Written in History

by Simon Sebag Montefiore

  Sir

  In order to save you the trouble and Expence of purchasing Horses and Carriages, which will not be necessary, I have to inform you that I shall leave in the stables of the United States seven Horses and two Carriages with Harness the Property of the United States. These may not be suitable for you: but they will certainly save you a considerable Expence as they belong to the stud of the President’s Household.

  I have the Honor to be with great respect, Sir, your most obedient and humble Servant.

  Between the Duke of Marlborough, Queen Anne, and Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, 13 August 1704

  A triangle of power, victory, and love, all recorded in intimate letters. Anne, daughter of James II, was the needy, awkward Protestant queen, an unlikely monarch to oversee the defeat of Louis XIV’s attempt to dominate Europe. Anne was tormented by ill health and obesity, a condition exacerbated by the misery of seventeen unsuccessful pregnancies with her husband, Prince Georg of Denmark.

  The second of this trio was the general John Churchill. On the succession of James II in 1685, he initially backed the king but he sympathized with Protestant Whiggery instead of James’s Catholic absolutism. In 1688, when William of Orange (who was married to Mary, another of James II’s daughters), landed in England, Churchill supported the Glorious Revolution—and was rewarded with the earldom of Marlborough.

  Meeting the strong-willed Sarah Jennings, aged fifteen, at court, Marlborough fell in love and married her just as Sarah became best friends with Anne, now heir to the throne. Anne looked to Sarah for emotional sustenance, writing her such passionate letters that Sarah later accused her of lesbianism. “I hope I shall get a moment or two to be with my dear,” writes Anne to Sarah. “That I may have one dear embrace which I long for more than I can express.” To ensure secrecy in their letter writing, they called each other Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman.

  In 1702, when Anne succeeds to the throne, Britain is fighting France, and Marlborough, now captain-general, wins an unbroken series of victories. Here, after Blenheim, his greatest victory, he writes to Sarah to tell the queen instead of writing to Anne directly, consolidating Sarah’s importance. Marlborough received a dukedom and Blenheim Palace, but ultimately, Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman fell out viciously, contributing to Marlborough’s fall and the end of the war.

  I have not time to say more, but beg you will give my duty to the Queen and let her know her army has had a glorious victory. M Tallard [Marshal of France] and two other generals are in my coach and I am following the rest. The bearer, my aide de camp Colonel Parke, will give her an account of what has passed. I shall do it in a day or two by another more at large.

  Donald J. Trump to Kim Jong Un, 24 May 2018

  A letter characteristic of the world-changing style of President Donald Trump. Considering himself to be a global dealmaker, if only trained by his experiences in global real estate and US reality television, Trump believes that his personal diplomacy at summit meetings can achieve deals unreachable by more conventional politicians.

  In early 2018, he is convinced that if he is able to meet with the youthful North Korean dictator Kim Jong Un, he can solve the dangerous problem of the nuclear arsenal built by the Kim dynasty to protect their seventy-year rule. When North Korean negotiators turn hostile, Trump turns to the old-fashioned diplomatic letter, a form that may appeal to the rigid Stalinist formality of the dynasty. But its tone is typical of this presidency. Highly Trumpian in its bombastic swagger, theatrical menace, and plangent sentimentality, it is perhaps the first letter in which a US president so brazenly trumpets his nuclear power and threatens to unleash its apocalyptic force. The letter works. Kim replies with his own formal letter of reconciliation.

  The spectacular summit was held in Singapore on 12 June, but the real denuclearization of Korea would be harder to achieve. Nonetheless, this exchange of letters is typical of a strange time in world affairs.

  THE WHITE HOUSE WASHINGTON DC MAY 24 2018

  HIS EXCELLENCY KIM JONG UN CHAIRMAN OF THE STATE AFFAIRS COMMISSION OF THE DEMOCRATIC PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF KOREA

  Dear Mr. Chairman:

  We greatly appreciate your time, patience, and effort with respect to our recent negotiations and discussions relative to a summit long sought by both parties….I was very much looking forward to being there with you. Sadly, based on the tremendous anger and open hostility displayed in your most recent statement, I feel it is inappropriate, at this time, to have this long-planned meeting….You talk about your nuclear capabilities, but ours are so massive and powerful that I pray to God they will never have to be used….If you change your mind having to do with this most important summit, please do not hesitate to call me or write. The world, and North Korea in particular, has lost a great opportunity for lasting peace and great prosperity and wealth. This missed opportunity is a truly sad moment in history.

  Sincerely yours, Donald J Trump. President of the United States of America

  Downfall

  Abd al-Rahman III to his sons, AD 961

  Abd al-Rahman was the most magnificent of the Arab rulers of al-Andalus, the Muslim kingdom of Spain. He was descended from Abd al-Rahman I, the Ummayad prince who had escaped from Baghdad (ruled by his enemies the Abbasid caliphs) traveled in disguise across Africa, and then founded his own realm in Spain. After his death the kingdom had declined until the succession of Abd al-Rahman III in 912. A superb general and merciless politician, he embarked on decades of war to defeat all rivals, Muslim and Christian, and dominate Iberia to such an extent that in 929, he declared himself Caliph—Commander of the Faithful—in a letter to the world that damned the Abbasid caliphs of Baghdad as fakes: “We are the most worthy to fulfil our right, and the most entitled to complete our good fortune, and to put on the clothing granted by the nobility of God, because of the favor which He has shown us, and the renown which He has given us, and the power to which He has raised us….We have decided that the acclamation should be to us as Commander of the Faithful….Everyone who calls himself by this name apart from ourselves is arrogating it to himself and trespassing upon it….”

  As the seventy-year-old caliph lies dying in 961, the most glorious monarch of his time, he writes this letter, supposedly left for his successor, which is the very definition of humility from the most powerful of rulers: in fifty years of victory, just fourteen days of pleasure.

  I have now reigned above fifty years in victory or peace, beloved by my subjects, dreaded by my enemies, and respected by my allies. Riches and honors, power and pleasure, have waited on my call, nor does any earthly blessing appear to have been wanting to my felicity. In this situation, I have diligently numbered the days of pure and genuine happiness which have fallen to my lot: they amount to FOURTEEN:—O man! place not thy confidence in this present world!

  Simon Bar Kokhba to Yeshua, c.AD 135

  In 130, Roman Emperor Hadrian visited Jerusalem, in ruins since the destruction of the Temple and city by Titus in 70, and decided to refound it as a pagan city, named after himself and featuring a temple of Jupiter on the site of the Holy of Holies. In 132, a mysterious leader calling himself the Prince of Israel led a powerful rebellion that swiftly destroyed two Roman legions. This was the start of a new Jewish revolt under the command of the prince whose name was probably Shimon ben Kosiba, though his followers hailed him as Simon Bar Kokhba, Son of the Star.

  Hadrian rushed reinforcements to crush this new state of Israel but it took three tough years of fighting: finally in 135, Simon was besieged and killed in his fortress of Betar; Hadrian’s revenge on the Jews was almost genocidal—the sources claim 500,000 were slaughtered; Jerusalem was renamed Aelia Capitolina after Hadrian’s family and became a pagan city; Judea was renamed Palestina. Amazingly in 1960, fifteen of Simon’s letters were found in a Judean cave and here is one. Archeologists debate the meaning of the word “destroy,” which is damaged and hard to deciph
er: it was thought at one point that S.B.K. was telling Yeshua to protect the Galileans but now it seems he was telling him to do something bad to them. This correspondence probably dates from the last days of the revolt as the prince struggles to keep control over his diminishing forces. The downfall of the last Jewish state (until 1948) is close.

  From Shimon ben Kosiba to Yeshua ben Galgoula and the men of the fortress. Peace to you. Heaven is my witness against me that unless you destroy the Galileans who are with you down to the last man, I shall, as I did to ben Aphul, put fetters on your feet.

  Ammurapi to the king of Alashiya, c.1190 BC

  Around 1190 BC, an army of seafaring marauders attacked a prosperous Syrian city, Ugarit, which had close relations with other powers of the late Bronze Age world: Egypt to the south and the Hittites to the north. As the marauders attack, the king of Ugarit, Ammurapi, appeals to his Alashiyan (Cypriot) neighbor. We still do not know the identity of the aggressors, so they are known as the Sea Peoples. In this letter, Ammurapi recounts the beginning of the destruction of his kingdom. Even reading it three thousand years later, its desperation is tangible—and no wonder. The Sea Peoples destroyed many of the empires of the day.

  My father, behold, the enemy’s ships came [here]; my cities were burned, and they did evil things in my country. Does not my father know that all my troops and chariots are in the Land of Hatti, and all my ships are in the Land of Lukka?…Thus, the country is abandoned to itself. May my father know it: the seven ships of the enemy that came here inflicted much damage upon us.

  Aurangzeb to his son Muhammad Azam Shah, 1707

  A letter of humility before death, from a man of intolerant power. Aurangzeb “the world-seizer” was the last great Mughal emperor of India. He was born the third son of Shah Jahan, builder of the Taj Mahal. After a struggle for power in which he brutally executed all his rival brothers, he humiliated his father, then imposed a severe Islamic regime on the multireligious, multiethnic empire, dangerously weakening it. After crushing rebellions from Hindus and Sikhs, Aurangzeb lies dying, filled with regrets and doubts, and writes this to his son.

  Health to thee! My heart is near thee. Old age is arrived: weakness subdues me, and strength has forsaken all my members. I came a stranger into this world, and a stranger I depart. I know nothing of myself, what I am, and for what I am destined. The instant which passed in power, hath left only sorrow behind it. I have not been the guardian and protector of the empire. My valuable time has been passed vainly. I had a patron in my own dwelling [he probably means his conscience], but his glorious light was unseen by my dim sight. Life is not lasting; there is no vestige of departed breath, and all hopes from futurity are lost. The fever has left me, but nothing of me remains but skin and bone. My son [Kaum Buksh], though gone toward Beejapore, is still near; and thou, my son, art yet nearer. The worthy of esteem, Shaw Aulum, is far distant; and my grandson [Azeem Ooshawn], by the orders of God, is arrived near Hindustan. The camp and followers, helpless and alarmed, are, like myself, full of affliction, restless as the quicksilver. Separated from their lord, they know not if they have a master or not.

  I brought nothing into this world, and, except the infirmities of man, carry nothing out. I have a dread for my salvation, and with what torments I may be punished. Though I have strong reliance on the mercies and bounty of God, yet, regarding my actions, fear will not quit me; but, when I am gone, reflection will not remain. Come what may, I have launched my vessel to the waves. Though Providence will protect the camp, yet, regarding appearances, the endeavors of my sons are indispensably incumbent. Give my last prayers to my grandson [Bedar Bakht], whom I cannot see, but the desire affects me. The Begum [his daughter] appears afflicted; but God is the only judge of hearts. The foolish thoughts of women produce nothing but disappointment. Farewell! farewell! farewell!

  Simón Bolívar to José Flores, 9 November 1830

  All political careers end in failure but this is political despondency. Simón Bolívar has liberated half of South America from Spanish rule and served as president of Gran Colombia, dictator of Peru, and much else, but his career ends catastrophically in the collapse of his authority and the state he has created. He retires on 20 January 1830. After the assassination of his closest ally, Marshal José de Sucre, he is in despair. Already dying, he writes to President Flores of Ecuador: “Avenge Sucre’s murder…then get out while you can.” Soon after delivering this damning assessment of South America’s future, he died of tuberculosis, aged just forty-five.

  Use the past to predict the future. You know that I have ruled for twenty years, and I have derived from these only a few sure conclusions: …1. America is ungovernable; 2. He who serves a revolution plows the sea; 3. all one can do in America is leave it; 4. the country is bound to fall into unimaginable chaos, after which it will pass into the hands of an indistinguishable string of tyrants of every color and races; 5. once we are devoured by all manner of crime and reduced to a frenzy of violence, no one—not even the Europeans—will want to subjugate us; 6. and, finally, if mankind could revert to its primitive state, it would be here in America, in her final hour.

  Goodbye

  Leonard Cohen to Marianne Ihlen, July 2016

  Saying goodbye is one of the arts of letter writing. No other singer-songwriter between the 1960s and the start of the twenty-first century was such a master of words, as well as music, as Leonard Cohen. He regarded himself primarily as a poet, but it is the lyrics and songs that are his masterpieces, many of them based on his love affairs with women who became his muses—songs such as “Suzanne” and “Seems So Long Ago, Nancy” and “Sisters of Mercy”—but no one inspired him more than Marianne Ihlen, a young Norwegian who in 1960 moved to live with Cohen on the island of Hydra in Greece. She inspired many of his greatest songs, such as “Bird on the Wire” and, above all, “So Long, Marianne.”

  After they broke up in the late 1960s, she married and moved to Oslo. Many years later, in 2016, she was diagnosed with leukemia. She was failing fast in the hospital and expected to die soon. On 1 July she asks her close friend Jan Christian Mollestad to notify Leonard Cohen, who, at eighty-two, is still singing and writing, though he, too, is ill. Jan sends a letter that night to Cohen, telling him Marianne has “only a few days to live” and ending, “I hope you read this in time to reach her. And I hope you don’t think I am interfering. I just pass on Marianne’s deep love for you.” Jan does not have much hope that he will receive a reply, but at dawn, after a sleepless night, he finds this beautiful letter. Jan reads it to her. “These seven sentences from Leonard—this sign of everlasting affection—gave Marianne a new level of peace.” She falls into a coma a day later, dying two days afterward. Leonard Cohen himself died that November. Maybe he saw Marianne “down the road.”

  Dearest Marianne,

  I’m just a little behind you, close enough to take your hand. This old body has given up, as yours has too, and the eviction notice is on its way any day now.

  I’ve never forgotten your love and your beauty. But you know that. I don’t have to say more.

  Safe travels, old friend.

  See you down the road.

  Endless love and gratitude,

  Leonard

  “Henriette” to Giacomo Casanova, autumn 1749

  This is the classic end-of-the-affair letter. The adventurer Giacomo Casanova is celebrated as a prolific lover, who commented, “I have loved women to a frenzy,” but he was also variously a librarian, spy, occultist, sponger, fraudster, and fantasist—as well as a wonderful letter writer and memoirist. His first sexual adventure with a pair of sisters launched him on a career as a womanizer, but he was never as cold hearted as he claimed with his 132 paramours, and he loved intelligent women: “conversation is two-thirds of pleasure,” he said.

  Casanova receives this letter from the one woman he may have truly loved: the pseudonymous Henriette, w
hom he met in early 1749 in Parma. Free-spirited and a brilliant conversationalist with superb taste, “those who believe a woman is incapable of making a man happy twenty-four hours a day have never known a Henriette.” She was probably a Provençal noblewoman trapped in an unhappy marriage; but it is she, rather than he, who eventually ends it, leaving him a gift of five hundred louis and scratching with a diamond on the window: “You will forget Henriette too.”

  Her letter is utterly charming—“Let us swear never to forget one another.” One presumes she is returning to her boring husband. As so often in such scenarios, the writer swears never to have another illicit affair, but wishes the heartbroken Casanova many other Henriettes: “you will love again.” But he knows it will never be the same—there is only one Henriette in a life.

  They did meet again—in 1769, when she was fifty-one. When Casanova initially failed to recognize her, she commented—“Plumpness has altered my physiognomy.” Her true identity is still unknown.

  It is I, dearest and best friend, who have been compelled to abandon you, but do not let your grief be increased by any thought of my sorrow. Let us be wise enough to suppose that we have had a happy dream, and not to complain of destiny, for never did so beautiful a dream last so long! Let us be proud of the consciousness that for three months we gave one another the most perfect felicity. Few human beings can boast of so much! Let us swear never to forget one another, and to often remember the happy hours of our love, in order to renew them in our souls, which, although divided, will enjoy them as acutely as if our hearts were beating one against the other. Do not make any enquiries about me, and if chance should let you know who I am, forget it for ever. I feel certain that you will be glad to hear that I have arranged my affairs so well that I shall, for the remainder of my life, be as happy as I can possibly be without you, dear friend, by my side. I do not know who you are, but I am certain that no one in the world knows you better than I do. I shall not have another lover as long as I live, but I do not wish you to imitate me. On the contrary I hope that you will love again, and I trust that a good fairy will bring along your path another Henriette.