From a Companion's Lost Diary, a Portrait of Einstein in Old Age April 24, 2004, By Dennis Overbye, NYT. Around Princeton she was known as Einstein's last girlfriend. She cut his hair - shocking as it might be to imagine anyone tampering with that wispy cosmic aureole. They sailed together until the doctors took his boat away. They went to concerts together. He wrote her poems and letters bedecked with jokes and kisses. And he called her several times a week to chat about the day. Now it turns out that she was taking notes. In February librarians found a 62-page manuscript in which Johanna Fantova, a former curator of maps in the Firestone Library at Princeton University, who was 22 years younger than Albert Einstein, recorded his musings, opinions and complaints over the last year and a half of his life. Einstein died in April 1955, at age 76; she died in 1981, at age 80. "Unless a similar discovery is made in the future, this new manuscript from Firestone Library is the only extant diary that anyone close to Einstein has kept, at least of this final period of his life," writes Alice Calaprice in an article describing the diary to be published next month in The Princeton University Library Journal. Ms. Calaprice is a former editor at Princeton University Press, which is publishing Einstein's papers. The manuscript, typewritten in German, was found in Ms. Fantova's personnel file by scholars looking for biographical information to go along with a journal article about the poems Einstein wrote to her. It is now in the Firestone Library and available to scholars. The diary amounts to a sort of portrait of the genius as an old man. In many ways the most interesting thing about it is how ordinary Einstein is. "It's mostly how his 80-year-old bones ache and who came to visit, lots of human interest," said Dr. Donald C. Skemer, Firestone's curator of manuscripts. "The secret of the unified field theory is not in here," Dr. Skemer added, referring to Einstein's quixotic attempts in later life to write down a single equation that would explain all the forces of nature. Dr. Freeman Dyson, a mathematician at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, where Einstein worked for 22 years, called it "an unvarnished portrait of Einstein struggling bravely with the manifold inconveniences of sickness and old age." Comparing himself to an old car that has something wrong everywhere, Einstein complains about his bad memory and the steady parade of visitors - so many that he sometimes pretends to be sick in bed so that he will not have to pose for the obligatory photographs. But belying Einstein's image as an absent-minded, sockless dustball wandering around in a world of his own, Fantova describes him as a keen and occasionally acerbic follower of current events, who lectured her to pay attention to the news. He was suspicious of Adlai E. Stevenson, whose speeches he found pompous, and referred to another visitor, the Nobel physicist Werner Heisenberg, a founder of quantum mechanics and the leader of Germany's atomic bomb project during World War II, as "a big Nazi." He was openly scornful of the nuclear arms race and the anti-Communist crusade of Senator Joseph R. McCarthy. Reading at one point that McCarthy suspected subversion on his own committee, Einstein remarked that it was getting to be like the French Revolution: "Whoever hangs the other person first wins.' He refers to himself as a political "revolutionary," saying, "I am still a fire-spewing Vesuvius." Einstein stood the world on its head in 1919 when British astronomers observed starlight being bent around the Sun during an eclipse, confirming his general theory of relativity, which explained gravity as warped space-time. He became Princeton's main - and perhaps only - tourist attraction in 1933, when he arrived as a refugee from Nazi Germany, with an entourage that included his second wife, Elsa, her daughter, Margot, and his secretary, Helen Dukas, to take a job at the newly formed Institute for Advanced Study. Elsa died in 1936. But both before and after there were other women in his life. Fantova, who was born Johanna Bobasch in what is now the Czech Republic in 1901, met Einstein in 1929 in Berlin, according to her diary. (Her husband, Otto Fanta, was the son of Otto and Bertha Fanta, hosts of a famous salon in Prague around 1911; their guests had included Einstein and Franz Kafka.) Einstein gave her the job of organizing his personal library and later took her sailing at his summer house in Caputh. When Johanna arrived in Princeton in 1939, she recalled Einstein asking her what she was going to do: after all, "you know, you'll have to work in America." After attending library school at the University of North Carolina, she found work at the Firestone Library in 1944, becoming its first map curator in 1952. Her relationship with Einstein seems to have flourished from the late 1940's until his death. He was in his 70's, and she was in her late 40's and early 50's. "She was always there," said Gillett G. Griffin, a retired curator at the university's Art Museum, who was often invited to the Einstein house for dinner. Mr. Griffin said he thought that for Einstein, who missed prewar Europe and never felt at home in Princeton, "she was part of the old world." "She read Goethe to him," he said. "She was a link to things he missed." After Einstein's death in 1955, Fantova sold his letters and poems, along with a folder of photographs, to Mr. Griffin, who gave them to the Firestone Library. The letters, which were unsealed in 1996, have not been published, although scholars have viewed them at Firestone. They are mostly written during his vacations on Long Island, and they are full of complaints about aches and pains, according to Ms. Calaprice. The poems, several of which are included in Fantova's diary, are playful, full of bad puns and jokes at Einstein's own expense. One lamenting Fantova's absence reads: Exhausted from a silence long This is to show you clear how strong The thoughts of you will always sit Up in my brain's little attic. Mr. Griffin said he thought Einstein had written the poems to cheer Fantova, whom he described as having a "dark outlook" on life. Neither he nor anybody else knew that Fantova had kept a diary of her conversations with Einstein, though her friends had urged her to do so. She writes that she first resisted the advice to keep a diary, but then decided that "these monologues" should be preserved and published. "They should cast some additional light on our understanding of Einstein, not on the great man who became a legend in his lifetime, not on Einstein the renowned scientist, but on Einstein the humanitarian." But the diary was never published, and when Fantova died, the typescript and her other personal papers wound up in her personnel file at the library. After the Einstein letters and poems were unsealed in 1996, the Princeton library journal got permission from the Hebrew University, which owns the copyright for Einstein's writings, to include the poems in a series of articles about historic couples. In a quest for information about Fantova, Alfred Bush, a retired curator at the library, consulted her personnel file last February. Dr. Skemer said that he had been squelching rumors for years that an Einstein diary existed. When he heard about the discovery, he recalls saying, "Wait a minute, we've been looking for that." Fantova's diary records the highs and lows of life around the Einstein household. Einstein's 75th birthday occurred on March 14, 1954, and among the flood of presents from around the world was a parrot, sent in the mail by a medical institute. Einstein took a liking to the parrot, which he named Bibo, but he decided the bird was depressed. He tried to cheer it up by telling it bad jokes. A year later Bibo rewarded his efforts by developing an infection and passing it on to Einstein. He worried that the 13 injections required to cure the bird would kill it, and so was elated when Bibo got better after only two shots. Einstein was also preoccupied with the fate of his friend J. Robert Oppenheimer, the director of the Institute for Advanced Study and the former head of the American effort to build an atomic bomb during World War II, who was under assault for his leftist leanings. In the end, Oppenheimer lost his security clearance and was removed from the Atomic Energy Commission. Noting that Oppenheimer knew more about atomic energy than anyone, Einstein said he had a new name for the commission: the "Atomic Extermination Conspiracy." It annoyed him, though, that Oppenheimer was taking it all so seriously. "Oppenheimer is not a gypsy like me," he told Fantova one day. "I was born with the skin of an elephant; there is no one who can hurt me." Criticism, he said, flowed off him like water. In the end, the diaries relate, he worried that his name meant both too much and too little in the world. He turned down a Soviet peace award because he feared being labeled a Bolshevik and declined to write a letter warning against pre-emptive war with China on the ground that his words would have no effect. In science, he knew that his colleagues regarded him as an anachronism. By 1953 the action had long since shifted from general relativity to nuclear physics. Using the strange laws of quantum mechanics, whose innate unpredictability he had famously abjured, modern physicists were splitting atoms, building bombs and discovering new elementary particles by the dozens. The revisions and re-revisions of his unified field theory seemed increasingly abstruse and irrelevant to his fellow physicists. "The physicists say that I am a mathematician, and the mathematicians say that I am a physicist," he told Fantova. "I am a completely isolated man and though everybody knows me, there are very few people who really know me." http://www.nytimes.com/2004/04/24/nyregion/24EINS.html?ex=1083781415&ei=1&en=62e4ea762d7d83ae ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html