Weeds don’t spoil

‘My [90th] birthday. [. . .] It is unusual, I believe, for persons of this age to retain possession of their faculties, or so much of them as I do. The Germans have an uncomplimentary saying: “Weeds don’t spoil” ’. This is Henry Crabb Robinson, one of the most interesting and entertaining of 19th century diarists, who was born a quarter of a millenium ago today. He trained as a lawyer, but an inheritance left him wealthy enough to pursue a life of cultured leisure. He was a great theatre-goer, knew a lot of literary types - was on very good terms with William Wordsworth, for example, with whom he travelled often - and was one of the first to recognise William’s Blake’s genius.

Robinson was born in Bury St Edmunds on 13 May 1775, the son of a tanner. He attended private schools, and was articled to a lawyer in Colchester when 15, and subsequently to another in London. In 1796, he was left an inheritance which allowed him to travel to the Continent frequently. Between 1800 and 1805 he studied in Germany, meeting, among others, Goethe and Schiller. He operated as a war correspondent for The Times for a short while during the Peninsular War, and, on his return to London, finished his legal training and was called to the bar.

Through an old friend, Catherine, who had married the writer and abolitionist Thomas Clarkson, Robinson was introduced into London literary society; and, in time, his own breakfast parties became famous. After retiring in 1828, he continued to take part in public affairs and to travel often. In 1828 he was one of the founding members of London University; and, in 1837, he revisited Italy on a tour with Wordsworth. He never married, but lived to an old age, dying in 1867. Further biographical information is available from Wikipedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica, or Peter Landry’s Bluepete website. The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography has a good short biography (but requires a login).

Robinson left behind a large amount of papers including the following: brief journals covering the period to 1810, a much fuller home diary (begun in 1811, and continued to within five days of his death - 35 volumes), and a collection of 30 tour journals. The papers were edited by Thomas Sadler and published by Macmillan in 1869 in three volumes as Diary, Reminiscences and Correspondence of Henry Crabb Robinson. And it is thanks largely to these volumes that Robsinson is remembered today, for his diaries are full of important detail about the central figures of the English romantic movement, not only Wordsworth, but Coleridge, Charles Lamb and William Blake. Of the latter, he was an early admirer, writing in his diary: ‘Shall I call Blake artist, genius, mystic or madman? Probably he is all’. Moreover, his diaries are also prized for their information about the London theatre in the first half of the 19th century (see the Society for Theatre Research’s 1966 volume: The London theatre 1811-1866: Selections from the diary of Henry Crabb Robinson.)

All three volumes of Diary, Reminiscences and Correspondence can be read at Internet Archive (Vol 1, Vol 2, Vol 3). Here are a few extracts.

7 December 1831
‘Brighton. Accompanied [John James] Masquerier [a British painter] to a concert, which afforded me really a great pleasure. I heard Paganini [Niccolò Paganini, an Italian musician and composer]. Having scarcely any sensibility to music, I could not expect great enjoyment from any music, however fine; and, after all, I felt more surprise at the performance than enjoyment. The professional men, I understand, universally think more highly of Paganini than the public do. He is really an object of wonder. His appearance announces something extraordinary. His figure and face amount to caricature. He is a tall slim figure, with limbs which remind one of a spider; his face very thin, his forehead broad, his eyes grey and piercing, with bushy eyebrows; his nose thin and long, his cheeks hollow, and his chin sharp and narrow. His face forms a sort of triangle. His hands the oddest imaginable, fingers of enormous length, and thumbs bending backwards.

It is, perhaps, in a great measure from the length of finger and thumb that his fiddle is also a sort of lute. He came forward and played, from notes, his own compositions. Of the music, as such, I know nothing. The sounds were wonderful. He produced high notes very faint, which resembled the chirruping of birds, and then in an instant, with a startling change, rich and melodious notes, approaching those of the bass viol. It was difficult to believe that this great variety of sounds proceeded from one instrument. The effect was heightened by his extravagant gesticulation and whimsical attitudes. He sometimes played with his fingers, as on a harp, and sometimes struck the cords with his bow, as if it were a drum-stick, sometimes sticking his elbow into his chest, and sometimes flourishing his bow. Oftentimes the sounds were sharp, like those of musical glasses, and only now and then really delicious to my vulgar ear, which is gratified merely by the flute and other melodious instruments, and has little sense of harmony.’

9 June 1833
‘Liverpool. At twelve I got upon an omnibus, and was driven up a steep hill to the place where the steam-carriages start. We travelled in the second class of carriages. There were five carriages linked together, in each of which were placed open seats for the traveller, four and four facing each other; but not all were full; and, besides, there was a close carriage, and also a machine for luggage. The fare was four shillings for the thirty-one miles. Everything went on so rapidly, that I had scarcely the power of observation. The road begins at an excavation through rock, and is to a certain extent insulated from the adjacent country. It is occasionally placed on bridges, and frequently intersected by ordinary roads. Not quite a perfect level is preserved. On setting off there is a slight jolt, arising from the chain catching each carriage, but, once in motion, we proceeded as smoothly as possible. For a minute or two the pace is gentle, and is constantly varying. The machine produces little smoke or steam. First in order is the tall chimney; then the boiler, a barrel-like vessel; then an oblong reservoir of water; then a vehicle for coals; and then comes, of a length infinitely extendible, the train of carriages. If all the seats had been filled, our train would have carried about 150 passengers; but a gentleman assured me at Chester that he went with a thousand persons to Newton fair. There must have been two engines then. I have heard since that two thousand persons and more went to and from the fair that day. But two thousand only, at three shillings each way, would have produced £600! But, after all, the expense is so great, that it is considered uncertain whether the establishment will ultimately remunerate the proprietors. Yet I have heard that it already yields the shareholders a dividend of nine per cent. And Bills have passed for making railroads between London and Birmingham, and Birmingham and Liverpool. What a change will it produce in the intercourse! One conveyance will take between 100 and 200 passengers, and the journey will be made in a forenoon! Of the rapidity of the journey I had better experience on my return; but I may say now, that, stoppages included, it may certainly be made at the rate of twenty miles an hour!

I should have observed before that the most remarkable movements of the journey are those in which trains pass one another. The rapidity is such that there is no recognizing the features of a traveller. On several occasions, the noise of the passing engine was like the whizzing of a rocket. Guards are stationed in the road, holding flags, to give notice to the drivers when to stop. Near Newton, I noticed an inscription recording the memorable death of Huskisson.’

26 December 1836
‘Brighton. This was a remarkable day. So much snow fell, that not a coach either set out for or arrived from London - an incident almost unheard of in this place. Parties were put off and engagements broken without complaint. The Masqueriers, with whom I am staying, expected friends to dinner, but they could not come. Nevertheless, we had here Mr Edmonds, the worthy Scotch schoolmaster, Mr and Mrs Dill, and a Miss Robinson; and, with the assistance of whist, the afternoon went off comfortably enough. Of course, during a part of the day, I was occupied in reading.’

28 December 1836
‘The papers to-day are full of the snow-storm. The ordinary mails were stopped in every part of the country.’

3 May 1850
‘I read early a speech by [Frederick William] Robertson [a charismatic preacher] to the Brighton Working Class Association, in which infidelity of a very dangerous kind had sprung up. His speech shows great practical ability. He managed a difficult subject very ably, but it will not be satisfactory either to the orthodox or the ultra-liberal.

I went to Mr Cookson, who is one of the executors of Mr Wordsworth, and with whom I had an interesting conversation about Wordsworth’s arrangements for the publication of his poems. He has commissioned Dr Christopher Wordsworth to write his Life, a brief Memoir merely illustrative of his poems. And in a paper given to the Doctor, he wrote that his sons, son-in-law, his dear friend Miss Fenwick, Mr Carter, and Mr Robinson, who had travelled with him, “would gladly contribute their aid by communicating any facts within their knowledge.” ’

18 February 1851
‘At Masquerier’s, Brighton. We had calls soon after breakfast. The one to be mentioned was that of [Michael] Faraday, one of the most remarkable men of the day, the very greatest of our discoverers in chemistry, a perfect lecturer in the unaffected simplicity and intelligent clearness of his statement; so that the learned are instructed and the ignorant charmed. His personal character is admirable. When he was young, poor, and altogether unknown, Masquerier was kind to him; and now that he is a great man he does not forget his old friend.’

29 November 1852
‘I went to Robertson’s, and had two hours of interesting chat with him on his position here in the pulpit; also about Lady Byron. He speaks of her as the noblest woman he ever knew.’

17 August 1853
‘Dr King wrote to me, informing me of the death of Robertson, of Brighton. Take him for all in all, the best preacher I ever saw in a pulpit; that is, uniting the greatest number of excellences, originality, piety, freedom of thought, and warmth of love. His style colloquial and very scriptural. He combined light of the intellect with warmth of the affections in a pre-eminent degree.’

13 September 1853
‘Brighton. Dr King called, and in the evening I called by desire on Lady Byron - a call which I enjoyed, and which may have consequences. Recollecting her history, as the widow of the most famous, though not the greatest, poet of England in our day, I felt an interest in going to her; and that interest was greatly heightened when I left her. From all I have heard of her, I consider her one of the best women of the day. Her means and her good will both great. “She lives to do good,” says Dr. King, and I believe this to be true. She wanted my opinion as to the mode of doing justice to Robertson’s memory. She spoke of him as having a better head on matters of business than any one else she ever knew. She said, “I have consulted lawyers on matters of difficulty, but Robertson seemed better able to give me advice. He unravelled everything and explained everything at once as no one else did.” ’

13 May 1865
‘My birthday. To-day I complete my ninetieth year. When people hear of my age, they affect to doubt my veracity, and call me a wonder. It is unusual, I believe, for persons of this age to retain possession of their faculties, or so much of them as I do. The Germans have an uncomplimentary saying : “Weeds don’t spoil.” ’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 13 May 2015.

We can conquer the world

‘Beginning with Lublin, the Jews in the General Government [Poland] are now being evacuated eastward. The procedure is a pretty barbaric one and not to be described here more definitely. Not much will remain of the Jews. On the whole it can be said that about 60 per cent of them will have to be liquidated whereas only about 40 per cent can be used for forced labor.’ This is Joseph Goebbels writing in his diary in 1942, not long after the Nazis had formulated their Final Solution policy. Goebbels committed suicide 80 years ago today, the day after Hitler and his wife (see He loves me so much); but, unlike Hitler, Goebbels went to some lengths to preserve an historical record of his life - 75,000 pages of his diaries.

Goebbels was born in 1897 into a Catholic family at Rheydt, an industrial town in the Ruhr district. From early childhood he suffered a deformation in his right leg and wore a brace and special shoe, which left him with a limp. At the start of World War I he volunteered for military service, but was rejected. He studied at universities in Bonn, Berlin and Heidelberg (where he was awarded a PhD), and then worked as a journalist, and tried to write novels and plays.

Goebbels joined the Nazi party in 1924, and became allied with Gregor Strasser, Nazi organiser in northern Germany. He came to the attention of Hitler, who gave him a private audience in April 1926, and then appointed him a party leader for the region of Berlin. He soon discovered his talent for propaganda, writing tracts such as The Second Revolution and Lenin or Hitler, and launching the Nazi newspaper Der Angriff (The Attack). In 1928, he was elected to the Reichstag (one of only 10 Nazis), and the following year he became the Nazi party propaganda chief. In 1931, he marred Magda Ritschel, and they would have six children. However, Goebbels was an inveterate womaniser, and was known to have had many affairs.

Goebbels played a key role in successive election campaigns, and was instrumental in seeing Hitler elected leader in 1933. Goebbels, himself, was made minister for propaganda and national enlightenment, a position he then held until his death. He worked assiduously to centralise and control all aspects of German and cultural life, not only the press, but the media, the performing arts, literature, etc, purging them of Jews, socialists, homosexuals and liberals. At the same time, he ensured a development of high culture, such as Wagner’s operas, and plenty of light entertainment for the masses. Once war began in September 1939, his influence over domestic policy strengthened, and, increasingly, with Hitler appearing in public less, he became the face and the voice of the Nazi regime. As a dedicated anti-Semite, Goebbels was strongly linked to the Nazi Final Solution policy, and, especially, the deportation of Jews from Berlin.

In the final stages of the war, Hitler, before killing himself, appointed Goebbels Chancellor of Germany, but it was empty gesture, since a day later - on 1 May - Goebbels and his wife killed themselves, having already murdered their six children. Further biographical information on Goebbels can be freely obtained online at Wikipedia, the Jewish Virtual Library, or from the pages of Doctor Goebbels: His Life and Death by Roger Manvell and Heinrich Fraenkel available at Googlebooks.

Goebbels began to keep a diary in 1923, shortly before his 27th birthday, while unemployed. Most of his early entries were about a young woman with whom he was having a turbulent relationship (and whom, in fact, had given him the diary). According to biographers, the diary quickly became a kind of therapy for the troubled young man. Apparently, these early diary entries show little interest in politics, and there is no mention of Hitler or the Nazi movement until the following year. i.e. after Goebbels first met Hitler in July 1925.

In 1934, the year after Hitler had become Chancellor and appointed Goebbels a minister, Goebbels published an edited version of his diaries for propaganda purposes: Vom Kaiserhof zur Reichskanzlei. Eine historische Darstellung in Tagebuchblättern (From the Kaiserhof to the Reich Chancellery: A Historical Account from the Pages of a Diary). This was translated into English in 1938 and published by Hurst and Blackett as My Part in Germany’s Fight.

Wikipedia has a full entry on Goebbels’ diaries, and their history. Goebbels filled 20 hand-written volumes until 1941, and then - fully aware of their historical value - had them stored in underground vaults at the Reichsbank in Berlin. Thereafter, he dictated his entries to a stenographer, who typed up corrected versions. In 1944, he ordered all his diaries to be copied for safekeeping, and a special darkroom was created at his apartment for the diaries to be transferred to microfilm, a recent invention. The boxes of glass plates containing the microfilmed diaries were buried at Potsdam; and the original handwritten/ typed diaries were stored in the Reich Chancellery. Goebbels made his last entry on 10 April 1945.

Some of the original diaries survived the aftermath of the war - a complicated story involving ex-President Herbert Hoover and Pulitzer Prize-winning foreign correspondent Louis P. Lochner. (For more on this see Andrew Hamilton’s excellent article in Counter-Currents Publishing). These diaries were edited and translated by Lochner and first published in English in 1948 by Doubleday (New York) and Hamish Hamilton (London) in 1948 as The Goebbels Diaries, 1942-1943. Hamilton notes: ‘An instant bestseller upon its release, the book was serialized in newspapers and magazines and became a Book-of-the-Month Club selection. The Hoover faction and Doubleday, however, were forced to surrender most of their profits to the Office of Alien Property and destroy 30,000 copies of the book still in stock. The original sheaf of 7,000 transcribed pages was, however, deposited at the Hoover Library at Stanford, where it remains today.’

Further extracts appeared in print over the years. In 1962, came The Early Goebbels Diaries: the journals of Joseph Goebbels from 1923-1926 (edited by Helmut Heiber, translated by Oliver Watson, published by Praeger, New York; Weidenfeld & Nicolson, London). In 1978, came The Goebbels Diaries: the last days as edited Hugh Trevor-Roper (one of the central characters in the Hitler diary debacle - see Dacre’s non-fake diaries) and translated by Richard Barry (published by Putnam, New York; Secker and Warburg, London).

Controversy surrounded the publication in 1982 of The Goebbels Diaries: 1939–1941, as translated and edited by Fred Taylor (Hamish Hamilton, 1982; Putnam, New York). According to New York Magazine, the diary material was bought ‘from an unidentified German source in a shadowy deal in London’, and, ‘while no one is claiming the book is a forgery its story is one of publishing practices that seem, at the very least, sloppy and misleading to readers.’ The article goes on to explain how the diary pages may well have been doctored in an effort to tailor history from a Russian perspective.

Meanwhile, the 1,600 glass plates of microfilm buried at Potsdam had been discovered by the Soviets and shipped to Moscow, where they sat unopened for decades - until discovered by a German historian, Elke Fröhlich, in 1992. Then, over 15 years (1993-2008), Fröhlich and others edited the entire collection on behalf of the Institut für Zeitgeschichte, with the support of the National Archives Service of Russia. They were published in a definitive edition of 29 volumes (each one about 500 pages) by K. G. Saur Verlag as Die Tagebücher von Joseph Goebbels, Teil I Aufzeichnungen 1923-1941. It has been estimated that despite the various English editions of the Goebbels diaries, only about 10% of the total, now published in German, has actually appeared in English.

A few extracts in English from Goebbels’ diaries can be found online. Most of the following were found on PBS’s website The Man Behind Hitler, but a couple (those from 1942) came from The Nizkor Project website (which has filtered out only those entries concerned with the fate of the Jews.)

4 July 1924
‘We need a firm hand in Germany. Let’s put an end to all the experiments and empty words, and start getting down to serious work. Throw out the Jews, who refuse to become real Germans. Give them a good beating too. Germany is yearning for an individual, a man - as the earth yearns for rain in the summer.’

17 July 1924
‘I’m so despondent about everything. Everything I try goes totally wrong. There’s no escape from this hole here. I feel drained. So far, I still haven’t found a real purpose in life. Sometimes, I’m afraid to get out of bed in the morning. There’s nothing to get up for.’

13 April 1926
‘. . . I learned that Hitler had phoned. He wanted to welcome us, and in fifteen minutes he was there. Tall, healthy and vigorous. I like him. He puts us to shame with his kindness. We met. We asked questions. He gave brilliant replies. I love him. . . I can accept this firebrand as my leader. I bow to his superiority, I acknowledge his political genius!’

16 June 1926
‘Hitler is still the same dear comrade. You can’t help liking him as a person. And he has a stupendous mind. As a speaker he has constructed a wonderful harmony of gesture, facial expression and spoken word. The born motivator! With him, we can conquer the world. Give him his head, and he will shake the corrupt Republic to its foundations.’

26 October 1928
‘I have no friends and no wife. I seem to be going through a major spiritual crisis. I still have the same old problems with my foot, which gives me incessant pain and discomfort. And then there are the rumours, to the effect that I am homosexual. Agitators are trying to break up our movement, and I’m constantly tied up in minor squabbles. It’s enough to make you weep!’

15 September 1930
‘I am shaking with excitement. The first election results. Fantastic. Jubilation everywhere, an incredible success. It’s stunning. The bourgeois parties have been smashed. So far we have 103 seats. That’s a tenfold increase. I would never have expected it. The mood of enthusiasm reminds me of 1914, when war broke out. Things will get pretty hot in the months ahead. The Communists did well, but we are the second-largest party.’

31 January 1933
‘We’ve made it. We’ve set up shop in Wilhelmstrasse. Hitler is chancellor. It’s like a fairy tale come true! He deserved it. Wonderful euphoria. People were going mad below. . . A new beginning! An explosion of popular energy. Bigger and bigger crowds. I spoke on the radio, to every German station. “We are immensely happy,” I said.’

11 May 1933
‘Worked until late at home. In the evening, I gave a speech outside the opera house, in front of the bonfire while the filthy, trashy books were being burned by the students. I was at the top of my form. Huge crowds. Superb summer weather began today.’

20 June 1936
‘Yesterday: Schwanenwerder. We were waiting for Max Schmeling’s fight with Joe Louis. We were on tenterhooks the whole evening with Schmeling’s wife. We told each other stories, laughed and cheered. . . In round twelve, Schmeling knocked out the Negro. Fantastic, a dramatic, thrilling fight. Schmeling fought for Germany and won. The white man prevailed over the black, and the white man was German. I didn’t get to bed until five.’

23 October 1940
‘Churchill has issued an appeal to the people of France: impudent, offensive and bristling with hypocrisy. A revolting, fat beast. I drafted a speech with a sharp, withering response. If we don’t answer them, the English will continue to draw strength from their illusions.’

10 December 1940
‘Yesterday: A glorious day in Berlin. We are two hours late. Very heavy air raid on London. Some 600,000 kilograms. Entire districts of the city engulfed in flames. Only one aircraft lost. A really fine show. London is playing things down, but the American reports are strong and vivid. Nice to hear. The previous day they were talking about a decline in our offensive capability.’

24 June 1941
‘Sixteen hundred feet of newsreel from the start of our Russian campaign. Some of our new weapons are shown - huge monstrosities that smash to pieces everything in their way. The divine judgement of history is being passed on the Soviet Union.’

27 March 1942
‘Beginning with Lublin, the Jews in the General Government [Poland] are now being evacuated eastward. The procedure is a pretty barbaric one and not to be described here more definitely. Not much will remain of the Jews. On the whole it can be said that about 60 per cent of them will have to be liquidated whereas only about 40 per cent can be used for forced labor. The former Gauleiter of Vienna, who is to carry this measure through, is doing it with considerable circumspection and according to a method that does not attract too much attention. A judgment is being visited upon the Jews that, while barbaric, is fully deserved by them. The prophesy which the Fuehrer made about them for having brought on a new world war is beginning to come true in a most terrible manner. One must not be sentimental in these matters. If we did not fight the Jews, they would destroy us. It’s a life-and-death struggle between the Aryan race and the Jewish bacillus. No other government and no other regime would have the strength for such a global solution of this question. Here, too, the Fuehrer is the undismayed champion of a radical solution necessitated by conditions and therefore inexorable. Fortunately a whole series of possibilities presents itself for us in wartime that would be denied us in peacetime. We shall have to profit by this.

The ghettoes that will be emptied in the cities of the General Government now will be refilled with Jews thrown out of the Reich. This process is to be repeated from time to time. There is nothing funny in it for the Jews, and the fact that Jewry’s representatives in England and America are today organizing and sponsoring the war against Germany must be paid for dearly by its representatives in Europe - and that’s only right.’

13 December 1942
‘The question of Jewish persecution in Europe is being given top news priority by the English and the Americans. . . At bottom, however, I believe both the English and the Americans are happy that we are exterminating the Jewish riff-raff. But the Jews will go on and on and turn the heat on the British-American press. We won’t even discuss this theme publicly, but instead I give orders to start an atrocity campaign against the English on their treatment of Colonials. Efforts are under way to declare Rome an open city, so that it won’t be bombarded. The Pope is studying the question of air raids on Italian cities and seems to be exerting pressure on the English to spare at least certain districts. The declarations issued by the Vatican on this question are extremely clever and cannot but win favor for the Pope, at least in Italy. But the Italians are willing to accept any help offered them in this painful situation. The Italians are extremely lax in the treatment of Jews. They protect the Italian Jews both in Tunis and in occupied France and won’t permit their being drafted for work or compelled to wear the Star of David. This shows once again that Fascism does not really dare to get down to fundamentals, but is very superficial regarding most important problems. The Jewish question is causing us a lot of trouble. Everywhere, even among our allies, the Jews have friends to help them, which is a proof that they are still playing an important role even in the Axis camp. All the more are they shorn of power within Germany itself.’

3 April 1945
‘At the daily briefing conferences the Luftwaffe comes in for the sharpest criticism from the Führer. Day after day Göring has to listen without being in the position to demur at all. Colonel-General Stumpff, for instance, refused to subordinate himself to Kesselring for the new operations planned in the West. The Führer called him sharply to order saying that the relative positions of Kesselring and Stumpff were similar to those of him and Schaub. In the West, of course, it is now and for the immediate future a continuous process of muddling through. We are in the most critical and dangerous phase of this war and one sometimes has the impression that the German people, fighting at the height of the war crisis, has broken out in a sweat impossible for the non-expert to distinguish as the precursor of death or recovery.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 1 May 2015.

Folly, ignorance, idleness

‘Early in life, at the age of fifteen, I had commenced the dangerous habit of keeping a journal and this I maintained for ten years. The volumes remained in my possession unregarded - never looked at - till 1870, when I examined them, and, with many blushes, destroyed them.’ Alas, the great British novelist Anthony Trollope - born 210 years ago today - did not leave behind any diaries, only an autobiography with tantalising snippets about the journals he used to keep.

Trollope was born on 24 April 1815, in London, England, into a family of declining fortunes. His father, Thomas Anthony Trollope, was a barrister who struggled with financial management, while his mother, Frances Trollope, later became a successful writer. The family’s unstable income and eventual move to Belgium after financial ruin affected Anthony’s early years. He attended several schools, including Harrow and Winchester, but his time there was marked by unhappiness and bullying.

In 1834, Trollope began working as a junior clerk at the General Post Office, enduring several years of poverty before being transferred to Ireland in 1841, which improved his circumstances. During his postal career, he helped introduce the pillar box system, first in the Channel Islands, later spreading to Britain and Ireland. He wrote in the early morning hours before work, maintaining a disciplined schedule that allowed him to produce a vast body of literature. His first novel, The Macdermots of Ballycloran (1847), gained little attention, but he achieved fame with The Warden (1855), the first of what became known as the Barsetshire series.

Trollope married Rose Heseltine in 1844, and the couple had two sons, Henry and Frederick. He enjoyed a stable family life and often drew on domestic and clerical settings in his fiction. His works are known for their realism, detailed characterisations, and exploration of Victorian society’s moral and political issues. He remained prolific throughout his life, producing over 45 novels, numerous short stories, travel books, and essays. His political ambitions, including a failed run for Parliament in 1868, were less successful.

Trollope retired from the Post Office in 1867 to focus on writing full-time. He continued to publish steadily until his death in 1882. Though his popularity waned in the decades after his death, the 20th century saw a revival of interest in his work. Today, Trollope is considered one of the great chroniclers of Victorian England, admired for his insight into human behaviour and the intricacies of social life. His Barsetshire and Palliser novels remain widely read and studied. More information is readily available online at Wikipedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica and the Trollope Society.

An Autobiography by Trollope was first published in 1883 by William Blackwood and Sons, Edinburgh and London. Trollope completed the manuscript in 1879 and, after his death in 1882, his son Henry M. Trollope edited and arranged for its publication in 1883. This is freely available to read at Internet Archive.

On page 38, Trollope confesses: ‘Early in life, at the age of fifteen, I had commenced the dangerous habit of keeping a journal and this I maintained for ten years. The volumes remained in my possession unregarded - never looked at - till 1870, when I examined them, and, with many blushes, destroyed them. They convicted mo of folly, ignorance, indiscretion, idleness, extravagance, and conceit. But they had habituated me to the rapid use of pen and ink, and taught me how to express myself with facility.’

There is one other references to these journals later in the autobiography, and a further passage about ‘a little diary, with its dates and ruled spaces’ in which he seems to have set himself deadlines and recorded progress in writing the novels.

p48

‘I had often told myself since I left school that the only career in life within my reach was that of an author, and the only mode of authorship open to me that of a writer of novels. In the journal which I read and destroyed a few years since, I found the matter argued out before I had been in the Post Office two years. Parliament was out of the question. I had not means to go to the Bar. In official life, such as that to which I had been introduced, there did not seem to be any opening for real success. Pens and paper I could command. Poetry I did not believe to be within my grasp. The drama, too, which I would fain have chosen, I believed to be above me. For history, biography, or essay writing I had not sufficient erudition. But I thought it possible that I might write a novel. I had resolved very early that in that shape must the attempt be made. But the months and years ran on, and no attempt was made. And yet no day was passed without thoughts of attempting, and a mental acknowledgement of the disgrace of postponing it.’

p110

‘I have known authors whose lives have always been troublesome and painful because their tasks have never been done in time. They have ever been as boys struggling to learn their lesson as they entered the school gates. Publishers have distrusted them, and they have failed to write their best because they have seldom written at ease. I have done double their work, - though burdened with another profession, - and have done it almost without an effort. I have not once, through all my literary career, felt myself even in danger of being late with my task. I have known no anxiety as to ‘copy’. The needed pages far ahead - very far ahead - have almost always been in the drawer beside me. And that little diary, with its dates and ruled spaces, its record that must be seen, its daily, weekly demand upon my industry, has done all that for me.

There are those who would be ashamed to subject themselves to such a taskmaster, and who think that the man who works with his imagination should allow himself to wait till inspiration moves him. When I have heard such doctrine preached, I have hardly been able to repress my scorn. To me it would not be more absurd if the shoemaker were to wait for inspiration, or the tallow-chandler for the divine moment of melting, if the man whose business it is to write has eaten too many good things, or has drunk too much, or smoked too many cigars, as men who write sometimes will do,- then his condition may be unfavourable for work; but so will be the condition of a shoemaker who has been similarly imprudent. I have sometimes thought that the inspiration wanted has been the remedy which time will give to the evil results of such imprudence. - Mens sana in corpora sano. The author wants that as does every other workman, - that and a habit of industry. I was once told that the surest aid to the writing of a book was a piece of cobbler’s wax on my chair. I certainly believe in the cobbler’s wax much more than the inspiration.’

My heart beats faster

Eighty years ago today Kim Malthe-Bruun, a brave young Dane, only 21 years of age, was executed by the Nazis for being involved with the Danish resistance movement. Soon after his death, his mother published some of Kim’s writings, including letters and diary material written during his incarceration. In one moving piece, written just a month before his death, he writes about feeling no fear while his heart beats faster every time someone stops outside his door.

Kim Malthe-Bruun was born in Fort Saskatchewan, near Edmonton, Canada, in 1923. His mother, Vibeke, originally from Denmark, decided to move back home with Kim, then nine years old, and his younger sister. When still young he signed up with the merchant navy, and then, after the German occupation of Denmark, he joined the Danish resistance. In 1944, he was arrested by the Germans for being involved in the shipping of weapons from Sweden to Denmark. He was tortured, and then, on 6 April 1945, he was executed. A little further information is available from Wikipedia.

After the war, Vibeke edited a selection of her son’s diary-like letters, some written when he was still a seaman and some written from prison, as well as diary material found hidden in the Copenhagen prison. These were published by Thaning & Appel soon after Kim’s death. They received a wider audience when, in 1955, Random House published a translation (by Gerry Bothmer) into English titled Heroic Heart: The diary and letters of Kim Malthe-Bruun 1941-1945. More recently, in 1996, substantial excerpts from Kim’s diary appeared in Children in the Holocaust and World War II: Their Secret Diaries by Laurel Holliday (Simon and Schuster). Much of this latter - which was reissued in 2014 - is available to read online at Googlebooks (and is the source of the extract below).

In general, Kim’s published letters are diary-like, factual, about his daily life, trials and tribulations, but the following text (3 March 1945) was found, after the German capitulation, in Vestre prison. It was written in microscopic writing on the back of a letter Kim had received toward the end of February 1945. Around this period, it is known that Kim was being tortured and, at least once, was sent back to his cell in an unconscious state.

3 March 1945
‘Yesterday I was sitting at the table. I looked at my hands in amazement. They were trembling. I thought about it for a moment. There are some things which produce a purely physical reaction. Suddenly, as I was sitting here, I was possessed by the desire to draw something. I got up and started to sketch on the wall. I was fascinated and became more and more absorbed. Under my hand suddenly appeared a farmer, standing by a barbed-wire fence. I sat down, got up and made some changes, sat down again and felt much better. All day I worked on it. There were so many things which I couldn’t make come out the way I wanted them to. I studied it, stretched my imagination to the utmost and was suddenly completely exhausted. I erased all of it and since then even the idea of drawing makes me sick.

I’ve been thinking about this strange experience a good deal. Right afterwards I had such a wonderful feeling of relief, a sense of having won a victory and such intense happiness that I felt quite numb. It seemed as if body and soul became separated, one in a wild and soaring freedom beyond the reach of the world, and the other doubled up in a horrible cramp which held it to the earth. I suddenly realized how terrifically strong I am (but perhaps I only tried to talk myself into this). When the body and soul rejoined forces, it was as if all the joys of the world were right there for me. But it was as with so many stimulants; when the effect wore off the reaction set in. I saw that my hands were shaking, something had given inside. It was as if there had been a short circuit in the roots of my heart which drained it of all strength. I was like a man hungry for pleasure and consumed by desire. But still I was calm and in better spirits than ever before.

Although I feel no fear, my heart beats faster every time someone stops outside my door. It’s a physical reaction.

Strange, but I don’t feel any resentment or hatred at all. Something happened to my body, which is only the body of an adolescent, and it reacted as such, but my mind was elsewhere. It was aware of the small creatures who were busying themselves with my body, but it was in a world of its own and too engrossed to pay much attention to them.

I’ve learned something by being alone. It is as if I’d reached rock bottom in myself, which usually can’t be seen for all the layers of egotism, conceit, love, and all the ups and downs of daily life. It is this which makes me feel as if I’d had a short circuit within me. When I’m with the other people, their interests, their conversation, act as a balm, covering the rock bottom in myself with a warm compress. When I’m alone, it is as if layers of skin were being scraped away. Your mind is not at ease, you can’t concentrate on reading, the spirit as well as the body must keep pacing up and down. I suddenly understood what insanity must be, but I knew that this was like everything else which has happened to me, and in a couple of days I’ll be myself again.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 6 April 2015.

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.’

Clumsy by being over-sincere

‘If as a diarist he is often clumsy by being over-sincere, as a student he devotes too much effort to transcribing his sources and too little to considering their interrelations.’ This was written by a biographer of the diaries of Franz Xaver von Baader, born 260 years ago today. A German philosopher, theologian, physician, and mining engineer, he was renowned for his contributions to mysticism and Christian theosophy. Although he kept diaries, they are predominantly religious and philosophical in content; moreover, they only seem to have been published in the original German.

Baader was born on 27 March 1765, in Munich, the third son of Franz Peter Baader, the court physician to the Elector of Bavaria. Like his father, he pursued medical studies, at the universities of Ingolstadt and Vienna, briefly practicing medicine before moving to England to study mineralogy and engineering (1792-1796). There, he developed an interest in philosophy and theology. In 1820, he retired from his engineering career, and thereafter published one Fermenta Cognitionis in six parts from 1822 to 1825, in which he combats modern philosophy and recommends the study of Böhme.

In 1826, Baader was appointed professor of philosophy and speculative theology at the newly established University of Munich. ​In 1838, he publicly opposed the interference of the Roman Catholic Church in civil matters and, in consequence, was interdicted from lecturing on the philosophy of religion for three years.

Baader’s personal life was marked by his deep spirituality and intellectual pursuits. He was influenced by the mystical writings of Jacob Böhme and Neoplatonism. His philosophical approach combined elements of mysticism, theosophy, and Catholic theology, distinguishing him from other German philosophers of his era. He died in Munich, unmarried, in 1841. Further information can be found at New Advent, Prabook and Wikipedia.

Baader certainly kept journals - published in the original German as Tag und Studien Bücher. They are predominantly religious and philosophical in content; however, his youth diaries - Jugendtagebücher - are said to offer a more valuable personal perspective. After his death, between 1851 and 1860, his works were collected and edited by a number of his disciples and published in 16 volumes - his diaries are in volume XI. Although I cannot find any extracts from his diaries online, Dennis Osborn Leuer does discuss - in a biographical paper available online at Oxford University Research Archive - Baader’s diaries and their relevance (in the Life and Works of Franz von Baader, 1976)

The Beginnings of Baader’s Naturphilosophie: Religion and Nature in the Tagebücher

‘Baader’s Journal’s of 1786-1793 are primarily, as he declares them to be, private documents of self-development. This is only formally contradicted by their semi-public character: they were seemingly modelled on contemporary confessions such as Lavater’s (published) Geheimes Tagebuch and copies of Baader’s rather studied étalage du moi were sent directly to his religious preceptor, J. M. Sailer. Secondarily, Baader’s journals are notebooks on his studies. If as a diarist he is often clumsy by being over-sincere, as a student he devotes too much effort to transcribing his sources and too little to considering their interrelations. For these reasons, and because of their dual character, the journals at first sight appear shapeless. Having said this much, and in awareness of the lack of coherence even in Baader’s formal writings, his diary would seem an inauspicious place to begin organizing the fragments of his Naturphilosophie into an intelligible structure. But such early writings are normally understood in terms of the author’s characteristic statements, that is, in terms of the ideas which survived. In this perspective, Baader’s journals show not only the varied intellectual ambience of early Romanticism, but, in embryonic growth, the enduring major theme of Naturphilosophie. Stated briefly, that theme was the intuited unity of spirit (Geist) and nature (Natur). Once alleged, it spoke for the corresponding philosophical union of religion (or psychology) and natural science, which became the very task of Naturphilosophie.’

Lloyd George’s scant diaries

David Lloyd George, the only Welshman to serve as UK Prime Minister, died 80 years ago today. Although not a diarist, his literary estate, held by the National Library of Wales, does include a dozen diary manuscripts. Most of these have been digitised, and the pages can be viewed online. However, they do not seem to have been transcribed, and the original handwriting is difficult to decipher. As far as I can tell, there are no published extracts from these diaries. Nevertheless, Lloyd George is a key focus of diaries kept by at least three people close to him: Frances Stevenson, illicit lover and then second wife - see We had great fun; Albert James Sylvester, David Lloyd George’s personal assistant - see He is a very great man; and George Allardice Riddell, a key adviser to David Lloyd George - see Riddell and Lloyd George.

Born in Manchester in 1863, Lloyd George was raised, after his father’s early death, in Llanystumdwy, Wales, by his uncle, a strong Liberal and Nonconformist. This upbringing is said to have shaped his political views, instilling a deep commitment to Welsh nationalism, social reform, and radical Liberalism. He entered politics as the Member of Parliament for Caernarfon Boroughs in 1890, and quickly gained a reputation as a fiery orator and champion of social justice. As Chancellor of the Exchequer (1908-1915), he introduced landmark reforms, including the 1911 National Insurance Act, laying the foundations of the welfare state. His controversial ‘People’s Budget’ of 1909, which aimed to tax the wealthy to fund social programmes, led to a constitutional crisis but ultimately strengthened democratic control over the House of Lords.

During World War I, Lloyd George played a key role in mobilising Britain’s war effort. In 1916, he replaced H. H. Asquith as Prime Minister, leading a coalition government. Under his leadership, Britain saw victory in 1918; and he then played a key role in the postwar peace process, notably at the Treaty of Versailles. However, his postwar administration faced economic difficulties, industrial unrest, and the Irish War of Independence, leading to his resignation in 1922.

Lloyd George remained politically active but never returned to power. He spent his later years writing and advocating for international peace. Created the Earl Lloyd-George of Dwyfor, he died shortly thereafter, on 26 March 1945. Despite controversy over his policies and personal life, he is remembered as one of Britain’s most dynamic and reformist leaders. Further information is available from Wikipedia, History of the UK Government, Encyclopaedia Britannica, and The National Library of Wales.

Lloyd George was not a natural diarist, however, he did leave behind a modest collection of diary material, all contained in the papers of William George, David Lloyd Georges brother (purchased by the National Library of Wales in 1989). The diary from 1886 contains an account of his personal life and his political career. It describes his first public speech - in Blaenau Ffestiniog on 12 February - and describes his political activities and ambitions in some detail.

Further details on this diary can be found at the People’s Collection Wales: ‘This diary is one of a series kept by David Lloyd George while he was working as a solicitor in Criccieth. It is, perhaps, the most fascinating, as it was written just as Lloyd George was on the brink of launching into a political career. The diary contains lengthy entries giving details of Lloyd George's personal life and public activities. In particular, he describes his first public speech at Blaenau Ffestiniog on 12 February, which made a deep impression locally and led to speculation that he might be invited to stand as a Liberal candidate for Meirionethshire that year. During subsequent entries Lloyd George describes his political activities, aspirations and ambitions candidly and in some detail. There are also a number of revealing references to his courtship with Margaret Owen of Mynydd Ednyfed, Criccieth.’

The diary can be viewed digitally online at the Library website, but as far as I know, it has not been transcribed. The Library also provides summary information about 11 other diary manuscripts it holds, as follows:

David Lloyd George's other diaries

1887 Jan-Nov

1878 The Diary of the Calvinistic Methodists, brief entries for July-December

1880 Pocket note-book bearing brief diary notes for the whole of the year, some in shorthand

1881-1882 Loose papers bearing diary entries, fairly complete, some in detail

1883 Detailed diary entries written on the reverse of a printed voters' list for the county of Merioneth

1884 Ditto

1885 Renshaw’s Almanac and Diary

1887 Diary and Memoranda. Very few entries; almost completely blank

1888 The Legal Pocket Book & Calendar 1888 containing brief entries for only a few days

1888 Collins’ Pocket Diary bearing few entries

1892 Calendar and Diary of the Alliance Assurance Company bearing brief entries from January to July.

Eskmeaux use slings

‘To the Eastward & the Westward the Ice breaks up but soon freezes again. The Eskmeaux saw large Canoes full of White Men to the Westward 8 or 10 Winters since, from whom they got Iron of which they exchanged part with them for Leather. [. . .] That the Eskmeaux dress like them wear their Hair short, have two holes one in each Side of the Mouth in a line with the under Lip, in which they stick long Beads, which they find in their Lakes, their Bows differ from theirs they make use of Slings to throw Stones at their Enemies, at which they are very dextrous.’ This is from the diaries of Sir Alexander Mackenzie, a Scottish explorer who was the first European to cross North America north of Mexico. He died 205 years ago today. 

Mackenzie was born in Stornoway on the Isle of Lewis, Scotland, in 1764. His father, a merchant and landowner, sought greater opportunities in the New World, prompting the family to emigrate to British North America (modern-day Canada) in 1774. Young Alexander was sent to school in Montreal, where he received a formal education and was later apprenticed to a fur-trading company. He joined the North West Company, a major rival of the Hudson’s Bay Company, in the 1780s and quickly rose through the ranks. Eager to expand the company’s influence and find a viable trade route to the Pacific, he embarked on a series of expeditions.

In 1789, Mackenzie set out from Fort Chipewyan on Lake Athabasca, following what he hoped was a passage to the Pacific. Instead, he reached the Arctic Ocean via the river that would later bear his name, the Mackenzie River. Undeterred by this unexpected outcome, he redoubled his efforts. His most famous journey came in 1792-1793, when he led an arduous overland expedition from Fort Chipewyan, through the Rocky Mountains, and down the Bella Coola River to the Pacific Ocean. He became the first European to cross the North American continent, predating the famed Lewis and Clark expedition by over a decade (see White bear, drunk Indians).

Following his explorations, Mackenzie returned to Britain, where he was knighted in 1802 for his contributions to geographical discovery. Crossing the Atlantic again to Canada as Sir Mackenzie, he was elected to the Legislature of Lower Canada, serving as member for Huntingdon County from 1804 to 1808. Once again, though, he returned to Scotland, in 1812, where he married 14-year-old Geddes Mackenzie, twin heiress of Avoch. They had two sons and a daughter, living alternatively in Avoch and London. He died in his mid-50s, on 12 March 1820. Further information is available from Wikipedia, Dictionary of Canadian Biography, or this Mackenzie Clan website.

Mackenzie kept detailed, and somewhat dry, journals on his expeditions. In his own lifetime, he published Voyages from Montreal, on the River St. Laurence through the Continent of North America, to the Frozen and Pacific Oceans; In the Years 1789 and 1793 (London, 1801). This is freely available to read online at Internet Archive.

More than 150 years later, in 1966, the University of Oklahoma Press published Exploring the Northwest Territory: Sir Alexander Mackenzie’s Journal of a Voyage by Bark Canoe from Lake Athabasca to the Pacific Ocean in the Summer of 1789 as edited by T. H. McDonald. More recently, modern reproductions of the journals have been issued by The Narrative Press.

Here are several extracts from the original 1801 volume.

9 July 1793

‘Thunder and Rain last Night, (and, in the course of it) our Conductor deserted. Could not find him, embarked one of the others against his will, and took his paddles from the one that remained that he might not follow us, at which he that was in our Canoe got quite enraged, jumped at the Paddle threw it on shore, but we embarked it again and pacified him. At half past 3 left our Campment. In a very short time, we saw a Smoak on the East shore which we made for. Our Stranger began to Hallow to them in a very strange manner. He told us that they were not of his Tribe that they were very wicked and would beat us all, and pull out our Hair etc. The Men waited our Arrival, but the Women and Children took to the Woods. They were only 4 in Number and they began to Harangue us all at the same time before we debarked seemingly in a very violent Passion, but our Hunters could not understand what they said. Our Conductor spoke to them and they became quiet. I made them presents of Beads, Knives, Awls etc. The Women and Children came out of the Wood and met with a similar Treatment. In all they were 15 People, and had a better appearance than any of those we had seen, being healthy and full of Flesh and more cleanly. Their language was something different, but I believe only in the accent, for they and our Conductor understood one another very well, and the English Chief understood one of them, tho’ he could not understand him. Their Arms and Utensils differ but little from those I have already described. They have no Iron except very small Pieces that serve them for Knives, which they get from the Eskmeaux. Their arrows are made of light wood and have only two Feathers at the End. They had a Bow which is different in Shape from theirs, and say they had it from the Eskmeaux who are their Neighbours.

Its of 2 pieces and a very strong Cord of Sinews along the Back of it tied in different places to keep it to the Shape which is this: When this Cord gets wet it requires a good Bow String and a strong arm to draw it. The former must resist the elastic force of the wood and the Cord (I mentioned above) which is very great when it is wet, as it is much contracted, but when it is dry it extends to its common length and is even then a great support to the Bow. The Vessel they cook their victuals is made of a thin frame of wood, oblonged shaped, the Bottom fixed in a Notch, same as a Cask. Their Shirts are not square at Bottom but Tapering to a point from the Belt downwards before and behind and come opposite the Knee embellished with a short Fringe. They have another Fringe the same as I have already described, with the addition of a Stone of a Grey furmacous Berry of the Size and Shape of a large Barley Corn, brown coloured and fluted which they bore thro’ the middle and run one on each String of the Fringe with which they decorate their Shirts by sewing one of them on forming a Demy Circle on the Breast and Back and crossing over both Shoulders. The Sleeves are wide and short, but their Mittens supply this Deficiency, as they are long enough to come over part of the Sleeve, and they wear them continually hanging by a Cord over their Necks. Their lygans want nothing but Waistbands to make them Trowsers. They fasten them with a Cord round the Middle so that they are more decent than their Neighbours. Their shoes are sewed to their lygans and garnished on every seam.

One of the Men were dressed in Shirt made of Musqural Skins. The Womens dress is the same with the Mens, only their Skirts are longer, and have not a Fringe on the Breast. They have a peculiar way of tying the Hair of the Head, viz the Hair of the Temples or fore part of the Skull is tied in the Fashion of two Queues and hanging before the Ears, the Hair of the Scalp or Crown is tied in the same manner down to where People commonly tie their Hair at some distance from the Head and hangs in Balance the whole with a Cord garnished very neatly with original Hair coloured. Some of the Men only dress their Hair in the above manner, the rest and the Women have it hanging loose long or short.’

23 July 1793

‘We began our March half past 3 this Morning, the Men on the lines (to tow the canoe) I walked with the Indians to their Huts which were further off than what expected. We took 3 Hours hard walking to get to them. Passed a narrow deep River in our way, at the Entrance of which the Natives had Nets set. They had hid their Effects and young Women in the wood, as we saw but few of the former and none of the latter. They have a large Hut built with Drift wood upon the Declivity of the Beach and dug in the Inside to a level. At each End are two Stout Forks, whereon is laid a strong Ridge split open to dry. They make Fires in different parts of the House that the Fish may dry the sooner. They have Rails on the Outside of the House which are likewise covered with Fish, but fresher than those in the Hut. They appear very careful of the Roes or Sperme (spawn) of the Fish which they dry in like manner. We got as many Fish from them as we chose to embark, for which I gave them Beads, as they were fonder of them than of any thing I possessed, tho’ I did not observe they had any of them. Iron they put little value in. During 2 Hours that I remained here I kept the English Chief continually questioning them - the result of which is as follows: That their Nation or Tribe is very numerous, that the Eskmeaux are always at variance with them, that they kill their Relations when they Find them weak. Notwithstanding they promise to be always Friends, they of late have shewn their Treachery by Butchering some of their People in proof of which some of the Relations of those deceased shewed us that they had cut off their Hair upon the occasion, & that they are determined not to believe the Eskmeaux any more; that they will collect all their Friends to go to revenge the Death of their Friends. That a strong Party of the Eskmeaux comes up this River in their large Canoes in search of Flint Stones to point their Spears and Arrows, that they were now at their Lakes due East from where we are now, that the distance is not great over land, where they kill the Rein Deer & that they will begin soon to kill big fish for their winter stock, that they know nothing about the Lake in the Direction we were in.

To the Eastward & the Westward the Ice breaks up but soon freezes again. The Eskmeaux saw large Canoes full of White Men to the Westward 8 or 10 Winters since, from whom they got Iron of which they exchanged part with them for Leather. Where the big Canoes came to, they call Belan howlay Tock (Belhoullay Toe) (White Mens Lake). That the Eskmeaux dress like them wear their Hair short, have two holes one in each Side of the Mouth in a line with the under Lip, in which they stick long Beads, which they find in their Lakes, their Bows differ from theirs they make use of Slings to throw Stones at their Enemies, at which they are very dextrous. They likewise informed us that we should not see any more of their Relations, that they had all left the River to go & kill Rein Deer for their Winters Provision, & that they intended to do the same in a few Days; that Rein Deers, Bears, Carcajeaux (wolvereens), Martin, Foxes, Hares and White Buffaloe, are the only quadrupèdes upon their Lands, the latter are only to be met with in the Mountains to the Westward. 

Went with the Line all Day except 2 Hours Sailing. We camp’d at 8 oClock. From where we started this Morning, the Banks of the River are well covered with Small wood, Epinette, Birch & Willows. We found it very warm travelling.’

7 August 1739

‘Commenced our Day at 1/2 past 3 this Morning. Shortly after we saw two Rein Deer on the Beach a head. We stopp’d & our Indians went to approach them, but they were too ambitious who shou’d first get near them, that they rais’d the Animals, of course lost them. At the same time we saw an Animal traversing, we immediately made for it & killed it. It proved to be a Rein Deer Female, & from the Number of cuts she had in the hind Legs, we judged she had been pursued by Wolves & that they had destroy’d her Young Ones. Her Udder was full of Milk, one of the Young Indians cut it up & emptied the Milk among some boiled Corn & ate it declaring it was (Wicazen) delicious. At 5 PM. we saw an Animal running along the Beach which some said was a Dog & others said was a Grey Fox. Soon after I put a Shore for the Night at the Entrance of a small River, as I thot. there might be some Natives not far off. I order my Hunters to arange their Fuzees & gave them Ammunition to go a hunting To-morrow & at the same Time to look out for Natives in the Neighbouring Mountains. I found a small Canoe in the Edge of the Wood, had a Paddle & Bow in it. It had been mended this Spring, the Bark was much neater sewed than any I had yet seen. We saw many old Campmts. in the Course of the Day. The Current very strong & point (along the points) equal to rapids.’