 5 meters long. He must therefore have been at least 6 meters long; he was a so-called blue shark (Calcharias glaukus), the great white shark of the Mediterranean.
The naturalists at the regulars' table were saying that sharks were frequently sighted in Piraeus and could sometimes be incredibly bold, that they were often fished from ships, and that swimmers had also been attacked quite often. Sometimes they're cowardly and can be driven away by vigorous thrashing and splashing. But when they're very hungry, they attack anyway and are then difficult to shake off. In any case, I was lucky; because once a shark has tasted human flesh, it's impossible to dissuade it from its prey. Unfortunately, Jäger had noticed the incident, which I would have preferred to spare him; because our further training was now severely restricted, as he couldn't be persuaded to leave the harbor entrance, although I don't think the encounter would have been so dangerous in a double scull. At least he thought otherwise, and I wouldn't have wanted to risk it, because with his nervousness, we would certainly have capsized.
Since we now come to the competitions, I would like to offer some clarifications to make them more understandable to the layman, which many should find welcome.
Olympia was located in southern Greece on the west coast of the Peloponnese, where the Alphaeus and Cladeus rivers converge. This site was not a city or village, but an uninhabited cult center with a sacred grove at its heart, containing temples to the gods and priests' dwellings; the stadium lay to the east. The earliest verifiable Olympic Games took place in 776 BC.
The period between two Olympic Games, which took place every four years, was called the "Olympiad." The games themselves were called the "Olympiads." The victors were called Olympians, and the prize consisted of only an olive branch, to which a colored headband was later added. As Rome's power spread to Greece, the Olympic Games declined into mere spectacles, and in 426 AD, Olympia was destroyed by Emperor Theodosius II; thus, the sacred site, where the games had been held for over 1200 years, sank into mud and rubble.
The historian and German scholar Ernst Curtius began excavations in 1852, and at the end of the 19th century, the German Empire provided funds to continue the excavations, which yielded remarkable results. Besides temples and stadiums, outstanding sculptures were unearthed, such as magnificent pediment reliefs from the Temple of Zeus depicting the adventures of Hercules and the battle of the centaurs; also, the Nike of Paeonius, the Hermes of Praxiteles, a statue of an Olympian, and so on. Many of these finds are now housed in the Pergamon Museum in Berlin. Other treasures are located in the Museum of Olympia. The sacred grove has also been restored.
Since Olympia was uninhabited and lacked transportation, the first modern Games were held in 1896, presumably on classical soil, but in Athens, to give all nations the opportunity to participate. The Games have since been held every four years in different capitals of suitable countries and are open only to amateur athletes. Baron de Coubertin gave the modern Games the motto: "Citius Altius Fortius" (Citizen Higher Fortress). Furthermore, the main principle of the Olympic Games is not victory, but rather the manner in which the contest is conducted. Coubertin therefore calls out the following words to all competitors: "The decisive factor in the Olympic Games is not victory, but participation. Not fighting, but acting chivalrously is the most important thing." Since the German fighter has always followed this principle, he will always be among the noblest, as Schmeling's last fight against the American Louis proved once again....
As already mentioned, the Games began with the royal banquet in Athens in 1896. The festivities continued with the parade of all participating nations in the Athens stadium, in the presence of the royal family, all ministers, and high dignitaries; it lasted until sunset, when the king signaled the end of the Games for the day. The following day, after the official ceremony, training took place in the morning and competitions in the afternoon. We German participants had an audience with Crown Prince Constantine in the morning, during which the Crown Princess (a German princess) expressed her concerns that the Greeks had little chance of success, since they were not being given anything to eat. This remark greatly displeased the Crown Prince.
The track and field events alternated with gymnastics. The Americans excelled in gymnastics, while the Germans dominated. The tennis competition was also won by the Germans. The Greeks posed no threat to the Americans or the Germans, and we won six first prizes in gymnastics, wrestling, and tennis. The highlight of the Games was the 42-kilometer marathon, which was won by Greece. This was the first prize the Greeks had ever won, and their joy was indescribable. All the other participants were happy for the Greeks, as there were fears of domestic unrest due to the Greek setbacks. The king was so moved that he embraced the victor after the crown prince had run with him into the arena. Hundreds of carrier pigeons were released, and the people's jubilation knew no bounds when the Greek flag was raised for the first time.
Finally, our day had arrived. The sun shone brightly from the sky, and a light breeze blew across the land. The regatta began in the morning in the presence of the royal court and the Greek Olympic Committee, headed by Prince George, who had been appointed by the King to manage the event. The entire royal family was there. The double sculls were to be raced first, as the wind had already picked up considerably. We took our boat to the starting line on a fishing boat, and the choppy water made getting in difficult. None of our opponents had shown up, even though Greeks and Italians had registered. Waiting any longer seemed pointless, so the starter signaled to us to race without any competition.
The second race was supposed to be a single scull, for which my boat was also available; but getting in from the lighter proved impossible, as the wind had increased further in the meantime, and there was no other way to board. The single scull was therefore to be held at the end of the regatta, as it was hoped that the waves—for that is what they had become—would have calmed down somewhat by then.
None of my opponents, who were supposed to be Greeks, Italians, and French, had shown up again. I was then summoned to the royal box for a consultation; for in the meantime, the third race of the sailors in the rowing boats of their warships had also been thwarted by Neptune's bad mood, as all the boats ran aground. I had trouble finding a jacket, as people of my size were a rarity in Greece. After a long search, I finally managed to find something resembling a jacket and went to see His Majesty. Brother Jäger, meanwhile, had to arrange for the boats to be transported back to the boathouse. After the official greeting and introductions in the royal box, where some of those present couldn't suppress a laugh at my attire, Prince George, the president of the committee, commended me for our appearance on the racecourse and presented me with the bronze winner's medal. At the same time, he also gave one to Brother Jäger. We had already received the participation medal that every competitor was entitled to. The High Council decided to postpone the regatta, as the weather showed no signs of improvement. The next day, however, the wind was even stronger, and so the regatta, or at least its continuation, was finally abandoned. The irony of fate! We had been in Athens for three weeks, and every day we had been able to conduct our training runs in beautiful weather and calm waters, but now, all at once, everything was hopelessly over.
To do something more in the spirit of the Games, we went to the cycling stadium, where the 12-hour race was underway. Our compatriots had fallen far behind, and none of them were still on the course. Only the Austrian Schmal was still holding on. We therefore offered our services as pacemakers for our comrade, as he had none, unlike the French, Italians, and Belgians who were still in the race with him. We rode solo bikes and tandems, and lo and behold, our comrade Schmal gained ground lap after lap behind our windbreak and even won by a single lap without much difficulty.
The following day, the fencing competition took place in Athens, which I would have liked to participate in, as the committee was still looking for participants since many entries had been canceled. The difficulty, however, lay in the fact that foil and Italian sabre (cutting and thrusting) were used, which were not yet practiced in our region at that time. So, unfortunately, I had to forgo fencing, even though I could have performed well with the sabre.
The Greek Olympic Committee and the German contingent went to great lengths to make the guests' stay in Athens as pleasant as possible. Extensive excursions into the interior of the country were undertaken, which were always well-attended by the guests and also readily participated in by the athletes, provided they did not interfere with their participation in the Games. Rest days were designated for the athletes, during which no competitions took place. These expeditions were superbly organized and led by experts such as Professor Dörpfeld, Mrs. Schliemann, Mr. von Streit, and others, all of whom were highly knowledgeable in the fields of ethology and archaeology and possessed extensive knowledge of the country and its people. Thus, our excursions to Eleusis, the Acropolis, Cephisia, the Daphne Monastery, and other sites were particularly noteworthy from a scientific standpoint. Court photographer Meyer, who had joined the German athletes from Berlin, was very busy, and many photographs, some of which can still be found in illustrated magazines today, are his work. To describe all these excursions would be too lengthy and would only interest a small circle of readers with specialized knowledge in these areas. Furthermore, I believe the esteemed editors would again remove such deviations from the sporting subject matter, as was the case extensively in the July report. Therefore, I will concentrate on describing two excursions, as these are more sporting in nature and also possess a certain humor. So, one day it was decided to visit the king's pleasure palace in Kephisia.
Part of the journey could be made by train, but the rest, about 8 km, had to be covered on foot or on donkey back, as the 8 km led through mountains. Since there is little public transportation in Greece, one is largely dependent on mounts. Therefore, it is assumed that everyone can ride at least one donkey. Many were thus horrified when they were asked to mount an asinus. They declined this sport and preferred to forgo the view of the royal pleasure palace. The more athletic riders, however, took to the animals with great enthusiasm. BB. Jäger, who, as a former cavalryman, considered it beneath his dignity to ride a donkey, had secured the only pony available. He immediately took the lead and broke into a gallop. All the donkey riders followed, and disaster ensued. Our court photographer took a few leaps à la Buffalo Bill behind BB. Jäger came along until his strength gave out and the whole thing dissolved in a cloud of dust. Second came the strongman S. (whose name is rather odious), who, being well-trained and an Olympic champion in pommel horse, was holding up better, but he too eventually had to swallow the pill and disappeared like his predecessor. Athlete W., a prize winner in horizontal bar gymnastics, hung from his animal's neck as if it were on a horizontal bar. Fast runner and prize winner D. ran alongside his mount and seemed determined to cover the 8 km in this manner. The rest fell off laughing, and the entire Olympic team was in danger of collapsing. So, BB. Jäger had to be sent from the head of the pack to the cue and was threatened with the death penalty if he left his post. At a walking pace, they continued along the precipice, always in single file, and comically, the animals couldn't be moved from the edges of the abysses, and there was always the fear that the beast might slip off. Donkey experts said that the animals always did this and walked quite safely. Then, suddenly, a shout from the hunter. He had jumped off and was holding a mighty, wriggling tortoise in both hands, the largest I had ever seen. It was about 30 cm long and weighed about 25 pounds. After we had all admired it and determined that it was a Greek tortoise, we advised him to release it. The lucky finder, however, would hear of this and was determined to take his catch back to Berlin. To this end, he took an old bucket lying by the roadside and tied it, with the tortoise inside, under his right stirrup. Everyone trotted off again, and it was astonishing how quickly the riders and their animals had communicated, for we made good progress, since the rhythmic sound in the bucket even encouraged those who had not previously been familiar with this crucial aspect of horsemanship to trot lightly.The rest of the excursion went according to plan, and we all agreed that the highlight was the donkey ride, even though some of the participants preferred not to use any seating for the remainder of the day. The reader will now be eager to know what became of the tortoise. Fate, however, had already provided the answer, for the dynamic force of the 25 pounds on the already flimsy bucket during the trot had saved the animal from its impending export, and Jäger's astonishment was delightful when the bucket was still hanging from its handle, but the tortoise and the bottom of the bucket had vanished.
After this equestrian outing, several participants discovered their talent, and it was decided that the next excursion to Daphne Monastery would be on horseback. This one would have gone off without a hitch, contrary to expectations, had it not been for that unfortunate Jäger, who once again disrupted the smooth proceedings. Imagine, he, the only cavalryman in the entire squadron, being thrown from his horse in a high arc while crossing a small ditch! But even this wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't previously boasted terribly about his horsemanship and insulted people who had absolutely no claim to riding skills. The unfortunate man was the talk of the entire German community for quite some time, and he never quite recovered from it. The whole Prussian cavalry drill was severely discredited, and "Alfred rode home deeply saddened and avoided daylight."
Among the festivities, the ball hosted by Mrs. Schliemann, the widow of the renowned scholar, deserves special mention. Everyone in Athens with connections to the court and the ministry attended. As is well known, Mrs. Schliemann had earned a reputation for great knowledge and popularity by being able to recite the entirety of Homer from memory in ancient Greek. It is said that her husband had made this skill a condition of marriage. She was indeed an exceptionally intelligent woman, fluent in every language in which she was addressed, interested in everything, and knowledgeable in all fields. At the same time, she was remarkably simple, modest, and charming. The entire celebration was dominated by the hostess's personality. The company was cheerful and lively without being boisterous, and everyone left with the feeling of having savored hours such as are rarely offered. The games were now over, the festivities were winding down, and one could feel the inevitable reaction that always sets in when pleasure and joy have dominated a city and an entire population for weeks on end. In short, it was high time the people got a good night's sleep, so we too prepared for departure after packing and sending our boats. At the train station, our landlord, some gentlemen from the ministry, and some special friends we had made had gathered to say goodbye, and with the usual wishes for a reunion, we steamed off to Acrocorinth, where extensive excavations of ancient monuments were underway and which had been highly recommended to us. Upon arrival, we hired a horse-drawn carriage and drove into the mountains where the excavations were taking place. On the way, we passed a place where old graves were being unearthed, and we bought some offerings on the spot. These were given to the dead for their journey across the Styx and consisted mainly of coins, powder boxes, oil lamps, small jugs, and other household items. The coachman knew what his passengers were after, and to add a touch of romance, he brought us right into the middle of a bandit's den. Suddenly, we were surrounded by six dubious characters in Albanian costumes, who immediately unharnessed the horses and brandished old pistols and daggers. The coachman remained firmly seated on his box, unfazed by the whole affair. One immediately got the impression that he was on the bandits' side. We stood upright in the carriage, back to back, with our revolvers drawn, and fired warning shots. These kept the gang at bay and simultaneously alerted an English archaeological team, who came to our aid. A new discussion began between the robber chieftain and the English engineer, and the latter then informed us,We were told that we had bought the excavated items too cheaply, and that the workers had no right to sell them; however, we could keep them if we paid them the difference. The Englishman advised us to give them another 5 drachmas (2.50 RM) so we could get rid of them. We gladly paid the alleged difference, whereupon our horses were harnessed again and we were allowed to leave.
We continued our journey by train to Patras and then by boat to Brindisi without any incident. There we decided to visit Naples, and so our trip took us across the Abruzzo region. The following day we climbed Mount Vesuvius and visited Herculaneum and Pompeii. Next came Capri with its Blue Grotto. Disembarking from the boat there was particularly difficult. After a three-day stay, during which we also went roller skating, we headed up the west coast of Italy to Rome. There we visited the Circus Maximus and the catacombs, where we promptly got lost, of course, but managed to find our way out by joining another tour group. Then on to Pisa, Milan, and Chiasso (Swiss border), where we had to check our hand luggage, as the Swiss railway had very strict hand luggage restrictions. It was there that Jäger informed me that his remaining money had been stolen at his Rome hotel and that I would have to pay for it. Well, "De mortuis nihil nisi bene", but still a fatal situation and we would have had to starve all the way to Berlin if chance hadn't helped us and put old Papa Richard, whom I knew well, into our hands in Munich, and he financed us.
Thus ended the 1896 Olympics. Long live the 1936 Olympics!
Berthold Küttner and Alfred Jäger after their return from the 1st Olympic Games in Athens 1896
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