William Derham - natural philosopher

William Derham, an English clergyman and natural philosopher, died 230 years ago today. He was best known for his works on natural theology - trying to marry science with Christian ideology - and his early calculations of the speed of sound. Though not a diarist, he did keep weather records, moreover, he published commentaries on ‘meteorological diaries’ from as far afield as Naples and Bengal.

Derham was born in 1657 in Stoulton, Worcestershire. He showed an aptitude for learning from a young age, and was educated at Blockley Grammar School before entering Trinity College, Oxford, in 1675. He was ordained in 1681, and the following year became vicar of Wargrave, Berkshire, and from 1689 to 1735 he was Rector at Upminster, Essex. While at Upminster, in 1716, he became a Canon of Windsor - the vestry minutes show that thereafter he divided his time between those two places. His tenure at Upminster saw improvements to the church and its surroundings, and he was noted for his diligence in both pastoral and scholarly duties. 

Derham was deeply interested in natural philosophy and science. In 1696, he published his Artificial Clockmaker, which went through several editions. In 1703, he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society. In 1713, he published Physico-Theology: or, a Demonstration of the being and attributes of God, from his works of creation (freely available to read at Googlebooks). This was widely read and translated into several languages. Similar books followed: Astro-theology (1714) and Christo-theology (1730) followed. 

One of Derham’s most significant scientific contributions was to calculate the speed of sound by measuring the time lapse between the flash and report of distant cannon fire. He edited and published some of the posthumous works of Robert Hooke, helping to cement Hooke’s legacy as a pioneering scientist. Derham also studied insects and birds and corresponded with leading intellectuals of the age, including Sir Isaac Newton.

Although Derham married and had a family, few details of his personal life have survived time. In Upminster, he was known for his hospitality and engagement with scientific and theological discussions. He died on 5 April 1735. His writings, particularly in natural theology, would later be cited by thinkers such as William Paley, forming part of the intellectual groundwork for discussions on design in nature. His careful empirical studies and theological reflections positioned him as a bridge between the worlds of faith and emerging science in the early 18th century. See Wikipedia and the Barking and District Historical Society for further information.

Although there is no evidence that Derham was a diarist, he did leave behind his own weather records (see The Royal Society for images) as well as commentaries on the ‘meteorological diaries’ of others, such as this one with ‘diaries’ from Naples, Bengal and Christiana in 1727.

This remarkable day

‘The road was alive with ox carts returning from the fields, vendors selling coconuts - signaled by an upright palm frond - and women walking swiftly, balancing heavy loads on their heads. In a vast sugarcane field, a majestic Ceiba pentandra stood in solitary grandeur, a sight I captured in color photography to preserve the memory of this remarkable day.’ This is from a brief diary kept by the Canadian Brother Marie-Victorin on a 1941 field trip to Trinidad and Jamaica. Born 140 years ago today, he earned fame as a botanist, teacher but he was also a member of the Brothers of the Christian Schools, a Catholic lay congregation.

Conrad Kirouac was born on 3 April 1885, in Kingsey Falls, Quebec, and grew up in a devout Catholic family with a strong appreciation for nature. His early fascination with plants and the natural world was nurtured in the rural landscape of his childhood. At the age of 15, he joined the Brothers of the Christian Schools, adopting the name Marie-Victorin. His formal education took place within the religious order, where he trained as a teacher while continuing to cultivate his passion for botany.

Despite a lack of formal university training in science, Marie-Victorin became one of Canada’s foremost botanists. He taught at Mont-Saint-Louis College in Montreal while conducting independent research on Quebec’s flora. His groundbreaking work culminated in the publication of Flore laurentienne in 1935, a comprehensive study of the plant life of the St. Lawrence Valley that remains an essential reference in Canadian botany. His writing and teaching helped popularise scientific knowledge in French-speaking Canada, bridging the gap between academia and the public.

Marie-Victorin played a key role in establishing the Montreal Botanical Garden, which opened in 1931 under his guidance. He envisioned it as a centre for education, research, and conservation. His efforts secured support from both religious and secular authorities, reflecting his ability to unite diverse communities in the pursuit of scientific and cultural advancement. He was also instrumental in founding the Institut botanique de l’Université de Montréal, further solidifying his legacy in botanical education.

Beyond his scientific contributions, Brother Marie-Victorin was known for his wit, charisma, and ability to inspire students. He balanced his commitment to religious life with a deep curiosity about the natural world, advocating a harmonious relationship between science and faith. Tragically, he died in a car accident in 1944, but his influence endures through his writings, the institutions he helped create, and the continued study of Quebec’s plant life. Further information is available from Wikipedia, The Canadian Encyclopaedia, Canada’s History, or the Kirouac Family Association website.

Between the ages of 18 and 35, Brother Marie-Victorin kept notebooks full of thoughts on religion, education, botany, community life, his vocation, and his reading. The contents of these ten notebooks (over 800 pages) were not published until 2004 when Saint-Laurent brought out Mon miroir: journaux intimes, 1903-1920, as edited by Gilles Beaudet et Lucie Jasmin. During this period, the editors say, ‘we see the emergence of an extraordinary temperament, an exceptional being, an avant-garde spirit who would instil the spark of the Quiet Revolution in pre-war French Canada’. This is available to preview - in the original French - at Googlebooks.

There are also at least two other short journals - in typescript form and in French - kept by Marie-Victorin that are available to view and download at Internet Archive. There is the ‘travelogue’ of Brother Marie-Victorin on a trip to Barranquilla (Colombia), Jamaica, and Trinidad in 1941, ‘courtesy of the Division de la Gestion de Documents et des Archives at the Université de Montréal’. There is a longer document (which includes an English translation) titled Brother Marie-Victorin In Haiti Botany, concerning his first trip to Quisqueya (Hispaniola) 1938-1939. Moreover, in December 2022, the Caribbean Journal of Science included a paper “Out of Cuba” - The Additional Botanical Expeditions of Brother Marie-Victorin Across the Caribbean (1940-1942).

The following two extracts have been copied from the journal of the 1941 trip, and computer translated into English.

 24 April 1941

‘I leave Havana at six o’clock in the morning. My driver Juan leaves me stranded in the middle of a deserted street in Vedado. His engine sputters and then dies: “What bad luck!” he repeats, raising his arms to the sky.

I jump into a tram, then a taxi, and finally into the Pan-American limousine on Prado. And here I am at the airport. Fortunately, there’s a restaurateur who brings me down from the kitchen a good American breakfast!

Around nine o’clock we board a small plane that takes us to Cienfuegos, where we wait for an hour for the “Clipper” coming from Miami.

From Havana to Cienfuegos, I observe the country from above. Approaching Cienfuegos, there are lakes and lagoons where we have never botanized; it’s probably part of the Ciénaga system, but I doubt there are passable roads to get there.

From Cienfuegos to Jamaica, no incidents (except that we stay at 10,000 feet). No one is upset when, after flying over the mountains of St. Ann, we land in Kingston Bay amidst a landscape dominated by the tall Cephalocereus Swartzii of Port Royal. We disembark - or rather step out of the Clipper - for about ten minutes. The driver Folkes is there because he hasn’t received my letter. We arrange to meet in about fifteen days. Then I reboard the Clipper to cross the Caribbean Sea.

It’s almost evening when we arrive in Barranquilla (Colombia). The Prado Hotel, where everyone stays, is a marvel: terraces, swimming pool, gardens. What a shame that we leave again tomorrow morning at dawn. With someone named Appleton [. . .], I take a tour of the city.

The Black driver, “Panama,” is resourceful. As we pass by, we see the new port, the mouth of the Magdalena River, and flat boats powered by paddle wheels located at the rear-Mississippi-style. These boats travel up the river almost to Bogotá, but it takes a week!

The city is picturesque. The “red-light district,” quite extensive, is actually a “blue-light district.” Prostitution is legalized, and there’s a small stone building labeled “Prophylaxia,” where Venus comes weekly to chat with Esculapius. Most courtesans live alone in their homes. In the evening, as we pass by, their doors are open to reveal brightly lit rooms displaying naive luxury and ad hoc chromolithographs. They resemble shop windows. The love merchant - fully dressed, well-groomed and powdered - sits advantageously in her doorway with hands folded on her lap and her bed clearly visible behind her. A street lined with two rows of these priestesses is quite colorful, especially at night. I’ve seen similar scenes in Mérida in Yucatán.

At the Prado Hotel, several of us who “clipped” together are present, including a Basque American businessman with whom I dine [. . .]. An interesting man. There’s also an engineer from Davenport, Iowa here for constructing the American naval base in Port-of-Spain. He’s not too thrilled about leaving his family behind for one or maybe two years.’

9 May 1941

‘We departed Montego Bay at around 8 a.m., following the coastline. For a long stretch, we traveled past mangrove marshes and encountered a rich variety of coastal vegetation, including Batis maritima, Coccoloba uvifera, Tournefortia gnaphalodes, and Suriana maritima. The striking golden leather fern (Acrostichum aureum) spread in vast formations, reaching into the brackish water. In the drier areas, we observed Opuntia dillenii, Agave species, and a Guilandina.

Turning inland, we visited a beautiful waterfall surrounded by a lush environment of Grias cauliflora, coconut palms (Cocos nucifera), Calyptronoma swartzii, and the towering Ceiba pentandra. This scenic location, frequented by tourists, displayed an impressive array of tropical flora. We then dined in St. Ann’s Bay before continuing our journey through Fern Gully, a narrow ravine renowned for its towering ferns. The dense, non-arborescent fern species, including Dryopteris, lined the route, adding to the area’s allure. Despite its fame, the tourist literature exaggerates the prevalence of this type of vegetation across Jamaica, as the island’s flora is far more diverse.

Upon exiting Fern Gully, we emerged onto a verdant plateau dotted with large trees. The landscape, with its scattered Roystonea jamaicensis palms stretching toward the sky, evoked the temperate countryside of Quebec’s Eastern Townships. As is common in the region, much of this beautiful land belonged to a few wealthy landowners. Our route led us through these cool, picturesque valleys before ascending Mount Diablo. Along the way, we encountered Brassia maculata, a terrestrial orchid in full bloom, its pale flowers offered for sale in neat bundles by local children. They also sold Hippeastrum puniceum, adding vibrant color to the roadside stalls.

Leaving the plateau behind, I noted the presence of Rhytidophyllum tomentosum, Bletia, Lantana camara, and a remarkable abundance of epiphytic bromeliads (Hohenbergia or Vriesia) clinging to tree branches. As we made our return journey through Spanish Town toward Kingston, the evening light cast a golden glow over the landscape. The road was alive with ox carts returning from the fields, vendors selling coconuts - signaled by an upright palm frond - and women walking swiftly, balancing heavy loads on their heads. In a vast sugarcane field, a majestic Ceiba pentandra stood in solitary grandeur, a sight I captured in color photography to preserve the memory of this remarkable day.’

What could become of me

‘What could become of me, and what will become of me? My powerful fantasy will drive me into the insane asylum, my violent temperament will make a suicide of me!’ This is Hans Christian Andersen, a prolific Danish writer, born 220 years ago today, best remembered for his fairy tales. From the age of 20, he kept meticulous diaries. These reveal youthful insecurities, and struggles with loneliness. They also document his extensive travels across Europe, and his encounters with influential figures, such as Charles Dickens.

Andersen was born in Odense, Denmark, on 2 April 1805 into a poor family. His father was a shoemaker, while his mother worked as a washerwoman. His father had literary aspirations and read literature, including fairy tales, to his son, but he died when Andersen was just 11. His mother would remarry, but aged 14, Andersen moved to Copenhagen to pursue a career in the arts, initially hoping to become an actor or singer. His striking soprano voice gained him some attention at the Royal Danish Theatre, but when it broke, he turned to writing. With support from patrons who recognised his talent, he received financial aid to attend school, though he struggled with the rigid curriculum. Encouraged by Jonas Collin, a director at the Royal Danish Theatre, he persevered and eventually turned to writing poetry, plays, and novels.

Andersen’s first major success came in 1829 with the publication of A Journey on Foot from Holmen’s Canal to the East Point of Amager, followed by plays and poetry collections. In 1835, he published his first collection of fairy tales, including The Princess and the Pea. Although initially overlooked by critics, these tales gained widespread recognition over time. Andersen drew inspiration from his own experiences and often portrayed themes of poverty and social exclusion. His later works included beloved classics such as The Little Mermaid, The Emperor’s New Clothes, and The Ugly Duckling. Over his lifetime, he wrote more than 150 fairy tales.

English translations of Andersen’s works brought him fame abroad, influencing authors like A. A. Milne and Beatrix Potter. He forged friendships with literary figures such as Charles Dickens and traveled extensively across Europe, Asia, and Africa. Despite his success, though, he remained deeply sensitive to criticism and struggled with feelings of loneliness throughout his life. He never married, though he formed close, sometimes unreciprocated attachments to both men and women. His later years were marked by declining health, but he continued to write and travel widely, enhancing his international fame. He died in 1875, in Copenhagen,  but left behind a literary legacy that has influenced generations of writers, filmmakers, and artists. Today, he is celebrated as Denmark’s national poet. Further biographical information is available online at Wikipedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica, and in his own autobiography (The Story of My Life) available at Internet Archive.

Andersen kept extensive and detailed diaries throughout his life. After his death, only excerpts were published in the early 20th century. A first major publication of his diaries came in a six-volume Danish edition, edited by H. Topsøe-Jensen (1926-1931). A more comprehensive Danish edition was published in 11 volumes, as edited by Helga Pedersen (1971-1976). Translations and more scholarly work on the diaries has emerged since then. The information and excerpts below come from The Diaries of Hans Christian Andersen selected and translated by Patricia L Conroy and Sven H. Rossel (published by University of Washington Press, 1990 - freely available for digital loan at Internet Archive.)

Andersen began his diary on 16 September 1825. ‘For the next thirty-five years’, the translators say in their preface, ‘nearly all of Andersen’s diaries are reports of his travels, both at home and abroad. They were often begun on the very day of departure and continued uninterrupted until the last, routine stages of his journey. Like his schoolboy diary, these travel diaries record extraordinary times in his life.’

Here is more from the preface: ‘In late August 1861, when Andersen was on the last leg of his journey home from a trip to Rome, word reached him that Jonas Collin, his benefactor and friend for thirty-nine years, had died. Saddened, he continued his journey to Copenhagen to attend the funeral. This time he did not cease writing his diary at the trip’s end but continued to make entries, reporting his impressions of a Copenhagen so familiar to him but now made alien by the absence of his good friend. From this point on, Andersen made of his diary an unbroken record of his life until the pen literally fell from his hand during his final illness. In these entries, Andersen is in his workaday world, among the people who mean most to him. It is particularly in these entries that the reader learns of his irascibility, his small vanities and petty tyrannies, as well as his capacity for friendship, his honesty, and his kindness.

No reader can come away from Andersen’s diaries without the feeling of having met both a remarkable artist and a remarkable man. In making our selections from his diaries, we, his translators, have tried to allow Andersen to document himself in both these regards for his English-speaking audience. We have naturally focused on those periods in his life that seemed to us especially interesting, but we have sought to fashion the excerpts so that they also include some of his more ordinary experiences - after all, his life was not all agony and ecstasy. 

His first diary, for example, shows the plight of a young man forced to play schoolboy for his own good. The diary from his trip to Rome in 1833-34 records the raw material that the young artist will soon use to forge his breakthrough novel, The Improvisator. Unfortunately, the few diaries that exist from 1835 to 1840 reflect little of Andersen’s productivity - he wrote three novels and numerous tales and singspiel - or his struggle for recognition. It is not until his trip to Greece and Turkey in 1840-41 that we encounter another treasure trove for those interested in the best of his travelogues, A Poet’s Bazaar. Later travel diaries show Andersen enjoying his acclaim abroad, visiting famous artists and nobility, and impatiently enduring the role of travel guide for Jonas Collin’s grandsons. 

We decided to translate the diaries from his two trips to England in their entirety because of their special interest for the English-speaking audience. The diaries of his last years are an interesting document of his struggle with old age, when his health deteriorated and failed. The diaries for this painful period show Andersen at his most admirable, bearing not only the discomfort of his illness but the gruesome medical treatment that was standard at that time. When he became too weak to hold a pen, his friend Mrs. Melchior made his entries for him, at first from dictation and then, when he fell silent, in her own words until he died.’

And here is the last paragraph from Rossel’s Introduction.

‘Andersen’s diaries interest posterity for two main reasons. Through them we learn of his reading, visits to museums and theaters, and musical experiences. Revealing how deeply he was part of the European literary and cultural tradition, his diaries constitute a source of the greatest significance. Likewise, one can find information about Andersen’s daily associates, what he learned and encountered, and what impact his environment had on him. Second, his diaries contain a poignant expression of human weakness as well as strength: nowhere does one come closer to the author than through these simple entries in which great and small philosophical speculations and impromptus are experienced and depicted side by side. Here one finds that strange mixture of precision, irony, and naïveté that is so characteristic of Andersen and his writing. His diaries present one of the strangest and most disparate artistic portraits in world literature.’

20 September 1825 

‘What could become of me, and what will become of me? My powerful fantasy will drive me into the insane asylum, my violent temperament will make a suicide of me! Before, the two of these together would have made a great writer! Oh God, do Your ways really prevail here on earth? Forgive me, God; I am unfair to You who have helped me in so many ways. Oh, You are God, so forgive and go on helping me. (God, I swear by my eternal salvation never again within my heart to mistrust Your fatherly hand, if only I might this time be promoted to the fourth form and to Elsinore.)’

21 September 1825

‘I was quite lucky in religion and Bible history, I was the best of all. Got a letter from Collin. Mrs. Meisling comforted me by saying that I would probably be promoted to the fourth form. Hope fills my breast! My God, I am again relying on You! (Vithusen and Frendrup have left.)’

22 September 1825

‘Studied Greek until 1 o’clock. After that invited to celebrate Ludvig’s birthday at the principal’s home. (I’ve given him 11 shillings’ worth of macaroons and a bouquet.) The children are quite fond of me. The principal and Hjarup told about a lot of shenanigans from their schooldays - fights and practical jokes. A carefree spirit, but not to my liking. Accompanied Pedersen home. Oh God, whatever are these people all about; oh, whom can one trust! Oh God, Your will with me be done; Your great world is boisterous and diverse.’

20 March 1843

‘Bad mood! Wrote to Mrs. Rowan that I wasn’t well and so couldn’t attend the soirée. Met a Danish engineer in the Café du Danemark. Wrote a letter to Holst and Mrs. Laessoe. Went to see Alexandre Dumas in the Hôtel de Paris on the Rue de Richelieu. He welcomed me with open arms, dressed in blue-striped shirt and baggy trousers! The bed was in the same room and unmade; the table, full of papers. We sat by the fireplace, and he was extremely charming and natural. He related that the king of Sweden, who had been a general along with his father, had invited him to Stockholm; he wanted to go there and then visit Copenhagen and St. Petersburg. He offered to take me tomorrow at 8:30 up to the Théâtre-Français and introduce me to Rachel. Then he presented me with a ticket for two in the first gallery in the Théâtre des Variétés, where they were performing The Petty Secrets of Paris. (There’s a good scene in this where the patrol is passing by and the man says: “My poor wife, she’s bored.” He looks up, and close to her shadow on the curtain can be seen the shadow of a man who is kissing her.) The entryway to the Passage de l’Opéra, very authentic. I think a similar, original Danish work could be written. Marriage to the Beat of a Drum, from the time of the Revolution; the young girl sang quite well; the last idea about the unhappy lover is funny. He says: “I want to stay a bachelor forever, just like my father!” Lastly, The Night of the Mardi-gras, a carnival skit. I took Theodor with me. We sat in front of stage center; close to us was a lady; everybody was staring at her; she was definitely an authoress or singer. Alexandre Dumas talked about Thorvaldsen, whom he had visited in Rome. Gave me a note to Vernet. Talked about Liszt and Thalberg; he rated the latter higher.’

13 February 1851

‘Lovely, sunny weather! Flags are waving; people and soldiers are strolling around in large groups. At one o'clock some of the artillery arrived - the Schultz Battery, which went straight out to the barracks in Christian’s Harbor. Here the decorations were especially lavish with wreaths, garlands and flags. An immense royal standard was stretched almost entirely across one of the streets. The Knippel Bridge was converted into two triumphal arches with trophies, Danish flags, shields with the names of heroes on them! The guard rails of the bridge were all lined with pikes and greenery on both sides; and there were vessels on both sides of the bridge, each one draped with countless numbers of flags. With its singularity and the surroundings, it was a more beautiful sight than even the triumphal arch on Old Square. (The fountain with the golden apples is turned on everyday.) Outside of the wholesaler Heering’s house there are a lot of flags hanging from the roof to the bulwark of the canal; the street has been decorated all the way to Amager Gate. I felt so good on this day. (Saw King Lear at the Royal Theater.)’

20 ]une 1857

‘Thunder and lightening last night. I drove with Dickens, who was headed for the city, and left him in Strood to get a shave. It was low tide; the sun-warmed foreshore glistened. It was the first warm summer morning here in England. Dickens told me that Shakespeare had set the scene here at Gad’s Hill because many pilgrims came here in those days, since it’s halfway between London and Dover. In the second scene of the first act of Henry IV, Part I, the prince says: “But, my lads, my lads, tomorrow morning, by four o’clock, early at Gadshill! There are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses. I have vizards for you all; you have horses for yourselves. Gadshill lies tonight in Rochester. &” Two friends of Charles came out here in the afternoon. We played cricket on the lawn; I took a blow from the ball on one finger, so that it turned blue and the skin was broken. Diarrhea!’

21 June 1857

‘Letter from Miss Bushby and from Bentley. Wrote letters to Bentley, Count Reventlow-Criminil, Jette Collin and Mrs. Balling; they’ll be sent off tomorrow. It’s going better with my stomach. The weather is delightfully warm; I’m wearing summer trousers. Yesterday I read without trouble a story in English by W. Irving. Very warm, but it soon turned to rain. Albert Smith, the author of The Ascent of Mont Blanc, is here today on a visit; he seems lively and loquacious. In the evening, music by Miss Hogarth and Mary. I was very tired. Yesterday Dickens asked me so nicely not to depart before I had seen the performance they were giving for Jerrold’s widow; said he, his wife and daughters were so happy to have me with them. I was very moved; he embraced me, I kissed him on the forehead.’

7 December 1867

‘Sent letters to the king, to the Student Association and to the Craftmen’s Association in Slagelse. (There was no remembrance from the one in Copenhagen.) There was a storm last night; the snow is drifting. A large number of beggars, the last one, a drunk. Called on the shoemaker Gredsted, who seems to be prosperous, the newspaper publishers Dreyer and Lauritsen, along with Miss Susanne Bunkeflod. Dinner at Titular Councillor Mourier’s; I was seated next to his wife at the table. There was a toast to me; it was a lovely dinner. At 7:30 the president of the Music Association, the dentist Jensen and the businessman Christian Andersen arrived and took me to the elegantly illuminated main hall of City Hall, where there was a seat of honor for me. I was seated in the midst of all the ladies, and the only men in the vicinity were Unsgaard, Koch, Mourier and the bishop. The concert began with a song in my honor; later they did “In Denmark I Was Born” in four part harmony. Two young Poles, Julius and Henry Schloming, got up and played the violin. It was past 10 o’clock before the concert was over and past 12 o’clock before I was in bed.’