Category Archives: education

Some Early Polish Ethnographers

My latest newsletter from Culture.pl contains a link to profiles of early Polish ethnographers, More Than Malinowski, by cultural anthropologist Patryk Zakrzewski. Here are some excerpts:

The beginnings of ethnology are intertwined with those of colonialism, as they developed simultaneously. In a Poland under occupation, however, this was primarily an internal colonialism – a nobleman examining the culture of its own servants. In places where the European imperialism was growing, the need for the ethnographer, arose, one who would study the ‘indigenes’.

Before the expeditions of Malinowski, ‘desk’ anthropology was the most popular method of study. Those working in it did no field research at all; instead, they analysed information supplied by merchants, seamen or missionaries….

Malinowski was destined to become a hero for students of the social sciences worldwide, as he developed a code of conduct for fieldwork – one which, in principle, has remained unchanged to our times. Long story short, it was based on ‘participant observation’, i.e. a long and intensive stay among the studied community (‘a tent put up in the middle of a village’). A researcher was also to avoid thinking in categories and stereotypes originating from one’s own culture, instead tasked with capturing another’s way of looking at things.

Ethnology in Exile

It’s possible that two eminent Polish researchers – Wacław Sieroszewski and Bronisław Piłsudski – would never have become ethnographers had they not been political prisoners….

Wacław Sieroszewski (1858-1945) didn’t have the easiest life: His mother died early, and his father received a long prison sentence after the January Uprising. Sieroszewski himself was expelled from high school – for participating in clandestine patriotic meetings and for brazenly speaking the Polish language, which was banned. He also joined a socialist movement, for which, as a 20-year-old, he was sentenced to serve time at the infamous 10th Pavilion of the Warsaw Citadel. Not for long, however. After participating in a riot, during which he attacked an imperial general, and for circulating a prison bulletin, Sieroszewski was expelled to Siberia.

In 1880, he arrived at Verkhoyansk, where he married a young Yakut woman named Arina Czełba-Kysa. Twice, Sieroszewski tried to escape with other fellow prisoners, aided by his wife. But he was caught and sentenced for life as the leader of these deserters. This time, he was sentenced to a settlement ‘a hundred viorsts away from a trade road, river and town’.

Sieroszewski’s life among the autochthonous people resulted in his fundamental work Dwanaście Lat w Kraju Jakutów (Twelve Years in the Country of the Yakuts). A friendship with a Yakut shaman enabled Sieroszewski to describe local beliefs in detail….

As a law student in St. Petersburg, Bronisław Piłsudski (1866 – 1918), the Marshal’s elder brother, became acquainted with the circle of revolutionists gathered around an organisation called Narodnaja Wola (Nation’s Will). Piłsudski participated in a plot to assassinate emperor Alexander II. The traitors were discovered, and some of them were hanged (i.e. Alexander Ulyanov, Lenin’s elder brother), while the rest were sentenced to penal servitude in Siberia.

Sentenced to 15 years of hard labour, Piłsudski was sent to Sakhalin Island. First, he worked in the woods logging trees, then as a carpenter on a church construction project. There were few educated people in Sakhalin, so in time, Piłsudski was assigned various other tasks. He worked as a teacher and at an office, and was tasked with establishing a meteorological station.

Leo Sternberg, a well-known ethnographer also emprisoned in Siberia, inspired Piłsudski to study the culture of the Ainu people, who inhabited Sakhalin and the islands of Northern Japan. In 1902, Piłsudski married their leader’s wife, bearing two children and ultimately staying with the Ainus. This story, however, came to a sad end: In 1906, Piłsudski left the island illegally, but the tribe’s leader forbid his wife from joining the Pole….

Piłsudski was a pioneer in using multimedia methods in ethnography. He kept photographic documentation and recorded Ainu songs and rites on Edison’s discs, or prototypes of the vinyl record. (Today, these are housed at the Museum of Japanese Art and Technology ‘Manggha’ in Krakow.) In the 20th century, the Ainus were forcefully assimilated by the Japanese. After many years, they managed to reconstruct their ethnic difference, thanks to the research material collected by the ethnographer.

In 1903, Piłsudski and Sieroszewski traveled to the Japanese island of Hokkaido together, in order to continue their studies on the Ainus’ culture. Their contribution into the research of the Russian Far East and Japan cannot be overestimated, and they ultimately received numerous awards and invitations to prestigious associations. Today, their works are canonical for specialists in the cultures of this part of the world….

An ‘Outcast’ in Oceania

Imperial prison was also a part of life for Jan Kubary (1846-1896). At 17 years old, he participated in the January Uprising. When the rebellion was suppressed, he left for Dresden, where he agreed to collaborate with the police in exchange for the chance to return home. Kubary didn’t make the best spy, however – for warning young revolutionaries of their impending arrests, he was arrested himself and sentenced to exile. The sentence was annulled when he agreed once more to work with the police.

Such a life wasn’t for him, however, so Kubary escaped on foot from Warsaw to Berlin. In Germany, he worked as a collector of items for a natural history museum to be established in Hamburg. According to the prevailing trend, the museum offered German visitors the opportunity to view various marvels from exotic lands. Of Kubary, the newspapers wrote: ‘He travels across far seas and collects all the ethnographic and zoological peculiarities for one of the German tycoons.‘…

Living in the Pacific, he still had troubles in his private life. His employer went bankrupt, which left Kubary with no means. When he settled on the island of Ponape and established a plantation, it was destroyed during a riot by the local people, and post-revolutionary authorities expropriated him. ‘I am a poor outcast’, Kubary wrote in a letter to his mother.

Today, Kubary remains somewhat forgotten, if unjustly so. His research in Oceania was unprecedented, although he was self-taught, having left Europe equipped with no background in ethnography whatsoever. In his 28 years among the Papuan people, he integrated with local communities gained competence in their languages. Apart from ethnographic works, Kubary left behind many geographical and natural reports, as well as an impressive collection of items, which are now housed in European museums.

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W. E. Clarke’s Misspent Sunday

From The Misspent Sunday, by W. E. Clarke, in Robert Louis Stevenson: Interviews and Recollections, ed. by R. C. Terry (Palgrave Macmillan, 1996), pp. 164-169:

Abstract: From ‘Robert Louis Stevenson in Samoa’, Yale Review, X (Jan 1921) 275–96. The Reverend William Edward Clarke (1854–1922) was the London Missionary Society’s representative in Samoa. About as knowledgeable a mentor as Louis could have hoped to meet, Clarke knew the people and their customs well, and took the new arrival around schools and communities on the island. A simple, devout man, Clarke had to keep Stevenson up to the mark where Sunday worship was concerned. For his part Stevenson, the one-time agnostic, probably benefited from Clarke’s practical Christianity. Louis wrote of Clarke: ‘A man … I esteem and like to the sole of his boots. I prefer him to anyone in Samoa, and to most people in the world’ (quoted in Field, This Life, 332). When Louis lay dying, Clarke was at his side. He accompanied the cortège to the burial place on Mount Vaea and recited Louis’s own prayer at the interment, part of which reads: Bless to us our extraordinary mercies; if the day come when these must be taken, have us play the man under affliction. Be with our friends; be with ourselves. Go with each of us to rest; if any awake, temper to them the dark hours of watching; and when the day returns, return to us, our sun and comforter, and call us up with morning faces and with morning hearts — eager to labour — eager to be happy, if happiness shall be our portion — and if the day be marked for sorrow, strong to endure it.

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RLS, Missionaries, and Chiefs

From Storyteller: The Life of Robert Louis Stevenson, by Leo Damrosch (Yale University Press, 2025), Kindle pp. 625-628:

Westerners took pride in bringing faith to the heathen in the Pacific; that was often invoked as their principal justification for being there. By the Stevensons’ time, missionaries were ubiquitous, distributed variously by denomination depending on the region. Maps were published that indicated the predominant territories of Catholics, Congregationalists, United Presbyterians, Free Church of Scotland, Wesleyans, Baptists, and Mormons. In Samoa a minority were Catholics, but the dominant group was the “L.M.S,” the interdenominational London Missionary Society.

During the cruises on the Casco, Equator, and Janet Nicholl, Louis had formed a negative view of missionaries as moralistic bullies, but in Samoa he got to know a number of them well and gained great respect. They were less dogmatic theologically than he had been led to expect, and in fact took a deep interest in native beliefs and did pioneering work in ethnography. They knew and understood the people much better than foreign bureaucrats did, who didn’t bother to learn the language and were regularly rotated in and out of Samoa.

In 1892 Louis told a journalist, “Missions in the South Seas generally are far the most pleasing result of the presence of white men; and those in Samoa are the best I have ever seen.” He especially admired William Clarke, who had mistaken the family for traveling entertainers when he first saw them on the Apia beach. Louis wrote to Colvin, “The excellent Clarke was up here almost all day yesterday, a man I esteem and like to the soles of his boots; indeed, I prefer him to any man in Samoa and to most people in the world.”

Many of the missionaries were fluent in Samoan, and one of them, who gave Louis regular lessons, recalled that Louis “thought the language was wonderful. The extent of the vocabulary, the delicate differences of form and expressive shades of meaning, the wonderful varieties of the pronouns and particles astonished him.” The point is striking: he liked language to be complex.

The division between Catholics and Protestants was evident but not hostile, and there were adherents of both at Vailima (the Catholics were known as Popies). Louis’s closest missionary friends were Protestants, but he was fond of Catholic priests as well. “He had a special admiration,” Graham Balfour said, “for the way in which they identified themselves with the natives and encouraged all native habits and traditions at all compatible with Christianity.” Also, he enjoyed speaking French with them.

At one point Louis’s friend Adelaide Boodle wrote from Bournemouth to say that she was considering a trip to Samoa but had been urged to avoid places that had no Anglican clergy, presumably because she wouldn’t be able to take Communion in the authorized way. Louis replied, “Christ himself and the twelve apostles seem to me to have gone through this rough world without the support of the Anglican communion. I am pained that a friend of mine should conceive life so smally as to think she leaves the hand of her God because she leaves a certain clique of clergymen and a certain scattered handful of stone buildings, some of them with pointed windows, most with belfries, and a few with an illumination of the Ten Commandments on the wall.”

As Louis had discovered in Tahiti, islanders might embrace conversion but continue to hold on quietly to their old beliefs. “We may see the difficulty in its highest terms,” he wrote in his notebook, “when a missionary asks a savage if he believes it is the virtuous who are to be happiest in a future state, and receives an affirmative reply. The good man is much pleased with such incipient orthodoxy, while all the time they have been juggling with each other with misunderstood symbols. The missionary had Christian virtue in his mind, while the Tupinamba [an Amazon tribe] means by the virtuous ‘those who have well revenged themselves and eaten many of their enemies.’”

One of Louis’s unpublished fables, “Something in It,” explores the mutual incomprehension of belief systems. A missionary violates a native taboo and is carried off by a spirit to be baked and devoured. As a preliminary step he is required to drink ritual kava, which he refuses on the grounds that it is intoxicating and therefore forbidden. He is asked, “Are you going to respect a taboo at a time like this? And you were always so opposed to taboos when you were alive!” He replies, “To other people’s. Never to my own.” He is thereupon sent back to the world of the living, as unqualified to enter the spirit world. “‘I seem to have been misinformed upon some points,’ said he. ‘Perhaps there is not much in it, as I supposed; but there is something in it after all. Let me be glad of that.’” The taboo and the missionary’s rules, Roslyn Jolly says, “are utterly alien to each other, equally valid, with neither able to command universal authority.”

Well-meaning and sympathetic though individual missionaries might be, they were still complicit in the deployment of Christianity as an agent of imperialism. Louis would probably have appreciated Jomo Kenyatta’s comment in twentieth-century Kenya: “When the missionaries arrived, the Africans had the land and the missionaries had the Bible. They taught us how to pray with our eyes closed. When we opened them, they had the land and we had the Bible.”

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Silesian Polish

My latest newsletter from Culture.pl contains a link to several observations by Janusz R. Kowalczyk about linguistic variation within Poland. Here is his characterization of Silesian.

An excellent example of the Silesian dialect can be found in Stanisław Ligoń’s ‘Gowa. Łozmyślania filozoficzne’ (The Head: Philosophical Musings), included in his Bery i bojki śląskie (Silesian Jokes and Fairy Tales), published by Śląsk Publishers, Katowice, 1980.

Stanisław Ligoń, ‘Gowa. Łozmyślania filozoficzne’

Dzisiok wszystko na świecie mo gowa – ludzie i gadzina, gwoździe, cukier i kapusta. Gowa kapuściano różni sie jednak bardzo łod gowy ludzkiej, a to skuli tego, że kapuściano jest pożytecno! Dzisiejsze dziołchy nie majom gowy, a jeno gówki, nie przymierzając jak zapołki, szpyndliki, abo lalki. Kiej jednak zapołka bez gówki nie przido sie na nic – to u ludzi ni – jest blank na łopach. Bardzo często cłowiek bez gówki łostoł srogim cłowiekiem, bo posłem – bali, nieroz i ministrem. […] W gowie polityka abo redachtora lęgnom sie roztomaite cygaństwa i kacki. Z gowy Jowisza wyskocyła Pallas Atena. Rekrut ma w gowie wdycki siano; łotwarto gowa mo adwokat, ciężko gowa mo zwykle literat, aktór, malyrz, abo inkszy pijok; mokro gowa mo waryjot, a zmyto gowa mo wdycki mąż, zaś choro gowa majom wszyjscy, kierzy cytajom nasze gazeciska. […] Politycy i kandydaci na nowych prziszłych posłów łomiom se gowa nad nowymi cygaństwami, kierymi chcom chytać łobywateli ło ciasnych gowach.

[Today, everything in the world has a head – people and animals, nails, sugar and cabbage. However, the head of a cabbage is very different from a human head, chiefly because the cabbage head is useful! Today’s girls don’t have proper heads, just tiny ones, not unlike matches, pins or dolls. While a match without a head is good for nothing, that’s not the case with people – it’s completely the opposite. Very often, a man without a head becomes a grand persona, such as an MP – or even a minister. […] Various lies and nonsense crop up in the head of a politician or an editor. Pallas Athena jumped out of Jupiter’s head. A recruit has nothing but hay in his head; a lawyer has an open head, a writer usually a heavy one, similarly an actor, a painter or some other drunkard; a crazy one’s head is wet, while a husband always has a washed head, sick in the head are all those who read our newspapers. […] Politicians and candidates for new future MPs are breaking their heads over new deceptions with which they want to capture citizens with narrow(-minded) heads.] [These are all idiomatic expressions containing the word ‘head’]

Glossary: ​​bali (also, indeed, even), blank (quite, completely), dzisiok (today), dziołcha (girl), gadzina (animals), inkszy (other), łopach (the opposite), roztomaity (various), skuli tego (because of this, because), srogi (big, great), szpyndlik (pin), wdycki (always).

As any Polish speaker can see, the Silesian dialect (or, according to a growing group of researchers, the Silesian language) has many expressions that differ from Polish vocabulary. The beginning of the formation of the Silesian dialect dates back to the period of district division, which took place approximately 800 years ago.

Like any language, it has undergone transformations over time. It has split into many local varieties. Nowadays, there are four main Silesian dialects, in at least several dozen specific regionalisms.

Silesian is to a large degree an Old Polish language. It contains words and phrases that were used in the past throughout Poland but are now generally forgotten.

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Kashubian vs. Polish

My latest newsletter from Culture.pl contains a link to several observations by Janusz R. Kowalczyk about linguistic variation within Poland. Here are some extracts from his coverage of Kashubian.

There are two official languages ​​in our country: Polish and Kashubian. In addition, we have dialects: Masovian, Lesser Poland dialect, Greater Poland dialect, Silesian, mixed ones in the east of the country and new mixed dialects in the west and north. These are divided into several dozen regionalisms; some of them occur in only a few towns, so they even more so deserve tender care.

In the north of Poland, students learn Kashubian in school. They can take the secondary school exit exam in this language. Official signs of the region’s institutions and local information have versions in the two languages.

Why did Kashubians specifically get the privilege of having their speech recognized as a separate language? Mainly because it is much less understandable than others. Hardworking Kashubians have created a grammar of their language, published literary works as well as textbooks and dictionaries in it.

The dialects used by the inhabitants in a given area formed over many centuries. They contain phrases characteristic of the lands from which their ancestors came. Their neighbours also undoubtedly had an influence on the shape of their speech – hence, for example, loanwords from German in Greater Poland and, accompanied by Czech, in Silesia.

The sentence ‘There is a glass of tea on the cupboard in the hall’ is ‘W antryju na byfyju stoi szolka tyju’ in Silesian and ‘W przedpokoju na kredensie stoi szklanka herbaty’ in Polish. In turn, the nursery rhyme from Greater Poland, ‘W antrejce na ryczce stały pyry w tytce, przyszła niuda, spucła pyry, a w wymborku myła giry’ (In the hall, on a stool, there were potatoes in a paper bag; a pig came, ate the potatoes and washed her feet in the bucket), in standard Polish would read, ‘W przedpokoju na stołku stały ziemniaki w papierowej torebce, przyszła świnia, zjadła ziemniaki, a w wiadrze myła nogi’.

Certain words sound different in different dialects, such as the mentioned potatoes. In Greater Poland they are ‘pyry’; among the Kashubians, ‘bulwy’; in Podhale, ‘grule’; for the inhabitants of Kresy (eastern borderlands), ‘barabole’; for the people of Kurpie and Silesia, ‘kartofle’. In turn, other foreign phrases, such as those taken from Wallachian and characteristic of the highlander dialect, ‘bryndza’ and ‘bundz’, have long become established in the colloquial language.

Time will tell whether this will also be true of the following words, which are for now properly understood only locally:

  • Kashubia: apfelzyna (orange), cedelk (card), chùtkò (fast), darżëszcze (road), grónk (jug), szãtopiérz (bat);
  • Podlasie (so-called speaking ‘po prostu’ [simply], ‘po swojemu’ [in your own way]): cieper (now), czyżyk (boy), klekotun (stork), mączka (sugar), poklikać (call), ślozy (tears), zieziulka (cuckoo);
  • Silesia: bajtel (child), binder (tie), kusik (kiss), szmaterlok (butterfly), śtrasbanka (tram);
  • Greater Poland: bejmy (money), chabas (meat), glazejki (gloves), gzik (cottage cheese), kejter (dog), szneka z glancem (yeast bun with icing);
  • Lesser Poland: andrut (waffle), bańka (Christmas tree bauble), chochla (spoon), cwibak (fruit cake), miednica (large bowl), sagan (kettle), sznycel (minced cutlet), warzyć (cook).

Here is the Lord’s Prayer in Kashubian, with standard Polish below.

Òjcze nasz, jaczi jes w niebie,

niech sã swiãcy Twòje miono,

niech przińdze Twòje królestwò,

niech mdze Twòja wòlô

jakno w niebie tak téż na zemi.

Chleba najégò pòwszednégò dôj nóm dzysô

i òdpùscë nóm naje winë,

jak i më òdpùszcziwómë naszim winowajcóm.

A nie dopùscë na nas pòkùszeniô,

ale nas zbawi òde złégò. Amen

Ojcze nasz, któryś jest w niebie,

święć się imię Twoje,

przyjdź królestwo Twoje,

bądź wola Twoja jako w niebie tak i na ziemi,

chleba naszego powszedniego daj nam dzisiaj,

i odpuść nam nasze winy,

jako i my odpuszczamy naszym winowajcom,

i nie wódź nas na pokuszenie,

ale nas zbaw od złego. Amen

This text written in the indigenous Kashubian language contains characters unknown in Polish: ã, é, ë, ò, ô, ù.

  • ã – nasal ‘a’ (IPA: [ã], so-called ‘a’ with tilde);
  • é – approximately ‘yj’ (IPA: [e], [ej], so-called ‘e’ with acute);
  • ë – between ‘e’ and ‘a’ (IPA: [ə], so-called schwa);
  • ò – ‘łe’ (IPA: [wɛ], so-called labialisation);
  • ô – depending on the dialect, identical with ‘o’ or more inclined towards ‘e’ (IPA: [ɞ] or [ɔ], so-called ‘o’ with circumflex);
  • ù – ‘łu’ (IPA: [wu]).

However, the letter ‘u’ is read like ‘u’ inclined towards ‘i’ [u/i]. There are also differences in the grammar of the two languages.

The oldest texts containing Kashubian records date back to 1402, but these are text in Polish containing Kashubianisms and not texts written entirely in Kashubian. The oldest Kashubian printed texts are considered to be the 1586 ‘Duchowne piesnie Dra Marcina Luthera i inszich naboznich męzow’ (Spiritual Songs of Dr Martin Luther and Other Pious Men) by Szimón Krofey.

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Taboos in Treasure Island

From Storyteller: The Life of Robert Louis Stevenson, by Leo Damrosch (Yale University Press, 2025), Kindle pp. 381-383:

It’s important to note that due to Victorian conventions, much of real life had to be left out of Treasure Island. A few years later Louis composed a sailors’ song purportedly heard in a London pub:

It’s there we trap the lasses
All waiting for the crew;
It’s there we buy the trader’s rum
What bores a seaman through.

The rum got into Treasure Island, the lasses didn’t. Although one wouldn’t expect female characters to play an important role in a quest for treasure, it’s still striking that Jim’s mother is the only woman in the entire book. In later novels, Catriona above all, Louis would try hard to give women a major role, but like other writers at the time he felt seriously inhibited by obligatory prudery. Publishers made their biggest profits by selling to lending libraries, which rejected outright any novel that hinted at sex. Louis told Colvin, “This is a poison bad world for the romancer, this Anglo-Saxon world; I usually get out of it by not having any women in at all.” Even when he did create female characters later on, he took great care to avoid sexually suggestive implications.

Victorian taboos were so strict that Louis’s pirates couldn’t even swear, though he himself, as Lloyd recalled, “could swear vociferously.” While he was writing Treasure Island he complained to Henley, “Buccaneers without oaths—bricks without straw.” He solved the problem by never actually quoting what they said: “With a dreadful oath he stumbled off.” No doubt he appreciated Dickens’s solution in Great Expectations, which was to write “bless” whenever Bill Barley, an old sea dog, would have said “damn”—“Here’s old Bill Barley, bless your eyes. Here’s old Bill Barley on the flat of his back, by the Lord. Lying on the flat of his back, like a drifting old dead flounder, here’s your old Bill Barley, bless your eyes. Ahoy! Bless you.”

The last of the seventeen installments of Treasure Island was published in Young Folks in January 1882, for a total payment of ₤30. For book publication Henley, as de facto agent, negotiated a contract with Cassell for ₤100; that may not sound like much, but it was a lot at the time, equivalent to ₤6,500 today. At that time Henley had an editorial position at Cassell’s, and had thrown the Young Folks installments on the chief editor’s desk with the exclamation, “There is a book for you!” Louis wrote to thank him: “Bravo, Bully Boy! Bravo! You are the Prince of Extortioners. Continue to extortion.” To his parents he described it as “a hundred pounds, all alive, oh! A hundred jingling, tingling, golden, minted quid.” Not only did he get ₤100 from Cassell, but they agreed to a royalty of ₤20 for every thousand copies after the first four thousand.

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Slovakia in 1939

From The Escape Artist: The Man Who Broke Out of Auschwitz to Warn the World, by Jonathan Freedland (HarperCollins, 2022), Kindle pp. 27-29:

Pupils at the gymnasium were given a choice of religious instruction: Catholic, Lutheran, Jewish or none. Walter chose none. On his identity papers, in the space set aside for nationality, he could have entered the word ‘Jewish’ but instead chose ‘Czechoslovak’. At school, he was now learning not only German but High German. (He had struck a deal with an émigré pupil: each boy would give the other advanced lessons in his native tongue.) In the class picture for 1936, his gaze is confident, even cocky. He is staring straight ahead, into the future.

But in the photograph for the academic year 1938–9 there was no sign of fourteen-year-old Walter Rosenberg. Everything had changed, including the shape of the country. After the Munich agreement of 1938, Adolf Hitler and his Hungarian allies had broken off chunks of Czechoslovakia, parceling them out between them and, by the spring of 1939, what was left was sliced up. Slovakia announced itself as an independent republic. In reality it was a creature of the Third Reich, conceived with the blessing and protection of Berlin, which saw in the ruling ultra-nationalist Hlinka, or Slovak People’s Party, a mirror of itself. A day later the Nazis annexed and invaded the remaining Czech lands, marching in to declare a Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia, while Hungary seized one last chunk for itself. Once the carve-up was done, the people who lived in what used to be Czechoslovakia were all, to varying degrees, at the mercy of Adolf Hitler.

In Slovakia, the teenage Walter Rosenberg felt the difference immediately. He was told that, no matter the choice he had made for religious studies classes and the word he had put in the ‘nationality’ box on those forms, he met the legal definition of a Jew and was older than thirteen; therefore, his place at the Bratislava high school was no longer available. His education was terminated.

All across the country, Jews like Walter were coming to understand that although the new head of government was a Catholic priest – Father Jozef Tiso – the state religion of the infant republic was Nazism, albeit in a Slovak denomination. The antisemites’ enduring creed held that Jews were not merely unreliable, untrustworthy and irreversibly foreign, but also endowed with almost supernatural powers, allowing them to wield social and economic influence out of all proportion to their numbers. So naturally the authorities in Bratislava moved fast to blame the country’s tiny Jewish community – 89,000 in a population of two and a half million – for the fate that had befallen the nation, including the loss of cherished territory to Hungary. Propaganda posters appeared, pasted on brick walls; one showed a proud young Slovak, clad in the black uniform of the Hlinka Guard, kicking the backside of a hook-nosed, side-curled Jew – the Jew’s purse of coins falling to the ground. In his first radio address as leader of the newly independent republic, Tiso made only one firm policy commitment: ‘to solve the Jewish question’.

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Scottish vs. English Universities, 1867

From Storyteller: The Life of Robert Louis Stevenson, by Leo Damrosch (Yale University Press, 2025), Kindle pp. 102-104:

In November 1867, just as he was turning seventeen, Louis entered the University of Edinburgh as the first step toward a professional career, and his life changed dramatically. It was the same year in which the Stevensons took their lease on Swanston Cottage….

As an undergraduate Louis continued to live at home; there was no residential housing at the university, and students from out of town had to rent lodgings. All the same, he enjoyed plenty of freedom, unlike students at Oxford and Cambridge, who had compulsory chapel and lectures, wore caps and gowns, and were punished if they stayed out after curfew. It’s notable that those were the only two universities in all of England. In Scotland, in addition to Edinburgh, which was the most recently founded, there were also St Andrews, Glasgow, and Aberdeen. In an essay some years later Louis celebrated his university’s freedom and urban energy.

The English lad goes to Oxford or Cambridge; there, in an ideal world of gardens, to lead a semi-scenic life, costumed, disciplined and drilled by proctors. Nor is this to be regarded merely as a stage of education; it is a piece of privilege besides, and a step that separates him further from the bulk of his compatriots. At an earlier age the Scottish lad begins his greatly different experience of crowded class-rooms, of a gaunt quadrangle, of a bell hourly booming over the traffic of the city to recall him from the public-house where he has been lunching, or the streets where he has been wandering fancy-free. His college life has little of restraint, and nothing of necessary gentility…. Our tasks ended, we of the North go forth as freemen into the humming, lamplit city. At five o’clock you may see the last of us hiving from the college gates, in the glare of the shop windows, under the green glimmer of the winter sunset. The frost tingles in our blood; no proctor lies in wait to intercept us; till the bell sounds again we are the masters of the world.

As a master of the world, Louis declined to do much studying. He found the teaching formal and tedious, and was already accustomed to self-education. Besides, he was supposedly there to learn engineering, which he already knew he disliked. That engineering was taught at all made Edinburgh very different from the English universities, where the curriculum was heavily classical and mathematical. At Cambridge Isaac Newton, one of the greatest physicists of all time, had been a professor of mathematics, not physics.

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Where RLS Learnt Lallans

From Storyteller: The Life of Robert Louis Stevenson, by Leo Damrosch (Yale University Press, 2025), Kindle pp. 82-84:

Louis picked up much of his Lallans from a shepherd named John Todd, known as “Lang John” for his height, with whom he would tramp for hours in the hills while the sheep were grazing. “My friend the shepherd,” he said later, “speaks broad Scotch of the broadest, and often enough employs words that I do not understand myself.” Louis recalled Todd in an essay entitled “Pastoral”: “He laughed not very often, and when he did, with a sudden, loud haw-haw, hearty but somehow joyless, like an echo from a rock. His face was permanently set and coloured; ruddy and stiff with weathering; more like a picture than a face.”

But it was Todd’s eloquence that captivated Louis. “He spoke in the richest dialect of Scotch I ever heard, and this vocabulary he would handle like a master. I might count him with the best talkers, only that talking Scotch and talking English seem incomparable acts. He touched on nothing, at least, but he adorned it; when he narrated, the scene was before you.” Many of Louis’s original readers would have recognized a famous phrase that Samuel Johnson composed in Latin for his friend Oliver Goldsmith, Nihil tetegit quod non ornavit: “He touched nothing that he did not adorn.” The allusion is a beautiful tribute to the old shepherd, ranking his skill in language on a level with a writer of great distinction.

It was Todd, Louis said, who taught him to appreciate the spirit of the hills.

He it was that made it live for me, as the artist can make all things live. It was through him the simple strategy of massing sheep upon a snowy evening, with its attendant scampering of earnest, shaggy aides-de-camp, was an affair that I never wearied of seeing, and that I never weary of recalling to mind: the shadow of the night darkening on the hills, inscrutable black blots of snow shower moving here and there like night already come, huddles of yellow sheep and dartings of black dogs upon the snow, a bitter air that took you by the throat, unearthly harpings of the wind along the moors; and for centerpiece to all these features and influences, John winding up the brae [slope], keeping his captain’s eye upon all sides, and breaking, ever and again, into a spasm of bellowing that seemed to make the evening bleaker. It is thus that I still see him in my mind’s eye, perched on a hump of the declivity not far from Halkerside, his staff in airy flourish, his great voice taking hold upon the hills and echoing terror to the lowlands; I, meanwhile, standing somewhat back, until the fit should be over, and, with a pinch of snuff, my friend relapse into his easy, even conversation.

Though the shepherd’s casual talk might be “easy,” it was direct and to the point. In another essay Louis contrasted it with the conversational style in England, where “the contact of mind with mind [is] evaded as with terror. A Scottish peasant will talk more liberally out of his own experience. He will not put you by with conversational counters and small jests; he will give you the best of himself, like one interested in life and man’s chief end.”

Swanston people remembered that Todd used to say of Louis, “He is an awfu’ laddie for speirin’ questions about a’ thing, an’ whenever you turn your back, awa’ he gangs an’ writes it a’ doon.” A “speirin” questioner is prying and inquisitive. Years later some old-timers told a visitor the same thing. “Stevenson would dae naething but lie aboot the dykes. He wouldna wark. He was aye rinnin’ aboot wi’ lang Todd, amang the hills, getting him to tell a’ the stories he kent.” “Lang Todd” prompts one to wonder if John passed his nickname on to Long John Silver in Treasure Island.

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Japan vs. U.S. Baseball, 1924

From Kenichi Zenimura, Japanese American Baseball Pioneer, by Bill Staples, Jr. (McFarland, 2011), Kindle Locations 695-708:

Captain Zenimura and his boys lost two of the three games against the Salt Lake Bees in the spring of 1924, but ultimately they – and to some degree, Japanese American baseball itself – won the respect of their Caucasian peers in the Pacific Coast League. After the series with Salt Lake, the FAC looked forward to some heated contests against Japanese American ball clubs. In April they welcomed the Stockton Yamato to the Firemen and Policemen’s ballpark and defeated them, 5 to 4. The Fresno Bee also announced that Zenimura’s club “will play a two game series with the Meiji University team here on May 10th and 11th, after which they will plan an invasion of the Orient.”

The Meiji University team – the college champions of Japan – planned to tour the East and Midwest, in addition to its games against West Coast clubs including Zenimura’s, and then return home on June 29. As it turned out, the San Jose Asahi would be the only Japanese American team to defeat the 1924 Meiji ballclub on its tour in the U.S.” Ironically, while the Meiji University ballclub was in the United States touring, President Calvin Coolidge signed into law the Immigration Act of 1924 which effectively ended all Japanese immigration to the U.S. During the months of June and July, Zenimura was busy making plans for the upcoming tour to Japan. Once all the details were addressed and players secured, Zeni distributed the following information on the Associated Press night wire:

FRESNO, July 17. – The Fresno Athletic Club will sail from San Francisco September 2 on board the President Pierce for a tour of the Hawaiian Islands and Japan, it was announced today. The regular team will be reinforced by Pitcher Miyahara of Centre College, Kentucky; Outfielder Tsuda of Whitman College, Washington, Pitcher Nushida of Stockton and a couple of Fresno players yet to be selected. The Fresno Athletic Club claims the Japanese baseball championship of America.

In preparation for the tour, Zenimura had the club increase workouts from three to four times a week. In addition, he scheduled a best-of-three-game series against the tough Fresno Tigers, an independent team led by new manager Art Ramage. The Tigers’ new skipper competed at Santa Clara College and enjoyed brief stints in professional baseball with the New York Americans (1916) and Sacramento Senators (1918).

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