I am finally an Ambassador

‘I am finally officially an Ambassador. At eight-fifty yesterday morning, the Chief of Protocol from the Ministry of External Affairs called at the Residence where my principal colleagues had already assembled - the military men in an exceptionally high state of polish. We rode in an open procession - motorcycle and patrol car - to the President’s Palace (the Rashtrapati Bhavan) at the gates of which we were met by a detachment of mounted lancers on beautifully matched bay horses.’ This is John Kenneth Galbraith, a Canadian-American economist and diplomat who died 20 years ago today. Although not a diarist by nature, while US ambassador he did keep a daily diary, and this was later published as Ambassador’s Journal.

Galbraith was born in 1908 into a farming family of Scottish descent in Iona Station, Ontario. He studied agricultural economics at the Ontario Agricultural College (now part of the University of Guelph), graduating in 1931, and completed a PhD at the University of California, Berkeley in 1934. He became a US citizen in 1937. In 1937 he married Catherine Merriam Atwater, with whom he had four sons. They resided in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and had a summer home in Townshend, Vermont.

Galbraith’s career combined academia, public service, and writing. He taught economics at Harvard University for much of his career, while also serving in government roles during and after the Second World War. He was a prominent adviser to Democratic administrations and served as US Ambassador to India from 1961 to 1963 under John F. Kennedy. As such, he played a significant diplomatic role at a critical moment in the Cold War. He developed a close working relationship with Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru and sought to strengthen US-Indian ties while respecting India’s non-aligned position. During the Sino-Indian War, he acted as a key intermediary, helping to coordinate US military assistance to India. His dispatches and memoranda from New Delhi combined policy analysis with detailed personal observation, and were influential in shaping Washington’s understanding of South Asian geopolitics.

Galbraith wrote widely, publishing many books. His style was unusually accessible for an economist, and his books reached a broad public well beyond academia - thus helping make him a major interpreter of economics for general readers in the postwar era. Among his most important books were American Capitalism (1952), The Affluent Society (1958), The New Industrial State (1967), and Economics and the Public Purpose (1973), as well as the later synthesis A Short History of Financial Euphoria (1990). 

After leaving India, Galbraith remained an influential political figure and public intellectual. He continued to advise Democratic leaders, supported the presidential campaigns of Lyndon B. Johnson and later George McGovern, and became an outspoken critic of the Vietnam War. Within academia and public debate, he advanced a critique of corporate power and conventional economic theory, arguing for the importance of public investment and institutional analysis. He was honored with major civilian awards, including the Presidential Medal of Freedom. He died on 29 April 2006. Further information is widely available, see Wikipedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica, and the JFK Library.

Although there’s no evidence of Galbraith being a regular diarist, he did keep a day-by-day account of his service as US Ambassador to India. He recorded meetings with Nehru, Kennedy, Indian officials, diplomats and journalists, as well as the practical detail of embassy life and the pressures of the Sino-Indian War. Ambassador’s Journal - available to read online at Internet Archive - was published by Houghton Mifflin in 1969 and runs to nearly 700 pages. In later years he would write and publish two memoirs - A Life in Our Times (1981) and Name-Dropping (1999) - which drew on memory, papers and correspondence rather than any further diaries.

Here is the opening paragraph to Galbraith's introduction for Ambassador’s Journal, followed by three extracts.

Introduction: ‘In the autumn of 1960, after John F. Kennedy had called to tell me that I was to be his Ambassador to India, I decided it would be an interesting time and that I would keep a full account of what happened. It was a taxing decision. At the end of a long day, the temptation to say to hell with it and go to bed can be overwhelming. Even worse is the temptation to take care of one’s high resolve with a few perfunctory words. The more important the events, the wearier you are and the better the seeming excuse for dismissing it all. Nevertheless, I persisted and this is the result. Sometimes I wrote in the evening, more often when I got up next morning. If I had a journey in prospect, I saved up and wrote on the plane. And I also wrote more faithfully of travels than of sedentary days at the Embassy so the journal gives an exaggerated impression of movement. However, I did travel a lot. The date and place of the entry refer, in each instance, to the date and place of writing and not necessarily of the events described.’

12 April 1961

‘After lunch Kitty and I were photographed at great length looking at birds, flowers and each other and at five I called on the Prime Minister. This involved some ceremony.

First, I went to the Foreign Office where I picked up the Chief of Protocol. Then we went to Nehru’s Parliament office where we made our way through the crowded antechamber. Then after a short wait we were ushered in. It was the same smallish, slightly used-looking and not very handsome office in which I had visited him two years before. I presented myself as the most amateur of diplomats. He proclaimed himself an amateur prime minister. I think that truth will not be a barrier to our association - both of us were professing a modesty no one else would find creditable. We then chatted about our respective books, Cambridge University in our respective days there, and the improvement in India which I told him I measured by the number of bicycles. He agreed on the value of this index. He said that he had heard that the new Administration was dominated by Rhodes Scholars. I said that the key positions in the world were still held by Cambridge men. Then, as I was about to go, he said he wanted to talk of the Congo. This continued for half an hour or more - rather to the discomfort of the new French Ambassador who was waiting his turn. He mentioned the misunderstanding of Lumumba - “not a Communist and he probably doesn’t know what Communism is”, the delays in transporting Indian troops; the insufficiently hard stand against the white irregulars and Belgians, the mistreatments of Dayal by the U.S. papers “with some official inspiration”; the shortcomings of Timberlake, the United States Ambassador in the Congo, and the prediction of some unspecified American that India intended to colonize the Congo. Despite all the briefing, I would have handled myself better if I had been informed. Where I could respond, as in the case of the reference to colonization, I did. “I am sure you know that no responsible member of the American Government ever made any such statement.” For the rest, I found silence golden but uncomfortable. Afterward, I sent off my first cable to the Department and then went to dinner pleasantly with my chief Political Counselor.’

13 April 1961, New Delhi

‘I displayed my exceptionally modest administrative talents this morning - I reviewed plans to build offices in the basement of the new Chancery which seemed insane, I considered the Residence which is under construction but on strike - the contractor seems to be chiseling on the minimum wage and is paying something less than two rupees (about forty cents) a day; and I went into the matter of a swimming pool for our staff and youngsters. I also sent a note of congratulations to the Soviet Ambassador on “the epochal journey of Major Gagarin” I was officially advised that the household staff is competent in all matters and included even one or two experts in imaginative larceny. “They stole the Bunkers blind” (This was a grave exaggeration. Ellsworth Bunker emerged quite solvent.) I borrowed some books from USIS for the empty bookshelves at the Residence and had lunch with my Cultural Counselor, and dinner with Maffitt and my old classmate at California, Robert Carr, who is now Consul-General in Bombay. Maffitt’s cooking, as also his wine, improves greatly on that of the Residence.’

19 April 1961, New Delhi

‘I am finally officially an Ambassador. At eight-fifty yesterday morning, the Chief of Protocol from the Ministry of External Affairs called at the Residence where my principal colleagues had already assembled - the military men in an exceptionally high state of polish. We rode in an open procession - motorcycle and patrol car - to the President’s Palace (the Rashtrapati Bhavan) at the gates of which we were met by a detachment of mounted lancers on beautifully matched bay horses. They escorted us to an open courtyard where an honor guard of Sikhs was drawn up in two ranks - perhaps the best turned-out soldiers in the world. I mounted the reviewing block while the national anthems were played. Then I inspected the guard, nothing seemed seriously wrong. I drew heavily on old newsreels for my protocol, but the Commanding Officer was there to nudge me if I needed it.

After congratulating the O.C., we went into the palace and rehearsed the ceremony. Then we had the ceremony. A slow approach to the President, my speech, his reply, presentation of credentials, then down to his study for a private chat, and finally on to a state room for a public reception for all present. It was exceedingly well done, the Indians approach ceremony as though they meant it, rather than, as in the United States, in a kind of abashed reluctance. And the soldiers, band and military aides were all sparkling by our standards. My speech, in which I urged accomplishment as distinct from conversation and noted that the warmest words of friendship were exchanged just before the breaking of diplomatic relations, was evidently well-regarded. When we emerged to come home, my automobile flag was unfurled for the first time.

After some champagne for the staff, I got into the TCM [a meeting room] again and spent the afternoon on routine matters ending up with a meeting with Stebbins. The question is whether I should see the principal exiled leader from Nepal. Obviously I should. He is a liberal and a democrat — and the American Ambassador should be available to any leader of importance.

The Cuban business (the Bay of Pigs) has come and the effect here is not good. I am afraid that even if we win, we will lose. Castro would eventually have died on his vine. His army was not a threat and now we lose prestige and esteem where it counts. This inability to balance small Rover Boy gains against large general loss was the prime weakness of the Eisenhower Administration. The same people who erred before are diligently promoting error again.’

Win the world or to reject it

‘The best thing that occurs to me is a kind of diary . . . I mean, it wouldn’t be letters or an ordinary diary. It could be divided into two or three parts. One dedicated to love, the other to anxiety, the third to, mon dieu!, here already would be the issue of making up your mind, of choosing: either to win the world or to reject it.’ This is from the diaries of Alejandra Pizarnik an Argentinian poet born 90 years ago today. She lived in Paris for a while and associated with avant-garde literary figures before returning to BA. Suffering from mental issues, she committed suicide in her mid-30s.

Alejandra Pizarnik was born on 29 April 1936 in Avellaneda, a port city in the province of Buenos Aires. The daughter of Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe, she grew up in a Spanish-speaking household marked by cultural displacement and personal insecurity, later recalling difficulties with speech and self-image. Educated in Buenos Aires, she studied philosophy and literature at the University of Buenos Aires but did not complete a degree. During these early years she began publishing poems and moved in avant-garde literary circles, influenced by French symbolism and surrealism as well as by writers such as Arthur Rimbaud and Antonin Artaud.

In 1960 Pizarnik moved to Paris, where she lived until 1964, working for journals and publishers while deepening her literary connections. There she associated with figures including Julio Cortázar and Octavio Paz, the latter writing a prologue to one of her books. Her poetry matured rapidly in this period, marked by compression, intensity, and recurring themes of silence and absence. After returning to Buenos Aires, she continued to publish and gained recognition as a distinctive poetic voice in Latin American literature.

Pizarnik’s principal works include La tierra más ajena (1955), La última inocencia (1956), Las aventuras perdidas (1958), Árbol de Diana (1962), Los trabajos y las noches (1965), Extracción de la piedra de locura (1968), and El infierno musical (1971). Alongside poetry she wrote prose pieces and essays, though her reputation rests chiefly on her short, intense lyric output. Her life was marked by recurring psychological difficulties, periods of institutional treatment, and a persistent preoccupation with death and identity. She died on 25 September 1972 in Buenos Aires, aged only 36. Further information is available at Wikipedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica, The Poetry Foundation, and Princeton University.

Pizarnik kept diaries from her late adolescence, beginning in the mid-1950s. Written in notebooks, the diaries are not conventional narratives but fragmented, self-analytical texts in which she explores language, creativity, solitude, and despair. They document her reading, literary ambitions, and relationships, while also revealing the intensity of her inner life; many entries read as drafts or extensions of her poetry rather than private reflections. The Paris years are particularly rich, combining artistic aspiration with acute isolation, while later entries become increasingly spare and troubled.

The diaries were published posthumously in Spanish, edited by Ana Becciu, notably in Diarios (Lumen, 2000), later expanded in subsequent editions - see Penguin Random House. These volumes, running to well over a thousand pages, draw on manuscript notebooks now held in archival collections. There is no complete English translation; instead, selections have appeared in journals and anthologies, with occasional standalone excerpts translated for literary magazines and the like: Tumblr (the source of the extracts below), Music & Literature, Liverpool University Press, and Muses.

5 July 1955

‘Thinking about literary work.

The best thing that occurs to me is a kind of diary directed at (we suppose, Andrea). I mean, it wouldn’t be letters or an ordinary diary. It could be divided into two or three parts. One dedicated to love, the other to anxiety, the third to, mon dieu!, here already would be the issue of making up your mind, of choosing: either to win the world or to reject it.

No! I won’t be able to do it because of my heart with two faces. (Today I accept something, tomorrow reject it.) It would be a question of writing it all in one night. Impossible!

(Let’s continue making poems.)

I inherited from my ancestors the desire to flee. They say my blood is European. I feel that every drop originates from a distinct point. From this nation, that province, this island, that gulf, accident, archipelago, oasis. From every piece of land or sea they stole something and so formed me, condemning me to the eternal search for a place of origin. With my outstretched hands and my wounded bird babbling and bleeding. With my lips expressly drawn to utter complaints. With my forehead crumpled by doubts. With my eager face and messy hair. With my trailer without brakes.

With my instinctive hatred of prohibition. With my black breath got by endless crying. I inherited a hesitant step meant to keep me from ever being firmly nationalized anywhere. Everywhere and nowhere! Nowhere and everywhere!

(Today a fellow student in my French course told me that in Paris “there is a lot of degeneracy” because she’d been told that couples in love kiss on the street “in public!”.)

I think people like that make life even harder. And this without saying what those same people do when they’re not “in public”. And these people are “society”. The representatives of order, rectitude, morality. Morality! The morality they establish to their criteria and without any right to. And we are the exiled, the rejected, the spiritual syphilitics! As if our very faces emitted putrid stuff. As if we don’t deserve the innocent blue sky covering us, behind which sits God, fountainhead of imaginary narrow-mindedness and meanness.

God!, who if he exists is limited in his employment to the cover of the Civil and Penal code. I don’t care about proving something as vulgar as the existence of God, because I’m satisfied with feeling my own being. The Civil Code doesn’t matter except to the extent that it dirtied my soul when I made that pilgrimage for it during my first years. I want to erase their filthy stains! Leave my bird glossy! (Like a piece of propaganda for infinite beauty.)

One of the questions I can’t answer: “But. . . where have you come from you who are like this?”

(Right now I feel like the product of a cross between the Minotaur and an embittered Martian.)

Buenos Aires is like the sewing basket of a dressmaker who’s worked in the profession for thirty years. Every time she wants to find the golden thread she’s inevitably hurt by countless pins whose existence she didn’t notice.

To live like Jarry! Mme. De Beauvoir would talk to me here about my situation as a woman. To want to live like Jarry when it isn’t possible to spend a single hour in a café without two worms springing forth every minute to disturb the life this poor female is trying to develop!’

19 July 1955

‘What is it that matters in an action, its content or its form?

Alejandra: you have forty days of unspeakable anguish. Forty days of suffocating loneliness with no chance of confession. With no beloved face to complain to of the misfortune attached to your fate. Alejandra: that beloved face is only one and it has left. It’s as if they’d ripped everything from you. It’s as if they’d submerged you in the cold sum of the days so that you might be shocked into trying to forget its absence. Alejandra: you must fight terribly. You must fight yourself and this notebook. You must fight both, because your beloved’s eyes say if not all will be lost. Perhaps there will be something still to save! What? questions! Your soul, Alejandra, your soul!

Plans for forty days: 1) Begin the novel. 2) Finish Proust. 3) Read Heidegger. 4) Don’t drink. 5) No violent actions. 6) Study grammar and French.’

Life in Richmond under siege

The American diarist Emma Mordecai died 120 years ago today, leaving behind a rare and detailed civilian record of life in the Confederate capital during the final year of the Civil War. Written in Richmond as military pressure tightened around the city, her diary captures both the routines of domestic life and the growing strain of conflict, offering a contemporaneous account of a society under siege.

Mordecai was born in 1812 in Richmond into a prominent Jewish mercantile family long established in the city. Her father, Samuel Mordecai, was a successful merchant, and the family occupied a respected position within Richmond society. She received a solid education for a woman of her background and remained closely tied to her extended family throughout her life, never marrying and instead living within a network of siblings and relations whose fortunes were intertwined with those of the breakaway Confederacy states.

During the American Civil War, Mordecai remained in Richmond, then the Confederate capital, and experienced the conflict at close quarters. Her household life was shaped by wartime shortages, the presence of enslaved servants, and the constant proximity of military activity. Like many in her social circle, she supported the Confederate cause, and her perspective was conditioned by both her class position and her investment in the South’s social order.

After the war, Mordecai continued to live in Richmond, adjusting to the profound social and economic changes brought by defeat and emancipation. In later life she copied out and preserved her wartime diary, producing a fair version in 1886. She died on 8 April 1906. Further information is available from Wikipedia and the Jewish Women’s’ Archive.

Mordecai’s diary covers the period from April 1864 to May 1865, one of the most intense phases of the war in Virginia, including the siege conditions in Richmond and the city’s eventual fall. The entries vary considerably in length, from brief factual notes to extended passages running to several hundred words. Alongside records of weather, household routines, and visits, Mordecai develops fuller scenes - in hospitals, on the roads, and in the surrounding countryside - combining close observation with moments of personal reflection and judgement, particularly as the pressures of war intensify.

The manuscript survived among the Mordecai family papers and was preserved in archival collections before attracting sustained scholarly attention. A full edition, The Civil War Diary of Emma Mordecai, was published by New York University Press in 2024, edited by Dianne Ashton with Melissa R. Klapper, and accompanied by a substantial scholarly introduction situating the text within the history of the Civil War and American Jewish life.

The path to publication was unusually prolonged. Ashton, a specialist in American Jewish history, had worked on the project for more than a decade and left behind a substantial draft on her death in 2022. Her colleague Melissa R. Klapper took on the task of completing the manuscript, drawing on Ashton’s research while updating the scholarship and preparing the diary for press. The project had already been committed to publication, and Klapper described finishing it as an effort to ensure that years of work did not ‘disappear’. More about the book can be found here, and some pages can sampled at Googlebooks. Moreover, a few of the diary extracts can be found in a pdf thanks to the Rosenbach Museum.

28 May 1864

‘A most beautiful morning, took a sweet little ramble in the woods about Laurel Branch, after breakfast. Got honeysuckle, laurel, lupin & other flowers. Grape vines not quite in bloom yet. How tranquil it was in the wooded pasture, where the cows look as if they would tire themselves with grazing, so uncommonly luxuriant is the growth of grass & clover in the woods around. The negro boys who mind them are happy, careless little beings - as free as Robin Hood’s men “under the green wood tree”. How much better off will they be in the North? Our ruthless invaders do full as much injury to the poor negroes, as to their owners. Spent the day in quiet, grateful rest. It turned very cool and rained in the afternoon. Ate the first strawberries - a few out of the Garden, & some that Fanny Young sent George, but ladies have brought me some to the Hospital all the week.’

29 May 1864

‘Another most beautiful day; so cool as to make our wood fires quite acceptable if not necessary. Rose & Gusta went to church. George & I staid at home, he reading & I writing all the morning, a very long letter to Peggy Mordecai in Raleigh, in answer to one from her rec’d yesterday. When Rose came from Church, she told us that Lee’s Army is very near Richmond. There has been a Cavalry skirmish at Atlee’s Station, about six miles from here. Ewell’s wagon train was passing Mr. Stuart’s, for hours yesterday, going down on the Meadow - Bridge road. The Battle grounds of 1861 seem to be selected by Grant for his next failure, & Genl. Lee is arranging to meet him in his new position. Hear that much of our artillery is in Atlee’s Station, & we may see Willie & John here at any moment. Had an excellent dinner of nice fried chicken, asparagus, boiled onions & rice, with a dessert of cool clauber. After dinner George drove Rose and me in to see Lawrence Young & take buttermilk to the Hospital. I carried my favorite patient, Mr. Horton, of Georgia, a breast of chicken, & a slice of bread & butter. Found him less well than when I left him Friday. He ate part of it, & seemed to relish it, but has little appetite. He has much to contend with. Has lost his left foot, and was severely wounded in the right leg. Poor fellow! so brave & so handsome! - with his white forehead, soft chestnut hair, clear steel blue eyes - strait nose & expressive mouth.

Lawrence Young is not thought to be improving. His surgeon, Dr. Montague (who afterwards married Rosa Young - Lawrence’s sister, with whom he fell in love around her brother’s cot], thinks his condition very discouraging. George saw his wound, & thinks it looks dreadfully. He is said to be the idol of his mother. Several of the men had died since I was there on Friday - all were hopeless cases. Many ladies visited the Hospital this P.M. One brought a large basket of strawberries & dispensed them. The poor invalids enjoy them much. On our way to town we saw several families moving with their servants, cattle, horses, and sheep &c to take refuge within the lines of fortification, as we returned, some were preparing to camp out a common, near the road. Ladies & children seated round a camp - fire, while their carts, wagons and a carriage were drawn up round them, with counterpanes arranged so as to make a sort of tent. Families east of the turnpike, (we are a mile to the west of it) have sent everything they can dispense with, to the City, for safety.’

30 May 1864

‘Beautiful, cool morning, cars not running yet on Fredsbg. Rd. Gusta went in with her uncle John, to school. I could not get to the Hospital. Took a walk in the woods after breakfast. Sewed all the morning mending clothes. Rose felt poorly & lay down most of the time. A perfectly quiet day. No sounds of War. After dinner read a little & took a long nap. Got up & dressed. Mrs. Young sent a large bowl of strawberries, and in the cool of the evening, walked over with the children. Gusta could not get home from school. Willie came about 8 o’clock from Mechanicsville, having ridden ten miles since sunset. He constant expression of his countenance. He had no one to attend to him except at stated periods. No one to keep off the swarming flies, or to answer the many urgent requirements of such a sufferer. Comfortless & perhaps without any one’s knowing it, he will die. The sisters do not allow any outsiders to remain with a patient but 15 minutes, so I had to leave him after this short time. I shall probably not find him there when I go again. I have prayed for him - May God pardon and take him to Himself.’

10 June 1864

‘I had intended visiting the Hospitals to day, but on consulting my Heb. Calendar, I found it was the 1st day of Pentecost, so I remained at home to observe the day as well as I could by reading the services, and reminding myself of my peculiar duties as an Inheritor of law given to us by Him who said “I, the Lord, change not”. Blind & foolish are those children of Israel, who persuade themselves that the laws given to them by the Unchanging One, for them & their descendants to observe forever, are not binding on them. I omitted to mention yesterday that Willie took us by surprise yesterday at Westbrook. He came home & finding we were at his uncle’s he dressed himself decently & went over. Rose sent for Gusta who was still in town, & Mary Chiles, with whom she was staying, came out with her to stay until Monday. Willie spent the night at home, & returned to camp after breakfast. A wagon train camped in the woods in front of the house today - the headquarter train of Stuart’s, now Hampton’s Cavalry. Horses are constantly passing on their way to & from the horse - recruiting camp up the river.’

William Godwin’s diary

The English writer and philosopher William Godwin, an early proponent of idealistic liberalism, died 190 years ago today. He is, perhaps, better remembered for his daughter, Mary, who married the poet Percy Shelley and wrote Frankenstein. Godwin kept a diary throughout his life. Although the daily entries are little more than lists of names and places and books read, the diary as a whole is considered of ‘immense importance to researchers of history, politics, literature, and women’s studies’.

Godwin was born in 1756 in Wisbech, Cambridgeshire, into a large family of religious dissenters. Educated into a strict Calvinism, he finished his schooling at the Hoxton Academy, and served as minister in several places before returning to London. But by then he had shed his religion in favour of an idealistic liberalism based on the sovereignty and competence of reason to determine right choice. In order to further his new ideas, he set out on a writing career, contributing to political journals and associating with radical societies. He also tried setting up a school, and writing novels, though these early ventures did not come to much.

In 1793, Godwin published Enquiry concerning Political Justice, and its Influence on General Virtue and Happiness - now considered his greatest work - setting out his positive vision for an anarchist society of small, decentralised communities. After the writings of Edmund Burke and Thomas Paine, it was one of the most influential responses to the French Revolution. He followed this with a (hugely successful) novel - Things as They Are; or, The Adventures of Caleb Williams - which some consider the first ever thriller. In 1795, Godwin and Mary Wollstonecraft, who he had first met some years earlier and who now had a daughter, became intimately involved. She fell pregnant by Godwin, and the two married in London in 1797. Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin was born within a few months, but her mother died ten days later.

That same year, 1797, Godwin published a collection of essays entitled The Enquirer; and he wrote a biography of his wife, published as Memoirs of the Author of a Vindication of the Rights of Woman (though it was not very well received for being too revelatory). After producing a third and final edition of Political Justice, he turned to literature and history, trying his hand at plays, another novel and a life of Chaucer. In 1801, he married his neighbour Mary Jane Clairmont, who brought two children into the household (in addition to Godwin’s daughter and step-daughter). However, she proved an ill-tempered stepmother and was inhospitable to some of Godwin’s friends. This union produced a son for Godwin, David, who went on to become a journalist but died young from cholera.

In 1805, to secure a better financial situation, the Godwins, with help from friends, began running a children’s bookshop. Godwin wrote a variety of books - fables, histories, dictionaries - for the shop, while his wife saw to the business end, and translated books from French. In 1812, Godwin became a kind of mentor to Percy Shelley, who then visited the house often, and who provided much needed funds (borrowed against his future expectations) in support of Godwin and his family. In 1814, however, Shelley eloped with Godwin’s 16-year-old daughter Mary to the Continent. They returned to England and married in 1816 (after the death of Shelley’s first wife). Only a couple of years later, Mary Shelley’s book Frankenstein, dedicated to Godwin, would be published.

The most notable publications of Godwin’s later career were Of Population, a belated attempt to refute Thomas Malthus’s 1798 An Essay on the Principle of Population - itself a response to Godwin’s ideas (see more on Malthus’s diary at The cost of men and food); History of the Commonwealth of England, from its Commencement to the Restoration of Charles II in four volumes; and Thoughts on Man, his Nature, Productions and Discoveries. Godwin died on 7 April 1836. For more information see Wikipedia, Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy, or University of Oxford podcasts.

Godwin kept a diary for most of his life, leaving behind 32 octavo notebooks now held by the Abinger Collection of manuscripts in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. Although each diary entry - 1788-1836 - is no more than a short list of names, places etc., and often no more than a few words, the entire text has been considered important enough to be fully digitised, analysed and uploaded to a dedicated website hosted by the Bodleian.  This was funded, between 2007 and 2010, by the Leverhulme Trust and others under the direction of Oxford’s David O’Shaughnessy and Mark Philp and Victoria Myers from Pepperdine University, California.

According to the project: ‘The diary is a resource of immense importance to researchers of history, politics, literature, and women’s studies. It maps the radical intellectual and political life of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, as well as providing extensive evidence on publishing relations, conversational coteries, artistic circles and theatrical production over the same period.  One can also trace the developing relationships of one of the most important families in British literature, Godwin’s own [. . .]. Many of the most important figures in British cultural history feature in its pages, including Anna Barbauld, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Charles James Fox, William Hazlitt, Thomas Holcroft, Elizabeth Inchbald, Charles and Mary Lamb, Mary Robinson, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, William Wordsworth, and many others.’

The website offers - freely - an image of every page and a transcription of the text. Moreover, for every person, place, publication, play, meal etc. mentioned in the diary, there is a link to further detailed notes and collated lists of other mentions in the diary of the same subject. Often times, nearly every word of a diary entry is a highlighted link to further information. An introduction to the website can be found here, and an example of how the diary has been used can be seen at the Shelley’s Ghost exhibition website. (See also Write. Read Homer about Mary Shelley’s diaries.)

Although they make little sense divorced of the links and explanations provided by the William Godwin Diary website, here are a few examples of Godwin’s diary entries.

8 March 1790
‘House of Commons: Tobacco act, Capt. Williams’s Petition, Quebec’

13 November 1791
‘Correct. Dyson & Dibbin call; // talk of virtue & disinterest. Dine at Johnson’s, with Paine, Shovet & Wolstencraft; talk of monarchy, Tooke, Johnson, Voltaire, pursuits & religion. Sup at Helcroft’s:’

28 July 1792
‘Write 2 pages, on prosperity. Finish Merchant of Venice: Much Ado, 3 acts. Miss Godwin at tea.’

23 August 1792
‘Walk to Rumford, 3 hours: stage to town, breakfast at miss Godwin’s: dine at Mr Marshal’s. See Cross Partners’

4 February 1795
‘Call on mrs Jennings: tea Johnson’s, Kentish Town.’

9 July 1795
‘Breakfast at Buckingham: dine at Watford: tea Fawcet’s, Hedge Grove, sleep: see Wilson, Smith, &c.’

7 September 1808
‘Church-yard: walk to Thatcham: dine at Woolhampton: tea Theal, sleep. George Dandin.’

10 April 1816
‘Dine at Darlington: pass Durham: sleep at Newcastle—intelligent bailiff, pleasing gentleman, Cumberland farmer.’

27 April 1816
‘Breakfast at Carlisle: coach to Penrith: chaise along Ulswater: dine at Wordsworth’s: call, w. him, on Jackson; adv. Wakefield: circuit of Grasmere. Derwent Coleridge dines: write to M J & Thos Moore.’

1 November 1830
‘Essays, revise. Homer, v. 395. Museum; Du Bartas: theatre, Henry V. 60 / 65’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 7 April 2016.

Up from slavery

‘We talked over together the general interests of the school . . . He promised to give something and said that he thought that he could get one or two other gentlemen to give $100 each.’ This is from a short diary kept by the once-enslaved Booker T. Washington, born 170 years ago today, who grew up in conditions of poverty before emancipation enabled him to pursue an education. This diary, which dates from 1882, can be found online in a multi-volume scholarly edition of all Washington’s writing.

Born into slavery in Virginia on 5 April 1856, Washington worked in salt furnaces and coal mines while teaching himself to read and write. His formal education began at the Hampton Institute, where he studied under General Samuel Chapman Armstrong, graduating in 1875. Hampton’s emphasis on industrial training and self-reliance shaped Washington’s educational philosophy and his later career.

After a period teaching in West Virginia and studying further at Hampton, Washington was appointed in 1881 to lead a new school in Alabama, soon known as the Tuskegee Institute. There he developed a programme combining academic learning with vocational training; and he remained principal for the rest of his life. He married three times - first to Fannie N. Smith (who died in 1884), then Olivia Davidson (who died in 1889), and finally Margaret James Murray, who survived him. 

By the early twentieth century Washington was a nationally known public figure, advising politicians and securing funding for Tuskegee from both Northern philanthropists and Southern supporters. His autobiography Up from Slavery (1901) brought him international recognition. He died in 1915. See Wikipedia for further biographical information. His legacy is preserved in a large body of correspondence, speeches, and institutional records, later edited and published as The Booker T. Washington Papers, a multi-volume scholarly edition drawing on manuscripts held chiefly at the Library of Congress and Tuskegee.

The published papers contain very little that can be described as a diary. Apart from retrospective autobiographical writing, there survives only a brief series of contemporaneous entries from 1882, printed under the heading ‘Diary, May 1-May 8, 1882’. These entries - in volume 2, see Internet Archive - appear to have been written while Washington was travelling in the North raising funds for Tuskegee, and they are closely linked to accounts of money received and visits to potential donors. No continuous journal is known beyond this short sequence.

The surviving entries are concise and factual. On the opening day Washington records: ‘Started from N.Y. at 8 a.m. and arrived at Farmington at noon. Called on Mr. Fessenden who rec’d me kindly and gave me valuable advice, also a general letter and a number of letters of introduction.’ Later the same day he notes his reception at Plantsville: ‘At 8½ p.m. I called on Mr. H. D. Smith who rec’d me more kindly than I had ever been by any white man.’ Staying overnight, he records: ‘We talked over together the general interests of the school . . . He promised to give something and said that he thought that he could get one or two other gentlemen to give $100 each.’

The following days continue in the same manner, recording travel, meetings, and small successes. On 3 May: ‘He rec’d me kindly, but did not care to give any money for real estate. He said that he would help one or two needy students when school began.’ On 4 May: ‘Did not collect any money. Things looked rather gloomy.’ A more successful day follows on 5 May: ‘Collected from individuals $40 . . . gave me encouragement and several good names.’ The entries conclude with brief notes on further efforts and public speaking: ‘Spoke in the evening . . . to an appreciative audience. Rec’d several small gifts.’

How Nobile was saved

Born 130 years ago today, the Swede Einar Lundborg would become, for a brief moment in 1928, one of the most celebrated aviators in Europe - the man who first reached the stranded survivors of the crashed airship Italia and flew its commander to safety. His own account of that rescue, based closely on a diary kept during the expedition, was published that same year.

Lundborg was born on 5 April 1896 in Calcutta, the son of a Swedish missionary, and educated in Sweden before embarking on a military career. He served first in the Swedish army and then, in the turbulent years after the First World War, volunteered in both the Finnish Civil War and the Estonian War of Independence, experiences that brought him decorations from several countries and helped shape his reputation as a disciplined and resourceful officer.

By the mid-1920s he had transferred to aviation, joining the Swedish Air Force at a time when flying was still experimental and hazardous. It was this combination of military experience and technical skill that led to his selection for the 1928 Arctic rescue effort. His life was cut short only a few years later, in 1931, when he was killed during a test flight, leaving behind a brief but intensely dramatic career. Further biographical information is available at Wikipedia.

The episode that secured Lundborg’s place in history followed the crash of the airship Italia, commanded by Umberto Nobile, on its return from the North Pole in May 1928. The disaster triggered one of the first large-scale international polar rescue operations, involving aircraft, ships, and expeditions from several countries, see Wikipedia for more details.

Lundborg’s account was published in English in 1928 by Viking Press as The Arctic Rescue - how Nobile was saved. This can be freely read online at Internet Archive. It records, in practical detail, the conditions faced by the rescuers: uncertain ice, extreme cold, and the constant risk that any landing might be the last. When Lundborg finally locates the survivors on the ice, he describes the landing with characteristic understatement, focusing on technical challenges rather than heroics. The central dilemma - that his small ski-equipped aircraft can carry only one passenger - becomes the defining moment of the narrative. The decision to rescue Nobile first, though controversial, is presented in the diary as a matter of operational necessity rather than personal judgement.

The only diary entries actually quoted are brief and functional. The earliest of these comes not from the ice, but from the voyage north. Describing a violent storm in which the ship ‘rolled so terrifically that it defies all description’, Lundborg notes, ‘a very bad night.’ Later, on the ice, the diary captures something more personal, though still in an understated way. Lundborg explains that he had once objected strongly to cigarettes, but, deprived of pipe tobacco and worn down by long watches, he began smoking continuously. In the book’s narrative, Lundborg, says: ‘My diary for that day reveals: “My first fag.” But it was by no means my last.’ 

The most substantial quoted diary extract comes at a moment of strain within the camp. As tempers fray among the stranded men, Lundborg records not heroism or endurance, but discord: ‘Hard words are exchanged, especially between Viglieri and Behounek. Biagi brazenly sputters something about me and the field, and altogether it looks like the beginning of the most ghastly thing that could happen - abusiveness and dissension.’ Introduced as ‘typical of the mood that prevailed among us’, the entry stands out for its relative fullness, yet it remains observational rather than introspective - a record of behaviour rather than feeling.

Alongside these fragments are a few glimpses of the diary as an object. Lundborg notes, for example, the meticulous record-keeping of Viglieri, whose own large diary tracked provisions ‘down to the very gramme’, with columns for daily use and even ‘Receipts’. And near the end of the episode, he remarks that a map case left behind on the ice ‘contained my diary’ - a passing detail that confirms how closely the act of recording accompanied the events themselves.

The Galtee Boy

The Galtee Boy, the Irish republican activist John Sarsfield Casey, was born 180 years ago today. Imprisoned and then deported for his crimes against the state, he benefitted from an amnesty, allowing him to return to his beloved Ireland, where he helped campaign for the rights of tenants in the Galtee Mountains area. He left behind a memoir about his time in jail, and also a diary of his sea journey to Australia.

Casey was born on 2 March 1846 (according to the Cork City Gaol website) in Mitchelstown, County Cork, Ireland, into a family of shopkeepers. As a youngster, he became involved in the Irish Republican Brotherhood (the Fenians). Calling himself The Galtee Boy, he wrote letters to the Fenian newspaper, The Irish People, describing the round-up of Cork Fenians in 1865, their trials and their experiences in prison. His exposure of tenant conditions in the Galtee Mountains led to a libel case and helped inspire the Land League. Eventually he too was arrested, tried, and sentenced, and in 1867 was deported with other Fenian prisoners to Australia.

In May 1869, Casey was granted a free pardon and sailed for Ireland arriving in February 1870, with nine other released Fenians. Immediately, he threw himself again into the Irish struggle, writing articles on conditions in Australia, and becoming noted for his work on behalf of the tenants of the Galtee countryside. Later in life, he became a Coroner for County Limerick, a position he held until his death in 1896. A little further information is available at the Dictionary of Irish Biography.

In 2005, University College Dublin Press published, for the first time, a memoir written by Casey soon after his return to Ireland, called The Galtee Boy - A Fenian Prison Narrative. It is said to be the ‘most extensive surviving account of Cork Fenianism by a participant’. But another document written by Casey has also survived - a detailed diary he kept during his voyage to Australia. Extracts from this were published in Diaries of Ireland - An Anthology 1590-1987 by Melosina Lenox-Conyngham (Lilliput Press, Dublin, 1998) - a few pages can be read at Amazon.

Lenox-Conyngham’s source was a slim edition of the full text of the diary transcribed/edited by a relative of Casey’s, Martin Kevin Cusack, and published a decade earlier by Dorrance & Co, in the US. This was entitled Journal of a Voyage from Portland to Fremantle on board the Convict Ship “Hougoumont” Cap Cozens Commander October 12th 1867 By John S. Casey, Mitchelstown, Ireland. 

In his introduction, Cusack explains why he wanted to publish the text: ‘It had been my hope for many years to somehow help bring about the opening of this Journal and thereby allow the strength of character, the dedication to freedom, the literary talents, and the enduring faith of John Sarsfield Casey to shine forth as an inspiration to all of us. As a descendant relative of The Galtee Boy, I am proud to identify with his determined, life-long pursuit of liberty. He was a first cousin of my grandmother, Ellen Casey Cusack.’

He goes on to provide further background: ‘It is worth noting that the Journal is regarded as being of great historical interest by scholars and serious students of Irish and Australian history. The Casey Journal has been preserved in the family for 120 years. In May of 1969 it was among the papers of Dan Casey of Mitchelstown, last son of The Galtee Boy. Around the time of Dan Casey’s death, the manuscript was inadvertently delivered into the hands of the Cork County Library. Upon discovering this, a friend of the Casey family, believing he was acting in the family’s best interest, insisted upon its immediate return. It was returned promptly but in those few hours of possession, the Librarian made photocopies of it. The official stamp of the Cork County Library can be seen on the last page before the back cover. It is believed the copying was done without the knowledge of the immediate family and it remained unknown to the rest of us in the family until early in 1987.’

Here are several extracts from Cusack’s book (though, for clarity, I have added a few fullstops and dashes in places where extra spaces in the published text appear to signal a separation of phrases).

11 October 1867
‘Wrote letter - miserable arrangements on board in respect to closets &c - Whilst in port nothing of importance has occured - Rumour that we are to sail on to day (Friday) anchor raised & everything in readiness for sailing’

12 October 1867
‘Sails set - Blue Peter hoisted - 2 PM set sail fair wind. Take a farewell glance at Portland as we sail within one mile of its rock bound coast - Emotions of the pleasant kind. Towed out by the gun-boat “Earnest” - deck crowded with anxious faces eagerly pointing out objects of interest to one another - Pass the evening in playing Chess &c’

13 October 1867
‘Ship rolling very much - feel a little “squeamish” On deck nothing visible but sky and water save a few solitary sea-birds that kept eternally skimming over the crested waves - Had several Interviews with Hr Deleany RCC. Begs of me to serve Mass for him - I consent - Mass on board - I serve with difficulty in consequence of being seasick - Majority of hands troops &c on board Catholics - Mass in main hatchway - wind strong speed 6 knots - still towed out by “Earnest” Eat very little to day - 2 OC exceedingly sick - get some ease by lying in bunk - None sick but myself “spued” off everything I eat - Water distilled & measured out 3/4 pint per man per diem - find I cannot read. Ordered below for night at 4.30. Amuse ourselves every night with a concert.’

25 October 1867
‘Morning cloudy with a slight mist - Convoy still in sight 8 OC. A slight fall of rain till 8.30. Clouds clear off & leave the sun shining brilliantly - Ship’s yards truly square for 1st time - Cannot remain on forecastle for any time - Speed 8 knots under full canvas - 2 OC Air mild and balmy like a glorious summers day in Ireland - Home thoughts crowd upon me of pleasant days spent in the green meadow inhaling the fragrant odour of the newly mowed hay or of pleasant hours spent in company of la bella Maria in Kingstons demesne beside the tinkling stream. Passengers relieving monotony of voyage by various games such as Chess Dominoes Drafts Dice Cards &c. Evening enlivened by music (The Banjo) on deck accompanied with singing & dancing alternately reminds of Scotts lines on Don Roderick: “And to the tinkling of the soft guitar; Sweet stooped the ‘western sun’ bright rose the evening star”. ’

26 October 1867
‘Morning calm breeze light speed, 4 knots 12 OC. Breeze increasing - speed 8 knots - 2 Sail in sight - one of them “our Convoy”. A prisoner received 48 lashes from boatswain to day without wincing for beating another prisoner most inhumanly - At conclusion cheered by his Comerades - got cross irons on his feet - Evening looking gloomy - dark sombre clouds flitting across sky - Sunset very stormy looking - fear a rough night wind increasing sailors furling royals &c. 4.30 All hands below - usual amusements.’

27 October 1867
‘Awoke last night at 11 OC by dreadful noise on deck. Ship pitching - all hands “piped” up - great confusion below for 5 or 7 minutes. Ship tossed about like a cork - Terror increases by Sailors refusing to go aloft - fear a watery grave - cry on deck of breakers ahead - orders given to “bout” ship - sheet lightning flashing in all directions - one of the sails fluttering to the wind another minute & it is carried away - Blowing with terrific violence - ship labouring fearfully & timbers creaking mournfully. Officers mount aloft - Ship stands still for a minute & immediately receives several tremendous dashes of waves which almost capsizes her - sea roaring dreadfully & dashing in over gunwale - wind howling dismally through the rigging - 12 OC - Not much calmer all damage apparently over - Some sailors return to their duty & are working away to the jolly chorus of: Heave haul away, Haul away my dandies.’

4 December 1867
‘Blowing exceedingly hard all night. Speed 12 knots. Not better. Stomach bad - raining very hard all night. All hands obliged to remain below all day - Morning calm, 3 knots - 10 of our lads reported - rope 1 pepper box - 8 deprived of wine for week. Sails hanging motionless.’

5 December 1867
‘Morning dark heavy & inclined for rain - a dead calm - very disagreeable on deck - a thick mist falling. Sailing under a cloud of canvas yet scarcely making any progress.’

6 December 1867
‘Morning cloudy - raining all day - all hands obliged to remain below which is dark damp like hell - the most disagreeable day I ever spent almost becalmed.’

7 December 1867
‘Morning cloudy - raining at intervals with Dr off hospital diet - half starved on it - wind coming in fitful gusts - extremely cold all day &  last night - On look out for flying Dutchman - amusing to see passengers with terror depicted on their countenances at idea of meeting him - Sea very rough - Day has a very strange & ominous aspect. The surface of the ocean & glassy & scarcely a breath of air disturbed the solemn stillness that prevailed. The ship lay motionless yielding only to that never ceasing swell that heaves the bosom of the broad Atlantic - the sails reposed uselessly against the masts or flapped to and fro in dead compliance with the breathing sea. The sky vas of a dull grey leaden hue - no clouds could be seen but the XXX XXX vault of heaven was wrapped in one dark impenetrable veil whose dreariness was made much more dreary by reflection in the waters beneath. This universal stillness reigned during the morning broken only by the shriek of the sea bird as it skimmed over the surface of the waters. About mid-day the rain poured down in torrents such as they only who have witnessed can conceive - This lasted for two or three hours yet the sea remained a perfect calm - the air cold thick and still. When the rain ceased all was silent as the grave - 6 OC. Ignorant of danger we sat down to our customary amusements which were only interrupted by an XXXXXXX ocassional wish to have a breeze spring up - At 6 OC Sails were shortened & everything on deck and aloft made ready for a wild night. At 7 OC the ship was sailing under closely reefed topsails & Mr J Flood who came down informed us that the hatchways were nailed down - At 8 OC we retired to rest but scarcely had two hours elapsed before a dull roaring sound was heard in the distance growing louder and louder as it approached until it seemed to burst over us. In a few minutes the sea dashed into fury & the ship speeding through on a gale of terrific violence - Sleep was impossible - The noise on deck.’

6 January 1868
‘Glorious morning promising another broiling day - Still a dead calm - ship scarcely moving - went about 5 knots per hour during the night. Spanish vessel still in sight about 5 miles to NE of us. Mass on board. Dread that this calm will continue for some time - 12 OC - Not a ripple on the surface of the waters shining like a plate of fretted gold. How slowly creep the hours in those calms especially as we are so near our destination. Nothing to read - nothing to discuss - nothing to while away an hour with except to sit in a state of dreamy thoughtfulness watching the sea birds skimming over the surface of the water - your thoughts wandering back to the green hills the shady groves & the pleasant valleys of “That beautiful land far away; That isle of the blue sea carressed; Where the fields are so green & the mountains so grey; In this isle far away in the West”.

Such a life is intolerable. 4 OC - Supper - Cry on deck of - A Shark A Shark - all hands rush on deck in a state of great excitement and in an instant bulwarks & forecastle are crowded. I too rush up and from the forecastle obtain a glimpse of the huge monster as he slowly glides through the blue waters beneath his green eyes gleaming with a fierce and ominous expression and his body assuming the most gorgeous colours - the principal being a bright emerald green. Two immense fins project beneath the jaws. A bait is thrown out attached to a strong iron hook - in an instant he perceives it & slowly and noiselessly glides towards it. When within two feet of it he turns on his back XXX opens his voracious jaws - exhibiting to the spectators two rows of sharp saw like teeth.’

9 January 1868
‘Blowing hard all night, sailing under scarcely fifty yards of canvas. All hands on deck and hard at work during the night. 6 OC Strong breeze glorious morning. Sky clear - speed 10 knots - On look out for land since 4 OC - 7.45 Land Ahead - on our lee bow a long low range visible surmounted by a lighthouse - Rottenest Island [. . .] The misty outline of the coast is more defined to the R of Island. The mainland appears low & sandy - the range surmounted by “Bush”. The pilot boat appears in the distance - 7 men in her - Fremantle now visible after dinner - a few merchant vessels in roads - prospect cheerless in the extreme - A sober sadness now assails me at idea of being separated from many of my comerades. Look in vain for the emerald green hills dotted with sheep - the waving meadows - the yellow corn fields bowing beneath the golden ear, the broad transparent river meandering through the deep garment of fairest green and the darkly shadowed mountains in the background which gladdened the sight on nearing the shores of Holy Ireland - There all is grand - Here all is dreary desolate & cheerless. How many of the stout hearts now beating are destined to lay their bones in this land. How many will again tread the fair hills of Holy Ireland. Oh! for a dip into the gloomy dark future!’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 25 March 2016.

Everyone complains

‘Everyone complains about the scarcity of food supplies, but all are firmly determined to hold out. The distribution of food must be still further restricted. As a result, many shops are deserted. On a trip through Potsdamerstrasse from Potsdamer Platz to Bülowstrasse today I counted not less than eighty-seven shops advertised for rent.’ These words were written 110 years ago today by Hans Peter Hanssen, a Danish politician from Schleswig, in a diary he kept during the First World War. It now provide a valuable contemporary account of conditions in wartime Germany and of the political campaign Hanssen led to incorporate Northern Schleswig into Denmark.

Hanssen was born in 1862 at Nørremølle, near Satrup on the Sundeved peninsula in Schleswig (a region that would transfer from Denmark to Prussia following the Second Schleswig War of 1864). He grew up in a farming family strongly attached to Danish culture and language, and the experience of living as part of a Danish minority within the German Empire shaped his political outlook from an early age. After schooling in the region he pursued further studies in Copenhagen, Berlin and Leipzig, gaining both a Danish cultural education and first-hand knowledge of German political life

Returning to Schleswig, Hanssen soon became active in the organised Danish movement that sought to defend the cultural and political rights of the Danish-speaking population in North Schleswig. In 1888 he became secretary of the North Schleswig Electors’ Association, the principal political organisation of the Danish minority. Five years later he purchased the Aabenraa newspaper Heimdal, which he edited and used as a prominent voice for Danish interests in the region. 

Hanssen’s political career developed steadily. In 1896 he was elected to the Prussian Landtag as representative for Hadersleben-Sonderburg, serving until 1908, and from 1906 he also sat in the German Reichstag. There he became the leading parliamentary spokesman for the Danish minority, pursuing a pragmatic strategy of working with German political parties while continuing to advocate the eventual reunion of North Schleswig with Denmark. During the final phase of the First World War he played a decisive role in bringing the Schleswig question back onto the political agenda, calling in October 1918 for a plebiscite to determine the region’s national allegiance.

After the war Hanssen joined the Danish government as Minister for North Schleswig Affairs (1919-1920), guiding the negotiations that led to the plebiscite of 1920 in which the northern part of Schleswig voted to join Denmark. He later served as a member of the Danish parliament (Folketing) for the liberal party Venstre before gradually retiring from public life. Hanssen remained an influential figure in the region’s politics and minority affairs until his death at Aabenraa in 1936. For further information see Wikipedia (only in German) or the International Encyclopedia of the First World War.

During the First World War, Hanssen kept a diary, one that would be later seen as an important record of his political life and of the final years of the German Empire. Written while he was a member of the Reichstag, these notes record both the internal politics of wartime Germany and the particular problems faced by the Danish minority in Schleswig. The diary reflects his position at the intersection of two political worlds: as a Danish nationalist working inside the German parliamentary system, he had access to high-level political discussions while also observing the hardships of wartime society, including censorship, shortages and the growing disillusionment of the German public.

Part of this material first appeared in Danish in 1924 in a memoir volume entitled Fra Krigstiden (From the War Years). A fuller selection of the diary was later edited and translated into English as Diary of a Dying Empire, published in 1955 by Indiana University Press. The English edition was translated by Oscar O. Winther and edited by Ralph H. Lutz, Mary Schofield and Winther. It can be freely borrowed online at Internet Archive. Hanssen’s diary is widely recognised as a valuable first hand account of Germany during the First World War and of the political campaign that eventually led to the Schleswig plebiscite. Here are several extracts from the English edition.

19 March 1916, Berlin

‘Everyone complains about the scarcity of food supplies, but all are firmly determined to hold out. The distribution of food must be still further restricted. As a result, many shops are deserted. On a trip through Potsdamerstrasse from Potsdamer Platz to Bülowstrasse today I counted not less than eighty-seven shops advertised for rent.

I spent the evening with a soldier from North Schleswig.’

20 March 1916, Aabenraa

‘Today I received unusual news from Sundeved. It came to me from a reliable source that many German transports sailing under the Danish flag and manned with Danish-speaking crews from North Schleswig have been transporting ammunition and other war necessities to the German troops in East Africa. Several fishermen from Alssund have been pressed into service on these ships. Only Danish may be spoken on board. A picture of the royal couple of Denmark hangs in the cabin. The vessels are supplied with false ship-papers which show that they are registered in Denmark. How this method of deception can succeed is a puzzle to me.’

28 January 1918, Berlin

‘The strike has been declared. In order to get a glimpse of the strength of the movement, I went by streetcar this morning to Moabit. I saw no strikers on the street. The weather was dark and foggy. I stopped outside the market hall, where a number of women, old men, and children who wanted to make purchases had gathered together. They were poor, dried up, miserably clad figures, ragged and half-naked, with wretched, and, in many instances, impossible footwear. A certain irritation was noticeable in the long, miserable lines which filed out from the narrow back street. The people had gathered in groups and apparently were eagerly discussing the situation. I followed the stream into the market. Here several tables loaded with potatoes were set up. But the potatoes were given out only by card. Seven pounds per capita per week. At another booth meat could be obtained, but likewise only by card, half a pound per person per week. No green vegetables were to be had or rather, only some half-rotten, very woody, Swedish turnips. Far down the hall people were gathering at a certain booth. About a hundred and fifty persons were standing in line. I went down there to see what was happening. It seemed that goat bones were being sold: shoulder and ribs scraped of every particle of meat, sixty-five pfennigs per pound. Every person was allowed two hundred grams without a card. I stood for a while among the last in the line. It was sad to hear how anxiously the people were discussing whether or not the goat bones would last long enough for them to get some. That picture of hunger, want, and misery is one I shall never forget.

I went home and worked in my room. About four o’clock Nis Nissen and Kloppenborg Skrumsager came to see me. The evening paper reported that a hundred thousand were striking. It was evident that the movement was well under way. Reports of unrest were coming from Hamburg and Kiel.’

1 November 1918, Berlin

‘. . . Yesterday the Kaiser, without the knowledge or the consent of the Government, went to the front. The demand for his abdication is steadily becoming more insistent. Neither the Kaiser nor the Crown Prince can hold out very long. Events are moving at a double-quick pace. The peace terms will undoubtedly be very severe for Germany, but no one dares renew the conflict, for it would require prodigious sacrifices and even then it could be continued for only a few months.’

2 November 1918, Berlin

‘The Reichstag is always empty. I met only three or four Conservatives. Korfanty came later. The Poles, he told me, will from now on adopt a policy of waiting. It is not yet known what the army leaders will do. The country is filled with unrest. News about strikes and disturbances among the workers keeps coming in.

I received news from home to the effect that the censor continues to forbid the papers to discuss the separation of North Schleswig. I have reported this to the Government and have been promised that the complaints will be taken care of.’

A disappointed man

William Bagshaw Stevens, born 270 years go today, died laughing. But, in his relatively short life, he had been an ineffective headmaster of Repton School, a failed poet, and a disappointed lover. Ironically, perhaps, he is best remembered for a journal he kept, one in which he chronicled his disappointments so candidly that one can hardly imagine he would ever have wanted to see it published. Nevertheless, it was kept safe and passed down the generations, and was finally published in the mid-20th century - its editor describing the work as the journal of a disappointed man.

William Bagshaw Stevens was born on 15 March 1756 in Abingdon, Berkshire, the son of an apothecary and surgeon. He studied at Magdalen College, Oxford, and after graduating in 1776 went to teach at Repton School, Derbyshire, succeeding to the post of headmaster. He took deacon’s orders, and was appointed domestic chaplain by Sir Robert Burdett of nearby Foremark Hall (but didn’t take priest’s orders until 1798). 

Having published a volume of verse in 1775 (Poems, consisting of Indian Odes and Miscellaneous Pieces), Stevens published a second in 1782, but it was not reviewed well. Hugh Brogan, however, in his brief biography for the Oxford National Dictionary of Biography (log-in required), says: ‘Stevens was a better poet than his contemporaries knew. Some of his verse was still unpublished 200 years after his death, but, if the whole of it is read, he emerges as a man of real talent, humour, wit, and feeling, though trapped in the limbo of poetic diction that the great Romantics would soon blow apart.’

A promise by Sir Robert to bestow a good living on Stevens came to nothing over the years, and Stevens considered himself too poor to marry - though he did pursue liaisons with some passion. Repton School languished under his headship, as he was, it is said, naturally idle and neglectful of his duties. He did keep up a connection with Magdalen College, and for short periods later in life was a fellow and praelector of moral philosophy. Only in his last year did he attain a rectory (Seckington) and a nearby vicarage (Kingsbury) in Warwickshire, thanks to Sir Robert’s grandson and heir. Stevens died in 1800, from a fit of laughing at the antics of an Italian and his monkey in the village high street! (This knowledge comes from an unpublished journal kept by Stevens’ sister who lived with him - as reported by Galbraith, see below.) Further biographical information can be gleaned from an old version of the Dictionary of National Biography.

Stevens left behind six octavo volumes of a diary he had been keeping since his 37th birthday. This was not published until 1965, when Oxford University Press brought out The Journal of the Rev. William Bagshaw Stevens, as edited by Georgina Galbraith. In her introduction, Galbraith explains how the manuscripts had survived through various generations, well cared-for but quite unexamined, until they were sold in 1957 to Huntington Library, where she found them when researching Repton. The manuscripts are marred, Galbraith says, by many deletions (removal of leaves, blackening out, crossings out etc), especially in the first volume, mostly about his neighbours and benefactors, the Burdetts. She believes most of these deletions were made by Rev. Thomas Bosvile, Stevens’s closest friend, because it would have been dangerous to leave about attacks on the family who were supporting Stevens’s sister.

Many of Stevens’s entries - especially the longer ones - are simply the contents of letters he received or sent, and many shorter entries simply state who he dined with or visited, or where he preached. However, he does write with candid intimacy about his love for Fanny Coutts - a story with a bitter, sad ending - so much so in fact that it’s surely unlikely he would have wanted these diaries to have become public. Galbraith notes that the journal is one of a disappointed man, ‘disappointed in every one of his activities’. Here are several extracts from the published book, including the first few entries and the last three.

15 March 1792
‘On this day I commenced my thirty-seventh year. May God of his mercy grant that the remainder of my Life be spent more agreably to his Will, and with more satisfaction to myself than the former Part has been! . . .’

16 March 1792
‘Dined at the Mitre on Turbot and Claret in consequence of a Wager between Sir R. Burdett and Mr Pyott. Sir R. had laid that old Ashly would live to the 17th of this month. The Bet was made on the 17th of last March. Ashly is now in his 92nd Year. . .’

17 March 1792
‘Drank Tea at Spilsbury’s. Dalrymple there. Much conversation upon the Slave Trade. Dalrymple and Dodsly defended the Trade strongly upon the ground of Policy. I cannot but think that the Policy which disclaims honesty, humanity and religion is not the policy of a Good Man or a Great Minded Nation; but the Policy of a Thief, a Highwayman, and a Murderer.’

18 March 1792
‘After service at Foremark set out for Ashford for the sale of Mr Bullock’s Library on Monday. Spent the evening alone at Wirksworth.’

19 March 1792
‘Reached Bakewell by 10 o’Clock. Found that the Books, a mere collection of trash, would not be sold till Wednesday. Viewed Bakewell Church, a curious structure with a Saxon arched doorway, and an octagon Steeple. The Church contains some of the Richest Monuments in the Kingdom with a very singular large Saxon Font adorned with the Images of Saints in relief.’

14 August 1792
‘All went to Chee Tor, a most romantic, lovely spot - dined on the grass by the head of a Spring - ‘Lady Burdett, You have not performed your promise. You have not given me Fanny’s Picture.’ ‘That’s not my fault. You should have asked me for it.’

Jones and I were to go to the Isle of Man the next day - postponed our Journey that I might get Fanny’s Picture copied. It was agreed to leave Buxton on Saturday and go all together to Foremark. Lady Burdett hoped I would go with them to Tunbridge.’ 

30 July 1792
‘Rowed on Windemere round Christians Island. Curwen and his attendant fleet passed by us - The Bishop of Landaff’s Seat - Wilberforce’s pretty Cottage - The lake said to be 14 miles long and in some places two across, surrounded with magnificent well-wooded Hills - a glorious scene -After dinner rode to Coniston Water of much inferior merit to Windemere. Observed the Ruins of an old Abbey near Hawkshead. Coniston Water about 7 miles from Windemere. The Old Man, a huge Mountain against which the Clouds are continually dashing, appeared at Windemere to stand on its edge. At Coniston we were near it; it stood on the far side of the head of that Lake. Walked in the Evening to Gill Force, a Cascade near the Inn at Ambleside. Thought when filled by a thunderstorm with water, superior to the cascade of Tivoli, it falls in the shape of a Y about 50 yards.’

15 August 1794
‘Before breakfast met Fanny in the Grove. She had found great Comfort, she said, in having talked with me on the Subject. I was the only Person that ever inspired her with a desire of communicating her grief. O that I had the power of pouring balm into your wounded affections. What would I not do? But my Heart was not without an ‘emballed heaviness.’ I thanked her for the ingenuous tale and tender confession of her unfortunate Passion. It was worthy of her. As to myself, if I could do nothing to soothe her Grief, she might be certain I would not abuse her Confidence. I would listen to her for ever and mingle tears with hers. She had one comfort, at least, that Her sorrows were not now shut up in her own breast. Yes, in me she confided. To a younger Person she could not with propriety have unbosomed herself, but she was sometimes amazed at the impulse she had long felt to communicate her Distress of Mind to me. I spoke feelingly. She felt the force of my feelings. ‘You allow me to consider you as my Friend. You may safely place Confidence in me. Fanny, you may have occasion to pity me but shall never blush for me. It shall be the peculiar satisfaction of my Life, my Pride and my Glory to compell You in despite of yourself to esteem me.’ [. . .]

After breakfast again walked with Fanny. Her Heart, she said, was a great deal lightened. It was her duty to struggle with her grief. She wished I could be with her, wished I knew more of her Father, spoke enthusiastically of Him. When You are no longer with us in your Walks You will often think of us, We shall think and talk of You, and we shall know that you think of us, and this will be a great Comfort.’

15 March 1796
‘I am now Forty. . . A Fool at Forty is a Fool indeed. Dined at the Widow’s. - late home.’

1 February 1797
‘Gouty Pains in my feet - return home - Burdett with me. In his usual kind manner he gave me the Horse that brought Jones and Me from the Isle of Wight. He cost Burdett 60 guineas.’

1 April 1800
‘Leave Tamworth - dine at Wolferston’s. Home.’

5 April 1800
‘To Donnington.’

6 April 1800
‘Dine at Ingleby.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 15 March 2016.

Michaux in N. America

André Michaux, a French botanist and explorer sent to North America in search of new species to replenish the forests of France, was born 280 years ago today. He is credited with many botanical discoveries, and in particular a species of rhododendron which is the genetic parent of many modern hybrids. When the French Revolution cut off his royal support, he turned to the American Philosophical Society (APS) to fund further botanical trips. Some of his journals were lost in a shipwreck when returning to France, but those manuscripts that survived were donated to, and published by, the APS.

Michaux was born at Satory, near Versailles, France, on 7 or 8 November 1746 (biography links, as below, give a different date) and grew up on a royal farm, where his father was manager. He was taken out of school at 14 to learn horticulture, and when his father died, Michaux shared the management of the farm with his brother. He married in late 1769, but his wife died the following year after giving birth to a son. The naturalist Louis-Guillaume Le Monnier, who lived nearby, recommended that Michaux study how to grow foreign plants in France, which he did with experiments on the farm.

Subsequently, Michaux became a student of the naturalist Bernard de Jussieu in the park of the château of Versailles, and, in 1779, he worked at the Jardin des Plantes in Paris. That year, he began making botanical expeditions, within France, to England and Spain. In 1782, he was appointed secretary to the French consul in Persia, where he is said to have cured the shah of a dangerous illness. He returned, after two years, with many new plants that were introduced to France’s botanical gardens.

Louis XVI appointed Michaux royal botanist, and he was sent to North America in 1785, to look for new species of shrubs and trees to rebuild the forests of France -  much of their timber having been felled during the wars with England. He took his son with him, as well as a gardener, and established, first, a nursery near Hackensack, New Jersey, and later a 111-acre garden outside Charleston, South Carolina. He made collecting trips throughout the wilderness frontier areas, often being the first botanist to visit, describing and naming species, and shipping many back to France.

After the collapse of the French monarchy, Michaux managed to secure, in 1793, funding from the American Philosophical Society for his explorations. Some consider his greatest discovery, at least for horticulture, to be Rhododendron catawbiense, commonly known as Purple Laurel. He found it in the wild on the peaks of the highest mountains in the Southern Appalachians, and in a few places in the Piedmont. It became one of the genetic parents of many modern rhododendron hybrids.

In 1796, Michaux returned to France, being shipwrecked on the way, and for the next few years focused on the cultivation of his collected plants, and writing two books, Histoire des chênes de l’Amérique (1801) and Flora Boreali-Americana, sistens caracteres plantarum (1803), both of which were edited by his son, François-André, and illustrated by Pierre-Joseph Redouté. In 1800, Michaux sailed with Nicolas Baudin’s expedition to Australia, but he left the ship in Mauritius, and travelled to Madagascar to study the flora. There he died of a fever in 1802, or possibly in 1803. Further biographical information can be found at Wikipedia, JSTOR, The Dictionary of Canadian Biography, American Philosophical Society or a Michaux-dedicated website.

A few of the manuscript journal pages kept by Michaux in North America survived the 1796 shipwreck. These were eventually donated by François-André Michaux to the American Philosophical Society, and published with an introduction and notes in the society’s Proceedings (vol. 26, no. 129, 1889). This can be read at Internet Archive or JSTOR, but, although the introduction is in English, the text of the journal is in the original French. It was translated and edited by Reuben Gold Thwaites for Early Western Travels 1748-1846 (vol. 3, 1904) - also available at Internet Archive.

Here are three extracts from the journal.

‘Sunday 23rd of August 1795 started from Post Vincennes situated on the Wabash River for the Illinois on the Mississipi. We journeyed six Miles and camped on the bank of a Little River [Embarras]. I had no other company than a Savage and his wife. I had hired the Savage for ten Dollars and promised him two Dollars more to induce him to carry all my baggage on his horse.

The 24th we made about 25 Miles; the Savage was ill and was obliged to stop more than three hours before sunset.

The 25th crossed several Prairies. Observed a new species of Gerardia. Stalk commonly simple, oval leaves opposite one another, sessile, axillary flowers purpurine flowers.

The 26th the Provision of meat was consumed. The Savage stopped very early, finding a favorable spot for hunting. Moreover heavy Rain fell about three o’clock in the afternoon. An hour after camping the Savage came back laden with a Bear cub and with the two hams of another and much older one. We boiled the kettle twice and had enough to satisfy us. We roasted what remained.

The 27th the Savage killed two Stags. We halted very early to dry the Skirts and to eat, for the Savage and his wife ate five meals a day. Moreover, they regaled themselves with the marrow of the bones which they ate raw; for, being unable to carry away the meat, they contented themselves with a piece of the animal’s loins.

The 28th of August 1795. Just as I was eager to see Game the 1st and 2nd day, so was I afraid to see it then owing to the waste of time. I was all the more anxious to proceed that it rained every day. I had already been obliged once to dry at a fire my baggage that had been wet through especially four books of Botany and Mineralogy I had with me, as I had been unwilling to expose them to the hazards of the River and had sent by way of the Mississipi two Trunks containing grey Paper, Powder, Lead, Alum, Boxes for collecting Insects, and all the articles required for making Collections of Plants, Animals, Insects and Minerals.

Sunday 30th of August arrived at the village of Kaskaskia situated two mile from the Mississipi river and half a mile from the Kaskaskia River. It is inhabited by former Frenchmen under the American Government. The number of families is about forty five. It is agreeably situated but the number of inhabitants had decreased; nothing is to be seen but houses in ruins and abandoned because the French of the Illinois country, having always been brought up in and accustomed to the Fur trade with the savages, have become the laziest and most ignorant of all men. They live and the majority of them are clothed in the manner of the Savages. They wear no breeches but pass between their thighs a piece of cloth of about one third of an ell [in length] which is kept in place before and behind above the hips by a belt.’

***

‘The 7th [December 1795] confirmed once more in my opinion that the Second Bark of Celtis occidentalis (called in the Illinois country Bois connu and toward New Orleans Bois inconnu) is an excellent remedy for curing jaundice; a handful of the roots or leaves of Smilax sarsaparilla is added to it; it is used for about eight days as a decoction.

The 8th of December 1795. The French Creoles call the species of Smilax found in the Illinois country, Squine. Only the thorny species grows there; it loses its leaves in the Autumn. The other species is herbaceous and climbing.

The 9th of December. The root of Fagara as a decoction is a powerful remedy for curing disease of the Spleen. I have no doubt that the root of Zanthoxilum clava-Herculi can be used for obstructions of the liver and Spleen.’

***

‘The 25th [February 1796] started to return to Carolina and slept 10 Miles away at the house of Colonel Mansko, a declared enemy of the French because, he said, they have killed their King. Although I had not dined I would not accept his supper believing that a Republican should not be under obligations to a fanatical partisan of Royalty. I was greatly mortified that the night and the rain should compel me to remain in his House. But I slept on my Deer skin and paid for the Maize he supplied me with to cross the Wilderness.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 8 March 2016.