18 November 2024
The wolf children of East Prussia
When Alvydas Šlepikas’ book Mano vardas – Marytė (‘My name is Marytė’) was published in Lithuania in 2011, it caused a nationwide discussion. Beautifully written and based on historical facts, it was the most read novel in Lithuania in 2012. Since then this multi-award winning book has had numerous editions in Lithuania and has been translated into many languages. Its excellent English translation by Romas Kinka was published under the title In the Shadows of Wolves.
Cover of Mano vardas – Marytė (Vilnius, 2018) YF.2019.a.12103
Cover of In the Shadows of Wolves (London, 2019) Nov.2022/1050
Mano vardas – Marytė tells a story of a group of ‘wolf children’ from East Prussia (vilko vaikai in Lithuanian, Wolfskinder in German) who found their way to Lithuania. Who were the wolf children and why, for decades, was their existence surrounded by silence?
During the Second World War, in August 1944, the Royal Air Force heavily bombed Königsberg, the capital of the enclave of East Prussia, then part of the territory of the German Reich. The mediaeval city, home of the philosopher Immanuel Kant, was almost completely destroyed. A month later the Red Army reached this part of Germany. The battles continued until April 1945. With adult men fighting on the front, the civilian population consisted of women, children and elderly men. Once in East Prussia, the Soviet soldiers took revenge on the civilians for the atrocities committed by the Nazis during the war. Towns and villages were plundered and turned into wasteland; brutal killings and mass rapes were widespread. Famine soon followed, so severe that cases of cannibalism were recorded.
Map of East Prussia in 1939. Image from Wikimedia Commons
Postcard of Königsberg before the Second World War from Königsberg in alten Ansichtskarten (Würzburg, 2001) YA.2003.a.25095
Königsberg in August 1944. Image from Wikimedia Commons
Thousands of children became orphaned. They witnessed unimaginable horrors: killings, rapes, death of their siblings – one by one – from starvation, hypothermia and typhoid. Sometimes mothers approached farmers from neighbouring Lithuania, who were allowed to come to East Prussia and sell their produce, and offered their older children as farm workers in exchange for food; it gave those children – and their starving siblings – a chance of survival. Some children were sent out in search of food by their families, or volunteered themselves, crossing the border with Lithuania by stowing away on trains or crossing the frozen Nemunas river. Traumatised, they hid in the forests and moved, on their own or with younger siblings in tow, from village to village, begging, stealing, foraging for food and looking for shelter.
Some Lithuanian farmers took pity on these vokietukai (little Germans), and took them in as farm workers. Those children who still had families in East Prussia took hard-earned food across the border to share with their starving mothers and siblings. The lucky ones were adopted by Lithuanian families and treated as their own. The not so fortunate ones were exploited as cheap labour. The children were split from their siblings and had to move from place to place, from family to family, uprooted again and again. Whatever their situation, the wolf children were still grateful they had something to eat and a place to stay. The price they had to pay for survival, however, was their identity. The title of Šlepikas’ book is a Lithuanian phrase the main protagonist, a girl called Renate, is taught by her mother: my name is Marytė. She repeats it again and again when she gets to Lithuania. Being German is dangerous so German Renate becomes Lithuanian Marytė.
Two brothers from East Prussia, begging for food in Vilnius in May 1947. ‘Wolf children on Lithuanian farms’, from Imagining Lithuania: 100 years, 100 visions: 1918-2018 (Vilnius, 2018) [awaiting shelfmark]
German children adopted by Lithuanians were often given new Lithuanian names and new identities. Sometimes helpful priests falsified parish records. The adoptive parents and their families risked severe punishment by the Soviet authorities and lived in constant fear of the truth coming out. As a result most of the wolf children received very little schooling; many were illiterate and ended up living in poverty. It was only after the fall of communism that their identities could be safely revealed. Some of the wolf children only found out that they were German when they were elderly. With no original documents or with documents containing wrong or incomplete information, they faced an uphill struggle to find their German roots. Some managed to find relatives in Germany; for some it was too late. Having forgotten their native language, some re-learnt German to be able to communicate with their families. There were stories of happy reunions but sometimes wolf children were met with suspicion from their German relatives, or outright rejection. They were often uneducated, didn‘t know the language; they were seen as a possible burden.
For decades after the war, the wolf children of East Prussia didn’t get much attention in Germany, either. The country had to reckon with its Nazi past and the accompanying guilt; there was reluctance about presenting Germans – even innocent children – as victims of war. In addition, the wolf children who managed to get to Germany were unwilling to talk about their experiences, too traumatic to revisit.
In any military conflict children can become collateral damage and erased from history. Mano vardas – Marytė gives voice to those who, for decades, have been forgotten. The book is not just a story of loss and unimaginable suffering but also of love, resilience, and hope against all odds.
Ela Kucharska-Beard, Curator Slavonic and East European Collections
References and further reading:
Norbertas Černiauskas, ‘Wolf children on Lithuanian farms’, in Imagining Lithuania: 100 years, 100 visions: 1918-2018 (Vilnius, 2018) [awaiting shelfmark]
Sonya Winterberg with Kerstin Lieff, The wolf children of Eastern Front: alone and forgotten (Barnsley, 2022)
Population displacement in Lithuania in the twentieth century, edited by Tomas Balkelis and Violeta Davoliūtė (Leiden, 2016). YD.2016.a.1761
Displaced children in Russia and Eastern Europe, 1915-1953, edited by Nick Baron (Leiden, 2016). YD.2017.a.1602
Sigita Kraniauskienė, Silva Pocytė, Ruth Leiserowitz, Irena Šutinienė, Klaipėdos kraštas 1945-1960 m.: naujos visuomenės kūrimasis ir jo atspindžiai šeimų istorijose (Klaipėda, 2019). YF.2021.a.9595
Christopher Spatz, Ostpreußische Wolfskinder: Erfahrungsräume und Identitäten in der deutschen Nachkriegsgesellschaft (Osnabrück, 2016). YF.2016.a.15325
Ruth Maria Wagner, Königsberg in alten Ansichtskarten (Würzburg, 2001). YA.2003.a.25095
14 November 2024
Marx versus Kinkel – a tale of two newspapers
On 15 November we are hosting a conference on European Political exiles and émigrés in Britain. This is one of a series of blog posts on the same topic. Conference details can be found here. Attendance is free, but registration is required.
If you were asked to name the most famous German political refugee in 19th-century Britain, you’d probably choose Karl Marx or Friedrich Engels. But at the time, Marx and Engels were comparatively little known outside a relatively small faction of communists. In wider émigré circles and among the British public, a far more familiar name was that of Gottfried Kinkel, an academic, writer and revolutionary who had arrived in London in November 1850 after making a dramatic escape from Spandau prison.
Gottfried Kinkel in the early 1860s (Image from Wikimedia Commons)
Marx would no doubt be delighted to know that his fame today far eclipses Kinkel’s because he thoroughly despised Kinkel, considering him to be a self-aggrandising third-rate writer and thinker. And since Marx was never one to nurse his dislikes quietly, his letters and other writings, especially the posthumously-published Die großen Männer des Exils (Heroes of the Exile) are full of vitriol against Kinkel and his allies.
While Marx’s dismissal of Kinkel’s work was doubtless based on genuine conviction, it’s not hard to see an element of envy there too. In the decade following his arrival in London, Kinkel began to make quite a name for himself as a teacher and lecturer, and was respected by other revolutionary exiles, especially those of the middle class, in a way that Marx could only dream of. At the end of the 1850s, Marx’s loathing would be further exacerbated when both men became involved with newspapers.
First Issue of Kinkel’s newspaper Hermann, 8 January 1859. NEWS14565
In 1859 Kinkel founded a newspaper for Germans in London, naming it Hermann, after the ancient Germanic leader who defeated the Roman army. Hermann did not appear in a vacuum. Various German papers had been published in London since 1812 in an attempt to serve a growing German community and the arrival of political exiles after 1848 had led to a number of new Anglo-German newspapers with a more radical slant, most of them short lived as was the case with many such ventures. A few issues of Marx’s own Neue Rheinische Zeitung (‘New Rhenish Journal’) had been edited from London in 1850, but Marx had been involved with later London titles as a contributor rather than an editor. Now, with Kinkel promoting his own newspaper (which Marx and Engels cynically referred to as ‘Gottfried’), Marx felt more strongly the need for a similar platform of his own.
First issue of Das Volk, 7 May 1859. NEWS14239
A solution appeared in the form of Das Volk (‘The People’). This was founded in May 1859 by the Communist Workers’ Educational Association to replace a previous title, Die neue Zeit (‘The New Age’) which had recently folded. Again, Marx was initially only a contributor, but he very much approved of the paper (and of its strong opposition to Kinkel) and gradually sought to increase his influence on it. Although never officially its editor, he was effectively carrying out the role by mid-July, with Engels helping the venture financially. As Das Volk became increasingly a mouthpiece for Marx’s ideas it began to lose readers, and it closed in August. Marx, with typical self-confidence, blamed the paper’s demise on its readers’ failure to appreciate the quality of his work. He was also convinced that Kinkel was deliberately working to sabotage potential rivals to Hermann.
Whether by fair means or foul, Hermann certainly thrived. Kinkel’s name was seen as a guarantee of quality to many fellow exiles as well as to other Germans immigrants and even to some British readers. Although the paper promoted broadly liberal politics, it also reported on arts and culture and, crucially, on the activities of German clubs, organisations and institutions in Britain. Das Volk had initially also covered the latter, but this declined under Marx’s control, alienating readers who wanted a more general newspaper for their community. Kinkel and Herrmann also made much of the celebrations in November 1859 of Friedrich Schiller’s centenary, an event that transcended political allegiances and helped unite Germans in Britain in a show of cultural pride.
Illustrated page from Hermann issue 44, 12 November 1859, with portraits of Schiller’s parents and wife as part of an article about the 1859 London Schiller Festival
Hermann would survive, under different editors and with changes in its political direction, into the 20th century, the longest run of any Anglo-German newspaper. Only the ban on German publishing in Britain on the outbreak of war in 1914 put an end to its appearance.
Susan Reed, Lead Curator Germanic Collections
References/further reading:
Christine Lattek, Revolutionary Refugees: German Socialism in Britain, 1840-1860 (London, 2006) YC.2007.a.3912
Susan Reed, ‘A modest sentinel for German interests in England: The Anglo-German Press in the Long Nineteenth Century’ in Stéphanie Prévost and Bénédicte Deschamps (eds.), Immigration and Exile Foreign-Language Press in the UK and the US: Connected Histories of the 19th and 20th Centuries (London, 2024) [Not yet catalogued]
07 November 2024
A Lifeline of Books: The British Library and Polish Exiles
On 15 November we are hosting a conference on European Political exiles and émigrés in Britain. This is one of a series of blog posts on the same topic. Conference details can be found here. Attendance is free, but registration is required.
For those forced to leave their homeland, a library is far more than just a building filled with books—it becomes a lifeline. Traditionally, libraries have served as essential repositories of knowledge, but during times of upheaval, exile and displacement, they transform into symbols of cultural survival. For many Polish people who found themselves in London after the Second World War and throughout the communist era, these cultural spaces provided not only archives of their heritage but also comfort, community, and hope for a better future.
The Polish diaspora in London stands as a testament to the power of cultural institutions. Polish libraries, archives and publishing houses in the city have been pivotal in preserving cultural heritage, fostering identity and offering emotional and intellectual sustenance to exiles and migrants. These organizations, both large and small, played a crucial role in helping Polish people stay connected to their roots despite being far from home. The establishment of the Polish government-in-exile in London further solidified the community’s presence, spurring the growth of cultural and educational institutions.
Even before these organizations fully developed, displaced Poles found refuge in the reading rooms of the British Museum Library (later the British Library), which became a vital support system for the Polish diaspora. As exiles fleeing Nazi and Soviet occupations arrived in the UK, they found themselves cut off from their homeland and the cultural materials that connected them to it. The British Museum Library became an essential resource, providing access to Polish books, newspapers and historical documents that were otherwise inaccessible during the war.
The library played an especially important role in supporting Polish intellectuals, writers, and journalists working in exile. Among them was Mieczysław Grydzewski, a prominent journalist and editor, who relied heavily on its resources. Grydzewski edited Wiadomości Polskie (later Wiadomości), a journal that served as a critical platform for Polish writers and intellectuals throughout the war and post-war years. For Grydzewski and others, the British Museum Library was indispensable in their efforts to maintain Polish literary and journalistic traditions while in exile.
Mieczysław Grydzewski at the British Museum Library. Illustration from Listy (Warsaw, 2022) YF.2023.a.3958
Faced with limited access to Polish literary works in wartime London, Grydzewski often had to transcribe passages from books only available at the Library. By the end of 1940, his reliance on these resources was so great that the institution allowed him to set up an additional desk in one of its corridors, where a secretary assisted him in copying texts. Together, they diligently transcribed important passages from authors such as the chronicler Jan Długosz (see the book: Vita beatissimi Stanislai Cracoviensis episcopi. Nec nō legende sanctorum Polonie Hungarie Bohemie Moravie Prussie et Slesie patronorum, in lombardica historia nō contente. (Kraków, 1511) C.110.d.8.) and many modern writers. These excerpts were then prepared for typesetting and publication, ensuring that Polish literature and history continued to reach the diaspora despite the conflict.
Other distinguished Polish scholars also relied on the British Museum Library during this period. Maria Danilewiczowa, who would later become director of the Polish Library in London, conducted much of her research there, as did General Marian Kukiel, a historian and military figure whose work on Polish military history greatly benefited from the Library’s extensive collections. Similarly, Stefan Westfal, known for his linguistic analysis of Polish (Rzecz o Polszczyźnie (London, 1956) 012977.l.4.), and Tadeusz Sulimirski, who edited a journal Biuletyn Zachodnio-Słowiański, drew heavily from the British Museum Library’s resources. Their research contributed to the preservation and enrichment of Polish intellectual life in exile.
Biuletyn Zachodnio-Słowiański (Edinburgh, 1940- )PP.3554.nem]
The British Library’s holdings include many valuable works essential to maintaining Poland’s cultural memory. Among them are rare historical texts, literary works, and political documents preserved from before the war. The library’s Polonica collection is particularly rich, encompassing key texts in Polish history, literature, and law, as well as works by 19th-century Polish poets and political figures who fought for the country’s independence. During the communist era, post-war émigré publications, including materials related to the Solidarity movement and other dissident groups, connected the diaspora with ongoing struggles in Poland. Today, after democratic changes, our contemporary collections continue to keep the Polish diaspora in touch with current developments in the country.
Olga Topol, Curator Slavonic and East European Collections
01 October 2024
How Bitter the Savour is of Other’s Bread? International Conference on European Political Refugees in the UK from 1800
Join us on Friday 15 November 2024 for the ‘European Political Refugees in the UK from 1800’ conference taking place in Pigott Theatre, Knowledge Centre at the British Library. This one-day in-person event will explore the rich history of political refugees from Europe who sought asylum in the UK from the 19th century onwards. International academics, scholars, and curators will investigate how European diaspora communities have woven themselves into the fabric of British society, fostering intercultural exchange and contributing to the shaping of modern Britain.
‘European Political Refugees in the UK from 1800’ conference poster
The conference is organised by the European Collections section of the British Library in partnership with the European Union National Institutes of Culture (EUNIC) London. It will be accompanied by the exhibition ‘Music, Migration, and Mobility: The Story of Émigré Musicians from Nazi Europe in Britain’ and by events run by the conference partners.
The event is open to all and attendance is free, but registration is required. Booking details can be found here.
Programme
10:00 Welcome
10:05 Session 1: Artists
Moderator: Olga Topol, British Library
‘Leaving Home’ – Franciszka Themerson and Her Artistic Community in the UK, Jasia Reichardt, Art Critic and Curator
Austrian Musicians and Writers in Exile in the 1930s and 1940s, Oliver Rathkolb, University of Vienna and Vienna Institute of Contemporary and Cultural History and Art (VICCA)
On the Rock of Exiles: Victor Hugo in the Channel Islands, Bradley Stephens, University of Bristol
Music, Migration & Mobility, The Story of Émigré Musicians from Nazi Europe in Britain, Norbert Meyn, Royal College of Music, London
12:00 The stone that spoke screening
Introduction by Gail Borrow, ExploreTheArch arts facilitated by EUNIC London
12:15 Lunch
13:00 Session 2: Governments in Exile
Moderator: Valentina Mirabella, British Library
London Exile of the Yugoslav Government during the Second World War and its Internal Problems, Milan Sovilj, Institute of History of the Czech Academy of Sciences, Prague
The Spanish Republican Exile in Great Britain: General Characteristics and the case of Roberto Gerhard, Mari Paz Balibrea, Birkbeck, University of London
Fascism and anti-fascism in London's 'Little Italy' and Giacomo Matteotti's secret visit to London in 1924, Alfio Bernabei, Historian and Author
14:30 Break
14:45 Session 3: Building Communities
Moderator: Katya Rogatchevskaia, British Library
Tefcros Anthias: poet, writer, activist, and public intellectual in Cyprus and the Cypriot Community in London, Floya Anthias, University of Roehampton, London
The Journeys in Stories: Jewish emigration from Lithuania via United Kingdom, Dovilė Čypaitė-Gilė, Vilna Gaon, Museum of Jewish History, Vilnius University
Political migration from Hungary, 1918-1956, Thomas Lorman, UCL's School of Slavonic and East European Studies, London
16:15 Break
16:30 – 17:00 Session 4: Writing Diaspora
Moderator: Anthony Chapman-Joy, Royal Holloway, University of London, British Library
Newspapers published by 19th-century German political exiles in England, Susan Reed, British Library
Clandestine WWII pamphlets, Marja Kingma, British Library
We look forward to welcoming you to the conference in November. In the meantime, we invite you to discover a new display of works by Franciszka Themerson ‘Walking Backwards’, currently on show at Tate Britain, and to explore the history of Lithuanian Jewish immigration to the UK at the annual Litvak Days in London.
05 September 2024
Underground Publishing in Poland under Communist Regime: Through Female Eyes
The Gdańsk Agreement of 1980, established between the workers of the Lenin shipyard and the Polish People’s Republic’s undemocratically elected government, saw the beginning of the ‘Solidarity’ trade union’s fight against the Communist Regime. In the following seven years, around 4830 books and 2027 journals, many of which are in the British Library’s Solidarity Collection, were published underground in a so-called ‘second circulation’. As far as the records go, only 175 of these works were authored by a mere 97 female writers.
Superficial research into female involvement in Polish anti-government publishing could end here. Women in print? Official numbers leave no doubt: they were few and far between. To broaden the scope of this quest to uncover unheard female voices in the Solidarity Collection, avenues other than scholarly browsing of the Library’s basements had to be incorporated. And so, on a brisk December morning, one of them led all the way out of the bustle of central London into the quiet of Hampshire countryside.
“At that time my involvement in the anti-communist opposition was very important for me, probably more important than my medical studies”, recalls Anna Młynik-Shawcross, a retired psychiatrist based in Britain since 1985 – the year when she arrived here as a political refugee. Anna reflects on the times after the strikes in the shipyard ended and she graduated from the medical school. “However, I decided to follow medicine instead of getting involved as the unions’ activist”, she confirms. But how does this story begin? The interview with her is meant to deepen the present understanding of diverse roles women played in the 1970s-1980s Polish underground publishing.
Anna Młynik-Shawcross in her home (photo by Olga Topol).
Anna, born in 1955 in Gdańsk, first became involved with the democratic anti-communist movement at the beginning of her Medical School years, in the winter of 1976. When the communist government pushed for changes in the Polish constitution of the time, Anna, alongside a small group of Gdańsk students, joined the movement which started with signing the protest letters against those changes. In the summer of the same year the famous strikes began in Radom and Lublin and spread all over the country, while lots of people lost their employment. At that time the famous ‘Committee for Social Self-Defence’ (KOR) was set up. “I was able to get the list of names of the workers who were sacked [so that they could be helped by KOR]”, recalls Anna. In the years 1977-1978, she was part of the ‘Movement for the Defence of Human and Civic Rights’ (ROPCiO). She was a founder member of the Student Solidarity Committee set up in Gdańsk in November 1977 and was involved in organising student discussion groups and helping those persecuted by the Communist regime.
Around the same time, one of the first printing machines intended for the independent underground printing of works by authors censored by the regime was shipped from abroad with the help of Jaraczewski family, Józef Piłsudski’s descendants. Anna remembers the times she spent printing leaflets and the establishment of an underground periodical Bratniak published by the ‘Movement of Young Poland’, a Free Trade Union periodical called Robotnik Wybrzeża, as well as the first independent publishing house involved in distributing books across the country, Nowa.
An example of an underground publication, Kazimierz Brandys, Miesiące, (Warszawa 1980) Sol. 241w.
“I was in contact with them and was involved into distribution of books across Poland. They had to be well protected, so we had to have a network of people. We would distribute them through friends, all just through networks”, recalls Anna. Distribution of printed material posed challenges, with private flats acting as places of conspiracy. In the following years, Anna contributed to nothing less than the establishment of a new publishing house, Klin. Together with a small group of friends they set the ambitious goal of about 3,500 published books to be published, and worked tirelessly towards it. Still today she recalls, not without excitement, getting a ‘Western’ paper trimmer, as well as gaining the support of a bookbinder.
“It started with my money that I earned working as a student abroad”, Anna recalls, “We needed a lot of paper, but you couldn’t simply go into a shop and buy tons of paper. So we were going to different shops and buying small amounts.” The printing was primitive, primarily in the offset technique. “We got the paint and were spending hours and hours copying books”, adds Anna, a 2009 recipient of an Order of Polonia Restituta. Now, let us look again at the initial number mentioned above: 97 female writers? What about the women behind the scenes?
Anna expands on female involvement in the opposition movement, including the free press. Although often reluctant about such contribution because of concern for the welfare of their children, especially at that challenging time, many women were involved. She and Magda Modzelewska were involved in Gdańsk’s Student Solidarity Commitee. Joanna Duda-Gwiazda and Alinka Pieńkowska belonged to the Wolne Związki Zawodowe trade unions, which published journal Robotnik Wybrzeża. Finally, Bożena Rybicka, Małgorzata Rybicka, and Magda Modzelewska supported the journal Bratniak: “Małgorzata Rybicka was writing articles in Bratniak, while Magda Modzelewska was involved into editing and publishing”, recalls Anna.
Back cover of Marguerite Duras Kochanek (Siedlce, 1987) Sol.235j. featuring a dedication to female colleagues working in the independent publishing movement.
Any involvement in the opposition’s fight for democracy and freedom of speech involved high risk and intimidation. Secret police employed numerous tactics, including arrests, house searches, sending anonymous letters with false information and all kind of threats. “One day my parents received an anonymous letter informing them that I was under the influence of drug addicts and that [my parents] should put pressure on me to disengage from the opposition. My parents were threatened that they would lose their employment. Also, for me, getting a job was hard, especially locally”, she recollects.
Friendships developed during her involvement with underground publishing, which were based on enormous levels of trust to support the clandestine activities. She reflects upon the fact that most of the people involved in the opposition groups belonged to the intelligentsia: “After Wałęsa joined the movement it was a bit easier to reach the working-class people. But they were being persecuted”.
The fascinating conversation goes on for hours. Initial conclusions drawn from limited research done so far into women in Poland’s ‘second circulation’ go down the drain. And with that emerges a richer picture: that of publishing houses which, although dominated by men, could not have accomplished their mission fully without female efforts around printing and distribution of illegal pro-democratic materials. And so, a brisk December morning spent in a quiet Hampshire town can alone paint a fascinating picture of women working alongside men to help true information reach larger numbers of Poles during the Cold War. Imagine what could more such encounters, and digging deeper into the potential of oral history, bring to surface.
Agata Piotrowska, Doctoral Fellow 2024, Slavonic and East European collections
Further reading:
Wojciech Chojnacki, Marek Jastrzębski, Bibliografia Publikacji Podziemnych w Polsce. Tom Drugi, 01 I 1986 – 31 XII 1987, (Warszawa: 1993). YA.1994.a.5556
Ann M. Frenkel, Paweł Sowiński, Gwido Zlatkes, Duplicator underground: the independent publishing industry in Communist Poland 1976-89, (Bloomington, Indiana: 2016). YD.2017.a.460
Józefa Kamińska (real names: Władysław Chojnacki, Wojciech Chojnacki), Bibliografia Publikacji Podziemnych w Polsce, 13 XII 1981 – VI 1986, (Paris: 1988). 2725.e.184
Shana Penn, Solidarity’s secret: the women who defeated Communism in Poland (Ann Arbor, Michigan: 2005). YC.2007.a.10368
29 August 2024
Empire and French Caricature from 1870-1871 (Part 2)
The British Library’s collection of 1870-71 caricatures from the Franco-Prussian War and Paris Commune (shelfmark 14001.g.41, Cup.648.b.2, Cup.648.b.8) offer insight not only into their contemporary conflicts, but the political and cultural worlds which had formed the outlooks of their artists.
The theme of Empire reappears several times in the collection. Building on earlier royal invasions of Algeria, between 1852-70 Napoleon III’s Second Empire launched several campaigns of imperial expansion across the globe, including in China, Southeast Asia, Lebanon, Mexico, and continued interventions in North Africa.
Though designed in part to boost French prestige on an international level, often the campaigns were deeply unpopular at home. This was particularly acute in cases where French forces combatted republican foes, such as the repeated interventions on the Italian peninsula and in Mexico, where Napoleon III’s attempts to put Austrian archduke Maximilian on the throne were eventually thwarted by Benito Juarez’s [https://www.britannica.com/biography/Benito-Juarez] republican army. Yet thanks to strict censorship laws, those wishing to be critical of these campaigns – particularly of Mexico – could make only vague allusions for fear of arrest or fines.
When these systems of censorship fell away with the Empire in September 1870, the floodgates opened, exemplified by the remarks of Jules Ferry – who would go on to decree several of the Third Republic’s own colonial efforts less than a decade later - in his description of the French people as ‘sickened by the overseas adventures of the Second Empire’.
Caricaturists likewise centralised the Second Empire’s imperial follies in their criticism of the fallen regime. An excellent example of this is A. Belloguet’s twelve-print series Pilori-Phrénologie, each of which rather resemble the artwork of Giuseppe Arcimboldo. Belloguet applies popular interest in phrenology – the pseudo-science which reasoned that one could detect personality traits from skull shape – to twelve leading figures of 1870-1, including Prussian minister Otto von Bismarck, future French president Adolphe Thiers and Pope Pius IX, all found in the Library’s third volume.
A. Belloguet, Pilori-Phrénologie (1), Napoleon III, (Paris, 1870) Volume 3 14001.g.41].
The first of the set takes on fallen French Emperor Napoleon III, which is actually an update of an earlier print circulated in Belgium towards the end of the Second Empire. Belloguet details the Emperor’s visage with a series of ad hominem attacks and details of his eclectic political life, including mentions of his two unsuccessful attempted coups in Strasbourg (1836) and Boulogne (1840) and his surrender at Sedan in 1870.
Belloguet also highlights Napoleon III’s collar with four moments of repression. In addition to that of Paris in the aftermath of his coup in 1851, the collar lists ‘Mexico’, ‘Rome’, and ‘Aspromonte’. Each of the three were part of the Second Empire’s later expansionary aims – particularly offensive given that French opponents were republican, and in the case of the Italian campaigns in Rome and Aspromonte, French troops fought radical hero Giuseppe Garibaldi. As if to emphasise this, the bloody rag which drips from where Napoleon III’s mouth should be reads ‘Mentana’ – a conflict in November 1867 where Garibaldi was injured by French forces defending Rome on behalf of the Pope.
Though many caricatures directly attacked political personages or ideologies, several sets were dedicated to examining and gently mocking the disrupted rhythm of life in Paris under the siege. For instance, artists routinely produced images depicting the food crisis, making light of the fact that Parisians had turned to horsemeat to survive, and that some were even put into the position of eating cats, dogs, and even rats. Such social commentary also could include references to the Second Empire’s imperial campaigns.
An exemplar of such social caricature is found in the Library’s second volume, in a set entitled Paris Assiégé (Besieged Paris) by Jules Renard - signing his images as under a pseudonym the reverse of his surname, ‘Draner’. The twentieth of the set depicts novel positions taken up by Parisians in the boulevards in order to avoid the falling Prussian shells during their bombardment of the city, which had intensified in January 1871 after German forces had reached Paris in September.
Jules Renard (Draner), Paris Assiége (20) Les Effets du Bombardement (The Effects of Bombardment), (Paris, 1870) Volume 2 14001.g.41.
The figure in the foreground – subtly dressed in the colours of the French tricolore – claims that the Parisians kneeling were neither men nor women, but instead Ambassadors of Siam. Perhaps a rather obscure reference at first glance, but like the caricatures discussed in the previous blog of this series, Renard takes a cue from high art as inspiration for this print.
Jean-Léon Gérôme, Réception des ambassadeurs siamois par l’Empereur Napoléon III au palais de Fontainebleu, 27 juin 1861 (Reception of Siamese Ambassadors by Emperor Napoleon III at Fontainebleu Palace, 27 June 1861). (Picture from Wikimedia Commons)
Renard references a painting presented at Paris’s 1865 Salon, Réception des ambassadeurs siamois par l’Empereur Napoléon III au palais de Fontainebleu, 27 juin 1861 by Jean-Léon Gérôme. In it, rows of ambassadors from the Kingdom of Siam (modern-day Thailand) kneel before the French imperial couple, presenting them with a letter from their king Mongkut (Rama IV). The two states had long since established relations: almost two centuries before this meeting, the court of Louis XIV had received visits from the Kingdom of Siam.
In 1856 Siam and France had signed a commercial treaty which granted France a foothold in Southeast Asia – which simultaneously reduced Siamese influence on its neighbouring areas. Fifteen years later, upon hearing the news of Napoleon III’s forced abdication in September, the rulers of Siam expressed their ‘exaggerated sympathies’ for the fallen Emperor.
These exaggerated sympathies were shared by the vast majority of French caricaturists operating in 1870-71. Yet despite their antipathy towards the regime’s foreign exploits, it was not long before France once again pursued foreign glory, their colonial policies now led by who had once been at the forefront of the criticism of such policies. If the ire of caricaturists towards foreign expansion was ever-present during 1870-71, it certainly waned from any long-lasting political programme in the years thereafter.
Anthony Chapman-Joy, CDP Student at the British Library and Royal Holloway
References/further reading
Morna Daniels, ‘Caricatures from the Franco-Prussian War of 1870 and the Paris Commune’, Electronic British Library Journal, (2005), pp. 1-19
Quentin Deluermoz, D’ici et d’ailleurs: histoires globales de la France contemporaine (XVIIIe-XXe siècle) (Paris, 2021) YF.2022.a.12094
Bertrand Tillier, La Commune de Paris: Révolution sans images? (Paris, 2004), YF.2004.a.14526
David Todd, A Velvet Empire: French Informal Imperialism in the Nineteenth Century (Princeton, 2021) YC.2022.a.7337
19 August 2024
Religious Metaphors in French Caricature from 1870-71 (Part 1)
The British Library’s collection of Franco-Prussian War and Paris Commune caricatures (shelfmarks 14001.g.41, Cup.648.b.2, Cup.648.b.8) exemplifies how artists from a variety of diverse national, political and cultural backgrounds engaged with l’année terrible.
Broadly speaking, 1870-71 prints can be split into two formats. Single-sheet images produced by small teams of editors and artists were sold on the street, pasted onto buildings and displayed in shop windows. On the other hand, pre-existing publishing houses – including those which produced weekly satirical journals, like Le Charivari (1832-1937), designed sets with print collectors in mind. This latter form was adorned with title pages, and arguably maintained a higher artistic sophistication. Artists did not limit themselves to just one category: for instance, Faustin Betbeder (1848-1914), who claimed that his first single-sheet image sold more than 50,000 copies, also created multiple sets during 1870-71, several of which can be found in the BL’s collections.
Both formats touched on the same topics. For example, references to Christianity shaped both single sheets and co-ordinated sets. Their use most frequently relied on the ironic comparison of biblical figures or parables with their contemporary parallels. The BL’s fifth volume (14001.g.41) holds a set of three images which each parody three scenes from the Bible immortalised in famous works of art. The first, drawn by F. Mathis, is a spoof of Leonardo’s Last Supper mural.
F. Mathis, La Nouvelle Cène (The New Last Supper), (Paris, 1871) Volume 5 14001.g.41.
It is an almost stroke-for-stroke reproduction, but for the substitution of Jesus and John with figures wearing a Phrygian-cap and an allegory of Paris, respectively. Further, Jesus’s apostles are replaced by figures of the twelve members of the ephemeral and unpopular Government of National Defence, which led France following the fall of the Second Empire in September 1870 until a new government was formed by Adolphe Thiers (the bespectacled figure on the far left of Mathis’s print, ominously peeping through the door) in February 1871.
The gesticulating guests at Leonardo’s Last Supper respond to Jesus’s proclamation that one of his disciples will soon betray him. Conversely, La Nouvelle Cène (‘The New Last Supper’) insinuates that all of the members of this flimsy government will betray France – if they had not already. Paris suffered under a winter of Prussian siege, before the government capitulated in late January. To make matters worse, their humiliation was ratified by the signing of a peace treaty which included the secession of the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine, a significant war indemnity, and a Prussian military march through Paris – augmenting an already biblical sense of betrayal. This theme was central to the set’s second print, in which Jules Favre plays the familiar role of Judas Iscariot, again drawn by Mathis.
The final print from the set, this time drawn by Charles Vernier (1813-92), is a little more complex. Though still a send-up of a famous Italian painting of a biblical scene – Paolo Veronese’s The Wedding Feast at Cana , hung in the Louvre – Vernier mixes the story of Jesus’s first miracle, the turning of water into wine, with the narrative of a popular French song Le Baptême du p’tit ébéniste (‘The Baptism of the li’l ebonist’).
Paolo Veronese, Nozze di Cana (The Wedding Feast at Cana), (Venice, 1563), (Picture from Wikimedia Commons)
The scene is transformed from a wedding to a baptism, that of the latest French Republic (the Third, which lasted until 1940), with a couplet from the song in the image’s caption noting how France is like ‘a bouquet of flowers’ – in other words, that is made up of many colourful – and contradictory – parts.
Jesus is replaced by Thiers holding the baby Republic aloft, while monarchs of Europe, including Süleyman the Magnificent and Mary I of England from Verones’s painting are exchanged for representatives of various contemporary French political currents. These include the deposed Emperor Napoleon III, several of the aforementioned National Government of Defence, and even a pétroleuse – that mythical figure in anti-Communard discourse who had apparently delighted in setting Paris alight in the final days of May 1871.
Noces de Cana, (Paris, 1871) Volume 5 14001.g.41.
Single sheet images designed for public consumption and debate were not below making biting allusions to religious iconography to mock political figures during 1870-1. The most popular trope, inevitably, was drawing any of the members of the National Government of Defence as Judas.
Other prints were more erudite. An obvious example from the BL’s second volume at 14001.g.41 is A. Baudet-Bauderval’s Une fuite en Egypte en passant par la Prusse (‘A flight to Egypt via Prussia’), the seventh print of Grognet’s 87-strong Actualités (‘Current Events’). The set was printed unevenly from the outbreak of the war to the final days of the Commune – sometimes publishing as many as ten images in a single day – and comprised several artists, meaning the sets had little ideological or topical coherency.
A. Baudet-Bauderval, Une Fuite en Egypte en passant par la Prusse (A Flight to Egypt via Prussia), (Paris, 1870) Volume 2 14001.g.41.
Following his surrender at the Battle of Sedan in early September 1870, Napoleon III was taken prisoner at Wilhelmshöhe Castle in Kassel. Shortly after news of his capitulation reached Paris, the Empress Eugénie and their son Louis fled the city. In Baudet-Bauderval’s sketch, the imperial family replicate the flight of Christianity’s holy family to Egypt – another popular artistic motif, perhaps most famously rendered by Giotto at the Cappella degli Scrovegni in Padua.
Despite its hasty construction – and its design to invite public consumption over private collection – Une fuite en Egypte includes a subtle yet ingenious attack. The Emperor and his son wear two large yellow hats which resemble sombreros, the wide-brimmed hat typically associated with Mexico. This addition not only lampoons the halos which crown the imperial family in Giotto’s Flight to Egypt, but also imbricates a mockery of the Emperor’s disastrous campaign to install a French-friendly monarchy in Mexico, a failure itself famously memorialised by Édouard Manet’s Execution of Maximilian.
In the aftermath of the War and the Commune, partisans of the Church claimed that the disasters of 1870-71 were the inevitable result of the anti-clericalism which coursed through some strands of French radicalism and the materialistic opulence of the Second Empire. Yet religious metaphors, iconography and scenes, particularly those preserved in art, could just as easily be employed by satirical artists to mock the powerful throughout 1870-71.
Anthony Chapman-Joy, CDP Student at the British Library and Royal Holloway
Further reading:
Hollis Clayson, Paris in Despair: Art and Everyday Life Under Siege (London, 2002), YC.2002.a.15995
Morna Daniels, ‘Caricatures from the Franco-Prussian War of 1870 and the Paris Commune’, Electronic British Library Journal, (2005), pp. 1-19
John Milner, Art, War and Revolution in France, 1870-1871 (London, 2000), LB.31.b.19108
Bertrand Tillier, La Commune de Paris: Révolution sans images? (Paris, 2004), YF.2004.a.14526
02 August 2024
Divided by Politics – ‘United’ by Sport? The German Unified Olympic Team
In 1936 Germany hosted what would be the last Olympic Games before the Second World War, an event that became infamous as a showcase for Nazi Germany. At the first Games after the war (1948) Germans were banned from participating, but in 1950 the International Olympic Committee (IOC) formally recognised a new German National Olympic Committee, paving the way for German participation in the 1952 Games.
However, there was one major problem: by 1950 there were officially two German states, the Federal Republic of Germany (FRG) in the West and the German Democratic Republic (GDR) in the East. The FRG had founded the Olympic Committee and claimed that it represented the whole of Germany, in keeping with its policy of not recognising the GDR as a legitimate state. The GDR quickly set up their own National Olympic Committee and also sought recognition from the IOC, but this was refused. Instead, the IOC suggested that the two states should form a single committee and compete as a single team, but NOC members on both sides, under political pressure from their governments, refused, and only West Germany took part in the 1952 Games. (Although the Saarland, later to become part of the FRG but in 1952 a French Protectorate, also competed for the only time as a separate entity.)
The IOC, and in particular its new Chairman, Avery Brundage, felt that the situation in 1952 went against the ‘Olympic spirit’ of international and apolitical camaraderie in sport. In the years leading up to the 1956 Games they sought a solution. In 1954 the East German NOC was given provisional recognition on the understanding that the two German states would still compete as a single team. This time both sides accepted the compromise, and in 1956 what later became known as the ‘Unified German Team’ took part as ‘Germany’ in both the summer and winter Olympics.
Members of the East and West German Olympic Committees during negotiations over the 1956 Games. From Grit Hartmann, Brigitte Berendonk, Goldkinder: die DDR im Spiegel ihres Spitzensports (Leipzig, 1997) YA.2000.a.19519
This may have solved one problem, but it threw up several others, including that of which flag and anthem the team would use. The flag issue was not initially too hard to solve since in 1956 both countries used the same black red and gold tricolour as their national flag, but by 1960 the GDR had superimposed its national emblem of a hammer and compass in a garland of corn onto its flag. After some wrangling, it was agreed that from then on the team would compete under a German tricolour with the Olympic rings displayed in white in the central red panel. Meanwhile, the Ode to Joy from Beethoven’s 9th Symphony was chosen as the anthem for the team. Team members were selected in qualification competitions held in both Germanies, and it was agreed that the state with the highest number of qualifying athletes would provide the team’s ‘Chef de Mission’ and flag-bearer.
The flag of the German Unified Team, used at the 1960, 1964 and 1968 Olympic Games (Image from Wikimedia Commons)
When the Unified Team first appeared at the 1956 Olympics, Brundage triumphantly declared that in uniting the two German states in this way, the IOC had “succeeded where the politicians could not”. He would continue to express similar sentiments throughout the lifetime of the Unified Team, but the reality for German politicians, athletes and fans was somewhat different. Politicians in both East and West Germany tried to use participation in the Games to promote their own ends. For the FRG this was primarily to boost its the claim to be the only legitimate German state; conversely, for the GDR it was to gain recognition on the international stage. On the personal level too, the Unified Team was far from united. The athletes from East and West generally lived and trained separately in the Olympic villages and had little personal contact. Sports fans, used to watching the two Germanies compete as rivals in other situations, probably felt a closer allegiance to their own athletes than to those of the other state or to any concept of a united Germany.
The German Unified Team at the 1960 Summer Olympics in Tokyo (Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-C1012-0001-026 / Kohls, Ulrich / CC-BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons)
This separation grew more marked over the years as the political situation between the two states deteriorated. Uta Andrea Bailer, writing about the Unified Team, describes its history as “also the history of the continued drifting apart of the two German states.” By 1964 this had come to a head following the building of the Berlin Wall three years earlier. In a dissertation on the team, Eike Birck quotes West German Olympic skier Rita Czech-Blasel: “Who came up with this crazy idea? A ‘unified German team’! The Communists put up a wall, finally chopped Germany in half, and we athletes were supposed to act as if it was all sweetness and light ...” Also in 1964, for the first time the GDR had more qualifiers for the Games, giving them the coveted post of Chef de Mission, something seen in the FRG as a serious humiliation.
Cover of Matthias Fink, Das NOK der DDR - zwischen Olympia und Politik: die olympische Bewegung der DDR im Spannungsfeld der deutsch-deutschen Geschichte 1945-1973 (Göttingen, 2012) YF.2015.a.21269
In the following years, the IOC bowed to the inevitable. In 1965 the East German NOC was given full recognition, and in 1968 a separate East German team competed, although they were still required to use the flag and anthem of the Unified Team. By 1972 the separation was complete and both the FRG (the host of that year’s summer games) and the GDR competed as separate countries under their own flags. It was around this time that the GDR began the state-sanctioned doping programme that brought spectacular Olympic success throughout the 1970s and 80s but had devastating effects on the lives and health of East German athletes.
In 1992 a single German team once more appeared at the Olympics, but this time it was representing a newly politically unified Germany. Despite Brundage’s hopes of sport achieving what politics could not, it was in the end politics that brought German Olympians truly together again.
Susan Reed, Lead Curator Germanic Collections
References/further reading
Uta A. Balbier, Kalter Krieg auf der Aschenbahn: der deutsch-deutsche Sport, 1950-1972: eine politische Geschichte (Paderborn, 2007) YF.2007.a.31226. Also available online at https://digi20.digitale-sammlungen.de/de/fs1/object/display/bsb00052124_00044.html
Uta A. Balbier, ‘“Flaggen, Hymnen und Medaillen”. Die gesamtdeutsche Olympiamannschaft und die kulturelle Dimension der Deutschlandpolitik.’ In: Susanne Muhle, Hedwig Richter und Juliane Schütterle (ed.), Die DDR im Blick: ein zeithistorisches Lesebuch. (Berlin, 2008), pp. 201-209. YF.2010.a.1880. Also available online at https://www.bundesstiftung-aufarbeitung.de/sites/default/files/uploads/files/2021-06/balbier_flaggen_hymnen_und_medaillen_ddr_im_blick.pdf
Christian Becker, Edelfrid Buggel, Wolfgang Buss, Der Sport in der SBZ und frühen DDR: Genese, Strukturen, Bedingungen (Schorndorf, 2001) YA.2003.a.25310
Eike Birck, Die gesamtdeutschen Olympiamannschaften – eine Paradoxie der Sportgeschichte (Doctoral dissertation, University of Bielefeld, 2013) https://pub.uni-bielefeld.de/download/2638227/2638228/Dissertation_Eike_Birck.pdf
Horst Geyer, Olympische Spiele 1896-1996: ein deutsches Politikum (Münster, 1996) YA.1999.a.12770
Juliana Lenz, Zwischen Politik, Protokoll und Pragmatismus: die deutsche Olympiageschichte von 1952 bis 1972 (Berlin, 2011) YF.2013.a.15633 (Original dissertation available online at https://rosdok.uni-rostock.de/resolve/id/rosdok_disshab_0000002138)
David Maraniss, Rome 1960: the Olympics that changed the world (New York, 2008) m08/.26791
17 July 2024
Georgia’s acclaimed writer Aka Morchiladze
Aka Morchiladze is a widely recognised and much-loved writer from Georgia. He has authored some best-selling novels, and a series of short stories and essays mainly concerned with Georgian history and literature. He has been nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature this year for his powerful and artistically unique contribution to Georgian literature.
Morchiladze has an incredible ability to tell a story and bring the reader into his world, always engaging with new themes, new areas of experience, and, above all, new technical challenges. He tells stories from the point of view of an outsider, but he sees the world as one of his characters might see it. He pays thorough attention to the distinctiveness of the speech of each character. His stories with a wide variety of voices are emotional, subtle and complex, sometimes even grotesque.
His writing technique allows mixed perception of the text: a literary text can be perceived on various levels. For some readers, it could be simply a detective story. For others, a narrative full of unique historical details, the picture of a particular era. Moreover, it could be the contemplation of the differences between past and present, the relationship and interdependence of history and memory, history and mentality, and their roles in culture. In manipulating a continuous parallel between past and present, modernity and antiquity, he uses stories and themes from Classical literature and places them in a modern context and circumstances.
Morchiladze has won a number of literary prizes in Georgia. His works have been translated and published in several countries, including Germany, Italy, Serbia, Mexico, Bulgaria, Macedonia, Egypt, USA, Sweden, Azerbaijan and Switzerland.
His two novels, Journey to Karabakh and Of Old Hearts and Swords, have been translated into English by Elizabeth Heighway.
His first novel, Journey to Karabakh (მოგზაურობა ყარაბაღში), was published in Georgia in 1992 and brought him immediate success. The novel depicts events in Georgia and the Caucasus, which took place at the beginning of the 1990s. It tells of an adventure of two young Georgians who accidentally get involved in the Karabakh conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan.
Cover of Elizabeth Heighway's translation of Journey to Karabakh. H.2016/.7513
Of Old Hearts and Swords (ძველი გულებისა და ხმლისა) was published in 2007. It is a novel about nineteenth-century Georgia, re-creating the atmosphere of a culture almost lost in time. Its themes are loyalty and courage, love, friendship and war. It narrates the story of a Georgian nobleman who travels from Tbilisi to the West in search of his missing brother.
Cover Of Old Hearts and Swords in Georgian. YF.2008.a.20364
Morchiladze’s work Georgian Notebooks (ქართულის რვეულები) (2013) has recently been translated into English. It was published in 2022 with the title Character in Georgia. The book is a collection of stories about poets, politicians, outlaws and many other Georgians. Their personalities are different, and yet, symbolising Georgian character, they have something in common. Living in the pages of this book, they follow their unique way of behaving. Their inner lives collide with real events and become the stuff of history and legend.
The English edition (Character in Georgia), unlike the Georgian original, provides more information and context around the events and people, presenting and explaining stories for non-Georgian readers. This new approach to the original text was suggested by the English editor, Peter Nasmyth. It was finally decided to put both writers’ names on the title page.
Cover of Character in Georgia (awaiting shelfmark)
The British Library’s collections hold most of Morchiladze’s works, including his best novels mentioned above, as well as English translations. On several occasions, he has been invited to the British Library as a speaker and talked about Georgian literature. We look forward to seeing him at a future European Writers' Festival.
Anna Chelidze, Curator, Georgian Collections
References:
Donald Rayfield, Georgian literature in Encyclopædia Britannica https://www.britannica.com/art/Georgian-literature/The-20th-century
Donald Rayfield, The Literature of Georgia: History (London: Garnett Press, 2010).
29 May 2024
Preservation of Roma historical and cultural heritage in Bulgaria
European studies blog recent posts
- The wolf children of East Prussia
- Marx versus Kinkel – a tale of two newspapers
- A Lifeline of Books: The British Library and Polish Exiles
- How Bitter the Savour is of Other’s Bread? International Conference on European Political Refugees in the UK from 1800
- Underground Publishing in Poland under Communist Regime: Through Female Eyes
- Empire and French Caricature from 1870-1871 (Part 2)
- Religious Metaphors in French Caricature from 1870-71 (Part 1)
- Divided by Politics – ‘United’ by Sport? The German Unified Olympic Team
- Georgia’s acclaimed writer Aka Morchiladze
- Preservation of Roma historical and cultural heritage in Bulgaria
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