Friday, May 3, 2019

They mix it up almost as I do

‘We have a three-hour session at the home of the Artists’ Union, a big old mansion once the home of some French family. We hear a great variety of Vietnamese music, from the Western-influenced modern compositions to ancient traditional music. They mix it up, alternating old and new almost as I do.’ This is none other than Pete Seeger, the great American folk singer who was born a century ago today. Although he rarely kept diaries throughout his long life, the above quote comes from a brief diary he did keep while travelling in Vietnam in the early 1970s.

Seeger was bon on 3 May 1919 in Manhattan, New York City. His father was a Harvard-trained composer and musicologist and his mother a concert violinist and music teacher. When Seeger was a still a toddler, his parents set out with him and his two older brothers in a homemade trailer aiming to bring music to the working people of the American South. Aged four, he was sent to a boarding school for a couple of years, and aged seven his parents divorced. Seeger attended schools in Nyack where his mother lived before being sent to Avon Old Farms School, a private boarding school in Connecticut, until 1936. It was at Avon that he first began playing the ukulele; he first heard the five string banjo when visiting music festivals with his father and stepmother, Ruth Crawford. Also, while still a teenager, he joined the Young Communist League.

Seeger followed in his father’s footsteps by going to Harvard, but, increasingly, he became more involved in music events and politics than in his courses. By 1938, he had dropped out of college, and was on the road, travelling round the country, collecting ballads, singing, and developing a remarkable ability on the banjo. In 1940, he formed the Almanac Singers, a quartet that also featured the folksinger and composer Woody Guthrie, which performed at union halls, farm meetings, and wherever their populist folk messages and songs were welcome. In 1943, he married Toshi Aline Ota, and they would have four children (although one died in infancy). When he was called up to the US Army, he trained as an airplane mechanic and served in the Pacific. However, once there, it wasn’t long before he was reassigned to entertain American troops. After the war, in 1948, Seeger formed another group, the Weavers which went around the country giving concerts, particularly to students, and it began to produce records. However, as the group achieved national fame, so public attention to Seeger’s left-wing politics led to it being blacklisted.

Thereafter, Seeger usually toured and performed on his own, sometimes with half-siblings Mike or Peggy, but he remained the focus of blacklisting by mainstream entertainment organisers. This was even more the case after he refused to answers questions by the House Committee on Un-American Activities in 1955, and a subsequent conviction for contempt of Congress in 1961 (though this was later overturned). Seeger became a fixture at folk festivals across the country, and is credited with popularising the ‘hootenanny’ i.e a gathering of performers playing and singing for each other, often with audience participation. He wrote many songs himself, and collaborated with others also. Where Have All the Flowers Gone and If I Had a Hammer are two of his most famous songs. During the 1970s and 1980s, he was often to be found protesting on environmental - particularly antinuclear - issues, as well as promoting the music of his friend Woody Guthrie who had died in 1967.

By the 1990s, the taint of accusations against him in the McCarthy period had all but died away, and somehow he had become an American institution. In 1994, he was awarded a National Medal of Arts, and in 1996 he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. He released more successful albums, winning Grammys for Pete in 1996, At 89 in 2008, and Tomorrow’s Children (with the Rivertown Kids) in 2011. In January, 2009, at the finale of Barack Obama’s inaugural concert in Washington, D.C., Seeger (and his grandson Tao Rodríguez-Seeger) joined Bruce Springsteen, and a vast crowd in singing the Woody Guthrie song This Land Is Your Land - with several political verses having been restored to the popular sanitised version
. Seeger died a few years later, in 2014. Further biographical information is available at Wikipedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica, Folkways at The Smithsonian, or from any number of obituaries (The New York Times, The Guardian, RollingStone, The Washington Post, Los Angeles Times).

It can’t be said that Seeger was much of a diarist, though a couple of brief diaries he did pen have been published - in Pete Seeger in His Own Words as selected and edited by Rob Rosenthal and Sam Rosenthal (Paradigm Publishers, 2012). Seeger’s preface explains how this book came about.


‘I was asked to write a short last chapter to this book. But Rob and Sam said it would be better as a preface. So here ’tis. Dear Reader: For 30 years or more, I had put copies of letters, unfinished diaries, and miscellaneous essays in a filing cabinet and forgot about ’em. Then four years ago, a professor asked if he could look through them, perhaps reprint some. I said “sure” in my usual unthinking way.

Behold. The professor and his son have made a book. I’m now age 93. Whatever insights I’ve had and whatever mistakes I’ve made in my long life are now displayed. The inconsistencies, the contradictions are all here. All! Well, at least a lot of ’em, thanks to Rob and Sam. Yes, thanks also to Dean Birkenkamp and the folks at Paradigm Publishers, you can now read them.

Now, I’ll waste a little time to say that I found myself wanting to rewrite almost all of the pieces in this book. But Rob and Sam thought it best not to go down that road. What was, is.
To all of you I say, stay well. Keep on, Old Pete Seeger’

In the book, there are references to two diaries. The first is Diary of a Soldier, begun in March 1943, and picked up again in April 1944, added to through 1944 and 1945, and finished in 1947. However, it barely reads like a diary, more a record or memoir. Seeger, who is in Keesler Field, Mississippi in March 1943, starts the diary as follows: ‘During this lull, while I am sitting here waiting for shipment, I thought I would take advantage of my free time to write the story of my time in the army. . .’ And he proceeds to set out what has happened to him over the last few years, and then describe in a little more detail his time since having joined the army. Later entries (very few of them) also have a substantial retrospective tone.

The second diary dates from nearly 30 years later, when Seeger was visiting Vietnam. It’s source is cited as Eastern Horizon magazine (1972), so it seems likely that Seeger was commissioned by the magazine to write it. Here are several extracts.

10 March 1972
‘We arrive in Hanoi amid palm trees and rice paddies to our right and left. Is this the land of “the Enemy”? We are greeted by 30 members of the Committee for Solidarity with the People of the U.S. Huge bouquets of flowers are put in our arms, and we are kissed and hugged, with tears of emotion in our eyes and theirs.

First impressions of Hanoi: It is a city (1,000,000) on bicycles, mostly manufactured locally with imported steel. An amiable, courteous people, small in size. They show a love of color in spite of little money - it takes two or three months wages to buy a bicycle. Trees everywhere, and so are bomb shelters. The city has not been bombed since 1968, but they think an all-out attack may yet come.

We visit a little temple-pagoda 1,000 years old. It was destroyed by the retreating French, and later rebuilt. We also visit a lovely park created by thousands of volunteers, who made a lake from a swamp! put in flowers, pavilions, goldfish tanks - wow! It shows what can be done with very little money only if you have love and perseverance. Someone has “sculptured” bushes to look like ostriches, lions and deer on the lawn. And then we see “elephants” sculpted by growing four small pines and weaving their long branches around to form legs torso, head, and trunk!

Another thing I have never seen: bicycles each carrying loads up to 800 pounds! The device was invented during the war against the French. A man walks pushing the bicycle with one hand on a diagonal stick behind the seat, and another steering by a horizontal stick tied to the handlebars. The load is on two platforms hung low one on each side of the bicycle.’

11 March 1972
‘In the morning we visit the museum, which combines archaeology with crafts and modern painting and sculpture. It is a small museum, but one of the best we’ve ever seen. There we find a 4,000 (!) year-old bronze drum. It is four feet high and was used for signaling in naval battles. But it is still in perfect condition. Decorations covering it depict the life and times of that period.

In the afternoon we visit an exhibition of war crimes. Latest ingenious bombs and devices to carry on computerized electronic warfare from the air are on display, enough to give anyone nightmares.

Evening - we go to the circus. Performers are young, but of high quality. We see trained monkeys peddling tiny bicycles. This country is at war, but the people are not grim about it.’

12 March 1972
‘We have a three-hour session at the home of the Artists’ Union, a big old mansion once the home of some French family. We hear a great variety of Vietnamese music, from the Western-influenced modern compositions to ancient traditional music. They mix it up, alternating old and new almost as I do. Later at 8 pm we have a similar session at the radio station.

Here are some of the instruments we see: A beautiful bird-like flute (the player tells us of performing this instrument for soldiers in sections where U.S. chemical sprays had killed all birds, and the bird calls he made on the instruments were the only ones to have been heard there in years).

Banjo-like instruments have two strings over very high frets, so the player can slur the notes. There is also an instrument like a cigar-box ukulele; a bowed instrument held between the knees of the player while seated; various wood-blocks, claves, drums, from huge to small; and harps like kotos.

All the Western instruments are there. I wouldn’t be surprised if Hanoi, like Tokyo, doesn’t have a first-rate symphony orchestra some day. (Hey, it does have a symphony, which I find out later.)

But what really gets me is an instrument completely new to me, a monochord - one stringed. The Vietnamese name for it is dan ban (pronounced “don bow” - as in bow and arrow - with falling pitch. The same words, if inflected differently, could mean “bullet pinches.”) Like a dulcimer, it is a horizontal box. Perhaps it was once set on the floor, or on the lap. The one we see stood on legs, and is amplified, so as to be heard by any audience bigger than five or ten.

The one steel string is tuned by a peg at the player’s right. His left hand holds a thin curved rod. By forcing this toward the string, he can gradually lower the pitch as much as four or even seven notes. Thus the dan ban is similar to a broomstick-wash-tub bass. When moved to the left, the rod raises the pitch, but no more than three or four notes.

While plucking, the player’s right hand momentarily dampens the string in order to sound the high harmonics, a bell-like tone. Thus if the string’s basic pitch is low C, the first usable note is middle C, and the few notes below that. So most melodies will be played in the 2 1/2 octaves above C. Without the left hand bending the curved rod, one could only play bugle calls. With the rod in action, one hears a warm sensuous melody. An old folk song saying has it: “Let the player of the dan ban be enraptured, by his own music. You, being a girl, should not listen to it.” But the dan ban was never puritanically outlawed, as the fiddle was in America.

A week later we are given a two-hour lesson in the dan ban or don bow, as I shall anglicize it. No one knows exactly how old it is - perhaps several hundred years, perhaps much more.

Our instructor, Doan Auh Tuan, a young man in his twenties, is a member of the Vietnam Traditional Music Ensemble, playing on radio and TV, concert tours, as well as performances for soldiers and for children in parks. He plays often as accompaniment, or with accompaniment. He says that in the old days a good player might be invited to perform at a feudal court. But it was usually in the peasants home or in the courtyard, where a few neighbors could gather to listen. 

14 March 1972
‘We are taken on a 5-hour drive to one of the beauty spots of the world: Hon Gay Bay. which is filled with several thousand steep rocky islands, averaging 400-600 feet high with fishing junks sailing between them.’

15 March 1972
‘I am invited for a 3-hour session at the home of the Delegation to DRVN (North Vietnam) from the PRG (Provisional Revolutionary Government of South Vietnam). You see, the NLF [National Liberation Front, also known as the Vietcong] is not a bunch of guerillas in the forest, but a full-fledged government, with considerable light industry, including color printing, textile, etc. It includes communists in its leadership, but also a lot of non-communists, all united under one slogan: Drive out the Yankees and their puppets.

Their leader, a wiry, intense man a little younger than me, is a prominent writer, a man who knows literature of Europe and America well.’

18 March 1972
‘In the afternoon Toshi and I have a long interview with another writer our age, the head of the journalists’ association, Luu Quy Ky. Luu says that after the U.S. and puppets are defeated trouble is predicted in the south. And then he goes on, “There has been much corruption by the dollar. But we know that the job is to rebuild, not recriminate. Six hundred years ago, after we defeated the Mongol army of Kublai Khan, the king’s minister brought a large box into the court of the king. “This box,” he said, “contains names of all those who collaborated with the invader.” The King ordered the box to be burned, in full view of the court. So today, the NLF proposes that there be no reprisals against the puppet mercenaries.’

Thursday, May 2, 2019

Leonardo da Vinci’s notebooks

Leonardo da Vinci, the great Florentine artist, scientist, inventor and designer, died half a millennium ago this very day. Celebrated the world over by historians and scholars as the ideal of the ‘Renaissance Man’, he outshines every other individual from history in terms of the range of his prodigious talent and legacy. Although he cannot be classed as a diarist, like his near Florentine contemporary Landucci Luca, who was one of the very earliest of European diarists, Leonardo was a prolific keeper of notebooks. Alas, these notebooks, sometimes called journals, contain little about his personal or private life, nor were most of the many thousands of pages that make up the notebooks ever dated. All but one of these journals are in major libraries or museums, and several of them have been fully digitised and can be viewed online.

Leonardo was born, an illegitimate child, in 1452 near the Tuscan hill-town of Vinci. His father had a flourishing legal practice in the city of Florence. Aged 14, Leonardo was apprenticed to the sculptor Andrea Verrocchio, and by 1472 he had joined the brotherhood of Florentine artists. He worked as an artist in Florence for a decade or so, but became increasingly interested in more technical uses for his drawing ability - such as for anatomy and engineering. In 1482, with permission from the ruling Sforza family, he moved to Milan, where he undertook many commissions for Ludovico Sforza, Duke of Milan (preparing floats and pageants for special occasions, for example, creating designs for a dome in Milan cathedral, and designing a model for a huge equestrian monument of his predecessor). In 1499, when the French invaded, he fled to Venice where he was employed as a military architect and engineer.

The next few years saw Leonardo back in Florence (though he spent some time in Cesena in the service of Cesare Borgia, the son of Pope Alexander VI, creating military maps). He rejoined the Guild of Saint Luke and spent two years designing and painting a mural of The Battle of Anghiari, with Michelangelo designing a companion piece. By 1508, he was back in Milan where he bought his own house. From 1513 to 1516, under Pope Leo X, he spent much of his time living in the Belvedere in the Vatican in Rome, where Raphael and Michelangelo were also employed. In 1516, he entered the service of King Francis I of France. He was given the use of the manor house Clos Lucé (now a public museum) in the Loire Valley close to the king’s residence, where he lived with his friend Count Francesco Melzi. Here, Leonardo died on 2 May 1519.

As one of the world’s most famous individuals in all of history, there is a wealth of information about Leonardo, his life and his work, available on the internet: Wikipedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica, The National Gallery, a Leonardo dedicated site, The Art Story. And here is a random selection of some of the many articles/events celebrating the 500th anniversary of Leonardo’s death: The Telegraph, CNN, Royal Collection Trust, Fox News, i.Italy, National Geographic, The Guardian, The Getty Museum, Bodleian Libraries, Indian Express, The Louvre.

Astonishingly, only 15 artworks attributable to Leonardo have survived. However, he left behind a vast quantity of extraordinary notes and sketches (some 7,000 pages are extant). Over the centuries, these have been collated, and are now formally called his codices, but they are also referred to as his notebooks or journals. Although the world’s oldest diaries can be traced to Japan a millennium ago, the earliest diaries in Europe extant today started to appear in Florence, in fact, during the 15th century - particularly those kept by Landucci Luca and Nicolo Barbara. Leonardo’s notebooks cannot be considered diaries in the sense of comprising dated entries about his daily life, and yet the coincidence of Leonardo’s output coinciding with the first diaries is notable, as is their sheer volume (not to even mention their, literally, marvellous content).

According to Wikipedia, ‘Leonardo’s notes and drawings display an enormous range of interests and preoccupations, some as mundane as lists of groceries and people who owed him money and some as intriguing as designs for wings and shoes for walking on water. There are compositions for paintings, studies of details and drapery, studies of faces and emotions, of animals, babies, dissections, plant studies, rock formations, whirlpools, war machines, flying machines and architecture.’ According to the British Library (see below), its notebook features many topics ‘including mechanics, the flow of rivers, astronomy, optics, architecture and the flight of birds’. More specifically, it includes a study for an underwater breathing apparatus, studies of reflections from concave mirrors, and drawings for the design of a mechanical organ.

Almost all the codices are held by major collections such as the Royal Library at Windsor Castle, the Louvre, the Biblioteca Nacional de España, the Victoria and Albert Museum, the Biblioteca Ambrosiana in Milan and the British Library. Bill Gates owns the only codex in private hands, and it is, apparently, displayed once a year in different cities around the world. Universal Leonardo is an excellent source for information about the codices, with a summary of their contents, their location, sample images etc. The initiative was launched back in 2006 by the Council of Europe and supported by Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design. Led by Leonardo scholar Professor Martin Kemp from Oxford University and Professor Marina Wallace from Central Saint Martins it has aimed to be the most comprehensive set of exhibitions and website ever devoted to the Italian genius.

Most of Leonardo’s writings are in, what’s called, mirror-image cursive, making it very difficult to read; he also used a variety of shorthand and symbols. Conveniently, though, topics are covered with text and diagrams on single sheets - thus, as it happened, latter collation of the sheets was independent of missing pages or disorder. But that said, many of the single pages are confused in themselves. According to Dr Richter (see below): ‘A page, for instance, will begin with some principles of astronomy, or the motion of the earth; then come the laws of sound, and finally some precepts as to colour. Another page will begin with his investigations on the structure of the intestines, and end with philosophical remarks as to the relations of poetry to painting; and so forth.’ 

Content from Leonardo’s notebooks first appeared in English in 1883, when the publisher Samson Low et al brought out The Literary Works of Leonardo da Vinci by Dr Jean Paul Richter. Both volumes, 500-600 pages long, can be read freely at Internet Archive (vol. 1, vol. 2). Two decades later came Leonardo da Vinci’s Note-books - Arranged and rendered into English with Introductions by Edward McCurdy (sic) (Duckworth, 1906). And 30 years after that, the author revised his book, quadrupling its pages from 300 to over 1200 (in two volumes) and this time calling it The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci - Arranged, Rendered into English and Introduced by Edward MacCurdy (sic) (Jonathan Cape, 1938). The two volumes (vol. 1 and vol. 2) are also available at Internet Archive. Both Richter and McCurdy opted to arrange Leonardo’s writings in sections by topic (i.e. without relation to their codex source). In his first attempt, McCurdy chose to compile Leonardo’s writing in four main subject areas: life, nature, art, fantasy; 30 years later he opted for 50 topics and subjects. More recently, Oxford University Press has published Notebooks edited by Thereza Wells and Martin Kemp.

The Guardian, The Journaling Habit and Owlcation all have useful articles on Leonardo’s notebooks. Otherwise, several of the codices can be examined online in all their glorious detail: the British Library, for example, has digitised its holding, the Codex Arundel (Turning the Pages, full manuscript); and the Victoria & Albert Museum has done the same with its holding, the Codex Forster.

Wednesday, May 1, 2019

Cough, spitting, and fever

‘Mrs. Evans was displeas’d with some of my Maid Servants for employing one to Hang her Dog which was found & brought to her dead; Though they all vehemently deny’d it. My Wife was so Ill with a Cough, Spitting, & a Fever, she kept Chamber.’ Just another day in the life of a 17th-18th century physician. This is from the diary of Dr Claver Morris, who was baptised 360 years ago today. The diary is surprisingly interesting, as Dr Claver goes about his work (smallpox was rife), seeing to his estates (making hedges and ditches), pressing lemons for mixing with French brandy, making snuff, and showing pride in his son’s progress at school.

Morris was baptised on 1 May 1659 at Bishop’s Caundle in Dorset, the youngest of several children born to William Morris, rector of Manston, and his wife. Not much is known of his childhood, but he studied for several degrees at New Inn Hall, Oxford, and, in 1683, he became an extra licentiate of the Royal College of Physicians. He set up practice in the city of Wells, where he also developed remedies for use with his own patients and for distributing through local apothecaries.

Morris seems to have been very successful, and ultimately became a wealthy man. This was partly because he invested wisely, and partly because he married well, three times in fact (his first two wives dying young). He had a daughter with his first wife Grace, though wife and child died within a year of each other. He had a daughter by his second wife (the widow Elizabeth Jeans) - this was his beloved Betty, who later disappointed him sorely by marrying clandestinely and under age. Nevertheless, she had a happy marriage with numerous descendants. Morris also had a daughter and son with his third wife, Molly Bragge (though the daughter died in infancy, and the son died in his 30th year).

Morris’s interests ranged widely from science to music; and he held several local offices at various times in his life, such as commissioner for land tax, commissioner for sewers, and commissioner for the enclosure of two commons near Glastonbury. He was made a burgess of the city. He died in 1727, and was buried in Wells Cathedral. Wikipedia and The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (log-in required) have some further biographical details.

Morris Claver would barely be remembered today but for the notebooks and diaries he left behind. He kept detailed accounts between 1684 and 1726, themselves very informative, and then a diary in 1709-1710 and from 1718 to 1726. According to the ODNB, these manuscripts ‘provide a unique glimpse into the life of a successful provincial professional man in late Stuart and early Hanoverian England’. The diaries and accounts were first edited by Edmund Hobhouse and published by Simpkin Marshall in 1934 as The Diary of a West Country Physician A.D. 1684-1726. A brief review can be read in The Canadian Medical Association Journal, but otherwise there is very little information online about the book. Here, though, is a selection of extracts as edited by Hobhouse.

19 November 1720
‘I got up before 6, & lighted my Candle by the help of my Tinder-Box in my Saddle-Baggs.’

21 November 1720
‘I was at Close-Hall at our Practice of the Cecilia Song for tomorrow. Mr. Dingleton came in with us I having sent for him to Bristow to assist our Consort with his Basson, Trumpet, or Hautboy.’

22 November 1720
‘I went to the Cathedral, & join’d in the Practice of the Anthem, it being St. Cecilia’s-day. I return’d to the Church, & play’d the Anthem. I had a new Hand made of Deal, by Thomas Parfit, put into the Time-Beater. . . I went to our Cecilia-Meeting at Close-Hall where we had very good Musick, & we perform’d every Piece exactly. We had but 33 who pay’d 2s a piece for Tickets: I pay’d for my Wife, Son, Daughter, Her Husband, Mrs. Evans, & my self 12s. When all the Expenses were discharg’d, 9s-5d were lay’d out more than we had receiv’d.’

24 November 1720
‘Mr. Hillard the Apothecary came to desire me to go to that vicious Woman Mrs. Franklin dangerously Ill of the Small-Pox; But I refus’d to have anything to do with her.’

6 December 1720
‘Thomas Parfit, Charles Taylor, & I went to West-Bradley, to meet Mr. Gardener the Church-warden there, at the Church, whose Timber (the Lead of one side being sometime since taken off to be new wrought,) was found to be utterly decayd, & rotted. We all concluded there must be a Roof entirely new: But did not come to a settled agreement with Thomas Parfit, for how much Money to have it done. We afterwards went down into Baltonsbury North-wood, & measur’d my new made Hedge & Ditch (which were 5350 Chains; & also measur’d that which Astin or Bower were to make against my Enclosure which to mine own expense, & loss of Ground. Having to do with a couple of Rogues, I order’d my Hedgers to Dike & plant with Quick-Sets like the rest, being 6s, 43 Chains. The Water rose so high in the Brook by Cowards that the Horses were driven over it & just like to swim, & I went over the Bridge on Foot, & came through Gardeners Grounds to Mr. James Slade’s in West-Pennard. I had Thomas Parfit, & Charles Taylor after their supping with me to our Musick-Meeting, when Miss Catherine Layng, & a Young Woman who was a Singer in Hereford-shire who had an extraordinary fine Voice, & a very good manner. Sung.’

18 January 1721
‘I made some Lemon-Butter for my Perukes. Henry Coxe Sold me his Estate at West-Bradley for 400L, & I gave him 5 Guineas in Earnest, & we afterwards Executed a Covenant of this Bargain, at the Crown-Inn.’

21 January 1721
‘Eve Stacy came, & for her Husband (he being afraid of the Small-Pox) Agreed to Rent Puridge another Year. Mary Gould my Cook-Maid was so Ill in Convulsive Cough that all concluded she was Dieing.’

9 March 1721
‘Mrs. Evans was displeas’d with some of my Maid Servants for employing one to Hang her Dog which was found & brought to her dead; Though they all vehemently deny’d it. My Wife was so Ill with a Cough, Spitting, & a Fever, she kept Chamber.’

27 March 1721
‘I went to Mr. Hill’s to take the Wager of a Bottle of Wine he lost to me about the time of William the Conquerer’s Reigne. Mr. Lucas, Mr. Burland, & Mr. G. Mattocks, were there. We stay’d ’till 11.’

30 March 1721
‘I was at the Grammar-School, & heard the Orations, Declamations, & Verses, spoken by the Boys, My Son Speaking a Copy of Verses.’

10 April 1721
‘I went to Baltonsbury, (it being Easter Monday,) & carried the Deed of Allotment of the several Shares of the Proprietors in Baltonsbury North-Wood; Which I deliverd (in the Presence of Henry Bull,) to Mr. John Cowper; And he promis’d me he would take care it should be put in, & kept in the Church-Coffer.’

4 January 1725
‘I went (being last night desir’d) before 11 to Mr Keen’s whither Mr Baron of New-Street came to me. He being pitch’d on as a Referee by Captain Gendrault; as I was by Mr Keen to adjust their Claims to the Goods Mrs Keen died possessed of. . . . We after much contrasting this matter, concluded to have Sergeant Earl’s Advice, after Mr Keen & Captain Gendrault had enter’d into Bonds of Award: And if Mr Baron & I could not come to agree in our Determination, we should choose a Third Person whose appointment should be final.’

6 January 1725
‘I heard my Son Construe in the Greek Testament. . . I went to Mr Cupper’s Shop, & his Wife gave me 2 Glasses of her Clove-Wine.’

9 January 1725
‘My young Elms were brought from Bristow. James Whitehead came & offer’d to pay the 5L I yielded to take for the great Mischief he did in Topping 39 Maiden Oaks. I order’d him to Pay Mr Goldfinch the Charge of the Law I commenced against him; Before his doing of which I told him I would not Receive this Money: Which he said he would do.’

15 January 1725
‘I pressed out the Juice of 60 Limons which I had from Bristow, & after it was strain’d through a Flannel Bag I mix’d with each Pint of it a Pottle of French Brandy and Bottled it.’

24 February 1725
‘I made me a Pound of each sort of my Snuff.’

17 March 1725
‘I went to Dulcot, Mr Pain Senr having appointed a Meeting betwixt us at 3 a clock, about cutting the River by Alderley’s Close, streight. I went according to the Time fixt; & stay’d in Alderley’s Close above an hour: Then Mr. Pain came, And as I supposed before he was for Securing his own Ground from the washing of the River, but not mine: So we did not come to an Agreement in the Affair. I had Will Clark with me, with my Perambulator, & Measured the Way. From my Gate to the Gate over-right the Old Lime-Kiln on Tor-Hill, it was Half a Mile; & to the Middle of Dulcot Bridge it was 1 Mile & 31 Pearches.’

1 April 1725
‘My Wife being very like to Die, I sate up with her till 2.’

3 April 1725
‘I made a Decoction & Gargle for my Wife. I sate up with my poor Dying Wife. My Daughter, Mrs Drew, Rachel Teek, & Mrs Evans also sate up.’

4 April 1725
‘I made Decoctions for my Wife’s Drink. . . . My (Wife) who seem’d better in the Morning would be taken up, & sitting up 7 hours too long was very ill & light-Headed. Mr Keen came to talk about his going to Mrs Morgan to make his Addresses to her. I sate up again with my poor Wife all night, She labouring her last for Life, & Breathing with the most deplorable difficulty.’

5 April 1725
‘At 2 a clock in [the] morning my Servant Mary Rogers (who with Mrs Batty (my Butcher’s Wife) & Rachel Tike watch’d with my Wife, Mrs Evans also sitting up with them,) sent to call up my Daughter Bettey Burland, according to her earnest desire, & Mrs Anne Drew. Bettey immediately came, & being in the utmost Passion of Grief was like to faint at her coming into the kitchin: But she ran up the Stairs; when she came where my Wife lay, she was in a great Agonie & cry’d out, Oh! my dear Mother I shall lose my best Friend! then she fell into a Swoon; & recovering from it, she said, Oh my Dear Brother! My poor Wife hearing it, in great concernment started up & ask’d, Is Willey Dead? (He being just recovering out of the Small Pox). I told her he was very well. But she was so affected with the distrust of it, that to satisfie her Fear I was fain to make him get on his Clothes, & come to her; And the sight of him seemd (even though delirious) to please her, & she looking upon him, being orderd by me to turn himself advantagiously to the Light of the Candle that she perfectly see his Face, said she never saw him look better in her Life. Then he kiss’d her, & return’d to his Bed. Mrs Anne Drew (being call’d by Mr Burlands Man-Servant,) came shortly after my Daughter; And both continued with my Dear Wife who from a Death Sweat grew in her Hands & Arms very cold, left speaking in two or 3 hours, & half an hour after Ten in the Forenoon she Breath[ed] her last.

I sent to have Rings, Escutcheons, &c, made. In the Evening I sent for my Daughter & she came, Mr Lucas came, & then Mr Burland, & they Eat Bread & Cheese.’

18 May 1725
’I made an end Writing my Will.’

The Diary Junction

Tuesday, April 30, 2019

So sinful as a man

‘A fierce struggle in my breast between love and my artistic dreams is about to be proclaimed. Should I stay permanently in New York with Edyth and become an American? If so, when will I able to visit Paris, for which I have longed all these months and years? Recalling the sadness of Tannhäuser who, sated with the love of a voluptuous goddess, attempted to escape from her grotto, I despondently looked at her as she slept. Ah, nothing is so sinful as a man!’ This is from a youthful diary kept by Nagai Kafū, one of Japan’s great early 20th century writers. He was living in the United States at the time, where he fell in love with Edyth, a prostitute. Later on, back in Tokyo, he would marry a geisha, albeit for a brief period. He died 60 years ago today, and is largely remembered for novels which, while often telling of the painful transition from traditional to modern cultures, often feature characters from the city’s entertainment districts.

Nagai Sokichi, who later took on the pen name of Kafū, was born into a wealthy family in Tokyo in 1879. His father was a scholar, poet and businessman, and his mother was a musician. As a child, Kafū was sent to live with his mother’s family for several years, but he returned home in 1886 when starting elementary school. From 1891, he attended an English-language school. In 1897 he failed to pass the university entrance exams, and went with his mother and brothers to join his father in Shanghai. On returning to Tokyo, he began writing short stories, studied with a Kabuki playwright, and worked briefly as a newspaper reporter. In 1902-1903, he published three novels which brought him some success.

However, in 1903 Kafū’s father insisted he travel to the United States to study banking. He started in Tacoma, Washington, enrolled for a while in Michigan’s Kalamazoo College and then worked for a Japanese bank in New York City and in Lyon, France. He visited Paris and London before returning to Tokyo in 1908. Once there, he soon began publishing prolifically, plays and stories, some about his travels (such as in Amerika Monogatari) and some about traditional Japanese culture. During the 1910s, he served as professor of French literature at Keio University; he also launched various literary journals.

During this period, Kafū’s was briefly married twice - to Yone, the daughter of a wealthy merchant, and to Yaeji, a geisha - though each marriage faltered quickly because of Kafū’s infidelity. He resigned his academic position in 1916 to focus exclusively on his literary work. Udekurabe, published in 1918 and translated as Geisha in Rivalry, was notable for its unromantic descriptions of a geisha’s life. Thereafter, he published little. Bokuto kidan, from 1937 (translated as A Strange Tale from East of the River), is considered his late masterpiece and tells of a writer who has an affair with a prostitute. Having refused to help the war effort, he was prohibited from publishing during the years of the Second World War, but continued once it was over. He died on 30 April 1959.

Encyclopedia.com has this assessment: ‘Kafū’s writing brings an unusual blend of Western and traditional concerns to the Japanese literary tradition; the individualistic spirit of America, for example, informs his books even as traditional Japanese culture acts as their protagonist. His work thus tells the story of the painful transition from traditional cultures, when the beautiful old arts are lost and no invigorating spirit is won.’ Further information is also available at Wikipedia and The Japan Times (which said in 2009, ‘among the major Japanese writers of the early 20th century, [
Kafū] scarcely ranks as a survivor.’

Kafū kept diaries throughout his life, starting when he was abroad in the United States - indeed he is often referred to as a ‘diarist’. Several tomes of these diaries have been published, but they haven’t, as far as I know, been translated into English. However, Donald Keene’s 1999 work, Modern Japanese Diaries (Columbia University Press) contains a chapter on Kafū including translated extracts. According to Keene, there are three published works of 
Kafū’s diaries: Seiyū Nisshi Shō  (Selections from the Diary of a Journey to the West); Kafū’s Shinkichōsha Nikki (Diary of One Recently Returned to His Country), published in 1909; and Danchōtei Nichijō (selections from his diaries between 1917 and 1959). 

Keene explains that the second of these ‘is unquestionably a work of fiction cast in the diary form’ even if ‘the opinions expressed by the diarist so closely reflect Kafū’s at this time that the work can be read as a diary, at least in the sense that we read the diaries of the Heian court ladies or Bashō’s Narrow Road of Oku.’ Of the third diary, Keene says it is extremely detailed: Kafū ‘traces, day-by-day, the changes in the world around him’ - but often giving the impression of bitterness.

The following extracts (all undated) are from Kafū’s first published diary (written while in the US) as found in Keene’s book.

‘Perhaps it is because I am now living abroad that of late I have somehow found it hard to stop thinking about the special flavor of the old writings, so rich in artistic effect. I take from my suitcase such works as The Tale of the Heike and A Tale of Flowering Fortunes and read them at night by the fire.’

‘The newspapers and magazines I have been sent from Japan all report the death of Saitō Ryokuu. As I read the accounts I felt a sadness that was definitely not that of a total stranger - sadness that Ryokuu’s life had been a tragedy created by his own character. Ah, I thought, the last man to delight in the Edo pleasure quarters as a connoisseur of their charms had in the end been unable to survive the struggle for existence of twentieth-century society.’

‘I have always loved southern ways, and that is why I wanted to go south, following the flow of the Mississippi River. I planned to enter Louisiana University. When I heard that even now there are many French people living there, and that they use the French language in their daily conversations, I was extremely eager to go, but people warned me not to. saying the climate was unhealthy. I had no choice but to head north instead.’

‘The dream of a beautiful, fragrant, fan-shaped city [Kalamazoo, Michigan], has at last faded from my heart, and I have come to enjoy instead a snowbound life of absolute tranquillity.’

‘Ah, nothing can be agreed on between my father and myself. Why should I, who have grown accustomed to failure and disappointment, be surprised or lament at this late date? Sooner or later I shall leave Washington and hide myself in some alley in New York, never to return to Japan again.’

‘I suggested we [he and Edyth] go into the park. As we walked along a deserted path, the moonlight filtering through treetops that had begun to lose their leaves was misted over. There was no wind that night, and the strong fragrance of the cosmetics she wore made me think I was in a garden where roses bloomed on a spring night. When presently I informed her that I would be leaving the city and going to New York, she said nothing tor a while, but merely kicked angrily and noisily with the point of her narrow shoes at the leaves that had fallen and accumulated. Suddenly she threw her arms around me and, embracing me tightly, said in a voice clouded with tears, “Then you must come to my place every night from tonight on. I probably won’t be able to follow you, much as I’d like to, but please come to see me every day without fail until the day we must part.” So saying, she pressed her face closely against my chest.’

‘I feel as if I have become exactly like a character in a French novel. I all but weep out of happiness and gratitude, but at the same time, when I think of how much sadder the second parting will be when, inevitably, it presently comes, it seems that the best thing would be to make a clean break now. Mulling over such thoughts keeps me from sleeping. A fierce struggle in my breast between love and my artistic dreams is about to be proclaimed. Should I stay permanently in New York with Edyth and become an American? If so, when will I able to visit Paris, for which I have longed all these months and years? Recalling the sadness of Tannhäuser who, sated with the love of a voluptuous goddess, attempted to escape from her grotto, I despondently looked at her as she slept. Ah, nothing is so sinful as a man!’

‘On the way she kissed me again and again, inside the carriage, then on the ferryboat. As the time for the train to depart approached, she threw from the train window the rose she wore at her throat, as a keepsake until we should meet again. I suddenly felt that I could not abandon her, no matter what sacrifices this might involve.’

Monday, April 22, 2019

In church, at the alehouse

‘Jane Wright, Mr. Sorrowcold’s maid, came to towne and we ware very merry togather. I accomodated her with Ale, and so we parted. I was att this time in a very fair way for pleaseing my carnell selfe, for I knew my selfe exceptable with Emm Potter, notwithstanding my love was entire to Mary Naylor in respect of my vow to her, and I was in hopes that her father countenanced me in the thinge.’ This is from the diary of Roger Lowe, a shopkeeper in the Midlands, who died all of 340 years ago this month. Experts say the diary is a ‘rare survival’ from the 17th century and records a great variety of social interaction, ‘centred on the alehouse as much as upon the religious meeting.’

Roger Lowe was born in 1642 in Leigh, Lancashire. He attended the local grammar school, and worked for the vicar of Great Budworth, Cheshire in 1657 and 1658. Subsequently, though, he was apprenticed to Hammond, a Leigh mercer, for whom he kept a general shop at Ashton-in-Makerfield, near Wigan. He became a busy member of Ashton society, dealing in a wide variety of commodities, with only occasional visits from his master for whom he made regular profits. He also acted as a scribe and notary, being paid in ale as often as in cash. From late 1665, Lowe took over charge of the shop, but found trading on his own account difficult. Before too long, he had moved to Warrington, Lancashire, where he worked for Thomas Peake for three years. In 1668, after a succession of sweethearts, he married Emma Potter, and returned to live in Ashton. There is no recorded death date for him, but it must have been in April 1679 as a post-mortem inventory of his goods was taken on 22 April that year. A brief bio can be found at the National Archives, and a slightly less brief one at the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (log-in required).

Lowe is only remembered today because of a diary he kept for some years, and which survived though the centuries to be first published in the latter half of the 1800s. It is considered ‘a rare survival’, the testament of a common man in the mid 17th century, providing a primary source for information on the history of social attitudes and popular presbyterianism. ‘Its wealth of incidental detail,’ the ONDB says, ‘records a great variety of social interaction, centred on the alehouse as much as upon the religious meeting’.

The diary, which is held by Wigan Archives and Local Studies, first appeared in the Local Gleanings columns of The Manchester Courier, in 1876, and then in the antiquarian columns of The Leigh Chronicle. The following year, it was printed as a stand-alone volume, with a brief introduction and notes. More than half a century later, in 1938, it was edited by William L. Sachse and published by Longmans & Co as The Diary of Roger Lowe of Ashton-in-Makerfield, Lancashire 1663-1674. This is freely available online, at the HathiTrust digital library, and which is the source of the following extracts.

10 September 1663
‘I was sent for to Banferlonge to Anne Greinsworth to write, and it was a very Rany day. This day Hamblett Ashton was att Warrington buryd, being Munday before hangd att Chester for murder. The Lord preserve us from such practices and such end. Amen.’

13 September 1663
‘Lord’s day. I went to Leigh and att noone John Bradshaw and I went into Vicars Feild and talked of former things. I was att this time very sad in spirit by reason of my selfe and seeing my father’s and mother’s grave and pondering of other deaths, for I went round about church to looke att graves of such as I knew.’

17 September 1663
‘I went to bowleing Alley and lost 12d., att which I was sore greeved, came home, and this evening I went with James Naylor to Neawton awooing Ann Barrowe. She had sent for me to come speake with her. I went to Mr. Collier’s to fetch her to us into widow Heapy’s, for there we resided. I put of my one hatt and put on another, and made also my[selfe] as if I ware John Naylor’s man and was sent to towne upon an occasion, and so had something to speake to Anne from her sister. Get her out, and she, with much requesting, promisd to come to us after supper, which shee did; desird me to meete her att Winwick, Lord’s day after.’

16 October 1663
‘I was sent for to Thomas Heyes’. I went. When I came thither it was but upon shop effaires. I sett forward to Banfer longe; there I stayd and dranke Botle Ale and Common Ale and was very merry. Set forward for home; when I was about Roger Naylor’s I went in, and Mary was angry with me [that] I had beene out of shop, for folkes had beene there enquireing for me, which angred her very sore, soe shee was troubled att me.’

13 November 1663
‘Jane Wright, Mr. Sorrowcold’s maid, came to towne and we ware very merry togather. I accomodated her with Ale, and so we parted. I was att this time in a very fair way for pleaseing my carnell selfe, for I knew my selfe exceptable with Emm Potter, notwithstanding my love was entire to Mary Naylor in respect of my vow to her, and I was in hopes that her father countenanced me in the thinge.’

15 November 1663
‘Lord’s day. It was a very rainy day day [sic] and Mr. Blakebume came not to chappell, but sent Mr. Barker to read, and I was som what troubled. Old Roger Naylor came and sate with me all aftemoone. This day was not well spent, I must confesse. The Lord humble me for it.’

23 Jun 1664
‘I went to Leigh and gave my Dame 9 li. in monys. She would have the Taylor take measure on me for a paire of Breeches, dublett, and coate, and she and I went into shop to looke out cloth, and she made me take my choice, soe we tooke two Remlents into house and she kept them in her custodie. This newes sent me joyfullie towards Ashton. It was the Lord that movd her; nay, she was so forward as she would have had the tailor left others’ worke for to have done my clothes against Sabbath day.’

12 March 1674
‘I went to Coz Robert Rosbothome to Rixham faire to seeke his mare that was stolne over night, and we mett with Mathew Cooke, who we conjecturd to be the theefe, and upon our wordes he fled and left a stolne mare, which we securd in town and was after ownd ownd [sic].’

The Diary Junction

Saturday, April 20, 2019

All change in the Balkans

‘Today Montenegro ceased to exist, [. . .] It is however a sad thing that a country should lose its independence of 300 years by the cancelling of an exsequatur to 4 or 5 consuls scattered over the world.’ This is from the diary of the eminent historian Harold William Vazeille Temperley, born 130 years ago today. As a specialist in the Balkans, he served as an adviser to the government during the First World War and its aftermath. His detailed and historically important diary of the period lay ‘slumbering’ in his family’s possession until recently when it was finally edited and published as An Historian in Peace and War.

Temperley was born on 20 April 1879 in Cambridge, the son of Ernest Temperley, a Fellow and Bursar of Queens’ College. He was educated at Sherborne School, and then at King’s College, Cambridge, where he graduated in history. In 1903, he was appointed lecturer at the University of Leeds, and two years later took up a fellowship at Peterhouse, Cambridge. The same year he published his first book, Life of Canning, which had emerged out of his early interest in 18th and 19th century British constitutional history. He married Gladys Bradford, also a historian, in 1913 (though she died tragically young in 1923) and they had one son.

By the start of the Great War, Temperley’s interests had switched to Europe and Britain’s foreign policy, and by then he had travelled extensively in Austria-Hungary and the Balkans. He volunteered for the Fife and Forfar Yeomanry, but missed the Gallipoli landings because of typhoid fever. Thereafter, he served in the War Office, researching policy in the Balkans. In 1917, he published History of Serbia; and in 1919 he acted as an adviser for the British delegation to the Paris peace conference. He was also the British representative on the Albanian boundary commission, and an advisor in 1921 to Arthur Balfour at the League of Nations.

During the first half of the 1920s, Temperley edited six volumes of A History of the Peace Conference of Paris; and, in 1923, he founded The Cambridge Historical Journal. For a decade or so and with George Peabody Gooch, he worked on the long-term project to publish British Documents on the Origins of the War, 1898-1914. In 1927, he published the best-selling textbook, co-authored with A. J. Grant, Europe in the Nineteenth Century, 1789-1914. In 1929, he married his cousin Dorothy Vazeille Temperley; and in 1930 the University of Cambridge appointed him professor of modern history.

The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (log-in required) has this assessment of the man: ‘Temperley was a gregarious - often anarchic - figure who delighted in a keen sense of paradox in history. He was capable of great personal generosity, as well as sentimental outbursts. He was also unpredictable and prone to long abstruse feuds with libraries, archives, ministries, pupils, and colleagues. It may well be that the tense exchanges with the Foreign Office over the edition of documents deprived him of a knighthood.’ He died in 1939. Further information is also available at Wikipedia, Cambridge University, and from John D. Fair’s biography, Harold Temperley: A Scholar and Romantic in the Public Realm (available for preview at Googlebooks).

Temperley began keeping a near-daily diary in the autumn of 1916 and continued for the rest of his life. Although the manuscript documents remain in the possession of the family, Thomas Otte, professor of diplomatic history at the University of East Anglia, edited them for publication by Ashgate (now Routledge)
 in 2014 as An Historian in Peace and War: The Diaries of Harold Temperley. The publisher says: ‘As a professional historian he appreciated the significance of eyewitness accounts, and if Temperley was not at the very heart of Allied decision-making during those years, he certainly had a ringside seat. Trained to observe accurately, he recorded the concerns and confusions of wartime, conscious always of the historical significance of what he observed. As a result there are few sources that match Temperley’s diary, which presents a fascinating and unique perspective upon the politics and diplomacy of the First World War and its aftermath.’ A review of the work can be found in the Journal of Military History.

According to Otte, Temperley was in the habit of writing up impressions in diary form as early as 1900, usually in the form of travel journals while on summer visits to continental destinations, but it was only in 1916, once firmly established in the War Office that he began to keep a ‘more or less daily’ record of his activities and observations. ‘As a professional historian,’ Otte says, ‘he naturally appreciated the significance of eyewitness accounts, and it seems clear from the nature of the source that he meant eventually to publish at least parts of his diary.’ However, his early death prevented this, and later attempts by his widow, apparently, led nowhere. The diaries, in fact, lay ‘slumbering’ in a tin trunk in Temperley’s Somerset home. As a historical source, Otte concludes, the value of the diaries is ‘immense’, and ‘now take their place alongside those of J. W. Headlam-Morley and Harold Nicolson as essential sources for anyone wishing to understand the development of British foreign policy and diplomacy’ in the period.

Otte’s edition of Temperley’s diaries can be previewed at Googlebooks - the source of the following extracts. (I have reproduced the extracts more or less as published, including the editor’s many square brackets - with one exception: I have removed several instances of ‘[Lloyd George]’ leaving Temperley’s ‘LG’ as sufficient identification.)

25 January 1918
‘I heard today from Sir George Arthur, the last story of LG and Asquith. Recently, feeling his insecurity, as witness his lunch to D[avid] D[avies], [Lloyd George] asked Squith to come to 10 Downing St. ‘I’ll be damned if I do’, said Squith to the intermediary. So LG Cavendish Square. There he posed as humble almost servile. ‘I should be ready to serve under you’, said LG. ‘Neither under you, nor over, nor with you,’ said Squith. (Later this story appeared in the Bystander on the 26th.)

The conversation drifted on to Northcliffe and his hatred of the King, due largely to the fact that the King disliked and hardly ever received him. It is well-known at Court that Northcliffe is anti-King, and it is believed that LG is a Republican in principle.

The Queen told a friend of mine that she had left her emeralds not to the P[rince] of W[ales] as future King but personally. She thought thus that he might inherit them.’

22 February 1921
‘Today Montenegro ceased to exist, on receiving a report communicated by me that Gjonovic[,] the Montenegrin Republican Delegate on the Con[stitutiona]l Committee had proclaimed his adhesion to the Yugoslav union idea, despite his Republicanism, and it was also reported that all the Montenegrin (deputies), including the Communists, had taken the oath on the Constitution. France had already discontinued (30 Dec[ember]) diplomatic representation. Our rep[resentati]ve had left on 24th August.

It is however a sad thing that a country should lose its independence of 300 years by the cancelling of an exsequatur to 4 or 5 consuls scattered over the world.

This night there was a debate on the policy of the Internat[iona]l Inst[itute]. It was of no importance, but in ref[eren]ce to ‘policy’ we had some revelations of the past. Sir M[aurice] de Bunsen, who rep[resent]ed us at Vienna till the war - he contributed some senile reflections: ‘we are always told we sh[oul]d have a policy, but I am not certain that it was an advantage and that our advantage has not lain in not having one. When I went to Vienna in [1913] I don’t remember that I heard that a great war was likely. I heard a great deal about the disputes of the C[anadian] P[acific] Railway] with Austria, but nothing about the imminence of a European crisis. This was the old order, each dipl[omatlc] representative left free to his own devices - and to find out things for himself. I am not certain it was a bad one’. I am.’

15 August 1928
‘[Oslo] At the reception, King Haakon VII spoke to me - he has a gentle laugh, displaying his teeth, amiable and mild.

He talked of our publication and said that there were indiscretions in Sidney Lee’s life of Edward. I did not remind him [Haakon VII] that I had seen his indiscretion. He had tried to make his Cabinet join the with England at the beginning of the war, and this fact we omitted in vol. XI. It was not vital to the understanding of the outbreak of the war.

He said on Edward’s death he had asked that the private letters should be destroyed. He did not know whether this was done. I said I thought so, as much had certainly been destroyed.

Koht said he was going leave. I said ‘Can you, before the King?’ He said ‘Yes, if he does not see me’. Just at this point the King came up as he was leaving. He saw us and took Koht by the hand & walked out with him.

The King is said not to speak Norwegian. He has at any rate a Danish accent. He is very democratic and goes up to Holmkoben [sic] to ski in a tram.’

12 December 1916
‘Peace - in the words of the German Emperor - scraps of paper to be binding and swords to beaten into spades. A peace-offer by wireless by 4 despotic monarchs in the world, while we still fumble on the backstairs of secret diplomacy. Now I understand why several days ago LG’s private secretary [Philip Kerr] wanted me to write an article on ‘What Peace Means’. That, according to LG, is the greatest danger.’

10 September 1917
‘Returned after my second visit to Porlock and Exmoor. Applied my military knowledge to the problem of the Doones. The existence of these freebooters cannot be denied today because parish-registers (which some of the critics do not know) mention persons as having been killed by the Doones. Critics of another sort point out that the Doone valley is not a natural fortress, but is actually defenceless, because it is relatively low, and there is no true Doone gate or waterslide as in Blackmoore’s story. But this is a shallow view - a far better defence than choosing a natural fortress was to choose a secluded valley remote from roads. Now, if examined carefully the position of the Doone valley on Exmoor is unique. The modern roads may not have existed but their prototypes in track and by path did. Now Doone valley is the centre of an area of which the four corners are Brendon, Simon’s bath [sic], Exford and Porlock common, roughly about 5 miles square. In this area there is neither road nor track at all making a through-traverse from side to side of the square. There is no other such trackless waste in all Exmoor - no other place 2 miles square in which tracks do not meet. This therefore was a perfectly ideal centre for a robber band to live. Their valley could not be seen or approached from any important road or track. It was, therefore, ideal for their purposes, because they could sally out straight across country, in any direction, and the distance of 5 miles each way gave them opportunity for detecting any advance.’

13 November 1917
‘Jews. The upshot of an inquiry into Bolshevik activities seems to show that many of them are Jewish, that some of them are paid by Germany, that Lenin, though not a Jew, is so paid. But there the matter would seem to stop. The clearest case of anti-Entente Jewish interference is the Rumcherod, and Jewish agents in Roumania, who sought to corrupt Roumanian Jews, soldiers and peasants and outrageously interfered with the rights of Jews.

It is probable that the majority of Jews are anti-Entente mainly on Socialistic grounds perhaps, but certainly also because of previous maltreatment. The Jews is Entente countries, other than Russia & Roumania, have decidedly come out in favour of the Entente. Even in Poland the Jews are now anti-German instead of anti-Russian. Zionism will probably put the finishing touch to the process of winning the Jewish majority.

Italy. We certainly took away our guns from Cadorna with a curtness that was discouraging, when he declined to renew the offensive on the Isonzo. His calculations were wrong but so also were ours.’

Thursday, April 18, 2019

Diary briefs

Diary evidence in Israeli corruption claim - The Times of Israel

Jan Morris’s ‘charming’ diary - Faber & FaberVox

Kiwi potter’s diaries  - Stuff

Great Escape hero diary sold - Hansons, BBC

Salt in My Soul: An Unfinished Life - Penguin Random House, Amazon

Nazi diary reveals treasure hauls - Daily Mail, Curiosmos

Diary of Hae Min Lee - Heavy

A.K. Ramanujan’s diaries - Penguin India, The Hans India

Ettie’s Diary: 1910 - 1912 - Amazon

Sunday, April 14, 2019

A run-of-the-mill book

Today is the 80th anniversary of the publication of John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. Although it went on to win the Pulitzer Prize, and to be cited by the Swedish Academy when awarding Steinbeck the Nobel Prize, Steinbeck himself confided in his diary that he thought it ‘just a run-of-the-mill book’.

Born in 1902, the third of four children, Steinbeck grew up in Salinas, California, and studied at the local school and Stanford University. He took various jobs to support himself, but dropped out of university, and then worked on a freighter heading for the east coast. Less than a year later, he returned to California on another steamer. His first novel, Cup of Gold, was published in 1929. He moved to San Francisco, and married Carol Henning in 1930, but then he and Carol moved to his family’s cottage in Pacific Grove, about 100 miles further south.

During the Depression the couple lived largely on what they could grow or catch in the sea. Steinbeck, though, travelled around the area and wrote about what he saw. His most famous novels were written in the 1930s, novels such as Tortilla Flat, Of Mice and Men and, in 1939, The Grapes of Wrath - which won the Pulitzer Prize the following year.

In the early 1940s, Steinbeck divorced Henning, moved to New York, and married Gwyndolyn Conger. For a short while, he worked as a war correspondent in Europe for The Herald Tribune. Gwyndolyn and Steinbeck had two sons, Thomas and John, but were divorced in 1948. The same year he moved back to Pacific Grove, where he wrote East of Eden. In 1950, Steinbeck married his third wife, Elaine Scott, and lived in various places. In 1962, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature.

In awarding the Nobel Prize, the Swedish Academy’s Anders Österling picked out The Grapes of Wrath for special mention: ‘. . . The way had now been paved for the great work that is principally associated with Steinbeck’s name, the epic chronicle The Grapes of Wrath. This is the story of the emigration to California which was forced upon a group of people from Oklahoma through unemployment and abuse of power. This tragic episode in the social history of the United States inspired in Steinbeck a poignant description of the experiences of one particular farmer and his family during their endless, heartbreaking journey to a new home.’

It is 80 years ago today that the book was first published by Viking Press in New York - the title page only says April 1939 (see the Pulitzer Prize First Edition Collecting Guide), but several websites refer to the specific date as 14 April 1939. The BBC, for example, published a story in 2009 which states that the book was released on that day because it was the fourth anniversary of Black Sunday, ‘when the worst dust storm in recent American history had rolled across the Great Plains blotting out the sun and later depositing airborne topsoil 1,000 miles east in Washington DC’. (First editions of the book are available, but at a price up to and over $30,000 - see Abebooks)

Thirty years ago today - i.e. on the half century anniversary of the book, Viking Press published a new edition of the ‘great work’, but also a diary that Steinbeck had kept while writing it: Working Days - The Journals of The Grapes of Wrath 1938-1941, edited by Robert DeMott. The introduction, by DeMott, can be read online at Googlebooks. And here is DeMott’s explanation for how and why the journal came to light:

‘‘The mystery of creativity was on his mind during Christmas Week 1950, when Steinbeck was sifting through the memorabilia of his past. His impending marriage to Elaine Scott was about to signal another major turn in his life. He had been married twice before - to Carol Henning (1930-1943), and to Gwyn Conger (1943-1948). The first marriage resulted in some of his most famous books; the second marriage produced two sons and much of the material for East of Eden, which he would begin writing a month after his wedding to Elaine. The third, and last, marriage promoted emotional stability, and coincided with the international spread of his fame.

One of the items Steinbeck came across in his nostalgic mood was the handwritten journal he had kept when he worked on The Grapes of Wrath. He sent it to Pat Covici at The Viking Press, with a letter that read in part: “Very many times I have been tempted to destroy this book. It is an account very personal and in many instances purposely obscure. But recently I reread it and only after all this time did the unconscious pattern emerge. It is true that this book is full of my own weaknesses, of complaints and violence. These are just as apparent as they ever were. What a complainer I am But in rereading, those became less important and the times and the little histories seemed to be more apparent. . . I had not realized that so much happened during the short period of the actual writing of The Grapes of Wrath - things that happened to me and to you and to the world. But a browsing through will refresh your memory,” Steinbeck had two requests: that the journal not be printed in his lifetime, and that it should be made available to his children, Thom (aged 6) and John (aged 4), if they should ever want to “look behind the myth and hearsay and flattery and slander a disappeared man becomes and to know to some extent what manner of man their father was.” ’

The New York Times was much impressed, although it thought Working Days was ‘less interesting as an explanation of The Grapes of Wrath’ than ‘as a portrait of a writer possessed’. Steinbeck, it noted, had ‘rather little to say about the content of his book’, rather that he felt it necessary to prove himself worthy, ‘that to do so he must not only write well but also discipline himself to work on schedule, and that somehow he was failing in both respects.’ The review concluded: ‘. . . the sense one gets from reading Working Days is of a writer in a heightened state of consciousness taking possession of a gift. . . To read the novel now along with the journal he kept with it is to be lifted ever so briefly into the presence of something inexplicable and magic.’

Here is one diary quote (thanks to The New York Times article) as he was nearing the end of writing the novel: ‘I have very grave doubts sometimes. I don’t want this to seem hurried. It must be just as slow and measured as the rest but I am sure of one thing - it isn’t the great book I had hoped it would be. It’s just a run-of-the-mill book. And the awful thing is that it is absolutely the best I can do. Now to work on it.’

Other ‘journals’ of Steinbeck have also been published - see The Diary Junction. Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters was published in 1969, a year after Steinbeck’s death. The title tries to have it both ways but, in fact, this is a series of letters, rather than a diary, addressed to Pascal Covici. Sea of Cortez: A Leisurely Journal of Travel and Research documents a six-week marine specimen-collecting expedition Steinbeck made in 1940 in the Gulf of California (also known as the Sea of Cortez), with his friend, the marine biologist Ed Ricketts. And then there’s Travels with Charley: In Search of America which records a road trip Steinbeck took with his dog (a poodle) around the United States in 1960.


This article is a revised version of one first published 10 years ago on 14 April 2009.

Monday, April 8, 2019

Pilgrimage to Stratford

‘We went to Stratford-on-Avon. The little house where the great William was born has been so often described that I already knew every corner in it. A strong emotion, however, thrilled me, when I entered that dwelling. When I looked around, this first impression was somehow dispelled by amazement at the human egotism and stupidity which prompt the people to put their own ‘I’ everywhere. Not only the walls, the window-panes, and the ceiling are covered with the names of visitors, but even the bust of the poet is defaced with them.’ This is from some diary notes kept by Helena Modjeska, the great Polish actress who died 110 years ago today. She was known in particular for her interpretations of Shakespearan roles, in Poland, but also - and despite a Polish accent - in Britain and the US where she lived for the latter half of her life.

Jadwiga Benda was born in Kraków, Poland, in 1840 but she was later baptised as Helena Opid, being given her godfather’s surname. The details of her early life are not accurately recorded in her own biography, and remain a little shrouded in mystery. Her mother was the widow of a prosperous merchant, and her father may have been a Polish nobleman. Although she married her former guardian, Gustaw Zimajer, and they had two children together (one of whom died in infancy), she later discovered he had been married at the time of their wedding. Zimajer was an actor and provincial director who used the stage name Modrzejewski, while Helena later adopted a simpler form of the name for English-speaking audiences - Modjeska. She made her stage debut in 1861, and toured through Poland acting in provincial productions.

In 1865, Modjeska left Zimajer and, taking her son, returned to Kraków, accepting a four year contract. From 1868 she began appearing in Warsaw, where she soon became a theatre star. Also in 1868, she married a Polish nobleman Karol Bożenta Chłapowski (later known as Count Bozenta). In 1876, she and her husband (as well as a number of friends) decided to emigrate to the United States, where they bought a ranch near Anaheim in California. It was a utopian dream which soon fell apart, as they knew nothing about farming or ranching, and Modjeska returned to the theatre reprising many of the Shakespeare rolls she had performed in Poland. A theatrical agent signed her for a tour on the east coast where she made her New York debut, and she then spent three years performing abroad (and learning to speak English better), mainly in London and through Great Britain.

In 1883, Modjeska was granted American citizenship, and in the same year she produced Henrik Ibsen’s A Dolls House, the first Ibsen play to be staged in the US in the US. In the 1880s and 1890s, and despite a persistent Polish accent, she had a reputation as the leading female interpreter of Shakespeare on the American stage, and was a much-loved performer. Mostly, she directed her own troupe of actors, touring widely through the States performing not only at major city theatres but in small makeshift halls - accompanied by her personal manager, Count Bozenta. From 1888, for nearly 20 years, they lived at Arden a ranch, not far from their original home, in what is now known as Modjeska Canyon. When in 1893, Modjeska spoke out about the poor conditions of Polish women in Russian controlled parts of Poland, she was banned from travelling in Russian territory. After a stroke in 1897, she managed to return to the stage, and even to travel to Poland in 1903-1903 where she performed in her native Kraków. Back in the US, she continued touring until 1907, and died two years later on 8 April 1909. Further information is available online at Wikipedia, the Online Archive of California, the Helena Modjeska Art and Culture Club, the Helena Modjeska Society.

Much of the available biographical information about Modjeska’s early life comes from her autobiography, published posthumously by Macmillan in 1910: Memories and Impressions of Helena Modjeska (freely available online at Internet Archive). In this memoir, Modjeska occasionally refers to the fact that she kept notes about her life - and these are very diary-like. For example on board the German steamer Donau heading for New York in 1870 she writes: ‘O
ur journey across the Atlantic was also a novelty to me. I was fascinated by the spell of the sea. It evidently had a soothing effect on me, judging by some notes which I then scribbled down in my nautical enthusiasm.’ And here is her seventh note to herself.

Summer 1876
‘Note 7th
The day after tomorrow we shall be in New York! The ocean is blue again. Every one is on deck. The first- class passengers are looking down at those of the third class. There is a regular beehive there, but the people seem miserable. A band of barefooted, dirty children, young women with tangled hair, unwashed and untidy. Boys with starved or brazen faces, mothers knitting and fathers smoking. Some sleep on the bare deck, with faces to the floor. Our fellow-passengers of the first class amuse themselves by throwing amidst that pitiful crowd small coins and oranges, which produce a great commotion among the young ones. They fight, push, and nearly strangle each other, in their endeavors to catch a coin. Oranges passing from hand to hand, mashed, torn, and squeezed nearly dry, are grabbed by the victors, while the poor children retreat, crying, and extending in vain their tiny, dirty hands, in hope of getting their share of the booty.

This exhibition was painful to me, for there was no charity in it, but a mere heartless sport. So I crossed to the other side of the boat, where I could see the aristocracy of the steerage amusing themselves with dancing. Several sailors also danced with them. Some men moved with most ridiculous motions of feet and body, but with the solemnity of undertakers. One girl was so pretty, and danced with such grace, that everybody admired her. She had blond hair and sad, sky-blue eyes. What will become of that child, I wonder; has she anybody to protect her? I feel so sorry for her, not knowing why. The musician who played on a harmonica had the face of a Richard Wagner, and must have been a German. He looked to the upper deck, tracing on our faces the effect of his music. We applauded, of course.

Encouraged by the example of the steerage, the first-class people began to plan a dancing party for tomorrow, a full-dress affair.

Late in the afternoon we had a beautiful sight. The sun was setting simultaneously with the rising of the moon. On the right the bright red light, dancing on the water like a laugh, on the left the solemn and soft face of the moon floating among the rainbow shades of the skies, throwing in its wake a long stream of silver light. It was curious to watch these two astral potentates looking at each other freely, with nothing between them but the gigantic pane of the ocean, and almost touching each other by the long rays of light which the water carried there and back.’

Later in the autobiography she writes about starting a short provincial tour, that it was her second visit to different English towns, and that she has a few notes from that time. Here are several those.

2 October 1881
‘Sheffield. In the afternoon we walked a long time in the country. Coming back, we met the procession of the Salvation Army. Their ministers call themselves Generals, and, as I hear, are doing a great deal of good, converting drunkards to soberness and commending pure life among the poor classes.

Singing hymns, beating a drum, and playing tambourines, they march among hostile elements, for they are not liked here. We even witnessed a row; an old woman struck with her soiled broom the officer’s face, and a skirmish ensued. The drum was broken, the banner tom to pieces; even some women who wanted to join the procession received quite serious blows.

The English are demonstrative when they do not belong to the better classes.’

3 October 1881
‘At ten o’clock in the morning we left for Birmingham, and opened with ‘Heartsease.’ The house was not very full because people were afraid the play was too risqué. They asked if it was the same play where the heroine dresses on the stage, getting up from her bed. We played it, however, three times, every time to better houses.’

5 October 1881
‘Two days ago we rehearsed ‘Marie Stuart.’ It was a sad rehearsal. W. flirted with the dark-eyed Vivian, and paid no attention to his lines; the prompter snored in his chair, and Elizabeth could not read her part fluently, and said by way of excuse that she did not think it worth while to pay much attention to such an insignificant part.

I am still reading the life of Ste. Jeanne Franchise de Chantal. Yesterday I had to put the book aside because I cried so much over the death of young Baron de Torrens and his wife, and over the silent resignation of Madame Chantal. Charles laughed, and said I would never grow old. I feel, indeed, as young at times as I was at twelve, and only when I look in the mirror the sad truth is revealed. But no matter, the older I grow the better I shall be, Anna says, ‘like the old wine.’

When shall I see the Carpathian Mountains again? When?

Yesterday we were invited to supper by Mr. Rogers, the manager of the Prince of Wales Theatre. Mr. and Mrs. Kendal were there and also Mr. Hare. Mr. Rogers spoke a great deal of the brotherhood of actors. How optimistic! After the supper, Mrs. Kendal sang ballads, and was very eloquent and entertaining. Miss Rogers, who was in Poland, and knows a few Polish words, talked to me about cur mutual friends and acquaintances.’

12 October 1881
‘Frou-frou. The house was not well filled. The play was too Frenchy, some one said. We were all in bad humor, which did not help the performance.

It is my birthday. I received many presents and cards from friends and even strangers, but not one word from Poland. I must return, or else they will forget me entirely. This evening I formed a strong resolution to leave the stage in two or three years.

I may succeed, because I have good work in view: to found schools for the mountaineers’ children, and begin by Zakopane. I have no distinct plans, only a desire to do something good.’

14 October 1881
‘We went to Stratford-on-Avon. The little house where the great William was born has been so often described that I already knew every corner in it. A strong emotion, however, thrilled me, when I entered that dwelling. When I looked around, this first impression was somehow dispelled by amazement at the human egotism and stupidity which prompt the people to put their own ‘I’ everywhere. Not only the walls, the window-panes, and the ceiling are covered with the names of visitors, but even the bust of the poet is defaced with them. What is the object of desecrating thus the sanctuary? Another proof of idiocy.

In the first room there is a chair by the fireside where Shakespeare used to sit, as tradition tell us. Every person who comes to that room sits down in the chair. Is there any sense in that action?

At the ‘New Place’ we saw an American couple, both young and handsome, kneel down and kiss the ground on which the great man walked. I wanted to do the same, but I had lived in England long enough to learn restraint, and limited my demonstrations to picking up some ivy leaves growing around the well. In church we saw the painted bust. I did not like it: The ruddy-cheeked and stout Shakespeare did not appeal to me.

Finally, later in the autobiography, Modjeska write about her current co-star, Edwin Booth. ‘Every one loved him,’ she says, ‘and all the remarks he made to the actors of his company were received as favors rather than reproofs.’She then writes: ‘I made a few notes on our life in the private car, which may throw more light upon the intimate character of that wonderful man and artist.’ Here’s one of those.

22 April 1890
‘Milwaukee. We played “Hamlet” last night.


Ralph and Félicie have gone - at 1.40 p.m. We did not cry at parting - we hope to meet again in Poland. Only when the train disappeared from the station the tears came to my eyes. I slept the whole afternoon in order to calm myself.

The audiences were cold and unsympathetic.

After the performance we went to the car and had supper. Edwin Booth was delightful. He told us some of his early experiences: how in Honolulu he was compelled to paste his own bills on the corners of the streets, and was surprised at that work by a fellow from New York who happened to be there just at the time. This happened, of course, some years ago, about thirty-five, I think. I went to bed directly after supper, but I heard him talking to the ladies of the company for more than an hour. They all shrieked with laughter.’