The most translated work by the Ukrainian national poet Taras Shevchenko whose bicentenary we celebrate on 9 March is his short poem ‘Zapovit’ (‘Testament’). It is sometimes wrongly assumed that Shevchenko wrote it shortly before his death on 10 March (new style) 1861. Yet it was created on December 25 1845, when the 31-year old poet and painter lay seriously ill with pneumonia during his second journey to Ukraine. Shevchenko stayed in the city of Pereyaslav with his doctor friend Andriy Kozachkovsky, who treated him. Two years later, already a private soldier in the fortress of Orsk, Shevchenko dedicated a poem ‘A.O.Kozachkovskomu’ (To A.O.Kozachkovsky).

Kozachkovsky’s House in Pereyaslav (photo from website of the National Historical-Ethnographical Reserve Pereyaslav)

While fighting the illness Shevchenko (his self-portrait from 1845 below) was composing his  ‘last will and testament’:

 

 

When I am dead, then bury me
In my beloved Ukraine,
My tomb upon a grave mound high
Amid the spreading plain,
So that the fields, the boundless steppes,
The Dnieper's plunging shore
My eyes could see, my ears could hear
The mighty river roar.

(Translated by John Weir)

 

 

 

 

‘Zapovit’ is so well known in Ukraine that it enjoys a status second only to Ukraine’s national anthem, ‘Ukraine is not yet dead’. It quickly spread amongst Ukrainians but was published for the first time only in 1859 in Leipzig as part of the small publication Novye stikhotvorieniia Pushkina i Shavchenki (New poems by Pushkin and Shevchenko; 12265.bb.5(2))

The poem attracted the attention of many composers: there are more than 60 musical interpretations of ‘Zapovit’. The prominent Ukrainian composer Mykola Lysenko composed ‘Testament’ as his first choral work, and it was performed in 1868. The most famous, however, is the version by a teacher from Poltava, Hordiy Hladky. Here is the famous Ukrainian basso cantante Borys Gmyria  singing ‘Zapovit’ with the capella ‘Dumka’ in the 1960s film about Taras Shevchenko.

The British Library holds some books with translations of ‘Zapovit’ into many languages. The most ambitious of these projects, entitled  Zapovit movamy narodiv svitu (‘Testament’ in languages of the world, Kyiv, 1989; YF.2007.a.31866), contains translations of the poem into 150 languages, including Esperanto. The previous edition, Zapovit movamy narodiv svitu (Kyiv, 1964; X.907/682) had translations into 55 languages.


A few smaller projects were realised in Soviet times. Two miniature editions (picture above by Rimma Lough) with notes were published by the publishing house Muzychna Ukraina  (Musical Ukraine):   ‘Zapovit’ T. Shevchenka movamy narodiv SRSR (‘Testament’ by T. Shevchenko in the languages of the USSR, Kyiv, 1984; Cup.550.g.355) and ‘Zapovit’ T. Shevchenka hermano-romansʹkymy movamy (‘Testament’ by T. Shevchenko in Romano-Germanic languages; Kyiv, 1983; Cup.550.g.353)

New translations of  ‘Testament’ are included in two full editions of Kobzar  in English in 2013 (YF.2014.b.264 and YK.2014.a.17425). More translations in English may be found here.

How about ‘Testament’ itself? Shevchenko was first buried in St Petersburg. However, fulfilling the poet’s wish to be buried in  ‘my beloved Ukraine’, friends arranged to transfer his remains to his native land (by train to Moscow and then by horse-drawn wagon). Shevchenko’s remains were buried on 8 May on Chernecha Hora (Monk’s Hill, now known as Taras Hill) by the Dnieper River near Kaniv. A tall mound was erected over his grave, now a memorial, part of the Shevchenko National Preserve.

 How about the second part of ‘Testament’? Ask contemporary Ukrainians yourselves.

Olga Kerziouk, Curator Ukrainian Studies

This year, 2014, is the bicentenary of the death of Jacques-Henri Bernardin de Saint-Pierre – he was buried in the Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris and you can visit the grave, ideally on a dry day and with stout shoes, as it’s off the footpath. He is surrounded by fellow authors.

Jacques-Henri Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, portrait from the frontispiece of Paul et Virginie (Paris, 1806)  C.156.k.7.

He lived a long and adventurous life – born in Le Havre in 1737 he travelled the world before settling in Paris in the early 1770s, leaving the city and his residence in the National Garden (of which he was director from 1792-93) when he married his printer’s daughter, Félicité Didot, in 1793. He was old enough to be her father and he moved to Essonne where he had a house built (now destroyed) and where his in-laws made paper for their presses. She died very young, in 1799, and Bernardin married again in 1800 to Désirée de Pelleporc – he was old enough to be her grandfather. She outlived him and eventually married Aimé-Martin, the entrepreneurial editor who managed successive publication of the complete works, including posthumous ones, that he had access to as Bernardin’s former secretary and, probably, as Désirée’s friend. But that’s another story.... (see Darrie, below)

Bernardin was not a happy person – he argued with friends and enemies alike and fought a long campaign to have protection for his (and others’) literary compositions.

His first published work, the Voyage à l’Ile de France, which appeared in Paris in 1773 (280.d.21.), gives an account of his journey to the Indian Ocean and his short stay on what is now Mauritius. He hoped to make his fortune there but left with no money, disenchanted by conditions on the island, in particular the thriving slave trade.

Living on the King’s charity (many letters giving details of this can be found in the correspondence, now being published on Electronic Enlightenment), he set to work to publish a three-volume philosophical study of nature, the Etudes de la nature in 1784 (1507/1617). Within no time pirated editions were appearing and the author asked the authorities to intervene, but to no avail. This was big business and later, during the Revolution, his printer found a way of putting a watermark in the pages, indicating the genuine article – but buyers were more conscious of cost than authenticity. People wrote to the author, criticising his scientific ideas: he thought tidal movement was caused not by gravity but by the thawing and freezing of the polar ice caps, and he thought the shape of the earth was elongated at the poles rather than flat. Wrong, as we now know, but he defended his ideas until his death. To rub salt in the wound, correspondents actually wrote to him quoting pirated editions....

In 1788 he published the work for which he is now best known, the novel Paul et Virginie, a love story set on the island paradise he had so disliked. The story first appeared in volume 4 of the third edition of the Etudes in 1788 (BL 724.b.1-4). By 1789, recognising the its value as a short novel, he was publishing it separately – but there is actually a separate edition with an earlier imprint (Lausanne, 1788) which might be an audacious pirated text or a text with a false date. The same had happened to the text called L’Arcadie – we know it actually appeared in 1788 in the same edition but an edition appears with a date of 1781, which is clearly wrong.

Title page of the 1788 Lausanne edition of Paul et Virginie.  BL 1073.c.3.

Paul et Virginie was an astounding success, possibly the most successful French novel ever published in terms of numbers of editions – it has never been out of print. Countless pirated editions appeared during the author’s lifetime but he could do nothing about it, except complain to the authorities and in his correspondence and prefaces.

Virginie shipwrecked, from the 1806 luxury edition of Paul et Virginie

In an attempt to beat the frauds he prepared a luxury quarto edition in 1806 (BL C.156.k.7), illustrated by the top artists of the day, a text that could not easily be copied and whose success would leave a valuable inheritance for his two children (called, would you believe, Paul and Virginie) but the edition did not sell well. Time had moved on, anybody who wanted the novel already had it and the trade of luxury illustrated editions was in its infancy. Bernardin, for all his literary success, died a poor man but the novel continued to appear, often with sumptuous illustrations – for example the  beautiful Curmer edition (BL 1458.k.9.) and the elegant 1868 edition with illustrations by De la Charlerie.

The novel left its mark and many authors in the 19th century refer to it – Emma Bovary actually took it to bed with her and loved the feel of the rice paper that protected the illustrations.

Malcolm Cook, Emeritus Professor of French, University of Exeter

Further Reading

Malcolm Cook, ‘The First Separate Edition of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’s Paul et Virginie’, French Studies Bulletin 2008 (109), 89-91.  P.901/3295

Malcolm Cook, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, a life of culture (London, 2006) YK.2009.b.2307

Stephanie Darrie, The editorial work and literary enterprise of Louis Aime-Martin, PhD thesis, University of Exeter, 2009.
https://ore.exeter.ac.uk/repository/handle/10036/97093‎

Odile Jaffré-Cook,  Bernardin de Saint-Pierre après Paul et Virginie: Une étude des journaux et de la correspondance sur ses publications au début de la Révolution (1789-1792), PhD thesis, University of Exeter, 2009.
https://ore.exeter.ac.uk/repository/handle/10036/96549?show=full

Charles Meyer, (also known as Johan Charles Frederick Meyer), was one of a select and influential group of German binders who emigrated to England towards the end of the 18th century. English book collectors (sometimes called ‘bibliomaniacs’ by contemporaries) were prosperous and could afford to have their large book collections bound or rebound with no expense spared. The royal court set them an example, for monarchs were expected to keep libraries, whether they were ‘bookish’ or not. Fortunately, George III was interested in bookbinding for its own sake, and established a workshop in Buckingham House, so there was a flourishing market for good practitioners.

The German binders, who were better educated than their English counterparts, soon cornered the ‘West End’ or luxury side of the market located near the London houses of the book-buying aristocracy. One of those favoured was Andreas Linde, ‘Book seller and binder’ to Queen Caroline and her son Frederick, Prince of Wales, and after the latter’s death to Prince George (later George III). His workshop was in Catherine Street, off the Strand. Another prominent German craftsman was Charles Meyer, who arrived in England in 1797, and set up shop around the corner in St Martin’s Lane. He was later to become ‘Bookseller and binder to the Queen [Charlotte] and Princesses.’

Charles Meyer’s trade ticket

The British Library’s Additional Manuscript 81080 consists of a letter written by Meyer in 1805 which gives an unusual insight into his character and business. Meyer tried to build up his business by donating two blank books to an unnamed newly formed institution as an example of his work, with the request that he be employed: “Should the Society not be already engaged with a Comisionair of Books both of foreign and English Litteratures or a Binder, I then would solicit the favour of Your Honored Sir, to propose me.” The tone is quite pressing but polite and humble. Meyer refers to his “thankfull Heart” and “gratitude for the ceind encouragement I have received from so many distinguished Persons since I have been in this Country.”

An excerpt from Meyer's letter, British Library Add MS 81080

Meyer’s book-collecting patrons were certainly distinguished. They included Thomas Grenville, Alexander Douglas, 10th Duke of Hamilton, Charles Townley and Francis Henry Egerton, 8th Earl of Bridgewater, but it was his connection to the royal family which marked the height of his success.

Bindings historian Charles Ramsden described Meyer’s cover on Princess Elizabeth’s book of prints Cupid Turned Volunteer (London, 1804; BL 83.k.15), as “a lovely specimen... with blue morocco spine and surround, blue silk sides, paper appliques and yellow silk doublures”. His tooling has been described as “heavy, compact and with a deep relief” which is keeping with the German tradition, but in this work, it is his strong sense of design which is paramount. The book was added to the library of George III, and perhaps it was this example of his craftsmanship which won him his royal warrant. 

 

Meyer's binding for Cupid turned Volunteer 

Meyer appears to have integrated well in his new environment. By the time of his death in 1809 he was living with his common-law wife Elizabeth East in the newly-developed Michael’s Grove in Brompton. His fellow binder and friend, William Clifton (who witnessed his will), lived in the next street, Yeoman’s Row.

P. J. M. Marks, Curator of Bookbindings

References:

Charles Ramsden London Bookbinders, 1780-1840 (London, 1956) 667.u.43

British Book Trade Index http://www.bbti.bham.ac.uk/search.htm