The short answer to the question just posed seems to be, "Not much." Since I have given "the long answer" elsewhere,12 I can summarize it here. Berg could see no point in writing Bromley. What could he write to someone he believed guilty of plagiarism? What could such a letter accomplish? He did, however, write to New York University Press; to all the universities involved, and to the Works' English publisher (Pickering and Chatto), who said they passed the letter on to Campbell-Kelly (30 June 1990); to a great many professional societies in Australia, England, and the United States; to a great many governmental agencies and some politicians in those countries; to some publications, both academic and popular; to the Pope and several cardinals; and to a miscellany of other individuals. Generally, those in the best position to do something-for example, the three universities involved -did not even answer Berg's letter. Others often did answer, but their answer was generally that they were in no position to do anything. That was how matters stood when I published my first article on "the Berg Affair".12 Its publication finally roused those best positioned to answer. Late in 1993, Galler, Bromley, and Campbell-Kelly wrote letters to the editor of Accountability in Research criticizing me for not getting their side of the story before I published Berg's. Campbell-Kelly threatened the journal's publisher with a lawsuit if I (or it) did not retract. The three also provided some insight into what their explanation of events might be. Bromley, though listed prominently in ads for the Works, claimed to have had only a small part, merely advising Campbell-Kelly on selection and arrangement of the papers printed in Volumes 2 and 3. Campbell-Kelly confirmed that Bromley took no part in the detailed editing or in the provision of documents. That work was performed by one C.J.D. ("Jim") Roberts, a "London-based independent scholar" who was "editorial consultant to the Works" (and, apparently, worked directly under Campbell-Kelly). Roberts seems to deserve more public credit than he has so far received. According to Campbell-Kelly, it was Roberts who, making a systematic search for unknown holdings of Babbage, turned up the original of the letter to Quetelet by writing the Royal Library (one "tiny triumph" among many). Campbell-Kelly also claimed that neither he nor Roberts knew of Berg's prior discovery. While the letters of Galler, Bromley, and Campbell-Kelly answered some questions, they raised others: Did Berg actually fail to write Campbell-Kelly about his discovery, or did Campbell-Kelly forget, or did the letter go astray? Why was Roberts able to obtain Babbage's letter by writing the Royal Library (when, as everyone now seems to agree, the letter was in the Royal Academy)? Did the Royal Library have its own copy, the one Berg sent it, or did some royal librarian check the Academy's collection, discover the letter, and photocopy it without giving any indication of its provenance (poor scholarly practice, one would think)? And, of course, they left the most important question unanswered: If reluctance to give Berg credit for discovery of the original was not what motivated those involved, what could have motivated them to mix the original with a mongrel retranslation? The persistence of such questions tells much about how the history of mathematics is (sometimes) made. If our first impulse is to turn away (as Bismarck advised), should we not resist and seek reform instead? © 1994 Springer Science+Business Media, Inc.
