The Belgica & Beyond


amateur translations, scans, & assorted research by m.w.
actively under construction.

WRITTEN FROM THE BELGICA 1897-1899

  1. Racovitza’s cartoons 
  2. Racovitza’s shipboard diary
  3. Racovitza’s letters home
  4. Lecointe’s meeting notes

CORRESPONDENCE

  1. before
  2. after

    NEWS OF THE BELGICA 1896-1900

    1. coverage in the Belgian press, translated
    2. coverage in the British press
    3. coverage in the American press
    4. scientific lectures, translated
    5. list of Expedition publications
      6.        a) Lecointe on Danco’s contributions

    QUELQUES EXPÉDITIONS SUIVANTES

    1. de Gerlache & Charcot (the Français)
    2. de Gerlache & the Duke of Orléans (the Belgica in the Arctic)
    3. the failed Second Belgian Antarctic Expedition (Arctowski & Lecointe)
    4. the successful Second Belgian Antarctic Expedition (Gaston de Gerlache)
    5.  the Royal Belgian Observatory
    6. Georges Lecointe’s 20th Century

      MARRIAGES & OTHER LIFE EVENTS

      1. Lecointe Family
      2. Arctowski
      3. de Gerlache
      4. Racovitza
      5. van Mirlo
      6. van Rysselberghe

      ASSORTED BELGICA RESOURCES

      1. bibliography
      2. associated persons
      3. contemporary photographs


      the sailors of the Belgica performing a “starlight concert” on Sept. 26, 1897, from Johan Koren’s diary

      contact: packloafertranslations@gmail.com

      Racovitza’s letters home


      As published in the 1998 compilation edited by Alexandru Marinescu, translated by m.w. 

      [Bracketed] text indicates minor edits for readability as made by m.w., (parens) are transcribed as used by Racovitza.

      Footnotes by Marinescu and m.w. will eventually be added for clarification re: Racovitza’s species (mis)identification and use of Spanish terms — please contact packloafertranslations@gmail.com with any recommendations or corrections to scientific/locality-specific terminology, or any questions you have about this page.

      Please note that Racovitza uses the terms “Indian” and “savage” to refer to the indigenous peoples of South America in some of these letters.


      Madeira, 11 September 1897

          We go on, barely stopping over in Madiera… My last letter was posted from the Isle of Wight (on the coast of England). Since then, and through the 28th of August, we had nothing but bad weather, contrarian winds, and cold, rainy little storms following us. More than enough to strike me with seasickness; in fact, I was battling it for two or three days, after which I copied [the behavior of] my companions, Lecointe and Arctowski, who’d had it before me. But since we’ve come into view of the coasts of Spain, there’s been a radical change, the sea is splendid, the wind is favorable, the sun is shining. What delightful sailing! You can’t even imagine the feeling of intense pleasure that one finds walking about on the quarterdeck in the afternoons or stretching out on a chaise lounge to watch the setting of the sun and rising of the moon.

          My laboratory is ready, as much as it can be in such a small space. In a few days I’ll begin my work, and there’s not a single specimen that I’ll let pass me by. Such animals! Such animals, though I cannot see them except on the surface of the water, or from the height of the poop deck.

          Sunday and Monday we’re staying in Madeira; I’ll do some excursions around the island, which is splendid when seen by the beautiful moonlight illuminating everything right now. We can’t disembark this evening because the authorities don’t allow it after eight o’clock. But tomorrow I’ll leave at a good hour, to visit Funchal, the amphitheater-shaped white town rising up in front of us: little white houses stacked and hung on the side of the mountain. They seem gay and welcoming; people say the women are beautiful here, we’ll see. From Madeira, we’ll go directly to Rio de Janeiro, without stopping; in Rio we’ll pick up our doctor, “the highly celebrated Dr. Cook.” We’ll stay there eight days, and I’ll probably be able to go on many excursions. 


      Funchal, Madeira, 14 September 1897

          We’re leaving Madeira today. Yesterday, I went on a really great excursion to the big Corral, an incredibly beautiful old crater. The eight-hour horseback ride charmed me at every turn. Our stay here was just a dream, a beautiful dream. Now, on towards Rio, it’ll take 25 or 30 days for us to arrive there. I think I’ll start my scientific studies. I’ve just accomplished a veritable tour de force, because although I stayed on land for the rest of the day, I still had time to write 36 letters.


      Pacific line-steamer Oravia, 29 October 1897

          You’re going to be shocked to receive a letter marked Montevideo already, so here’s the explanation:

          The Belgica is not fast, it’s her only flaw, so I came to an understanding with the commandant and went ahead on the liner Oravia, towards Punta Arenas. I’ll arrive there on the 4th or 5th of November, and the Belgica on the 25th or 26th of the same month; therefore, I have around 25 days (as the Belgica won’t leave Punta Arenas until the 30th). These 25 days, which I would’ve spent wandering the deck of our ship, will thus be spent in Punta Arenas, collecting animals and traveling; there are still so many things to do in the Magellan Strait (correct: Magalhaẽs).

          And so, I’ve found myself, since the 25th of October, installed on the Oravia, a marvelous steamer, one of those immense floating islands which the English have so many of, some even better, the ones that do a route of Liverpool to Rio – Montevideo – Punta Arenas and the ports of the Southern Pacific. We’ve got salons, smoking rooms, showers, dining rooms, and all the comforts of the best hotels. 

          My companions are mostly English, the rest: Chileans and Germans; time passes pleasantly with conversations, and playing polo, or tennis, or some other English games. Today, at two in the afternoon, we arrived in Montevideo, three and twenty days after having left Rio; marvelous results, such speed. In Rio, I found much to amuse myself, we were received in the best manner by the Belgian colony, we went to a heap of parties, banquets, receptions, etc. The President of the Republic, the illustrious Senhor Prudente de Moraes (big Rasta of Brazil), received us and gave us his heartfelt congratulations. Our stop in Rio was honestly very interesting, from every point of view; I regret only one thing, that it couldn’t be a bit longer, but the Oravia wasn’t going to wait and I didn’t have another solution for getting to Punta Arenas ahead of the expedition.


      On the deck of the Oravia, 2 November 1897

          I already explained to you why, instead of staying on the Belgica with nothing to do, I left in advance for Punta Arenas, for collecting animals. I will stay in this noble country for a month and listen to the luck I’ve had: “I met Don Francisco Moreno on board.” This tells you nothing, doesn’t it? Very well, I will explain. This man, the director of the museum of La Plata, has been named the president of the Argentine commission drawing up the borders between Chili and Argentina. He is going to work just in Punta Arenas and the interior of the country and, to get started, he will be setting off on a two-week journey in the Sierra, the mountainous region of the country. Instead of being stuck organizing my own expedition, I’ll simply be joining that of Monsieur Moreno, because, well, I don’t even need to say that of course this brave man put himself entirely at my disposal. I will travel under the official protection of the Argentinian Government, though we won’t need it.

          I travel with a heap of “Patagonians,” that is, people who are established in Patagonia. As they’ve told me, the Indians have disappeared (which is a way of saying they made them disappear). The whole country is crammed with farms where they raise sheep and cattle. These English and Germans are disgusting, not for their savagery, but for their excess of civilization: they only dine in their frock coats and perform “manners” and ceremonies that spoil any pleasure you might find from being in a new country. When I think of how you worried yourselves over the thought of me traveling through the savage Patagonia! Last month, a theater opened in Punta Arenas.

          The weather is always good for sailing; on this handsome ship, one never feels the sea, we have a café, a salon and a vast space (450 square meters) to walk about. 

          It is unimaginable how much I eat, considering the infamy of English cuisine. At 6:30 in the morning, coffee and biscuits, at 9 o’clock, “breakfast,” with 9 courses, at 1 o’clock, “lunch,” 12 courses, at 4, coffee and biscuits, at 6:30 dinner of 14 courses and at 9:30 coffee and biscuits. We’re never wanting for eggs, fresh meat, milk, the most diverse fruits; the very best are the pastries and cakes.


      Punta Arenas, 25 November 1897

          Here I am, returned from the expedition I went on in the company of Mr. Moreno, director of the Museum of La Plata (Argentina) and the head of numerous commissions charged with the rectification of the borders between Chile and Argentina. We obviously traveled solely by horse for these last 20 days, any other form of locomotion being completely unknown in these areas. Mr. Moreno was full of benevolence for me, and I was full of regrets when I left him at the Ultima Esperanza canal to return to Punta. I was enchanted by my excursion, the countryside is splendid, the climate is the same at the moment as it is at our house in September. The Pampas, the plains, hordes of sheep, cattle, horses everywhere. The forests are marvelous, with their enormous trees growing devilishly fast. The Estancias, the farms, there are so many of them, at least one for every 5 or 6 hours of galloping. They’re quite clean, very well-built and comfortable, and all over there are people who speak French. All the campanistas, the livestock breeders, are charming, full of good wishes and great hospitality towards strangers. They all immediately opened their homes to us. We ate very well; not complicated dishes, but plenty of eggs, milk, meat, which was excellent, the mutton being especially delicious. The settlers — which is to say, the French who are here, of course — receive the Figaro, L’Illustration, etc. and so they’re caught up on all the news of Europe, only about a month and a half behind.

          When I think of how in old Europe nearly everyone imagines Patagonia as a terrible desert, inhabited by savages! As far as savages are concerned, I must say that sadly I still have yet to see a single Indian, though apparently there are still a few, but they aren’t savages at all. Crime is practically unknown in the countryside, where we traveled perfectly well without arms.

          I established numerous connections in the countryside and who knows, I might go back out there for a few months. You can get here in 25 days from Europe, the fauna is fascinating. I’ve hunted many animals here, those in feathers and furs, and collected some plants and insects.

          In the company of Mr. Moreno, I traveled through regions that are still uninhabited. For roughly ten days, give or take, I lived in the fresh air; we’d stop to prepare our meals over wood fires and sleep in the pampas or the forests. What a life, so beautiful and free — but it can’t go on forever. We’d leave around 6 in the morning, we’d travel over pampas that went on so far you couldn’t see the other end, inhabited by guanacos (a type of llama), stags, wild horses, innumerable birds on the lakes and ponds, there were giant forests of parakeets, hummingbirds, and other fowl. Around 11 o’clock, we’d stop for about a half hour to break bread, then we’d get back on our horses until 6 o’clock at night. We’d light a fire, we’d desaddle the horses, we’d take the sacks of vitals off the backs of the mules and soon the soup would be boiling in the cooking pots, made of slices of roast lamb; within an hour, dinner would be ready. Puchero — meaty soup made of mutton and onions served with rice — poured over plates, asado, roast lamb, giving off such a pleasant aroma, and a jar of jam would be waiting for the diners. It is unbelievable how much we ate, you cannot imagine the quantity that one can ingest when living in the campo (camp). After the meal, we’d prepare our beds: sheep hides served as our mattresses, the saddles for pillows, and the southern sky as our canopy; I assure you we didn’t miss a moment of dreaming. At this rate, I gained 5 kilos in 20 days, and now I have a face like a full moon, to a laughable degree.

          The Belgica still hasn’t arrived, and I leave tomorrow for Port-Famine, with one man and fifteen horses. I’ll stay there for at least three days. I’m bringing along half a lamb and some food, as well as my rifle. I assure you that I’ll bring shame to the name of that place. It’s a little bay of the Magellan Strait, surrounded by high mountains and grand forests, there are no plains and it’s not inhabited, as it’s close to Punta Arenas.


      Punta Arenas, 2 December 1897

          I arrived here the day before yesterday, coming from Port-Famine, where I had a very good excursion, because of very good weather. I brought shame, as is only just, to the name “Port of Hunger” of this bay. I ate parakeets in tomato sauce, and some mussels, I slept in the forests and on the banks of streams, I went hunting for game of feathers and furs.

          Yesterday, the Belgica arrived, and all on board were gay and content.

          We stay here five days, then we go towards the South, through the channels, and we’ll stop in Ushuaia, the last inhabited point on the continent, where the Argentinian government maintains a station. The Argentinian government has given us 13 tonnes of coal and we’ll go there to pick it up. If I got fatter in the pampas, my friends did the same on board the ship, especially Arctowski and Melaerts.



      On the pontoon, the musical component of the 7th regiment gave a concert. Messrs. Racovitza, Arctowski, and three officers of the Gerlache Expedition who traveled by the Eméraude and rejoined the Belgica in Liefkenshoek were completely surrounded. The father and mother of M. Racovitza seemed especially emotional.