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SOLANUS

INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL FOR RUSSIAN & EAST EUROPEAN
BIBLIOGRAPHIC, LIBRARY & PUBLISHING STUDIES

New Series Vol. 10 1996

SOLANUS

INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL FOR RUSSIAN & EAST EUROPEAN
BIBLIOGRAPHIC, LIBRARY & PUBLISHING STUDIES

New Series VoL 10 1996

P 9361]

CONTENTS

Janusz Dunin , The Tragic Fate of Polish Libraries after 1939 page 5

Armin Hetzer , ‘The Return from the States of the Former Soviet Union of
Cultural Property Removed in the 1940s’ as a Bibliographical
Undertaking 1 3

Viesturs Zanders , Censorship in the Libraries of Latvia (1940-1990) 24

V D. Stel'makh , Reading in the Context of Censorship 29

Janet Zmroczek, The Manipulation of the Polish Book Market 1944-89: A
Study of the Preconditions for the Development of the Consumer-Led
Market of the 1990s 48

Radoslaw Cybulski , The Book Market in Post-Communist Countries,

1989-1994, using Poland as a Specific Example 71

Konstantin M. Sukhorukov , The Book Market in Russia 76

A. Dzhigo , Russian National Bibliography: Its Present Situation 84

Lidija Wagner , National Bibliographies on the Territory of the Former

Yugoslavia with Particular Reference to Slovenian Bibliography 92

G. V Mikheeva , Problemy i perspektivy retrospektivnoi bibliografii Rossii 98

Christine Thomas , A Survey of Printed Books in Church Slavonic in

Collections Outside the Former USSR 106

I. V Pozdeeva , Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga. Istoriko-kurturnoe znachenie

poekzempliarnogo opisaniia 1 3 1

Franc Sen , Sorbian Book Printing 170

June Pachuta Farris , Slavic Studies Librarians in North America: Current

Challenges and Future Expectations H 178

Reviews

R. H. Davis, Jr., Slavic and Baltic Library Resources at The New York Public

Library: A First History and Practical Guide (Mary Stuart) 188

Valeriia D. Stel'makh (editor), The Image of the Library: Studies and Views
from Several Countries (Jenny Brine) 1 89

Murlin Croucher (compiler and editor), Slavic Studies: A Guide to

Bibliographies, Encyclopaedias and Handbooks (John S. G. Simmons) 191

N. A. Bogomolov, Materialy k bibliografii russkikh literaturno-
khudozhestvennykh al'manakhov i sbornikov, 1900-1937 , vol. 1
(Andrei Rogachevskii) 193

Deutschsprachige Drucke Moskauer und Petersburger Verlage 1 731-1991. Aus den
Bestdnden der Universitats- und Landesbibliothek Munster. Ausstellungskatalog
(Roger Bartlett) 1 94

Geoffrey Arnold (compiler), Short-Title Catalogue of Hungarian Books Printed

before 1851 in the British Library (George Gomori) 195

Z. Jaroszewicz-Piereslawcew, Starowiercy w Polsce i ich ksiggi (John Sullivan) 196

Notes 198

Contributors 199

Solanus is published by the School of Slavonic and East European Studies (SSEES),
University of London, Senate House, Malet Street, London WC1E 7HU

The views expressed in Solanus are not necessarily those of SSEES

or of the Editorial Board

Cover motif: Ornament by Edward Okuri from Chimera , 2 (1901), p. 53.

Editorial Board

Professor C. L. Drage, School of Slavonic and East European Studies,
University of London

Mr W. Gareth Jones, University College of North Wales, Bangor
Dr W. F. Ryan, The Warburg Institute, University of London
Dr J. E. O. Screen, Library, School of Slavonic and East European Studies,
University of London

Mr Ray Scrivens, Cambridge University Library (Reviews Editor)

Dr Christine Thomas, The British Library, Editor / ^ ;

Dr Gregory Walker, Bodleian Library, University of Oxford

$ '* •. .* A'

& \

International Advisory Panel .« .

*•> ly 3 r Nr • ,

Dr J. J. Brine, Lancaster J U

Professor W. E. Butler, University College London | -

The Very Rev. Alexander Nadson, Francis Skaryna Belarusian Library,
London K /

■*i. • • ^ ■* * . ,

John S. G. Simmons, Emeritus Fellow, All Souls College, Oxfdrd

Miranda Beaven, University of California, Berkeley

Professor Jeffrey Brooks, John Hopkins University, Baltimore

Professor Marianna Tax Choldin, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign

Edward Kasinec, Slavic and Baltic Division, The New York Public Library

Professor Gary Marker, University of New York at Stony Brook

Dr Wojciech Zalewski, Stanford University Libraries

Dr Fran^oise de Bonnieres, Ecole des Langues Orientales, Paris

Dr Horst Rohling, Bochum

Price of this volume (special double issue): £20.00 or $30 U.S., including
postage. Sterling payment should be sent to the editor (address below) by
cheque or international money order made payable to Solanus. Dollar pay¬
ment (cheque made payable to Wojciech Zalewski) should be sent to: Wojciech
Zalewski, 162 Highland Ave., San Carlos, CA 94070, U.S.A.

All correspondence, including subscription and advertising enquiries, should
be addressed to the Editor:

Dr Christine Thomas
Slavonic and East European Collections
The British Library, Great Russell Street
London WC1B 3DG, United Kingdom
Telephone: 0171-412 7587

The Editor will supply Notes for Contributors and Notes for Reviewers on request.

Typeset in Plantin and Times Cyrillic at Oxford University Computing Service

by Stephen Ashworth Typesetting, Oxford

SPONSORS’ PAGE

This is a special double issue of Solanus devoted to papers from the ICCEES
V World Congress of Central and East European Studies (Warsaw, 6-11
August 1995).

Publication of this issue has been made possible by the generous sponsor¬
ship of firms who were represented at the Warsaw Congress or at the pre-
Congress International Librarians’ Conference (Przegorzaly, Cracow, 3-5
August), namely:

KUBON & SAGNER
INTER DOCUMENTATION COMPANY
NORMAN ROSS PUBLISHING
RUSSIAN PRESS SERVICE

MOSCOW INDEPENDENT PRESS PUBLISHING COMPANY

Like Cambridge and Harrogate in 1990, Cracow and Warsaw provided an
invaluable opportunity for the exchange of ideas and information about the
changing book, library and publishing scene in Central and Eastern Europe.
One recurrent theme was the difficulty of keeping up with what is being pub¬
lished and acquiring it. Thus, the presence of publishers and suppliers in our
field played an important part in the success of the Congress. We are especially
indebted to those named above who have supported this publication.

For further information about the
services offered by these companies,
see the pages at the end of this volume.

The Tragic Fate of Polish Libraries after 1939

Janusz Dunin

It is natural for books to change places. The significance of the inventions
of writing, printing and the book lies in the fact that human thought — ideas
and discoveries— can pass from place to place independently of their creators.
Libraries, on the other hand, very often become an integral part of the place
where they were established. Local communities and the institutions which the
library serves take its presence for granted and do not make efforts to collect
duplicate copies in other centres, so when the library ceases to exist, the gap
is difficult to fill.

Throughout the history of Poland, as a result of wars, uprisings, changes of
frontiers and displacements of population, there are numerous examples of the
displacement and destruction of libraries. As early as the seventeenth century,
during the wars between Sweden and Poland (1563-1721), books were carried
away from our country. Paradoxically, these parts of Polish library collections
are the best preserved; for example, those books which were taken from the
collection of King Sigismund Augustus are to be found in the Royal Library
in Stockholm and the university libraries of Uppsala and Lund.1 During the
reign of Catherine II, the Russians confiscated a number of Polish libraries,
including the collection of the Zaluski brothers, which had been opened to the
public in 1747. After the loss of Polish independence in 1795, Polish national
collections began to be built abroad. On the initiative of Count Jozef Maksy-
milian Ossolinski (1748-1826) collections were formed in Vienna in 1817
(transferred to Lviv in 1827), in France at Batignolles and in Switzerland at
Rapperswil as part of the Polish National Museum, founded in 1870. In 1927,
Poland having regained independence in 1918, the collections from Rappers¬
wil were transferred to the National Library in Warsaw but later, like other
collections, they were almost completely destroyed in the Second World War.

The disintegration and destruction of Polish libraries and book collections
during the Second World War and afterwards occurred in a number of dif¬
ferent ways. In the period 1939-45 the most important factor was the policy
towards Polish culture adopted by the German administration.

The Germans, having handed over more than half of the territory of Poland
to the USSR in 1939, divided the rest of the country into two parts. One part,
i.e. Western Poland (Pomerania, Masuria, Poznan province and Silesia), was
considered to be an integral part of the Third Reich. Here the Polish popula¬
tion began to be eliminated by successive displacements and by the introduc-

1 See Aleksander Birkenmajer, ‘Ksi^zka O. Waldiego o szwedzkich zdobyczach bibliotecz-
nych’, Ekslibris (Cracow, Lviv), 1924, no. 5, pp. 65-75.

Solanus 1996

tion of new settlers, for example, people from the Baltic provinces and from
Volhynia who considered themselves to be Germans. The German authori¬
ties were particularly at pains to eliminate those Poles who were most awake
to the national cause and most active — the intelligentsia, the gentry and all
kinds of social activists. For the time being, the majority of the inhabitants
were left there to operate local municipal services and industry, but they were
almost entirely deprived of access not only to libraries but also to the Pol¬
ish press, books and schools. Book collections left behind by those who had
been deported were destroyed, as were public libraries and collections owned
by public societies and schools. For example, books from the Kalisz Public
Library were used to fill up a storm sewer. Books from some other libraries,
such as the Public Library in Lodz, were removed to warehouses, where they
were often stolen, damaged or abandoned to await their fate. Some were found
there after the war. Collections of scientific books, for instance, university
library collections, were usually left untouched, as they were intended to be
used in the process of Germanization.

The other part of divided Poland (central Poland, including Warsaw, Cra¬
cow and Lublin) formed the so-called ‘German-occupied Poland’, intended
to be a permanent colony without self-government and to provide a cheap
labour force. It follows that the Polish intelligentsia was to be exterminated
and that everything which could lead to its regeneration had to be eliminated.
All Polish schools, except those which provided elementary and vocational
education to train workers, were closed. The press, book publishing and the¬
atres were tolerated only as long as they catered for the lowest of tastes. Some
initiatives were aimed at the psychological disarmament of Polish communi¬
ties. Propaganda was printed, such as anti-semitic pamphlets, prophecies of
the inevitable German victory or invented news from the war fronts. These
publications were called by the Poles ‘the reptile press’ (prasa gadzinowa). For
a short time, between 1939 and 1942, public libraries were permitted to func¬
tion but only on a limited scale.2 Later only controlled libraries, with paid
membership, were allowed, and only second-hand bookshops could operate.
On the whole, libraries were not accessible to the Polish population and many
of them, especially the smaller ones, were destroyed.

There was, however, some degree of conflict in German cultural policy.
The German occupiers, showing that respect for tradition and for libraries,
especially scientific libraries, which is a characteristic of their nation, were fully
aware of the importance and material value of Polish library collections. In the

2 For information about the closure of the Warsaw Public Library, see Walka o dobra kul-
tury. Warszawa 1939-1945. Ksigga zbiorowa pod redakcjq Stanislawa Lorentza (Warsaw, Panstwowy
Instytut Wydawniczy, 1970), t. 1, p. 375. See also Ryszard Przelaskowski, ‘Wspomnienia o pracy
w Bibliotece Publicznej m. st. Warszawy w okresie drugiej wojny swiatowej’. In Walka o dobra . . . ,
pp. 368-97.

The Tragic Fate of Polish Libraries after 1939

early stages of the occupation there were two competing plans for dealing with
them. The first plan is identified with the work of the ‘Kommando Paulsen’,3
a section connected with the RSHA (Reichssicherheitshauptamt), the Chief
Security Office of the Reich. This plan proposed the immediate and absolute
removal of all valuable library and museum collections to Germany. During
the time of the Kommando’s activity, from October to December 1939, the
transport of Polish library collections had already begun and further transports
were being prepared.

However, the Nazi administration of the so-called German-occupied Poland
(Generalgouvernement) with its Governor-in-Chief Hans Frank (1900-46)
were opposed to this plan. In their view, it reduced the value of the property
under their administration. It was argued that future German administrations
of the territory would need library collections as information resources; that
they would be useful to the German universities and schools which would be
established there and could be of help in the Germanization of these lands.

This latter point of view was victorious and, not waiting for the final out¬
come of the war, a reorganisation of library collections was begun, based on a
far-reaching German plan. ‘State libraries’ (Staatsbibliotheken) were estab¬
lished in Cracow, Warsaw and Lublin, and their collections were divided
into three sections: foreign literature, polonica, and special collections.4 Some
librarians were sent from the Reich to control operations. Among them were
Gustav Abb (1886-1945), the former director of Berlin University Library,
who was appointed as head of the administration of libraries in the Office of
the Governor-General, and Wilhelm Witte, who before the war had been head
of the Slavonic Department in the University of Wroclaw (then Breslau) and
who now became Abb’s representative in Warsaw and Director of the Warsaw
Staatsbibliothek. Under their supervision and under war conditions, scientific
library collections were reorganised. Polish specialists were also engaged for
this work and they participated in the transfer of some parts of collections.
For Polish librarians this solution was obviously preferable. It meant that Pol¬
ish scientific books remained on Polish territory until the end of the war and it
enabled them to take care of the collections. Some of the occupiers’ harmful
decisions could be boycotted. For instance, although it was forbidden, books
were lent, on a limited scale, to Polish scholars and researchers. Those librar-

3 Named after the archeologist Peter Paulsen who, during the first months of the war, organ¬
ised the removal of library and museum collections which were considered to be of German
origin. This operation was connected with the Forschungs- und Lehrgemeinschaft ‘Ahnenerbe’
of the SS. See Andrzej M^zynski, Kommando Paulsen. Pazdziernik — grudzien 1939 r. (Warsaw,
1994). 92 pp.

4 Much has been written about this reorganisation. See, for example: Wanda Sokolowska,
‘ “Staatsbibliothek Warschau”. 27. VII. 1940-31. VII. 1944’, in: Walka o dobra (note 2), pp. 285-
318; Andrzej M^zynski, ‘Biblioteki naukowe w Generalnym Gubernatorstwie. Fakty i mity’, in:
Symposia Bibliologica (Warsaw, 1995), pp. 93-123.

Solanus 1996

ians employed by the Germans enjoyed relatively good relations with their
German colleagues; the Poles were given certificates of legal employment and
they were paid for their work. The new German library administration even
began to buy books and manuscripts.5 In his postwar depositions, Witte stated
that he had been well aware of some of the illicit activities of his Polish employ¬
ees, but had pretended not to notice so as to avoid conflict.6 Professor Alodia
Kawecka-Gryczowa, in her recollections from the time of the Warsaw Upris¬
ing, says that Witte was weeping as he watched Warsaw being destroyed by
fire.7

During the last stage of war operations on the territory of Poland, especially
at the time of the Warsaw Uprising, many buildings were destroyed by fire and
many of the books in them perished. Some buildings were set on fire on pur¬
pose by the German fire-squads, the Brandkommando. The Zaluski Library,8
the library of the Krasinski estate,9 the Central Military Library, the book-
stacks of the Warsaw Public Library and hundreds of other libraries, big and
small, private and public, were destroyed in the fires. Again, the Nazi author¬
ities showed that they were not indifferent to the fate of works of art. After
the failure of the Warsaw Uprising, when all inhabitants were being driven out
of the city and Warsaw was about to be razed to the ground, the authorities
allowed some special groups of Poles to enter the city in order to take away
some works of art from museums and libraries.

Later war action caused further library losses both on the former territories
of Poland and on the territory given to Poland in compensation for lands lost
in the East. Soldiers on both sides thoughtlessly destroyed great numbers of
books and disorganised postwar life allowed for more plundering. At a time of
flights, evacuations and displacements of the Polish gentry and the German
population, their book collections, especially valuable items, were stolen and
often destroyed. People whose estates were expropriated tried to save some
of their books. It is not known how many books left Poland and how many
were hidden somewhere on its territory. Research workers whose task was
to estimate library losses on Polish territory reported: ‘There are grounds to
assume that losses in school and public library collections can be estimated at
ninety per cent, in private and specialised collections at seventy to eighty per
cent, and in scientific library collections at about fifty-five per cent. It must be

5 See Alodia Kawecka-Gryczowa, ‘Ochrona zbiorow Biblioteki Narodowej’, in: Walka o dobra
(note 2), pp. 179-242, p. 210-211; Sokolowska (note 4), pp. 299-301; M^zynski, ‘Biblioteki ... 5
(note 4), pp. 109-1 10.

f) Kawecka-Gryczowa (note 5) and Sokolowska (note 4).

7 Kawecka-Gryczowa (note 5), p. 224.

8 The greater part of the Zaluski collections (taken to Russia in 1795) were returned to Poland
as a result of the Soviet-Polish treaty of 1921, and became part of the National Library in Warsaw.

9 The Krasinski Library, founded in 1 844 and destroyed in 1 944, is described in Encyklopedia
wiedzy o ksiqzce (Wroclaw, 1971), cols. 218, 9.

The Tragic Fate of Polish Libraries after 1939

added that the losses, especially from the last-mentioned collections, were of
a selective character. It was the most valuable works that were missing.’ 10

I am sceptical about these estimates and consider that the figures are not
fully reliable. As well as acts of vandalism, there were also actions taken by
Poles to protect the Polish books which had always been regarded as a national
treasure. After the war, a great number of books bearing the bookplates of
collections which had officially been acknowledged as lost were found, and it
became possible to partially reconstruct those collections. In Poland there are
people who think that losses are underestimated and those who think that they
are overestimated. It is an impossible task to count books that are no more.
However, nobody can deny that the losses of Polish books and libraries were
enormous and painful — the more so because they affected a country which, in v
spite of many efforts, had not yet been able to make up during some twenty
years of independence for all the neglect of more than a century of bondage.11

Very little has been said up until now about losses of books on the former
Eastern territory of Poland; for these losses too the Nazi regime must bear
its share of responsibility. In 1939 on the basis of the Ribbentropp-Molotov
treaty, a large part of Polish territory had been handed over to the Soviet
Union, which promptly began the process of stalinization. Polish books suf¬
fered discrimination because they were ideologically alien and because of the
policy of de-polonization in these lands. In 1941 the Germans began a long
war of extermination on that territory and books were not spared in that war
either. After the war, as a consequence of the Treaty of Yalta, that part of
Poland remained within the Soviet Union. The Polish population, especially
the intelligentsia, was rapidly displaced, and managed to take away only a
small part of their book collections. The only library collection to be officially
‘repatriated’ was a considerable part of the aforementioned Ossolinski Foun¬
dation, brought back from Lviv to Wroclaw. Other Polish library collections in
the USSR were subject to a number of reorganisations and closures, and for
nearly fifty years they were inaccessible to the Polish population.

The agrarian reform carried out after the war was an additional destructive
factor. The reform deprived the Polish landed aristocracy not only of their
lands but of a great part of their moveable property. Manorial library collec¬
tions, sometimes very valuable ones, were officially taken over by the state and

10 Cited from a four-page summary handed out at the conference ‘Skutki II wojny swiatowej dla
bibliotek polskich’, organised by the Polskie Towarzystwo Bibliologiczne and held at the National
Library in Warsaw, 7-8 November 1994, published in Symposia bibliologica (Warsaw, 1995).

I I The most comprehensive survey of Polish library collections lost during the Second World
War is: Barbara Bienkowska’s Straty bibliotek polskich w czasie II wojny swiatowej (Warsaw, 1994),
and her Straty bibliotek w czasie II wojny swiatowej w granicach Polski z 1945 roku. Cz. 1. Analiza.
Cz. II. Tablice. Cz. III. Bibliografia. Opracowala Urszula Paszkiewicz (Warsaw, 1994). Urszula
Paszkiewicz’s bibliography (which includes material published up to 1993) lists 908 items. An
abridged version in English is: Losses of Polish Libraries during World War II (Warsaw, 1994).

Solanus 1996

then left to be plundered or, quite often, destroyed.

Thus, the reduced territory of post-war Poland also had at its disposal
greatly reduced library resources. In Silesia, Pomerania and Masuria which,
following the Yalta agreements, became part of Poland, and on the territo¬
ries which had been annexed to the Reich by the German occupiers, numer¬
ous German library collections remained. Those collections included not
only popular trashy literature propagating Nazi ideology, collected mainly in
schools, public libraries or private home collections, but also a great deal of
old literature in various languages, found in collections of the German aris¬
tocracy and in other collections brought from various parts of Germany and
hidden, in the hope that they would suffer less war damage. Among those
great quantities of books left without any protection were the the collection of
the Berlin Staatsbibliothek and collections brought from Konigsberg. Despite
clear orders given by the Russian and Polish military authorities and declara¬
tions that works of art would be protected, these collections were plundered
and their fate was tragic.

Ksawery Swierkowski described the situation in his report of October 1945,
‘The security of manorial and former German library collections and the
question of their use’.12 He complained about contradictions as to who had
authority to decide this issue and reported that out of forty-one estates which
had been investigated ‘only in seventeen of those estates had library collec¬
tions or their remnants been found. In the remaining estates the collections
had been either stolen or destroyed.’ 13 Both existing libraries and District
School Boards were made reponsible for the protection of books, and storage
centres were established. Usually, these centres were supervised by people of
good will, but without professional qualifications. The notion of a ‘collection’
was unknown. Books were hived off, at a rate of one to two tons a day, and
receipts were made out according to their weight, on ffie basis that one ton
equalled 1700 volumes.14 For example, at the end of 1945 and beginning of
1946, 989.61 tons of books, maps and music scores were brought to Cracow.
It was estimated that the load contained about 1,700,000 items.15 Passages
from surviving records show how difficult it was to work in those days and
how inadequately qualified were the people who did the work.16 They thought
in terms of volumes, kilogrammes and tons of printed materials, and only very

12 Ksawery Swierkowski, ‘Zabezpieczanie ksi^gozbiorow poniemieckich i podworskich oraz
sprawa ich zuzytkowania’. In: Aktualne zagadnienia bibliotekarskie. Piersza Powojenna Konferencja
Okresowych Wizytatorow Bibliotek w dniach 24—27 pazdziernika 1945 r. w Pabianicach (Warsaw,
1946), p. 25-32’

13 Swierkowski (note 1 1), p. 27.

14, 15, 16 -phis information is taken from photocopies (in the possession of the author) of reports
made by the officials responsible for transporting books in 1945-7.

The Tragic Fate of Polish Libraries after 1 939

few receipts with exact figures have been preserved. Not surprisingly, no infor¬
mation about the transport of library collections to the Soviet Union or their
destruction by the Soviet Army has been published.

On the basis of new legislation promulgated in 1949, books which had
formerly belonged to Germans or the former landed aristocracy became the
property of the state.1 7 Only recently have researchers begun to study the his¬
tory of those library collections. For example, Janusz Tondel has been engaged
in research into the remains of German collections now in the Copernicus
University Library in Torun (which was established after the war).18 Michal
Kuna, who died recently, tried to traced the history of the collection in Ploty
(Schloss Plate).19 A considerable part of that collection has been incorpo¬
rated into Lodz University Library. The Division for the Documentation of
Historical Book Collections, established on the initiative of the Polish Biblio-
logical Society, has also gathered quite a large quantity of material,20 but there
remains much work to be done.

After the war Polish librarians made some attempts to reconstruct old Pol¬
ish libraries and to reverse all actions of the Nazi administration. A search was
carried out in Germany and Austria for former Polish collections21 and some
were restored to their owners. Other incomplete collections were used either
to supplement the collections of surviving libraries or to help in the establish¬
ment of new libraries. Polish scholars were rightly convinced that the collec¬
tions left on territory given to Poland after the war were the legal property
of Poland, although they by no means compensated for the great losses sus¬
tained by Polish culture. In 1945 the Polish intellectuals Waclaw Borowy,22
Wladyslaw Tatarkiewicz23 and Witold Suchodolski24 wrote about the Poles’
moral right to compensation. However, the issue of war reparations for Poland
was later taken over by the Soviet Union; thereafter discussion of the topic

17 ‘Ustawa z dn. 6 maja 1949 o maj^tkach opuszczonych i porzuconych’, Dziennik Ustaw
Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej, nr. 17, poz. 97; ‘Zarz^dzenie Ministerstwa Oswiaty z dn. 4 sierpnia 1945
r. w sprawie zabezpieczenia i zuzytkowania ksi^gozbiorow opuszczonych lub porzuconych’, Dzien¬
nik Urzgdowy Ministerstwa Oswiaty, nr. 4, poz. 115.

18 Janusz Tondel, Biblioteka zamkowa (1529-1568) Ksigcia Albrechta Pruskiego w Krolewcu
(Torun, 1992); and his Srebrna Biblioteka Ksigcia Albrechta Pruskiego i j ego zony Marii (Warsaw,
1994).

19 Michal Kuna collected information about the history of German book collections in Lodz
University Library, but died in 1 994 before he was able fo complete his work.

20 This information is to found in a card catalogue of book collections in Poland (existing and
destroyed) maintained in the National Library in Warsaw. There are plans to publish it when it is
complete.

21 See Bohdan T. Urbanowicz, ‘Dziennik Fischhornu’, in: Walka o dobra (note 2), pp. 335-84.

22 Waclaw Borowy, Tezy ogolne w sprawie rewindykacii i odszkodowah z zakresu kultury i sztuki
(Warsaw, 1945), p. 20.

23 Wladyslaw Tatarkiewicz, Etyczne podstawy rewindykacji i odszkodowah (Warsaw, 1945), p. 24.

24 Witold Suchodolski, Zagadnienie prymatu strat kulturalnych w ogolnym programie odszkodowah
(Warsaw, 1945), p. 8.

Solanus 1996

was forbidden in Poland and the Poles were unable to influence the course of
events.

In 1965, as part of the programme of building up friendly relations with the
German Democratic Republic, some Polish libraries took part in an exercise
called by the Germans Ru-Be-Pol (Ruckfuhrung der Bestande aus Polen) and
sent back to Germany those parts of the Berlin Staatsbibliothek collections
which had not been incorporated into any Polish library collections.25 They
looked upon this not as restitution but rather as a gift, an act aimed at restoring
cooperation between Polish and German libraries.

For half a century Poland has been trying to build from scattered Polish
and German collections a new network of libraries. In Germany too libraries
tried to rebuild their collections, to fill gaps and to create, as far as possible,
coherent collections from existing materials. To remove books now in order
to restore them to their original locations would only create a new tragedy. At
present there are opposing views in Poland on the subject of restitution. One
is that all matters connected with a war which ended half a century ago should
be marked off with a thick dividing line. It is argued that in great libraries
and museums all over the world there are many objects, the acquisition of
which could be seen as legally or morally dubious, and that to bring up past
history can only endanger international relations. Furthermore, attempts to
claim back property can result in collections being concealed. International
cultural cooperation is more important; making collections and information
about them mutually accessible is the best hope for knowledge and scholar¬
ship. The opposite and more fundamentalist point of view argues that, irre¬
spective of tactical reasons, accounts have to be settled and compensation for
losses and damage should be sought.

Personally, I would support the first point of view, provided that no-one is
deprived of the right to claim for damages and that the countries concerned
are able to discuss these problems freely. Some parts of collections which are
not of much use in one place could be transferred to other places where they
would be valued. Undoubtedly, there are objects of national reverence which
lose their significance when separated from the nation which created them.
In Poland, Germany and Ukraine there are book collections and individual
books that would be worth discussing. However, such discussions could give
rise to new conflicts if they were conducted under political, economic or some
other kind of pressure exerted by the partner who is in the stronger position
at any given moment.

25 Werner Schochow, ‘Von der Kriegs- und Nachkriegsschicksalen der Preufiischen Staats-
bibliothek’, Mitteilungen Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin , Neue Folge, 3 (1994), nr 1, p. 3; Janusz
Dunin, ‘Lodzki slad pruskiego skarbu — Losy ksi^zek’, Verte (dodatek do Gazety Lodzkiej), nr 34
(30.12.1994).

‘The Return from the States of the Former Soviet
Union of Cultural Property Removed in the 1940s’
as a Bibliographical Undertaking

Armin Hetzer

1 . Safekeeping as a Trap

With the attacks by the Luftwaffe on Warsaw and Belgrade, the German
armed forces went down in the history of war as the inventors of terrorist
air attacks against civilian populations. By 1942 it was already clear that the
Western Allies were capable of attacking German cities much more heavily. As
a result, measures were initiated according to a general plan to protect artistic
and cultural property from the bombing. This was generally done by first list¬
ing the objects concerned, then storing them initially in basements and later
in nearby air-raid shelters or mine tunnels. Packing lists were added to the
boxes by staff of the institutions to indicate the contents, and duplicates of
these were retained by their administrations as proof of the removal of their
holdings.

It should be kept in mind that the activity of libraries and museums was,
within certain limits, carried on even during wartime. Air-raid warnings, it is
true, interrupted opening hours, but in general an appearance of normality
was maintained. Anything else could have been interpreted as sedition and
scaremongering, for which the penalties in the Nazi period were draconian.
There are reliable records for the usage of the Bremen State Library in 1939-
1945. During the war years the usage and lending of a stock of around 300,000
volumes was as follows:1

Year

Users

Volumes loaned

1939/40

36,491

39,783

1940/41

38,298

46,974

1941/42

38,892

48,856

1942/43

27,474

44,518

s J

1943/44

24,773

43,765

1944/45

9,765

17,092

For numbers both of users and of volumes borrowed there was a clear high
point in 1941/42, followed by a fairly steep falling-off. There were 1233 air-

1 Beitrage zur Geschichte der Staatsbibliothek Bremen , hrsg. von Dr Hans Wegener (Bremen,
Schiinemann, 1952), p. 197.

Solanus 1996

raid warnings during the wartime period, and 173 air raids on Bremen. The
first fire in the roof occurred in May 1941, but the eagerness to read was
obviously not quenched.

The most important treasures had been given some protection at the out¬
break of war, to the extent of being removed from the main stacks to the
library basement. Later the special collection on Bremen (c. 12,000 volumes)
was moved from Bremen to the nearby town of Rotenburg/Wiimme, where
it was placed in hospital basements. In July 1943 the most valuable manu¬
scripts were removed from the safe-room of the Bremen land registry office
and transferred to the castle at Wernigerode, where they were placed in a
safe in the cellar. The large-scale evacuation of books began in the autumn of
1942. Altogether, 1492 boxes containing books and the Bremen collection of
pictures were transported to Bernburg/Saale (now in Saxony- Anhalt). There
they were stored in the Kali mine belonging to the company Wintershall AG.
Other smaller sections of the library were taken to Grasleben near Helmstedt,
where there was also a mine. In all, about half of the Bremen collections —
that is, 150,000 volumes — had been dispersed by the end of the war. Since
the State Library escaped any direct hits, its losses as a direct result of hostil¬
ities were quite limited. Looking back, it can be seen that dispersal on such a
scale was not really necessary: by 1950, when the library was again regularly
open to the public, it would have been able to make available almost its entire
holdings. However, its greatest losses were suffered as a consequence of the
dispersal itself, for some 100,000 volumes did not return from Bernburg.

I have quoted the Bremen State Library’s figures for usage and disper¬
sal because they were easily accessible, and also because I believe them to
be, within certain limits, more generally characteristic. It is true that Ham¬
burg lost a substantial part of its treasures in the great firestorm of July 1943
because they had not been dispersed. The Frankfurt City Library suffered a
great misfortune when the train containing the holdings ready for dispersal
was bombed. But these were striking though exceptional cases, and it can in
general be said that at the end of the war no library should have needed to
start again from scratch. The losses through confiscation after the cessation of
hostilities exceeded several times those caused by the war itself. It is estimated
that the Russians carried away something in the region of 5.5 million volumes.

2. Evaluation of the Losses

Speedy action enabled the holdings which Bremen had dispersed to Roten-
burg/Wumme, Grasleben/Helmstedt and Wernigerode to be brought back in
1945. This meant that those 50,000 volumes of particular value for local and
regional history were not lost but were available again after the war. This was
not the case with all libraries. For example, the Liibeck City Library and the
Prussian State Library evacuated considerable holdings to Bernburg/Saale,

The Return of Cultural Property as a Bibliographical Undertaking

which for decades had to be regarded as lost. Liibeck and the Saxon State
Library in Dresden lost almost their entire collections of incunabula, which
numbered thousands. Bremen lost its picture collection, although that was
chiefly the property of the Kunstverein: the Bremen Kunsthalle, like the equiv¬
alent institution in Hamburg, is not state-owned but a corporate body under
public law.

It will be seen from this that to some extent state, semi-state and private
owners had their collections stored in the same place, and that the value of
those holdings varied greatly. This is causing difficulties at the present time,
when the return of German cultural property is on the agenda, because many
different interests have to be reconciled. Bernburg/Saale was probably the dis-

persal ___location from which the greatest amount of library and museum prop¬
erty from North Germany and Brandenburg was removed to the USSR. The
Americans, however, were there before the Russians arrived, and they too had
their requisition specialists. It is a mistake, therefore, to assume that all goods
removed as war booty in 1945 by the victorious powers necessarily found its
way to Russia or the CIS.

3. Losses Through Unsuitable Handling

The so-called Trophy Commission, set up by the Soviet authorities, confis¬
cated cultural property in unimaginable quantities. It was not only the evac¬
uated material which was affected: some confiscations were carried out even
in 1946 and 1947 in the territory of the Soviet zone of occupation. The cas¬
tle library of Meiningen in Thuringia, packed in crates, was removed by the
Russians after the end of the war. The same happened in Gotha, which is still
waiting for the return of some of its book treasures.

There is evidence that the dispersed collections were still unharmed in their
boxes at the war’s end. The Wintershall firm, for example, informed the Bre¬
men owners to that effect. However, the firm no longer had any authority
over what had been placed on its premises for safe-keeping. Instead of simply
transporting away the boxes of books unopened, the Russians (following the
Americans’ bad example) appear to have opened up and inspected the collec¬
tions on the spot. From reports of the books’ removal, it seems that they were
loaded like sugar-beet or cabbages. They were carried away in snow and rain,
in open-topped railway trucks, so that a proportion of the ‘trophies’ must have
been damaged or even totally destroyed in transit.

Only now, through access to Russian archives, has it become possible to
describe in detail the seizure of the ‘trophies’, their transportation to collecting
centres in the former Soviet Union and their subsequent distribution to Soviet
libraries. Here I will limit myself to mentioning the extensive article by Ingo

Solanus 1996

Kolasa,2 who has for some years devoted most of his attention to the restitu¬
tion question and hence is qualified to elucidate this chapter in German-Soviet
relations without undue emotion. Since 1990 the question preoccupying both
German and Russian public opinion has not been how the books originally
went east, but whether and under what conditions they should be restored to
their former owners, who have never relinquished their claim to ownership;3
but this subject is surrounded by strong emotions.

4. The Problem of Reciprocity

A month before writing this, I received from St Petersburg a letter from a
Russian woman who wrote, among other things, in connection with the ‘tro¬
phy’ books:

But why did no-one speak about this earlier? It is only now, when Russia is
weak and turning itself into chaos and carnage, that everyone wants to take
something from us. What difference does it make where something belong¬
ing to the world, that is to world civilisation, is preserved? On the contrary,
many people have now been able to see the Impressionist paintings in the
Hermitage.

This letter moved me because it was the voice of the people, not of some
apparatchik. Nevertheless, it contains some typical errors. Firstly, there is the
legal aspect. If the Soviet government signed an international agreement, then
the Russian government is bound by such undertakings. Secondly, no dis¬
cussion of restitution was possible earlier because for some forty years the
Soviet government had not even admitted the existence of ‘trophies’. Hence
the Russian public has been unable to view the collection of Impressionists
until 1995: previously the pictures had been concealed somewhere in the
storerooms. Similar treatment was given to those books which did not cir¬
culate for research purposes, i.e. were not made available to readers.

I cannot deal fully here with the legal aspect of restitution,4 but will only
indicate the basic problems. In the German-Soviet agreement of 1990, men¬
tion is made of the reciprocal return of displaced cultural property. A prob¬
lem of interpretation arises with the very word ‘reciprocal’. The Nazis, of
course, pillaged cultural property in all the territories they occupied. However,

2 Ingo Kolasa, ‘Sag mir, wo die Bucher sind. . . . Ein Beitrag zu “Beutekulturgiitern” und
“Trophaenkommissionen” Zeitschrift fur Buck- und Bibliothekswesen (. ZfBB ), 42 (4), 1995, pp.
339-364.

3 Hartmut Petersohn, ‘Retten, was noch zu haben ist. Hunderttausende von Biichern aus
deutschen Bibliotheken als “Beutegut” in Russland’, Frankfurter Rundschau , 7.7.1995.

4 For a fuller treatment, see W. Kowalski, Restytucja dziel sztuki. Studium z dziedziny prawa
mi^dzynarodowego . Wyd drugie, Prace naukowe Uniwersytetu Sl^skiego w Katowicach, 1388
(Katowice, Uniwersytet Sl^ski, 1993). 164 pp.

The Return oj Cultural Property as a Bibliographical Undertaking

immediately after the end of hostilities the Americans J in the west and the Red
Army in the east took control of the stores containing such property. Records
of their inspections are in existence, and are now the principal source of our
knowledge about the transfers. The Americans listed the items and returned to
the Soviet side those which had clearly come from the Soviet Union. I make
no accusations of theft here against anyone, but the fact remains that these
valuable goods were not returned to their former owners. So far as the east¬
ern side is concerned, the trophies were concentrated in the north-western
part of the present Russian Federation, whence they were in part distributed
to other areas of the Soviet Union. Thus there was practically nothing left in
Germany which we could now hand over in return for the 5.5 million books
which were taken out of Germany in 1945-1947. It is true that there is still a
limited amount of such cultural property in private hands, but everything in
the publicly owned libraries of the Soviet Zone was inspected by the Soviet
authorities. They removed not only the property which the Germans had pre¬
viously looted from Eastern Europe, but — in addition — that which had been
dispersed from towns in the western part of Germany to mines or other places
of safety located on the territory of the former Soviet Zone. This is the problem
of restitution which we are now discussing, since the problems of restitution
affecting art objects would need to be considered separately.

5. The Problem of Usage and Availability'

The ‘trophy’ books fulhlled a threefold function. A part of them consisted of
trophies in the stricter sense, for example the Gutenberg Bible now held in
the Russian State Library (formerly the Lenin Library). Such books are not
put to use for practical purposes: they are simply objects of beauty. Another
part was to compensate for the losses suffered by Soviet libraries; but a third
part consisted of books which had never been in the Soviet Union before the
war. Many Western books had never reached the Soviet Union before the war
because of a shortage of money to buy them. Soviet science and scholarship
were therefore in need of the latest publications, while books and journals of
value for research were to be found in German libraries. Now, paradoxically,
fifty years later no-one has a specific interest in these books because they fall
within the field of the exact sciences, and such works rapidly become outdated.
By my reckoning, out of the 5.5 million books removed in the aftermath of the

r' Russians often ask in conversation why the Germans do not demand restitution from their
Western allies. The fact is that dispersal westwards did not reach the same proportions as the

Soviet accumulation of trophies. It is true that there are some small collections in American
libraries which reached the USA as a consequence of the Second World War. For example, in
1985 I was shown archival materials in the Library of Congress which the Americans wanted to
return to their former owners. In general it can be said that the Western allies chose their ‘trophies'
with taste and intelligence, and that this was true above all of art objects. The Soviet authorities
removed practically everything which fell into their hands, pictures as much as books.

Solanus 1996

Second World War, barely one million are still of interest for either of the
following reasons: they were printed before the end of the eighteenth century;
or they form part of special collections connected with a particular person or
place. One such collection, for example, is that of prints of the Hanseatic city
of Bremen, a part of which is held in the Russian National Library (formerly
the Saltykov-Shchedrin Public Library).6

The Soviet side must stand accused of the following: firsdy, no concern was
shown for the former owners of the property, even if they were to be found
on Soviet territory. For instance, the Russian State Library holds books from
the city library of Riga which arrived in Moscow as trophies from Germany. It
would not have been difficult to return them to their previous owner, by then
entitled the Library of the Academy of Sciences of the Latvian SSR. Secondly,
journals and multi-volume works were treated quite senselessly. They were
distributed to different libraries, even different republics, in such a way that
one volume may now be held in, say, Erevan, a second in Ufa, a third in Tomsk
and a fourth in Vilnius. The third accusation I have mentioned earlier: a part
of the confiscated books was never circulated within the scholarly community
at all, and those which were made available to readers were often subject to
severe restrictions. All these accusations reflect common features of the Soviet
regime, and one might suppose that by now the situation had changed. From
my own observations, however, little seems to have altered for the ordinary
reader. Up to the present time Russian libraries are still subject to a regime
inconceivable to someone accustomed to Western practice. This has a bearing
on the argument that cultural property belongs to world civilisation. Where a
particular book is held does make a difference — whether it is in Great Britain,
in Italy or in Russia. The difference begins with the regulations applying to
its use and ends with the question of whether a page may be photocopied or
microfilmed. If the director-general of a library which employs over 2000 staff
must personally give a decision on the microfilming of a particular nineteenth-
century text, then the conditions of use in Western and Russian libraries are
incommensurable .

6. Time Works Against Restitution

Discussions between the West German and Soviet authorities on the return of
‘trophy’ materials were conducted over a very long period. One of the topics
in question was the return of those sections of the Tallinn city archives which

6 On the occasion of the 200th anniversary of the Russian National Library, an article
appeared which was very hostile in tone, criticising in particular the unsuitable storage of tro¬
phy holdings in St Petersburg libraries (the Russian National Library, the Academy of Sciences
Library and the University Library): Iris Radisch, ‘Krankheit Buch’, Die Zeit , 1995 (34), 18.8.95,
p. 37. The facts stated there can hardly be contested, since they are founded on personal inspec¬
tion, but the writer’s interpretation of what she saw requires correction: dark corners containing
unprocessed books can probably be found in every large European library.

The Return of Cultural Property as a Bibliographical Undertaking

had been removed from the Baltic area by German forces towards the end of
the war. Parallel discussions were carried on between the GDR and the FRG.
Beginning in 1987, some archival materials were returned (including some
manuscript books) from Potsdam, East Berlin and Moscow, Under Gorbachev
not only was the return organised in 1990 of trophy materials within the hold¬
ings of the Main Archival Administration in Moscow, but by 1991 restitu¬
tion of other materials was being arranged on a bilateral basis between indi¬
vidual libraries. Thus Hamburg received back 3000 music manuscripts from
Leningrad. In the light of the changes in the political situation after August
1991, a Russo-German conference of experts took place in Bremen in the
autumn of 1992. 7 There the Russians began to speak officially of ‘removed5
instead of ‘trophy5 books, and of ‘restitution5 instead of ‘return5. On the Ger¬
man side there was also a change of line, in that all activity was now to be
coordinated by a commission of experts headed by the Director-General of
the Deutsche Bibliothek in Frankfurt am Main, Professor Lehmann. In the
interests of all concerned, individual localities or libraries may not now act
independently. All agreements must be settled by ministers. Hence the whole
process on both sides, Russian and German, has become sluggish and is play¬
ing into the hands of the antiquarian book trade, since the latter is now dealing
in trophy books on a large scale. Three specific examples may be offered.

A student of Slavistics excitedly faxed the State and University Library in
Bremen to say that he had bought a large number of books containing our
library stamp in Moscow second-hand bookshops. He asked to have his out¬
lay refunded, a matter of about DM 1000. The books were placed in the safe¬
keeping of the German Embassy and the money was transmitted to the young
man. It is likely that he was concerned only to cover his own expenses, and
to that extent this was simply an instance of good citizenship; but it is a fact
that the contents of the ‘reserves5 in Russian libraries are held in conditions
which are not proof against theft. In a time of social Darwinism, one may well
empathize with members of library staff who take advantage of any opportu¬
nity to finance their day-to-day survival, but this means that haste is needed:
otherwise, when the political negotiations are concluded, there will be noth¬
ing left to exchange. The Russian side is therefore urged to take steps for the
safeguarding of its trophy books.

The second case concerns a Cologne second-hand bookseller who offered
our library 57 of our own books from Russian libraries for US $ 30,000. When
the library threatened legal action the dealer retreated and claimed that the

7 The negotiations were conducted in several cities. The proceedings of the Round Table
held in Moscow in December 1992 were published in German as Restitution von Bibliotheksgut.
Runder Tisch deutscher und russischer Bibliothekare in Moskau am 11. und 12. Dezember 1992, hrsg.
von Klaus-Dieter Lehmann und Ingo Kolasa (Frankfurt am Main, Klostermann, 1993). 154 pp.
(ZfBB, Sonderheft 56).

Solanus 1996

books were not on German soil. He alleged that he had been acting only as a
credulous go-between and that the Russian side was responsible for the price
asked. There are suspicions that the transports used to withdraw Soviet troops
from the former GDR also served, among other things, to carry contraband
in both directions. It is also possible that units of the CIS army are offering
antiquarian books at astronomical prices.

It is known from confirmed incidents that representatives of German anti¬
quarian booksellers are touring Russian libraries and offering hard currency
for German books from their ‘reserves’. Nor is this done merely by an obscure
few: even the most reputable firms do not shrink from such activities. In
Tomsk, for example, representatives of a well-known German publishing and
bookselling firm attempted to induce the library director to exchange trophy
books for the latest German scientific publications. In that instance, according
to our information, the firm was given a negative reply, but there are verifiable
cases of such efforts ‘succeeding’.

Thus, Frankfurt City and University Library was offered a nineteenth-
century book by an antiquarian dealer. An invoice had already been made
out when the librarian responsible telephoned me to say that a Bremen own¬
ership stamp had been found in one of the books in the batch about to be paid
for. It was clearly Bremen’s property, since the book was from the collection
of the diplomat Rudolf Schleiden, which had been evacuated in its entirety
during the Second World War. Parts of the collection had been returned to
the library with the archival material, but the printed books had at some point
been separated from the rest of the collection and had found their way to
West Germany. Since then we have received a letter from the firm concerned
in which they vigorously question our ownership. The reason given is a curi¬
ous one: they claim to have dealt for years with antiquarian material which
came originally from German libraries, but which through the confusion of
war passed into the possession of a neighbouring eastern state and was later
sold on from there. It is clearly being hinted that Poland, Czechoslovakia and
Hungary placed large quantities of older books on the Western market in their
quest for hard currency. That, however, is a different matter, since of course
a German library in Prague or Brno is not the same thing as a Bremen book
in Moscow. There are rumours that incunabula from German trophy collec¬
tions are being sold in the ‘Russian market’ at Ankara in Turkey. That is a very
serious matter, because in the USSR such books were never left in the special
reserves, but were taken out and placed in the rare book departments.

In my view, in 1992 an effective exchange of cultural property displaced in
the 1940s would still have been possible if the agreements had been speedily
put into effect. Now it is already too late, firstly because no Russian govern¬
ment now possesses the authority exercised by the Soviet government: Kiev
and Minsk are outside the territory of the Russian Federation. Secondly, ‘free-

The Return of Cultural Property as a Bibliographical Undertaking

dom of t±ie press’ now prevails in Russia, meaning that any public figure can
give voice to his opinion. It is an irony of history that only in the era of glasnost
did the first articles on war trophies appear in the pages of the Soviet press,
giving the German side the opening for negotiations at governmental level on
the restitution of cultural property. If the directors of Russian libraries had
not volunteered their cooperation, the negotiations of 1992-1993 would not
have taken place. Five years later, however, the Russian press is giving space to
outbursts showing a different attitude. In 1994 the journal Knizhnoe obozrenie
published an article under the title cHe who owns, owns; but he who has lost,
has lost5. This shows that fifty years after the Second World War the trophy
books, renamed and relocated, continue to serve their turn as a symbol of vic¬
tory because so many of the victor’s other attributes have been wiped out with
the disintegration of the Soviet Union.

The restitution of displaced library collections has now become a problem
which is psychological in its nature. The situation suffers from the confusion
of the two viewpoints to which I have already alluded: that the books removed
were not simply books but were above all trophies. Those which in 1947 still
possessed any scientific interest are now, it is said, only good for pulping. The
German government, like those of certain other countries, is aiding the Rus¬
sians with donations of new books and computer equipment. These gifts, it is
said, can compensate Russian libraries for those of the trophy books which are
still of research interest. Negotiations are under way, too, over long-term col¬
laboration between German and Russian libraries. Nevertheless, the authori¬
ties have also to reckon with public opinion, because nothing is being written
in the press about these matters. The average Russian retains the impression
that the Germans are again robbing Russia of its wealth (meaning the deliv¬
ery of natural gas), and that the German government’s demand for the return
of cultural goods is sheer effrontery. That is what they think, which is why
a passive resistance can be sensed on the part of ordinary Russian library
staff despite the conscientious conduct of senior librarians. After all, ordinary
library employees, who may have worked in their posts for thirty years, hold
information which much more recently appointed directors can never possess.

7. Registration of Provenance and Actual Location

What is there left for us to do? I have already mentioned the collection of
Bremen prints which is held, at least in part, at the Russian National Library.
From the artistic point of view, in my opinion, this collection is not of out¬
standing value; but as a systematic collection of all prints relating to the city
it does have a value which is focused specifically on the history of that Hansa
city. Anyone who wishes to work on the history of our early printed graphic
art is obliged to go to St Petersburg. The task, then, is now one of collecting
information, since Russian libraries now at least admit foreign librarians to

Solanus 1996

their rare book and print departments. Earlier, entry was simply refused with
a reference to the regulations for use or other similar pretexts. The All-Russian
State Library of Foreign Literature in Moscow has even published a catalogue
of early German printed books, with references to their previous owners and
early stamps of ownership.8 Although we would naturally prefer the books
themselves to be returned to us, nevertheless such a situation is greatly prefer¬
able to the secrecy which formerly reigned. The German side unquestionably
still expects all the books which were removed to be returned; but the fact is
that a part of the books removed constitutes the cultural heritage of a particu¬
lar town or locality. Small peoples painstakingly collect evidence of their past.
In this sense Germany has always been a conglomerate of various small states
and free cities, and we are now attempting to restore our historical identity.
This applies above all to the Hansa cities of Bremen, Hamburg and Liibeck,
which suffered terribly from the displacements following the Second World
War.

The present efforts have as their aim that Russian libraries should at least
allow foreign scholars to work on their rare book collections under the same
conditions as in the West. The first step in this direction is a normal catalogue
which indicates previous owners.9 This is now in Russian called provenientsiia.
In the past such provenances were noted, e.g. ‘books belonging to Voltaire’ in
the Imperial Public Library. In the Soviet period disinformation was the basis
not only of politics, but also of library administration. We now await the spread
of democracy, in this sense, within the libraries of the Russian Federation.

There is one further aspect to this. Work is now being carried out in Ger¬
many on recording the geographical ___location of library resources and on the
description of individual historic collections, for example as part of the pub¬
lishing project directed by Professor Fabian in Munster.10 The purpose of

8 Catalogus librorum sedecimi saeculi [...]. Katalog nemetskoiazychnykh izdanii XVI veka v fon-
dakh VGBIL. Sostavil E. A. Korkmazova pod red. N. V. Kotreleva (Moscow, Rudomino, 1992).
xxiv, 257 pp. The Poles have described displaced books similarly, with their provenances, e.g.
Katalog inkunabulow biblioteka Uniwersyteckiej w Toruniu. Oprac. Maria Strutynska (Torun, Uniw-
ersytet M. Kopernika w Toruniu, 1995). 196 pp. (Wydawnictwa Jubileuszowe). There, on p. 196,
are listed books from Konigsberg (the State and University Library in ‘Krolewiec’). Surely they
belong to the present Kaliningrad oblast ?

9 In the Soviet period, catalogues of incunabula even listed previous owners (i.e. provenances)
in their indexes, provided that there were no trophy books among them, for example: Katalog
inkunabul Nauchnoi biblioteka Tomskogo universiteta , sost. V. V. Lobanov (Tomsk, 1988), 39 (2) pp.;
Inkunaablid Tartu Riikliku Ulikooli Teaduslikus Raamatukogus. Catalogus incunabulorum, quae in Bib¬
liotheca Universitatis Litterarum Tartuensis asservantur. Kataloog. Koostanud Olev Nagel (Tallinn,
Kirjastus ‘Kunst’, 1982). 95 (1) pp.

10 Handbuch der historischen Buchbestande in Deutschland (Hildesheim/Zurich/New York, Olms-
Weidmann, 1992- ). In this project the libraries themselves describe their collections, and its
publications are issued with the support of the DFG (Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft) . A sim¬
ilar project is in preparation at the Polish National Library: see Informator o polskich ksiqgozbiorach
historycznych i powstatych na ziemiach polskich do r. 1950. Because of the smaller number of items

The Return of Cultural Property as a Bibliographical Undertaking

such undertakings is partly practical, to enable scholars to inform themselves
of the resources most important for their work. However, the historiography
of libraries is also a subject within the field of book and library studies. We
are all aware that each library his its own history: often the nucleus of a city or
even a court library was a private collection. Thus the Polish Zaluski collection
formed the basis of Catherine II’s library, which is now in the Russian National
Library. We can describe the most recent elements in the holdings of large
libraries in the same way. Discussion of the relocation of library holdings as a
result of the Second World War is capable of serving as the occasion for inten¬
sifying studies on the building of collections in Russian and other research
libraries on the territory of the former LTSSR. The end result, if ‘reserve’ books
were to be included, would be our ability to discuss the complex picture of the
libraries’ history in the twentieth century. This is not so much a practical as a
scholarly mission. Surely now is the time for such an initiative?

A feature of the present situation is a blatant disparitv between the informa¬
tion available on post- 1945 removals of librarv collections to Poland and that
on removals to Russia. Former German holdings removed to Polish territory
have been recorded and made accessible through catalogues in a quite exem¬
plary manner, while we are still largely groping in the dark to find those for¬
mer German collections which were incorporated into the stocks of the great
Russian libraries in Leningrad and Moscow. The pamphlet recently issued by
the State Library in Berlin11 makes a particularly clear contrast between the
attitudes of the Polish and the Russian/Soviet authorities.

Translated from German and Russian by Gregory Walker

involved, it is much easier to describe groups of manuscript collections, e.g. Danuta Kamolowa et
al., Zbiory rgkopisow w bibliotekach i muzeach w Polsce. Przewodnik (Warsaw, Biblioteka Narodowa,
1988). 492 pp.

1 1 Verlagert, verschollen, vernichtet, . . . Das Schicksal der im 2 Weltkrieg ausgelagerten Bestande der
PreuBischen Staatsbibliothek (Berlin, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin — Preuftischer Kulturbesitz, 1995).
50 pp., many illustrations.

Censorship in the Libraries of Latvia

(1940-1990)

Viesturs Zanders

Throughout the first Soviet occupation (1940-1941), the subsequent Nazi
occuption (1941-1944) and the almost fifty-year-long Soviet occupation after
the Second World War, the libraries of Latvia found themselves under the
all-embracing ideological pressure of those totalitarian great powers.

The principal organ of censorship under Soviet rule was the Central Admin¬
istration of Literature (Glavlit) and its satellites, the Departments for the Stor¬
age of Special Literature ( Speciali glabajamds literaturas nodajas , often abbre¬
viated as specfondi ). By ‘special’ literature was meant the special, restricted-
access holdings of material deemed to be ideologically suspect (translated
hereafter as ‘special holdings’). They were systematically and deliberately
engaged in the destruction of cultural property in the largest Latvian research
libraries.

Several generations had almost no opportunity to acquaint themselves with
the real history of their country, or with a significant part of their national
culture. It is no exaggeration to say that the destruction of many publications
in large quantities, and the impoverishment of library collections, is a clear
expression of intellectual genocide.

Sources for the study of this topic are unfortunately incomplete. This article
makes use primarily of archival documents describing the activity of Glavlit
and of the special holdings department in the Latvian State Library, as well as
a number of recent publications.1

The First Soviet Occupation

Following the Soviet annexation of Latvia in the summer of 1940, the true
intentions and aims of the so-called ‘cultural revolutionaries’ soon became
unmistakable. The official newspaper of the Latvian Communist Party, Ciya
(‘The Struggle’) declared as early as 9 July that libraries should be cleared of
‘Fascist, White-Guardist and all kinds of trashy literature’. A month later, on 9
August, it was decided to establish the Latvian Glavlit. In August, too, libraries
began to receive lists of books to be removed from their collections. The first
printed list of books banned by Glavlit (1800 titles in Latvian, German and
Russian) appeared in January 1941. This and subsequent lists were for ‘official

1 I. Klekere, Glavlito “S^r^sus” neitrauktos literaturos “cenzavimas” Latvijos TSR Valsty-
bines bibliotekos specialaus saugojimo skyriuje’, in Lietuvos biblioteku fondu istorija XX amziuje
(Vilnius, 1994), pp. 42-45; S. Sardiko, ‘Cenzura biblioteka (1940-90)’, Latvijas Nacionalas bib-
liotekas raksti, XIX (1994), pp. 74-95.

Censorship in the Libraries of Latvia

use’ only, and had to be sent back to Glavlit when the clearance had been
completed. It is not therefore surprising that these lists are now bibliographical
rarities.

On 25 January 1941, the Latvian Glavlit set up a twelve-person work¬
ing group charged with removing, within a week, all ‘harmful’ literature in
libraries and bookshops in Riga.2 By that was meant not only all books
included in the first printed list, but also ‘all printed matter hostile to the
socialist state, the internal and foreign policies of the USSR and the theory
of Marxism-Leninism’; also, pending inspection, all books and periodicals
(except communist ones) printed abroad; and all newspapers and journals
printed in independent Latvia (19 18-1 940). 3

S. Shustin, at that time the commissar responsible for internal affairs (and
later the organiser of the mass deportations from Latvia) was asserting as late
as 10 March 1941 that the Latvian book trade and libraries were still ‘full of
counter-revolutionary, religious, idealistic, pornographic and other harmful
literature’.4

On 26 March 1941 the Central Committee of the Latvian Communist Party
instructed Glavlit to remove ‘all politically harmful literature’. At the begin¬
ning of April the Latvian State Library received from Glavlit a set of instruc¬
tions prepared in Moscow (1938) on the organization of special holdings.5

It is now almost impossible to establish the number of books destroyed. Up
to 15 May 1941, 477,225 books had been taken out of libraries’ collections.6
Outside Riga, the books were usually stored in buildings used by the executive
committees and militia districts in provincial towns, where they were cut up
before pulping. The communist ‘activists’ were not always equal to their mis¬
sion: for example, boxes of books were later found in the courtyard of the party
committee building of the Cesis district which contained undamaged copies.
It is typical that the inspector sent by Glavlit SSSR was forced to admit that
the removal of the ‘harmful’ books had been carried out in a hurry, with¬
out adequate records being made, and that the books had been ‘barbarically’
destroyed. K. Gnnvalds, then head of the Latvian Glavlit, also later accepted
that everything had been done superficially due to the sheer mass of mater¬
ial: books were often handed over for pulping by weight, and not always with
precise documentation.7

The Nazi Occupation

2 State Archive of Latvia, PA-101.f., 2.apr., 263.1., 39. Ip.

3 Latvian National Library Rare Books and Manuscripts Department, A 164 No. 27.

4 State Archive of Latvia, PA- 101. f., l.apr., 44.1., 14. Ip.

5 LNL Rare Books and Manuscripts Department, A324 No. 1.

6 State Archive of Latvia, 917. f., l.apr., 1.1., 36. 1 p.

7 Ibid., PA- 101. f., l.apr., 44.1., 15. Ip.

Solanus 1996

The authorities of the Nazi occupation also lost no time in issuing an order,
on 1 August 1941, which laid down which books should be removed. Com¬
munist and Jewish authors in all languages were regarded as harmful. So were
English, French and American books published after Hitler’s coming to power
(1933); older German literature with Marxist leanings; and Latvian literature
which was in any way hostile to the Germans.8 Lists of books taken out of the
collections had to be sent to the Directorate-General for Culture and Educa¬
tion, but by 13 August only 56 replies with the required book-lists had been
received in response to the 628 circulars sent out.9

In 1941 two printed book-lists appeared containing between them more
than 10,000 titles. These books had to be removed from libraries, book¬
shops and second-hand dealers. Books intended for destruction had to be
handed over to Reichsleiter Rosenberg’s ‘action staff’ ( Einsatzstab ) in Riga,
who had the right to inspect every library. A few copies of the books intended
for destruction were permitted to be held under special restrictions in the
provincial library (former State Library) and the university library. The direc¬
tor of the provincial library demanded that the special holdings should be
properly searchable, because the Nazi authorities frequently asked for spe¬
cific publications.10 The university library justified its desire to retain a num¬
ber of copies of books published during the Soviet period by arguing that
even oppositionist literature needed to be studied in order to combat hostile
movements.11

The Second Soviet Occupation

After the Second World War the repressive Soviet authorities resumed the so-
called ‘cleansing’ of book stocks in Latvian libraries with renewed vigour. At
least nine printed lists of prohibited books, with more than 8,000 titles in all,
were prepared by Glavlit. From publicly accessible collections, ail periodicals
from the period of independent Latvia had to go, as well as all legislation and
statistical publications, textbooks, publishers’ catalogues, directories and sim¬
ilar works. Also forbidden were all editions of the works of Mark Aldanov, Ivan
Bunin, Dmitrii Merezhkovskii, Aleksei Remizov, Nikolai Rerikh and other
writers published after 1917, as well as certain titles by Mikhail Bulgakov,
Mikhail Zoshchenko and Aleksandr Kuprin printed in Riga in the 1920s and
1930s. Prefaces and commentaries written by purged literary historians had to
be removed from books: their names were banned from book titles and refer¬
ences. According to Glavlit SSSR’s circular, pages removed from such books
were to be kept in special holdings, but where these did not exist the pages

8 Ibid., 1489. f., 3.apr., 1.1., l.lp.

9 Ibid., 701. f., l.apr., 26.1., l.lp.

10 Ibid., 235. f., la apr., 3.1., 49. Ip.

11 Latvian State Archive of History, 7427. f., 7. apr., 47.1., 57. Ip.

Censorship in the Libraries of Latvia

were simply to be burnt.

The sharp eyes of Glavlit personnel detected many other undesirable things
in libraries. For instance, in 1950 they found some 14,000 unrecorded books
in the basement of the Ministry of Education, even though its library had been
officially abolished in 1948. 12 In 1951 the newspapers asserted that the col¬
lections of public libraries in Riga were still contaminated by various kinds of
‘ideological trash’. In the Third Riga Public Library, for instance, ideologi¬
cally harmful fiction was said to have been ‘smuggled in’, and the people who
honoured Pushkin were also being faced with ‘the lying works of bourgeois
scribblers’ such as Iurii Aikhenval'd and Vladislav Khodasevich. Thanks to
the librarians’ negligence, the works of the ‘renegade’ Karl Kautsky could still
be found in the catalogues of the Latvian State Library.

In 1950 the Capuchin monastery of Schonberg/Skaistkalne was closed. A
part of the monastery’s library of around 1,500 volumes was moved to the
Fundamental Library of the Latvian Academy of Sciences, part of it ‘travelled’
to Russia, and the remainder was simply destroyed. Ten years later the library
(about 3,000 volumes) of the Dominican monastery of Aglona, founded in
1700, was destroyed.

‘Special holdings’ were established only in the three largest research libraries
in Riga: the State Library (now the National Library of Latvia), the Fun¬
damental Library of the Academy of Sciences (now the Latvian Academic
Library), and the Latvian University Library. Latvian books printed abroad
until 1972 were concentrated exclusively at the Fundamental Library and the
Latvian Communist Party’s Institute of Party History.

Work in the special holdings was regulated by secret instructions from
Glavlit, and by its orders on the storage and exploitation of the literature they
contained. A special department in the Latvian Ministry of Culture also issued
orders about the removal of ideologically ‘harmful’ publications.

Information on prohibited works disappeared from public catalogues and
registers, and bibliographic compilations were forbidden to mention them.
Only the catalogues for use by library staff included literature to which access
was allowed for ‘research purposes’. This included ‘obsolete’ publications
(indicated in records by ‘y’) and works for official use only (indicated by ‘x’).

Readers using the special holdings were issued only with those publications
which they specifically requested; they were not allowed to consult the alpha¬
betical staff catalogue independently. Readers had to declare in writing that
information acquired there would not be passed on. The special holdings
were not merely passive conservers of the publications entrusted to them; they
could also be described as active auxiliaries to the censorship. Their staff sys¬
tematically intervened in the work of other library departments through the

12 State Archive of Latvia, 917.f., l.apr., 3.1., 57. Ip.

Solanus 1996

so-called ‘reviewing’ of various kinds of literature. Since this ‘evaluation’ was
ffequendy a lengthy process, such literature would also be held inaccessibly in
the special holdings while it was carried out.

The Latvian State Library began book exchanges with West European
libraries only in 1958; but even then, foreign literature arrived from Moscow
in sealed mailbags. The Latvian Glavlit passed on to Moscow lists of publica¬
tions awaiting inspection. Books bought for the library from private individu¬
als or from antiquarian booksellers were kept initially in the special holdings
until their future was decided. The work of special holdings in Latvia was
checked by Glavlit’s local and Moscow staff, and criticisms were often made,
for example in 1953 when they found 10,000 or so unprocessed items in the
State Library’s special holdings.13

The liberalization of society in the second half of the 1 980s affected the work
of the special holdings as it did so much else. The holdings were allowed to be
used, without special permission, by academicians, corresponding members of
the Academy of Sciences, scholars with higher degrees, and leading cultural
figures. In 1988 the reassessment of all material in the special holdings was
begun, followed by its transfer to the publicly accessible library collections.
The special holdings department of the State Library was abolished as a unit
of its administrative structure in 1990. One of the characteristic institutions of
Soviet ideology no longer existed; unfortunately, we shall long continue to feel
its destructive effects.

Translated from German by Gregory Walker

LNL Rare Books and Manuscripts Department, A324 No. 2.

Reading in the Context of Censorship

V. D. Stel'makh

This work is based on data from several major research projects carried out in
the USSR in the 1970s and 1980s. They were conducted by the Sector for the
Book and Reading of the V. 1. Lenin State Library of the USSR, which was at
that time the main all-union research centre for the sociology7 of reading and
librarianship.

The decade preceding the disintegration of the USSR and the collapse of
the Soviet regime had a number of distinctive features which are important
for the analysis of reading. It was characterised by clear signs of decline. Mod¬
ernising tendencies were gathering speed, accompanied by a change in the
social structure — a sharp increase in the percentage of the population living
in towns and a growth in the number of well-educated people. By the end of
the 1970s, people with incomplete secondary schooling or tertiary education
already made up the overwhelming majority of the working population — 8 1 %
compared to 43% in 1959.1 By the middle of the 1980s, the number of peo¬
ple with higher or secondary specialised education was five times greater than
it had been at the beginning of the 1960s. This resulted in deepening cul¬
tural differentiation, an increase in the range of issues and problems of public
concern, and a growth in readers’ needs and demands for information. This
cultural pressure from below undermined the foundations of power and its
ideology. The process of eroding the regime and discrediting Soviet norms
and values was a distinctive feature of these years.

The regime’s attempts to forestall the impending collapse and to stabilise the
situation included strengthening censorship and other repressive measures.

It is significant that in the first postrevolutionary period the Bolsheviks still
acknowledged the illegality of their actions — only organs of ‘the counterrev¬
olutionary press of all shades’ were to be closed down. At the same time, it
was stressed that ‘suppression of the press, even at such a critical time, was
permissible only when absolutely essential’ and that ‘the present regulation
is of a temporary nature and will be revoked ... on the inception of normal
conditions of social life’. But by the mid- 1930s Glavlit, the actual agency of
censorship, had coalesced with the ideological sections of Party organs and
with the organs of state security to form a powerful mechanism for the total
control over thought. In the period under consideration the boundaries of
Stalinist censorship had been widened: in the 1970s and 1980s everything
was censored, including inscriptions on porcelain, signboards, official forms,

1 Chislennost' i sostav naseleniia SSSR. Po dannym Vsesoiuznoi perepisi naselemia 1979 goda
(Moscow, 1984), p. 23.

Solanus 1996

invitations, etc. Books were subject to political censorship, ideological cen¬
sorship (censorship of thought) and factual censorship — concealing from the
population information on the real state of the country.

This was a censorship which was not restrained by any provisions of the
law and hence arbitrary and not accountable to anyone, a censorship carried
out, for the most part, before publication and in secret. A. V. Blium, who has
carried out research on the history of Soviet censorship, notes: ‘. . . the attitude
of Glavlit in the 1970s and 1980s to the very word censorship and to the whole
topic of the history of censorships is significant. Not only was it forbidden to
write anything about censorship relating to the Soviet period (this was quite
out of the question!), but one was also required to keep to a minimum — and
if possible not use at all — the criminal word censorship in historical research
on the book, even when referring to the pre-revolutionary period.’ 2

Library ‘special’, restricted-access collections, known as ‘spetskhrans’,3
developed in a similar way. Researchers have not yet determined exactly when
they arose, but there is no doubt that they took on their final shape at about
the same time as Glavlit. Sovnarkom’s first resolutions and decrees were basi¬
cally about Russian and foreign ‘White Guard’ literature, which had to be sent
to libraries for storage and public use. However the range of forbidden litera¬
ture gradually grew wider and was eventually virtually all-embracing. By the
1970s and 1980s, the spetskhrans had become an independent system within
libraries, to which were consigned not only publications openly hostile to the
regime but also completely innocent works — perhaps because of a mention of
the name of a disgraced political leader or writer, or because they could be
seen as ‘imperialist propaganda’, and so on.4 On 1 June 1983 the spetskhran
of the Lenin State Library of the USSR — one of the largest in the country —
contained 1,131,559 items. About 33,000 items were added to its stock each
year.

Thus, in the period under review society suffered an almost complete block¬
ade on information, combined with a sophisticated system of disinformation.
This was the culmination of the tragic process of cultural deformation which
began after the October Revolution.

Censorship as a Meta- System

The problem of reading in conditions of strict censorship must be consid¬
ered as one facet of the relationship between the regime and society. Most

2 A. V. Blium, Za kulisami ‘Ministerstva Pravdy’. Tainaia istoriia sovetskoi tsenzury 1917-1929
(St Petersburg, 1994), p. 12.

3 The spetskhrans consisted of literature deemed to be ideologically suspect.

4 In the lists of books to be withdrawn from the general collections are works such as The Care
of Horses: A Handbook for Grooms , The Guinness Book of Records, Exercises in Syntax, A Primer and
First Anthology for Beginning Readers, etc.

Reading in the Context of Censorship

often it is understood as open or secret resistance— on the one hand, a con¬
trolling and punitive regime, on the other, a suppressed and downtrodden
people. However, in the 1970s and 1980s there was no uniformity in the atti¬
tudes of different social groups to life under censorship — open struggle, secret
dissidence, open support and approval, trusting acceptance and many other
attitudes. Censorship was able to become an all-pervasive, total system, rather
like a cancerous cell infecting the whole body, only because of the interac¬
tion between state bodies and the various social groups who created literary
culture.

Naturally it was the chief organ of state censorship, Glavlit, which initially
decided on the range of books to which the reader might have access. How¬
ever, beyond this there was self-censorship within the society. People work¬
ing with the written word — directors of publishing houses, editors, authors,
librarians and booksellers — narrowed still further the areas of openness. They
interpreted any wish of the regime, official or unofficial, as an absolute prohibi¬
tion. Thus, according to the secret ‘Instruction on Special [Restricted-Access]
Collections (‘Instruktsiia o spetsfondakh literatury . . . ’) in the Libraries of
the Soviet Union’ of 10 February 1948, all copies ‘of library books which
are politically harmful due to their content, even if they are not listed in the
Glavlit decree on the withdrawal of books’, were to be sent to the special col¬
lections. Guided by this document, librarians carried out checks and ‘purges’
of library stocks. In so doing, they often demonstrated even greater vigilance
than required by the Glavlit orders. Eye-witnesses testify that ‘nearly all the
staff who handled the “suppressed” books felt it necessary to demonstrate
their personal vigilance _ They scratched out the names of the latest “ene¬

mies of the people”, blanked them out with Indian ink, sent their own “sub¬
missions” to Glavlit, spied on readers who were interested in “that sort” of
literature as well as on their colleagues.’ 5

In this society, one aspect of censorship was control over the percolation
of new cultural and aesthetic images to the reader. As avant-garde aesthet¬
ics introduce new ways of thinking and behaving, a new outlook on life, they
could be seen as a veiled threat to the regime and so the political and punitive
organs frequently undertook censorship on aesthetic grounds. A clear example
of this is the Ordinance of the Central Committee of the All-Russian Com¬
munist Party (Bolsheviks), ‘On the journals ' Zvezda and Leningrad ’, which is
devoted to a Party ‘assessment’ of the work of Mikhail Zoshchenko and Anna
Akhmatova. As well as political and ideological criteria (‘preaching corrup¬
tion and triviality, devoid of ideas, indifferent to politics’), they were criticised
on aesthetic grounds too (‘inartistic plays and stories’, ‘low quality literary
works’, ‘poetry steeped in pessimism and degeneration . . . stuck in a position

5 A. P. Shikman, ‘Sovershenno sekretno’, Sovetskaia bibliografiia, 1988, 6, pp. 3-12.

Solanus 1996

of bourgeois, aristocratic aestheticism and decadence’).6

However, aesthetic censorship was most often carried out by the organs
created for this purpose, i.e. the Union of Writers of the USSR, the State
Committee on the Press, or by cultural groups responsible for a recognised
aspect of Soviet culture. To the outside world, this appeared to be conflict
between literary groups and tendencies.

Thus, when analysing the problem of reading in the context of censorship
one must keep in mind the overall monopoly of the press and readers’ choice.
One should not discuss the activity of a specific state body but rather the
complex social mechanism, controlling the very possibility of texts going into
circulation.

Particular Functions of Literature and Reading

Under censorship, literature acquires a particular function — it is virtually the
only bearer of spiritual freedom and moral precepts. In this, Russia’s exam¬
ple is typical. Here, the literary tradition has always been strong. One may
confidently assert that since the time of Pushkin literature has played the cen¬
tral part in Russian culture. In many ways this was a result of the absence of
political freedom: ‘In autocratic nineteenth-century Russia, literature played
the role of the then nonexistent parliament, poems and novels spoke of liberty
for the spirit . . . ’.7 The printed word enjoyed indisputable authority, and the
writer was elevated to the status of teacher and prophet.

In surviving letters about Pushkin written by peasants in the nineteenth
century, simple illiterate or semi-literate country people who had not read the
poet’s works nevertheless speak of him as ‘the Messiah’, ‘the Teacher’, ‘great’
or, in their peasant usage, ‘wise’. They treasure his works ‘as a Symbol of
Truth’ and ‘follow them to the letter’.8

In post-revolutionary, secularised Russia where all institutions providing
moral guidance and norms, especially the Church, had been wiped out and
where there was no system of objective information, the missionary role of
literature became even more pronounced. In the 1970s and 1980s, the charis¬
matic role of the writer could be seen in the regular meetings held at the Lenin
Library which brought together the most popular authors and the general pub¬
lic. Large audiences would attend, but it is significant that a high proportion
would not have read the writer’s works, but wanted to hear direct from the

6 ‘O zhurnalakh “Zvezda” i “Leningrad”. Iz postanovlenii TsK VKP(b) ot 14 avg. 1946 g.’,
in Direktivy VKP(b) i postanovleniia Sovetskogo pravitel' stva o narodnom obrazovanii: sbornik doku-
mentov za 1917-1947 gg. (Moscow, 1947), vyp. 1, pp. 77-80.

7 Klaus Mehnert, The Russians and their Favorite Books (Stanford, Hoover Institution Press,
1983), p. 15.

8 B. S. Meilakh, ‘Pushkin v vospriiatii i soznanii dorevoliutsionnogo krest'ianstva’, Pushkin:
issledovaniia i materialy, tom 5 (Leningrad, 1987), p. 96.

Reading in the Context of Censorship

writer the answers to life’s essential questions — on ideals and faith, the mean¬
ing of life, current affairs, the future, etc. The well-known German journalist
and commentator Klaus Mehnert, who knew the USSR well, noted in his
final book, which was on Russians as readers: ‘Formerly, many years ago,
when asked about my profession, I said: “Professor”. That was accepted by
the Russians as a matter of course. But once, when I replied “writer”, the
reaction was totally different. PisateV! people exclaimed with an expression of
awe. Since then I stick to “writer”, reaping great respect . . . ’.9

The high level of literary awareness in society in the final period of Soviet
rule was not merely the continuation of a tradition; rather it was society’s
attempt to find a universal channel of social communication which would
compensate for the absence of normal means of interaction. The literary
scholar M. Chudakova diagnosed the problem precisely: ‘For many years,
our economic, sociological, philosophical and historical thought could not get
into print — and so literature took on the function of thinking philosophically,
analysing the economic situation, explaining historical events .... Literature
filled the place left by everything from consumer goods to scholarship ....
Events of all sorts were concentrated into literature, as everything else was
uneventful.’ 10

Our research in the 1970s and 1980s demonstrated how reading always
topped the list of cultural priorities. In response to free-choice questions such
as ‘What do you like doing most in your free time?’, or ‘If you had more
free time, what would you do with it?’, 70-80% of respondents would always
answer ‘reading’.11 Irrespective of the actual life-style of different groups,
reading had a symbolic value and served as a sort of cultural yardstick.
(It is significant that nowadays, when responding to analogous questions,
respondents mostly mention mundane, essential activities — watching televi¬
sion, working for extra money, housework, and so on. Reading is mentioned
alongside these activities. With the normalisation of life, reading is losing its
status as a cultural value, is no longer a marker of being ‘highly cultured’ and
is becoming a part of everyday life).

Under censorship, distinctive reading strategies developed. When reading
openly-published literature, intellectuals engaged in a sort of decoding of the
text, aware of the nuances of euphemism, subtext, context, etc. The readers
endeavoured to ‘read between the lines’, sometimes discovering more than the
author had actually intended to say.12

9 Mehnert (note 6), p. 41.

10 M. Chudakova, ‘Ne zasloniat'sia ot rearnosti’, Literaturnaia gazeta, 9 January 1991.

1 1 Kniga i chtenie v zhizni nebol'shikh gorodov. Po materialam issledovaniia chteniia i chitatel' skikh
interesov (Moscow, 1973), p. 283.

12 V. Kharlamov, ‘Spetstainy otechestvennoi kul'tury’, Sovetskoe bibliotekovedenie, 1992, 3-4,
pp. 1 16-17.

Solanus 1996

As for illegal texts, they were passed from hand to hand in a very short
time depending on their size — from two to three hours up to several days.
This activity was not really reading in the conventional sense; rather it should
be seen as a distinctive form of social activity, as a means of protest, of self-
assertion, of demonstrating one’s personal point of view, identifying oneself
with a certain social or cultural group and so on.

Nowadays the development of normal information and social systems, free
of arbitrary dictation and party and state control, has deprived literature of its
peculiar role as a substitute. For the first time in two centuries, Russian culture
is no longer centred on literature. The destruction of this literary tradition is
seen by many, particularly the intelligentsia, as a ‘cultural catastrophe’ and
‘a return to barbarism’. Writers and artists, losing their role as ‘prophets in
their own country’, are bewildered and perplexed. Some are unable to bear
not being needed and have become part of the aggressive opposition. Others
have honestly admitted that in Soviet times it was harder for them to work,
but it was more interesting.

The Reading Repertory

Control over readers is possible only where the state has a complete monopoly
of book publishing and distribution. In the 1970s and 1980s such a system,
typical of a totalitarian state, was finally in position, and state publishing com¬
prised over 80% of all printed output. At this time reading was widespread,
with high activity levels.

Table One

As a percentage of the adult population

Regularly read newspapers 75-80%

(At least several times a week)

Regularly read books 50-60%

(At least one book a month)

Use public libraries 53%

of which, in urban areas 49.2%

in rural areas 62.9%

Source: Kniga i chtenie v zerkale sotsiologii (Moscow, 1990), pp. 16, 17, 19.

Inevitably, as new cultural contingents came along and readers’ demands
broadened, there was a strengthening of the policy of standardisation and
restraint. Even official statistics demonstrate that by the mid-1980s the range
of books published was expanding only slightly. The number of book and jour¬
nal titles was almost the same as in the 1960s: in 1985 it was only 106% of the
1960 figure and 104% of that for 1980. 13 There has been a consistent reduc¬
tion in the production of journals and other serials (collections, bulletins, etc.),

13 Pechat' SSSR v 1985 godu: statisticheskii sbornik (Moscow, 1986), pp. 9-10.

Reading in the Context of Censorship

which are the most innovative sort of publication.

Table Two

1970 1980 1985

Number of journals and other serials 5968 5236 5180

(excluding newspapers), in thousands of
titles published

Source: Pechat' SSSR v 1985 godu: statisticheskii sbornik (Moscow, 1986), p. 104.

Restrictions on the range of reading available to the reader were imple¬
mented in two ways — with the aid of pre-publication censorship of state pub¬
lishing and through the withdrawal from libraries and the book sale network
of books which had been published legally. It is not yet possible to generalise
about Glavlit’s cumulative lists and orders relating to individual authors or
publications.14 However, individual examples give an indication of the scale
of the activity of the censorship authority. Thus, there were over 8,000 titles
in the second part of the ‘List of books to be withdrawn from libraries and the
book trade network’. (Librarians called it the ‘main’ list). There were over 600
names in the 1969-1976 list of authors, all of whose works were to be with¬
drawn from the open collections. In many cases there were explanatory notes
alongside the names of forbidden authors, such as ‘a White Guard publica¬
tion’, ‘worked on literature under the Germans’, ‘nationalist’, ‘Jewish writer’,
‘plays in Hebrew’. Authors listed included Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Vladimir
Maksimov, R. Garaudy, Andrei Siniavskii, Viktor Nekrasov, Aleksandr Glad¬
ilin, Efim Etkind and others. Even in the late 1980s, after the initial opening-
up of the spetskhrans, there were 56 titles in the ‘List of emigre serial titles
which must be stored and consulted in closed collections’, 46 titles in the ‘List
of emigre Russian-language serials which are completely restricted’, and 31
tides in the ‘List of emigre serials which are completely restricted’.15

Limiting the reading repertory was accompanied by a growth in the print-
runs of the literature which was permitted and approved. This policy was
based on a rather simple idea: the obligatory literary selection should be the
only one accessible to the whole of the country’s population. Particularly
favourable treatment was accorded to mass ideological works and literature
intended for the lesser educated and middle-brow groups. Thus, one sixth of
all book production was devoted to political and socio-economic publications;
Lenin was the most frequently published author; Gor'kii was the most fre-

14 These official papers, kept in the former spetskhran of the Russian State Library, have not
yet been put into order and do not comprise an organized archive in which researchers might
work.

15 Supplements to Glavlit Order No. 1094 of 26.09.88 ‘On changes in the regulations for the
storage and use of previously restricted foreign publications’ (for official use only).

Solanus 1996

quently published literary writer; Lenin’s Tasks of the Youth Leagues was the
book which was published most often and in the biggest print-runs; Ostrov¬
sky’s How the Steel Was Tempered was the literary work which was published
most often and in the biggest print runs.16 There was discrimination against
all groups of readers, but it was directed primarily at the best-educated part
of society, the literary, social and scientific elite, who determined the dynam¬
ics of intellectual life. It was this particular group which, despite its constant
growth, was deprived of the possibility of publishing its work and having free
access to information, which inevitably resulted in mass de-intellectualisation
and a loss of high cultural standards, and a civilisation characterised by inertia.
The examples given below bear witness to the unequal treatment of different
groups in their access to culture, through the prohibition of certain authors
and types of literature and the unlimited issue of others.

Table Three (1966-1980)

Authors /Titles Number of editions Total print-run in

millions of copies

V. I. Lenin 5949 232

Marx and Engels 1017 41.9

Brezhnev (Autobiography) 228 32.0

Materials of the XXVI 39.4

Congress of the CPSU

Source: Knigoizdanie v SSSR: tsifry ifakty (Moscow, 1982), pp. 13-15.

Naturally the works of party leaders and documents from CPSU plenums
and congresses were clearly in the lead. But in order to explain what ‘being
published a lot’ meant for a writer in the USSR, consider these examples from
1980 to 1987 of the works of literary bureaucrats who enjoyed the support of
the state authorities:17

Table Four

Authors /Titles

Number of editions

Total print-run in
millions of copies

G. Markov:

Strogovy (novel)

1.500

Sol' zemli (novel)

2.349

Sibir' (novel)

1.700

S. Mikhalkov

39.695

A. Ivanov

6.460

P. Proskurin

9.800

Source: calculated from Ezhegodnik knigi SSSR 1980-1985 (Moscow, 1983-88).

16 Knigoizdanie v SSSR: tsifry i fakty (Moscow, 1982), pp. 13-15.

17 T. Zhukova, ‘Komu povem tsifir' svoiu?’, Knizhnoe obozrenie, 3 June 1988, no. 23.

Reading in the Context of Censorship

Compare these figures with those for the issue of the works of many other
authors who are the flower of Russian and world literature, but were prohibited
or not approved by the authorities:

Table Five (1980-1985)
Authors /Titles Number of editions

Anna Akhmatova 5

Andrei Belyi (in Estonian) 1

Nikolai Gumilev —

James Joyce 2

Evgenii Zamiatin —

Albert Camus 2

Franz Kafka —

Osip Mandel'shtam —

Vladimir Nabokov —

Boris Pasternak 4

Marcel Proust 1

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn —

Marina Tsvetaeva 9

Total print-run in
thousands of copies

216

140

450

596

Source: calculated from Ezhegodnik knigi SSSR 1980-1985 (Moscow, 1983-88).

Foreign literature was subject to particularly harsh pre-publication censor¬
ship. This problem has been researched in detail by Professor Marianna Tax
Choldin.18 Books on politics, international relations, sociology, philosophy,
cybernetics, semiotics, linguistics etc. were hardly ever published, and those
which did enter the country were immediately sent to the spetskhran. In the
mid-1980s foreign publications made up 80% of the stocks of the spetskhran
of the Lenin State Library of the USSR. The report on the work of the spets¬
khran explains that ‘this is to be expected, as the foreign holdings comprised
material expressing false, subversive imperialist propaganda’.

Publications from major foreign countries made up an insignificant propor¬
tion of state book publishing:

18 Marianna Tax Choldin, ‘Censorship via Translation: Soviet Treatment of Western Political
Writing’, in The Red Pencil: Artists, Scholars and Censors in the USSR (Boston, 1989), pp. 29-51;
‘Access to Foreign Publications in Soviet Libraries’, Reading and Libraries: Proceedings of Library
History Seminar VIII, 1990 (Austin, University of Texas, 1991), pp. 135-50; ‘The New Censor¬
ship: Censorship by Translation in the Soviet Union’, Journal of Library History , 21(2), Spring
1986, pp. 334-49.

Solanus 1996

Table Six

1975 1980 1985

Number of foreign books and pamphlets 3478 1889 2022

translated into Russian

As a percentage of total number of book 4% 2.3% 2.4%

and pamphlet titles published

Source: Pechat' SSSR v 1985 g: statisticheskii sbornik (Moscow, 1986), pp. 30-31;
Pechat ' SSSR v 1980 g: statisticheskii sbornik (Moscow, 1981), pp. 99-100; Pechat' SSSR
v 1975 g: statisticheskii sbornik (Moscow, 1976), pp. 62-63.

Such a policy excluded us from world scholarly communication and exacer¬
bated the technical and economic backwardness of the country. The essence of
the state’s book strategy consisted of forcing the public to read what was pre¬
scribed for it, not allowing people any space outside state control. The social
mechanisms of censorship and other forms of state control made cultural self¬
renewal impossible and turned the society into a closed structure incapable of
regulating itself or moving forward unaided, a society condemned to historical
defeat.

The Black Market

The natural reaction of the reading public was the urge to escape the bound¬
aries of what was permitted. A characteristic feature of this period was the
development of ‘shadow’, parallel forms of cultural life. One of these was the
black market in books. In the 1970s and 1980s, it was an active part of soci¬
ety, another world with its own values, in opposition to those of the official
culture and ideology. The years of the book ‘boom’ and desperate shortage
of books were those when the black market flourished. Buying books directly
from other people was how 34.6% of Soviet adults acquired books for their
own homes, and 68.4% of families living in major cities bought books only on
the black market.19 A special study of the range of books on the black market
was carried out by the Sector for the Sociology of Reading and Librarianship
of the Russian State Library in 1988. Of Soviet Russian and foreign literature
published in 1987, 1632 titles were selected; 347 of them (21.2%) were on
sale in the black market.20 On the black market, the most expensive categories
of books were:

— Russian literature from the late nineteenth and early twentieth cen¬
turies and Russian Soviet literature by authors such as Anna Akhmatova,
Osip Mandel'shtam, Boris Pasternak, Mikhail Bulgakov, Igor'-Severianin,

19 G. R. Iakimov, ‘Chernyi knizhnyi rynok v defitsitarnoi situatsii’, in Kniga i chtenie v zerkale
sotsiologii ( Moscow, 1990), p. 140.

20 Iakimov (note 18), p. 143.

Reading in the Context of Censorship

Aleksei Remizov, Fedor Sologub, etc. In the mid-1970s they were joined by
photocopies of the works of Nikolai Gumilev, Mikhail Kuz'min, Vladislav
Khodasevich and other books not reissued since the 1920s.

— The best examples of twentieth-century foreign literature which had rarely
been published in the USSR: Marcel Proust, Jorge Luis Borges, Dos Pas-
sos, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hermann Hesse, Thomas Mann {Joseph and his
Brothers ), etc.

— Tamizdat — works by prohibited Russian and Soviet authors in edi¬
tions published abroad — Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Boris Pasternak {Doctor
Zhivago ), Viacheslav Ivanov, and others. Those who traded in such books
dealt with a very limited group of trusted people.

— Religious books (the Bible, the Koran, the Talmud) and the works of
Russian religious philosophers: Vladimir Solov'ev, Nikolai Berdiaev, Vasilii
Rozanov, and others.

— Books on foreign philosophy, psychology and ethics published within the
USSR in very small editions and books in limited editions marked ‘For
academic libraries’.

— Books by Russian and foreign literary scholars, especially in structuralism
and semiotics: Iurii Lotman, Mikhail Bakhtin, Boris Eikhenbaum.

— Special series such as ‘The Library of the Literature of Antiquity’, ‘Litera¬
ture of the Renaissance’, ‘Literary Memoirs’.

— The works of Russian historians whose works had not been re-published
such as Kliuchevskii, Solov'ev and Karamzin.

— Reference books.

— Books on art and picture albums, especially those published abroad.

Clearly, the black market was the antithesis of official publishing. It was
directed towards readers’ actual requirements and it restored to society, albeit
only partially, that which the system had taken away.

Samizdat and its Readers

The term ‘samizdat’ appears regularly in works describing the social and cul¬
tural situation in the USSR in the 1960s-1980s. It is normally considered that
this phenomenon arose as a result of Khrushchev’s ‘thaw’. However, the tradi¬
tion of samizdat in Russia goes back to the ancient manuscript books (‘secret’,
‘underground’, ‘free’ literature). In the nineteenth century many things by
Pushkin and Lermontov were circulated in samizdat, as were articles by Tol¬
stoi. Researchers have defined certain periods when independent book pub¬
lishing flourished. Thus in the early twentieth century samizdat ‘became the
means of expression for the newest artistic ideas, a sort of test-bed where the
new art of book design tried out its strength’.21

21 E. Gollerbakh, ‘Preodolenie Gutenberga’, Iskusstvo Leningrada, 1989, 5, p. 32.

Solanus 1996

Samizdat started up in the Soviet period just as soon as revolutionary
censorship was introduced. Academician D. S. Likhachev, the authoritative
researcher in Russian culture and well-respected public figure, wrote: ‘Samiz¬
dat has always existed, I can remember samizdat from when I first learnt to
read’.22 Nevertheless, in Stalin’s time samizdat did not exist as a serious strand
in unofficial culture. Isolated cases of the creation and reading of underground
texts were marginal activities. There are a number of explanations for this. In
the 1930s-1950s the stratification of society and erosion of respect for the
regime had not become as clear or widespread as in later decades. Further¬
more, the Second World War facilitated the consolidation of society and the
strengthening of the authority of the ruling powers. In addition, the cruelty of
the repressive measures used to wipe out even the tiniest signs of dissidence
maintained an atmosphere of fear and apparent unanimity.

The samizdat23 of the 1960s-1980s was a completely different phenom¬
enon, both in terms of its scale and in the role it played in social life. Here it is
not a case of individual ‘subversive’ books or of literary schools in opposition
to the official aesthetic, but of a whole system for creating and distributing
information which had not been sanctioned by the state, and not controlled.
The distributors and readers of samizdat were no longer heroic individuals
on their own or tiny groups isolated from each other; rather, they were whole
sections of society for whom underground literature had become a guiding
principle, an antidote to the official ideology and culture. The samizdat of
the 1960s and 1980s became a sort of moral opposition to the regime and a
defence of the right of people to read what they wanted. Its distribution could
not be halted by any criminal sanctions — Article 70 of the RSFSR Crimi¬
nal Code on ‘Anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda, intended to subvert or
weaken Soviet power’ carried the penalty of six months to ten years in jail.
Writing about the second half of the 1960s, Iu. Levada and V. Sheinis stated:
‘The wave of samizdat gathered strength. Memoirs, historical research, liter¬
ary works, excerpts from books hidden in special collections — anything that
didn’t manage to get into print when the censorship eased slightly, ended up
in samizdat.’24

There is no statistical or sociological information on the reading of samizdat
at this time. Research ethics would not countenance the collection of such data
or even the recording of individual examples. Thus we must rely on experts’

22 D. Likhachev, ‘Merkurii’, 1988, no. 161.

23 In this case the term ‘samizdat’ is used to denote anything reproduced and distributed with¬
out official permission — the texts of unpublished books and articles, photocopies or typed copies
of books and journals published in the West (tamizdat), copies of publications from libraries’
spetskhrans, copies of books published in limited copies for the Central Committee of the CPSU
and other agencies, tape-recordings, etc.

24 Iu. Levada & V. Sheinis, ‘Pogruzhenie v triasinu. Akt pervyi: 1964-1968’, Moskovskie novosti,
13 noiabrya 1988, p. 9.

Reading in the Context of Censorship

assessments, the memories of contemporaries and our own personal experi¬
ences. Researchers nowadays studying samizdat generally define its coverage
by using terms such as ‘the whole country’, ‘everyone’, ‘throughout society’.
Nevertheless, samizdat was in fact typical of only one sector of society, that

is, the intelligentsia, which organised access to culture for itself and defined
the limits of its own spiritual freedom. Here we have in mind not merely
the well-educated section of society, but comparatively small groups making
up the social and cultural avant-garde, the upholders of the Russian cultural
tradition, who did not need to wait for official permission before they were
introduced to the works of ‘unsuitable’ authors, because ‘they themselves had
been printing and typing out these texts for many years past’.25 Even after
adding in the groups who passed samizdat from hand to hand and distributed

it, we can not speak of reading samizdat as being widespread. Suetnov, the
samizdat researcher and bibliographer, indicates that the initial ‘print-run’ of
an illegal book would be 15-20 copies and the final total no more than 200
copies. The spontaneous, unorganised monthly ‘print-run’ would be about
50,000 copies. On this basis Suetnov estimates that the readership for each
item might amount to 200,000 people.26 In view of the private nature of con¬
tacts within groups, their closed and narrow channels of communication, and
taking into account how labour-intensive the duplication of underground texts
was, it seems reasonable to conjecture that the sector within which the free
Russian press circulated numbered about two to two and half million peo¬
ple. But it must not be forgotten that despite being a tiny minority this was
the innovative sector which acted in opposition to the ruling powers and the
apparatus of repression, preserving society’s cultural and moral potential.

The samizdat repertory was very different to the type of material consulted
in the spetskhrans. Library issues were principally non-fiction scientific and
academic works, as in accordance with the ‘Instruction on Special Collections
of Literature in the Libraries of the USSR’, access to the spetskhrans was
restricted to readers who could demonstrate that these materials were ‘essen¬
tial for academic work and other special purposes’. This had to be confirmed
by a reference signed by ‘the supervisor and also by the head of the Special
Section of the applicant’s Party and voluntary organizations’. For example,
in the Lenin State Library of the USSR 61% of the works issued fell into
the following categories: books and journals On technical topics (16%), polit¬
ical economy and economics (15%), philology, bourgeois ideology, sociology
(10%), history of foreign countries (10%), history of the USSR, the Commu-

25 L. Gudkov & B. Dubin, ‘Literaturnaia kul'tura: protsess i ratsion’, Druzhba narodov, 1988,
2, pp. 183-84.

26 A. Suetnov, ‘Samizdat — novyi istochnik bibliografirovaniia’, Znanie — sila , 1990, no. 1, p. 82;
A. Suetnov, Spravochnik periodicheskogo samizdata (Moscow, 1990). 164 pp.; Moskovskie kollektsii
samizdata: spravochnik , sost. E. M. Strukova (Moscow, 1992). 275 pp.

Solanus 1996

nist Party of the Soviet Union of the Young Communist League (10%).

Documents distributed through samizdat were primarily articles and literary
texts of general political and social significance. There was a marked change
in their nature and composition around 1980. In the sixties and early sev¬
enties, samizdat was primarily literature, such as brilliant unpublished books
(e.g. Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago , the novels of Solzhenitsyn, Bunin’s diary),
the poetry of poets who had been prohibited, repressed or never published
(such as Osip Mandel'shtam, Anna Akhmatova, Nikolai Gumilev, Marina
Tsvetaeva, Iosif Brodskii) . There were copies of Russian translations of Hem¬
ingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls , Orwell’s 1984, Djilas’s New Class, Koestler’s
Darkness at Noon, and so on. Expert assessment suggests that over 300 works
were in circulation in samizdat then.27 This was the initial phase of re-thinking
our past and appropriating the cultural heritage which had been hidden from
society.

In the subsequent decade, it was primarily political samizdat which was pro¬
duced and read. There were philosophical works such as Aleksandr Zinov'ev’s
The Yawning Heights, bulletins and chronicles such as the Chronicle of Current
Events, which Andrei Sakharov saw as the greatest achievement of the human
rights movement, foreign emigre journals (e.g. Kontinent ), and also literary
works from the new wave of emigre writers (such as Maksimov, Kopelev,
Aksenov). The book which created the greatest stir in the whole history of
samizdat was Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago.

One of the most significant features of samizdat at that time was the devel¬
opment of uncensored periodicals. In the 1960s, samizdat journals had per¬
ished almost immediately. Even the best known, Sintaksis, published only
three issues. The readers of these journals were usually the close friends of
the editor and compiler. In the subsequent period, uncensored journals on
philosophy, religion, politics and literature (such as 37, Chasy, Mitin zhurnal)
acted as a magnet for different intellectual groups and furthered the differen¬
tiation of the readership for samizdat. They were published in Russian provin¬
cial towns as well as Moscow and Leningrad. These changes are evidence of a
new phase in the development of society. It was brought about by the growth
of independent public opinion and the formation of groups which began to
oppose the regime actively — the human rights movement. It was these groups
which took on the production and distribution of samizdat. The expansion of
these groups facilitated the self-realisation of unofficial culture and its institu¬
tionalisation. Significant features included:

— the creation of original texts, which had been rare in the samizdat of the
1960s;

— the widening range of documents and greater opportunities for their repro-

27 Iu. Mal'tsev, Vol'naia russkaia literatura 1955-1975 (Frankfurt-am-Main, Posev, 1976).

Reading in the Context of Censorship

duction, especially setting up channels through which manuscripts could
be sent to the West to be published and sent back to the USSR (tamizdat);

— the setting up of stable avenues of distribution within the USSR;

— improvements in technology for the reproduction of texts within the
USSR, the acquisition of printing capability and the beginning of the prac¬
tice of reprinting texts for a fee.

As a result, samizdat was distributed far more widely. The pressure of the
censor grew correspondingly, and repressive measures from the authorities
and the KGB became tougher. But they were unable to terminate samizdat. As
Lidiia Chukovskaia wrote in a letter to the Secretariat of the Writers’ Union,
‘Despite all the obstacles you have put in its path . . . Russian literature is alive
and will go on living’.28

Thus, by the mid-1980s the readership for samizdat was clearly differenti¬
ated. Its creators and the top layer of distributors merged with human rights
activists and were engaged in open opposition to the regime. For the other
groups, reading samizdat was a form of symbolic identification with the oppo¬
sition. Such reading did not help well-educated readers to lift up their heads
and start to take action. The double-thinking typical of homo sovieticus , so well
described by George Orwell, is clearly seen. The intelligentsia, driven by self-
preservation and the desire to work, took part in official Soviet life and publicly
approved the actions of the authorities, while making up for it by reading for¬
bidden texts at home.

But nevertheless, in reading and thinking through ‘their own’ literature the
intelligentsia worked out alternative models of social behaviour and culture.
These models were not intended for society as a whole. This was culture for
themselves and their own circle. Under Stalin, when informing was the norm,
contacts between people were kept to a minimum. The intensive contacts
of intellectuals in the 1960s- 1980s were centred on illegal books — receiving
them, reading them, handing them on, copying and discussing them. This
form of social interaction took place within a widening pool, but nevertheless
was restricted to a closed circuit of people who thought the same way. Read¬
ing illegal texts was a demarcation line dividing the intellectual avant-garde
from the general reader. Beyond these islands of freedom was a different real¬
ity where another sort of literature ruled and where — as Orwell predicted —
ignorance was strength.

The Mass Reader

In the mid-1980s, the general reading public comprised about 161,200,000
people, of whom about 40-50 million could be called active readers in the

28 As cited in L. Alekseeva, Istoriia inakomysliia v SSSR: noveishu period (Vilnius, Moscow:
Vest', 1992), p. 238.

Solanus 1996

opinion of experts.29 This enormous audience of readers lacked the cultural
depth required to find their own way in literature and had no access to the
channels through which unofficial texts were distributed. The mass reader
had to be content with the selection offered by state publishers. As was shown
above, this comprised only a limited range of books and a restricted choice
of authors, the so-called ‘books for the general public’. For these readers, the
censorship and the whole ideological apparatus constructed an artificial cul¬
tural universe, regulated, well-ordered and confined.

Surveys of readers and the analysis of demands from mass libraries users
which we carried out in the 1970s and 1980s show that fiction, poetry and
plays were the most popular — a 1986 survey found that 91% of library users
read these books. 63% of library members used literature on socio-economic
and political problems, but this included textbooks and articles essential for
their studies and books closely related to fiction, such as historical memoirs.30
Mass ideological literature, issued in enormous quantities, was a dead weight
in libraries’ bookstocks — 80% of such books which mass libraries acquired
were never used once.

The most popular authors were modern Soviet writers:

Table Seven

As a percentage of all books being read at the
time of the survey

Pre-revolutionary Russian

Modern Soviet

Foreign classics

Modern foreign

Source: Kniga i chtenie v zhizni nebol'shikh gorodov: po materialam issledovaniia chteniia i
chitatel' skikh interesov (Moscow, 1973), p. 78.

Note the poor showing of foreign literature. Soviet book publishing, which
was reflected in the selections made by the mass reader, supported the publi¬
cation of a limited range of foreign classics — Balzac, Zola, Theodore Dreiser,
Galsworthy, Jack London (the most heavily published foreign author in the
USSR). The publishing of contemporary foreign authors was very limited.
There was a very narrow range of authors selected, and the print-runs were
insufficient to allow distribution to the general public. As a result, this group
did not develop a taste for foreign writing and were often not even interested
in it: ‘Soviet literature is closer to life, more truthful, closer to people’s lives.
It’s ours!’; ‘Why should I read foreign writers? I live on Soviet soil. Foreign

29 Gudkov & Dubin (note 23), p. 178.

30 Chtenie v vashei zhizni (po itogam sotsiologicheskogo issledovaniia v gorodakh RSFSR) (Moscow,
Gosudarstvennaia biblioteka SSSR im V. I. Lenina, 1988), p. 33.

Reading in the Context of Censorship

writers’ views on life are alien to us!’; ‘Foreign writers write about the capital¬
ist way of life. What can we learn from capitalism? But our books always teach
you something!’ (from survey responses).

Another feature of reading in the 1960s and 1970s was the concentration
of reader interest on a limited range of fiction — historical novels, books on
World War Two, detective stories, science fiction. Nevertheless, the range of
authors read was reasonably broad. In the last decade of Soviet power, a small
group of officially approved authors emerged, the so-called ‘literary generals’.
At that time, the bestsellers were the authors of Soviet epic novels (A. Ivanov,
P. Proskurin), who created a specific genre of Soviet fiction. The primitive
story-line was set against an artificially constructed historical background.
The readers could escape the insignificance of their own lives and imagine
themselves participating in important historical events and playing a signifi¬
cant role as an individual.31 These authors, who were published in massive
editions every year, blocked readers’ access to other literature and filled up
ordinary readers’ allocation of reading matter.32

However, even with such large print-runs, the general reading public was
not satisfied. Even official figures admitted that on average only 40% of reader
demand was satisfied. The book shortage was keenly felt in the ‘middle-brow’
groups of readers. This is not to say that mass culture did not exist in the
USSR. It did, but in a specific variation with its own ideological features.
Soviet literature did not fit the formula of mass culture. Its goal was not
entertainment and relaxation, but brainwashing intended to inculcate Soviet
ideology into the public’s mind. It was heavily politicised, using ideological
symbols — ‘us and them’, ‘friends and enemies’, ‘socialism and capitalism’,
and so on. It lauded the cult of work in the name of the State and derided rest
and relaxation. In this sense, Soviet mass literature was simply bad literature,
but issued in huge print-runs. A whole range of standard genres was absent in
Soviet mass literature — women’s fiction, melodrama, comics, etc. There were
severe limitations on detective stories, science fiction, adventure stories. One
could buy these books only on the black market, where they cost the equiva¬
lent of the average monthly wage.

Ulus, it was not only ‘high’ literature which was subject to censorship. Mass
literature was dismissed as ‘false propaganda for a hostile ideology and the
bourgeois way of life’. Some elements of the unofficial culture created by the
educated elite did filter down to the wider public, such as political jokes or
tapes of the songs of Vysotskii and Okudzhava. But basically the behaviour
of the general reading public under censorship and ideological restriction was

31 For more information, see L. Gudkov, and B. Dubin, Literatura kak sotsial'nyi institut. Stat'i
po sotsiologii literatury (Moscow, 1994), pp. 126-41.

32 Between 1976 and 1985 reprints increased from 6% to 20%; according to the Soviet press
this was ‘in accordance with readers’ requests and requirements’.

Solanus 1996

different to that of the intellectual avant-garde. These readers did not know,
and could not know, what they were missing. The general reading public
accepted and believed the official line on their superiority over other coun¬
tries and times, expressed in slogans such as ‘The Soviet people are the best-
read people on earth’ and ‘The USSR is a great book power’.33 In this sense,
the Soviet reader constructed by the slogans was not merely a slogan but did
exist — it came to coincide with the readers’ own assessment of themselves.

Furthermore, the official ideology instilled in the public mind the belief that
any anti-Soviet action, including reading samizdat, was an act of treason, a
betrayal of one’s own people. As a result of this policy, ‘since the nation is
forced to regard free writings as unlawful, it becomes accustomed to regard
what is unlawful as free, freedom as unlawful, and what is lawful as unfree. In
this way censorship kills the State spirit.’ 34

Conclusion

In 1990 the USSR Supreme Soviet passed the law ‘On the press and other
means of mass information’. Its first article — Freedom of the press — states:
‘The press and other mass media are free .... The censorship of mass media
shall not be permitted.’ 35 However, even after the enactment of this law, one
which was so significant for Russian society, there have been several attempts
at introducing preventive censorship. Examples include the State Committee
for the State of Emergency (GKChP) order during the August 1991 Coup
or the creation in early 1995 of a special body to interpret information on
the war in Chechnia. Public opinion is being manipulated, if not with the
aim of justifying Soviet censorship then at the very least to downplay its fatal
role in society over seven decades. Thus, numerous researchers suggest that
the regulatory function of censorship had a positive result in encouraging the
illegal distribution of texts on a large scale. It is claimed that the explosion of
publishing in the second half of the 1980s was an explosion of affirmation —
official approval of what had already been chosen and read by the reading
public.

As soon as library spetskhrans were opened, two ideas began to circulate in
the library profession: one stressed the positive role of the closed collections
in saving the nation’s cultural heritage from destruction, the other argued that
their existence did not entail any real infringement of readers’ rights, as any-

33 For more details, see Sovetskii prostoi chelovek. Opyt sotsial'nogo portreta na rubezhe 90-kh.
(Moscow, 1992), p. 13.

34 Karl Marx, ‘Debates on Freedom of the Press . . . ’, in Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels,
Collected Works , vol. I (London, Lawrence & Wishart, 1975), pp. 132-81, p. 168.

35 ‘O pechati i drugikh sredstvakh massovoi informatsii. Zakon Soiuza Sovetskikh Sotsialistich-
eskikh Respublik’, Izvestiia , 20 iiunia 1990 g. Translator’s note: English translation available in
W. E. Butler, ‘The New Soviet Law on the Press’, Solanus , 5, 1991, pp. 167-76.

Reading in the Context of Censorship

one who really needed access could get it. All these and similar arguments
are myths created and circulated by those groups which were involved in the
activities of the censorship and ideological authorities. They hope to use these
interpretations to justify their actions to the people or to shift to others the
responsibility for their own weaknesses and mistakes.

Today there are claims that it was the constant struggle against the censor
which helped our culture develop its unique traits. But this battle against the
regime was a great tragedy for our literature. The intellectual potential of the
nation was diverted from its proper purpose into the destruction of the system,
not the creation of spiritual treasures. In this struggle talent degenerated, gifts
were wasted, and projects turned to dust.

In Soviet totalitarian society censorship could not be anything but a mighty
hindrance to social, cultural and economic development. Attempts to rein¬
troduce censorship or to justify it prove that democracy has not yet become
the norm for Russian society and that the power of the state still does not
guarantee constitutional rights and the freedom of the individual.

Translated from Russian by Jenny Brine

The Manipulation of the Polish Book Market 1944-89:
A Study of the Preconditions for the Development
of the Consumer-Led Market of the 1990s

Janet Zmroczek

Introduction

The paper looks at the development of the book market in Poland in the Com¬
munist period with a view to providing a historical framework for understand¬
ing the state of the book market in Poland today. It analyses ideological inter¬
pretations of the concept of the book market in the PRL (the People’s Repub¬
lic of Poland) and their application, highlighting the problems which resulted
from attempts to deny the importance of market forces, which were deemed
incompatible with the socialisation of culture. It examines the nature of pub¬
lishing, bookselling and relations between writers and readers in the resulting
system. The role of popular literature during this period is considered as the
most acute example of consumer-led culture’s attempts to survive in a hos¬
tile environment. The final section of the paper shows the cyclical nature of
debates about the commercialisation of culture which contribute to the cur¬
rent failure of interested parties to come up with a model for a new publishing
policy for Poland in the 1990s.

The Concept of the Book Market in the PRL

Dr Cybulski’s 1981 definition1 of the book market as the totality of book buy¬
ers and booksellers, including publishers, wholesalers, bookshops and other
retailers, and both individual and corporate book buyers, is hardly controver¬
sial, but the concept of the book market in Poland before 1989 was by no
means a neutral or indisputable one, shaped as it was by changes in the ideo¬
logical climate. This is particularly true when it comes to looking at the matrix
of relationships between these participants.

In capitalist systems, market mechanisms serve as regulators of the pro¬
duction and circulation of books for a general readership, but in Poland after

1945, publishing was destined to become a fundamental element in the social-

isation and institutionalisation of culture in which market mechanisms had no
place. The first part of this paper seeks to analyse the causes of the basic
mismatch throughout the communist era between supply and demand on the
Polish book market. The purpose of re-examining this historical background

1 Radoslaw Cybulski, ‘Studies of the Book Market and Studies on Readership’, in International
Seminar: Books and Library [sic] in Society. Warsaw-Radziejowice, 15-21 June 1980 (Warsaw, 1980),

The Manipulation of the Polish Book Market

is to establish whether the problems which arose were the result of simple mis¬
management or a fundamentally flawed system which impacts on the book
market in Poland today.

In the early years of Communist power, in order to meet the enormous
hunger for books and other reading matter resulting from the rebuilding of
the educational, industrial and institutional infrastructure after the devasta¬
tion of WWII and the successful campaign to combat illiteracy, it became
obvious that it would be necessary to reach some sort of temporary accommo¬
dation with existing private pre-war publishers in order to make use of their
expertise and technical and material resources. As an interim measure some
elements of private publishing would have to be allowed to continue their oper¬
ations. Private book publishers represented far less a danger than private press
barons. Thus early efforts were concentrated on institutionalising the press,
while free market principles in book publishing were allowed to survive for
some 4-5 years after the Communists came to power,2 subject only to grad¬
ual elimination. However the authorities and their spokespersons never lost
sight of this paradox and were vituperative in their attacks on the perceived
evils of private publishing. In 1948 Bromberg described the situation thus: ‘at
the moment the book is the only essential item without a regulated maximum
price . . . the market is governed by the laws of supply and demand with all the
elements of capitalist chaos’.3 4 Even the terminology used sought to highlight
the discrepancy between old and new ideologies: in the same year, 1948, the
word ‘market’ or rynek in the publishing or bookselling context was consid¬
ered unacceptable, a dirty word tainted with all the associations of capitalist
exploitation. It was rapidly replaced by the term ruch wydawniczyf meaning
‘publishing movement’ and thus implying ‘participation’ in culture, distancing
publishing from capitalism and all its evils.

The actual process by which almost total control was achieved during the
period 1944-49 is the subject of Kondek’s excellent book, Wladza i wydawcy .5
Thereafter, the production and circulation of books was no longer subject to
the usual forces of supply and demand but to the programme needs of the rul¬
ing Communist Party which harnessed publishing along with all other aspects
of cultural life to ensure the maintenance of political power. Instead of striving
for financial profit, publishing was to function, according to Anna Kamienska,
as ‘a guarantor of the prevailing political system’.6 Profit was to be purely
political and ideological: ‘the book became a weapon in the class struggle . . . ’

2 Adam Bromberg, Ksiqzki i wydawcy (Warsaw, 1993), pp. 7-23.

3 Adam Bromberg, ‘Zagadnienia planowania wydawmczego’, Nowe drogi , 7, 1948, p. 96.

4 Stanislaw Adam Kondek, Wladza i wydawcy (Warsaw, 1958), p. 17.

5 Kondek (note 4).

6 Anna Kamienska, ‘Glos w diskusji o czytelnictwie’, Kuznica , 1948, nr. 25, p. 5.

Solanus 1996

with ‘content which addressed itself to the building of socialism’.7 As a result,
for the first fifteen years or so of the new order in Polish publishing, it was
the prerogative of the state to dictate to readers what their needs and wishes
should be, rather than asking them what they actually were. From the late
1950s onwards journalists, publicists and academics, aware of the pitfalls of
this approach, tried, with varying degrees of success, to influence the authori¬
ties to take into account the actual needs and wishes of readers, to bring about
a readers’ or buyers’ market as opposed to a publishers’ or sellers’ market.8

Outline of the Publishing Industry 1950-89

Whilst the Polish industry was never as ‘perfect’ as the Soviet model, until the
development of the drugi obieg or ‘second circulation’ of independent publish¬
ing in 1976, the authorities penetrated all aspects of the publishing industry
ranging from control of content by means of censorship and patronage to regu¬
lation of the technical and economic aspects of the industry. Kondek classifies
the methods used as ‘directive’, e.g. commands, prohibitions and sanctions,
and ‘parametric’, e.g. distribution of paper resources, access to printing works
and the regulation of distribution systems.9

The first half of the 1950s was the period of the heaviest control of the pub¬
lishing industry. The first five-year plan strove for centralisation and reduced
the number of publishers to around thirty, to facilitate control. This was exer¬
cised from 1951 onwards by the Centralny Urzqd Wydawnictw, Przemyslu
Graficznego i Ksi^garstwa (Central Office of Publishing, the Typographical
Industry and Bookselling). The aim was to have just one publisher in any par¬
ticular field such as Pahstwowe Wydawnictwo Muzyczne for music and Nasza
Ksiegarnia for children’s books. This eliminated competition and minimal
effort was required to prevent duplication. However due to the many opposing
practical and ideological demands made of the newly organised industry in the
early fifties, despite record high print-runs, consumer demand was not met.
The hunger for Polish classics remained and attempts to fill this gap included
highly subsidised series such as the Biblioteka Prasy, available only to those
who subscribed to Party newspapers. Huge subsidies made the running of
publishing on an economic footing impossible — books often cost less than the
paper on which they were printed: a novel cost the equivalent of two packets
of cigarettes, an academic work, four. The attempt to decommercialise culture
put too great a strain on resources, as did huge runs of propaganda material
which nobody wanted to read. The thirteen-volume works of Stalin, for exam¬
ple, were published in a print-run of 1,800,000, whilst school textbooks and

7 Stefan Zolkiewski, O kulturze Polski Ludowej (Warsaw, 1964), p. 132.

8 See, for example, Witold Adamiec, ‘Coraz dalej od ksi^zki’, Tygodnik kulturalny, 5, 1981,
p. 7.

Kondek (note 4), p. 16.

The Manipulation of the Polish Book Market

scientific and technical textbooks vital for the reconstruction programme were
in acutely short supply.

The situation began to change in 1956 when, in the climate of the post-
Stalinist thaw, cultural policy had to be re-examined. New and more realistic
paper, printing and postal charges were introduced, leading to an increase in
book prices of ca 40%. 10 Publishers no longer had the guarantee, from 1958,
that their entire production would be bought by the state wholesaler. As a
result the period 1957-61 saw a levelling off in output, due in part to some
curtailment of the huge runs of propaganda. In terms of content of publishing
there was greater diversification— a growth in the number of history and eco¬
nomics texts and a flowering of new subjects such as sociology and psychology.

Decentralisation allowed the development of publishing houses outside the
centres of Warsaw and Krakow and links were once again possible with the
outside world via bookfairs, the buying of rights from abroad, etc. Publishers
were encouraged to take a more creative interest in their work, to seek out
new writers and to identify or commission new quality texts, though all, of
course, within various strict limits. However, the 1960s began with the low¬
est book production statistics since the war.11 While paying lip service to the
importance of literature in society, the authorities did little to improve pro¬
duction in real terms. Writers such as Gorski, Hertz, Rudnicki and Wankow-
icz, who signed a letter of complaint to Cyrankiewicz in 1964 — the famous
List 3 4 12 — criticising the pitiful production statistics and the heavy-handed
censorship, later had trouble publishing their works. Cosmetic attempts were
made to bolster production figures by increasing the number of titles but at the
expense of numbers of copies. The late 1960s and early 1970s saw criticism
from all quarters of the lack of availability of books and the failure of govern¬
ment policy to satisfy reader demand. A major reappraisal of future policy was
clearly needed and some commentators greeted the decision to dissolve the
Centralny Urzgfl Wydawnictw and replace it in 1970 with the Zjednoczenie
Przedsiebiorstw Wydawniczych, Naczelny Urzqd Wydawniczy, as a positive
step towards improved running of the publishing industry. The Zjednocze¬
nie Przedsiebiorstw Wydawniczych had as its brief to monitor, coordinate and
direct the whole area of publishing including the drawing up of publisher pro¬
files, forecasts, policies for reprints and translations, adjustment of plans bet¬
ter to meet the need of schools and higher educational institutions and to raise
die standards of editorial work. In practice, contrary to the desires of the pub-

10 Lucjan Bilinski, Zarys rozwoju ruchu wydawniczego w Polsce Ludowej (Warsaw, 1977), p. 25.

11 For more information about output figures see Maria Czarnowska, ‘Dynamika ilosciowego
rozwoju ksi^zki polskiej 1944-73: zestawienie retrospektywne’, in Ruch wydawniczy w liczbach
1944-75 (Warsaw, 1975), pp. 7-13.

12 See Jerzy Eisler’s monograph on the subject, List 34 (Warsaw, 1993), and Marta Fik’s article,
‘My, nizej podpisanej’, Nowa Respublica, 5 (68), maj 1994, pp. 21-25.

Solanus 1996

lishers for greater autonomy, the new organisational structure brought greater
centralisation in decision-making.

1972 was UNESCO International Year of the Book and, shamed by
Poland’s appearance in last place in the table of book production in the social¬
ist bloc, as predicted by Skornicki at a meeting of the Polskie Towarzystwo
Wydawcow Ksiqzek the year before, ambitious plans were announced to rec¬
tify the situation. For 1972-4, 30 million convertible zloty were designated for
new printing equipment. The 5-year plan for 1971-5 envisaged an increase in
copies published of over 50% from the 535 million published in 1966-70. 13
This was to be achieved by the building of new printing works at Poznan,
Radom and Gdansk and the modernisation of existing plants. In 1972 book
production amounted to 3.5 copies per head of the population per year — by
1975 this was nearly to double.14 The plan envisaged complete satisfaction of
reader demand by 1980. Extra paper would be allocated for reprints of clas¬
sic and contemporary literature which in 1972 accounted for only 25% of all
titles published. In 1973 new agreements were drawn up between printers and
publishing houses and between booksellers and publishers in an attempt to
introduce greater mutual accountability.15 It was well-known that despite the
so-called paper shortage printing houses were often unable to meet publishers’
deadlines as they were too busy printing colourful packaging for export goods.
It was planned to draw up a list of literary works in constant demand and to
try to ensure their permanent availability. However by the mid-seventies there
was little sign of dramatic improvement.

In his detailed analysis of the successes and failures of Polish publishing pol¬
icy in the 1970s, Witold Adamiec16 drew attention to the fundamental failings
of publishing in this period, highlighting the constant failure of publishing
output to keep up with the promises made by the policymakers, the lack of
accountability of publishers to readers’ actual needs and Poland’s regression
in terms of output in comparison with other countries. In the period 1955-
70, publishing output in the USA grew by a factor of six, in Czechoslovakia
and France it doubled, but in Poland it multiplied by one-and-a-half times
only. In 1980 overall book production in terms of titles was only 14% higher
and in terms of copies only 12% higher than in 1971. The failure to meet the
demand for children’s books was a particular cause for concern, and in 1979
33% fewer children’s titles were published than in 1971. The poor repertoire

13 Jan Okopieri, ‘Ruch wydawniczy 1972’, Rocznik literacki, 1974, p. 595.

14 Okopieri (note 13).

15 See, for example, Jan Okopien, ‘Naczynia pol^czone’, Kultura (Warsaw), 10, 1974, p. 10,
and ‘Wci^z jeszcze glod ksi^zki’, Litery, 11, 1973, p. 3.

16 Witold Adamiec, ‘O dost?pnosci ksi^zki w latach siedemdziesi^tych’, Rocznik Biblioteki Nar-
odowej , XVII-XVIII, 1981-2, pp. 133-157. This was written in response to a relatively upbeat
article by Witold Stankiewicz and Stanislaw Siekierski, ‘Ksztaltowanie si? polityki wydawniczy w
minionym trzydziestoleciu’, Rocznik Biblioteki Narodowej, X, 1974, pp. 77-105.

The Manipulation of the Polish Book Market

was not compensated for by high print-runs.

There had been high hopes that the demand for books might, in part, be
met with the help of cheap paperback series which were hailed in the 1960s
and early ’70s as a potential saviour of the industry.17 However, the successful
implementation of a paperback publishing programme was scuppered by the
traditional inadequacies of the system: low print-runs, painfully slow printing
cycles and no speedy system for reprints.18 Some of the series which were
published were of dubious merit, but others were far more ambitious such as
the Biblioteka Klasyki Polskiej i Obcej which was published jointly by PIW,
Wydawnictwo Literackie and Czytelnik. The publishing of joint series had
been given a high profile, and in 1971, 21 titles were published in this series
in 1,150,000 copies. This was repeated in the following year. However, the
project was an example of gigantism whose fate was linked inseparably to the
‘doctrine of success’. It ultimately failed in its attempts to publish 400 titles
due to a lack of binding materials. Despite criticism from some quarters about
a lack of focus in the series, it was an example of an attempt to meet read¬
ers’ real needs which was thwarted in the usual way by the inadequacies of
the system. Many titles in popular series were published in such small print-
runs that libraries and individual readers were in direct competition for them.
Belles-lettres were frequently published in tiny print-runs of less than 500.
Only 50 books per year had a print-run of 100,000 and an average print-run
of 10,000 would satisfy the requirements of libraries only, so in order to make
books available to the public on any meaningful scale the print-run would have
had to be considerably higher.19

If the 1970s were difficult years for publishing, the crisis came to a head in
1981 when production fell back to the levels of the 1960s. Children’s books
were almost unobtainable from 1979 to 1981. The much vaunted excuse
of the paper shortage was frequently used but rarely believed. In 1981 at
the highly critical IV Plenum of the Zarzqd Glowny of the Stowarzyszenie
Ksi^garzy Polskich (Polish Booksellers’ Association) the myth was roundly
attacked: ‘Only 5% of the paper used in the country goes on books with 10-
1 1% used for newspapers and magazines. We have been promised that a rad¬
ical undertaking to use less paper will be made in other areas of the national
economy, especially in the administration. It has been promised that the Min¬
ister of Culture and Arts will have sole responsibility for paper and it will be
he who redistributes any savings in paper. So far nothing has come of these

17 See for example Biliriski (note 10), p. 34.

18 See examples of the debates about production cycles in Poligrafika: Zygmunt Stolarski, ‘Cykl
produkcji ksi^zek’, Poligrafika 8, 1958, pp. 19-23, and Roman Tomaszewski, ‘Cykl produkcyjny
ksi^zek literatury pi^knej’, Poligrafika , 3, 1962, pp. 19-21.

19 Jan Okopien, ‘Ruch wydawniczy 1971’, Rocznik literackie 1973, p. 562.

Solanus 1996

promises.’ 20 A black market in sought-after books thrived, with some tides
fetching ten times their cover price.

As a result of the crisis in publishing, it was decided in the early ’80s
to increase dramatically the print-runs of all books and especially children’s
books. In order further to disguise the crisis, huge numbers of broszury
were published on poor-quality newsprint, with shamefully poor standards
of graphic design. These would often include just one short story or essay but
served to boost statistics of titles published. Slim volumes of poetry in low
print-runs were another easy way to massage production figures. Meanwhile,
nothing was done to tackle fundamental problems.

Despite the crisis in publishing in 1981, the official publishing houses
were responsible for noteworthy books in the late 1970s and early 1980s.
Previously banned emigre writers such as Gombrowicz, Milosz, Wierzynski
and Hlasko who had been forced to publish abroad or underground were
reclaimed as classics and published by the state houses.21 The later 1980s saw
a major change in the nature of publishing output as state publishers, finan¬
cially squeezed by the introduction of the policy of samofinansowanie si§ (self¬
financing), began to abandon so-called ‘serious’ literature in order to publish
popular literature where the real profits were to be made. Due to a lack of
foreign currency to pay for rights few translations were published by the state
houses, but this gap was soon filled by pirates who cared nothing for interna¬
tional conventions.

Despite the clear failings of the state publishing system and the emergence of
a highly organised and successful counter-system of underground publishing,
Party thinking exhibited the mentality of an ostrich with its head in the sand,
reiterating the supposition that the ‘ ruch wydawniczy is the chief element of
the ideological front’ 22 rather than formulating serious proposals for a radical
rethink of publishing policy.

Outline of Bookselling, 1944-89

Having provided a brief sketch of the publishing industry to 1989, I can now
go on to examine the question of how the product of this industry reached,
or did not reach, its intended audience, by giving an outline of the book¬
selling industry over the same period. In the years 1944-49 the bookselling
industry rapidly revived and reestablished itself . The state encouraged the
development of ‘cooperative bookshops’ but they existed side by side with pri¬
vate booksellers. However in 1949 the decision was taken to nationalise the
whole bookselling industry and from 1950 onwards all bookshops were part

20 ‘O radykaln^ popraw? sytuacji ksi^zki i ksi^garstwa’, Ksiggarz, nr. 1, 1981, p. 3.

21 For an evaluation of what was published at this time, see Maria Danielewicz-Zielinska,
‘Intermezzo’, Kultura, 6/417, 1982, pp. 13-25.

22 ‘Ideowo-polityczna odpowiedzialnosc wydawcow’, Trybuna Ludu, nr. 48, 1984.

The Manipulation of the Polish Book Market

of the state enterprise Dom Ksiqzki.23 Private booksellers were squeezed out
of the market by a variety of measures culminating in the denial of access to
newly published material from the state-run wholesaler, the Skladnica Ksi^-
garska. The basic flaw of the newly centralised system was that Dom Ksiqzki
bought the entire print-run of every book on the day it came out and there¬
fore, whether the book sold or not was of no interest to the publisher. Writing
in the journal Ksiggarz in 1957 at the time of the post-Stalinist thaw, Stanisiaw
Malawski described the situation thus: ‘this is an organisation which indis¬
criminately buys the entire “market production” of the state and cooperative
publishing enterprises. This type of artificially created situation in our condi¬
tions has weighed heavily on the . . . development of bookselling.’ 24 The value
of books lying unsold in bookshops and storerooms was estimated to be twice
that of books sold.25 At the Plenum of the governing body of the Skladnica
Ksi^garska in 1957 demands were made that publishers should produce books
‘at their own expense and at their own risk’.26 It was not until 1958 that pub¬
lishers became responsible for the risks in deciding which titles to publish and
the size of print-runs. Booksellers at last had only to worry about selling the
number of copies they had actually ordered from the central wholesaler who
in turn took books from the publishers on a sale-or-return basis.2' After 1956,
Radoslaw Cybulski was one of the main proponents of the need to rehabilitate
the concept of the book market in order that bookselling could better fulfil its
cultural and social function.28 In a polemic with Kazimierz Malicki’s article29
designating bookselling as ‘Culture and not only commerce’, he wrote: ‘So
what’s the problem with this commerce? We must reconcile ourselves to the
fact that the commercial affinities of bookselling are entirely honourable and
nothing to be ashamed of . . . we must use the terms “book market”, “book
trade” and “sales” without embarrassment . . . the book is an unusual com¬
modity which is why the techniques of the book trade must be perfected in
order to improve the effective dissemination of culture.’ 30 Cybulski was also
a vociferous supporter of the need to establish proper, academically sound,
market research techniques for the book market.31 He differentiated how-

23 See Bilinski (note 10), pp. 1 1 1-1 12, and Stanisiaw Malawski, ‘Przemiany strukturalne ksiy-
garstwa w Polsce Ludowej’, Ksiggarz , nr. 1, 1957, pp. 4-7.

24 Stanisiaw Malawski, ‘Przemiany strukturalne ksiygarstwa w Polsce Ludowej (cz. 2)’, Ksi$-

garz, nr. 2, 1957, p. 40. <

25 Stankiewicz (note 16), p. 85.

26 ‘Uchwala Plenum ZG SKP z dnia 13 Wrzesnia 1957’, Ksiggarz, nr. 2, 1957 (front cover).

27 Krystyna Gol^biowska, Organizacja ksiggarstwa panstwowego zu PRL w latach 1950-79: praca
magisterska, Instytut Bibliotekoznawstwa i Informacji Naukowej UW [nr. albumu 90] (Warsaw,
1980), pp. 72-3.

28 Radoslaw Cybulski, ‘Rynek ksi^garski — ale jaki’, Ksiggarz, nr. 23/4, 1959, pp. 2-3.

29 Kazimierz Malicki, ‘Kultura i nie tylko handel’, Ksiggarz, nr. 4, 1963, pp. 46-7.

30 Radoslaw Cybulski, ‘Kompleks biednego krewnego’, Ksiggarz, nr. 2, 1964, pp. 79-80.

31 See, for example, Radoslaw Cybulski, Popyt na rynku ksiggarskim na tie przennan spoleczno-

Solanus 1996

ever between market research in capitalist countries, which sought to increase
profit levels, and those in socialist countries, which would be more concerned
with issues of quality and better satisfying reader demand in the interests of
cultural development.32 The 1960s and ’70s saw a massive increase in the
number of bookshops — from 1106 in 1958 to almost double that in 1979
(2030). 33 Much concern was expressed in the professional and popular press
about the need for a more active approach to sales of books, particularly to
people in the countryside with limited access to good bookshops.34 A vari¬
ety of initiatives were launched including a number of rural bookclubs, book
lovers’ circles, etc.

A useful summary of the basic problems faced by booksellers can be found
in the conclusion of Krystyna Gol^biowska’s doctoral thesis of 1980:

1. The Zjednoczenie Ksi^garskie asked for ca 1600-2000 titles per annum
to be reprinted, but in fact only 20% of these requests were realised;

2. Limits to print-runs due to lack of paper or printing facilities led to a loss
of ca 400 million zl. per year;

3. Print-runs for material in very low demand still often exceeded all possi¬
bilities of sales;

4. Only 45% of titles were published on time as a result of which readers
often lost interest.35

As a result of these shortcomings, in the case of sought-after books, book¬
sellers regularly received only a small proportion of the number of copies they
actually asked for, leading to bookshops being constantly criticised for lacking
attractive new stock. Distribution was a constant problem with these limited
numbers of desirable books often being sent to the area least in need of them.

Gol^biowska’s findings duplicate almost entirely the results of a survey car¬
ried out amongst writers in late 1971 and early 1972 by Zycie Literackie under
the title ‘The writer— the reader — the critics’, which repeated ad infinitum
writers’ dissatisfaction with the policy on reprints, along with excessively long
production schedules, paper shortages and outmoded printing works which
meant that even after acceptance by a publisher they could wait years to see
their works in print.

Complaints about the need for the size of print-runs to be more clearly
related to the marketability of books were closely linked to those about the
restrictive policy on reprints, which often meant that even if the author of a
bestseller was promised a reprint it would often not appear until the public

gospodarczych w Polsce Ludowej (Warsaw, 1966).

32 Radoslaw Cybulski, Ksiqzka wspdtczesna (Warsaw, 1986), pp. 16-33.

33 Gol^biowska (note 27), pp. 86, 133.

34 See, for example, Stanislaw Siekierski, Ksiqzka literacka (Warsaw, 1992), pp. 287-292.

35 Gol^biowska (note 27), p. 137.

The Manipulation of the Polish Book Market

had almost entirely lost interest in it. In general, reprints were seen as a carrot
waved before particularly obedient servants of the regime. Elzbieta Moraw-
iec describes how this applied to Wladyslaw Machejek: ‘suffice it to say that
ff equendy, a high print-run of one of his books had no sooner gone for pulp¬
ing, almost in its entirety, than the author would be signing a contract for the
reprint.’ 36 According to an analysis by Stanislaw Siekierski37 of titles sent for
pulping between 1945 and 1983, based on the records of the Skladnica Ksi$-
garska, 26,483 titles were pulped and 16,727 reduced in price. It should be
borne in mind that often only remainders of print-runs were pulped and no
data is available for actual numbers of copies which met this fate, yet it is still
worth noting that at a time when books were a deficit item, ca 10% of the total
titles published had part or all of their print-run pulped. 68% of these titles
were those published before 1957.

It is not unreasonable to assert therefore that probably the most charac¬
teristic feature of the book market in the PRL was a total mismatch between
publishing output and reader needs and demand: a mismatch in both quanti¬
tative and qualitative terms. This is not to totally undermine the achievements
of the system: the rebuilding of a devastated publishing industry after the war,
the successes of the literacy campaign, the subsidising of scholarly publica¬
tions which meant that they could be published at affordable prices, and the
absence of pornography and tabloid-style scandal-mongering in the press. Yet
the Communist system appeared unable to come up with any viable alternative
to the market mechanism to ensure that the output of the publishing industry
would find a reader.

Relationships Within the Book Market

Having looked at both the publishing and bookselling industries it is now pos¬
sible to look at more complicated questions about the nature of the book mar¬
ket, namely the nature of the relationships between publishers, writers and
readers. I do not intend to enter theoretical debates about the reception of lit¬
erature and the creative role of the reader,38 but rather to point out the practi¬
cal problems which arose in the absence of normal market conditions. Janusz
Lalewicz in 1976 stated: ‘the production and circulation of books has features
of the market and imposes roles connected with the exchange of goods on the
participants in the process of communication. One can hardly be a writer with¬
out becoming at the same time a supplier of texts for the publishing industry
and the producer of a product launched onto the market; it is impossible to be
a reader of literature without having become first a consumer of the product of

36 Elzbieta Morawiec, ‘W Zyciu (Literackim) i po Zyciu’, Arka , 37-38 (1), 1992, p. 107.

37 Siekierski (note 34), p. 298.

38 For a recent example of this type of discussion, see Janusz Dunin, ‘Literatura-natura-rynek’,
Teksty drugie, 3, 1994, 137-144.

Solanus 1996

the publishing industry’.39 Yet for many years, by attempting to negate the role
of market forces and failing to come up with any viable alternative regulatory
mechanism, the Polish book market functioned in a way which distorted the
relationship between writers, readers, publishers and critics. The market was
unable to play its essential role in ensuring that material which nobody wants
to read is not published. One of the most obvious ways for a writer to assess
his or her success is the number of copies sold — but due to limits on the size
of print-runs and an inefficient distribution system even this most primitive of
indicators failed to be meaningful. Adam Komorowski, writing in the maga¬
zine Student in 1981 about contemporary literature, stated: ‘For the first time
in Polish history the debutante finds himself [sic] certain of success .... Such
is the unsatisfied demand for books, and especially for contemporary Polish
prose, that the book market is in a position to devour every book. . . . the dis¬
appearance of a . . . market as a gauge of contact with the reader is leading to
the complete salving of the authors’ conscience . . . .’ 40

In this situation the author ceases to have any reason for responding to read¬
ers’ demands, wishes and desires. The relationship between writers and crit¬
ics was also distorted. To quote again from Komorowski: ‘Literary criticism
has become accustomed to acting in opposition to the hierarchies formed by
the market, but at the moment when these hierarchies completely fail to act,
deprived of one of its major points of reference it feels less sure of itself.’ 41
When the works reviewed by the critics are, in reality, often unobtainable
for the majority of potential readers, criticism can lose its raison d'etre and,
deprived of the verificatory role of the market, assume too important a role
in literary life which becomes dominated by cliques and coteries. This was
particularly dangerous in Poland before 1989, where what was published and
what could be reviewed was dictated by political appointees. Paradoxically, of
course, to the sophisticated reader used to reading between the lines, a poor
review was often a sign that the work was likely to be worth reading. This
essentially flawed matrix of relationships lies at the at the base of many of the
problems which afflicted the book market in the PRL.

The Contemporary Situation of Reading, the Debate about

High and Popular Culture and the Role of Popular Literature

Outside the conference room one does not have to go far to see how book¬
selling has become a successful commercial venture, with bookshops supple¬
mented by street stalls selling cookery books and dictionaries, romantic and
detective fiction, adventure blockbusters translated from English. Clearly the

39 Janusz Lalewicz, Literatura w epoce masowej komunikacji (Wroclaw, 1976), pp. 98-9.

40 Adam Komorowski, ‘Egoizm i terazniejszosci’, Student , 1981, cited by Marta Fik in Kultura
polska po Jalcie (London, 1989), p. 649.

41 Adam Komorowski, ‘Literatura rynku pozbawiona’, Zdanie , 1982, nr. 1, pp. 33-34.

The Manipulation of the Polish Book Market

onslaught of television/video culture and the tragic decline of public libraries
due to lack of state support has not resulted in the decline in reading so often
predicted. In fact, Jadwiga Kolodziejska states in a recent article that whereas
in 1985 41% of the population read no books at all, in 1992 this had fallen to
29%. 42 The wider availability of popular, light recreational literature has obvi¬
ously had a positive effect in encouraging reading, but concern is widespread
about the lack of other choices currently on offer. Andrzej Rosner, Director of
the Department of Books and Reading at the Ministry of Culture and Arts,
supports the opinion that popular literature has a positive effect in encour¬
aging reading, but expresses concern that in country areas where the fate of
library services has been particularly bleak there may be no other alternatives
available.43

Debates rage in the press about the decline of high culture, about the fate
and relevance of the literary canon as taught in schools and about the need
or otherwise for a national cultural policy. The issue of the book as an ele¬
ment of culture or as a commodity is very much alive in debates surrounding
the free market in books in Poland today. A letter in Tygodnik Powszechny at
the end of 1994 from a number of prominent literary figures laments the lack
of visibility of contemporary Polish literature, particularly that by new young
writers, on the current Polish book market amongst the sea of foreign litera¬
ture in translation. ‘A book market which functions only to support imported
titles and doesn’t introduce any new names itself, with time, becomes noth¬
ing more than a provincial “poor relation” on the world market, with nothing
of its own to offer.’ 44 Their suggestion that booksellers should more actively
promote new Polish literature is attacked in an article by the private publisher
and distributor Piotr Szwajcer, who began his career in the underground pub¬
lishing scene of the Solidarity era. In the 1960s and ’70s, the press was full of
claims from booksellers that they should be treated as a special case: ‘Book¬
shops are not ordinary shops, the status of this branch of trade is far higher
. . . the bookseller does not simply trade in books ... he is the inspiration
behind the organisation of the distribution of culture and education.’ 45 Szwa¬
jcer argues that in the realities of the ’90s this case is no longer tenable. He
commits what to some supporters of the ‘cultural mission’ theory of the book
market constitutes the ultimate heresy: ‘The book is, of course, a specific type
of commodity, but it is subject to and must be subject to certain laws of the
market in exactly the same way as margarine.’ 46 Compare this, for example,

42 Jadwiga Kolodziejska, ‘Reading and Libraries in Poland Today: Between Romantic Tradi¬
tionalism and the Free Market’, International Information and Library Review, 27, 1995, p. 50.

43 ‘Spada czytelnictwo, analfabetyzm jednak zanika’, Megaron, 9, 1994, pp. 6-7.

44 ‘Do ksi^garzy polskich’, Tygodnik powszechny, 51-52, 1994, p. 18.

45 W. Kobusinska, ‘Ksi^garskie dylematy’, Argumenty, 24, 1977, p. 9.

46 Piotr Szwajcer, ‘Apele i listy otwarte’, Notes wydazvniczy, 2, 1995, pp. 23-4.

Solanus 1996

with an article in the 1973 cultural journal Litery47 which decried the notion
that selling books was like selling carrots, or a similar theme in Argumenty
which stated that books cannot be treated like linen or underwear.48 Szwajcer
stresses that bookselling is a business with all the same overheads as any other
commercial enterprise and as such will stock those books which will sell most
profitably and quickly.

Popular Literature in the PRL

Ken Worpole, a British writer on culture and literature, describing the British
situation in the mid-1980s, wrote:

The notion that the publishing process — or rather the publishing
industry — is a kind of ethically powered machine which spends most of
its time idling, until somebody called a writer comes along clutching a
unique text to feed into it is quite wrong. The presses are always running
and the substantive work of publishing is deciding what to feed into them.

A significant proportion of this production is devoted to popular literature
. . . genre forms such as the detective novel , the heterosexual romance, the
war novel, the historical family saga, the utopias and dystopias of science
fiction and so on. Convention-bound and formulaic by definition, they fit
more readily into the increasingly rationalised production process of the
modern printing and publishing companies.49

So, in the PRL, in the absence of market mechanisms and the consumer’s
power to influence publishing policy, did popular literature, a clear expression
of a consumerist approach to literature, have a place in cultural policy? Which
historical factors have played a role in making the Polish reader embrace with
such enthusiasm the largely imported popular literature of the 1990s?

In the Slownik literatury polskiej XX wieku/j(} the entry for popular literature
(literatura obiegow popularnych ) characterises its post-war fate in Poland in four
periods. From 1945 to 1948, inter-war patterns persisted, but from 1949 to
1956 the official view of popular literature was one of hardline disapproval.
During this period it was viewed as ideologically harmful, summed up in the
phrase zla popularnosc. Due to the institutionalisation of publishing during this
period, popular literature survived only in a severely attenuated form. 1956-
81 was characterised by the development of new types of popular literature
influenced by other forms of mass culture, and from 1982 onwards the wider
spread of popular literature can be traced.

In the immediate post-war period the main source of light reading for the
masses, as in the pre-war era, remained serialised stories in newspapers. In

47 Litery (note 15).

48 M. Czerwinski, ‘Ksi^garnie czy sklepy z ksi^zkami’, Argumenty , 1 1, 1973, p. 8.

49 Ken Worpole, Reading by Numbers (London, 1984), p. 3.

50 Slownik literatury polskiej XX wieku (Wroclaw, 1992), pp. 577-587.

The Manipulation of the Polish Book Market

an attempt to win readers of this type of literature over to a more politically
acceptable diet of light reading, in Katowice, centre of Polish heavy indus¬
try, in 1946 it was decided to revitalise the pre-war Lodz weekly Co tydzieh
powiesc .51 I have decided to devote some time to examining this magazine
because it illustrates two features with important ramifications for publishing
as a whole in the PRL: firstly that of taking into account the demands of read¬
ers, and secondly the debate amongst the literary establishment as to whether
popular light literature for the purposes of entertainment deserved to be pub¬
lished at all.

The first issue of Co tydzieh powiesc contained the following statement of
intent:

We come to the reader with the most sincere desire to give him [sic] inter¬
esting, fascinating, light literature, free from ingredients such as pornog¬
raphy and the encouragement of criminal behaviour which were the order
of the day until 1939. We know that our task will not be easy, but we
believe that our readers will cooperate with us, sharing their opinions and
expressing their desires.52

The editorial board were true to their word and took seriously the task of
researching and responding to readers’ comments and preferences, publishing
letters both of praise and criticism, and taking these responses into account
when selecting new stories for publication. Co tydzieh powiesc aimed to com¬
bine entertainment with education and therefore ‘literary’ writers like Balzac,
Dostoevskii, Jack London and Tolstoi peppered the more standard adventure,
detective and other popular genres. With far more translations than original
Polish stories they did not strive for realism or relevance to everyday life; they
provided escapist light entertainment with a considerable degree of success.
However from 1948 as political conformity was imposed more rigorously on
all spheres of cultural life, the editors of Co tydzieh powiesc began to wind
down this interchange with its readers, bowing to Party demands for more
ideologically correct content. Gradually adventure, sensation and escapism
were forced to give way to political didacticism and the przygoda produkcyjna
(production adventure).53 In this altered form Co tydzieh powiesc lasted only
for another year, closing in 1949.

From the beginning, certain parts of the literary establishment had been
at war with the very concept of using precious paper and printing facilities
for such a low-brow purpose. Zdzislaw Hierowski writing in Odra in 1946
complained:

5 1 Jerzy Jastrz^bski includes a chapter on this magazine in his Czas relaksu: o literaturze masowej
ijej okolicach (Wroclaw, 1982), pp. 97-135. As I was unable to locate the original texts in London
or Warsaw, the references cited in notes 52, 54, 55 and 56 are taken from Jastrz^bski’s book.

52 Co tydzien powiesc, 1, 1946.

53 Jastrz^bski (note 51), p. 129.

Solanus 1996

Until recently, be it due to a lack of paper or other reasons, we were pro¬
tected against the return of the plague of pre-war fiction weeklies . . . now
we are going back to pre-war habits of bombarding the simple reader with
the worst sensational rubbish, given to him to read in hideous jargon and
monstrous style . . . before the war this activity was the province of specu¬
lators and grafters and who is doing it today? Why, the Literatura Polska
publishing house in Katowice.54

The editors of Co tydzien powiesc tried to defend their position, publishing
letters and commentaries justifying their approach. Helena Szpyrkowna wrote:

. . . the lack of adventure in grey everyday existence results in mass demand
for exciting reading which is all the greater the more a lack of excitement
is felt in the prevailing reality. Reading exciting books is a substitute for
experience. It is essential for the psychological well-being of the masses in
no less degree than the necessity of vitamins for physical well-being.55

It was suggested that rather than carping about the content, if established Pol¬
ish writers were truly concerned about the literary standards of the magazine
they would do better to submit their own works for publication there, rather
than to ‘elitist’ publishing houses whose books were far beyond the pocket of
the ordinary worker.

Yet many remained unconvinced. Przybos asserted that the ‘official at the
Ministry of Propaganda who allocated the paper and a licence to print Co
tydzien powiesc should be held responsible for cultural damage’.56

I consider this magazine to be an important example because it highlights
the perennial question of whether an intellectual elite can or should try to
adopt a paternalistic approach to the cultural development of the masses. Its
rapid demise after giving in to political pressures also demonstrates the naivety
and lack of political imagination, which abounded at the time, in assuming that
a cultural revolution can be orchestrated in the same way as the nationalisation
of heavy industry.

The closure of Co tydzien powiesc heralded the leanest period for popular
literature which lasted from 1949 to 1956, when, as Siekierski points out,
‘Literature intended for leisure reading was now deemed to be politically
harmful’.5' Attempts were made to brainwash readers into feeling guilty about
reading popular literature by attaching to it the reputation of being somehow
unseemly. The main escape route from a diet of contemporary socialist real¬
ism was via the perennial favourite amongst popular genres — the historical
novel of romance and/or adventure. This genre afforded far more freedom to
raise issues relating to Polish historical identity and fate, taking into account

54 Zdzislaw Hierowski in Odra, 36, 1946.

55 Helena Szpyrkowna, Co tydzien powiesc , 51, 1946.

56 Julian Przybos, Odrodzenie , 26, 1946.

5' Siekierski (note 34), p. 417.

The Manipulation of the Polish Book Market

the impact of various patriotic and democratic groupings, than was allowed in
writings on contemporary issues. An interesting example of this genre is the
case of Jozef Ignacy Kraszewski, not part of the literary canon as laid down
by the educational system or the critics, but as Siekierski puts it ‘a suprain-
stitutional myth’ 58 created at the end of the nineteenth century and passed
on from generation to generation. But even with the post-Stalinist thaw, ‘high’
and ‘mass’ culture were to a great extent perceived as being in opposition,
mass culture being viewed by intellectuals as an unworthy recipient of limited
funds and resources. As Zabski points out, one explanation for this attititude
is the threat which popular literature can be perceived to present to the estab¬
lishment:

It is the reader himself who is the all-powerful lord and master of popular
literature. He knows what he likes, has his own system of artistic values,
his preferences and favourites. He doesn’t care what the critics have to say,
he prefers the advice of friends, of ordinary readers like himself as to what
to read next. And what is more, it is he who, by his purchases or votes,
creates lists of bestsellers.59

On the whole, avant-garde works praised for their innovative artistry by the
critics seldom appealed to any more than a small part of the reading public,
the majority of whom seek reading matter which accords more closely with
their own life experiences or provides easy escapism from them. Ken Wor-
pole’s view is: ‘popular literature makes more concessions to the reader than
some might think desirable for literature, but that is precisely what makes it
popular. It is a public rather than a private form of writing.’ 60 Some writers
such as Iwaszkiewicz, Hemingway and D^browska did succeed in crossing the
barrier between ‘high’ and popular literature, but such writers were few and
far between.

Readership studies such as Krasniewska’s 1973 survey of contemporary
books borrowed by women from the public library in Lublin, demonstrate
the creation of alternative hierarchies by readers. Writers held by the critics to
be the most influential in twentieth century literature are displaced by women
writers such as D^browska ( Noce i dnie ), Drozdz-Satanowska {Pod wiatr ) and
Gojawiczynska {Dziewcz^ta z Nowolipek) .61

From the 1960s onwards, the pioneering work of the Antonina
Kloskowska62 in introducing the work of major Western cultural theorists,

58 Siekierski (note 34), p. 318.

59 Tadeusz Zabski, Sposob bycia literatury popularnej w XX wieku (unpublished conference paper
given at Zjazd Polonistow held in Warsaw, May, 1995), p. 5.

60 Worpole (note 49), p. 11.

61 Krystyna Krasniewska, Czytelnictwo kobiet (Warsaw, 1973), p. 109.

62 See, for example, Antonina Kloskowska, Kultura masowa (Warsaw, 1964), and Spoteczne
ramy kultury (Warsaw, 1972).

Solanus 1996

began to persuade Polish scholars that mass culture was not necessarily a fea¬
ture of bourgeois culture strictly at odds with socialist society. However, the
influence of old ideas meant that, largely, popular literature remained on the
peripheries of publishing priorities. As Kolodziejska states:

By promoting the pre-selected works of ideologically correct older and
contemporary authors, the authorities deprived readers of other options at
the same time as they created the illusion of readers’ preferences for such
authors and their rejection of light literature.

Poland was no different from the rest of the world in the development of
gendered popular literature, that is, a degree of segregation between gen¬
res predominantly read by women and girls and those enjoyed by men and
boys.64 As far as male-oriented popular literature was concerned, the subject
of wartime experiences and adventures enjoyed enormous success. In the late
1950s and early ’60s the trend of maty realizm , the admixture of fiction with
realistic prose closely tied to everyday life, had its effect on popular literature,
for example the crime novels of Leopold Tyrmand set in central Warsaw. In the
1960s, as it became more acceptable to present the world outside the social¬
ist bloc to the masses, travel writing and reportage appeared on the market
with great success. Attempts to provide light reading from the late 1950s to
the early 1980s included a number of series such as Iskra’s crime series ‘Klub
Srebrnego Kluczyka’ and MON’s ‘Labyrint’ which published spy stories. Typ¬
ically they were published on extremely poor quality paper with pitifully low
standards of graphic design, purely as a money-making exercise, for it was
known that due to the hunger for recreational literature, they would sell in
spite of their poor quality. 1968 saw the arrival on the market of another Iskra
crime series, ‘Ewa wzywa 07’, based on police records and marking a return to
part-publishing, which had been so popular in pre-war Poland. So formulaic
were the stories in literary terms that the names of writers were not even given,
though this was not necessarily a sign that they were not worthy of mention —
Janusz Glowacki, for example, being amongst their number. However they
were ultimately disappointing because it was impossible to adapt the formulae
used in Western crime fiction to Polish economic realities. Their didacticism
and attempts to discredit and distance themselves from the evils of the capital¬
ist West in the promotion of ‘socialist morality’ meant a blurring of their raison
d’etre as a genre. In the 1980s, despite the increasing proliferation of popular
literature on the Polish market, a certain stigma was still attached to it. Even
in the mid-eighties the official line was that in socialist societies ‘contemporary
writing is chosen especially for its discussion of important contemporary prob-

63 Kolodziejska (note 42), p. 50.

64 For an introduction to this question see Allan Luke’s introduction to Texts of Desire: Essays on
Fiction, Femininity and Schooling , edited by Linda K. Christian-Smith (London, 1993), pp. vii-xiii.

The Manipulation of the Polish Book Market

lems in the spirit of Marxism-Leninism’, recreational literature being viewed
as ‘a necessary evil, lowering the ambitions of publishers but belonging to the
realities of a readers’ market’.65

The Role of Romantic Fiction and Women as Readers

Perhaps the most extreme example of commercialism in the contemporary
book market is the submission of Polish women readers to the embraces of
the Harlequin romance. In the way they are produced, marketed and distrib¬
uted these colour-coded, low-priced series of romantic fiction sold across the
world are the ultimate example of the book as a consumer product. As Wor-
pole points out, ‘If there is one thing better for these companies than a single
popular novel, it is a series or list of popular novels, all on the same theme’.66

Depending on one’s sources, between a third and a fifth of Polish women
read a Harlequin regularly. Since beginning to publish in Poland in 1991, their
market position has grown to embrace ca 85% of the romantic fiction market.
Research carried out by the publishers themselves claims that that one in three
Polish women read a Harlequin regularly, though this does not accord with a
CBOS survey in 1993 which put the figure at ca 19%. 67 An interesting feature
of the Polish Harlequin is that although all works are translated from English,
the company took the step of employing many of the best Polish translators. As
a result the translations are frequently far superior to the originals. Not only
the language itself but also the text is changed, because it is felt that Polish
women educated on a diet of ‘good’ literature do not need the ‘everything-
spelt-out approach’ demanded by an American readership, and consequently
editorial changes in the direction of greater subtlety are often made.

The expected debates rage around the Harlequin romance: Andrzej Rosner
believes that they play a positive role in encouraging reading in the face of
TV and video,68 while others praise them for their upholding of traditional,
conservative values of love within marriage and fidelity.69 Opponents claim
that the effect is altogether more negative: that Harlequin romances play on
individuals’ lack of fulfilment in real life, that they encourage a sense of depen¬
dency amongst gullible young women: ‘The great tradition of literature as an
expression of human uniqueness therefore becomes an endorsement for ser¬
ial production, schematised in the extreme and almost authorless’,70 which
according to Allan Luke is precisely what is intended:

65 Cybulski (note 32), p. 305.

66 Worpole (note 49), p. 1.

67 From an interview with Slawomir Chojnacki, Chief Editor at Harlequin Poland, in Megaron,
nr. 1, 1995, pp. 5-7, and a critical article in the same issue (pp. 7-9), ‘Harlequin — poetyka i
koniunktura’.

68 Megaron (note 41).

69 Kolodziejska (note 42), p. 53.

70 Megaron (note 65), p. 7.

Solanus 1996

The culture industry creates in its own audience a sense of dependency
on the continuance of its conventions, codes and messages. In this man¬
ner market demand is generated and sustained by the accessibility and
ease with which cultural products can be consumed. Hence the need to
produce further identical textual products . . . whereby appeal is manufac¬
tured, figures prominently in modern publishing. The related consump¬
tion does not satisfy need nor does it simply exhaust supply, but conversely
generates greater wants for and output of similar standardised products.

So how did Polish women satisfy their desire for romantic fiction before
Harlequin? Romance, one of the most popular genres of the pre-war
era, almost disappeared from 1945 to the mid-fifties. Writers such as
Rodziewiczowna and Mniszkowna were cited as ‘symbols of reaction and bad
taste’.72 So sorely were they missed that there are reports of Mniszkowna ’s
hugely successful Tr^dowata being circulated in handwritten form73 as a sort
of ‘romantic samizdat’. When at least some of the less controversial (and some
would say better) stories by Polish authors of romantic fiction were reprinted
after 1956, they again enjoyed enormous success. As far as Rodziewiczowna
is concerned, in 1956 five of her novels were published, in 1957 nine and
in 1958 ten, on average in print-runs of over 40,000, which were large for
the time.74 A study of the reading habits amongst women employed in a
large Warsaw textile factory in 1962 examined what women most liked to
read in their spare time. The top five genres were as follows: romance — 50%,
crime fiction — 43.3%, people and their lives long ago — 26%, travel and other
countries — 23.8%, great people and heroes — 20.8%. Krasniewska observed
that ‘searching in literature for fulfilment of one’s emotional life is a very char¬
acteristic premise in the set of motivations for women readers’.75 It is inter¬
esting to note that this explanation of the appeal of the genre accords largely
with the later analysis of the American romantic novel and its readership by
feminist writers such as Janice Radway, who considered that for a US reader-
ship romantic novels address ‘an intensely felt but insufficiently met need for
emotional nurturance’.76

More and less successful attempts to adapt the genre to the new social¬
ist order of the PRL can be seen in the work of Stanislawa Fleszarowa-
Muskat, Krystyna Siesicka (writing mainly for young people), Magdalena
Samozwaniec and £ofia Bystrzycka. However, such was the hunger for the
old-style classic romances of Rodziewiczowna that even in the 1980s reprints

71 Allan Luke Literacy, Textbooks and Ideology, London, 1988, p. 67.

72 Siekierski (note 34 ), p. 417.

73 Slownik (note 50), p. 583.

74 Siekierski (note 34), p. 417.

75 Krasniewska (note 61), p. 54.

76 Janice Radway, Reading the Romance: Women, Patriarchy and Popular Literature (Chapel Hill,
1984), p. 119.

The Manipulation of the Polish Book Market

of her works sold out in huge print-runs. Wzros, republished in 1984-5, sold
800,000 copies.77

There is much interesting work to be done in examining the impact of these
Polish women writers on their readers in the specific social context of the
PRL. Recent Western feminist studies of the romantic fiction genre have been
characterised by two opposing threads. Firstly, those who view the genre as
inherently dangerous, as the consolation which women find in such literature
discourages them from ‘using their discontent to raise a public voice against
the inadequacies of a social structure which deprives women of both sta¬
tus and nurturance’.78 The opposing view suggests that the pleasure derived
from reading romantic literature deserves re-evaluation just like many other
activities such as knitting and sewing, traditionally given low esteem because
they are associated with women. Proponents of this view assert that women
are aware that they are entering a fantasy world and do so for relaxation
purposes.79 The question of escapism needs to be further examined: firstly
it can be argued that indeed all literature is to some extent a form of escapism,
so why should popular literature be singled out for criticism on this basis? Sec¬
ondly, whilst romantic fiction appears to be a ‘way out’ of everyday life and its
problems for older women, studies of American schoolgirls have shown that
they view the reading of romantic fiction as quite the opposite, namely a way
into the adult world of relationships.80 It would be interesting to discover to
what extent Polish women readers duplicate the experiences of their British
and American counterparts in this area.

Concluding Remarks

From the 1940s through to the 1980s similar complaints were voiced: that
print-runs bore little relation to actual demand for books but were established
for political reasons or for the ease of publishers who, due to the organisation
of the distribution system, until the late 1950s had no interest in whether their
books sold or not; that books were not available in the right numbers in the
right places, be this a total lack of availability of books in some rural areas,
or the failure to match supplies to bookshops to the profile of the readers
in the area; and finally that decisions about what to publish were dictated
by ideological considerations leading to huge print-runs of Communist Party
propaganda bought (with no element of choice) by libraries and left to gather

77 Slownik literatury polskiej XX wieku (note 50), p. 585.

78 John Willinsky and R. Mark Hunniford, ‘Reading the Romance Younger’, in Texts of Desire:
Essays on Fiction, Femininity and Schooling, edited by Linda K. Christian-Smith (London, 1993),
pp. 87-105.

79 See Yvonne Tasker on this interpretation, ‘Having It All: Feminism and the Pleasures of the
Popular’, in Off-Centre: Feminism and Cultural Studies , edited by Sarah Franklin, Celia Lury and
Jackie Stacey (London, 1991), p. 85.

80 Willinsky (note 78).

Solanus 1996

dust, while textbooks vital to the education system were always in short supply
and there was a constant shortage on the market of fiction, recreational reading
material and children’s books. The resulting starvation of the Polish populace
of light fiction has led to its gorging on this material now. All these elements
suggest that, however intensive the campaign to persuade him/her otherwise,
the reader had a very good idea of what he/she wanted to read and when it
was not available the palliatives dished out by the authorities failed to stifle
this latent demand which lay dormant until the 1990s.

When discussing the shortcomings of the Polish book market, it would,
however, be misleading to dwell on ideological factors to the exclusion of the
basic structural defects of the state publishing system. In summary, a whole
generation had grown up for whom books were a deficit item, who had been
unable to obtain even essential school textbooks. This is clearly an example of
gross mismanagement.

As far as bookselling is concerned, the same applies to a large extent. Book¬
sellers were caught up in a system which placed them ‘in the forefront of the
ideological struggle’,81 yet which rarely responded to their practical sugges¬
tions about the needs of their customers, expecting them to distribute unsat¬
isfactory products which were forced upon them without taking into account
their actual selling potential. One can only conclude that it is perhaps the
legacy of a system in which ideological considerations could be blamed for
practical failures which has led to the problems facing the Polish book market
today.

In the new post- 1989 era, publishers and booksellers have assumed a totally
different role in the economy and in society as a whole, resulting in tension
between traditionalists who still subscribe to the ‘noble’ perceptions of the
book market of the past and the thousands of newcomers who see publish¬
ing and bookselling as a way to make money just like any other business. For
example, as far as bookselling is concerned, Adamiec points out that the spec¬
ulators of the 1980s who in the period of book hunger would go to any lengths
including theft and bribery to acquire valuable merchandise are amongst those
now profiting from the new market with distribution companies, their own
shops, etc., while all those ‘genuine booksellers who considered themselves to
be workers not so much in commerce but “on the cultural front” have had
themselves to become speculators, insofar as what, where and for how much
to buy in order to sell as quickly as possible at maximum profit’.82

If we turn to publishing we can find a definition which depicts two disparate
groups seemingly at odds with each other. Boguta in an article in Gazeta

81 See, for example, references to the role of booksellers in realising the aims of cultural policy
in Adam Bromberg, ‘O polityce wydawniczej slow kilkoro’, Ksiggarz, 8, 1958, pp. 182-3.

82 Witold Adamiec, ‘Ogrod francuski w dzungle przemieniony, czyli, Od polityki wydawniczej
do chaosu’, Rocznik Biblioteki Narodowej, vol. XXVII-XXVIII, 1991-1992 (1993), p. 109.

The Manipulation of the Polish Book Market

wyborcza in 1991 distinguishes between ‘producers of books’ — people who
have no policy but will print anything which will sell well, with no concern for
the quality of translations or orthographical mistakes, and ‘publishers’ — those
who publish difficult, worthwhile books by Polish authors.83

Somehow, arguments about the future of the book market and publishing
appear still to be framed by the mind-set of the past, despite the fact that
this past is so discredited. Contemporary debates about ‘high’ and ‘popular’
culture, about the dangers of the commercialisation of culture, barely differ
from those of fifty years ago. Take, for example, the following quote: ‘Fre¬
quent instances ... of the subordination of the publishing plan to the basis of
immediate profitability have led to a complete block on publications of poetry,
essays, academic subjects, history and theory . . . negligence in the publishing
of the classics, and when it comes to translations and contemporary Polish
authors, almost nothing but trash.’ 84 This quotation, the substance of which
has been repeated ad infinitum in the press since 1990, in fact dates from 1947,
and comes from the journal Kuznica , which was in the vanguard of the new
Communist cultural policy.

A large part of the current problems appear to stem from three basic defi¬
ciencies. Firstly, a lack of essential knowledge amongst the participants in the
industry of the ways in which their partners in the book market work. In a
recent article in the specialist journal Notes Wydawniczy , Jolanta Walewska,
herself a publisher, distributor and bookseller, makes exactly this point after
attending a meeting for publishers: ‘The statements made in Wroclaw showed
for the hundredth time how superficial mutual relations in the line publisher-
wholesaler-bookseller really are and how little — in spite of close or, rather,
intimate commercial relations — we know the rules and conditions under which
our partners operate.’ 85 The question is one of how to bring about better
mutual understanding which is clearly linked to my second point, the lack of
any coherent government policy or self-regulatory programme for the indus¬
try. In view of the less than cordial relations between the traditionalists and the
newcomers as outlined above, self-regulation of the whole of the industry still
seems a long way off. Finally, and perhaps most fundamentally, there is the
difficulty which many Polish intellectuals are experiencing in coming to terms
with a supply and demand approach to culture.80 Those who were only too
anxious to throw off the shackles of a planned' economy and a cultural policy
based on subsidies and patronage are shocked by the extreme alternative of the
Polish book market today. It is to be hoped that gradually a system for sup-

83 ‘Czlowiek na kryzys’, Gazeta wyborcza , nr. 162 13/14 lipca 1991, pp. 8-9.

84 Stefan Zolkiewski, ‘Aktualna problematyka literatury wspolczesnej’, Kuznica, 1947, nr. 49.

85 Jolanta Walewska, ‘Ksi^garz. A ktoz to jaki?’, Notes wydawniczy, 3, 1995, p. 12.

86 See Leszek Szaruga’s discussion of this problem, ‘Kultura ty, polska kultura’, Kultura, 1-2
(556-7), 1994, pp. 24-29.

Solanus 1996

porting artistic and scholarly publishing will grow up to temper this cut-throat
commercialism. Dr Cybulski has called for the development of stronger self-
regulatory organisations along Western models for the Polish book industry,87
and this is echoed by Witold Adamiec in his 1993 article ‘A French Garden
Turned into a Jungle, or: From Publishing Policy to Chaos’.88 He calls for
a ‘constitution for the book’ and acceptance by the government that, despite
negative associations with past interventionist state cultural policies, it cannot
simply withdraw from so vital an element of national culture.

One is forced to conclude that until all participants involved in the future
and development of the Polish book market can cast off stereotypes inherited
from the old regime, the same debates are likely to result in the same lack of
answers.

87 Radoslaw Cybulski, ‘Sily spoleczne w systemie ksi^zki’, Notes zvydazvniczy , 11, 1994, pp.
22-25.

88 Adamiec (note 82), pp. 99-121.

The Book Market in Post-Communist Countries,
1989-1994, using Poland as a Specific Example

Radoslaw Cybulski

The pace and nature of the changes which occurred in post-communist coun¬
tries between 1989 and 1994 have produced a disorientation among observers
of the book market, not least because of the lack of available data about the
processes which affect that market. We do not have sufficiently precise infor¬
mation either on the number of participants, that is publishers, distributors,
book stores or other sales points, or on the numbers of books published, or
on the types of books purchased by individual readers and by libraries (for
their own stock or for international exchange). In a word, we lack the data
which is indispensable for an analysis of the market and its development. This
paper will give specific data relating only to Poland. In other post-communist
countries, the production and dissemination of books has followed a similar
pattern, though differing in detail.1

No-one has the experience to predict the course of transformation from
a centralised system, subordinated to a single party and a single ideology,
into a democratic system with free speech and a free market. In the present
instance, the processes of transformation are occurring spontaneously, and are
not steered. In the case of those post-communist countries whose fate for the
following forty-five years was determined by the great powers at Yalta in 1945,
the transformation is simply a return to structures which existed half a cen¬
tury ago. However, that fact alone has little practical significance; one cannot
return mechanically to the previous model.

In Poland the effects of the preceding system weigh heavily on the contem¬
porary book trade. The subjection of education, literature and art to political
control, and their domination by the pedagogic-propaganda-oriented activi¬
ties of the Party limited creative freedom and restricted what was offered to
readers.

However, publishing acitivies in communist countries, though controlled
by political censorship, were also financed according to a central plan which
created conditions for the existence of state publishing and a state-run book¬
selling network. The change in the financial base resulting from the adoption
of free market mechanisms has caused great difficulties for state enterprises.2

1 R. Cybulski, ‘Ruch wydawniczy w Polsce. Rzut oka na przeszlosc’, Bibliotekarz, 1994, pp.
4-7. R. Cybulski, ‘Ruch wydawniczy w Litwie’, Notes Wydawniczy, 1995, nr. 1, pp. 44-47. R.
Cybulski, ‘W Bulgaria, Notes Wydawniczy, 1993, nr. 11, pp. 46-48.

2 S. A. Kondek, Wladza i wydawcy. Polity czne uwarunkowania produkcji ksiqzek w Polsce w latach
1944—1949 (Warsaw, Biblioteka Narodowa, 1993). 236 pp. Rec. R. Cybulski, w: Rocznik Biblioteki
Narodowej, t. XXIX (Warsaw, 1994), pp. 231-238.

Solanus 1996

The free market also led to freedom of speech in publishing. Thus, the
lifting of censorship was the determining moment for the transformation of
the book world. There was a difference in the way that this process occurred
in Poland, as opposed to the other post-communist countries. Poland’s active
‘second circulation’ 3 (the development of which was stimulated by Polish emi¬
gre publications) greatly enriched the reading repertoire of Poles in the 1980s.
Thus, the lifting of censorship did not necessarily open such a dramatically
new era in reading.4

Nevertheless, in Poland too, the lifting of censorship did result in a change in
the scope of what was on offer to the reading public. State publishers too began
to publish material on subjects previously forbidden by the censor. The main
upsurge was in publications which demythologised history and politics, and
books on religion, philosophy, economics and the study of foreign languages.
There was also a noticeable increase in belles-lettres , especially translations of
American works, and a massive number of crime novels, thrillers and romantic
fiction, as well as books on sex, ranging from advice manuals to pornography.

As well as an avalanche-like growth of titles which had not previously
appeared in the Polish market, there has also been an increase in the num¬
ber of publishers, a fact which I note without claiming to be able to document
it with figures. The largest proportion of these is composed of small firms,
many of them shortlived. Nonetheless, former state publishing house are also
surviving, some transforming themselves into private firms. This process has
yet to be completed.5

The weakest link in the chain, inherited from the previous system, has
turned out to be the book wholesaler. The monopolistic enterprise known
as the ‘Booksellers’ Emporium’ ( Skladnica Ksi^garska ) lost its ability to act
as a link between the publisher and the bookseller, fell into financial difficul¬
ties, and stopped paying its debts to publishers. Although numerous whole¬
sale firms appeared to replace that impotent monopoly, the system is still
inefficient. One failing is the lack of well-organised informational material for
booksellers.

The system of bookselling has undergone great transformations. Some
bookstores which were situated in the centre of towns had to move to less
expensive locations. A new element in the ‘landscape’ of Polish streets is the
appearance of booksellers’ tables or kiosks, especially at markets. These out-

3 Hanna Swiderska, ‘Independent Publishing in Poland: An Outline of its Development to
1986’, Solanus , New Series, vol. 1 (1987), pp. 54-75; Janet Zmroczek, ‘Publishing in Poland after
1945’, Solanus , New Series, vol. 5 (1991), pp. 61-83 (pp. 75-81).

4 S. Siekierski, Ksiqzka literacka. Potrzeby spoleczne i ich realizacja w latach 1944-1986 (Warsaw,
Wyd. Nauk. PWN, 1992). 484 pp. Rec. R. Cybulski, ‘Polska ksiqzka literacka w latach 1944-
1986’, w: Przeglqd Humanistyczny , 1992, nr. 4, pp. 146-152.

5 Informator o wydawcach w Polsce 1993/1994 (Warsaw, Biblioteka Narodowa, 1993).

The Book Market in Post-Communist Countries

lets do not offer a rich assortment, but they are good at accurately assessing
and adapting to the tastes of the average passer-by in any given urban thor¬
oughfare.

A key problem in the transformation from the communist to the capitalist
system is lack of supply of funds for the renovation of existing facilities, as
well as for new initiatives and investments. The processes of transformation
overlap into the economic sphere, but one cannot escape the fact that the book
market essentially functions in the cultural sphere, created by the intellectual
and spiritual needs of the community.

Acceptance of the principles of the free market for the dissemination of
books has its own social consequences. The newly arisen problem of finding
a sponsor means that the kind of work intended for a small and specific circle
of buyers at a particular moment cannot be published, regardless of its value
(often great) and its potential to influence progress in a particular field. The
conditions of a free market do not always result in the best choices of what
to publish, and can be particularly detrimental to the educational sphere.6
These negative choices occur not only at the stage of publishing, but also at
the stage of selling, the financial situation of the bookstore also playing a role.
Bookstore owners avoid the acquisition of ‘difficult’ books which may wait a
long time for a buyer or may never find one. The selection of books on the
basis of those which will sell quickly often eliminates very worthwhile books
from the market. This reluctance to stock books which are difficult to sell has a
negative influence on intellectual life, slows down the undertaking of research
into new topics, and limits intellectual discussion and theoretical thought.

In contrast, there is a dramatic increase in sales of more lowbrow general-
interest books on a wide range of topics, books which the bookseller can hap¬
pily order without any fear that they will remain on the shelf. This group of
publications is not homogeneous; it includes international bestsellers, books
of an informational character, manuals giving advice on various matters, and
aids to the study of foreign languages. The customer can also find on book¬
sellers’ tables in the street a wealth of romantic fiction, mysteries and thrillers.
There has also been an marked increase of supply in popular and/or educa¬
tional books, richly illustrated and and of a high editorial level.7

Overall, the book trade has suffered, with more more ‘bad’ books appearing
and fewer ‘good’ ones. A cause of this has been the policy of some publish¬
ers, who have put business interests above all others, seeking to realise high
profits, regardless of any other considerations. This in turn has stimulated a
movement for the fostering of ‘good books’. There have been articles in the

6 J. Walewska, ‘Ksi^garz? Ak toz to taki?’, Notes Wydawniczy, 1995, nr. 3, pp. 12-15. P. Szwa-
jcer, ‘Pogoda dla bogaczy’, Notes Wydawniczy , 1994, nr. 2, p. 7.

7 Ruch Wydawniczy w Liczbach / Polish Publishing in Figures , XXXIX, 1993 (Warsaw, Biblioteka
Narodowa, 1994).

Solanus 1996

press and radio and television interviews on this topic. An initiative which has
moved beyond words to deeds is the organisation of ‘Conferences of publish¬
ers of good books’ which, during 1995, have been held in the four biggest
academic centres (Wroclaw, Cracow, Poznan and Gdansk). Attempts are also
being made to cater for specialist markets, and to encourage the publication
of books on religion, ecology and history.

The previous basic source of information, the ‘Booksellers’ Bibliography’
( Zapowiedzi wydawnicze), was devastated. This had been an effective tool for
the dissemination of information about new books and books in print, used
widely and to good effect by publishers, booksellers and librarians, as well as
by individual purchasers. Some new sources of information are beginning to
appear.8

The diminishing purchasing power of individual potential bookbuyers is of
significance for the market. In general, libraries also have great deficiencies
in their acquisitions budgets, and some groups of community and public ser¬
vice workers (including teachers in all types of education) are in a particularly
difficult situation.

Current book prices, without any doubt, are a barrier to access to literature.
Polish publishers do not yet produce cheap books in the form of the pocket
editions to be found in the West. Experience in Western Europe suggests that
this form of publication is very effective in satisfying the needs of the reader.

Economic problems underline and determine the present state of the book
scene in Poland and the shape of its future. We do not have to be convinced
that the economy will be the determining factor in the development of the
book trade, affecting every stage in the process. What is needed is an injection
of capital, to be used in production, manufacture, and distribution, in order
to create conditions which will provide better access to books.

Analysis and evaluation of the book trade cannot, however, be linked exclu¬
sively to the solution of economic problems, although, in the opinion of many,
this is the most crucial factor, since economic conditions determine the very
existence of retailers. The real measure for evaluation of the functioning of the
book trade is the degree to which it satisfies needs. In connection with this
question, there is a whole series of methodological problems which have yet
to be worked out.

The current state of the book trade in Poland, as in other post-communist
countries, is characterised by a lack of stability. A programme of stabilisation
of the book market is a task which must be undertaken without delay. In order
to attain it, certain operations must be completed so that positive reactions are
set into motion. The following are needed: the strengthening of community

8 ‘Imprezy krajowe w 1995 r.’, Notes Wydawniczy, 1995, nr. 2, pp. 14-16; Karen Rondestvedt,
‘Bibliographic Control of Current Publications under the New Order (Poland, Romania, Bul¬
garia)’, Solanus , New Series, vol. 9 (1995), pp. 3-14 (pp. 5-9).

The Book Market in Post-Communist Countries

representation of publishing and bookselling enterprises;9 the procurement of
state guarantees for the development of the publishing and bookselling trade;
the completion of comprehensive studies of the book market. Also, we need
to take account of the experiences of Western countries in the organisation of
the book trade and in publishing and library policies.

9 ‘Kodeks dobrych obyzcajow (Projekt Regulaminu stosunkow wydawniczo-ksi^garskich)’,
Notes Wydawniczy , 1995, nr. 6, pp. 18-38.

The Book Market in Russia

Konstantin M. Sukhorukov

After the disintegration of the USSR and the declaration of Russia’s inde¬
pendence in 1991, our country inherited about one hundred state publish¬
ing houses and also about five hundred so-called publishing organizations,
that is, organizations for which publishing is an important but secondary and
non-commercial concern. These organizations are mostly scientific and edu¬
cational institutes, ministries, committees, foundations, museums, etc. The
activity of all Soviet publishers and publishing organizations had been strictly
delimited by the authorities, centralized and deprived of any competition.

The Parliament and government of the new Russian state are paying a great
deal of attention to developing the nation’s publishing industry within a mar¬
ket economy. In recent times several important laws and decrees have been
adopted and passed. Among them are the state laws on the mass communi¬
cation media (1991), publishing activity (1991), authors’ rights (1993), join¬
ing the Florence Agreement and its Protocol (1994), legal deposit (1995),
and joining the Berne Convention (1995). Censorship, and all restrictions on
book publishing and bookselling, have been lifted, and only official licensing
for publishing activity has been introduced. This allows lawful publishing and
book distribution operations to be undertaken not only by organizations but
also by individuals.

These measures have encouraged a rapid rise in the number of Russian
publishers, which at the beginning of 1995 exceeded 7000. More than two-
thirds of them are now private publishers. The largest publishing centres are,
as previously, Moscow (53% of all registered publishers) and St Petersburg
(11%).X Besides these cities the most important book centres in Russia are
Ekaterinburg (2.5%), Novosibirsk (1.8%) and Saratov (1.6%). Moscow and
St Petersburg publishers between them produced 69% of all Russian book
titles in the first half of 1995, and 81% of all book copies published.1 2

Tables 1 and 2-4 present the main statistical data defining the dynamics of
book publishing in Russia in recent years and in comparison with previous
decades. The figures for 1994 are analysed in more detail. The tables clearly
demonstrate that we have a crisis in the book trade in Russia today. The num¬
ber of titles published has sunk to the level of the 1930s, and book printing
runs are lower now than in 1950. It is worth remarking, however, that we are
relying here on official data only. Russian book statistics reflect and depend
on the number of legal deposit copies received by our national bibliographic

1 Data from the Natsional'noe agentstvo ISBN pri Rossiiskoi knizhnoi palate.

2 Information from the Otdel statistiki Rossiiskoi knizhnoi palaty, for the year 1995.

The Book Market in Russia

Table 1 : Books Published3

Year Books and Runs (millions of copies)

Pamphlets

1940

32,545

353.5

1950

28,486

646.8

1960

48,940

990.2

1970

50,040

1005.8

1980

49,503

1393.2

1990

41,234

1553.1

1993

1994 (first half)

11,338

29,017

255.3

949.9

1994 (second half)

1994 (in total)

19,052

30,390

339.0

594.3

1995 (first half)

11,407

157.2

centre — the Russian Book Chamber — from publishers. A minimum of 20%,
and more probably 25%, of books liable to legal deposit have not reached the
Book Chamber in recent years, and all of these have therefore escaped statis¬
tical control.4 We have several explanations for this phenomenon.

Many publishers, mostly newcomers, are not aware of their obligation to
send copies of their publications to Moscow for bibliographic control and
registration. Other Russian publishers, knowing very well their privileges and
duties, nevertheless do not wish to meet the requirements of the law, partly for
economic reasons (from 1995 they have to send sixteen copies free of charge)
and partly in order to conceal pirated or prohibited publications. There is
another way of concealing Russian book editions from official control: false
imprints, when the Russian publisher tries to claim his book as Ukrainian
or Belorussian. Our book statistics also cannot usually take into account so-
called ‘joint editions’, when a Russian publisher sends his author’s manuscript
abroad for printing and then distributes the published edition largely within
Russian territory.

We must clearly understand the principal difference between Russian book
publishing of the 1980s and that of the 1990s. When the USSR existed, about
one-third of total Russian book production went beyond the boundaries of the
Russian Federation to the so-called fraternal republics of the Soviet Union.

3 Pechat' Rossiiskoi Federatsii v 1994 godu (Moscow, 1995), p. 6.

4 See for example: L. Shatskin, ‘Vtoroi vzgliad inostrantsa na rasprostranenie knig v Rossii’,
Knizhnoe delo , 1 (13), 1995, p. 36; B. Semenovker, ‘Skol'ko knig ne postupaet v biblioteki’, Knizh-
noe delo , 2 (14), 1995, p. 49.

Solanus 1996

Table 2: Books Published in 19945

Publishers

Books and
Pamphlets

Runs ( millions of copies)

State publishing houses

10,371

217.9

Private publishing houses

10,403

344.2

Publishing organizations

9,616

32.2

Total

30,390

594.3

Table 3: Average Runs

in 1994 (thousands of copies)6

Section by subject

First half-year

Second half-year

Social and political

17.5

12.1

Scientific

3.7

2.9

Technical and textbooks

27.5

30.2

Fiction

50.6

33.2

Far fewer books from all of these republics were supplied to Russia. With
the formation of the Commonwealth of Independent States and of customs
barriers, the export of books from Russia to these now independent states is
diminishing year by year (about 60-70 million copies in 1994 in comparison
with 500 million in 1985); but the other states are attempting by all possi¬
ble means to increase the volume of legal and illegal exports of their cheaper
Russian-language books to the Russian market.

Some considerations affecting print-runs ( tirazhi ). We must remember that
for decades under the old Soviet system there was a contradiction between
what was published and what people wanted to buy. With no interest in profit,
both publishers and booksellers strove primarily to fulfil the plan. They were
not worried about large remainders because nobody had personal responsibil¬
ity for the unsold books or an economic interest in them.

The multi-million yearly editions of Marxist-Leninist classics have disap¬
peared from production, as have the proceedings of Party conferences and
Central Committee plenums. Print-runs of so-called ‘specialist literature’,
which traditionally included industrial manuals and scholarly works, have

5 Ibid., p. 9.

A. Margolin & E. Margolin, ‘Poligraficheskie parametry izdatel'skoi produktsii’, Knizhnyi
biznes, 18-19, 1995, pp. 6-7.

The Book Market in Russia

Table 4: Types of Book-Covers in 1994 (%)7

Section by subject

Hardback

Paperback:

glued

sewed

Titles:

Social and political

18.8

29.1

22.2

Scientific

5.2

13.0

10.1

Technical and textbooks

24.3

43.3

42.2

Fiction

51.7

14.6

25.5

Runs:

Social and political

5.7

24.7

16.8

Scientific

0.9

2.2

0.5

Technical and textbooks

46.1

46.0

49.3

Fiction

47.3

27.1

33.4

been sharply cut back. People have grown tired of ideology and politics, and as
a result political propaganda — which was of course printed in massive print-
runs — has practically vanished from the bookshops. Publication of works on
socialist economic experience, which were also particularly favoured by the
regime, has also ceased.

The commercialization of publishing has inevitably led to a fall not only
in the number of titles but also in the overall number of copies produced.
Now, due to inflation and huge transport costs, not only average-sized but
even large Russian publishers can rely only on local book-trade networks. The
modern Russian book business demands the quickest possible turnover, so
book publishers are usually forced to set the print-runs of their books too low.
Because of the liquidation of the former state system of wholesaling, we can
already see in Moscow and St Petersburg a glut of certain types of fiction,
such as detective stories, science fiction and romances. At the same time, the
Russian population in small towns and villages is experiencing severe book
hunger because they cannot find and buy most Moscow books nor, often,
school textbooks for the youngest pupils.

Nevertheless, if we had the opportunity to compare not only the size of
print-runs but the number of books sold (which is now unfortunately quite
impossible due to the large number of unregistered bookselling outlets), it
seems to me that our statistical data would not be so gloomy. The Russian
book market (or, more strictly and correctly, the dozens of autonomous and
very specialized book markets in Russia) has not collapsed, and the outlook

7 Ibid., p. 7.

Solanus 1996

Table 5: Book Prices for most Popular Types of Hardbacks
in Moscow, 1994-first half of 1995 (rubles/US$)8

Month

Detective

stories

Fantasy

Love stories

Historical

novels

Children’s books

1994:

January

2380/ 1.75

2130/ 1.56

2200 / 1.58

2170 / 1.57

2130/ 1.56

February

2540/ 1.66

2330/ 1.48

2150/ 1.26

2620 / 1.68

2790/ 1.78

March

2690/ 1.57

2490/ 1.45

2450/ 1.43

3910/2.28

2940 / 1.72

April

3010/ 1.68

2650/ 1.48

2620/ 1.46

3920 /2.19

3090 / 1.72

May

3380/ 1.80

2850 / 1.52

2770/ 1.48

4000/2.13

3200 / 1.70

June

3580/ 1.93

3240/ 1.65

3050 / 1.55

4270/2.18

3080/ 1.57

July

3870/ 1.91

3490/ 1.73

3440/ 1.70

4540 / 2.24

3400/ 1.68

August

4030/ 1.91

3480 / 1.65

3590 / 1.70

4570 /2.16

4150 / 1.96

September

4370/ 1.90

3860/ 1.66

3810 / 1.66

4780 /2.08

4220 / 1.83

October

4630/ 1.55

4040 / 1.36

3970/ 1.33

4120 / 1.38

4720 / 1.58

November

5080/ 1.62

4780/ 1.53

3960/ 1.27

4440/ 1.42

4730 / 1.51

December

5240/ 1.55

5480 / 1.62

4210/ 1.24

5060/ 1.50

7110/2.10

1995:

January

5880 / 1.62

6040 / 1.64

4590/ 1.29

5820 / 1.61

9690 /2.88

February

6240/ 1.61

6050 / 1.52

4960 / 1.28

6240/ 1.61

9180/2.08

March

6780 / 1.53

6540/ 1.46

5390 / 1.28

6890 / 1.52

9620 /2.05

April

7310/ 1.56

6810 / 1.45

5940/ 1.28

7040/ 1.51

11010/2.17

May

7520 / 1.61

7190 / 1.56

6380/ 1.29

7860/ 1.74

11400/2.20

June

7880 / 1.68

7670/ 1.63

7010/ 1.32

8070 / 1.76

11720/ 2.38

for it is quite promising.

Table 5 presents Russian book prices, and these data refute the myth about
the unprecedented growth of these prices in comparison with others. We can
give here only the figures for Moscow, where prices in general are higher than
in most other regions (by about 15-20%), but all trends in the dynamics of
Moscow book prices are fully applicable to the whole of Russia.

At present a Russian mass-market paperback costs only three or four times
as much as an ordinary newspaper, and a normal hardback book seven or eight
times as much. Such a correlation is exceptional not only in Russia but also,
in my view, in the rest of the world.

If we compare prices for Russian books with prices in Western countries,

8 Calculated by the author on the basis of data from the Rossiiskaia knizhnaia palata, and also
from information on prices in the book market published in the weekly magazine Knizhnyi biznes
in 1994 and 1995.

The Book Market in Russia

we shall receive clear answers not only to the question about ‘high book prices
in Russia’, but also to the question of why traditional high standards of book
editing and design in Russia are universally neglected. Retail book prices in
Russia are eight to ten times lower than those of analogous books in the West,
while printing costs are only 25-30% lower than the world average, and paper
costs are about 90-95% of those in North America and Europe. Our publish¬
ers therefore inevitably must try to save money and time by cutting royalties
and fees and by reducing time spent on the proof-reading, preparation and
design of books.9 Russian book publishing as a whole needs state support as
badly as it did earlier, and to some extent is receiving it through the Russian
Federal Book Publishing Programme. During 1994, the Russian government
allocated about 30 billion rubles (about 12 million US dollars) for the needs
of various state and private publishers producing so-called ‘serious literature’.

The state monopoly over the internal and external book trade has now
been completely liquidated. The former monopolies in the internal market
(‘Soiuzkniga’ and ‘Roskniga’) and the external market (‘Mezhdunarodnaia
kniga’) are still functioning, but their status and turnover are now compa¬
rable with those of many private bookselling firms. Altogether the volume of
turnover by state book-trade organizations in 1994 was no more than 20% of
the total figure.10

We have no wholesalers in Russia today who can serve even one half of the
national territory. Hence, even in the large bookshops of our regional centres
in the European part of Russia, one can find only 30-40% of the titles pub¬
lished in Moscow and St Petersburg. For regions to the east of the Urals this
figure will be about 20-25%.

One further problem is the continuing isolation of our book market, which
has almost no business links with the West. Yet forecasts for the develop¬
ment of Russian book publishing are favourable enough. The opinion of most
experts is that during the next two to three years we shall see a moderate rise
in the number of book titles, and that the annual output of books will settle at
around 600-650 million copies.11

More complicated is the situation with the Russian book as such. The num¬
ber of titles by Russian writers, both classic and modern, is falling every year,

9 See M. Isakova, E. Nikol'skaia, L. Davydova & L. Evseeva, ‘Analiz struktury sebestoimosti
produktsii v izdatel'stvakh’, Izdatet skoe delo , vyp. 4, 1995, pp. 1-12.

10 See E. Poroikova, ‘Knigoizdanie v zerkale statistiki’, Vitrina, 7-8, 1995, p. 4; Iu. Sapozhnikov
& N. Timofeeva, ‘Problemy stabilizatsii knizhnogo rynka’, Knizhnoe delo , 5, 1994, pp. 3-9; Iu. V.
Torsuev, ‘Kniga v sovremennom obshchestve’, Informatizatsiia: Moskva , mir, vselennaia, 1, Nov.
1994, pp. 29-31.

11 See ‘Knizhnoe delo: Prognoz na 1995 god’, Knizhnoe delo, 1 (13), 1995, pp. 3-6; Iu.
Maisuradze, ‘Knigoizdanie i knigorasprostranenie v Rossii’, Knizhnyi biznes, 12-13, 1995, pp. 6-
7; A. Reitblat, ‘Izdatel'skii repertuar: krizis ili vozvrashchenie k norme?’, Knizhnoe delo , 3, 1994,
pp. 13-14.

Solanus 1996

although many previously banned books and the most valuable emigre liter¬
ature has been republished in Russia in recent years. Now the proportion of
translations in fiction titles for adults amounts to 75% of the total, and in
fiction for children to about 50%. 12

For young Russian writers (and for those not so young but still little known),
irrespective of their talent, it is nowadays nearly impossible to fight their way
to readers through a publisher’s office. Another difficulty is the great devalu¬
ation of the traditional prestige attaching in Russia to serious reading. Young
people today, if they read books at all, usually do so not for mental and spir¬
itual development but for utilitarian purposes or entertainment. This situa¬
tion is quite explicable because now in Russia educated people as a whole are
the lowest-paid category of those employed. Within the half-beggared Russian
intelligentsia, it is precisely those who educate through books — teachers and
librarians — who are in the worst position.

In conclusion we must note that the overall Russian economic crisis of
recent years has inevitably affected the nation’s book trade. It is impossible to
expect that, after a fall in average living standards of 3-4 times in comparison
with the 1980s, Russia can retain its previous high level of book production
and consumption. But there are subjective as well as objective factors at work,
and the most important here is the fact that the Russian government has still
failed to create the vital counterbalances necessary to act against the anarchy
and irregularities which are all too common in the Russian book market. The
concept of denationalization or privatization in the book business did not and
does not exist. The changeover to a new pricing system has not been thought
through and nothing has been done to de-monopolize the supporting indus¬
tries.

Most Russian publishers and booksellers, librarians and book readers are
now calling on our government to take, as soon as possible, such steps as:

1 . Bringing in legislation on favourable taxation and the reduction of postal
and transport charges for the book trade;

2. Radically increasing the scope and effectiveness of the Federal Book
Publishing Programme, the main priorities of which should be scientific
and educational titles and books for public libraries;

3. Organizing an all-Russian union of publishers and booksellers on the
lines of the Borsenverein des deutschen Buchhandels, since the present
numerous Russian associations have no real influence in this country or
abroad;

4. Preparing and signing a cartelized book-pricing agreement which would

12 See M. Morozovskii, ‘Rynok khudozhestvennoi literatury’, Knizhnoe delo, 6 (12), 1994, pp.
3-4.

The Book Market in Russia

stimulate the development of the Russian book industry and provide the
minimum rates of profit necessary for paper producers, printers, pub¬
lishers and booksellers.

English version edited by Gregory Walker and Christine Thomas

Russian National Bibliography: Its Present Situation

A. Dzhigo

Russian national bibliography is a complex and many-sided phenomenon with
extensive historical and cultural roots. Like every national bibliography, it is a
sphere of scholarly and practical activity concerned with preparing and sup¬
plying to users comprehensive bibliographic information based on registra¬
tion by the state of copies of documents received by legal deposit. It is the
deposited copy which has served as the foundation while history has shaped
all the activities of a national bibliography: a foundation which does not shake
or fall under any socio-political or ideological battering. The implementation
of the principle is a different matter.

In Russia the issue of obligatory deposit free of charge has been debated at
intervals by librarians and bibliographers. This is understandable: the fun¬
damental principle of depositing publications without payment makes the
production of a national bibliography and the development of large biblio¬
graphical information resources more effective. The problem of legal deposit
becomes particularly acute in times which are difficult and historically unsta¬
ble. In twentieth-century Russia, such periods are the 1920s (as a new socio¬
political structure was being formed) and the present day, due to the com¬
plex economic situation. With the end of totalitarianism in Russia, attitudes
towards legal deposit have also changed radically.

The laws adopted in the early 1990s on entrepreneurial activity, on authors’
rights and on the protection of intellectual property ran totally counter to the
then existing distribution system which secured legal deposit copies without
payment. The prevailing legal basis for taking a certain number of copies of
a publication from its producer has ceased to be effective. The control mech¬
anism which monitored published output has been lost, and this has rapidly
had an impact on legal deposit as publishers cease to send their products to
the Russian Book Chamber. Significant gaps have appeared in the holdings
of deposited copies, and as many as 40% of titles appearing have not been
recorded in the national bibliography. 1

The necessity was therefore recognised for the preparation of a law on legal
deposit which would, in the conditions of a free market, ensure the stable
supply of documents to bibliographical information organisations, in order to
build up a comprehensive collection of the country’s documents and enable

1 Calculating the number of unregistered publications not included in the national bibliogra¬
phy is a difficult matter. No criteria exist at an international level for a precise calculation. In this
case, the analysis was carried out by comparing the copies of publications received by the Russian
Book Chamber, the Russian State Library and the Russian National Library.

Russian National Bibliography: Its Present Situation

their registration by the state, their recording and the creation of a national
bibliography as one of the country’s cultural and intellectual assets.

The introduction of the law ‘On the legal deposit of documents’ was the log¬
ical conclusion of intensive work undertaken, over a period of more than three
years, by a large group of specialists representing the Russian Book Cham¬
ber, the Russian State Library and the Russian National Library. It was the
first time in Russian legal practice that a normative act of this kind had been
introduced. Previously there had been regulations and decrees which regu¬
lated the legal deposit of printed publications only.2 The new law sets out the
state’s policy with regard to organising deposit copies of documents — explicitly
of documents as the resource base for the development of a comprehensive -
national library and information resource for Russia. An important aspect of
this is the link between the legal deposit system and the wider sphere of reg¬
ulated social relations. This is affected by a variety of regulatory and legal
instruments relating to forms of property, authors’ rights, archive collections,
objects of national cultural value and preferential taxation. It is right that the
laws on publishing activity, authors’ rights and legal deposit should be seen
as the main, mutually-linked supports of today’s book culture. The level of
development of the country’s entire information and bibliographical activity,
and of the national bibliography in particular, depends to a crucial extent on
the law’s ensuring the supply of legal deposit copies to the major collections.

By ‘deposit copies’ is meant the specified and legally confirmed number of
indigenous documents subject to delivery by their producers to stated insti¬
tutions and organisations. The totality of all types of deposit copy, together
with the arrangements laid down for their collection and distribution, form an
orderly system.

The law lays down a broad conception of the term ‘document’. It is defined
as a material object bearing information in the form of text, sound or image,
transmitted in time and space. Besides the printed publications (textual, musi¬
cal, cartographic and graphical) which were characteristic of the Soviet period
of the national bibliography’s development, the obligation of legal deposit now
extends to publications for the blind in Braille; ‘talking books’; unpublished
documents (dissertations, research and design reports, deposited scientific
papers, algorithms and computer programs); audio-visual materials (cinema,
video, photographic and sound recordings); and electronic publications (com¬
puter programs, and databases carried by magnetic, optical, optical-magnetic
and other technologies). Such a broad interpretation of the term ‘document’
necessitated separating out from the general stream of documents those to
which the legislation did not apply. They included any material of a personal,

2 See also: ‘Ob obiazatel'nykh besplatnykh i platnykh ekzempliarakh izdanii: Postanovlenie
Verkhovnogo Soveta Rossiiskoi Federatsii No. 5098-1 ot 3 iunia 1993 goda’, in Sbormk pravovykh
i normativnykh dokumentov ob izdatef skoi deiatet nosti (Moscow, 1993), pp. 5-17.

Solanus 1996

confidential or secret nature, and items created in a single example not sub¬
ject to further reproduction or dissemination. Nor does the legislation extend
to materials which fall outside the categories of national, cultural or intellec¬
tual property. This group includes galleys, page proofs, production notes, film
scripts, etc.; that is, those preparatory materials which serve as the basis for the
reproduction and copying of printed, audio-visual and electronic publications.

The circle of recipients is specified in such a way as to form a complex
structure which fulfils the three fundamental functions of legal deposit: cul¬
tural, archival and informational. Hence, from among all the libraries, scien¬
tific and technical information organs and document centres, a group of state
repositories has been singled out which together will ensure the safe-keeping
of all types of document produced in the country, and will make them known
through the national bibliography.

The Russian Book Chamber is responsible for the official recording of
printed publications and the compilation of national bibliographic and sta¬
tistical information about them. The Russian State Library for the Blind
undertakes the collection of publications for the blind and ‘talking books’,
their recording and registration, and the compilation of a national bibliog¬
raphy. Analogous functions for legislative and regulatory materials are per¬
formed by the Parliamentary Library of the Russian Federation; for patents
and inventions by the All-Russian Patent and Technical Library; and for stan¬
dards by the Federal Collection of State Standards, which is the all-Russian
classification agency handling technical and economic information, interna¬
tional (regional) regulations and the standardisation norms and recommenda¬
tions of foreign countries. The permanent preservation of unpublished doc¬
uments, their collection, registration, recording and bibliographical control,
is the responsibility of the All-Russian Scientific and Technical Information
Centre (for reports on scientific research, experiments and design, and for
dissertations); of the Institute for Social Science Information (for scholarly
works in the social sciences); and of the All-Russian Institute for Scientific and
Technical Information (for scholarly works in the natural and exact sciences
and technology). For audio-visual materials the responsibilities are assumed
by the Russian State Archive of Cinematic Documents, the State Collection
of Cinema Films, and the Russian State Archive of Sound Recordings.3

These are the distribution arrangements for legal deposit, but they also
determine the functioning (that is, the creation) of the Russian national bibli¬
ography. In Russia, until 1990, the current national bibliography was the con¬
cern of the book chambers only, and was based solely on printed publications;
whereas now, new and fundamentally different conditions have been set up for

3 For more detail, see Sbornik pravovykh i normativnykh dokumentov ob izdatet skoi delate? nosti
(Moscow, Rossiiskaia knizhnaia palata, 1995).

Russian National Bibliography: Its Present Situation

the creation of a national bibliography. The network of organisations carries
out its compilation by drawing on each of the flows of documentary output.
This decentralised form of compilation embraces the entire spectrum of doc¬
uments and is seen as the preferred option, since from the user’s standpoint
virtually no type of document is omitted.4

It would be difficult to deal with all the changes taking place in the national
bibliography: a separate session on the subject would be needed. We would
therefore like to mention only two decisions which will make a fundamental
difference: those on the selection of publications for inclusion in the national
bibliography, and on changes to the information search language.

The national bibliographic system which took shape during the period of ,
Soviet power was based on format. All publications were recorded in appro¬
priate listings — letopisi — according to their basic type: books, graphical pub¬
lications, maps, musical scores, etc. But within the arrangement by format
there was to be found a purely expedient and ideological element. Not every
book, for instance, could be shown in Knizhnaia letopis . There existed so-
called special sheets {spetsial! hye listy) on which was listed ‘closed’ bibliograph¬
ical information. Besides that, the output of books was divided into those
with a set price (that is, books intended for the book trade and hence for a
wide circulation) and those having an ideologically dubious tinge and con¬
sequently a restricted distribution. All publications were listed accordingly,
either in Knizhnaia letopis or in Knizhnaia letopis . Dopolnitel' nyi vypusk, the
latter published in a very small print-run. The ‘special sheets’ are no longer
issued, and Knizhnaia letopis now appears as a single title, covering the coun¬
try’s entire output of books regardless of their purpose or readership. Any user
can now find there the bibliographic entry for any book which has undergone
state registration. A similar situation prevailed in the Letopis periodicheskikh
i prodolzhaiushchikhsia izdanii. Now, all serial publications are appropriately
recorded in the national bibliographical resource.

The problems of changing the information search language are closely
linked with changes in the output of published material, which was previ¬
ously subject to prohibitions on artistic, religious, economic and socio-political
grounds. By the beginning of 1990, the ‘Common classification of literature
for book publishing’ ( Edinaia klassifikatsiia literatury dlia knigoizdanii — EKL),
tainted as it was by political subjectivism, no longer reflected the new attitudes
and subject structure of the country’s documentary production. Growing dif-

4 For more detail on the legal deposit system at present in operation, see A. A. Dzhigo & A. L.
Muratov, ‘Besplatno, v den' vykhoda v svet . . . : O pol'ze obiazatel'nogo ekzempliara’, Knizhnoe
obozrenie, no. 7, 1995, p. 20; N. N. Gruzinskaia & A. A. Dzhigo, ‘Zakon ob obiazatel'nom ekzem-
pliare dokumentov: novaia redaktsiia’, Nauchnye i tekhnicheskie biblioteki, no. 1 1, 1994, pp. 3-1 1;

A. A. Dzhigo, ‘Zakon “Ob obiazatel'nom ekzempliare dokumentov” — v deistvii’, Bibliotekovedenie,
no. 2, 1995, pp. 3-10.

Solanus 1996

Acuities with the information search language in the national bibliography led
to the introduction of radical amendments in the classification of publications,
and to the dismantling of the compromised structure both as a scheme in its
own right and as the framework for the production of the national bibliogra¬
phy.

The EKL was created, and lived on, as a purely bureaucratic classification
system. Its classification numbers were practically unintelligible to most sci¬
entific and technical information organs, and to most libraries. When incor¬
porating bibliographical information into other files of material, expensive re¬
classification was necessary. Specialist scientific or technical information ser¬
vices, when they searched national bibliographical publications arranged by
the EKL for items they required, frequently found the results incomplete. In
the exchange of bibliographical data with foreign countries, the EKL classi¬
fication numbers were useless as indicators of a book’s subject — one obstacle
among others in the way of genuine compatibility between Russian and foreign
document information databases.

The structure of the EKL was altered more than once during a short period
of time. Within the space of eight years (in 1978 and again in 1985) it was
reshaped and reissued twice. Whole sections and new concepts were inserted
and deleted, which broke up the basic structure of the classification system
and required the restructuring and revision of the national bibliographical cat¬
alogues. All this gave rise to serious difficulties in bibliographical reference
work, and confused users in their search for retrospective bibliographical infor¬
mation.

The EKL was a typically Soviet system, intended to embody the principle
of Communist party-mindedness (partiinost ') and to accommodate itself to the
prevailing requirements of one leader or another. The main sequence of the
EKL begins with sections devoted to the founders of Marxism-Leninism and
the work of the Communist Party and the Komsomol. On being abolished
a few years ago, these sections were somewhat awkwardly squeezed in under
other classification headings, making them unwieldy and obscure.

The wishes of influential figures, or policy changes within the State Press
Committee, led to changes in the method of classification. For example, while
in the first edition of the EKL all aspects of economics and branches of the
national economy were concentrated within section 6 ‘Economics’, the sec¬
ond edition authorised their ‘dispersal according to the branch of economy’.
By contrast, books on various branches of mechanical engineering were clas¬
sified in the first edition of the EKL according to the particular branch, but
in the second edition were all brought together under section 27 ‘Mechanical
engineering’.

All this was sufficient to convince those concerned of the need to discon¬
tinue use of the EKL in the national bibliography. In 1991, therefore, spe-

Russian National Bibliography: Its Present Situation

cialists in the Russian Book Chamber addressed themselves to the problem of
changing the information search language of the national bibliography.

In principle, a country’s documentary output can be organised using any
classification scheme which can objectively represent all fields of knowl¬
edge. The questions at issue are the number of users who will be familiar
with this or that search language, and the compatibility of the databases in
enabling searching and dissemination of the publications within the country
and abroad. It would have been possible to settle on any classification scheme.
Many such schemes already exist, or will be developed, throughout the world,
and all have some claim to an application. But given the trend towards the
‘informatisation’ of society at the present time, there is no doubt that prefer¬
ence has to be given to the search language in which the majority of informa¬
tion services ‘speak’; so once again, as in the 1920s, the Universal Decimal
Classification (UDC) was selected.

Why the UDC in particular? Let us try to explain the choice. The decimal
principle of the UDC’s structure enables practically any concept to be added
to its classification numbers without altering the structure of the scheme itself.
While remaining stable as an entity, the UDC is flexible and neutral enough
to accommodate new phenomena and concepts. It is capable of embracing all
new developments in science, technology, culture and so on.

The UDC has been known in Russia ever since its first appearance. The first
short translation of the UDC was published in 1907. In the second decade of
the century, fuller translations were published of the UDC as a whole and
of separate subject sections. The most active role in promoting the UDC in
Russia was played by Professor B. S. Bodnarskii (1874-1968), president of
the Russian Bibliographical Society and the organiser and first director of the
Russian Central Book Chamber in Moscow.

Between 1926 and 1930 the state bibliographical listing of the RSFSR,
Knizhnaia letopis\ was arranged according to the UDC. From 1931 onwards
attempts were made to create a ‘genuinely scientific Marxist-Leninist classifi¬
cation’ for the state bibliography. The UDC was declared to be a ‘bourgeois’
scheme, although a ___location for its classification numbers in bibliographical
records was retained throughout the USSR’s existence. In 1962 the UDC
was partially rehabilitated. Under a decree of the USSR Council of Minis¬
ters dated 1 1 May 1962, ‘On measures to improve the country’s organisation
of scientific and technical information’, the UDC was introduced as the sole
obligatory information search language for scientific and technical documen¬
tation. UDC classification numbers began to be placed at the head of articles
in scientific and technical journals, and in books on the natural sciences and
technology. Scientific and technical information services, and the libraries of
technical research institutes and universities, began to organise their informa¬
tion resources on the basis of the UDC. That at once simplified the exchange

Solanus 1996

of information with other countries. Clearly it was only by accepting a single
search language and international classification scheme that a country could
become a full member of the international information community. However,
the ‘social’ sections of the UDC remained under a special ban right up to
1991.

The repudiation of Marxist ideology, and new phenomena in social life,
placed in question the suitability of those Soviet classifications — the BBK and
EKL — which were founded on earlier ideological teaching. The revision of
their structures was begun, which turned them into extremely clumsy and
artificial collections of concepts, weakly linked together. The sections devoted
to Marxism, the CPSU and the Komsomol were abolished, and forced awk¬
wardly under headings for other subjects, breaking up the structure of the
schemes. Catalogues and information files were hurriedly rearranged and
modified, leaving the user at a loss. The ‘reorganised’ BBK and EKL lacked
adequate locations for the new concepts associated with the democratisation
and greater openness of society. Library staff themselves raised the question of
abandoning the EKL and transferring to a new — or rather, old — international
classification system familiar to all bibliographers: the UDC.

So, in 1991, staff of the Russian Book Chamber’s research department for
state bibliography began the reorganisation of the Russian state bibliographi¬
cal listings on the basis of the UDC. In doing so they drew extensively on the
experience of their predecessors, especially N. V. Rusinov (1873 (74)-1940),
and on the practice of national bibliographical centres in other countries. By
the beginning of 1992 a scheme had been devised for ‘The arrangement of
bibliographical records in state bibliographical listings on the basis of the Uni¬
versal Decimal Classification’. For the requirements of the publishing indus¬
try a less elaborate scheme was developed in 1993: a simplified version of the
UDC.5

In all essentials, since the beginning of 1993 the grouping of entries and
the structure of the Russian Book Centre’s listings have been founded on the
UDC. There are no special conditions applying to the use of the UDC in
Russian national bibliographic publications. The UDC’s principles of con¬
struction give the freedom to select the degree of detail in which to record
the material, and to create headings not included in the main classification
sequence. For example, special subdivisions were set up to cover the political
situation, economy and history of the Russian Federation. Taking account of
the volume of documents in certain subject areas, some subdivisions of the

5 For detailed information on progress in introducing the use of the UDC into Russian
national bibliography, see A. A. Dzhigo, ‘Primenenie UDK v natsional'noi bibliografii Rossii’,
Nauchnye i tekhnicheskie biblioteki , no. 4, 1994, pp. 32-37; A. A. Dzhigo & S. Iu. Kalinin, ‘Uni-
versal'naia desiatichnaia klassifikatsiia dlia izdatelei’, Knizhnyi biznes, no. 39-40, 1 994, pp. 5-6;
1995, no. 1, p. 5; 1995, no. 2 (82), pp. 7-8.

Russian National Bibliography: Its Present Situation

listing have been reduced in detail.

Editions of the works of Marx, Engels and Lenin are not listed in separate
sections, as they were in the EKL, but in the subject sections corresponding
to their contents. It is also simple to search for publications by those authors
with the aid of the name indexes to the listings. Works on Marxist-Leninist
philosophy are placed under the heading 101 ‘Nature and purpose of philos¬
ophy’, without any subdivision for dialectical and historical materialism. Pub¬
lications on ‘scientific communism’ in general, or on a particular tendency in
political studies, are not placed under a separate heading but located in sec¬
tion 32.001 ‘Political studies’. Russian literature is not subdivided into the
pre-revolutionary and Soviet periods.

All the above is proof enough that, as democratic reforms proceed in Rus¬
sia, the national bibliography is being transformed. The range of documents
subject to registration and recording is broadening; the principles for the selec¬
tion of publications are being applied as decreed by the Federal law on legal
deposit; and the information search language is being perfected. All this, in
the final analysis, is driving the process of consolidating Russia’s place in the
world as a reliable producer and user of national bibliographical information,
and is making possible the direct compatibility of its databases with those of
other countries.

Translated from Russian by Gregory Walker

National Bibliographies
on the Territory of the Former Yugoslavia with
Particular Reference to Slovenian Bibliography

Lidija Wagner

From 1950 the Federal State of Yugoslavia had its corresponding federal
Yugoslav bibliography. In 1949 the Bibliographic Institute of the People’s
Republic of Serbia (Bibliografski institut NR Srbije) was legally transformed
into an all- Yugoslav institution and renamed the Yugoslav Bibiographic Insti¬
tute (Jugoslovenski bibliografski institut). From 1950 onwards it issued the
Yugoslav Bibliography of books, serials, articles, government publications,
grey literature and translations.1 The bibliography was produced on the basis
of a de visu examination of legal deposit copies received from each republic
and from two autonomous regions. Apart from this collective bibliography,
most of the republics produced their own national bibliographies.2 It is inter¬
esting to note that Serbia did not, but that the other republics did, namely
Macedonia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Slovenia, which had the
longest tradition. Printed and other acquisitions were catalogued twice, once
for the Yugoslav Bibiography and once for individual national bibliographies.
There had long been an idea to simplify and rationalize this process. Attempts
had been made to produce catalogue cards for exchange, but difficulties arose
with subject indexes because of the different languages (with different scripts
and different grammatical rules) of the various languages of Yugoslavia.

The turning point was in 1988 when automation was introduced and an
on-line union catalogue began to be formed. At first only the national libraries
of each individual republic and the Yugoslav Bibliographic Institute were con¬
nected to this on-line network. The host of the union catalogue was the Insti¬
tute of Information Sciences (Institut informacijskih znanosti or IZUM) in
Maribor, Slovenia, which was not only in charge of the host computer but
also all the hardware and software for the whole system. Material was cata¬
logued only once and data was stored in the host database and in the local
databases of the individual institutions which were actively involved in creat¬
ing the union catalogue. Data was processed in COMARC, a partly modified
UNIMARC format. The programme was adjusted to suit the needs of each
individual republic. Data was input in Latin characters, output could be in

Bibliografija Jugoslavije: knjige, brosure i muzikalije (Belgrade, Jugoslovenski bibliografski insti¬
tut, 1950- ). Fortnightly.

For a general survey of bibliographies published in the former Yugoslavia up to ca. 1968, see
Michael B. Petrovich, Yugoslavia: A Bibliographic Guide (Washington, Library of Congress, Slavic
and Central European Division, 1974), pp. 3-9.

National Bibliographies on the Territory of the Former Yugoslavia

Latin or Cyrillic. The alphabetical sequence was adjusted to cope with specific
letters (for example, the Cyrillic Ij which counts as one letter in Serbian and
two in Slovenian) . Each republic input particular data, such as keywords and
annotations, in its own national language. Because of the difficulties in search¬
ing which arose from these elements in different languages, the idea arose that
there should be a Yugoslav subject index in the languages of the individual
nations with English as a linking language, but this project was never realised.
General agreement was reached about descriptive cataloguing, structure of
data, classification, and coding of data. For classification, UDC was used, and
became the norm, especially for serials.

From this union catalogue the Yugoslav Bibliography was produced, and
also the national bibliographies of the individual republics, and some other
selective bulletins (for example, the Slovene Bulletin of New Acquisitions3
and CIP bulletin).4 Besides the exchange of bibliographic data, the republics
also exchanged printed and other materials until 1991 when the war broke
out and Yugoslavia fell apart. Channels of communication were broken, new
independent countries were born on the territory of former Yugoslavia, there
were states of emergency or war in Bosnia-Herzegovina and Croatia, and the
rest of Yugoslavia (Serbia, Vojvodina, Kosovo and Montenegro) was subject
to economic and cultural sanctions. Contacts between the new independent
state of Slovenia and Serbia became very weak, but the National and Univer¬
sity Library in Ljubljana continued to exchange some printed material with
Croatia and Macedonia.

As far as national bibliographies were concerned, there was not much
change. The Yugoslav Bibliographic Institute still exists and continues to pro¬
duce the ‘Yugoslav’ Bibliography which now represents the printed production
of Serbia, Vojvodina, Kosovo and Montenegro, and is produced on the basis
of legal deposit copies. The Institute still issues bibliographies of books, serials
and articles. CIP entries are made at the Serbian National Library. Data gath¬
ered by the Yugoslav Bibliographic Institute shows that the number of titles
has greatly declined. In 1992 the number of titles was 2,580; in 1993 about
1,600; in 1994 it rose to 2,800. However, this was only half the number pro¬
duced in Serbia before 1991. Macedonia still issues its national bibliography,5
including entries for books, serials, articles and ‘externica’, i.e. Macedonica
published outside Macedonia. The current number of titles is about 600 a
year, as opposed to the pre-1991 figure of 800-1,000 a year. Both the Mace¬
donian and Serbian national bibliographies are the results of an automated
system. They still use COMARC and software made by IZUM, but the data-

3 Bilten novosti (Ljubljana, Narodna in univerzitetna knjiznica, 1994- ). Monthly.

4 Knjige v tisku (Ljubljana, Narodna in univerzitetna knjiznica, 1991- ). Monthly.

5 Makedonska bibliografija (Skopje, Narodna i univerzitetska biblioteka ‘Kliment Ohridski’,
1951- ). Annual.

Solanus 1996

bases are not accessible to other states because of political and technical prob¬
lems. Description follows ISBD standards and classification is according to
UDC.

The independent state of Croatia also issues its national bibliography, in
two series — books and articles.6 Both are produced by computer, but use a
different system. The format is UNIMARC, descriptive cataloguing follows
ISBD standards and cataloguing rules by Eva Verona,7 and UDC is used for
subject classification. Until 1992 the Croatian bibliography included only legal
deposit material. Later it also included books by Croatian authors published
outside Croatia. In Croatia too a decline in the number of titles published
after 1991 is apparent: in 1990 the number of titles published was 2,500; in
1991 — 1,750; in the first half of 1994 — only 720 titles.

Slovenia has the longest tradition of issuing its current national bibliogra¬
phy, beginning as early as 1868. At first the bibliography appeared as part
of Letopis Slovenske matice ;8 in 1898 it became a separate publication entitled
Zbornik 9 and ceased publication in 1902, reappearing only in 1945 under the
tide Slovenska bibliografija.1® Thereafter, it was issued annually up to 1979,
including descriptions of books, serials, articles and some other printed mate¬
rials. Between 1980 and 1984 it continued as an annual,11 but because of a
growth in printed material, lack of financial support and an insufficient num¬
ber of bibliographers, it came out with ever greater delay; in its latter years it
could hardly be called a current bibliography, since it was ten years in arrears!
However, current bibliographic coverage was (and still is) provided by the
publishers’ monthly Knjiga ,12 available in bookstores and libraries. In 1985
the Slovenian Bibliography began to be issued quarterly,13 and continues to
be published very regularly up to the present day. In 1988 automation was
introduced, and Slovenia was one of the first creators of the union catalogue,
mentioned above. Slovenia produced entries for material published on its own
territory and, at the same time, it had easy on-line access to all monographs

6 Hrvatska bibliografija. Niz. A: Knjige (Zagreb, Nacionalna i sveucilisna biblioteka, 1990- ).
Monthly. Hrvatska bibliografija. Niz. B. Prilozi u casopisima i zbornicima (Zagreb, Nacionalna i
sveucilisna biblioteka, 1990- ). Monthly.

7 Eva Verona, Pravilnik i prirucnik za izradu abecednih kataloga 1 . dio. Odrednica i redalice
(Zagreb, Hrvatsko bibliotekarsko drustvo, 1986); and her Pravilnik i prirucnik za izradu abecednih
kataloga. 2. dio. Katalozni opis (Zagreb, Hrvatsko bibliotekarsko drustvo, 1983).

8 Letopis Slovenske matice (Ljubljana, Slovenska matica, 1868-97).

9 Zbornik (Ljubljana, Slovenska matica, 1898-1902).

10 Slovenska bibliografija (Ljubljana, Narodna in univerzitetna knjiznica, 1945 (printed 1948-
1979). Annual.

11 Slovenska bibliografija. Series B: Knjige (Ljubljana, Narodna in univerzitetna knjiznica,
1980-84).

12 Knjiga: revija za ljubitelje knjige (Ljubljana, Mihelac, 1953- ). Monthly.

13 Slovenska bibliografija: knjige (Ljubljana, Narodna in univerzitetna knjiznica, 1985- ).
Quarterly.

National Bibliographies on the Territory of the Former Yugoslavia

by Slovenian authors published in other Yugoslav republics.

After the disintegration of Yugoslavia in 1991, the principle of automated
processing remained the same, although different libraries were now con¬
nected to the system. The union catalogue continued to function but changed
its name to COBISS (Cooperative On-Line Bibliographic System and Ser¬
vices). IZUM in Maribor is still in charge of hardware and software, and
COMARC is still in use. At present the union catalogue is compiled by
about one hundred Slovenian libraries — public libraries, university and spe¬
cial libraries and the national library. They are creating the cooperative
database/union catalogue COBIB (Cooperative On-Line Bibliographic Data¬
bases). The national library, that is the National and University Library in
Ljubljana, has the following responsibilities: CIP (Cataloguing in publication);
ISSN centre; ISBN agency; recipient of legal deposit material; editor and pub¬
lisher of the national bibliography; superviser of COBIB.

About two-thirds of Slovenian publishers bring their books to the National
and University Library to get CIP entries. The CIP entries are accessible on
COBIB databases, providing the earliest information about the publication of
a book. A selection of CIP entries is published in the literary supplement of
one of the main daily newspapers Delo , and a selective bibliography of recent
books is also published in the monthly journal Knjiga. The law on legal deposit
is one which obligates specifically printers; thus the legal deposit material
received by the National and University Library consists of material printed on
our territory. If the contents of the national bibliography were based on legal
deposit copies it would reflect only the printed output of Slovenia, and would
include the many books printed for foreign customers in many different lan¬
guages by Slovenian printers. The main objective of the Slovenian National
Bibliography is, however, to show the creativity of Slovenians. Therefore it
aims to include publications which satisfy at least one of the following criteria:
Slovenian author; Slovenian language; Slovenian publisher (and not only in
Slovenia).

To acquire all such material is a demanding task. Thus it can happen that
some entries in the current bibliography are for older material (published up
to five years earlier) . The bibliography provides an overview of the creativity of
Slovenians at home and abroad, including material published by the Slovenian
minorities in Italy, Austria and Hungary, and other groups of emigres all over
the world. Although the publications of Slovenian emigres after the Second
World War were prohibited and not accessible to the general public in Slove¬
nia, the National and University Library always tried to acquire them. They
were kept in ‘special’ (restricted-access) collections and made available only
under certain conditions for serious research and study, but information about
them was published in the Slovenian Bibliography. These emigre publications
already spoke out against communism, and advocated the independence of

Solanus 1996

Slovenia. They also wrote about democracy and freedom of speech, and dis¬
cussed religious issues.

After 1991 censorship was abandoned and emigre publications were no
longer given special status. In Slovenia many small private publishers came
into existence and the number of books published privately by the author also
grew. Many new serials appeared, some of them very shortlived. It was like a
dam that had been broken, with a flood of publishers all trying to find their
place in the sun. In 1991, 2,400 monograph titles were published in Slovenia,
rising to 2,900 in 1994. In 1991 there were 700 serial titles, and in 1994 about
950. Before 1991 there were only three daily newspapers, whereas now there
are seven, quite a large number for a nation of two million people.

Subject analysis of recent publications indicates growth in the following
areas: religion, meditation, astrology; alternative, i.e. unofficial, textbooks,
especially for elementary schools; alternative medicine; reprints of Slovenian
classics. At present there is a shortage of university textbooks in Slovenia; in
the past textbooks in Serbo-Croatian which were cheap and available were
widely used. Now, in general, there is a turning away from the languages of
former Yugoslavia and a move towards ‘world’ languages. There is a tendency
for articles on local history and conference proceedings to be written in Eng¬
lish, German, French or Italian; before 1991 they were more likely to have
been written in or translated into Serbo-Croatian. Similarly, translations into
Slovenian are now mostly from English or German, with hardly any works
by Croatian, Serbian or Macedonian authors being translated. Exceptions are
books written by refugees who came to Slovenia as a result of the war. Slove¬
nia provides their children with education, so reprints of Bosnian elemen¬
tary school textbooks are also being produced. There is also an interesting
series ‘Ezgil ABC’, published in Ljubljana, which includes books by Croatian
and Bosnian authors in Croatian, and translations into Croatian of Slovenian
authors. Books about the war in Sarajevo by Bosnian authors and the newspa¬
per Oslobodjenje 14 are also printed in Slovenia.15

In form, the Slovenian National Bibliography is as follows. Bibliographic
description follows ISBD standards. Subject classification is according to
UDC. From 1990 onwards subject headings have been in Slovenian only. At
the end of each volume there are name and subject indexes. The name index
includes names of all authors. In the case of the primary author, title and
entry number are attached. In the case of secondary authors, a code indicat¬
ing the author’s function, e.g. translator, editor or illustrator, is also present,
as well as the entry number. The subject index includes keywords with the

14 Oslobodjenje: nezavisni europski tjednik (Sarajevo, Zagreb, 1993- ). Weekly.

15 I have been unable to obtain any information about current work on the recording of material
printed in Bosnia and Herzegovina. As is well known, the National Library in Sarajevo, which
acted as the bibliographic centre for Bosnia and Herzegovina, was destroyed by fire in 1992.

National Bibliographies on the Territory of the Former Yugoslavia

entry number attached to them. Keywords are also inverted and can appear
in more than one place in the subject index. Example: potresi/Slovenija 231
and Slovenija/potresi 231. The bibliography is available in printed form and
on-line as part of the COBISS union catalogue. A CD ROM is also to be
published which will include the Slovenian Bibliography from 1989 onwards.

Now that Yugoslavia has fallen apart, it is obvious that each of the new
independent states will try to produce its own national bibliography, which will
reflect its individual political and economic situation. In the future cultural
and other connections between the new independent states on the territory
of the former Yugoslavia will be reestablished, but on a different basis. New
technology will inevitably have a great impact on bibliographic services, and
it is probable that the national biliographies of all the new states will, like the
Slovenian Bibliography, be available on-line or on CD ROM.

FIpo6jieMbi h nepcneKTHBbi peTpocneKTHBHOH

6n6jiHorpa4)HH Pocchh

T.B. MnxeeBa

M^eH co3/iaHH5i nonHoro penepTyapa pyccxon xhhth HacnHTbiBaeT y)xe aea
CTOJieTHa h, no cyTH, ao cnx nop ocTaeTca mchtoh MHornx noxojieHHH OTene-
CTBeHHbix 6n6jinorpacJ)OB. He 6yay ocBemaTb rjiy6oxyio ncTopnio Bonpoca,
npexpacHO OTpa^xeHHyio b Tpy^ax H3BecTHbix OTenecTBeHHbix hctophkob
6n6jinorpa(J)HH H.B. S^oGHOBa1 n M.B. MauiKOBon,2 a ocTaHOBjnocb jinuib
Ha p*me MOMeHTOB, KOTOpbie MO)KHO CHHTaTb npo6jieMHbIMH AJia coBpeMeH-
Horo coctoahhji Bonpoca n ot pemeHna KOTopbix bo MHoroM 6yaeT 3aBH-
ceTb, BonnoTHTca jih b )XH3Hb 3Ta MHoroBeKOBaa MenTa pocchhcxhx aeaTenen
KHnrn.

Ochoboh co3aaHHH peTpocneKTHBHoro CBoaa jiio6oh HannoHajibnon nenaT-
hoh npoayxijHH mo>kho CHHTaTb ^jinTejibHO cymecTByfoinyio cncTeMy o6ji-
3aTejibHoro 3X3eMnjiapa, OTjia>xeHHbiH TexymHH yneT pa3Hbix bhxiob H3aa-
hhh, Hajinane 6n6jinorpa(j)HHecKoro neHTpa (neHTpOB), axxyiviyjiHpyioinHX
CBeaeHna, Heo6xoAHMbie rjix B0CC03aaHHa penepTyapa. H Bce-Taxn o6uie-
H3BecTHO, hto aa)xe npn n^eajibHO OTjia^eHHbix Bcex 3thx 3BeHbax HeB03-
mo)kho C03aaTb HannoHajibHbiH penepTyap mctohom npocToro cjio>xeHH5i
Texymnx perncTpaunoHHbix yxa3aTejieii. Hto xacaeTca Pocchh, to cf)axTHHe-
ckh b cTpaHe o6fl3aTejibHbiH 3K3eMnjiap 6biji BBeaeH c 1783 r., xoraa 1 3X3eM-
njiap cTana nojiynaTb BAH, c 1810 r. — HMnepaTopcxafl ny6jiHHHaa 6h6jiho-
Texa, c 1862 r. — EH6jiHOTexa PyMHHneBCxoro My3ea, 3aTeM — eme Hexo-
Topbie xpynHbie GhGjihotcxh.3 B cnjiy pana o6bexTHBHbix npHHHH, b nacTHO-
cth, HCTOpHaecxHx noTpaceHHH, GbiJiH nepnoabi (HanpHMep, 1917 — 1921 rr.),
xoraa Bcero Jinuib 5% nenaTHOH nponyxuHH CTpaHbi nocTynajiH b xpynHen-
uiHe 6H6jiHOTexH.4 Ha Taxne 3HaHHTejibHbie npo6ejibi b nonojmeHHH 6h6jiho-

1 3do6Hoe H.B. McTopna pyccKOH 6H6jiHorpa(j)HH ot upeBnero nepnona no Hanana XX BeKa.
MocKBa, 1944 — 1947, t. 1 — 2.

MaiuKoea M B. McTopHH pyccKOH 6H6jmorpa(j)HH no Hanajia XX BeKa (no okth6pa 1917
rona). MocKBa, 1969, c. 65 — 83.

3 KHHTOBe^eHHe: 3HUHKJionenHHecKHH cjioBapb. MocKBa, 1982, c. 379.

4 EodnapcKuu E C. neTporpancKaa ‘KHH>KHafl JieTonncb’: (/3,OKJian b PyccKOM 6n6jiHorpa-
(j)HHecKOM o6mecTBe npn Mockobckom rocynapcTBeHHOM yHHBepcnTeTe 30 hiojih 1920 r.) //
CoBeTCKaa 6H6jTHorpa(J)HH, 1940, C6. 1, c. 155; [HnbUHCKuu JI.K .] BH6nHorpa(j)HHecKHe pa6oTbi
Khhjkhoh najiaTbi // Bn6.nHorpa4)HHecKoe o6o3peHHe. 1919, Kh. 1, c. 161 — 164; Coxypoea M B.
06mHe 6H6jiHorpa(|)HH pyccKHx khht rpa)KnnHCKOH neHaTH, 1708 — 1955: AHHOTHpoBaHHbin yxa-
3aTejib. 2-e h3.it JleHHHrpan, 1956, c. 187. Cm. TaK>Ke: npoTOKon coBemaHna no o6cy>K,neHHK)
njiaHa pa6oTbi Omejia pexpocneKTHBHOH 6H6jiHorpa(})HH [Bcecoio3HOH khh^khoh najiaTbi], 14
MapTa 1941 r. // HaynHbiH apxHB BKn, (jx 52, en. xp. 3230, ji. 7.

Problemy i perspektivy retrospektivnoi bibliografii Rossii

TeK o6fl3aTejibHbiM 3X3eMnjwpoM neozjHOKpaTHO yKa3bmajiocb b paGoTax
A.J1. IIocaACKOBa,5 Apyrnx cneijHajiHCTOB, b tom HHCJie h aBTOpa rslh-
Horo coo6meHHH.6 PeBOJiKmHOHHbie noTpaceHHH b Pocchh b jik>6oh nepHO#
HacTOJibKO HapymajiH CHCTeMy o6fl3aTejibHoro 3X3eMnjiapa, hto rosopHTb o
CKOJibKo-HH6y^b nojiHOM KOMnjieKTe b xaxoH-jinGo H3 6h6jihotck He npnxo-
XX htcji. KcTaTH, apKHH npHMep Toro — ceroAHHinHee coctohhhc CTpaHbi,
xopaa jx o 10 — 20 h 6ojiee % (no pa3HbiM HCTOHHHxaM) H3#aHHH oxa3biBaioTCfl
BHe CHCTeMbi o6a3aTejibHoro 3X3eMnjiapa.7

Texymaa o^HimajibHaa perHCTpauna b Pocchh Hanajiacb b 1837 r. h
peryjiapHO ocymecTBjiajiacb jinuib jx o 1855 r., 3aTCM — 3nH30,zjHHecxH, c
nepepbmaMH, h nnuib c 1907 r. c B03HHKHOBeHHeM ‘Khh^choh jieTonHCH’ —
nocToaHHO.8 flajiexo He bch nenaTHafl npoAyxuHH CTpaHbi nona^ana b pern-
CTpauHOHHbiH yKa3aTejib, xax no yKa3aHHbiM tcm >xe oGbexTHBHbiM npHHH-
HaM, Tax h b cHjiy p*ma hhhx, a hmchho: b pa3Hbie nepno^bi cymecTBO-
BajiH pa3Hbie npHHijHnbi OTHOCHTenbHO BXjnoHeHHH, a TOHHee — HeBXjnoHeHHH
MaTepnana b r ocynapcTBeHHbiH perncTpaiiHOHHbiH yKa3aTejib, cymecTBOBajiH
orpaHHneHHa no THpaacy, THny H3AaHHH h p*m apyrnx.9 He 6yjxe\t naBaTb
OU,eHKH npaBHJlbHOCTH HJ1H OIHH60HHOCTH Tex HJIH HHbIX peUieHHH B Ka)KflbIH
nepnoa, OTMeTHM TOjibKO, hto nojiHOTa b rocynapCTBeHHOH perncTpauHH
aanexo He HcnepnbiBaioLnaji. B pa3Hbie hct opHHecxne nepnonbi b yneTHbie
yKa3aTejin He nona/jajiH H3^aHH5i h BnojiHe co3HaTenbHO, oneHHBaBuiHeca
rocy^apcTBOM xax HAeonorHHecxH Bpe/jHbie: 6y^b to ‘3anpemeHHbie’ counaji-
TieMOKpaTHHecKHe H3naHH« KOHna npomnoro — Hanajia Hauiero Beica, hjih
4caMH3AaTOBCKHe’, ‘aHTHcoBeTCKHe’ — He^aBHero npouuioro.

HaxoHeij, oco6eHHOCTbK) pa3BHTHH Pocchh hbjihctch to, hto 6h6jiho-
rpacJ)HHecKHH neHTp — KHHmiafl nanaTa, co3AaHHbin jinuib xax cjie^cTBHe
OeBpajibCKOH peBOJiionHH 1917 r., 10 — He 6biJi CBH3aH hh c o^hoh 6H6jiHOTe-
koh, cymecTBOBaji xax caMOCTOHTejibHoe He3aBHCHMoe ynpe>x,aeHHe b 1917 —
1920 rr. b neTporpa/ie, a c 1920 r. Ha ocHOBaHHH Tax Ha3biBaeMoro ‘JleHHH-

5 IlocadcKoe A.JI. CH6npcKa» KHHra h peBOjnouHH, 1917 — 1918. HobochShpck, 1977, c. 21;
Ero ace. Khm^hwh penepTyap Ch6hph 20-x rr.: ripo6jieMbi BoccTaHOBJieHHH h H3yHeHHH //
PerHOHajibHbie npo6jieMbi hctophh khmoi b Ch6hph h Ha ^ajibHeM Boctokc. Hoboch6hpck,
1985, c. 94.

6 Muxeeea r.B. HcTOpua pyccKOH 6H6jiHorpa(J)HH, 1917 — 1921 rr. CaHKT-rieTep6ypr, 1992,
c. 49, 51, 125 h ,np.

7 CBeaeHHH jno6e3Ho npeaocTaBJieHbi OT/ienoM KOMnneKTOBaHHB Pocchhckoh HapHOHajibHon
6n6jiHOTeKH.

8 Muxeeea r.B. rocy/iapcTBeHHaH 6H6jiHorpa({)HHecKaH perHCTpanna k (JjeBpajno 1917 r.
nepHO^H3apHfl 6H6jiHorpa(J)HHecKOH perHCTpauHH b 1917 — 1921 rr. // Muxeeea r.B. McTopHB...
(npHMenaHHe 6), c. 26 — 33.

9 rocy/iapcTBeHHaH perHCTpauHOHHO-yHeTHaa 6H6jiHorpacj)HB b CCCP: CnpaBOHHHK. / Coct.
K).M. MacaHOB. MocKBa, 1952, c. 19; Muxeeea r.B. Hctophh... (npHMenaHHe 6), c. 55 h ,np.

10 06 ynpe^KAeHHSx no aejiaM nenaTH // Co6paHHe y3aKOHeHHH h pacnopjDKeHHH BpeMeHHoro
npaBHTejibCTBa. 1917. 15 Maa (JNe 109), Ot jx. 1, Ct. 598.

100

Solanus 1996

CKoro AeKpeTa o 6H6nHorpa())HH’ 11 6mji TpaHC(j)opMHpoBaH b MocKBy. llo
cyTH b MocKBe 6biJio co3AaHO HOBoe HaeonornnecKoe ynpeaqieHHe, OTBenaB-
uiee 3azianaM Cobctckoh bjibcth, pemaBiuee hx Ha hoji^chom ypoBHe h
He^aBHero npouuioro npOBO^HBiuee b mi3Hb o6baBJieHHyio H^eio napTHimo-
CTH 6H6jIHOrpa(j)HH.

TaKHM o6pa30M, hh o/iHa 6H6jiHOTeKa b Pocchh He pacnojiaraeT CKOJibKO-
HHGyAb nojiHbiM cbo^om OTenecTBeHHOH nenaTH, HeT ee nojiHoro yneTa (a
jx o 1907 r. 06 stom BOo6me He npHxonHTcn rosopHTb) b TeKymHx yxa3a-
Tejiax 6n6jiHorpa(})HHecKOH perHCTpanHH h, HaKOHeu, co3^aHHe neHTpa rocy-
aapcTBeHHOH 6H6jiHorpa(J)HHecKOH perHCTpauHH jinuib b 1917 r., Boo6me He

o6jiaj3aiomero npe/unecTByiomHM 4>ohhom nenaTH, He no3BonaeT roBOpHTb o
bo3mo>khocth co3flaHHa HauHOHanbHoro penepTyapa b Pocchh KaKHM-jin6o
oahhm ynpe^eHneM.

PeajibHbie nonbiTKH npe>KHero Bocco3flaHH5i BceoOmero HauHOHanbHoro
penepTyapa nenaTH ot B.C. ConHKOBa12 jxo C.A. BeHrepoBa13 h penepTy¬
apa, co3/iaHHoro k 1917 r. PyccKHM 6H6jiHorpa(j)HHecKHM o6mecTBOM,14 k
co^cajieHHio, He 6biJiH ^OBe^eHbi #o Komja.

IlocTeneHHO b co3HaHHH 6H6jiHorpa(j)OB cjio^cHjiocb cnpaBe/yiHBoe npen-
CTaBJieHHe, hto b Pocchh HauHOHanbHbiH penepTyap nenaTH jx ojdkch npe/c
CTaBjiaTb co6oh CHCTeMy peTpocneKTHBHbix KanHTajibHbix 6H6jiHorpa(j)HHe-
ckhx TpyAOB, b ocHOBy KOTopbix nono>KeHO, npeacie Bcero, BH^OBoe h xpoHO-
jiorHHecKoe neJieHHe. KpoMe toto, HaH6onee nepcneKTHBHbiM HananoM jxjm
co3/iaHH5i penepTyapa khht 6bijio npH3HaHO co3naHHe Cbo^hoto KaTanora
PyccKOH khhth. B 1950 — 60-e rr. 6bijiH co3naHbi CBO^Hbie KaTajiorn IleTpoB-
ckoh khhth h khht XVIII BeKa.15 B 1977 t. Hananacb peajiH3auHH 20-jieTHen
nporpaMMbi no co3,aaHHK) cbo^hoto KaTanora pyccKHx khht XIX BeKa jxo
1917 r.16 PeanbHaa B03M0>KH0CTb co3^aHHa TaKoro KaTanora 6bina 3ano>KeHa
eme b 1920-e — 50-e rr., Kocaa Ha ocHOBe peKaTanorH3anHH pyccKoro (J)OH,iia

11 riocTaHOBJieHHe CoBeia HapoziHbix KoMHccapoB o nepe^ane 6H6jiHorpa4)HHecKoro ziejia b
PC<t>CP HapoziHOMy KoMHCcapnaTy npocBemeHHB // PbBecTHH BL],HK. 1920. 9 hhdjib (JMo 149).
Cm. TaK^e: Muxeeea r.B. ,U,eKpeT o 6H6jiHorpa(j)HH 1920 r. // Muxeeea r.B. McTopHH... (npn-
MenaHHe 6), c. 131 — 151.

12 ConuKoe B.C. OnbiT pocchhckoh 6n6.nnorpa(j}HH. CaHKT-FIeTepOypr, 1813 — 1821. h. 1—5.

13 Bemepoe C.A. PyccKHe khhth. C 6Horpa(})HHecKHMH ziaHHbiMH 06 aBropax h nepeBoziHHKax
(1708 — 1893). CaHKT-lleTep6ypr, 1895 — 1899. t. 1 — 3 (po ‘BaBHJioB' BKjnoHHTejibHo).

14 OpAoe H.H. 35-JieTHe Pyccxoro 6H6jiHorpa(|)HHecKoro o6mecTBa npw Mockobckom yHH-

BepcHTeTe // EH6jiHorpa(j)HHecKHe H3BecTHB. 1924. 1/4, c. 28. Cm. Tao<e: MaiuKoea M B.

(npHMeaaHHe 2), c. 66 — 71.

15 OnncaHHe H3,aaHHOH nenaTH, 1708 — bhb. 1725 r. / T.A. BbiKOBa, M.M. TypeBHH. MocKBa;
JleHHHrpa^, 1955; CBOziHbiH KaTajior pyccKOH khhth rpa>KziaHCKOH nenaTH XVIII b., 1725 — 1800
rr. MocKBa, 1962 — 1967, 1975; h zip. riojiHbiH nepeneHb cm. b H3ZI.: KHHTOBe/ieHHe (npHMenaHHe
3), c. 49.

16 Cokoauhckuu E.K. FIoKa HeaeM ropziHTbCfl: (O penepTyape pyccKOH khhth) // CoBeTCKaa
6H6jiHorpa(J)HB, 1988, No 3, c. 11 — 16. Cm. TaK>Ke: riojKmeHHe o CHCTeMe CBOziHbix KaTajioroB b
6H6nHOTeKax CCCP. MocKBa, 1987. 6 c.

Problemy i perspektivy retrospektivnoi bibliografii Rossii

101

rocy/japCTBeimafl lly6jiHMHa« 6H6jiHOTeica hm. M.E. CajiTbiKOBa-lU,eApHHa
(Hbme PoccHHCKaa HaijHOHajibHaa 6H6nHOTeKa) BbinycTHjia TaK Ha3biBaeMyio
‘nenaTHyK) KapTOHKy’ c onncaHHeM 736 Tbican Ha3BaHHH h 6e3B03Me3AH0
nepe^ajia ee GnGnHOTeKaM.17 HanoMHio, hto hmchho 3Ta 6H6jiHOTeKa pac-
nonaraeT KpynHeHixiHM b MHpe co6paHneM pyccKOH nenaTH a o 1917 r. Onn-
CaHHfl POCCHHCKOH HaiJHOHanbHOH 6H6jIHOTeKH COCTaBHJIH OKOJIO 70% 6a3bi
CBOAHoro KaTanora. B cboahom KaTanore pyccKHx khht XIX b. ynacTByioT
KpOMe Toro, PoccHHCKaa rocyAapCTBeHHaa 6H6AHOTeKa (ObiBiiiaa Eh6aho-
Teica CCCP hm. JleHHHa), EnGAHOTexa Akaacmkh HayK, r ocyAapcTBeH-
Haa riy6AHHHaa McTopHHecKaa 6H6AHOTeKa h GhGahotckh MocKOBCKoro
h CaHKT-lleTep6yprcKoro yHHBepcHTeTOB. Ilo HpeABapHTeAbHbiM oueHKaM
3KCnepTOB, CBOAHblH KaTaAOr 4>OHAOB 3THX GhGaHOTCK OTpa3HT OKOAO 90%
penepTyapa pyccKOH KHHrH c 1801 r. no 1917 r.18

Bo3rAaBHAa c caMoro HanaAa bcio paGoTy EnGAHOTeKa hm. JleHHHa.
3to 6mao HeBepHO h hcaothhho, Tax xa k y>xe oTMenaAOCb, hto GoAbmaa
nacTb 6a3bi — nenaTHaa KapTOHKa Pocchhckoh HaunoHaAbHOH 6h6ahotckh,
ho BnoAHe cooTBeTCTBOBaAO Ayxy Toro BpeMeHH: EnGAHOTexa CCCP hm.
JleHHHa 6biAa rnaBHOH GhGahotckoh Coio3a, roAOBHbiM ynpoKAeHHeM a ah
Bcex pecny6AHKaHCKHx GhGahotck. Ho BpeMH He HOBepHyTb BcnaTb, cennac
y^ce Bp»A ah ctoht AOMaTb OTpa6oTaHHyK) cHCTeMy h HanaTyio paGoTy CAe-
AyeT AOBecTH ao kohaa.

nepBOHanaAbHO npeAnoAaraAocb H3AaHHe CBOAHoro KaTaAora b 80 a
3aTeM b 120 TOMax.19 CBepxa Ga30BOH KapTOTeKH BeAacb no uenonKe, macchb
no HacTaM nepeAaBanca H3 GhGahotckh b 6n6AHOTeKy h nonoAHHAca mcto-
Aom ‘chokhoto KOMa’. K HacToameMy BpeMeHH 6a30Baa KapTOTexa (cBbirne
640 TbiCHH onncaHKH) CBepeHa c (J)OHAaMH GHGnHOTeK-ynacTHHA h c noMombio
Pocchhckoh khh>khoh nanaTbi bboahtch b 3BM, b CHCTeMe AHCHC BBeAeHO
y>xe okoao 80 tmchh KapToneK. C 1987 r. H3 Cboahofo xaTaAora XIX b. Bbme-
AeH nepHOA 1801 — 1825 rr. b eaMOCToare AbHbiH pa3Aen (o6iahh npeAnonara-
eMbin o6beM — 12 Tbican onncaHHH, 4 TOMa). KpOMe npe^cHHX 6 GhGahotck-
yHaCTHHU K 3TOH HACTH nOAKAIOHHACB POCCHHCKHH TOCyAapCTBeHHblH apXHB

ApeBHHx aktob (PFAflA). C 1992 r. pemeHO chaamh Pocchhckoh rocyAap-

CTBeHHOH H POCCHHCKOH HaUHOHAAbHOH 6h6aHOTCK C03AaBaTb MaiHHHOHHTae-
Myio 6a3y, cennac co3AaH opnrHHaA-MaKeT 1-ro TOMa no GyKBy kE’ Ha ochobc
())opMaTa MEKKA, HMeiomero b ochobc US-MARC. nonyTHo xoTenocb

6bl OTMeTHTb, HTO AOTHHHee 6bIAO 6bl Cpa3y >Ke H3MeHHTb XpOHOAOTHHeCKHe
paMKH h OTOABHHyTb rpaHHuy ao 1830 r., TorAa hauih pa6oTbi noAHOCTbK)
COOTBeTCTBOBaAH 6bl XpOHOAOTHHeCKHM TpaHHHaM, npHHflTbIM KoHCOpiJHy-

17 HcTopHfl rocyziapcTBeHHOH op^eHa Tpy^oBoro KpacHoro 3HaMeHH riy6jiHMHOH 6h6jiho-
TeKH hm. M.E. CajiTbiKOBa-UlezipHHa. AeHHHrpa#, 1963, c. 206 — 207.

18 Cokoauhckuu E.K. (npHMenaHHe 16), c. 13.

19 TaM >Ke.

102

Solanus 1996

mom EBponencKHx 6H6jiHOTeK, h motjih 6bi 6biTb BKJnoneHbi b otot npoeKT
6e3 KaKHx-jiH6o H3MeHeHHH h AonojiHeHHH. rioKa, oflHaico, AOCTHrHyTO coma-
menne o BKjnoneHHH b npoeKT KoHcopunyMa CBeneHHH o pyccKnx KHnrax
XVIII b. n nepBon neTBepTH XIX b.

Flo npHHHTOH b 1988 r. ‘flojirocpOHHOH nporpaMMe C03naHH» cncTeMbi
peTpocneKTHBHon HauHOHajibHon 6n6jiHorpa(j)HH CCCP’ 20 npennojiarajiocb,
hto no 3aBepmeHHH b 2005 r. pa6oT Han ‘CBonHbiM KaTanoroM pyccKon
khhth XIX b.’ no 4>OHnaM uiecTH KpynHenuinx 6n6jinoTeK, npyrne 6h6jiho-
TeKH, npe^cne Bcero, oOnacTHbie, KpaeBbie n KpynHbie yHHBepcajibHbie, a TaK^ce
By30BCKne npOBenyT CBepKy cbohx (jioHnoB c ‘KaTajioroM’, bmjibht h nonro-
tobht cboh nonojiHeHHH k HeMy, hto b nejioM mo>kct cocTaBHTb penepTyap
OTeHecTBeHHon nenaTH yKa3aHHoro nepnona. CxeMa 3Ta, b npHHnnne jiothh-
Han, MO)KeT 6biTb coxpaHeHa, onHaKo y^e Ha naHHOM 3Tane cnenyeT coBep-
meHHO neTKO npencTaBJiHTb ce6e cjienyiomee: Korna C03naBajiacb ‘nenaTHan
KapTOHKa’ Ha H3naHH« XIX Bexa, a 3to, HanoMHio, GbiJin 1920-e — 1950-e rr.,
npn neKjiapHpoBaHHOH o(j)HHHajibHOH nojiHOTe peKaTajiorH3anHH, b ochobc ee
jie>Kaji ^cecTKO co6jnonaeMbiH KJiaccoBbm nonxon, a hmchho, peKaTajiorH3a-
ijhh He nonBeprajiHCb no TornauiHHM oijeHKaM ‘nneojiorHHecKH BpenHbie’ nna-
cth JiHTepaTypbi, npe>Kne Bcero nepKOBHaa n pejiHTH03Haa, HepHocoTeHHaa,
3HaHHTejibHaa nacTb MOHapxHHecKOH JiHTepaTypbi. TaKHM o6pa30M, 3HaHH-
TejibHbin MaccHB JiHTepaTypbi, 6e3 KOTopon HeMbicjiHMO npencTaBHTb nenaTb
Pocchh XIX b., oKa3ajiacb 3a npenejiaMH BKJiioHeHHoro MaccHBa, h ceiiHac
Hano CTaBHTb Bonpoc o ee BbiHBjiaHHH h BKjnoneHHH b ‘CBonHbm KaTajior’.

npHHUHn HneojiorHHecKoro nonxona k OT6opy co6jnona.nc5i HeyKocHH-
TejibHO. /IpcTaTOHHo JiHinb onHoro npHMepa /yia noacHeHHH toto, hto
Gbijio c HecorjiacHbiMH. PteBecTHbin pyccKHH hctophk 6n6jiHorpa(t)HH Mapnn
BacHjibeBHa MauiKOBa, pa6oTaBuiaH b to BpeMH b rpynne peKaTajiorH3anHH,
b KOHne 1940-x — Hanajie 1950-x rr., nonBeprjiacb ‘HneojiorHnecKOH hhctkc’
3a OTcyTCTBHe ‘KjiaccoBoro nonxona k OTGopy1 BKjnonaeMOH b peKaTano-
TH3au,HK) JiHTepaTypbi, cocTonmeMy b nonbiTKe na>Ke He BKjnoHHTb, a npo-
cto co6paTb b oTnejibHOM aiHHKe cBeneHHH 06 HCKjHoneHHbix H3 MaccHBa
H3naHHHX, 6bIJia yBOJieHa H3 Oy6jIHHHOH 6H6jlHOTeKH C (|)OpMyJIHpOBKOH
O HeKOMneTeHTHOCTH H HeCOOTBeTCTBHH ypOBHIO pa6oTbI. /I,OKyMeHTbI 06
3TOM COXpaHHJTHCb B ee JIHHHOM RQJIQ B apXHBe POCCHHCKOH HaUHOHaJlbHOH
6H6jiHOTeKH.21 nono6Hbix npHMepoB mo>kho 6bijio 6bi npHBecTH 6eccneTHoe
MHO)KeCTBO.

KpoMe 3thx pa6oT no co3naHHio OTenecTBeHHoro penepTyapa khht XIX b.

20 npoeKT ‘/JOJITOCpOMHOH nporpaMMbl C03,aaHHfl CHCTeMbI peTpOCneKTHBHOH HaUHOHaJlbHOH
6H6jTHorpa(J)HH b CCCP’. MauiHHormcb. 4 jl XpaHHTca b OT,a,ejie 6H6jiHorpacJ)HH h KpaeBeaeHHa
POCCHHCKOH HaUHOHaJlbHOH 6H6jIHOTeKH.

21 ApxHB PHB, (j). 10/1. JlHHHoe .aejio M.B. MauiKOBOH, ji. 43, 48. Cm. TaK>Ke: Muxeeea r.B.

Mapwfl BacHjibeBHa MaiUKOBa // Khm^khoc aejio, 1993, N° 4, c. 62 _ 64.

Problemy i perspektivy retrospektivnoi bibliografii Rossii

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b Pocchhckoh khedkhoh nanaTe hact MHoroneTHaa KponoTJiHBaa pa6oTa
no co3£aHHio penepTyapa nenaTH XX b. TpyAHOCTH n HCTopHnecKoro, n
H^eojiornHecKoro xapaKTepa, cymecTBOBaBLune b pa3Hbie HCTopnaecKHe nepn-
ORbi, Hen36e^(H0 ocjio>kh}ik)t h 3Ty pa6oTy. KcTara, cjieziyeT yica3aTb, hto
HaA BceMH CBOAHbiMH KaTanoraMH aobjiciot n MaTepnajibHbie cao>khocth,
Bee 6onee ycyryGnaiomHeca, n6o, KaK h3bcctho, co3AaHne TaKnx orpoMUbix
6H6jiHorpa(J)HHecKHx MaccuBOB — Aeno TpyAoeMKoe n KannTajioeMKoe.

B Pocchh ocymecTBAjnoTca pa6oTbi n HaA ApyrnMH cboahumh KaTano-
raMn: no BHAaM H3AaHHH (raaeT, ahctobok, KapT, hot);22 no pernoHaM23 —
o6men3BecTHbi ycnexn no co3AaHHio penepTyapa ch6hpckoh nenaTH, aoctht-
HyTbie HauiHMH hobochGhpckhmh KOJiJieraMH.24

He Mory He KOCHyTbca n eme oahoto npHHAnnnajibHoro, mctoaoao-
mHecKoro Bonpoca, 6e3 pemeHHH KOTOporo hcbo3mo)kho C03AaHne Haun-
OHajibHoro penepTyapa nenaTH b Pocchh. /Jonroe BpeMa b cTpaHe Hanno-
HaAbHaa 6H6nHorpa(})Ha noHHManacb KaK rocyAapcTBeHHaa, Me>KAy hhmh cTa-
BHACH 3HaK paBeHCTBa, H KaK OTMenaAOCb B CBOe BpeMfl B H3BeCTHOM CAOBape
‘KHHroBeAeHHe’, — rocyAapCTBeHHaa 6H6AHorpa())Ha aBAaeTca ‘caMOH ijeAe-
C006pa3H0H H paCnpOCTpaHeHHOH (J)OpMOH HaAHOHaAbHOH OnGAHOTpa^HH’.25
B 3tom npocAeacHBaAca Bee tot ace KAaccoBbiH nonxoA, Ta ace HAeoAOTHne-
CKaa cymHocTb, KOTAa HrHopnpoBaAHCb 3naHHTeAbHbie no o6beMy h Heoije-
HHMbie no CBOeH HayAHOH, HCTOpHHeCKOH H KyAbTypHOH 3HAHHMOCTH Mac-
CHBbi pyccKOH 3apy6e>KHOH AHTepaTypbi. B nocAeAHee BpeMa Ha cTpaHHLjax
OTenecTBeHHOH npo(()eccHOHaAbHOH 6H6AHorpa(j)OBeAHecKOH h KHHroseAae-
ckoh nenaTH Ha6AK>AaAca npocTo HaTHCK cTaTeil o npo6AeMax HannoHaAbHOH
6H6AHorpa(})HH BOo6me h ‘Pocchkh’, b nacTHOCTH.26 TeopeTHnecKH aah Hac
3Ta npoGneMa petueHa, HeMaAOBa>KHbiH BKAaA b ee peuieHHe bhccah moh
MOCKOBCKHe KOAAerH B.A. CeMeHOBKep27 h B.M. XapAaMOB.28 Tenepb nopa
AenaTb npaKTHnecKHe BbiBOAbi. HannoHaAbHbiH penepTyap nenaTH hcmwcahm
6e3 BOCC03AaHHH penepTyapa pyccKOH 3apy6eacHOH khh™ h nepnoAHKH h

22 OriHcaHHe y»e BbimeaiiiHx KaTajioroB aaHbi b H3a.: KHHroBeaeHHe (npHMeMaHHe 3), c.
49. riocneaHHe aaHHbie o npoBoaHMbix pa6oTax coaepacaTca b npoTOKOJie 3aceaaHHB YneHoro
coBeTa Pocchhckoh HauHOHaubHOH 6h6jihotckh ot 24 HoaOpa 1995 r. (XpaHHTca y yneHoro
ceKpeTapa Bh6jihotckh).

23 Khhfh o AoHe h CeBepHOM KaBKa3e, XVIII b. — 20-e rr. XX b. (cBoaHbin 3JieKTpoHHbiH

KaTanor, roTOBHTca k nenaTH). '

24 Cboahuh KaTajior ch6hpckoh h aaabHeBocTOHHOH KHHrn, XVIII b. — 1917 r. (opnrHHaji-
MaxeT pyKonncH b mHTB CO PAH, roTOBHTca k neMaTH).

25 KHHroBeaeHHe (npHMenaHHe 3), c. 149.

26 XapAaMoe B.M. Pyccxaa 3apy6e>KHafl KHHra KaK 6H6jiHorpa(J)HHecKafl KaTeropna // Bhojiho-
rpa(J)HB, 1994, JV? 6, c. 11—20.

27 CeMenoeKep E.A. rocyaapcTBeHHaa 6H6jiHorpa(J)H« b HH(j)opMauHOHHOM oOmecTBe.
MocKBa, 1991, c. 10 — 14; Ero a<e. KoHuenuna rocyaapcTBeHHOH 6H6jiHorpa(})HH // CoBeTCKaa
6H6jiHorpa(J)HB, 1991, JSo 2, c. 3 — 18 (b coaBT. c A. A. MypaTOBbiM) h ap.

28 XapAaMoe B.M. (npHMeMaHHe 26).

104

Solanus 1996

yneTa Been jiHTepaTypbi o Pocchh, BbimeAmeH b Apyrnx cTpaHax. FIocKOJibKy
3^ecb oTcyTCTByioT Bee Tpn, Ha3BaHHbie b Hanajie Moero AOKjiaAa (jiaKTOpbi
(o6a3aTejibHbiH 3K3eMnjiap, TeKymnii 6H6jiHorpa(J)HHecKHH yneT (b 3HaHH-
TejibHOH CTeneHH) h HajiHHHe cneuHajibHoro 6H6jiHorpa(j)HHecKoro ynpe>KAe-
hhh), fleno ocjio^cHaeTca eme 6ojibiue, neM npn co3aahhh peTpocneKTHBHoro
CBO^a H3^aHHH, ony6jiHKOBaHHbix b caMOH Pocchh. HaMeTHjiocb HecKOJibKo
HanpaBjieHHH b pemeHHH 3toh npo6jieMbi, h Bee ohh npaBOMOHHbi, oaho He
HCKjnoHaeT Apyroe, ohh aojokhm cocymecTBOBaTb BMecTe. Oaho — onnea-
HHe KOJiJieKAHH pyccKoro 3apy6e>Kb5i h HHOCTpaHHOH JiHTepaTypbi o Pocchh
B Ka^AOH OTAeJlbHO B35ITOH 6H6jIHOTCKe. A 3aTCM o6beAHHCHHe 3THX CBeAe-
hhh b o6iahh 6aHK AaHHbix. 3to — reHepajibHbiH nyTb Pocchhckoh rocy-
AapcTBeHHOH 6h6jihotckh b MocKBe. OHa cocTaBHJia AOJirocpOHHyio npo-
rpaMMy h pa3ocjiajia ee b KpynHeHuiHe 6h6jihotckh h pernoHajibHbie ueH-
Tpbi Pocchh, noAKJiioHHJiacb k 3toh nporpaMMe h PoccHHCKaa HaiiHOHajibHaa
(ny6jiHHHaa) 6n6jiHOTeKa b IleTepOypre. Co3AaHHe TaKoro o6mepoccHH-
CKoro CBOAa cbcachhh no3BOJiHT, o6pa3HO roBopa, OTBeTHTb Ha Bonpoc ‘hto
eCTb H3 POCCHKH B HaiUHX (j)OHAaX?’ KaK 6bl COCTaBHOH HaCTbK) 3TOrO Hanpa-
BAeHHfl aBJiaeTca C03AaHHe TeppHTopnajibHbix cboahmx KaTajioroB, npe>KAe
Bcero nepHOAHnecKHx H3AAHHH pyccKoro 3apy6e)KbH, H3BecTHbi mockobckhh
h neTep6yprcKHH KaTanorH.29 KcTaTH, cennac hact 3aBepmeHHe 2-ro AonoA-
HeHHoro H3AaHH» CBOAHoro KaTajiora pyccKOH 3apy6e)KHOH nepHOAHKH b
6H6jiHOTeKax h apxHBax CaHKT-rieTep6ypra, cymecTBeHHO OTjiHnaiomerocfl
ot nepBoro, h6o 3a nocjieAHHe toabi (j)OHAbi Hauinx 6h6jihotck 3HaHHTejiBHO
nOnOJIHHAHCb paHee OTCyTCTBOBaBUJHMH B HHX Ha3BaHH5IMH. OAHaKO HH OAHH
H3 3thx nyTefi He AacT HaM oTBeTa Ha Bonpoc ‘hto >Ke 6biJio H3AaH0 b
pyccKOM 3apy6e>Kbe h b Apyrnx CTpaHax o Pocchh?’. OTBeTHTb Ha 3tot
Bonpoc BecbMa HenpocTO, xoth cymecTBeHHyio noMomb b 3tom OKa3BiBaioT
H3BecTHbie pa6oTbi M. IUaTOBa,30 MaHKJia,31 MajibKjie3,32 CnMMOHca,33 B.
3ajieBCKH,34 KyjiHKOBCKH35 h MHornx Apyrnx 3apy6e>KHbix cneHHajiHCTOB.

29 MaTepnajibi k Cbo^homy KaTajiory nepHO^HHecKHX h npo/tojDKatomHxcfl H3/iaHHH Pocchh-
CKoro 3apy6e>Kba b 6H6jiHOTeKax MocKBbi (1917 — 1990). MocKBa, 1991. 87 c.; CBO,HHbiH KaTa-
Jior pyccKHX 3apy6e)KHbix nepHO^HHecKHX h npo,ztojt:>KaK>inHxcfl H3,ztaHHH b 6H6jtHOTeicax CaHKT-
IleTep6ypra (1917 — 1992 rr.) / Pe,a. T.B. MuxeeBa; Hayn. pezi. A. A. LUhjiob. CaHKT-FIeTep6ypr,
1993, 142 c.

30 M. Schatoff, Half d Century of Russian Serials, 1917-1968: Cumulative Index of Serials Publi¬
shed Outside the USSR. New York, 1969-1972. 5 vols.

31 K. Maichel, Guide to Russian Reference Books. Stanford, 1962-1964. 2 vols.

32 L. N. Malcles, Les Sources du travail bibliographique. Geneve, 1950—1958. 3 vols.

33 J. S. G. Simmons, Russian Bibliography, Libraries and Archives. Oxford, 1973. xviii, 76 pp.

34 W. Zalewski, Fundamentals of Russian Reference Work in the Humanities and Social Sciences.
Stanford (edb-form); etc.

35 A. Kulikowski, ‘A Neglected Source: The Bibliography of Russian Emigre Publications since
1917’, Solanus, New Series, vol. 3 (1989), pp. 89-102, and ‘The Bibliography of Russian Emigre
Publications since 1917: An Update’, Solanus , New Series, vol. 9 (1995), pp. 13-23.

Problemy i perspektivy retrospektivnoi bibliografii Rossii

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O^HaKO, h 3to ecTecTBeHHo, bo bccx pa6oTax HMetoTca 3HaaHTejibHbie npo-
nycKH.

PoccHHCKaa HauHOHajibHaa 6ii6jiHOTeKa, byAynn oahoh H3 Aeyx HaijHo-
HanbHbix 6h6jihotck Pocchh, nocTaBHjia nepeA co6oh 3aAany h yyK e b Tene-
Hue Tpex JieT bcact pa6oTy no co3AaHHio ‘YKasaTejia 6H6jiHorpa({)HHecKHx
noco6nn no Poccmce’ ( Guide to Rossica Bibliographies). K HacTOflmeMy Bpe-
MeHH BbiaBjieHO CBbirne 4 tmcah yKa3aTejien, cjiOBapen, 3HUHKJione/jHH. Hama
pa6oTa 6y^eT Ha3biBaTbca ‘npeABapHTejibHbm cnncoK’, nocKOJibKy n b Hen He
MO)KeT hath penb 06 HCHepnbmaiomeH nojmoTe, ho y>Ke cennac jicho, hto 3to
HaH6ojiee nojiHbm cboa 6H6AHorpa(j)HHecKHx MaTepnanoB no PoccnKe, KorAa-
jih6o cymecTBOBaBmHH. CocTaBjiaioT ero Taicne H3BecTHbie cneAHajiHCTbi, xax
B.JI. KaHAejib h T.n. noHemco. Abtop AaHHoro cooGmenna HBjiaeTca Hayn-
hmm peAaKTOpOM 3Toro H3AaHHa, H3BecTHbiH yneHbiH h 6H6jiHorpa(J) H.B.
TyAOBmHKOBa — HaynHbiM KOHcyjibTaHTOM. Pa6oTy npeAnonaraeTca H3AaTb
b KOHAe 1996 r.

TaKOBbi jinmb HeMHorne npo6jieMbi h nepcneKTHBbi peTpocneKTHBHOH
o6meii (yHHBepcajibHoii) 6H6jiHorpa(})HH b Pocchh. Ectcctbchho, hto hx
3HaHHTejibHo 6onbme, neM yAanocb ocBeTHTb. MHoro HepemeHHbix npo-
6acm h b o6jiacTH cnennajibHOH (oTpacneBOH) 6H6jiHorpa(J)HH. OAHaico paMKH
KopOTKoro coo6meHHa He no3BOJiaioT pacKpbiTb hx Bee.

Russian Retrospective Bibliography: Problems and Perspectives

The task of compiling a full retrospective bibliography of Russian printed books has
been made more difficult by the lack of continuous and stable systems for legal deposit
and for registration of current material. Historical and ideological factors have resulted
in library holdings and national bibliographical resources which are less than complete.

Various projects have been completed (the creation of union catalogues of publi¬
cations of the time of Peter the Great and of the eighteenth century) and some are
under way. Holdings of major Russian libraries of material printed between 1800 and
1917 are recorded in a card catalogue which is currently being made into a database.
The records for books printed up to 1825 will be incorporated into the database being
mounted by the Consortium of European Research Libraries. Work is also being done
on the twentieth century.

Problems which have to be addressed are: the exclusion in Soviet times of such cate¬
gories as religious, anti-Semitic and monarchist publications; and the Soviet idea that
national bibliography means state bibliography, resulting in the absence of records for
Russian literature and literature about Russia published abroad. Both the Russian State
Library and the National Library of Russia are beginning to compile bibliographies of
such material.

A Survey of Printed Books in Church Slavonic
in Collections Outside the Former USSR

Christine Thomas

Church Slavonic books are scattered all over the world, some in the most
unlikely places.1 This survey is a first attempt to list insitutions where collec¬
tions are held and catalogues or articles devoted to them (both about individ¬
ual copies and about how collections were formed) — this, not as an isolated
exercise, but in the hope that it can be used as the basis for an international
union catalogue.

The survey covers Europe and North America. At the end of 1994 I sent
questionnaires to likely institutions and would like to thank all the people who
found the time to respond. The list (below) is based largely on replies to the
questionnaire, but I have also included (with a question mark) some libraries
which are almost certain to have some relevant books in their collections, even
though I received no reply from them. Additional information has been taken
from existing catalogues. My questionnaire asked for information about books
specifically in Church Slavonic and did not have any chronological limits. In the
light of replies received I am coming round to the idea that the scope should be
widened to include books in cyrillic script of all kinds and should be narrowed
down to books printed up to the end of the eighteenth century. I will say more
about this later.

The arguments for producing a catalogue of books held in the countries
where they were printed do not need to be rehearsed, but I would like to
restate the good reasons for studying collections of books held outside their
native lands. These have been brought home to me as I have been studying
the replies to the questionnaire.

Firstly, there is the contribution that such study can make to our knowledge
of the history of printing in East Slavonic lands. It is possible to find unique
items, books of which copies have not survived in the place where they were
printed. In 1938 John Barnicot was able to report on nineteen books not pre¬
viously recorded, eighteen in England and one in the Sparwenfeld collection in
the University of Uppsala.2 Barnicot and Simmons’s article in Oxford Slavonic
Papers in 1951 added another three to the list.3

1 See, for example: J. S. G. Simmons, ‘Early-Printed Cyrillic Books at Lambeth and Valletta’,
Solanus, no. 3 (July 1968), pp. 10, 11.

2 John Barnicot, Neizvestnye russkie staropechatnye knigi naidennye v Anglii (Some Unknown
Russian Early Printed Books found in England) (Parizh, Izdanie Obshchestva Druzei Russkoi Knigi,
1938).

3 J. D. A. Barnicot & J. S. G. Simmons, ‘Some Unrecorded Early-printed Books in English
Libraries’, Oxford Slavonic Papers , vol. II (1951), pp. 98-1 18, [5] plates.

A Survey of Printed Books in Church Slavonic

107

In 1953 Harvard College Library acquired the only known copy of
Fedorov’s 1574 Azbuka which had previously belonged to Diaghilev.4 A sec¬
ond copy was acquired by the British Library in 1982, a copy which had been
in private ownership in England since at least the eighteenth century.5 6 A more
recently discovered example of an extremely rare Moscow book which has sur¬
vived abroad but not in Russia, is a Chasovnik printed by Andronnik Timofeev
Nevezha in 1598, of which copies are held both by the British Library and the
Bodleian Library. Zernova’s description of a book which she believed to be
the 1598 Chasovnik 6 was based on an imperfect copy of which the colophon
was supplied in facsimile. Examination of the British Library and Bodleian
copies, both of which possess an original colophon, has revealed that what
Zernova described was a completely different work, with a different collation,
a different number of lines to the page and a different number of headpieces.
Furthermore, the British Library and Bodleian copies contain two headpieces
previously unknown to Russian bibliographers; they do not feature at all in
Zernova’s albums of Moscow ornaments. 7

Apart from finds of unique copies, the examination of copies held in
libraries abroad of books which are less rare can sometimes make an impor¬
tant contribution to debates about the circumstances of their printing. Barni-
cot and Simmons’s study of copies of the Ostrog Bible (the copy in the British
Library brought back to England by Jerome Horsey probably quite soon after
its publication, and the copy presented to the Bodleian Library in 1602 by Sir
Richard Lee), both of which possess the 1580 and the 1581 colophon, showed
that there had been only one edition of the Bible and not two, as previously
believed.8 9 In more recent times, Pozdeeva’s dating of the New York Public
Library’s copy of Fiol’s Triod' Tsvetnaia as ca 1493 adds more evidence to
the debate about whether or not Fiol secretly resumed his printing activities
between 1493 and 1496. 9

4 R. Jakobson & W. A. Jackson, ‘Ivan Fedorov’s Primer’, Harvard Library Bulletin , ix (1955),
no. 1, pp. 5-42.

5 Christine Thomas, ‘Two East Slavonic Primers: Lvov, 1574 and Moscow, 1637’, The British
Library Journal, vol. 10, no. 1 (Spring, 1984), pp. 32-47.

6 A. S. Zernova, Knigi kirillovskoi pechati izdannye v Moskve v XVI-XVII vekakh. Svodnyi
katalog (Moscow, Gosudarstvennaia biblioteka SSSR im. V. I. Lenina, Otdel redkikh knig, 1958),
no. 14.

7 A. S. Zernova, Ornamentika knig moskovskoi pechati' XVI-XVII vekov (Al'bom) (Moscow,
Izdanie Gosudarstvennoi biblioteki SSSR im. V. I. Lenina, 1952), and her Ornamentika knig
moskovskoi pechati kirillovskogo shrifta, 1677-1750 (Moscow, Gosudarstvennaia biblioteka SSSR
im. V. I. Lenina, 1963).

8 Barnicot & Simmons (note 3), pp. 117, 8. (Appendix II: ‘The Editio princeps of the Slavonic
Bible’).

9 Robert H. Davis, Jr., Slavic and Baltic Resources at the New York Public Library: A First History
and Practical Guide (New York, Los Angeles, The NYPL and Charles Schlacks, Jr., 1994), p.
49, note 139. Church Slavonic , Glagolitic , and Petrine Civil Script Printed Books in the New York
Public Library: A Preliminary Catalogue. Described by Irina Pozdeeva. Catalogued by Zora Kipel.

108

Solanus 1996

The study of copies of books in collections abroad can also contribute to
our knowledge of how books were disseminated. A field of study which is par¬
ticularly rewarding when applied to collections of books outside their place
of origin is that of provenance, both in terms of the provenance of individual
books (library stamps, book-plates and ownership inscriptions) and in terms
of the shape and composition of a collection in a particular library and how
it came to be built. To cite just a few examples: Eszter Ojtozi’s scrupulous
reconstruction of the library of the Greek Catholic monastery and church in
Mariapocs in north-east Hungary for her doctoral dissertation (published in
an abridged version in 1982) 10 and the conclusions she has drawn from the
analysis of the contents of the library have helped to illuminate two dark areas
in the knowledge of how books were disseminated. Hungary, until 1798, had
no cyrillic press of its own, so all Church Slavonic books had to be imported.
There is little evidence to indicate from where and how they were imported.
Firstly, Ojtozi’s study of the imprints of books in the Mariapocs library has
shown that books used by the Orthodox population in Hungary were not,
as previously believed, imported mainly from Russia, i.e. Moscow. Only one
third of the mariapocsi books have Moscow imprints; the rest were printed in
Ukraine or Belarus.* 11 Secondly, her study of archives and ownership inscrip¬
tions give some indication of the process of importing; for example, six books
in the collection were purchased by the printer and middleman from Uzh¬
gorod, V. Eger, from the Lviv merchant Mikhail Dymet.12

A subsidiary issue, but one which, as I have been reading and following up
answers to the questionnaire, I have found just as interesting as the question
of what books are in what libraries, is how collections were formed in individ¬
ual libraries and how this process reflects historical events and upheavals. A
number of poignant examples relate to books of the Greek Catholic (Uniate)
Church in areas where there was a minority Ukrainian (or, in some places,
Rusyn) population. One is the collection of Church Slavonic books in the
Castle Museum in Lancut which, like some other museum collections in
south-east Poland, was formed as a result of a rescue operation to save books
and other religious objects abandoned by the Ukrainian population who were
deported to the USSR or to north-west Poland after the Second World War.
These books were from the Greek Catholic diocese of Przemysl, where 330
out of 650 churches were destroyed.1 1

(Forthcoming, 1996?)

10 Eszter Ojtozi, A mariapocsi bazilitak cirillbetus konyvei—Knigi kirillovskoi pechati mari-
apovchanskikh bazilian, Regi Tiszantuli Konyvtarak=Starye biblioteki Zatisskogo kraia, 2 (Debre¬
cen, 1982).

11 Ojtozi (note 10), p. 59 and place index, pp. 1 13-16.

12 Ojtozi (note 10), p. 60 and nos. 109, 110, 111, 1 17, 119, 120.

13 Wieslaw Witkowski, Katalog starodrukow cyrylickich Muzeum Zamku w Lancucie. (Dzial
Sztuki Cerkiewnej.) (Cracow, 1994), p. 6.

A Survey of Printed Books in Church Slavonic

109

In Hungary the libraries of the Greek Catholic (Uniate) Church were
treated more kindly. At least, when in 1950 monasteries were ‘secularised’,
their libraries were not destroyed. The libraries were, however, ‘nationalised’
and the books were scattered. A prime example was the library of the Basilian
Monastery at Mariapocs in Szabolcs-Szatmar County in the east of Hungary.
Founded in 1753-56 at the same time as the Mariapocs Uniate Church, it had
about 2000 books, besides a collection of liturgical books which were owned
by the church and used for services. This is the collection which was recon¬
structed by Eszter Ojtozi.14 A parallel example is described in a catalogue
of Church Slavonic books in the Presov Scientific Library which formerly
belonged to the library of the Greek Catholic eparchy of Presov and which
were also at risk when the Greek Catholic (Uniate) Church in Slovakia was
liquidated in 1950. 15

At the opposite end of the spectrum, fascinating as an example of major
libraries taking advantage of political upheaval (and, maybe, saving books
from destruction) are purchases made by American libraries in the period
of Soviet book sales in 1921-1935. In 1918 Avrahm Tsalevich Yarmolinsky
(1890-1975) was appointed head of the Slavonic Division of the New York
Public Library. A recent immigrant, he had been educated in St Petersburg
and Switzerland before coming to the United States in 1913 where he studied
in New York at City College and Columbia University. During Yarmolinsky’s
thirty-eight year period of office, the Library seized all opportunities to add to
its Slavonic collections. Yarmolinsky set up exchanges with libraries in Russia,
he secured purchases from sales of material offered by the Soviet government,
and in the winter of 1923-1924 he went on a bookbuying expedition to Latvia,
Russia and Eastern Ukraine. The NEP period was a time when Soviet librar¬
ians and officials were able to associate relatively freely and openly with the
Americans. Nevertheless, it comes as a surprise to discover that one of the
founders of Soviet librarianship was at pains to help them to buy and export
early-printed books. In 1923 L. B. Khavkina (1871-1949) wrote to the NYPL
director E. H. Anderson, offering advice on how to obtain export licenses: ‘I
have made enquiries everywhere and can tell you that second hand dealers are
in greater quantity in Petrograd . . . the export of new editions is very easy,
but difficulties can arise with old books. It is possible to obtain an individual
permit for exporting them in showing that the New York Public Library in the
days of tzarizm possessed a very complete collection of works on [R]ussian rev¬
olutionary movement and counted many [Rjussian revolutioners [szc] among
its patrons.’ 16 Many rare items were also acquired by the New York Public

14 Ojtozi (note 10).

15 Vychodoslovanske dace do r. 1800 v SVK Presov , zostavil Jozef Selepec (Presov, Statna vedecka
kniznica v Presove, 1989).

16 Davis (note 9), p. 44.

110

Solanus 1996

Library from the ‘Antiquariat’ catalogues of Mezhkniga.17 Harvard Univer¬
sity Library and the Hoover Institution were also purchasing extensively at
this time. In the 1930s, in spite of the Great Depression, the New York Public
Library acquired some of its most important early-printed Slavonic books, for
example, Fedorov’s 1564 Apostol , his 1574 Apostol , one of the ‘anonymous’
Gospels printed in Moscow and a Fiol Triod' Tsvetnaia.18

Also of interest is the presence in libraries of the collections of individual
collectors. For example, Swedish libraries benefited from the collections of
Johan Gabriel Sparwenfeld (1655-1727), author of the Lexicon Slavonicum ,
who as early as 1705, began to donate parts of his enormous collections to var¬
ious Swedish libraries. Most of his Slavonic collection was donated to Uppsala
University Library in 1721 and 1722, and a part was donated by his grand¬
son to the Diocesan Library of Vasteras in 1774. 19 From Kjellberg’s cata¬
logue of Slavonic imprints in Uppsala University Library, it is possible to see
which books were donated by Sparwenfeld.20 A striking example of the value
of studying individual collections and copies is provided by a small collec¬
tion, recently discovered in Halle, of books formerly in the library of Thomas
Consett (1677P-1730), chaplain in the British factories in Arkhangelsk, then
Moscow, then St Petersburg, between 1717 (1715?) and 1727, and author of
The Present State and Regulations of the Church of Russia (London, 1729). This
collection is illuminating not only in its composition, but also because of the
annotations and inscriptions which are in the books. For example, a note in
Feofan Prokopovich’s Pravda voli monarshei (Moscow, 1722) indicates that it
was given to Consett by the author soon after its publication.21

The wealth of East Slavonic imprints in Prague collections22 is due in
large part to the legacy of prominent figures in the Czech Renaissance of the
end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth century, such as Josef
Dobrovsky (1753-1829), Vaclav Hanka (1791-1861) and Pavel Josef Safarik
(1795-1861) who were pioneers in the study of cyrillic printing. Safarik’s col¬
lection was purchased by the National Museum in Prague after his death.23 A
catalogue of these Prague collections which included notes of provenance and

1 7 Davis (note 9), p. 47.

18 Pozdeeva (note 9), no. 1.

19 Ulla Birgegard, Johan Gabriel Sparwenfeld and the Lexicon Slavonicum: His Contribution to
17th-Century Slavonic Lexicography , Acta Bibliothecae R. Universitatis Upsaliensis, vol. XXIII
(Uppsala, 1985), p. 4.

20 Lennart Kjellberg, Catalogue des impnmes slavons des XVIe, XVIIe et XVI lie siecles conserves
a la Bibliotheque de VUniversite Royale d’Uppsala (Uppsala, 1951).

21 Mikhail Fundaminskii, ‘Knigi iz biblioteki Tomasa Konsetta v sobranii Franckesche Stiftun-
gen Halle’ (forthcoming, Oxford Slavonic Papers, 1996).

22 See Frantiska Sokolova, ‘Cyrilske tisky v ceskych knihovnach’, in Najstarsze druki
cerkiewnoslowjahskie i ich stosunek do tradycji r^kopismiennej. Materialy z sesji Krakow 7-10/ XI 1991
(Cracow, 1993), pp. 291-300.

23 Sokolova (note 22), p. 293.

A Survey of Printed Books in Church Slavonic

111

ownership inscriptions would surely yield a wealth of interesting information.

Ownership inscriptions in the relatively small number of books in Oxford
and Cambridge college libraries (described by Barnicot and Simmons),24
many of them donated by travellers returning from Russia in the seventeenth
century, provide insight into Anglo-Russian relations of the seventeenth cen¬
tury.

Existing Catalogues

In most Western countries, the study of early-printed East Slavonic books has
never been a major field of study, and many collections remain unexplored.
Nevertheless, as you will see from the list, quite a number of preliminary
investigations have been made and documented. In the countries of Eastern
and Central Europe more concerted work has been undertaken, much of it
stimulated by the then Lenin Library’s noble and ambitious initiative in the
1970s to compile a union catalogue ( Svodnyi katalog). The fact that a strong
body of public opinion in bibliographical circles helped to bring this project
into being was stressed by E. L. Nemirovskii, in his introduction to the first
issue of V pomoshch ' sostaviteliam Svodnogo kataloga . . . : ‘V poslednie gody v
nashei strane i za rubezhom neodnokratno vyskazyvalos' mnenie o neobkhodi-
mosti sozdaniia takogo kataloga . . . \25 One of the most persistent campaign¬
ers ‘abroad’ for a union catalogue has been my compatriot John Simmons.
In 1964 when giving an address in Moscow at the celebrations of the 400th
anniversary of printing in Russia, he surprised his audience by departing from
his prepared text and exhorting Russian bibliographers to start work on an
international union catalogue of early-printed cyrillica.26 He followed this up
with a letter sent out in 1966 to bibliographers in twenty-two countries.27 At
this stage the idea was to concentrate on books printed up to 1600.

In 1976 all seemed set fair. The Lenin Library’s strategic plan for 1976-
1980 included a definite work plan towards the compilation of a union cata¬
logue of books in cyrillic and glagolitic types of the fifteenth to the eighteenth
century (with short descriptions and holdings notes), and separate volumes
devoted to individual printing houses. This initiative engendered research into
holdings of libraries in the USSR and in a number of the former ‘socialist
countries’. Some preliminary union lists were published, for example ‘Slavonic
cyrillic incunabula and paleotypes in collections in Bulgaria’, published in

24 Barnicot & Simmons (note 3).

25 V pomoshch' sostaviteliam Svodnogo kataloga staropechatnykh izdanii kirillovskogo i glagolich-
eskogo shriftov. Metodicheskie rekomendatsii , vyp. 1 (Moscow, Gosudarstvennaia biblioteka SSSR
im. V. I. Lenina, Otdel redkikh knig, 1976), p. 3.

26 J. S. G. Simmons, ‘Privetstvie na Obshchem Zasedanii Otdeleniia istorii i Otdeleniia liter-
atury i iazyka Akademii nauk SSSR v Moskve, 2-go marta 1964 g.’ (typescript).

27 Letter dated 4 August 1966 (typescript).

112

Solanus 1996

1981, 28 and a union listing of cyrillic imprints in Czech libraries, published
as an appendix to an exhibition catalogue in 1982. 29 In Hungary a number of
excellent catalogues were produced by several specialists, most notably Eszter
Ojtozi of Debrecen University.30

Apart from published catalogues, a vast amount of data about holdings in
the former socialist countries must still be held in the Russian State Library
(formerly the Lenin Library) and in the libraries which collected informa¬
tion. For example, catalogue records for all pre-1621 Church Slavonic books
held in Czech libraries were sent in to the Lenin Library and further informa¬
tion about holdings of books published up to 1 800 was collected and kept in
Prague.31

Catalogues produced in the West are, almost without exception, the result
of the dedication and enthusiasm of a particular individual or a few individ¬
uals in a particular country. In 1951 Lennart Kjellberg published a catalogue
of pre-1801 glagolitic and cyrillic imprints in Uppsala University Library and
has since added to it the holdings of other Swedish libraries.32 In the United
States Edward Kasinec has done a lot of work identifying American holdings
and, maybe even more importantly, has stimulated others to do research. One
remarkable result is Irina Pozdeeva’s catalogue of Church Slavonic books in
the New York Public Library. Iraida Gerus-Tarnawecka has published a cat¬
alogue of East Slavonic books and manuscripts in Canada.33 In Britain the
work of John Simmons has ensured that all British holdings have been listed
and partially described.34

Scope of Existing Catalogues

The majority of catalogues which exist cover the period from the beginning of
cyrillic printing up to end of eighteenth century. Narrower in its timespan is
Badalic’s bibliography of books printed for the South Slavs up to 1 600 (includ-

28 ‘Slavianksie kirillovskie inkunabuly i paleotipy v knigokhranilishchakh Bolgarii’, sostavili
Petr Atanasov i Lidiia Dragomolova, in V pomoshch' sostaviteliam Svodnogo kataloga staropechat-
nykh izdann kirillovskogo i glagolicheskogo shriftov. Metodicheskie ukazaniia, vyp. 6 (Moscow, Gosu-
darstvennaia biblioteka SSSR im. V. I. Lenina, Narodnaia biblioteka Kirilla i Mefodiia, Otdel
staropechatnykh, redkikh i tsennykh izdanii, 1981), pp. 5-27. In all, eight issues of V pomoshch'
sostaviteliam . . . were published (between 1976 and 1986).

29 ‘Soupis starych cyrilskych tisku v ceskych knihovnach pro Souborny katalog vydavany Statni
knihovnou V. I. Lenina v Moskve’, in Cyrilske tisky. Vystava zfondu Statni knihovny CSR poradana
k 400. vyroci umrti Ivana Fjodorova (Prague, Statni knihovna CSR, 1982), pp. 81-100.

30 For a full list of Ojtozi’s catalogues, see in List . . . under HUNGARY, Special Catalogues.

31 See Sokolova (note 22), p. 296.

32 Kjellberg (note 19). Holdings of Swedish libraries other than Uppsala University Library
have been added in manuscript to the master copy.

33 Iraida I. Gerus-Tarnawecka, East Slavonic Cynllica in Canadian Repositories: Cyrillic Manu¬
scripts and Early Printed Books , Research Institute of Volyn, no. 47 (Winnipeg, Society of Volyn,
1981).

34 For a full list of catalogues and articles see below in List . . . under UNITED KINGDOM.

A Survey of Printed Books in Church Slavonic

113

ing books in roman, cyrillic and glagolitic scripts).35 This is a pioneering work,
since it gives library holdings from a huge number of libraries (unfortunately
not separately listed anywhere in the bibliography) in both Eastern and West¬
ern Europe. At the other end of the spectrum is Pozdeeva ’s catalogue of NYPL
holdings, which describes only one collection, but with no chronological lim¬
its. She makes a strong case for the need to include everything in Church
Slavonic up to the present day.36 Her arguments are convincing, but I have
come to the conclusion that, for practical reasons, if another Svodnyi katalog
is attempted, it will have to be limited to the period up to 1800. I am also of
the opinion that all books in cyrillic script (in its widest definition) should be
included.

Rules and Standards Used in Catalogues

The most usual pattern of description is: abridged, conventionalized title;
place of printing; year (and sometimes day and month) of printing; format;
foliation; reference to other bibliographies where the book is described (e.g.
Karataev37 or Zernova38). There a few articles and catalogues which give fuller
descriptions of rare items, such as Barnicot and Simmons,39 and Tyrrell and
Simmons40 in Britain, which give full descriptions of editions not in Karataev.
These two works also describe watermarks, which none of the others do.
Only a few catalogues have very full notes about provenance and ownership
inscriptions, for example, Barnicot and Simmons,41 Tyrrell and Simmons42 in
Britain, Ojtozi in Hungary,43 Crone in Denmark,44 Gawrys in Sweden45 and
Pozdeeva in her New York Public Library catalogue.46

35 Josip Badalic, Jugoslavia usque ad annum MDC. Bibliographie der siidslawischen Friihdrucke ,
2., verbesserte Auflage (Baden-Baden, Verlag Librairie Heitz GBMH, 1966).

36 Pozdeeva (note 9), (typescript), pp. 5, 6.

3 ' I. P. Karataev, Opisanie slaviano-russkikh knig, napechatannykh kirillovskimi bukvami, t. 1. S
1491 po 1652 (Sankt-Peterburg, 1883).

38 Zernova (note 6).

39 Barnicot & Simmons (note 3).

40 E. P. Tyrrell & J. S. G. Simmons, ‘Slavonic Books before 1700 in Cambridge Libraries’,
Transactions of the Cambridge Bibliographical Society , vol. Ill, 5 (1963), pp. 382-400.

41 Barnicot & Simmons (note 3).

42 Tyrrell & Simmons (note 40).

43 Ojtozi (note 30).

44 Helene Crone, ‘Gamle slaviske tryk i Det Kongelige Bibliotek’ (Slavonic Palaeotypes in the
Royal Library), Fund og Forskning i det Kongelige biblioteks Samlinger, IV (1957), pp. 58-69.

45 Eugeniusz Gawrys, Katalog over slaviska handskrifter och tryck fran 1500-, 1600-, 1700-
talen i Stifts- och landsbiblioteket i Vasteras , Acta Bibliothecae Arosiensis, 2. Slavica Arosiensia,
2 (Vasteras, 1960).

46 Pozdeeva (note 9).

114

Solanus 1996

Next Steps

This is not the time or place to enter into a detailed discussion about rules
and standards — decisions about these need to be made in the countries where
the books were printed and where there is a concentration of expertise — but I
would like to make a couple of general points.

Firstly, it is very important that all the groundwork that was done on draw¬
ing up of rules, methodology and strategy in connection with the then Lenin
Library’s Svodnyi katalog project should not be ignored. It would be a waste
of resources either to start from scratch and reinvent the wheel or, worse still,
for lots of local projects to be set up, all using different rules and different
standards.

Secondly, in attempting to salvage what was good in the 1970s and 1980s,
i.e. the cooperation on scholarly projects between the countries of the then
socialist bloc, we should also seize the opportunity brought about by political
changes to make this a truly international project, incorporating holdings of
countries all over the world.

Apart from political changes, the main difference between now and the
1980s is the widespread use of the computer. Therefore, my third point is
that it would be foolish to draw up rules which did not take into consideration
international bibliographical and cataloguing standards and the requirements
of a computer database.

To conclude, for the successful completion of an international union cata¬
logue, a number of stages are needed. These do not necessarily need to be
done in chronological order; some can be done concurrently. We need to
establish where collections are. Although my list (below) still has some gaps to
be filled, I hope that it covers all major collections and the majority of smaller
ones. I would be glad to receive information about collections which I have
omitted.

We need to compile finding lists of relevant items in those institutions. In
some countries, this work is largely complete; in some there may be a bibliog¬
rapher on the spot with the will, time and expertise to do this work; in others it
may be necessary to find funding for peripetatic bibliographers (perhaps from
‘East Slav lands’) to do the research.

It will be necessary to determine the rules and scope of a union catalogue.
The lion’s share of responsibility for this task obviously lies with scholars in
the countries where the books were printed, but needs to be done in full cog¬
nisance of modern bibliographical and computer standards.

It will be necessary to complete the task of making detailed and full descrip¬
tions of every edition, following the high standards set by bibliographers who
have worked and work in the libraries with extensive collections; this task will
of course need to be done in the countries of origin where bibliographers have

A Survey of Printed Books in Church Slavonic

115

access to a large number of copies. It would also be desirable to have albums
of decorations for those areas which have not been covered (notably Belarus) .

When this is done we should compare copies held abroad with these
exemplary descriptions and add local information on provenance, ownership
inscriptions, bindings, etc. For this stage it may also be necessary to enlist the
help of ‘peripatetic bibliographers’.

To close, I would like to mention a couple of recent international ventures
which may be of relevance. The Consortium of European Research Libraries
(CERL), more specifically, its major project of the moment — establishing a
union database recording all printing of the hand-press period (i.e. until ca
1830) in Europe — may offer long-term possiblilities. The American biblio¬
graphic utility RUN will mount on its database records received from con¬
tributing libraries and the records will then be upgraded, using UNIMARC
and ISBD (A).4^ However, this project offers no immediate solution since at
present RUN has only a modern cyrillic character set, and no provision for
Church Slavonic characters. The addition of Church Slavonic would have to
take its turn in a queue (even Greek has yet to be added) and would cost
$50,000.

An exciting recent development is a project coordinated by Professor
William Veder of Amsterdam and supervised by Professor Iaroslav Isajevych
(Lviv) and Professor F. J. Thomson (Antwerp), and funded for three years by
the European Union INTAS programme. In its initial stage a database of all
cyrillic editions printed in the Polish Commonwealth to 1800 with an inven¬
tory of copies held in Lviv libraries will be produced. It will be done on per¬
sonal computers, using an updated version of a SDDR (Syntax Driven Data
Recorder) created in 1981 at Nijmemgen for the description of manuscripts.48

When this project is completed, bibliographers in other countries will then
have full bibliographical descriptions, based on the examination of a large
number of copies, with which they can compare copies in their own libraries.
If the system works well and could be extended to imprints from the other
centres of cyrillic printing, then we would be well on the way to the creation
of a world catalogue.

4 7 For information about the CERL project, see Bob Henderson, ‘Konsorcjum Europejskich
Bibliotek Naukowych (CERL)’, Biblioiekarz. Miesigcznik Stowarzyszenia Bibliotekarzy Polskich i
Biblioteki Publicznej m. st. Warszawy, 1995, no. 11, pp. 6-9. Also published in: Biblioteki zv euro¬
pejskich krajach postkomunistycznych w m igdzyn a rodowym kontekscie (Wybor materialow) , Mi^dzy-
narodowa Konferencja Bibliotekarzy, Krakow-Przegorzaly, 3-5 sierpnia 1995. Redakcja Maria
Kocojowa (Cracow, PTB, 1995), pp. 71-6.

48 Polata knigopisnaja, 1987, no. 17/18, pp. 5-29.

116

Solanus 1996

Appendix: List of Collections of Books in Church Slavonic
in Europe (excluding the former USSR) and North America

ALBANIA

National Library of Albania: has about 60 post- 1800 items (to be found in the general
systematic and alphabetical card catalogues) . There may be some earlier imprints in
the rare books collections.

AUSTRIA

Collections

Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna: according to annotations made by J. S. G.
Simmons in Karataev ( Opisanie . . . 1883) has Karataev, nos. 15, 33, 40, 45, 48, 52,
57, 63.

Nine of its 16th-century cyrillic books printed for the South Slavs are listed in
Badalic (see below under Special Catalogues) .

Bibliothek der Wiener Mechitaristen-Congregation, Vienna: 8 books in Church
Slavonic printed at the press of the Congregation of Mechitarists between 1821 and
1 894, listed in Wytrzens (see below under Special Catalogues) .

Universitatsbibliothek Wien: 1 book in Church Slavonic printed in 1853 at the press
of the Congregation of Mechitarists, described in Wytrzens (see below) .

Special Catalogues

Badalic, Josip, Jugoslavica usque ad annum MDC. Bibliographie der siidslawischen Friih-
drucke. 2., verbesserte Auflage. Baden-Baden, Verlag Librairie Heitz GMBH, 1966.
Includes holdings of the Austrian National Library.

Wytrzens, Gunther, Die slavischen und Slavica betreffenden Drucke der Wiener
Mechitharisten. Ein Beitrag zur Wiener Druck- und zur osterreichischen Kulturgeschichte.
Wien, Verlag der Osterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1985. (Osterreich¬
ische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-Historische Klasse. Sitzungs-
berichte, Bd. 460. Veroffentlichungen der Kommission fur Literaturwissenschaft,
Nr. 8).

BELGIUM

Collections

Bibliotheque Royale Albert ler, Brussels?

Small collections are also held in some monasteries, e.g. Chevetogne, Maredsous,
Steenbrugge, as well as some libraries, such as that of the Bollandists in Brussels.

BULGARIA

Collections

Gradska biblioteka, Berkovitsa
Tsurkva “Sv. Georgi”, Etropol
Dragalevski manastir (near Sofia)

Narodna biblioteka “Ivan Vazov”, Plovdiv
Natsionalen muzei “Rilski manastir”, Rila

A Survey of Printed Books in Church Slavonic: Appendix

117

Tsurkva “Sv. Troitsa”, Ruse
Tsurkva “Uspenie Bogorodichno”, Samokov
Muzei “Aleko Konstantinov”, Svishtov
Tsurkva “Sv. arkh. Mikhail”, Seslavtsy (near Sofia)

Zhenski manastir, Sopot

Nauchen arkhiv pri Bulgarskata akademia na naukite, Sofia

Narodna biblioteka “Sv. sv. Kiril i Metodii”, Sofia: has about 600 items described in a
card catalogue of books in Church Slavonic from the 1 5th to the 20th century.

Tsurkovno istorichesko-arkheologicheski muzei, Sofia
Mitropolitskata biblioteka, Vratsa

Special Catalogues

‘Slavianskie kirillovskie inkunabuly i paleotipy v knigokhranilishchakh Bolgarii’, In:
V pomoshch' sostaviteliam Svodnogo kataloga staropechatnykh izdanii kirillovskogo i
glagolicheskogo shriftov: Metodicheskie ukazaniia , vyp. 6 (Moscow, 1981), pp. 5-27.

Articles

See list of articles in V pomoshch' sostaviteliam , vyp. 6, pp. 25, 26.

CANADA

Collections

St Andrew’s College, Winnipeg (Ohijenko Collection) — 27 items
Basilian Fathers’ Museum and Library in Mundare, Alberta— 18 items
Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library at the University of Toronto
Special Collections, Dafoe Library at the University of Manitoba, Winnipeg
Ukrainian Cultural and Educational Centre, Winnipeg
Private library of Dr G. Gerych, Ottawa (Kolessa Collection)

All are listed in Gerus-Tarnawecka (see below).

Special Catalogues

Gerus-Tarnawecka, Iraida I., East Slavic Cyrillica in Canadian Repositories: Cyrillic Man¬
uscripts and Early Printed Books. Winnipeg, Society of Volyn, 1981. (Research Insti¬
tute of Volyn, no. 47.) Lists 73 items to 1800.

CROATIA

Collections

Nacionalna i sveucilisna biblioteka, Zagreb: for the period 1483-1835: 70 items in
Church Slavonic; 645 in other cyrillic scripts.

Staroslavenski zavod, Zagreb

Hrvatska Akademija znanosti i umetnosti, Zagreb

Hrvatski povijesni muzej, Zagreb: has 156 editions from the 15th to mid- 19th cen¬
turies, including 27 editions in 110 copies from the 15th-17th (described in Kus-
turica, see below).

Staroslavenski zavod, Zagreb
Monastery libraries

118

Solanus 1996

Special Catalogues

Kusturica, Radojka, Zbirka srpskih knjiga od XV do sredine XIX st. Zagreb, 1972. (Povi-
jesni muzej Hrvatske.)

Zbirka starih i rijetkih knjiga/ Nacionalna i sveucilisna biblioteka (typescript/card cata¬
logue)

Nacionalna i sveucilisna biblioteka — CROLIST (database)

CZECH REPUBLIC

Collections

Slovanska knihovna pri Narodni Knihovne, Prague — 128 items

Knihovna Narodniho muzea, Prague — 53 items

Narodni knihovna CR, Prague — 26 items

Statni vedecke knihovny, Brno and Olomouc — 1 1 items

Univerzitni knihovna, Brno — 10 items

Special Catalogues

Cyrilske tisky. Vystava z fondu Statni knihovny CSR poradana k 400. vyroci umrti Ivana

Fjodorova. Praha, Statni knihovna CSR, 1982. Lists all the cyrillic books housed in
Czech libraries in an appendix: ‘Soupis starych cyrilskych tisku v ceskych knihovnach
pro Souborny katalog vydavany Statni knihovnou V. I. Lenina v Moskve’, pp. 81-
100. List of glagolitic books, p. 101. Lists 203 cyrillic items in 229 copies.

Cyrilske a hlaholske stare tisky v ceskych knihovnach. Soupis a popis vzacnych tisku
vydanych cyrilskym a hlaholskym pismem. Praha, Narodni knihovna (forthcoming,
1996?).

The Slovanska knihovna also has a catalogue of its cyrillic holdings to 1800 which lists
about 200 items.

DENMARK

Collections

Det Kongelige Bibliotek, Copenhagen

66 items (cyrillic and glagolitic to 1800), described in Crone (see below)

Special Catalogues

Crone, Helene, ‘Gamle slaviske tryk i Det Kongelige Bibliotek’ [Slavonic Palaeo-
types in the Royal Library], Fund og Forskning i det Kongelige Biblioteks Samlinger ,
IV (1957), pp. 58-69.

FINLAND

Collections

Helsingin Yliopiston Kirjasto, Helsinki: probably about 250 items to 1800. Of these,
44 are listed in Beliakova (see below). Others are to be found only in the library’s
general catalogue.

Helsingin Ortodoksisen Seurakunnan Kirjasto: about 200 18th-century church manu¬
als in Church Slavonic. Alphabetical card catalogue.

Valamon Luostarin Kirjasto: the library has about 4000 volumes. Not certain how
many are in Church Slavonic. The alphabetical and systematic catalogues are kept
in the Slavonic Library in Helsinki University Library. The collections are in an out-

A Survey of Printed Books in Church Slavonic: Appendix

119

house of Helsinki University Library in Urajarvi, a village 120km north of Helsinki.

Special Catalogues

Beliakova, Galina, ‘Redkie knigi XVI-XVIII w.’ [in Helsinki University Library].
Typescript.

FRANCE

Collections

Bibliotheque Nationale de France: not known exactly how many items. At least 80.
Most items are traceable only in:

Catalogue generale des livres imprimes de la Bibliotheque Nationale, serie en caracteres
non latins , 1960-1969. Paris, 1973. 2 vol. and a later edition for 1970-1973. Paris,
1983. 5 vol. Pre-1960 and post- 1980 accessions are listed only in card catalogues.

Three of its 16th-century Bosnian cyrillic books printed in Venice are listed in
Badalic (nos. 18/19, 20, 143/144). (See below, under GERMANY, Special Cata¬
logues.)

Russian Orthodox churches in France, some of which were founded as early as the
middle of the nineteenth century, also have collections of Church Slavonic books.

GERMANY

Collections

Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, Preufiischer Kulturbesitz: about 50 printed books in
Church Slavonic, the oldest being Triod' tsvetvaia , 1491. There is no separate cat¬
alogue. Two of its Tubingen imprints are listed as nos. 92 and 100 in Badalic (see
below under Special Catalogues) .

Stadtbibliothek, Frankfurt-am-Main: Badalic (see below under Special Catalogues)
lists its Tubingen imprint as no. 100.

Niedersachsische Staats- und Universitatsbibliothek, Gottingen: has 16th-18th-
century Church Slavonic books, described in Slavica Gottingensia. Altere Slavica (see

below under Special Catalogues).

Library and Archive of the Franckesche Stiftungen, Halle: the ‘Russian’ collection
includes 36 books in Church Slavonic of the 17th and 18th centuries. Among these is
a collection formerly in the library of Thomas Consett (1677P-1730) which includes
14 printed books of the 17th and 18th centuries, some Russian and some Church
Slavonic. Described by Fundaminskii (see below under Special Catalogues and
Articles) .

Landesbibliothek Kassel: has a Tubingen imprint, listed as no. 100 in Badalic (see
below under Special Catalogues) .

Universitatsbibliothek, Marburg: 8 items, including 3 Trubar and 1 Ludolf, listed in
Origo , see below under Special Catalogues) .

Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich: has Church Slavonic books in its collections, but
there is no separate catalogue. According to an annotation made by J. S. G. Simmons
in Karataev ( Opisanie ... 1883) has Karataev, no. 36. Its Tubingen imprints are
listed in Badalic as nos. 87, 92, 100, 103. (See below under Special Catalogues).

Universitat Leipzig, Universitatsbibliothek, ‘Biblioteca Albertina’: has some Church
Slavonic books, not catalogued separately. Relevant items can be traced via the
systematic catalogue (for books acquired up to 1940). Under the heading ‘Litera-

120

Solanus 1996

tura Slavica’ (in vol. 30, 4) there are about 400 entries, and under the heading
‘Grammatica linguarum recentium’ (vol. 31,4) there are about 170 entries in the
sub-section Old Slavonic/Old Bulgarian/Church Slavonic. The subject catalogue for
books acquired since 1940 has about 180 entries under Church Slavonic. Badalic,
no. 92 (see below under Special Catalogues) is a Tubingen imprint held there.

Stadtbibliothek, Niirnberg: has 1 Tubingen imprint, listed as no. 83 in Badalic (see
below under Special Catalogues) .

Universitatsbibliothek, Tubingen: has 5 books printed in Tubingen, listed in Vorndran
and in Badalic (see below under Special Catalogues).

Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbiittel: the card catalogue of books up to 1830
(arranged by language) includes 18 items in Church Slavonic and 20 in Russian.
Some are described by Fundaminskii (see below under Articles) .

Special Catalogues

Slavica Gottingensia. Altere Slavica in der Niedersachsischen Staats- und Universitatsbiblio¬
thek Gottingen , herausgegeben von Reinhard Lauer, bearbeitet von einer Projekt-
gruppe unter der Leitung von Ulrike Jekutsch. Wiesbaden, Harrassowitz Verlag,
1995. (Opera Slavica, Neue Folge, 30). 3 vol.

Fundaminskii, M., Die Russica-Sammlung in den Frankeschen Stiftungen Halle. Aus der
Geschichte der deutsch-russischen kulturellen Beziehungen im 1 8. Jahrhundert (forthcom¬
ing, 1996).

Badalic, Josip, Jugoslavica usque ad annum MDC. Bibliographie der siidslawischen Friih-
drucke , 2., verbesserte Auflage. Baden-Baden, Verlag Librairie Heitz GMBH, 1966.
Lists the holdings of a number of German libraries.

Origo Characteris Sclavonici. Zur altbulgarischen Literatur in Marburg. Marburg, 1987.
Includes ‘Katalog. Altbulgarisches und cyrillo-methodianisches Schrifttum in Mar-
burger Bibliotheken (Stand: Oktober 1986). Zusammengestellt von Herwig Godeke.
Mostly manuscripts and secondary sources, but contains 2 early-printed books in
Church Slavonic (nos. 160 and 176).

Vorndran, Rolf, Siidslawische Reformationsdrucke in der Universitatsbibliothek Tubingen.
Eine Beschreibung der vorhandenen glagolitischen, kyrillischen und anderen Drucke der
‘Uracher BibelanstalP. Tubingen, J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1977. (Contu-
bernium. Beitrage zur Geschichte der Eberhard-Karls-Universitat Tubingen, Bd.
24). Describes 18 books, of which 5 are in the cyrillic alphabet, 9 in the glagolitic
and 4 in the latin alphabet.

Articles

Fundaminskii, M., ‘Knigi iz Biblioteki Tomasa Konsetta v sobranii Frankesche Stift¬
ungen Halle’. (Forthcoming, Oxford Slavonic Papers , 1996).

Fundaminskii, M., ‘Russica in der Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbiittel als Zeugniss
der niedersachsisch-russischen Beziehungen in der Neuzeit’ (forthcoming).

GREECE

Hilandar Monastery, Mount Athos: has 79 items from the 15th-17th centuries,
described in Medakovic (see below).

Special Catalogues

Medakovic, Dejan, ‘Stare stampane knige manastira Hilandara’, In: Bogdanovic, Dim-
itrije, Katalog cirilskih rukopisa manastira Hilandara. Belgrade, 1978, pp. 275-88.

A Survey of Printed Books in Church Slavonic: Appendix

121

HUNGARY

Collections

Orszagos Szechenyi Konyvtar, Budapest

Twenty-four 16th-century items, printed in 10 different places (the majority being
South Slavonic or Venetian) are listed in Catalogus librorum sedecimo saeculo impres-
sorum, qui in Bibliotheca Nationali Hungariae Szechenyiana asservantur. Editiones non
Hungaricae et extra Hungariam impressae , Composuerunt Elisabetha Soltesz, Catha-
rina Velenczei, Agnes W. Salgo. Budapest, Orszagos Szechenyi Konyvtar, 1990. 3
vol.

Debreceni Egyetemi Konyvtar: its collections are described in the catalogues listed
below.

Special Catalogues

Ojtozi, Eszter, A Debreceni Egyetemi Konyvtar szlav nyelvu es szlav vonatkozasu regi
nyomtatvanyai = Slawische und Slawen betrejfende alte Drucke der Universitatsbiblio-
thek zu Debrecen. Debrecen, 1987. (Regi Tiszantuli Konyvtarak = Alte Bibliotheken
der Region jenseits der Theiss, 5).

Gottesmann, Dora, Slawische Bucher der Universitatsbibliothek in Debrecen bis 1850.
Debrecen, 1963. (Publicationes Instituti Philologiae Slavicae Universitatis Debre-
ciensis, 43).

Gottesmann, Dora, Slawische Bucher in den Bibliotheken der Reformierten Kollegien in
Debrecen und Sarospatak bis 1850. Debrecen, 1962. (Publicationes Philologiae Slavi¬
cae Universitatis Debreciensis, 16).

Ojtozi, Eszter, ‘Slawische Bucher in den Sammlungen der Universitat in Debrecen
bis 1850 I Mitteilung’, Slavica der Universitatsbibliothek in Debrecen , XI, 1971, pp.
163-170.

Ojtozi, Eszter, A mariapocsi bazilitak cirillbetus konyvei = Knigi kirillovskoi pechati mari-
apovchanskikh bazilian. Debrecen, 1982. (Regi Tiszantuli Konyvtarak = Starye bib-
lioteki Zatisskogo kraia Vengrii, 2).

Foldvari, Sandor and Eszter Ojtozi, Az egri Foegyhazmegyei Konyvtar cirillbetus es
glagolita konyvei — Kirillicheskie i glagolicheskie knigi Egerskoi Arkhiepiskopskoi Bib-
lioteki. Debrecen, 1992.

Ojtozi, Eszter, A Gorogkatolikus Hittudomanyi Foiskola Konyvtaranak szlav es roman cir¬
illbetus konyvei — Slavianskie i rumynskie knigi kirillovskoi pechati Biblioteki Grekoka-
tolicheskoi Dukhovnoi Akademii [Nyiregyhaza] . Debrecen, 1985. (Regi Tiszantuli
Konyvtarak = Starye biblioteki Zatisskogo kraia Vengrii, 4).

ITALY

Collections

Pontificium Institutum Orientale, Rome: according to annotations made by J. S. G.
Simmons in Karataev ( Opisanie . . . 1883), has 68 items, i.e. Karataev, nos 42, 64,
76, 84, 87, 102, 119, 120, 160, 162, 174, 175, 176, 181, 195, 196, 210, 229, 248,

318, 321, 336, 342, 357, 367, 376, 382, 384, 404, 420, 432, 441, 462, 493, 516,

517, 534, 535, 538, 552, 558, 564, 566, 570, 572, 581, 582, 583, 584, 586, 590,

595, 597, 604, 605, 606, 607, 608, 610, 615, 624, 637, 641, 643, 650, 665, 674,

679, 691.

Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana: some items from its collections are described in Tre

122

Solanus 1996

alfabeti and one Venice imprint in Badalic (see below under Special Catalogues) .

According to annotations made by J. S. G. Simmons in Karataev ( Opisanie . . .
1883), has Karataev, nos. 4, 7, 52, 73, 108.

Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, Venice: according to annotations made by J. S. G.
Simmons in Karataev ( Opisanie . . . 1883), has 8 items, i.e. Karataev, nos 15, 30, 44,
45, 47, 62, 73, 149.

Special Catalogues

Tre alfabeti per gli Slavic ed. Vittorio Peri. Rome, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1985.
Exhibition catalogue. Describes some 38 incunabula and early-printed books held
by the Vatican Library and the Library of the Pontificio Istituto Orientale.

Incunables in the Vatican Library are included in the published volumes (1985-) of
Bibliografia dei manuscritti della BAV.

Capaldo, Mario, ‘Catalogue of Slavonic books printed in Italy from the beginning to
the end of the eighteenth century’ (in progress) .

Articles

Zelenka, I., ‘Edizione liturgiche della Pecerskaja Lavra di Kiev nella Biblioteca Vati-
cana’, Collectanea Vaticana in honorem A. M. Albareda. Rome, 1962, II, pp. 377-414.

Saitta Revignas, A., ‘La raccolta Praga di manuscritti e libri liturgici in caratteri cirillici’,
Accademie e biblioteche d’ltalia , 29, 1961, 2, pp. 105-114.

Krajcar, J., ‘Early-printed Slavonic books in the Library of the Pontifical Oriental Insti¬
tute’, Orientalia christiane Periodica, 34, 1968, pp. 105-128.

Krajcar, J. ‘The East European holdings in the Library of the Pontifical Oriental Insti¬
tute, Rome’, Slavonic and East European Review , 48 (April 1970), pp. 265-72. (See
p. 271 for early-printed cyrillica.)

Feriozzi, Tito, ‘Nota bibliografica sulle cinquecentine cirilliche della Marciana’, Accad¬
emie e biblioteche d’ltalia 41 (1973), pp. 9-14.

MALTA

Collections

Royal Malta Library, Valletta: Psalter and New Testament (Ostrog, Ivan Fedorov,
1580).

Articles

Simmons, J. S. G., ‘Early-printed Cyrillic Psalters at Lambeth and Valletta’, Solanus ,
no. 3 (July 1968), pp. 10, 11.

THE NETHERLANDS

Collections

Koninklijke Bibliotheek, The Hague
Universiteitsbibliotheek, Universiteit van Amsterdam

Bibliotheek der Rijks universiteit Leiden: known to have a Moscow 1669 Psalter and
the Sermons of St John Chrysostom (SPb., 1778).

A Survey of Printed Books in Church Slavonic: Appendix

123

POLAND

Collections

Biblioteka Narodowa, Warsaw: a catalogue of cyrillic books, begun in 1 942 by Maria
Blonska, partly handwritten and partly typescript, is available in the National
Library. It covers 16th- 18th-century imprints and contains some 400 items,
arranged in alphabetical order (and transliterated according to the Horodyski sys¬
tem). The library also has a number of Church Slavonic books not yet catalogued
and, in some cases, not yet identified.

Biblioteka Jagiellonska, Krakow
Biblioteka XX. Czartoryskich, Krakow
Muzeum Narodowe w Krakowie

Muzeum Zamku w Lancucie: its collections are described in Witkowski (see below
under Special Catalogues).

Muzeum Historyczne w Sanoku
Muzeum Budownictwa Ludowego, Sanok
Biblioteka Uniwersytecka K.U.L., Lublin
Biblioteka Glowna Uniwersytetu Gdanskiego
Biblioteka Raczynskich, Poznan
Biblioteka Kornicka PAN, Kornik-Zamek
Biblioteka Uniwersytecka, Warsaw

Suwalki Region: twenty-nine private collections of Old Believer books (described by
Zoja Jaroszewicz-Piereslawcew, see below).

Special Catalogues

Jaroszewicz-Piereslawcew, Zoja, Starowiercy w Polsce i ich ksiggi. Olsztyn, 1995.
(Rozprawy i materialy Osrodka Badan Naukowych w Olsztynie, no. 145).

Lists in an appendix 138 Old Believer printed books held in private collections in
the Suwalki Region.

Witkowski, Wieslaw, Katalog starodrukow cyrylickich Muzeum Zamku w Lancucie (Dzial
Sztuki Cerkiewnej) . Cracow, 1994. This catalogue covers the period 1574-1816 and
lists 109 items.

Articles

Incunabula que in bibliothecis Poloniae asservantur , moderante Alodia Kawecka-
Gryczowa. Wroclaw, 1970. Includes 8 cyrillic incunables.

Blonska, M., ‘Druki cyrylickie w Polsce’, Przeglqd Biblioteczny , 1962, no. 3, pp. 229-
236.

ROMANIA

Collections

Biblioteca Academiei Romane, Bucharest: according to annotations made by J. S. G.
Simmons in Karataev ( Opisanie . . . 1883) has Karataev, nos. 12, 46, 47, 100.

Biblioteca Institutului de Istorie a Universitetii, Bucharest
Biserica Sf. Nicolae, Bra§ov
Academia Romana, Cluj
Biblioteca Universitara Cluj

124

Solanus 1996

Mitropolia orthodoxa, Sibiu

Special Catalogues

Badalic, Josip, Jugoslavia usque ad annum MDC. Bibliographic der siidslawischen Friih-
drucke , 2., verbesserte Auflage. Baden-Baden, Verlag Librairie Heitz GBMH, 1966.

Supplement, pp. 125-30, gives holdings of sixteenth-century Romanian cyrillic
books held in the libraries listed above.

SLOVAKIA

Collections

Univerzitna kniznica Bratislava: has some 16th- 18th-century imprints, findable only
under author or title in general catalogues.

Presov State Scientific Library: 186 items to 1800, of which 15 are in Church Slavonic,
are described in Vychodoslovanske dace (see below) .

Special Catalogues

Vychodoslovanske dace do r. 1800 v SVK Presov. Zostavil Jozef Selepec. Presov, Statna
vedecka kniznica v Presove, 1989.

SLOVENIA

Narodna in univerzitetna knjiznica, Ljubljana: has several thousand cyrillic books (total
includes books in Serbian and Macedonian) including about 100-150 books pub¬
lished up to 1800. There is no separate catalogue; all are entered in the general
catalogues, some on cards and some in the machine-readable catalogue.

Has the collection of Bartholomaus Kopitar which contains 3 cyrillic incunables
and 40 16th-century cyrillic printed books.

According to annotations made by J. S. G. Simmons in Karataev ( Opisanie . . .
1883) the library has Karataev, nos. 8, 50, 52, 55, 56, 63.

Special Catalogues

Badalic, Josip, Jugoslavia usque ad annum MDC. Bibliographic der siidslawischen Friih-
drucke, 2., verbesserte Auflage. Baden-Baden, Verlag Librairie Heitz GMBH, 1966.
Lists 9 cyrillic 16th-century books printed for the South Slavs, held in the NUK,
Ljubljana.

Articles

Lukan, Walter, ‘Kopitars Privatbibliothek’, in: Bartholomaus (Jernej) Kopitar. Neue Stu-
dien und Materialen anlasslich seines 150. Todestages. Wien, Kolmar, Weimar, Bohlau
Verlag, 1995. (Osthefte/Osterreichisches Ost- und Siidosteuropa-Institut, Sonder-
band 1 1. Reihe zu ‘Osterreichische Osthefte’), pp. 221-337.

SPAIN

Biblioteca Nacional, Madrid: no special catalogue. The BN has a systematic card cata¬
logue which can be searched under the number 801 . 1 . Known to have a copy of the
Ostrog Bible.

Biblioteca, Real Monasterio de San Lorenzo del Escorial: according to annotation
made by J. S. G. Simmons in Karataev ( Opisanie . . . 1883), has Karataev, no. 15.

A Survey of Printed Books in Church Slavonic: Appendix

125

SWEDEN

Collections

(Numbers are of pr t-grazhdanka cyrillic, and glagolitic to 1 800)

Uppsala universitetsbibliotek — about 270 items
Kungliga Biblioteket, Stockholm — 22 items
Universitetsbiblioteket i Lund — 17 items
Stifts- och landsbiblioteket, Linkoping — 5 items
Stifts- och landsbiblioteket i Vasteras — 3 items
Roggebiblioteket, Strangnas — 1 item
Special Catalogues

Kjellberg, Lennart, Catalogue des imprimes slavons des XVIe et XVI He siecles conserves
a la Biblioteque de VUniversite Royale d’Uppsala. Uppsala, 1951. Lists 256 items
in glagolitic or cyrillic script ‘more ancient than Peter the Great’s grazhdanskaia
azbuka’.

(Interleaved copy includes manuscript notes of 1 1 items acquired later and
holdings of the Royal Library, Stockholm, Lund University Library, the Stifts-
och Landsbibliothek, Linkoping, the Stifts- och Landsbibliotek, Vasteras, and the
Roggebiblioteket, Strangnas.)

Gawrys, Eugeniusz, Katalog over slaviska handskrifter och tryck fran 1500- , 1600-, 1700-
talen i Stifts- och landsbiblioteket i Vasteras = Die slavischen Handschriften und Drucke des
16., 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts in der Stifts- und Landesbibliothek in Vasteras. Vasteras,
1960. (Acta Bibliothecae Arosiensis, 2. Slavica Arosiensia, 2.).

Articles

Davidson, Garin, ‘Nicolaus Bergius’ Slaviska Bok- och Handskriftssamlung i Uppsala
Universitetsbibliotek’ [Nicolaus Bergius’s Collection of Slavonic Printed Books and
Manuscripts in the Uppsala University Library], Nordisk Tidskrift for Bok- och Bib-

lioteksvasen, Argang 43 (1956), no. 1, pp. 126-136.

See also list of articles in Kjellberg.

SWITZERLAND

Collections

Offentliche Bibliothek Basel: Badalic (see below under Special Catalogues) lists its 4
Tubingen imprints as nos. 87, 92, 100, 103.

Universitatsbibliothek Basel: has the Lieb Collection which is devoted to Eastern
Europe and especially to Orthodox theology. It contains a Number of Church
Slavonic books. It has a systematic catalogue (handwritten) and an alphabetical card
catalogue. Copies of the latter are also in Zurich and at the Staatsbibliothek, PreuBis-
cher Kulturbesitz in Berlin. Badalic (see below under Special Catalogues) lists its
one Tubingen imprint as no. 83.

Stadtbibliothek Freiburg: Badalic (see below under Special Catalogues) lists its one
Tubingen imprint as no. 100.

Bibliotheque Publique et Universitaire, Geneva: has a thematic catalogue of cyrillic
books. (The heading Religija would need to be checked.)

Russian Orthodox Church library, Geneva

Orthodox Centre in Chambesy.

126

Solanus 1996

Stadtbibliothek Schaffhausen

Badalic (see below under Special Catalogues) lists its 2 Tubingen imprints as
nos. 87, 100.

Stadtbibliothek Winterthur: Badalic (see below under Special Catalogues) lists its
one Tubingen imprint as no. 103.

Zentralbibliothek Zurich: Badalic (see below under Special Catalogues) lists its one
Tubingen imprint as no. 103.

Slavischer Seminar der Universitat Zurich

These last two libraries have, between them, 100-120 works in Church Slavonic,
findable through conventional and automated general catalogues.

Special Catalogues

Badalic, Josip, Jugoslavia usque ad annum MDC. Bibliographic der siidslawischen Friih-
drucke , 2., verbesserte Auflag. Baden-Baden, Verlag der Librairie Heitz GBMH,
1966. Lists holdings of a number of Swiss libraries.

UNITED KINGDOM

Major Collections

The British Library: 80 items to 1700 (Church Slavonic and Russian), 546 items 1701—
1800 (Church Slavonic and Russian). Church Slavonic to ca 1975— about 360 items

Cambridge University Library: 9 items to 1700 (Church Slavonic and Russian), 162
items 1701-1800 (Church Slavonic and Russian)

School of Slavonic and East European Studies, University of London: 5 items to
1700 (Church Slavonic and Russian), 110 items 1701-1800 (Church Slavonic and
Russian)

Bodleian Library, Oxford: 49 items to 1700 (Church Slavonic and Russian), 50 items
1701-1800 (Church Slavonic and Russian)

Other collections (including both Church Slavonic and Russian)

All Souls College, Oxford
Archbishop Marsh’s Library, Dublin
Birmingham University Library
Bowes Museum, Barnard Castle
Brasenose College, Oxford
British Museum (Natural History)

Brotherton Library, University of Leeds

Caius College, Cambridge

Chetham’s Library, Manchester

Christ Church, Oxford

Churchill College, Oxford

Corpus Christi College, Cambridge

Corpus Christi College, Oxford

Dean and Chapter Library, Durham

Edinburgh University Library

Emmanuel College, Cambridge

Francis Skaryna Byelorussian Library, London

A Survey of Printed Books in Church Slavonic: Appendix

127

Girton College, Cambridge

Glasgow University Library

John Rylands Library, University of Manchester

King’s College, Cambridge

Lambeth Palace Library, London

Lincoln Cathedral

Lincoln College, Oxford

London Library

London University Library

Magdalene College, Cambridge

Middle Temple Library, London

National Library of Scotland, Edinburgh

Nottingham University Library

Oriel College, Oxford

Pembroke College, Cambridge

Royal Geographical Society, London

Royal Society, London

St Andrews University Library

St Catharine’s College, Cambridge

St John’s College, Cambridge

St John’s College, Oxford

School of Oriental and African Studies, London
Slavonic Dept, Taylor Institution Library, Oxford

Slavonic Library, Modern and Medieval Languages Libraries, Cambridge
Trinity College, Cambridge
Ushaw College

Victoria and Albert Museum, London
Wadham College, Oxford

Wellcome Institute for the History of Medicine, London
Windsor (Dean and Chapter Library)

Special Catalogues

‘Cyrillic Union Catalogue of Early-printed Books (to 1700) in United Kingdom
Libraries.’ Compilers: R. M. Cleminson, C. G. Thomas and A. V. Voznesenskii
(forthcoming, The British Library) .

Preliminary listing (held on PC) lists 214 items.

Drage, C. L., Russian and Church Slavonic Books 1701-1800 in United Kingdom
Libraries: A List with Bibliographical References, Locations, Notes and Indices. London,
1984.

Lists 869 items (includes both Russian and Church Slavonic)

Hill, Brad Sabin, Old Church Slavonic (in the Old Slavonic Character) Entries from the
British Library General Catalogue: Print-Out from the Automated BLC File ( i.e . con¬
verted from the British Library General Catalogue of Printed Books to 1975). London,
The British Library, 1992.

128

Solanus 1996

Screen, J. E. O. & C. L. Drage, ‘Church Slavonic and Russian Books, 1552-1800, in
the Library of the School of Slavonic and East European Studies’, The Slavonic and
East European Review , vol. 57, no.3 (July 1979), pp. 321-347.

Tyrrell, E. P. & J. S. G. Simmons, ‘Slavonic Books before 1700 in Cambridge
Libraries’, Transactions of the Cambridge Bibliographical Society , III, 5 (1963), pp. 382-
400, [1] plate.

Tyrrell, E. P. & J. S. G. Simmons, ‘Slavonic Books of the Eighteenth Century in Cam¬
bridge Libraries’, Transactions of the Cambridge Bibliographical Society , IV, 3 (1966),
pp. 225-245.

Articles

Barnicot, J. D. A. & J. S. G. Simmons, ‘Some Unrecorded Early-Printed Slavonic
Books in English Libraries’, Oxford Slavonic Papers , vol. II (1951), pp. 98-118, [5]
plates.

Christian, R. F., J. Sullivan & J. S. G. Simmons, ‘Early-Printed Books at St Andrew’s
and their Background’, The Bibliotheck: A Scottish Journal of Bibliography and Allied
Topics , vol. 5 (1970), pp. 215-231.

Cleminson, R., ‘East Slavonic Primers to 1700’, Australian Slavonic and East European
Studies , 1988, vol. 2, no. 1, pp. 1-27.

The Francis Skaryna Byelorussian Library and Museum 1971-1981 . London, 1981.

Nemirovskii, E. L., Slavianskie staropechatnye knigi kirillovskogo shrifta v knigokhranil-
ishchakh Velikobritanii. Moscow: RGB, Sektor istorii knigi, bibliotechnogo dela i bib-
liografii, 1993. 28p. Includes ‘Slavianskie knigi kirillovskogo shrifta v knigokhranil-
ishchakh Velikobritanii i Irlandii: predvaritel’nyi spisok’ and ‘Literatura o slavian-
skikh staropechatnykh knigakh kirillovskogo shrifta v biliotekakh Velikobritanii i
Irlandii’.

Simmons, J. S. G., ‘Early-Printed Cyrillic Psalters at Lambeth and Valetta’, Solanus ,
no. 3 (1968), pp. 10, 11.

Simmons, J. S. G., ‘Early-Printed Books in Archbishop Marsh’s Library, Dublin’, Irish
Book, 1963, vol. 2, pp. 37-42. (Translated as: ‘O nekotorykh. staropechatnykh kir-
illicheskikh knigakh v Dubline’, Kniga: issledovaniia i materialy, sb. 8 (1963), pp.
245-254.)

Simmons, J. S. G., ‘New Finds of Old Cyrillic Books: An Interim Report’, The Times
Literary Supplement , 27 Sept. 1963, p. 770.

Thomas, Christine, ‘Two East Slavonic Primers: Lvov, 1574 and Moscow, 1637’, The
British Library Journal, vol. X, No. 1 (Spring, 1984), pp. 32-47. 5 illustrations.

UNITED STATES

Major collections

Harvard University Library

The New York Public Library

Library of Congress

Newberry Library (Chicago)

Indiana University Library

Also: Old Believer communities in Milville (New Jersey), Eire and Marianna (Pennsyl¬
vania) and Marion County (Oregon)

A Survey of Printed Books in Church Slavonic: Appendix

129

General Catalogues

Cyrillic Union Catalog

National Union Catalog

RUN

OCLC

Special Catalogues (public collections)

Church Slavonic, Glagolitic, and Petrine Civil Script Printed Books in the New York Public
Library: A Preliminary Catalogue. Described by Irina Pozdeeva. Catalogued by Zora
Kipel. (forthcoming, 1996?).

Mathiesen, Robert, ‘Church Slavonic Books in the New York Public Library: A Pre¬
liminary Catalogue’, Bulletin of Research in the Humanities, 87 (4), 1986/87, pp. 404-
417.

Special Catalogues (private collections)

The Paul M. Fekula Collection: A Catalogue. New York, Estate of Paul M. Fekula, 1988.

Struminsky, Bohdan, ‘Old Ruthenian and Muscovite Books in the Library of the Very
Reverend Basil Shereghy (McKeesport, Pennyslvania, USA)’, Polata knigopisnaja,
no. 5 (October 1981), pp. 5-7.

Articles

Isajevych, la. D., with the assistance of R. H. Davis, ‘Two Rare Russian Printed Books
in the Collections of the New York Public Library: the Moscow Gospels of 1606 and
the Chasovnik of 1630’, Solanus (New Series), vol. 4 (1990), pp. 76-86.

Jakobson, R. and W. A. Jackson, ‘Ivan Fedorov’s Primer’, Harvard Library Bulletin , 9
(Winter 1955), pp. 5-45.

Kasinec, Edward, ‘Notes on Old Cyrillic Printed Books and Manuscripts in American
Repositories’, Polata knigopisnaja , March 1980, no. 3, pp. 12-19. (Also in much
modified form as an introduction to Church Slavonic, Glagolitic and Petrine Civil Script
Printed Books in The New York Public Library (cited above) .

YUGOSLAVIA

Collections

Biblioteka Matica srpska, Novi Sad: 50 editions in 163 copies from the 15th-17th
centuries. (Described in Grbic, see below, under Special Catalogues.)

Biblioteka Eparhije Slavenske, Belgrade: 3 items from the 15th-17th centuries, 64 from
the 18th. (Described in Biblioteka Eparhije . . . , see below.)

Biblioteka Srpske Pravoslavne crkve, Belgrade
Biblioteka Rad. M. Grujica, Belgrade

Arhiv Srpske akademije nauka i umetnosti, Belgrade: 35 editions in 58 copies from the
15th-17th centuries. (Described in Mano-Zisi (1985), see below.)

Muzej primenjenih umetnosti, Belgrade

Narodna biblioteka Srbije, Belgrade

Univerzitetska biblioteka “Svetozar Markovic”, Belgrade

Zavod za zastitu i naucno-proucavanje spomenika kulture NR Srbije, Belgrade
Drzavni muzej, Cetinje

Some monasteries (listed in Badalic, see below) also have small collections.

130

Solanus 1996

Special Catalogues

Badalic, Josip, Jugoslavia usque ad annum MDC. Bibliographie der siidslawischen Friih-
drucke. 2., verbesserte Auflage. Baden-Baden, Verlag Librairie Heitz GMBH, 1966.
Gives holdings of libraries in Belgrade, Cetinje and Novi Sad.

Biblioteka Eparhije Slavenske. Srpske rukopisne i stampane knjige u Slavoniji od XV do
XVIII veka. Katalog. Belgrade, Pakrac, 1990.

v r

Grbic, Dusica, Ksenija Mincic-Obradovic & Katica Skoric, Cirilicom stampane knjige
15-17 veka Biblioteke Matice srpske. Novi Sad, 1994.

Mano-Zisi, Katarina, ‘Srpske inkunabule iz beogradskih zbirki’, in Arheografski prilozi
(Belgrade, 1970), knj. 1, pp. 189-209. Describes 4 editions in 21 copies. Gives loca¬
tions.

Mano-Zisi, Katarina, ‘Stare cirilicke stampane knjige u Arhivu Srpske akademije nauka
i umetnosti’, in Arheografski prilozi (Belgrade, 1985), knj. 6/7, pp. 291-335.

Nemirovski, E. L., Izdanja Durda Crnojevica 1494-1496 , Crnogorska bibliografija, t. 1,
knj. 1, Cetinje, 1989. Describes 4 editions in 154 copies. Gives locations.

Nemirovski, E. L., Izdanja Bozidara i Vicenca Vukovica , Stefana Marinovica , Jakova
od Kameme Reke, Jerolima Zagurovica , Jakova Krajova , Dovanina Antonia Rampac-
eta, Marka i Bartolomea Dinamia. 1519-1638 , Crnogorska bibliografija, t. 1, knj. 2,
Cetinje, 1993. Describes 28 editions. Gives locations.

Katalog knjiga na jezicima jugoslovenskih naroda 1519-1867. Belgrade, Narodna Bib¬
lioteka Srbije, 1973.

Based on the collections of Biblioteka Matice srpska, Narodna biblioteka
Srbije, Univerzitetska Biblioteka “Svetozar Markovic” (Belgrade), Biblioteka Srpske
akademije nauka i umetnosti (Belgrade), Biblioteka Srpske Pravoslavne crkve (Bel¬
grade) and other libraries, but does not give locations.

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132

Solanus 1996

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Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

133

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npnjio^ceHHH ocymecTBJieHa b onHcaHHax BbimeynoMHHyTOH ‘Bojiotoackoh
nporpaMMbi’, KOTOpbie CHa6>KeHbi Ta6jiHueH KOHKopAaijHH h BocbMbio yxa-
3aTenaMH: aBTopoB; Ha3BaHHH nenaTHbix H3AaHHH; MecTa h BpeMeHH nenaTu;
reorpa(J)HHecKHx Ha3BaHHH h jihhhwx hmch, ynoMaHyxbix b 3anHcax; tohho
/jaTHpoBaHHbix 3anHcen; opHaMeHTajibHbix yKpameHHH nepenjieTOB; 6h6jiho-
Tex h KHH>KHbix co6paHHH, b KOTOpbie bxoahjih paHee onHcaHHbie B KaTaJlOre
3K3eMnjiapbi. 3Ta CHCTeMa cnpaBOHHbix yKa3aTejieH Moma 6bi 6biTb onTH-
MajibHOH Rjin HccjieAOBaTejibCKHx ijejieH, Tax KaK BKjnonaeT CBeAeHHJi HMeio-
mne OTHomeHHa k H3AaHHio h k paay oco6eHHOCTeH 3K3eMruiflpa (HanpHMep,
nepenjieTa). Hpe3BbiHaHH0 Bamio, hto b npHJioaceHHJix pa3AeJieHbi CBe^eHHM
06 HMeHax h MecTe nenaTH, HMeioinHe OTHomeHHe k H3AaHHro, h o aioahx
h MecTax 6biTOBaHH» KHHr, xapaKTepH3yiomHX HCTOpHHecKHe cy^b6bi 3K3eM-
njiapoB. OAHaKO, hto6m CBeaeHHfl cHCTeMaTH3npoBaHHbie b yKa3aTejiax 6biJiH
AeHCTBHTejibHO a^eKBaTHbi CBeAeHHHM caMHx onncaHHH, hcoGxoahmo, htoGh
Ba>KHeHLUHe yKa3aTejiH 6biJiH aHHOTHpoBaHbi, coxpaHaa h xpOHOJiorHHecKyio
H COlJHaJIbHyK) HH(J)OpMaH,HK) 3anHCeH npHMeHHTeJlbHO K Ba5KHeHHIHM ee CTO-
pOHaM — reorpa(j)HH GbiTOBaHHH h nepcoHajibHOH npHHaAJie>KHOCTH khhth.

K co^cajieHHio, b yKa3aTejiax ‘Bojiotoackoh nporpaMMbi’ (TaK >Ke KaK
H 6oJlbIHHHCTBa Apy™X KaTaJlOrOB, KpOMe H3AaHHH POCCHHCKOH HaiJHO-
HajibHOH 6H6jiHOTeKH (PHB) h MocKOBCKoro rocyAapCTBeHHoro yHHBep-
CHTeTa (MrY)) coxpaHeHbi TOJibKo couHajibHbie xapaKTepHCTHKH nepco-
HajiHH, HMeiomHeca b 3anHcax, h xapaKTep hx OTHOineHHfl k KHHre, ho
He AaHO xpoHOJiorHHecKHx yTOHHeHHH, hto (J)aKTHHecKH, yaHTbiBaa Bbime-
c(()opMyjiHpOBaHHyK) oco6eHHocTb (j)eHOMeHa TpaAHAHOHHOH khh>khocth, He
no3BOJiaeT Hcnojib30BaTb h coxpaHeHHyio HH(J)opMauHK). BeAt» Me>KAy Kyn-
UOM H KpeCTbaHHHOM-BJiaAeJIbAeM HUH BKJiaAHHKOM KHHrH, >KHBUIHM B XVII,
XVIII H XIX BB. - npHHUHnHaJlbHbie HCTOpHKO-KyJIbTypHbie pa3JIHHH5I.

Heo6xoAHMO oTMexHTb TaK)Ke, hto b KHHrax ‘Bojiotoackoh nporpaMMbi’
Aa>Ke HajiHHHe KOHKOpAaijHeH He BOcnojiHaeT OTcyTCTBHe TOHHbix yKa3aHHH
Ha H3AaHHH, onHcaHHbie b KaTanore, TaK KaK b yKa3aTene MecTa h BpeMeHH
nenaTH, H3AaHHH, BbimeAuine noA oahhm toaom He hmciot hh Ha3BaHHH hh
tohhoh AaTbi. He cnacaeT noAo^ceHHe h yKa3aTenb Ha3BaHHH, TaK KaK b KaTa-
jioth, KaK npaBHJio, bxoaht onncaHHe KHpHJinkubi neTbipex ctojicthh (Hanpn-
Mep, No 9 h 10 — 1564 — 1825 r.; N° 17 — 1564 — 1700 h t.a.)- K co>KajieHHio,
Bee 3th ocoGeHHocTH yKa3aTejien H3AaHHH ‘Bojiotoackoh nporpaMMbi’ noji-
HOCTbio BocnpoH3BeAeHbi h b npeKpacHOH KHHre H.M. rpHHueBCKOH.5 KaTa-
Jiorn H3AaHHH PHB, XOTfl H COnpOBO>KAaK)TC5I TOJIbKO nflTbK) HJIH UieCTbK)
yKa3aTejiHMH, TaK KaK AJia 3thx khht maBHbiM HBjineTca nojiHoe onncaHHe

fpuifeecKasi 93.

134

Solanus 1996

H3^aHHH, a onHcaHHe aoeMnnapoB — TOJibKo BTOpHHHbiM, TeM He MeHee
BKJIK)HaK)T H XpOHOAOrHHeCKyiO H COUHaJlbHO-KHHrOBe^HeCKyiO HH(j)OpMaiiHK)
3anHceH. O^HaKO, b 3thx H3AaHH5ix h hmchhoh h reorpa(f)HHecKHH yKa3aTejiH
co^ep)KaT HH(J)opMauHio h 06 H3,aaHHH h 06 3K3eMnjiape, npHneM ccbiJiKa Bce-
r^a ^ejiaeTca k onncaHHio H3AaHH5i, xotji oho MoaceT conpoB05KAaTbca 5 —
13 OnHCaHHHMH 3K3eMnJ15IpOB. Oco6bIM, H3 HCn0Jlb30BaHHbIX HH)Ke H3^aHHH,
HBJiaeTCH KHHra JI.HL KHcejieBOH ‘Kopnyc 3anHcen Ha CTaponenaTHbix khh-
rax. BbinycK 1 . 3anncH Ha KHHrax KHpHjuiHHecKoro uipn^Ta, HanenaTaHHbix b
MocKBe b XVI — XVII bb.’, H3AaHHaa b CaHKT-IIeTep6ypre b 1992 r. B 3toh
KHHre ny6jiHKyioTCH He onncaHHfl H3AAHHH hjih HMeiomHxcfl 3K3eMnji5ipoB
CTaponenaTHbix KHHr, a TOJibKo 3anncH o6Hapy>KeHHbie Ha 900 aoeMnnapax
MOCKOBCKHX CTapOneHaTHbIX H3^aHHH (H3 1200 HMeiOIUHXCfl B (j)OHAe BAH),
hto h onpe^ejiHjio, ohcbhaho, xapaKTep yKa3aTeneH. Hx naTb: hmchhoh, yxa-
3aTenb tohho aaTHpoBaHHbix 3annceH, reorpa(})HHecKHH, KHHr c pyKonncHbiMH
JIHCTaMH H 3K3eMnjIHpOB C 3anHCHMH, B KOTOpbIX Ha3BaHbI UCHbl Ha KHHrH.

TpoMa^HyK) HCTOpHnecKyK) H,eHHOCTb Mor 6bi HMeTb hmchhoh yxa3a-
Tejib 3Toro H3^aHH«, co^ep^camHH okojio 2700 hmch, OTAenbHO yHTeHHbix
BjiaziejibijeB (HHAHBHAyanbHbix h KopnopaTHBHbix) noKynaTenen, npoAaBHOB,
BKJia^HHKOB KHHr H AHA, npOCTO ynOMHHyTblX B 3anHC3X. OAHaKO, H B AaHHOM
CAynae, 3HaneHHe CTOAb BaacHOH h no CBoeMy o6beMy yHHKaAbHOH HH(j)op-
MaAHH, 3HaHHTeAbHO CHH>KaeTCfl BCAeACTBHe OTCyTCTBHH xpoHOAornnecKoro
KOMMeHTapHH. OHeBHAHO, HTO AAfl HCTOpHHeCKOrO OCMblCAeHHa 6oraTeHlHHX
MaTepnaAOB CTaponenaTHoro (|)OHAa mockobckhx H3AaHHH BAH coBepuieHHO
Heo6xoAHM h OTcyTCTByromHH b KHHre yKa3aTeAb H3AaHHH. Mo)kho 6mao 6bi
npOAOA)KHTb 3TH XapaKTepHCTHKH, HO JXJW HaUieH AeAH, KaK npeACTaBAHeTCH,
BnoAHe AOCTaTOHHO npHBeAeHHbix npHMepoB, HTo6bi AOKa3aTb, He Kacaacb
oneBHAHOH ceroAH^i npo6AeMbi hco6xoahmocth BcecTopoHHero onncaHHa
Ka>KAoro 3K3eMnAHpa CTaponenaTHOH KHHrn, h Heo6xoAHMOCTb npn ny6AH-
KauHH nepBOHanajibHOH o6pa6oTKH h cHCTeMaTH3au,HH o6me-HCTopHHecKHH
h KyjibTypHO-KHHroBeAnecKOH HH(j)opMaAHH, noAyneHHOH b xoAe HaynHoro
onncaHHa.

nepBblH BOnpOC, KOTOpblH AOA5KCH 6bITb nOCTaBACH npH KOMnAeKCHOM
aHaAH3e HH(J)opMaAHH Ha3BaHHbix Bbirne KaTaAoroB, — Bonpoc 06 o6beMe
h ypoBHe nepBOHanaAbHOH o6pa6oTKH onncaHHoro (j)OHAa. H nepBoe h bto-
poe CTaHOBHTCfl OHeBHAHbIM npH H3yneHHH TaOAHAbI (cm. C. 165), B KOTO-
poH npeAnpHHJiTa nonbiTKa CAeAaTb OTBeTbi Ha 3th Bonpocbi HarAflAHbiMH.
B 20 H36paHHbix HaMH KaTaAorax BbiuieAuinx b 1970 — 1995 rr. onncaHO 26
3K3eMnA»pOB CeMH H3ABHHH XV B.; 747 3K3eMnA5IpOB H3AaHHH XVI b. (MaK-
CHMaAbHaa HH(j)pa H3AaHHH 3Toro BpeMeHH b nocAeAHeM KaTaAore PHB —
156 — cm. JIyK.bHH.eHKo, 93); h 4353 3K3eMnAapa H3AaHHH XVII b. (MaKCH-
MaAbHaa HH(j)pa H3AaHHH, npHTOM TOAbKO MOCKOBCKHX B BbIUieHa3BaHHOH
KHHre BAH — 336 — cm. Kuceneea , 92). TaKHM o6pa30M Bcero b H36paHHbix

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

135

HCTOHHHKaX OIIHCaHbl 5326 3K3eMnJiapOB KHpHJUIHHeCKHX H3^aHHH XV — XVII
BB. npOHCXOAflllJHX H3 6n6jIHOTeK MOHaCTbipeH, UepKBeH, KOpnopaTHBHbIX
ynpeac/jeHHH, cTapoo6pa^HecKHx oGiijhh, jihhhmx coOpaHnn. Ohh xpaHHTca
b MocKBe, CaHKT-IIeTep6ypre, EicaTepHH6ypre, CapaTOBe, IlcKOBe, Bonor^e,
ToMCKe, HiDKHeM HoBropo^e. IlpeACTaBjieHbi KpynHeHinne n 3HaMeHHTbie
poccHHCKHe cj)OHflbi: PHB (6biBiu. hm. M.E. CajiTbiKOBa-II(eApHHa), BAH,
Mry h HeGojibixiHe koajickahh a o BbixoAa nx onncaHnn b cbct coBepuieHHO
HeH3BecTHbie b HayKe.

Run XVI b. H3 Bcex H3yneHHbix KaTanoroB TOJibKo nocneAHee H3AaHHe PHB
(cm. JlyKbHHeHKo , 93) no3BOJiaeT HaM nojiyHHTb aoctatohho y6e^HTejibHbie
UH(J)pbi, Kacafomneca nacTOTHocTH coxpaHeHna aoeMnnapoB pa3Hbix H3Aa-
hhh. B KHHre onncaHO 156 H3/jaHHH XVI b. b 404 6 soeMiuiapax, to ecTb, b
cpe^HeM, oaho H3AaHHe npeACTaBneHo 2,63 3K3eMiui5ipa (‘cpeAHaa’ uH(})pa no
18 KaTanoraM — 1,98 aoeMnnapa). Oahako KaTanor PHB (JMe 19) no3BonaeT
ZieTajiH3HpoBaTb 3th uH(J)pbi, n Mbi nojiynaeM AOCTaTOHHO nHTepecHyio n, one-
BHflHO, AAfl COXpaHHOCTH KHpHJIJIHHbl XVI B. THnHHHyiO KapTHHy (CM. TaiOKe
rpa(J)HK Ha c. 164):

2 H3£aHH» npeACTaBjieHbi
2 H3flaHHa npeacTaBJieHbi
1 H3AaHHe npe^CTaBJieHO
1 H3^aHHe npeacTaBJieHO
7 H3AaHHH npe^CTaBjieHbi
9 H3£aHHH npeACTaBjieHbi
14 H3^aHHH npe^CTaBjieHbi
24 H3/jaHHH npe^CTaBjieHbi
34 H3AaHH5i npeACTaBjieHbi

62 H3^aHHH npeACTaBJieHbi

13-k) 3K3eMnji5ipaMH
9-10 3K3eMnJI5IpaMH
8-k) 3K3eMnjiapaMH

7-k> 3K3eMnjiapaMH

6-kd 3K3eMnjiapaMH

5-k) 3K3eMnjiapaMH
4-ms 3K3eMnjiapaMH
3-ma 3K3eMnJ15ipaMH
2-mji 3K3eMnjiapaMH
1-m 3K3eMnjiapOM

06beKTHBHOCTb AaHHbix KaTanora PHB o coxpaHHOCTH onpeAejieHHbix
H3ZiaHHH XVI b., Kor^a penb hact o caMbix nacTO BCTpeHapomnxcfl, noA-
TBep>KAaeTca bccmh ocTajibHbiMH KaTanoraMn. nepBoe h BTopoe MecTo b
3tom pnjxy 3aHHMaioT BHJieHCKoe EBaHrenne HeTpa McTHCJiaBua 1575 r. h
OcTpo>KCKaji Bh6jih» HBaHa OeAopoBHa 1580/81 r.; TpeTbe h neTBepToe -
AbBOBCKHH AnocTOA HBaHa OeAopoBa 1574 r. h MaprapHT 1595 r. (no 9
3K3.); nHToe — mockobckhh AnocTOJi 1564 r.,(8 khht); uiecToe — BnjiencKaa
HcajiTbipb 1576 r. (7 khht); ceAbMoe — ABeHaAuaToe (no 6 3K3.): BeHeunaH-
ckhh Cjiy)Ke6HHK 1519 r., MnHea 1533 r., Cjiy>Ke6HHK 1554 r., MOCKOBCKaa
nocTHaa TpnoAb 1589 r. h ocTpo>KCKa« ncajiTbipb c BoccjieAOBaHneM 1598 r.

Ecah ynecTb aoeMnnapbi 10 6h6ahotck (KaTanorn 1, 5, 6, 7, 8, 12, 16, 17,

6 Abtop b npeziHCJioBHH roBopHT Bcero o 415 3K3eMnji»pax. riocKOJTbKy b KHHre onHcaH 21
3K3eMnJlflp XV B., K XVI B. nOJDKHO OTHOCHTbCH 349, HO MHOrOKpaTHbie nonCHeTbl nOKa3aJIH,
HTO HX BCe-TaKH 404.

136

Solanus 1996

18, 19), to b hx 4>OH^ax ormcaHO Tax Ha3braaeMbix ‘aHOHHMHbix’ H3AaHHH —
6 b 39 3K3eMnjiapax, H3AaHHH AHApoHHxa HeBeacHHa — 9 b 110 3X3eMnnapax
(FIocTHaa TpHOAB — 24 3K3.; ABa TOMa OxTonxa 1594 — 29 3K3., AnocTOJi
1597 - 18 3K3. H T.A-) BHJieHCKHX H3HaHHH XVI B. — 45 B 119 3X3eMnnapax.

KojinaecTBo coxpaHHBiiiHxca 3K3eMnji»poB XVII b. Tax >xe no3Bon«eT
AenaTb BCeCTOpOHHHe BbIBOABI O MeCTe H pOJIH GonbHIHHCTBa H3aaHHH B
xyjibType CBoero BpeMeHH. OAHaxo, ana XVII b. b HacToaiimx ycjiOBHax
(oTcyTCTBHe o6men 6a3bi aaHHbix xoth 6bi ana onncaHHa H3aaHHn) aacTOT-
HOCTb COXpaHHBLUHXCa 3X3CMnJiapOB H3aaHHH MOaCHO yCTaHOBHTb B JiyameM
cjiyaae TOJibxo b paMxax onacaHHa OAHoro xpaHHJiHiaa. HanpnMep, aJifi
4>OHaa Mry, xaxHM oh aBjianca x 1972 r., oaHO H3aaHHe XVII b., b cpeaHeM,
6bino npeacTaBjieHO 2,2 3X3eMnnapOM (xaTanor X° 5); b Manbix My3eax Bono-
roacxoro xpaa (xaTanor JNb 9) — b 1,5 3X3eMnnapoM; b (j)OHae BAH (xaTanor
X° 16) — 2,6; b HH>xeropoacxoH o6nacTHOH 6H6nHOTexe (xaTanor X° 18) —
1,8 3X3eMnnapoM. (‘CpeaHaa’ ijHc[)pa no 15 xaTanoraM — 1,82 3X3eMnnapa.)
HMea CTonb cymecTBeHHbie an^pbi, h co3aaB 6a3y aaHHbix, cocTaBneHHyio
xoTa 6bi Ha ocHOBaHHH y>xe onncaHHoro (j)OHna, mo)xho, BHaHMO, y6ean-
TenbHO pernaTb Bonpoc o npHHHHax cyae6 Toro hhh HHoro THna H3aaHHH
nnH npoayKUHH pa3Hbix H3aaTenbCTB.

HecoMHeHHO xax yace MHoroxpamo 6bino noxa3aHO,7 HaH6onbmyio Bce-
CTOpOHHKHo HCTOHHHxoBeAaecxyio aeHHOCTb HMeeT HH(J)opMaHHa 3annceH,
coxpaHHBuiHxca Ha 3X3eMnnapax CTaponeaaTHbix H3aaHHH. Tonbxo b aeTbi-
pex Bbiuieyxa3aHHbix xaTanorax (X° 5, 9, 15 h 17) onncaHO 23 3X3eMnnapa
Co6opHoro ynoaceHHa 1649 r., 16 3X3eMnnapoB mocxobcxoh TpaMMaTHXH
1648 r. Meneraa CMOTpHaxoro, h 19 — Hctophh o BapnaaMe h Hoaca())e,
H3aaHHOH b MocxBe b 1680 r.

/JaHHbie 06 o6meM xonnaecTBe 3anHceH XVII b. ecTb Tonbxo b xaTanore
MTY 1980 r. — hx 637 Ha 683 3X3eMnnapax (aanee Be3ae yaHTbiBaeTca uH(j)pa
680) — b cpeaHeM, Ha 93,3% Bcex onHcaHHbix xHHr. 3aT0 Mbi MoaceM npocaH-
TaTb xonnaecTBo tomho aaTHpoBaHHbix 3anHceH XVI — XVII bb. ana (j)OHna
onncaHHoro b 9 xaTanorax (X° 1, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 16, 17 h 18): 897 3anHceH Ha
3447 3X3eMnnapax, T.e. Ha 26%; TaxHM o6pa30M Ha 5326 3X3eMnnapax XHHr,

7 Cm. TuxoMupoe M.H. 3armcH XIV — XVII bb. Ha pyKonncax My^oBa MOHacTbipfl. // Apxeo-
rpa(j)HHecKHH ejKero^HHK 3a 1958 r. MocKBa, 1960, c. 11—36; Acafioe K.M., IJpomacbeea T.H.,
Tuxo.Mupoe M.H. 3anHCH Ha KHHrax crapon nenaTH XVI — XVII bb. // Apxeorpa(j)HHecKHH exe-
ro/iHHK 3a 1961 rozi. MocKBa, 1962, c. 276 — 344; Ecw.naHoea H.A. 3HaneHHe BJiaaejibHecKHX
3anHcefi Ha .apeBHepyccKHx KHHrax Kax hctohhhk ,iyiH hctophh pyccKOH KyjibTypbi. // Apxeorpa-
(j)HHecKHH e)KeroziHHK 3a 1962 roa. MocKBa, 1963, c. 197—205; ry3Hep H.A. 3anHCH XV— XVII
bb. Ha KHHrax h pyKonncax co6paHHB mHTB CO AH CCCP // HaynHbie 6h6jihotckh Ch6hph
h AaJibHero BocToxa. Hoboch6hpck, 1973, c. 84 — 94; no3deeea M B. 3anncH Ha CTaponenaTHbix
KHHrax KHpHJIJlOBCKOTO HjpH(J)Ta KaK HCTOpHHeCKHH HCTOHHHK // <t>e,nopOBCKHe HTCHHfl 1976.
MocKBa, 1978, c. 39 — 54; 3epHoea A C. Ha^nncn Ha KHHrax mockobckoh nenaTH XVI — XVII bb.
// KHHra: MccjieaoBaHHH h MaTepnajibi. MocKBa, 1991, C6. 62 h ap.

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

137

oimcaHHbix b 20 KaTajiorax — tohho AaTHpoBaHHbix 3annceH aojiacHo 6biTb
He MeHee 1384. CorjiacHO (j)OHAy Mry, npoueHT KHHr c tohho aaTupoBaH-
HbiMH 3annc5iMH XVI — XVII bb. cocTaBJiaeT aaace 28,7% o6mero xonHHecTBa
3K3eMnjiapOB (cm. TaOjinny Ha c. 165).

3Ta UH(J)pa e^Ba jih y^HBHT cneuHajiHCTa, Tax xax hmchho b XVII b. xhhth
Hepe^KO no/inHCbiBajiH MHoroKpaTHO, a MHorne 3X3eMnjiapbi nacro nepexo-
Ahjih H3 pyx b pyxn, npHneM ^aTbi noxynxH yxa3bmajiHCb b 6ojibuiHHCTBe
cjiynaeB. HanpHMep, b xaTajiore M.M. TpHneBCxon onHcaHbi ^Be xhhth, Ha
CTpaHHuax xoTopbix coxpaHHJiocb no 11 h 12 sannceH. Tax xHHra MoaHHa
3naToycTa Bece^bi Ha 14 nocjiaHHH an. HaBjia, b xhcbcxom H3AaHHH 1623 r.
(N° 80), b 1650 r. 6biJia xynjieHa b IlyTHBjib; b 1651 r. — npoaaHa b MocxBe (b
KpeMjib) /jbaxoHy EjiHceio; b 1652 r. Ejmcefi npoaaeT xHHry abaxoHy toh ace
uepxBH KoHCTaHTHHy, xoTopbin Harneji HyacHbiM oaenaTb 3anncb o noxynxe
h ot CBoero hmchh. B 1654 Kohctbhthh OT^aeT XHHry ‘no rpeniHOH #yine
KOHCTaHTHHOBOH B BoJlbUIHe TIOpbMbI, HTO y BapBapCXHX BOpOT’, 3aBepUIHB
cbok) 3anncb o Bxjia^e pa3BepHyTOH ‘(j)opMyjioH npoxjiaTHH’ Ha cjiynaH nepe-
JX anH XHHrn b HHoe MecTO. O^Haxo yace b 1654 r. 6biBHiHH xo3hhh caM b3hji
XHHry Ha3aA, 3aMeHHB ee b TiopbMax nojiHbiM IIpojioroM. Cne/jyiomaH 7-aa
3anHCb oObacHaeT 3tot nocTynox, — ohcbhaho BeceAH 6bijiH KoHCTaHTHHOM
Bbiro^HO npoaaHbi, Tax xax b 1657 r. XHHra nepenpo^aeTca b toh ace MocxBe
MBaHOM HnxH(j)opoBbiM. Kax roBOpHTca b BOCbMOH 3anncH, noacHaioineH
7-k), XHHra npo^aHHaa b Oboihhom pa^y npHHaAJioxajia MOHacTbipio, h
ozjejixa 6biJia ocymecTBJieHa no npnxa3y ‘necTHbia o6nTejiH H3 YOorax jx OMy’
‘cTpoHTena KHpHJibi’, npHneM noxynxa CTOHjia nony MBaHy BacHJibeBy 20 p.
27 ajiT. 2 jxq Hbrn. /JeBaTaa 3anncb aBjiaeTca BjiaaejibHecxon nona HBaHa, a
10-aa — BjianejibnecxoH ‘ronoBbi CTpejienxa MBaHa Ocj)OHaceBHHa CeprneB-
cxoro’ (o6e 3anncH caejiaHbi b tom ace XVII b.). HaxoHeu, nocjie^Haa 3anncb,
cxoponHCbio py6eaca BexoB, co^epacHT pacnopaaceHHe: ‘no ^yxoBHOH oT^aio’
[xHHry] b HnacHHH HoBropoa b IIpeo6paaceHcxHH co6op.

Ha 3X3eMnjiape Cbhthcb 1646 r. ( rpuifeecKax 93, N° 183) 12 3annceH, cjxe-
jiaHHbix Meac^y 1674 h 1726 rr. o coObiTHax b ceMbe IlaHHHbix, acHBymen b
MocxBe. HanHHHe ace Ha 3X3eMnjiape 4 — 5 3annceH XVII b., Tax ace xax h
nocjieAyiomHX BexoB, OTHioab we peaxo, hto no3BOJiaeT ^eTajibHo npocjie-
aHTb cyAb6bi MHornx 3X3eMnjiapOB oahoto H3AaHHa.

HanpHMep, Ha 23 3X3eMJiapax CoOopHoro ynoaceHHa, onncaHHbix b 5
xaTajiorax,8 npoHHTaHO 55 3annceH, y^ocTOBepaiomHx, hto 3th xhhth b XVII
b. HaxoAHJiHCb b MocxBe, Ap3aMace, BojiorAe h ee oxpyre, b ypacyMe, apo-
cnaBCXHx 3eMJiax, OepanoHTOBOM h KHpHjiJio-Beji03epcxoM MOHacTbipax h
£pyrnx MecTax. B XVII — XVIII bb. ohh npHHa/rneacajiH npHxa3HbiM H36aM,
MOHacTbipaM, CTOJibHHxy, ABopaHHHy, xynnaM, apxHMaHflpHTaM, CTapuy,

8 Cm. KaTanorw No 5, 6, 9, 16, 18 no Ta6jinne Ha c. 165.

138

Solanus 1996

aciiJibuy, KpecTbflHaM, AsyM KanHTaHaM, nopynHKy, BaxMHCTpy, cojmaTaM.
npHoGpeTanHCb 3th khhth b GojibiHHHCTBe cjrynaeB nyTeM noxynKH (b tom
HHCJie, b OBomHOM pmy h Ha rienaTHOM Aeope b 1681 r. 3a 5 p.), no 3aBema-
hhk) h no 6jiarocjiOBJieHHio, KaK BKjiaA- HecKOJibKO aoeMnjiapOB Co6opHoro
YjIO>KeHHH B XVIII B. nOJiyHHJIH 3HaHHTeJlbHbie H 4>yHKUHOHaJIbHbie pyKOnHC-
Hbie AonojiHeHHa.9

TaKHM o6pa30M, npH HaynHOM onHcaHHH aoeMnnapbi CTaponenaTHbix
H3AaHHH paCCKa3bIBaK)T MHO)KeCTBO (J)aKTOB KOHKpeTHOrO GbITOBaHHa H pOJIH
nenaTHOH khhth, no3BOJiaioiAHX ropa3AO rjiyGace npoHHKaTb b CBaTaa CBaTbix
AyxoBHOH HCTopHH Hapo.na.

reorpa(j)HHecKHe yKa3aTejin, npHAO^eHHbie k KaTanoraM, k co>KaneHHio,
name Bcero o6mHe, T.e. yHHTbraaeT reorpa(})HHecKHe naHHbie h H3AaHHH h
3anHcen Ha aoeMnjiapax, hjih He hmciot yKa3aHHH o AarapOBKe 3anHCH, b
KOTopon naHHoe MecTO (MOHacTbipb, uepKOBb) ynoMaHyra. OAHaKo Aaace
npocTO noAcneT KOJinnecTBa HaceneHHbix MecT, reorpa(|)HHecKHx noH»THH hjih
pernoHOB, TAe GbiTOBajiH khhth, no HecKOAbKHM KaTajioraM — AaeT npeA-
CTaBJieHHe o rpOMaAHOM o6beMe cooTBeTCTByiomcn HH(j)opMaAHH: reorpa-
(})HHecKHH yKa3aTeAb KaTajiora MrY (683 3K3eMnjiapa khht XV — XVII bb.)
HacHHTbiBaeT 583 Ha3BaHHa HacejieHHbix nyHKTOB, perHOHOB hjih reorpa(|)HHe-
ckhx noHaTHH, 65 MOHacTbipeH h 258 AepKBen, rne 6biT0BajiH onncaHHbie b
KaTajiore khhth. B reorpa(J)HHecKOM yKa3aTejie KaTajiora BAH (JNTe 15) —
ynTeHO 315 HacejieHHbix nyHKTOB h MOHacTbipeH h 88 uepKBeii; b KaTajiore
Hn^KeropOACKOH o6jiacTHOH 6n6jiHOTeKH — 278 HacejieHHbix nyHKTOB, MOHa-
CTbipeii h 122 nepKBH; b KaTajiore PHB (JNb 18) — 256 Ha3BaHHH h 67 AepKBen.
reorpacJiHHecKHe yKa3aTejin 9 KaTajioroB (cm. Ta6jiHuy Ha c. 165) conep^caT
1946 Ha3BaHHH HacejieHHbix MecT, reorpa(j)HHecKHx nonaTHH h MOHacTbipeH,
o6Hapy>KeHHbix b 3anncax Ha 3719 KHHrax — T.e., b cpeAHeM, Ha 51,4% Bcex
3K3eMnjiapoB. B 10 KaTajiorax b 3anHcax ynoMHHyTbi 766 AepKBen, T.e., b
cpeAHeM, Ha 21,3% aoeMnjiapoB. Cy a« no KaTajiory MTY (JMb 5), 3HaHH-
TejibHbiH npoueHT 3thx 3anHceH bo3hhk hmchho b XVII b., hto no3BOJiaeT
BoccTaHOBHTb HCTopHio ABH)KeHH}i KHHr b rpaHHAax Pocchh, a TaK>Ke 3a ee
npeAejiaMH.

OAHaKO HaH6ojiee 6oraT h HHTepeceH npoconorpa(J)HHecKHH MaTepnaji
3anHcen. Hcnojib3yeM Ana noATBep5KAeHHa 3Toro nojioaceHHa AaHHbie hmch-
hmx yKa3aTejien BOCbMH KaTajioroB, cocTaBJieHHbix TOJibKo no 3anncaM Ha
3K3eMnjiapax H3AaHHH XV — XVII bb. hjih hmcioiahx xpoHOJiorHnecKHe yxa-
3aHna (N° 1, 2, 5, 8, 1 1, 16, 18 h 19). B hhx onncaHo10 3518 3K3eMnjiapoB khht,
b 3anncax Ha KOTopbix Ha3BaH0 5792 hmchh, T.e. (jiaKTHnecKH, 187 hmch, Ha

9 Cm. FIo3deeea 81, N° 171.

10 HanoMHHM eme pa3 HHTaTejiHM, hto b KHHre JIM. KncejieBOH npHBe/ieHbi 3anncH Ha 900
3K3. H3 1200 KHHr BAH. Bo Bcex HauiHx noncneTax yHHTbiBaeTca hmchho 1200 KHHr, t.k. b
onHcaHHe bouijih TOJibKo 3K3eMnjiapbi c 3anHCHMH.

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

139

100 KHHrax. B Tpex cjiynaax (Mb 2, 5 h 19) hbbcctho kojihhcctbo hmch jtio-
^eii XVI — XVII bb., HMeBiiiHx, KaK npaBHjio, npaMoe OTHomeHHe k camion
KHHre. Ha 1272 3K3eMiui«pax 3thx 6h6jihotck hmch jiKmen XVI — XVII bb.
oica3ajiocb okojio 1000, T.e. b cpe^HeM, 10 hmch jiKmen XVI— XVII bb. Ha
13 3K3eMnjiapax. B KHHre JI.M. Khccjicboh b vKaiaTejiax ynTeno okojio 250
HMeH BJia^ejibueB KHHr, 53 hmchh noKynaTejia, 81 hmh npo^aBuoB, 222 —
BKJiaflHHKa H npH6jIH3HTeJIbHO 2330 JIHIJ TOJIbKO ynOMJIHyTO.

B 3HawrejibHOM kojikhcctbc cjiynaeB b 3anHcax Ha3Bano h coHHajibHoe
nojioaceHHe npHo6peTaBumx hjih paccTaBaBuinxca c khhtoh jifo/ich. Hanpn-
Mep, b KaTajiore MTY H3 348 jihh, hmcbuihx Henocpe^cTBeHHoe OTHomeHHe
k KHHre b XVII b., H3BecTHO coimajibHoe nojio>KeHHe 232 nejiOBeK; H3 onn-
caHHH KHHr KaTajiora kojijickijhh M.H. HyBaHosa hbbcctho 172 hmchh BJia-
jxejibixQB, BKJiajpraKOB, noKynaTejieH. Abtop HH^ceropo^CKoro KaTajiora M.M.
rpHueBCKaa11 yKa3bmaeT (k co^cajieHHK), TaK >kc KaK h Jl.H. KncejieBa, 6e3
aaTHpoBOK), hto H3yneHHbie eio 3K3eMnjiapbi npHHaAJie^cajiH 122 uepKBHM h
34 o6HTejiHM; a H3 613 hmch BKJia^HHKOB, AapHrejien, BJia^ejibueB (Ha 433
3K3eMnjiapax): 17 6bijiH apxnepeaMH; 101 — cb h me ii h h k a m h ; 58 — npe^CTa-
BHTejiaMH 3HaTH h ^BOpJiH; 26 — npHHaAJie^cajiH k TOproBOMy cocjiobhio; 23
aejiOBeKa 6biJiH KpecTbjmaMH; 15 — npHKa3HbiMH; 8 — BoeHHbiMH.

IlepBbie 3anHCH Ha aoeMnjiapax H3,zjaHHH noflBJifljiHCb eme Ha FlenaTHOM
/jBOpe h, KaK npaBHjio, (JmKCHpoBajiH nepcoHajibiiyio oTBeTCTBeHHocTb 3a aaH-
Hyio KHHry. TaKoe >Ke 3HaneHHe hmciot h noMeTbi (THnorpa(j)CKHe) pa6oTHH-
kob THnorpa(j)HH, c/jejiaHHbie b ripoaecce nenaTaHHH khhth. Te jho^h, koto-
pbie npaBHJiH KHHry nocjie 3aBepmeHHH coGctbchho npouecca nenaTH, ocra-
bjihjih cboh pocnncH, H3peaKa yKa3biBaa hto ohh AejiajiH, ho name CTaBHJiH
TOJibKO nozmHCH. HanpnMep, Ha KopMnen 1653 r., KaK npaBHjio, coxpaHHK>T-
ca 3anHCH jiio/jeH, BKjia^biBaBuiHx b aoeMnjiapbi AonojiHHTejibHbie h ncnpa-
BjieHHbie jihctm; ‘npoxopKo KonocoB’ ( IJosdeeea 80, Mb 495; Ocunoea , Mb 96);
h 3HanHTejibHO pe>Ke — ‘CnpaBHji h neTBepKH bjio^khji’, ‘cMOTpeji Ha6op-
ihhk CeMeH CTe(j)aHOB’, ‘CMOTpeji 9>oMa... JleBKa Ha6opmHK’ (cm. Ocu¬
noea, Mb 184; OPKhP HB MTY, 50q’a523, hhb. 3092-25-73; TaM »ce 50h442,
hhb. 5372-19-77 h zip. 3^ecb h ^ajiee ajih 3K3eMnjiapoB khhf OT^ejia periKHx
khht h pyKonnceH HaynHoii 6h6jihotckh MFY, onncaHHa KOTopbix bolujih b
eme Heony6jiHKOBaHHbiH KaTajior, npHBOAHTca Ha3BaHiie MecTa xpaneHHH b
coKpameHHOM BH^e, uiH(j)p H3^aHHH, ecjiH oho He Ha3BaHo b Texcie, h Bcer^a

- HHBeHTapHblH HOMep, Heo6xO^HMbIH J\ JIfl HaCHTH{j)HKaHHH). 3tH KpaTKHe

3anHCH BCTpenaioTCH Ha 3K3eMnjiapax mockobckhx H3^aHHH AocraTOHHO na-
cto, h b conocTaBJieHHH c ^aHHbiMH apxHBa THnorpa(j)HH (PFA/JA, (j). 1182)
MoryT CTaTb Ba>KHbiM hctohhhkom no hctophh KHHronenaTaHHH.

CoBepuieHHO Heo6o3pHMa HH^opManna 3annceH o BKJiajiHHKax h hx

r puiieecKcifl 93, c. 27.

140

Solanus 1996

ceMbJix, c o^hoh CTOpoHbi; h o cjiy^cHTejiax ijepKBen h MOHacrapeH, npn-
HHMaiomHx KHHry, c ApyroH. 06beAHHeHHe 3toh mujiopMaHHH b yKa3aTenax
HBHJIOCb 6bl CaMOM CymeCTBCHHblM AOnOJIHeHHeM K pO^OCJTOBHblM enpaBOH-
HHKaM h k He3aMeHHMbiM, ho ycTapeBuiHM KHHraM C.B. BecejioBCKoro12 h
n.M. CTpoesa.13 CaMbiH TunnHHbiH npHMep: ctojibhhk KoH^paTHH Acjio-
HacbeBHH 3arpa3CKOH (3arp5DKCKHH) b 1666 r. .aejiaeT BKJiaa b npnxoa CBoero
niieMHHHHKa Oe^opa HHKHTHna no OTije h no cbocm 6paTe Hhkhtc A(j)o-
HacbeBnne, KOTOpbin no po/iocjioBHbiM KHHraM hhcjihtch eme b 1666 — 1669
rr. noMeinMOM.

Hpe3BbiHaHHO iieHHbie CBe^eHna cooOmaioT cothh 3annceH o cnoe npHKa3-
Hbix mo/jen, MHorne H3 KOTOpbix flonojiHiuoT noxa He3aMeHHMbiH cnpaBOHHHK
C.B. BecejioBCKoro. /JeKaOpbCKyio MHHeio mockobckoh nenaTH 1636 r. npo-
JX aji ‘npHKa3y Eojibiuoro /jBOpua no^baneH HBauiKO menKHH’ — BOo6me He
Bome^umH b tom C.B. BecejioBCKoro; nopyKOH ce6e on b CBoepyHHOH 3anHCH
yKa3an ^BOpoBoro nenoBeKa Ocnna THxoHOBa (OPKhP Mry, hhb. 5309-2-
77). 3anncb Ha ceHTaOpbCKOH neTBepTH Tpe(j)OjirnoHa (MocKBa, 01.06.1637;
OPKhP HB MTY, hhb. 6268-4-88) no3BOJiaeT roBopHTb, hto noabflHHH PIpH-
Ka3a Bojibmoro ABOpua Ohhchm KopeHeB, yHTeHHbiH y C.B. BecejioBCKoro
no a 1700 h 1701 roaaMH, 6biji b 3toh aojdkhocth y>xe b 1687 (!) roay.

Ha BTopoil nojiOBHHe nponora (MocKBa, 06.12.1643; OPKhP HB MTY,
hhb. 3034-13-75), HanaeHHOM b BepxoKaMbe b 1973 r. npoHHTaHa BKJiaAHaa
CBoepynHaa 3anncb b uepKOBb BocKpeceHHa XpHCTOBa ‘3a HepTOJibCKHMH
BopoTbi 3obomm HoBoe’, ‘HoBbie neTBepTH nonrbaHHM’ AHapeeM OeaoTOBbiM,
HMeHH KOToporo y BecejioBCKoro TaK^ce HeT.

JX ocTaTOHHo nacTO BCTpenaioTCJi BKJiaaHbie 3anncH ‘ToproBbix jnoAeH’, b
TOM HHCJie H CaMbIX H3BeCTHbIX, TaKHX KaK Ha^ea CBaTeiHHHKOB, BaCHJIHH

IIIopHH h MHorne upyrne (OPKhP HB Mry 50q’a523, hhb. 3033-17-75),
HMeHa KOTOpbix, xax npaBHJio, 3a(|)HKCHpoBaHbi b KHHrax npoaaac hoboh
npOAyKHHH Mockobckoto nenaTHoro Aeopa.

Ohcbhaho, hto pa6oTbi c ycTaHOBjieHHeM noAJiHHHoro npOHCXo>KAeHHH,
reHeajiorHH jhoach, ynoMaHyrax b 3anHcax, TpeOyeT TmaTejibHocTH h npa-
Mbix aoKa3aTejibCTB. HanpHMep, HaHAa HMa Oeaopa MaKCHMOBana MaTio-
uiKHHa Ha BKJiaaHOH 3anHCH 1648 r. b MOHacrapb Hhkhtm nepecjiaBCKoro
( Ocunoea , N° 75), oneHb xoTeaocb cHHTaTb, hto oh — cbiH MaKCHMa Fpn-
ropbeBHHa MaTiouiKHHa — BKJiaaHHKa 1641 r., Korn,a tot 6biji AtaKOM
nocojibCKoro npHKa3a. Oahako, cyaa no CHHOAHKy Mockobckoto Bo3abh-
)KeHCKoro MOHacTbipa ( BeceAoecKuu , c. 825) b poAy MaKCHMa MaTiouiKHHa
Oeaopa He 6buio.

Oco6eHHO nepcneKTHBHO H3yneHHe 3thx AaHHbix b KOHKpeTHO-

12 BeceAoecKuu C.B. A bHKH h noabHHHe XV— XVII bb. MocKBa, HayKa, 1975.

13 Cmpoee fl.M. CrwcKH HepapxoB h HacTosTejieH MOHacTbipeil Pocchhckoh uepKBH. CaHKT-
rieTep6ypr, 1877.

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

141

HCTOpHnecKHX HCCJie^OBaHHJix npHMeHHTejibHO k cyAb6e H3AaHHH H3ynaeMoro
BpeMeHH, pernoHa, thiiob KHHr hjih onpe^ejieHHoro rapa^ca H3AaHHH. Hanpn-
Mep, BbimeHa3BaHHbie 3K3eMnji»pbi ‘aHOHHMHbix’ H3AaHHH cy j\n no 3anncaM
Ha hhx b XVI b. 6biTOBajiH b BojioroACKOM h OnoHeuKOM ye3Aax h Bopo-
bhukom MOHacTbipe; b 1569 r. EBaHrejine ok. 1560 r. OoapHH BOJioroACKoro
Bjia^biKH ^MHTpHH ^KOBjieBHH BejieB co cbohm 6paTOM cTapueM MaxapneM
BA05KHAH B KopHHJlbeB MOHaCTblpb.

B XVII b. 3th KHHrn 6biJiH b r. Ko3enbCKe Bjia^nMHpcKoro ye3^a, b HoBro-
poAe Ha /J,o6pbiHHHCKOH yjiHue, b Kohcbckom h IlecHomcKOM MOHacTbipax, b
MecTenKe Ctahkh 3anopo>KCKoro bohcka h b c. CyxoAon KauiHHCKoro ye3Aa.
B 3to BpeMa ohh npHHaAJieacanH HecKOJibKHM HryMeHaM, nyuiKapio, Kynene-
CKOMy cbrny, CBameHHHKaM, KpecTbBHHHy, 3anopo>KCKHM Ka3axaM. 3k3cm-
njiBpbi BHJieHCKHx H3£aHHH XVI b. ynTeHHbie b KaTajiorax b XVI — XVII
bb., cyan no 3annc5iM, HaxoAHJiHCb b KnpnjuiOBo-Bejio3epCKOM n HyAOBOM
MOHaCTblpBX H Ha CoJIOBKaX, B )KHpOBHHKOM MOHaCTblpe, BepXTepMHHCKOH
nycTbmn, b MocKBe, PoMaHOBe, KoBace, Ycriore Bcjihkom, TBepn, Bojio-
r ae, ^pocjiaBJie, Opjie, Ha Ho3ore, b c. Hhkojibckom h MjiaTOBe, AepeBHe
Konopbn Topbi, b uepKBH Co(J)hh HoBropOAa BejiHKoro, b IlepTOMHHCKOM
MOHacTbipe. I4mh BJia^ejiH, nx BKJia^biBajiH hjih noKynajiH, nepe^aBajiH no
^yxoBHOH rpaMOTe: nryMeHbi CnHCKoro h TojircKoro MOHacTbipen, CTOJibHHK
JX.C. ManoBO, HT. CTporaHOB, CBameHHHK ABBaKyM, erapeij Hoch(|), 3eM-
ckhh AbaK HBaH BncHjibeB cbiH MaTBeeB, uepKOBHbm cjiy>KKa flaHHJiKa
Hhjiob cmh. Ha aoaMnjiJipe BHJieHCKoro eBaHrejina 1575 r. ( IJo3deeea 80,
No 22) 3aMenaTejibHaa 3anncb okojio 1650 r., b KOTOpoii roBOpHTca, hto
KHHry, KOTopyio CeMeH Caiocap npoAaji neTpy BojiocoBHHy, cKa3aKH HAynn
3 bohckb . . . nponnjiH b MecTe MoHacTbipHiiiax b AOMy HrHaTOBOM1, h Aajiee
noApo6HO paccKa3biBaeTca, KaK BjiaAejieu AOKa3bmaji cboh npaBa Ha KHHry.
3anncb 25.11.1614 r. Ha btopom aoeMnjiape 3Toro H3AaHHH ( Ylo3deeea 80,
No 23) yAOCTOBepaeT, hto EBaHrejine npHHaA-ne^Kajio uepKBH JIa3apeBa boc-
KpeceHHH b TBepH. B 1726 r., Kor^a nepKBH yace He 6bijio, KHHry npoaajiH b
KocTpOMCKOH ye3A, ho b 1779 r. OHa CHOBa HaxoAHJiacb b TBepn h npHHaA-
neacajia TBepcKOMy KynenecKOMy cbmy.

B XIX B. 3K3eMnjIHpbI 3THX KHHr npHHaAJIOKaJIH 06meCTBy McTOpHH H
flpeBHOCTen Pocchhckhx (OM/],P) h n.M. CTpoeBy, H.n. CaxapOBy h <t>.B.
ByjirapHHy; oahh H3 hhx H.n. KapaTaeB KynHJi 3a 25 p. cepe6poM...

Cbcachhh nojiyneHHbie TOJibKO H3 onncaHHH H3AaHHH THnorpa(j)HH MaMO-
HHHen no3BOJiHjiH 6bi HanHcaTb cneunajibHoe HCCJieAOBaHHe, noKa3bmaio-
mee, hto 3th KHHrn 6bijiH paccHHTaHbi Ha pocchhckhh pbiHOK; h hx nepBO-
HanajibHbiH nyTb, b ochobhom, uieji nepe3 ceBepHHe 3cmjih, a TaK>Ke oco6yio
nonyjinpHOCTb He TOJibKO b cTapooOpflAHecKon b co6HpaTejibCKOH cpeAe.

He MeHee aBTopHTeTHbi 6biJiH, h b CTapoo6p«AHecKOH cpeAe ocraiOTCH,
H3AaHHH AHApoHHKa Hcbokh. Cbcachkh o6 hx reorpa(()HHecKOM 6biTOBa-

142

Solanus 1996

hhh, comiajibHOH npHHa^jiOKHOcTH Hpe3BbiMaHH0 no,apo6Hbi H TaK«e Tpe-
6yioT cnei^HaubHoro HCCJie/jOBaHHa. TojibKo neTbipe m Hcnojib3yeMbix HaMH
KaTanoroB no3BOJunoT npocneAHTb HecKOJibKO THnHHHbix cy^eG 3thx KHHr:
b Mae 1594 r. o#hh H3 hhx ‘ . . . mockobckoh. . . [Hhkh]ukhc yjiHUbi MBaHeij
AmGpochmob cmh ^an Ha Moc[kbc]... BaijKHe 3cmjih XjibiHOBa ropo^a...
b MOHacTbipb YcneHH5i... no Sparae ayme... y6HeHHoro... Ara^oHHHKa’
(JIe6edeea, X° 16); b 1596 r. ‘IlaHKpaTHH h IIpoKO(j)eH MHKH(j)opOBbi ^eTH
3epKajibHHKOBbi’ nojio^cHjiH KHHry b uepKOBb Po^ecTBa HoaHHa npe^TenH
h Hhkojim ny^OTBopua (. JlyKbHHeHKo 93, Xq 111/1) coo6mHB npH 3tom HMeHa
ijapa, uapnubi h naTpnapxa. B XVII b. 3tot 3K3eMnjiap npHHa^Jie^caji ‘apxne-
nncKony ApceHHio rpeHammy’, KOTopbiH Taioxe bjio^chji ee b xpaM, b XIX b.
— H.IL KapaTaeBy. 3K3eMnjiap ocoGchho nacTO BbicTpenaiomeHCfl y CTapo-
oGpa/meB TpHO^H hocthoh 1589 r. Ha py6e)xe XVI h XVII bb. 6biJi BJio^eH
b xpaM EjiaroBemeHHa Cojih BbineroacKOH, 3aTeM b XVII b. KHHra 6buo-
Bajia Ha CH3Me {JlyKbHHeHKo 93, X° 99/6). B 1601 r. TpHo^b UBeTHyio 1591 r.
nojio)KHJiH b uepKOBb ‘bo Craponoca# . . . IleTp BacnjibeB... XMeneB jxa EyH-
Tponen AjiexceeB cmh, TaMoaceHHbiH hctoGhhk (!)..., a po^oM 6ajioxoHeu. . .’
(JJededeea, 14); AnocTOJi 1597 r. b 1604 r. 6biji KynjieH kojijickthbho 3a 2 p.
h 2 rpHBHbi Mapben Hctomhhoh, Ahhoh rpHropbeBHOH h IIIecTbiM JleBOH-
tom h BJio^ceH TeoprHio CTpacTOTepnuy’. IIoflnHcaji KHHry ‘Ypo/uco AH^peeB
IIonoB’. B XIX b. 3th 3K3eMnjiHpbi npHHaAJie>KajiH A.H. KacTepHHy h <E.A.
TojiCTOMy (. JlyKbHHeHKo 93, X° 133/4). 3K3eMnjiap 3Toro >xe H3,aaHH5i b 1606 r.
nojio>KHJi Ha npecTOJi npopOKy Hjibe h Oe^opy CTpaTHJiaTy ‘MHKHTa MnxaH-
jiob cmh KopcaKOB’ (IIo3^eeBa 80, X° 59). B 1614 r. Mhhch o6maa 1600 r. (1-e
H3A-) ‘nonoaceHa b xpaM BocKpeceHHa Ha PocjioBCKoe’ {JJededeea 92, X° 21);
b 1619 r. cTapeu, ‘BapnaM OjieKceeB OGhpkob jxslji b r ojiyTBHH MOHacTbipb
3a npaBO TaM 6biTb’ hcbokhhckhh Oktohx 1594 r.; BJia^ejibnecKyio 3anncb
Ha TpHO^H UBeTHOH HanHcaji no npHKa3y MHTponojiHTa Knionapb ‘Co(j)eH
ripeMyapocTH Bomra’ Hoch(J) cpe^opoB, a b 1632 r. KHHra 6biJia no npnxasy
MHTponojiHTa KHnpHaHa ‘noHHHHBaHa’ {JlyKbHHeHKo 93, X° 101/3). 3anncH
n03BOJ15HOT npOCJie^HTb cy/lb6y OCHOBHbIX ‘HeBOKHHCKHX’ H3^aHHH B Bexax,
hx nepexoA b nocneAHen Tpera XVII — Hanajie XVIII b. b pyxn cTapoBepoB,
a b XIX — KOHueHTpauHio b co6paHH«x 6h6jiho(])hjiob.

Eme 6ojiee noKa3aTejibHbiM h penpe3eHTaTHBHbiM npn aKKyMyjiauHH MaTe-
pnajiOB HecKOJibKHx co6paHHH CTaHOBHTca HCCJienoBaHHe peajibHoro (j>yHKHH-
OHHpOBaHHfl H3^aHHH XVII b., npe>KAe Bcero MocKOBCKoro IleHaTHoro £Bopa,
THpa)KH h nepBOHanajibHyio ueHy npo^yKiiHH KOToporo Mbi 3HaeM.14 TaKHe
Hccjie^OBaHHH Hpe3BbiHaiiHo Ba>KHbi. HanpnMep, ^aBHO npH3HaHO Ba>KHbiM

14 17o3deeea M B. HoBbie MaTepHanbi ajih onncaHHa H3^aHHH MocKOBCKoro nenaxHoro aBopa
nepBOH nojioBHHbi XVII b. // B noMomb cocTaBHTejiaM CBo^Horo KaTajiora CTaponenaTHbix
H3,naHHH KHpHJLnoBCKoro h marojiHHecKoro mpH(J)TOB: MeTo^HHecKHe peKOMeH^apHH. MocKBa,
rocyziapcTBeHHaH 6H6jiHOTeKa hm. B.H. JleHHHa, OT^eji pe^KHx KHHr, 1986.

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

143

(J)aKTOM nOJIHTHHeCKOH H COAHaJIbHOH HCTOpHH H3AaHHe IIOJIHOrO KOAeKCa

npaBa — CoGopHoro yjioaceHHa 1649 r. h KopMaen khhth 1650 — 53 rr.
noaTOMy cto Jib HHTepecHo npocjie^HTb peajibHoe (jiyHKijHOHHpoBaHHe sthx
H3aaHHH.

He MeHee BaacHo 3HaTb peajibHyio pojib, reorpacJmHecKoe pacnpocTpaHemie
h couHajibHyio npHHaaJie)KHOCTb yaeGHbix khht. JXjw thhob khht ynoTpeGjiHB-
mnxca AAa nepBOHanajibHoro oGyneHHfl, paGoTa b onpeaejieHHOH creneHH,
npo^ejiaHa.15 OaHaKo Gmjio Gbi BaacHo AOCTaTOHHo aeTajibHo npoaHajnoH-
pOBaTb cyatGy nepBoro mockobckoto (2.02.1648 r.) H3AaHHH r paMMaTHKH
MeJieTHtf CMOTpHUKOTO, KOTOpOe H3AaTeJIH COnpOBOAHJIH THMHOM rpaMMa-
THHeCKOMy 3HaHHIO, HeoGxOAHMOMy BCeM AIOA5IM Ge3 pa3AHMHB HHHOB H
3BaHHH, BcaKoro B03pacTa h nonoaceHHa. B naTH KaTajiorax (h3 20 aHann-
3HpyeMbix) yHTeHO 17 3K3eMiuiapOB rpaMMaTHKH. Oahh H3 hhx ( no3deeea
80, No 413) b HoaGpe 1648 r. yace Gbin b ApxaHrenbCKe y cnaccxoro nona
HBaHa PoMaHOBa, ycneBiuero nepenjiecTH KHHry KynjieHHyio b TeTpaaax. B
1650 r. KHHry npoAan KHarHHe Flejiaree rpnropbeBHe ‘KpecTbHHCKHH non’
HBaH ( KuceAeea 92, Ng 348); HecKOJibKO no3AHee, b tom ace XVII b. ‘cmthhk
HnaceropOACKoro ye3Ay’ npoAaeT ee KpecTbaHHHy Oeaopy MypoMueBy. OAHa
H3 khht (KuceAeea 92, Ng 346) HaxoAHJiacb b XVII b. b pyKax AtaKOHa HBaHa
MBaHOBa h CTOHJia 1 p. 75 k. B XVII ace BeKe aoeMnjiapbi rpaMMaTHKH yxa-
3aHHbix Bbime GhGjihotck HaxoAHJiHCb Taxace: b KHpHJinoBe MOHacTbipe, KaK
b Ka3He, Tax h b Kejinax (Amocob 83, Ng 44 h 45 — jxbsl aoeMnAapa); y MOHaxa
BHjieHCKoro GpaTCTBa (KuceAeea 92, Ng 349) h b 1697 r. noKynaTejib HanHcaji
Ha 3K3eMnAape, hto KHHra KynneHa b Mockbc, ‘a asho 3a Hee mhofo AeHer,
a BjiaACTH MHe h yanraca CHMy (!)... noAan MHe HejiOBeae pa3yMy’ (Kuce¬
Aeea 92, Ng 350). Ha pyGeace XVII h XVIII bb. Ha HHaceropOACKOM 3K3eM-
njiape H3AaHH« kto-to HanHcaji cnncoK BaacHeiiiHHx HayK, BpaTaMH KOTopbix
aBJiaeTca TpaMMaTHKa: TpaMMaraxa, AHaneKTHKa, pHTopHKa, apH^MeTHKa,
(J)hjioco({)H}i, jiorHKa, 3eMjieMepHe’ (rputteecKan 93, Ng 197). B XVIII— XIX bb.
3K3eMnAapbi khhth GbiJiH b pyxax B.H. TaTHmeBa, b EnGjiHOTeKe AKaAeMHH
HayK, npHABopHOH h apMHTaacHOH GnGjiHOTeKax, y TyjibCKoro xynna, KaxoH-
to mockbhthh npOAaji rpaMMaTmcy 1648 r. Ha MaxapbeBCKOH apMapxe, h
Tax Aajiee.

BaacHOCTb reorpa(j)HHecKOH HH(})opMaHHH — T.e. HH(J)opMauHH o peajibHOM
GbiTOBaHHH khhth — oTHK>Ab He oGbflCHaeTca TOJibKO ee oGhjihcm. Hh OAHH
yKa3aTejib He MoaceT BcecTopoHHe ynecTb HCTopHKO-reorpa(j)HHecKHe CBeAe-
hhh 3anHceii, KOTopbie HepeAKO aocthtomho AeTajibHbi h coAepacaT pa3jiHH-
Hyio HH(J)OpMaHHK). HanOMHHM B AaHHOM KOHTeKCTe TOJibKO npoGjieMy TOH-
hoto MecTonojioaceHHa nepKBeH. HanpHMep, non neTp bo BTopoii nojiOBHHe

15 fJo3deeea M. B. McTopHHecKoe 6biTOBaHHe H3,aaHHH MocKOBCKoro nenaTHoro ABopa nepBOH
nojiOBHHbi XVII BeKa // Solanus, New Series, vol. 5 (1991), pp. 5-24.

144

Solanus 1996

XVII b. TaK onpe^ejiHJi bo BJianejibHecKOH 3anncH Ha HoaGpbCKOH MHHee
(MocKBa, 08.09.1645; OPKhP HB MrY, hhb. 2278-11-79) mccto CBoen uep-
kbh: 4 . . .Hhkojim nyAOTBOpua 3ap«AHoro MypoMa ropoAa nocaAy, hto ctoht
3a xjie6HbiM paaom’. He MeHee noApo6HO roBopHTca b 3anncH KOHija XVII
b.: ‘...ncKOBa i^epKBH CBHTbix HK)£OTBopaoB Ko3bMbi h floMjma rpeMjiHero
MOHacTbipfl, hto 3a ncKOBOio peKOK) bo yrjie rpaAa ncKOBa...’ ( Ocunoea ,
No 197).

L(epKOBb EopHca h rjie6a, b KOTOpyio b 1636 r. BJioaceHa MocKOBCKaa
Tpno^b nocTHaa 1635 r., HaxoAHTca \ ..b Ojickchhckom ye3^e b Eoaoxhob-
ckom CTaHy... Ha penxe Ha Majion Chhhhc...’ ( Ocunoea , No 38); a AnocTOJi
1684 r. ( Ocunoea , No 205) BJioaceH ‘B IIIejiOHCKyK) naTHHy b OKOJioropo^be
nopxoBCKoe ko BceMHJiocTHBOMy Cnacy Ha T opHCTyK)’.

HH(J)opMattHJi 3anHceH o coijHajibHOH npHHaAAe>KHocTH BJiaziejibueB nenaT-
HOH KHHrH, HanpHMep, B XVII B., He TOJIbKO aOCTaTOHHO BeJIHKa, HTOGbl
AOKa3aTb Beaymee 3HaneHHe nenaTHOH KHHrH b KyjibTypHOH h pejiHru-
03H0H 5KH3HH BCerO pyCCKOrO oGmeCTBa, ho H AOCTaTOHHO ^eTaJIH3HpO-
BaHa, HTo6bi npocjie^HTb counajibHyio oKpacxy HHTaTeAbCKHx bo3mo>kho-
CTeH H HHTepeCOB, cy^b6bl pa3AHHHbIX THnOB KHHr H pa3JIHHHbIX H3^a-
hhh b hx peajibHOM KOHKpeTHO-HCTOpHHecKOM 6biTOBaHHH. Oco6oe 3Hane-
HHe HH(J)OpMaUHH O COIJHaJIbHO-HCTOpHHeCKOH H reOrpa(j)HHeCKOH npHHa/I-
jiokhocth nenaTHOH KHHrH oGbacHaeTca TaKace HajiHHHeM KOMnneKca nepBo-
HanajibHbix CBe^eHHH 3Toro THna a Jia Bcero hjth 3HaHHTejibHOH nacTH THpa>Ka
6ojibuiHHCTBa H3flaHHH MOCKOBCKoro nenaTHoro Aeopa. Penb hact o 3anHCHx
b ‘KHHrax npOAa^’ co6ctbchhoh KHHroToproBOH jiaBKH THnorpa(j)HH, (J)hk-
cnpoBaBuiHx HMeHa, counajibHoe nono^eHne h mccto >KHTejibCTBa noKyna-
Tejien Bbime/imeH Ha nenaTHOM /],Bope hoboh nenaTHOH nponyKHHH. 16 B
npnxoAHbix KHHrax IlpHKa3a KHHr nenaTHoro Aejia 3a<j)HKCHpOBaHbi MHorne
AecaTKH TbicaH (J)aKTOB npoAaacn Bcex THnoB mockobckhx nenaTHbix KHHr
npeACTaBHTejiaM MOHacTbipen h HepKBen hjih 3HaTHbix jiha, noKynaBLunx
HepeAKO HecKOJibKO acchtkob 3K3eMnjiflpOB H3AaHHH, HjieHaM uepKOBHoro
KJiHpa, ToproBbiM jiioa«m, npeACTaBHTejiflM Bcex couHaubHbix cnoeB nocaAa
H KpeCTbflHaM. npH H3yneHHH 6oJlbUlHHCTBa H3AaHHH, BblUieAUJHX, HaHHHaa
c 30-x rr. XVII b., Mbi pacnonaraeM CBeAeHHHMH o nepBOHanajibHOH cyAb6e
b cpeAHeM 60 — 70% Bcex OTnenaTaHHbix 3K3eMnjnipOB.

TaKHM o6pa30M, HH<f>opMaAH5i 3annceH Ha coxpaHHBmnxcH 3K3eMnjiHpax
MO)KeT h AOJDKHa 6biTb cooTHeceHa c BnojiHe penpe3eHTaTHBHbiMH CBeAe-
hhhmh o nepBOHanajibHbix noxynKax, hto no3BOji5ieT, Hcnojib3ya coBpeMeH-
Hbie MeTOAbi KOMnbioTepHoro aHajiH3a, noKa3aTb BHyTpeHHioK) cTpyKTypy
h AHHaMHKy BbinojiHeHHfl paHHHM mockobckhm KHHronenaTaHHeM ero HCTO-

16 HHTepecytomHe Hac CBe^eHHH ecTb h b ^pyrKHX THnax KHHr 4>oH,na 1 182, o^HaKO 3to Bonpoc
HHoro Hccjie^oBaHHB. Cm. PrAAA (J). 1182, on. 1.

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

145

pHHeCKOH KyjIbTypHOH H npOCBeTHTeJlbHOH pOJIH.

Pi3yMeHHe BTopon — reorpatjwHecKOH xoopAHHaTbi khh>khoh KyjibTypbi
no3BOjiaeT HaM BnepBbie BbiHBHTb Haii6ojiee HHTaiomHe pernoHbi CTpaHbi,
ueHTpbi CKJia^bmaHHH ee HHTejuieKTyajibHOH ajiHTbi h iuicojibHoro o6pa30Ba-
HHfl.

CouHajibHaa npHHazuie>KHocTb KHHr h hx pacnpocTpaHeHHe He MoryT 6biTb
noHHTbi 6e3 3HaHHH peajibHOH ctohmocth KHHrn h ee AHHaMHKH. Kax y>xe
roBopHjiocb, ueHa yica3biBajiacb b 3anncax aoctatohho nacTo. Kax bhaho
H3 cneuHajibHoro yKa3aTejia b KHHre Jl.A. KnceneBOH, npH6jiH3HTejibHo Ha
8% Bcex 3K3eMnJlflpOB MOCKOBCKHX H3£aHHH OnHCaHHOH eio KOJIJieKUHH BAH
HMeeTca HH^opMauHH 06 hx ueHax. Ha 683 3K3eMnjuipax H3AaHHH XVI —
XVII bb. Mry o6Hapy^ceHO 50 yxa3aHHH o ijeHe, T.e. TaxoBbie hmciotch Ha
7,3%, BomeAHiHx b KaTajior 3K3eMnjiHpoB.

nocKOJibxy ceroAHfl HaM b 6ojibuiHHCTBe cjiynaeB, no KpaHHen Mepe, AJia

20 - 40-X TOAOB XVII B. H3BeCTHbI H Ce6eCTOHMOCTb H3AaHHfl, H erO TOHHblH

THpa>K, h nepBOHanajibHaa ‘yKa3Hafl’ ijeHa, cTano BnojiHe B03M0)KHbi y6eAH-
TejibHaa nocTaHOBKa h pemeHHe MHornx hobmx acnexTOB npoOjieMbi pojiH
mockobckoh CTaponenaTHOH KHHrn KaK (J)aKTa h (j)aKTopa KyjibTypbi CBoero
BpeMeHH.

H3yneHHe HH(j)opMauHH 3annceH, C0Aep)KamHX KaK npaBHAO, reorpa(j)HHe-
CKHe h counajibHbie xapaKTepHCTHKH, AaeT uinpoKHe bo3mo)khocth BoccTa-
HOBjieHHH cocTaBa ApeBHHx 6H6jiHOTeK Bcex bhaob. HanpHMep, b KaTanore
Mry onHcaHbi naTb KHHr XVII b., KOTOpbie b 1746 r. npHHaAJie^cajin HH^ce-
ropoACKOMy EjiaroBemeHCKOMy MOHacTbipio ( IJo3deeea 80, N° 129, 146, 152,
173, 185) h TpH khh™ — b XVII b. HaxoAHBuiHecji b 6H6jiHOTeKe MOHacTbipa
CaBBbi CTOpo^ceBCKoro. CpeAH nocAeAHHX Oktohx 1640 r., BJio^ceHHbiH TyAa
AapeM AjiexceeM MHxaHjiOBHneM b 1652 r., AnocTOJi 1653 r., CHanaiia npn-
HaAJioKaBuiHH apxHMaHApHTy, 3aTeM CTapuy MjiHHapxxy, a nocjie Hero —
H3BecTHOMy Borojieny KypGaTOBy ( Jlo3deeea 80, N° 430, 491).

H eCJlH no HCTOpHH AepKOBHbIX H MOHaCTbipCKHX KHH)KHbIX C06paHHH MbI
HMeeM h HHbie hctohhhkh (npeacAe Bcero, BKJiaAHbie KHHrn h onncn HMyme-
CTBa MOHacTbipen), to cbcachh^ 3annceH o jiHHHbix 6H6jiHOTeKax npeACTa-
BHTejieH pa3Hbix cjioeB pyccxoro oGmecTBa yHHKajibHbi. TeM 6onee, hto H3
apxHBa npHKa3a KHHr nenaTHoro Aena HaM H3BecTHbi HMeHa nocTOHHHbix
noKynaTeneH hoboh nenaTHOH npoAyKUHH H3 Bcex cnoeB oOmecTBa. B 30—
50-x rr. XVII b. H3AaHH5i MocxoBCKoro nenaTHoro Aeopa noKynanH MHorne
npeACTaBHTejiH H3BecTHbix poaob, ho name Bcero, KH«3ba PoMaHOBbi, Hep-
KaccKne, no>KapcKHe, nyuiKHHbi, Pomoashobckhc, BapsTHHCKHe, ymaxoBbi,
JIbBOBbi, Mopo30Bbi h Apyrne. Ohh npHo6peTajin (J)aKTHHecKH Bee bmxoah-
Buine KHHrn, uinpoxo BKJiaAbmaH hx b uepKBH cbohx bothhh h 3HaMeHH-
Tbie XpaMbI, BO MHOrOM CnOC06CTBy« C03AaHHK) KpynHeHLUHX MOHaCTbipCKHX
6h6jihotck h 6bicTpoMy abh^cchhio KHHrn no TeppnTopnn CTpaHbi. OAHaxo

146

Solanus 1996

to, hto khhth noKynajmcb hmh h aj™ co6ctbchhoh 6h6jihotckh — 'npo
CBOH o6hXOA’, AOKa3bIBaiOT TOJIbKO 3K3eMnjI5ipbI C 3anHC5IMH, 3TOT (J)aKT noA-
TBep^CAaiOmHMH.

ConocTaBjieHHe yKa3aTejieH k KaTajioraM KHpHAJiHijbi iio3bojihjih 6bi boc-
CTaHOBHTb cocTaB xoth 6bi HacTHHHo, Kax jiHMHbix 6h6jihotck, Tax h 6h6aho-
TeKH KopnopaTHBHbie. HanpHMep, b npHJio^ceHHOM k KaTanory ‘Bojiotoackoh
nporpaMMbi’ 1983 r. YKa3aTejie 6h6jihotck h khh^chmx co6paHHH yHTeHbi
6h6jihotckh 9 MOHacTbipeil, 33 ijepKBen, AByx yne6Hbix 3aBe^eHHH, apxne-
pencKOH xa(()eflpbi h 34 jiHHHbie.

Pte 3anHcefi Ha mhothx KHHrax Mbi y3HaeM o nepenHCH ijepKOBHbix 6h6jiho-
Tex b enapxHH, npe^npHHHTOH b 1682—1683 r. no yxa3y MHTponojiHTa Pa-
3aHCKoro h MypOMCKoro llaBJia.17 YnacTBOBaji b 3toh nepenncH h hoathhhh
Ka3eHHoro npHKa3a MBaH rpnropbeB, KOTOpbiH b 1677/78 r. 6biji ojihhm
H3 nepenucHHKOB Kapronojia18 (OPKhP HB MTY, 50q’a523, hhb. 729-27-81;
50h622, hhb. 10737-5-70). Bo BpeMa stoh nepenncH (})HKCHpoBajiHCb h jihh-
Hbie khhth, no pa3HbiM npHHHHaM o6Hapy>KeHHbie b xpaMax, HanpHMep, Ha
mockobckoh TpHOAH nocTHOH 1650 t. 3anHCb CAejiaHHaa b cbjbh c nepenncbio,
3aKaHHHBaeTca cjioBaMH: ‘...CTapocTa nonoBCKoil . . . noAJiHHa ocMOTpa Benen
noAnncan... nony HBaHy. lion HBaH CKa3aji: ch a Ae KHHra KynneHa Ha eBO
AeHbni’ (OPKhHB MTY, hhb. 3033-23-75; cm. TaK^ce: IJo3deeea 80, N° 259;
86, JMb 20; Cnupuna 81, No 54 h Ap.)*19

EcTecTBeHHo, npe^Ae Bcero, BHHMaHHe npHBjieKJio nocTOHHHoe ynoMHHa-
Hne b KHHrax npOAa>K poactbchhhkob nepBoro ijapfl H3 pOAa PoMaHOBbix h
npeAKOB A.C. llymKHHa. B 1983 r. hbmh 6buia o6Hapy^ceHa nepBaa 3anncb
raBpHJibi rpnropbeBHHa IlyuiKHHa, a ceroAHfl TOjibKO b H3ynaeMbix KaTajio-
rax onncaHo 6onee 10 KHHr, KynjieHHbix hjth BJio>KeHHbix b xpaMbi r aBpnjiOH
llyUJKHHblM H ero CbIHOM OKOJIbHHHHM CTenaHOM raBpHJIOBHHeM. O raBpHJie
r pHropbeBHHe A.C. IlymKHH nncaji b ‘Moen poaocjiobhoh’:

BOAHJIHCb nyUIKHHbl c napaMH;

H3 hhx 6biji cjiaBeH He oahh,

KorAa THrajica c nojiaxaMH
Hn)KeropoACKHH Meuj,aHHH.

CMHpHB KpaMOJiy H KOBapCTBO,

M apocTb 6paHHbix HenoroA,

KorAa PoMaHOBbix Ha uapcTBo
3Baji b rpaMOTe CBoen HapoA.

Mbi K OHOH pyKy npHJIO>KHJIH,

Hac >KajioBaji CTpaAajibua chh,

17 IlaBeji MopaBCKHH nepeBeaeH b 1681 r. H3 Cy3^ajia (Cmpoee (npHMenaHHe 13), ctji6. 416).

18 BeceAoecKuu C.E. (npHMenaHHe 12), c. 134.

19 ^3 TeKCTa 3toh 3anHcw 1683 r. hcho, hto b 3a^any nepenHCH bxozihjio h BbiacHeHHe hctoh-
hhkb nocTynneHMH khhth.

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

147

EbIBaJlO - HaMH AOpOaCHAH . . .

H b nncbMe ot 30 aHBapa 1829 r. k H.H. PaeBCKOMy o raBpHJie riym-
KHHe A.C. riyiiiKHH nncaji: ‘...Oh 6mji oaeHb TajiaHTJiHB — KaK bohh, KaK
npH^BOpHblH H B OCOGeHHOCTH KaK 3arOBOpIIJHK. 3tO OH... CBOefi HeCJIblXaH-
hoh /iep30CTbK) o6ecneHHJi ycnex caM03BaHua. 3aTeM a CHOBa Harneji ero b
MocKBe b hhcjic ceMH HanajibHHKOB, 3aiHHmaBHiHx ee b 1612 r., 3aceAaiomHM
B HyMC pa^OM C Ko3bMOH Mhhhhmm.

Cero^Ha HccneAOBaTenb, o6paTHBLUHCb k HMeHHbiM yKa3aTenaM KaTajio-
roB, MoaceT HaHTH CBe^eHHa o noKymce, BKJia^e hjih npoAaace KHHr cotch
HCTopHaecKHX AeaTeneii XVII b. hjih hjichob hx ceMeii, acHTejien bothhh
hjih KpenocTHbix. YnoMaHeM oAHoro H3 HaH6ojiee o6pa30BaHHbix h hhtc-
pecHbix jiio^eH CBoero BpeMeHH — O.M. PTHmeBa, noAnHCbiBaBiuero KHHrn
H3 jihhhoh 6h6jihotckh no-rpeaecKH. Ero 3anncb Mbi haxoahm Ha mockob-
ckom Tojikobom eBaHrejiHH 1649 r. (OPKhP HE Mry, hhb. 5312-19-77):

‘Eks Bifi\Lo6r)Kr)s tv 0€o8a>pv MrjxarjXeiSeos IpTrjo^efiLV tv KvftLKvXapiv kvztzojvvo
tv BaoiXtKv. rpeaecKyio 3anncb, c^ejiaHHyio ero ace pyKOH Mbi HaxoAHM h
Ha 3K3eMnjiape JlecTBHHbi (MocKBa: neaaTHbiH Aaop, 01. 03. 1647). 20 B nepe-
BO^e Ha pyccKHH a3biK oHa rjiacHT: ‘H3 6H6jiHOTeKH OeAopa MnxaHAOBHaa
PTHmeBa uapcxoro KyBHKyjiapna h nocTenbHHaero’. no3AHee KHHra 6bijia
BJioaceHa OeAopoM MnxaHJiOBHHeM b HoBO-AnzjpeeBCKHH MOHacTbipb no ero
OTue M.A. PTHmeBe — BoeBOAe h napeABopne.

TeKCTbi 3annceH KpoMe coHHajibHo-KyjibTypHbix acneKTOB, KaK npaBHJio,
HaH6ojiee aeTKo c(j)opMyAHpoBaHHbix h ‘6pocaK)iHHxca’ b rjia3a, Hepe/jKO
no3BOJiaK)T nojiyaHTb yHHKajibHbie CBe^eHHa, ‘cKphiTyio’ HH^opMaunio, Ka3a-
jiocb 6bi ‘HeyjioBHMyK)’ ^Jia cTOJib KpaTKoro, aacTO (J)opMajiH30BaHHoro h bo
MHoroM Aaace ‘(J)opMyjiapHoro’ HCToaHHKa. TaK HanpHMep, Bcero ABa cjiOBa
‘eAHHorjiacHo neTb’, Ao6aBAeHHbie k o6biaHOMy TeKCTy brjibahoh 3anncH Ha
MOCKOBCKOH OKTa6pbCKOH MHHee 1609 r.21 HapCKHM ^yXOBHHKOM CTe(j)a-
hom BoHH(J)aTbeBbiM, cpa3y bboaat Hac b o6cTaHOBKy nojieMHKH 06 oahom
H3 cnopHbix BonpocoB nepKOBHbix pe(})opM naTpnapxa HmcoHa, noTpe6oBaB-
uiero ‘eAHHoraacHoro’ neHHa22 bo BpeMa ijepKOBHoro 6orocnyaceHHa, c aeM
ABBaKyM h ero ctopohhhkh corjiacHbi He 6biAH. B 3anncH npOTonon Crecj)aH
noAaepKHBaeT: ‘ . . .no cen KHHre BenHKoro Bora MOAHTb, ifepKoenoe nenue no
ycmaey nemb, edunosAacno nemb ...’ (KypcHB — 14. n.) h TeM cpa3y, jxjih CBoero
BpeMeHH coBepuieHHO oaeBHAHO, yTBepacAaeT, hto aBAaeTca ctopohhhkom

20 KHHra 6bijia nojiyneHa bo BpeMa apxeorpa(})HHecKOH aKcnejiHHHH 1979 r. b BepxoKaMbe.

OPKhP MTY, 50h513, hhb. 2746-11-80. PxnmeB nocTOHHHO (jjHrypnpyeT b cnHCKax noxy-

naTeneH H3^aHHH MocxoBCKoro nenaTHoro ABopa.

21 OPKhP HE MTY, 2Fa290, hhb. 2396-2-85.

22 Flo npeBHen TpajiHUHH b pyccKHx uepKBHx MorjiH neTb ‘MHororjiacHo’, T.e. onHOBpeMeHHo
HHTaTb h neTb ^Ba, a to h Tpn TeKCTa, hto nejiajio cmucji 6orocjiya<eHHa coBepuieHHO HenoHHT-
HbiM Ha cjiyx.

148

Solanus 1996

naTpnapxa h ero pe(|)opM.

3HaHHTejibHyio ‘cKpbiTyK>’ HH<j)opMaHHio, xacaiomyioca hcthhhmx neneH
HJIH HaAOKA BKJia/IHHKa, M05KHO C AOCTaTOHHOH CTeneHbK) y6e^HTeJIbHOCTH

npoHHTaTb, hcxoa* H3 astm hjih MecTa BKjiaaa. HanpHMep, 11 mojia 1652 r.
Hhkoh, KOTopbiH OTKa3ajiC5i ot nonyneHHoro nyTeM H36paHHa (no BOJie napa)
caHa naTpnapxa, h npHHan ero TOJibKo nocne Toro, xax 22 Hiona napb n HapoA
yMOjiajin ero 06 stom y rpo6a OnnHnna, yace AapHT b ‘cboh MOHacTbipb . . .
hto b Topaucy’ (npHHa^jieacaimra MBepCKOH hobtopoackoh o6HTejin) Mkhcio
MancKyio (Bbiuuia 20.04.1646 r.; OPKnP HB Mry, hhb. 10735-19-70), noA-
nncbiBaa ee cbohm nonHbiM hobmm THTynoBaHneM — 3aMenaTenbHoe noA-
TBep>KAeHHe hcthhhmx, hhcto nonHTHnecKHx ueneH ‘oTpeHeHHa’.

AocTaTOHHo nacTo (J)aKT BKJiaAa npHypoHHBanca k KaxoMy-To BaacHOMy
(hah onacHOMy) b )kh3hh HenoBexa coGmthio, HanpHMep, AanbHeMy otbct-
CTBeHHOMy nyTemeCTBHK) HAH B03BpameHHK> H3 TaKOBOrO. HMeHHO C 3TOH
HeAbK), B03M05KH0 H 6bIA CAGABH BKABA MBaHOM MBaHOBHHeM KniOHapeBbIM
Ha 3K3eMnA5ipe mockobckoto ycTaBa 1641 r. 12 aHBapa 1641 r. noATHHHH Hbslu
KnionapeB 6ma noacanoBaH b ahhkh h Ha3HaneH b nocoAbCTBO, OTnpaBnaH-
ynjeeca bo rAaBe c kh. E(J)hmom MbiinenKHM b rpy3HK>.23 KHHra BnoaceHa b
HepxoBb Ha KyAHimcax k Ka3aHcxoH Eoacben MaTepH h Hhkoac nyAOTBopuy
h BeAHKOMyneHHue ExaTepHHe (OPKhP HB Mry, hhb. 3033-45-75).

H3 3annceH MoacHo nonynHTb cbcachhh o MHoroHHcneHHbix He6oAbuiHx
MOHacTbipax h nycTbmax. HanpHMep, cyA» no 3anncaM, mockobckoc ynn-
TeAbHoe eBaHreAHe 1633 r. c nepBbix ao nocAeAHHx ahch cynjecTBOBaHHa
nycTbiHH ‘hto bo Mxax’ (ApceHHeBa nycTbiHb Boaotoackoh enapxnn) npHHaA-
neacano ee 6n6AHOTeKe, 6mao nepeAaHO nepBOMy ee nryMeHy ApceHHio A*na
noMHHOBeHHJi ‘6AaroBepHbix HapeBHHen khh3h Hbbhb MHxaHAOBHHa Aa Bacn-
ahh MHxaHAOBHHa’. BxAaAHyio 3anncb 06 3tom HanncaA Ha KHHre ‘napcKoro
BeAHnecTBa . . . ahhk TaBpHAa nap(|)eHbeB’ (OPKhP HB Mry, hhb. 5907-5-
82). Korna, b 1764 r. nycTbiHb 6buia ynpa3AHeHa, Ha 3K3eMnAape noaBHAacb
3anncb, hto KHHra nponcxoAHT H3 ApceHbeBOH nycTbiHH. HHorna OAHa KHHra
coo6maeT 3HaHHTeAbHyio HH<j)opManHio 3Toro THna. HanpHMep, H3 3annceH
Ha soeMnnape JlecTBHHbi (MocKBa, 1647) ncxoBCKoro My3ea-3anoBeAHHKa
( Ocunoea , JNb 76) mm y3HaeM HMeHa HryMeHa BenHKonycTbiHCKoro MOHacTbipa
HnapHOHa (1711 r.) h HryMeHa o6htcah npn. E(|)pocHHa-CaMncoHa (1722 r.),
KOTOpbix HeT b cnpaBOHHHKe CTpoeBa; a Tax)K e, hto HryMeH HHKaHApoBbi
nycTbiHH CnMeoH 6ma Ha 3tom nocTy yace b 1711 r. HeT b cnpaBOHHHKe
CTpoeBa h HMeHH CTpoHTeAa AcTpaxaHCKoro TpoHHKoro MOHacTbipa nancHa
BopoTHHKOBa (cm. OPKhP HB Mry, 50q’a631, hhb. 3033-11-75), a HryMeH
CnaccKoro AOMOBoro narpnapuiero KocTpoMcxoro MOHacTbipa ABpaaMHH,

2,3 BeceAoecKuu C.E. (npHMenaHHe 12), c. 242. CoAoebee C M. HcTopna Pocchh c /jpeBHeHLUHx
BpeMeH. MocKBa, 1961. T. 9, c. 229.

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

149

KOTopbifi npOAaeT cbok> KeneimyK) KHHry b 1675 r., hhcjihtch b cnpaBOHHHKe
TOJibKO no a 1670 r. (OPKnP HB Mry, 50h442, hhb. 1908-15-83). CoBep-
uieHHo ohcbhaho, hto HMeHHO 3anncH Ha KHnrax co^ep^caT yHHKajibHbie n
MHoroHHCJieHHbie CBeAeHna 06 HCTOpnn MOHacTbipen n nepKBen. HanpnMep,
KHnrn, onncaHHbie b KaTanore Mry 1980 r., cyA» no 3annc5iM, HaxoAHJincb
b uepKBax 137 HacejieHHbix MecT ot ApxaHrejibCKa a o .flHHAOpa.

Bot, HanpnMep, apKoe CBHAeTejibCTBO o bobhhkhobchhh Xepro3epcKon
nycTbiHn: ‘Cna KHnra anocTOJi npenoAoGHoro OTua Maxapna yHbacecKoro
n ^CejibTOBOTT>CKoro nycTbiHn Xepbro3epCKne hoboh, BoroM oycTpoeHHon
nyaoTBopbHaro o6pa3a Kapronojibcxoro ye3Ay npn cTapne JIorBHHe Aa npn
CTapne Cepbrne . . . Texb Borb H36paji MOJinTBaMH npenoAoGHaro oTna Maxa-
pn a nycTbiHio CTponTb n 6paTHio npH3bmaTH xepbro3epbCKyK)’. 3anncb Heco-
MHeHHO, ozjejiaHa b nepnoA MeacAy bmxoaom KHnrn — 1 ceHT5i6p5i 1638 r.
n 1640 r., Kor^a Ceprnn CTan o^nnnajibHO CTponTeneM Xepro3epCKon
nycTbiHn. 3aTeM KHnra nepeuuia b AneKcaHApo-OmeBeHCKnn MOHacTbipb toh
)xe OjiOHenKon enapxnn, a H3 Hero b 1812 r. 6buia npoAaHa KpecTbBHHHy
MOHacTbipcKon OmeBeHCKon cjioGo^bi AjieKcaHztpy KjiemnHy.24 Ecjih 3anncn
bo MHoroM aonojiHjnoT BbiiueyKa3aHHbie cnpaBOHHHKH BecejioBCKoro n CTpo-
eBa, to n 6e3 sthx KHnr hcbo3mo>kho oneHHTb n Aa>Ke noHHTb HH(j)opMannK>
MHornx 3anncen. Tax, ecjin AarapOBKH 3anncen b BbimeHa3BaHHOM 3K3eM-
nnape EeceA MoaHHa 3AaToycTa (cm. CTp. 4 — 5 craTbn n rpuifeecKan, X? 80)
BepHbl, TO peHb HAeT O IlOKpOBCKOM MOHaCTblpe, C03AaHHOM B MoCKBe Ha
cpeACTBa napa AneKcea MnxanjiOBHHa ero AyxoBHHKOM Cre^aHOM Bohh-
(J)aTbeBbiM, apxHMaHApHTOM KOToporo HeMHoro no3Anee 6bin H3BecTHbin
nepKOBHbin ‘aHTHHHKOHOBCKHH’ nncaTCAb CnnpHAOH IlOTeMKnH, a KnpHJIJI
6biJi CTponTeneM MOHacTbipa yace b 1657 r. (y CTpoeBa — ctji6. 209 — oh
hhcjiht c MapTa 1662 r.)

CoBpeMeHHoe n bo MHoroM OjiaroTBopHoe 6ypHoe pa3BHTne KpaeBeAeHna,
HecoMHeHHO, MO>KeT n aojdkho HanTH b 3anncax Ha KHnrax He3aMeHnMbin
n yHHKajibHbin hctohhhk. Oco6chho nepcneKTnBHO, c TOHKn 3peHH5i KpaeBe-
AeHHJi, H3yneHne aoeMnnapoB CTaponenaTHbix H3AaHnn b cocraBe TeppnTO-
pnaAbHbix KHn^KHbix KOJUieKnnn, co6paHHbix apxeorpa(j)aMH b TpaAnnnoHHO
CTapoo6p«AHecKnx pernoHax. 3anncn Ha KHnrax no3BOJUHOT npocjieAnTb nyra
3aceneHn5i n KyjibTypHbie CB*nn panoHOB, Hanra KHnrn, KOTopbie 6biTOBajin
b hhx b TeneHne bckob.25 CoAep^caT 3anncn n cbcachha o jhoa»x, )KnBLunx b
3THX MeCTaX HJ1H BAOtfCHBLUHX KHHm B MCCTHbie MOHaCTbipH H HepKBn, nOMH-
HanbHbie 3anncn HepeAKO nepenncjiaioT nMeHa HecKOJibKnx noKOjieHnn oahoh

24 IJo3deeea 81, No 85; Cmpoee (npMMenaHHe 13). Cth6. 1005.

25 Cm. MaAbiuiee B.M. YcTb-UHiieMCKHe pyKonncHbie c6ophhkh XVI— XX bb. CbiKTbiBKap,
1960; rio3deeea M B. BepemarHHCKoe TeppHTopnaJibHoe KHHWHoe co6paHHe h npo6jieMbi hcto-
pHH ^yxoBHOH KyjibTypbi pyccKoro HacejieHHH BepxoBbeB KaMbi / / PyccKHe nHCbMeHHbie h ycT-
Hbie Tpa/iHUHH h ayxoBHaa KyubTypa. MocKBa, 1982, c. 40—71.

150

Solanus 1996

h toh )Ke KpecTbjmcKOH ceMbH. HanpHMep, TOJibKo KaTajior Mry 1980 r.
CB«3bmaeT npOHCxo^eHHe 17 3K3eMnn5ipOB H3AaHHH XVI — XVII bb. co 3Ha-

MeHHTblM HH)KerOpO^CKHM FopOAAOM H 27 - C r. PaceBOM. B TOM HHCJie,

MocKOBCKaa IIocTHaa tphoab 1635 r. H3AaHHH b 1660 r. 6bina BJioaceHa b
oaho H3 HH^ceropo^CKHx ceji C.A. h fl.C. ManoBO h nepe3 309 jieT Bee eme
6biTOBajia Ha HHaceropoACKOH 3eMjie ( Tlo3deeea 1980, Nq 242); TpHOAt ijBeT-
Haa, HanenaTaHHaa b Mockbc b 1648 r. nocjie MHoroKpaTHbix nepexoAOB H3
pyx b pyKH OKa3ajiacb b nepBOH nonoBHHe XIX b. b PopOAue y <F.M. Ky3-
HeuoBa, nepeAaBuiero ee cbmy BacnjiHio CTapoBepOBy-Ky3HeuoBy, KOTOpbiii
b 1856 r. ‘GjiarocjiOBHJi eio’ cBoero cbma BacHAHH BacHAbeBHna. 3^ecb )k e,
b Topo/me, b pyxax cTapOBepOB Tpno^b h npoAonacaAa cjiy^KHTb ao Haninx
AHen ( IJo3deeea 1980, N° 418).

Ecjih oObe^HHHTb yica3aTejiH Aaace BbimeAiHHx KaTajioroB, to, (j)aKTHHecKH,
Mbi nojiynHM CBeAeHHH o GbiTOBaHHH ApeBHeil nenaTHOH khhth Ha Been TeppH-
TOpHH PoCCHH, CJiaBJIHCKOTO MHpa H A(j)OHa. H y>Ke CerOAHtf B GOAbHIHHCTBO
KpaeBeAaecKHX HccneAOBaHHH mo^kho 6biJio 6bi BKAionaTb yica3aHHH o 6brro-
BaBuiHx b H3ynaeMbix perHOHax 3K3eMnji5ipax ApeBHHx H3AaHHH, hx ueHe h
BnaAenbijax.

B pyKH cTapoo6pazmeB nepexoAHAH He TOAbKo paHHHe (aohhkohobckhc)
H3AaHH?i IleHaTHoro ABopa, ho h MHoroHHCAeHHbie ApeBHHe pyxonncH, Ha
aBTOpHTeT KOTOpbIX, KpOMe H3BeCTHbIX H3AaHHH, OnHpaAHCb B CBOCH nOAe-

MHKe CTapoo6p«AHecKHe nncaTeAH h KOHua XVII h XVIII bckob. HanpH¬
Mep, AHApen HoaHHOB c paapaaceHHeM nncaA, hto bbitobckhm aBTopaM h
pyKOBOAHTeAaM noMOpCKoro o6me)KHTeAbCTBa ‘...no pa3HecmeHCJi o hhx
CAaBe, OTOBCioAy b xopOTKoe BpeMa HaTacKaAH... npeMHo^cecTBo cTapbix
pOCCHHCKHX KHHT... nOAnHCaHbl Co6CTBeHHbIMH pyKaMH '. . . OC06 AapCKOH
(JjaMHAHH... KHa3eH .26 OneBHAHO, hto CBHAeTeAbCTBa 3toto b CTaponenaT-
hoh KHHre AOCTaTOHHO peAKH, h TeM He MeHee, b 3anHcax KOHua XVII b. ohh
ecTb. HanpHMep, non Maicap OeAOpoB coo6maeT b 3anncH Ha nepBOH nacTH
MOCKOBCKOTO OlCTOHXa 1638 r. H3AaHHH: ‘ijepKOBHHfl KHHTbl OKTaH HeTblpe
TAaca BbiMeHHA Ha nncaHHbm. . .’ (OPKhP HB MTY, hhb. 729-22-82).

HecoMHeHHO, npeACTaBHTeneH CTapoo6paAHecKoro ABH>KeHHH H3HanaAbHo
HHTepecoBaAH 3anncH Ha apcbhhx KHHrax, noATBepacAaBume c hx tohkh

3peHHH OCo6yK) AOCTOBepHOCTb H HeHHOCTb CBHAeTeAbCTB. OneBHAHO nos-

TOMy Tax mhoto cpeAH coxpaHeHHbix CTapooGpaAHecKOH TpaAHHHen ApeB-
HHX naMHTHHKOB KHHT C AapCKHMH H naTpHapUIHMH BKAAAHblMH 3anHCHMH.
THnHHHbIM npHMepOM MO>KeT 6bITb 3K3eMnAHp MOCKOBCKOH TpHOAH HBCT-

hoh (17.03.1648; OPKhP HB Mry, hhb. 6338-6-76), KOTopbiH b 1650 r. AaA

26 MoaHHoe A. IlojiHoe HCTopHHecKoe n3BecTHe o ApeBHHx CTpHrojibHHKax h HOBbix pac-
KOJibHHKax, Tax Ha3biBaeMbix CTapoo6pa^uax. M. II. CaHKT-neTep6ypr, 1855, c. 8. Cm. IJoddeeea
M B. ApeBHepyccKoe HacjieziHe b hctophh Tpa/iHUHOHHOH khh>khoh KyjibTypbi CTapooSpa^He-
CTBa: nepBbiH nepHO# // HcTopwa CCCP, 1988, JVg 1, c. 84 — 99.

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

151

b HHKOjibCKyio uepKOBb noAMOCKOBHoro ABopuoBoro c. FlyiiiKHHO naTpHapx
Hoch(J), a b 1687 r. — y»ce H3 aomoboh Ka3Hbi naTpnapxa HoaKHMa KHHra
nepeAaHa b TpoHUKyio uepKOBb MoacancKoro ye3Aa. He no3Anee XIX b. 3tot
3K3eMnA5ip H3AaHHH 0Ka3biBaeTC5i b pyxax CTapoo6paAiieB.

/JOCTaTOHHO peAKH B 3aiIHCHX CBCACHHH 06 HCTOHHHKaX CpeACTB Ha IIpH-
oGpeTeHHe KHHrH. noaTOMy oco6bm HHTepec npeACTaBJiaioT 3anHCH o koa-
AeKTHBHbix noxynKax, KorAa KHHry aab xpaMa npHo6peTaK)T ‘mhpom’ h yxa-
3bIBaiOT TOHHbie CyMMbI B3HOCOB. K CO)KaAeHHK>, 3Ta pOCnHCb 6bIBaeT He
BcerAa. HanpHMep, Ha aoeMnAape mockobckoh TpHOAH nocTHOH 1607 r.,
noAyneHHOH 3KcneAHAHeH Mry b CapaTOBCKOH o6nacTH (Mry, OPKhP HB
Mry, hhb. 6202-19-78) roBOpHTca: ‘Bb npouuioM Bb 121m roAy (1613) nep-
Byrna Mhhiophh KynaA Ko3AaHCKHe (!) bojiocth bcgx (?) KpecTHJiH Ha hx
OTnHCHbie MHpcKHe AGHrn Tpeo jxh nocTHyio a Apyryio ABGTHyio Aa eBaHrHAbe
HanpecTOAbHoe a a AepKOBHOH ycTaB h hoao>kha b AOMb Aapio KocTHHTHHy
a noAnncaA nepByma CBoeio pyxoio 123ro roAy MapTa Bb 14 AeHb (1615)’.

flpyroii npHMep noKynKH ‘Ha MHpcKHe AeHbrn’ — mockobckhh AnocTOA b
H3AaHHH 1648 r. (29.06; OPKhP HB Mry, hhb. 6335-13-16), KOTopbiH 6bm
KynAeH KpecTbjmaMH cena nonen, coOpaBuiHMH ‘no rpHBHe c BeHija 1 py6nb
13 aATbiH ABe AeHbrH’.27

HMeHHO 3anHCH n03B0A5H0T yBHACTb, HTO B nOCAeAHCH HeTBepTH XVII B.
IHHpOKO HACT npouecc o6MeHa AOHHKOHOBCKHX H3AaHHH Ha ‘HOBOHCnpaBAeH-
Hbie’. OaHHM H3 3THX MHOTOHHCAeHHblX (j)aKTOB HBAfleTCH H (J)aKT, 3a<j)HKCH-
poBaHHbiH Ha 3K3eMnA5ipe MancKOH CAy)Ke6HOH MHHen (MocKBa, 20.04.1646;
OPKhP HB Mry, hhb. 5906-6-82), KOTOpaa b 1693 r. 6bma ‘oTAaHa Ha npo-
MeH’ H3 BocKpeceHCKoro flepeBJiHHAKoro MOHacTbipa. C6opHHK H3 71 CAOBa
(MocKBa, 09.1700), npHHaAAeacaBLUHH ‘EAaroBemeHCKoro co6opa... hto y
AepacaBHenmero rocyAapa Ha ceHex... nepeMeHeHa Ha BeTxyio KHHry co6op-
hhk >Ke’ (OPKhP HB Mry, hhb. 973-1-59). Mhhcio o6myio c npa3AHHHHOH b
H3AaHHH MocKOBCKoro nenaTHoro Aeopa (29.06.1650, Ocunoea, N° 88), koto-
paa b XVII b. npHHaAAeacana uepKBH TKeH mhpohochh, b 1701 r. non stoh
AepKBH HBaH Epo(f)eeB ‘npoMeHHA Ha HOByio MKHeio’. B 1871 r. KHHra npn-
HaAAOKaAa KpecTbaHHHy rpHropmo JlyKHHy, a eme no3AHee CHOBa nocTynaeT
b 6n6AHOTeKy uepKBH ncKOBCKoro npeATeneHCKoro MOHacTbipa. Bo3mo>kho,
nocTynHAa OHa b MOHacTbipcKyio 6H6AHOTeKy TeM ace nyTeM, hto h 3K3eM-
nAap MocKOBCKoro UlecTOAHeBa 1635 r. (OPKhP HB Mry, hhb. 3092-4-73),
o kotopom b 3anncH Ha HeM CTporo roBopHTca: ‘...KHHra... ko OTAaHHio
BoAoroACKOH enapxHH /JyxoBHyio kohchctophio 6e3 BcaKoro MeAAeHna1.

3anncH, (J)HKCHpyiou3He (j)aKTbi npoAaacn KHHrH name Bcero hmciot h o6bi-
HHbie AA5I 3TOH (|)OpMbI CAeAKH yKa3aHHH O ee nOpyHHTeAHX H CBHAeTeAflX.

27 OneBH/iHO, c6op no rpHBHe c o^Horo ziovia — nocraTOMHO THnnHeH, TaK KaK Mbi y>Ke 3HaeM
HMeHHO TaKOH npHMep. Cm. fJo3deeea 80, N° 261.

152

Solanus 1996

HanpnMep, ‘...no ohom noAnncaBinacji non ^eMeHTen HBaHOB b npOAa-
>kh cen KHnrn E(j)peMa CnpnHa nopyKoio n cBHAeTeneM. . .’ (E(j)peM CnpHH.
noyMeHHa, MocKBa, 29.08.1647; OPKnP HE MTY, hhb. 280-6-90).

CTaponenaTHbie mockobckhc KHnrn b cpe^e CTapooOpAAAeB ueHHJincb n
ueHHTca oneHb bmcoko. noaTOMy He TOJibKo b XVII — XVIII b., ho h no3AHee
ohh Hepe^KO HBji^jincb cpe^cTBOM o6ecneneHn5i AOJira — 3aKjiaflbiBajincb Ha
onpe^ejieHHbin cpOK, Macro ocraBaacb b AOMe HaBcer^a. npnMepOM Mo^ceT
cjiy)KHTb 3anncb 1885 r. Ha aoeMnjwpe nepBoro nenaTHoro MOCKOBCKoro
YcraBa (1610 r.; OPKnP HE MrY, hhb. 3092-11-73): ‘...cna KHnra ycTaBb
B3?rra y PaMHHOBCKaBa neTpa... (Hp36.) Ka3aKOBa oHb MHe 3ajio^cnjib Ha
BpeMJi; eMy AaHo 50Tb cepeOpnHb. A KHnry ocTaBnjib Bb AOMe AneKcaH-
A pa /^MHTpneBa IIlHuiKHHa; Kor^a AeHrn OTAacTb, to eMy KHnry B03paTHTb\
Hn)Ke TeM ^ce nonepKOM: ‘Enje npnGaBjieHo nocjie Ka3aKOBy AeHerb 40-k
cepeGpnHb; ocTaBjieHa HaBcer^a Bb AOMe A/1,111...

HH^opMauna BKJia^Hbix 3anncen, KOTopbie, KaK npaBnjio, hmciot onpe-
AejieHHbin (j)opMyjiHp, HepeAKO 6biBaeT Hpe3BbiHanHO pa3BepHyTbin a a)Ke b
paMKax 3Toro (j)opMyjnipa.

HanpnMep, H3 bkjwjhoh 3anncn 1657 r. Ha BTopon nacra MOCKOBCKoro
OKTonxa 1638 r. Mbi y3HaeM: tjxq >khjih BKJia^HHKa — HOBropOACKne ynnnaHe
Mnxanji n MaKCHM HnKH(J)opOBbi acth KjieTKHHa n Kyjxa Bjio)KeHa KHnra — ‘b
BejiHKnn HoBropOA Ha TOproByio CTopoHy b CnaBeHCKon KOHeij Ha naBjiOBy
yjinuy b uepKOBb KaMeHHyio CBflTOMy BocKpeceHnio . . . Hcyca XpncTa’; Korna
yMep nx OTeu n ero nepBaa >KeHa; r^e ohh 6biJin noxopoHeHbi; hmcha Apyrnx
yMepLunx hjichob ceMbn, HannHaji c jxqjx a no MaTepn; HMeHa cjiy^HTenen
itepKBH, npHHflBHinx KHnry; cocTaB n cTOHMOCTb BKJiaaa. Bcero b CBoepyHHon
3anncn MaxcnMa HnKH(})opoBHHa 209 CMbicnoBbix cjiob (OPKnP HE MTY,
hhb. 2746-8-80).

HepenKO KHnra Bxonnjia b cocTaB KOMnneKCHoro BKjiana n Torna 3anncb
HMeeT ABOHHyio ueHHOCTb. HanpnMep, H3BecTHbie ToproBbie jiioah 6parb«
HcaK H HnKH(|)Op PeBflKHHbl BJIO)KHJIH B 1617 r. B neTpOBCKyiO nepKOBb ‘Ha
Bepx Ycojikh Ha cn6npCKyio Aopory’ KpoMe MnHen o6men c npa3AHHHHon
(MocKBa, 20.10.1637; OPKnP HE MTY, hhb. 3034-9-75), nojioTHHHbie pn3bi,
BbiOopnaTyK) ennTpaxnjib, noApn3HHK n nopynn.

TojibKO 3anncn MoryT OTBeTHTb Ha Bonpoc o nen^eHnn TaKnx MHoroTOM-
Hbix H3naHHH KaK MnHen cny>Ke6Hbie Ha roA hjih roAHHHbin Tpe(j)OJiornoH.
Hmchho cyAbGbi 3thx KHnr noATBep)KAaioT tot (J)aKT, hto Ha nenaTHOM
ABope ronoBon Kpyr MHHen n TpetjjojiornoHa paccMaTpnBajincb KaK oaho
H3AaHne, o6ecnenHBaK>mee ycTaBHyio cjiy^c6y roAa, CBA3aHHyK) c cojiHen-
hhm KaneHAapeM. noaTOMy Mbi HMeeM nejibin pjiA npnMepoB, KorAa HecMo-
Tpa Ha npouieAuine ctojicthm, BOHHbi, no^capbi n peBOjnonnn, TaKne kom-
njieKCbi hjih nx nacTH coxpaHjnoTca, npoAenaB BMecTe cjio>KHenmnn hcto-
pnHecKHH nyTb. HanpnMep, 7 niojifl 1649 r. MornneBCKne MemaHe 6paTbfl

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

153

JleOHOBHHH BA05KHAH, OHeBHAHO, Kpyr MHHeH28 B BorOJIBJieHCKyK) MOrHJieB-
CKyio itepKOBb, b XIX b. KHHra nonaAaioT k CTapooGpaAAaM HoB03biGKOBa,
MeHHioT HecKOJibKO pa3 xo35ieB, ocTaBaacb b cTapooGpflAnecKOH cpeae ao
1972 r., Kor^a ABe H3 hhx nocTynaioT b BeTKOBCKo-CTapoAyGoBCKoe coGpa-
HHe MocKOBCKoro yHHBepcHTeTa.

Mo>kho nepeHHCJiHTb aejibin p*iA h hhmx tcm, GoraTemmiM hctohhhkom
H3yHeHHB KOTopbix hbajhotch 3anncH Ha CTaponenaTHbix KHHrax. LJeHHocTb
hx aaBHO npH3HaHa, ocoGchho 3annceH HCTopnaecKoro xapaKTepa, Hacro
Henocpe^CTBeHHO no cne/jaM coGmthh 3MonHOHajibHO hx onncbiBaiomHx.
no hhm HeTpy^Ho onpe^ejiHTb, Kaicne hct opHHecKHe c[)aKTbi ocTaBHjiH b
Aymax coBpeMeHHHKOB caMoe rjiy6oKoe BnenaTJieHHe. 3to MOpOBbie noBe-
TpHH, MOCKOBCKHH 6yHT H yGHHCTBO apXHenHCKOna AMBpOCHJI, ^BH)KeHHe
nyraneBa, CMeHa uapen h TOMy noAoGHbie oGme3HaHHMbie coGmthh.

TeMbi — 3anHCH Ha KHHrax, KaK hctohhhk no 3apyGe)KHbiM ayxoBHbiM

H KyjlbTypHblM CBH35IM PyCH - B AaHHOH paGoTe MbI He CTHBHM, OAHaKO

HeB03M05KH0, XapaKTepH3yfl HCTOHHHKOBeAHeCKHe B03M05KH0CTH HH^OpMa-
ijhh, coxpaHHBuieHCH Ha CTaponenaTHbix KHHrax, He ynoMjmyTb o Hen coBceM.

/JocTaTOHHo cocnaTbca Ha 3anncb 1735 r. pbijibCKoro Kynua ilKOBa HBa-
HOBHHa ManbueBa o noxynxe hm b KeHHrc6epre b AOMe 'BacHAHa KopBHHa
KBacoBCKoro Okaacmkh HAeHa’ MocKOBCKoro YHHTeAbHoro eBaHreAHH 1639 r.
3a 25 ryAbAeHOB (hah 3a 5 pyGAen), Tax KaK ‘ . . .b KeHH3Gepxe Gbma chh mho-
roueHHaa Bemb. . . He b noHTeHHH. . OaKT, onHcaHHbiH b 3anncH, pa3HTeAbHO
tohho noKa3biBaeT HaM npHmjHnHaAbHbie H3MeHeHH», npoH3ouieAUJHe b xa-
paKTepe Me)KAyHapoAHbix CBjnen b neTpoBCKoe BpeMa.29 3Ty >xe TeMy npo-
AOA)KaeT 3anncb Ha ncaATHpH c BoccAeAOBaHHeM mockobckoh nenaTH (1636
r.; OPKhP HB Mry, hhb. 1909-4-83): ‘[l]717ro aBrycTa b 21 AeHb noTaHyA...
Cre(j)aH Hoch(|) EeAaeB Ha Mope, ot AMCTepAaMa TpHAuaTb BepcT Ha xopaGne
HMeHyeTca “EAHcaBeT”.’

MHorne 3anncH Ha CTaponenaTHbix KHHrax cB«3aHbi c BHeumeH hoahthkoh
Pocchh, na me Bcero, c BofmaMH: 3to KHHrn, BAO^ceHHbie no ‘yGHeHHbiM’ boh-
HaM hah conyTCTByiomHe apMHH b ee noxoAax, bkabaw b uepKBH npncoeAHH-
HblX 3eMeAb H T.A. c 3TOH TOHKH 3peHHfl AK)GonbITHa 3anHCb Ha AbBOBCKOM
eBaHreAHH 1670 r., xa k noTOMy, hto caeAaHa y>xe b HOBoe BpeMa, TaK h 3a(j)HK-
CHpOBaHHblM B HeH (J)aKTOpOM, OTHOCHIHHMCfl K nOCACAHeH pyCCKO-UIBCACKOH
BOHHe 1808 — 1809 rr.: ‘1808ro roAy hiohh b 24 AeHb... KynHA chio KHHry cbh-
Toe EBaHreAHe KanHTaH /jMHTpen Ocaotob cmh PbiuibKOB, GyAyHH b HeBOAe
y uiBeAOB b CTexoAbHe... a asho AeHer naTHaTuaTb pyGaeH...’ (cm. Ocunoea,

28 Penb HaeT o MHHee Ha anpejib (MocKBa, 15.10.1645, hhb. 3092-25-73) h MHHee Ha Mail
(MocKBa, 20.04.1646, hhb. 3083-12-73), ocTajibHaa HacTb Kpyra TaioKe nocTynHJia b nocjieBoeHHoe
BpeMH b Cnaco-ripeo6pa)KeHCKHH CTapoo6pa^HecKHH co6op r. HoB03bi6KOBa.

29 rioApoOHee cm. Ilo3deeea MB. ‘Ceil MHoroueHHbiH 6Hcep’ // JlHTepaTypa h HCKyccTBO b
cHCTeMe KyjibTypbi. MocKBa, 1988, c. 235 — 243.

154

Solanus 1996

No 161).

Eme o/jhoh, ropa3AO MeHee nccnenoBaHHon tcmoh, MaTepnan a na H3yne-
Hna KOTopoH coAepacaT 3anHCH, aBnaeTca pe^neKcna caMon KHnacHon
KyjibTypbi h CB»3aHHbiH c Hen MeHTajiHTeT pa3nnnHbix cnoeB pyccKoro cpeA-
HeBeKOBoro o6mecTBa. 3anHCH coAepacaT HHcjjopManmo no BonpocaM npo-
ncxoacAeHna (H3roTOBneHHH) neaaTHon KHnrn, 06 oueHKax n noHHMaHHH ee
coAepacaHna, oco6eHHOCTax ncnonb30BaHna, xpaHeHna, nepeAann, BKjiaAa n
T.n. B 3anncax coxpaHaioTca HAen, xapaKTepHbie Ana pyccKon khidkhocth
c nepBbix AHen ee cymecTBOBaHna — 3to, npeacne Bcero, hack nepBOCTe-
neHHon BaacHocrn HTeHHa GoacecTBeHHbix KHnr n nx Bennaanmen achhocth.
‘,I(o6po h noAe3HO ecTb aenoBeKOM anTara GoacecTBeHHbie KHnrn, n6o bo
HTeHHH OHbIX CO BHHMaHHM BCHKOH MOaceT B pa3yM HCTHHHOH npHHTH . . .’ -

roBopnTca b 3anncn, cnenaHHon okoao 1783 r. Ha nepBon aacra Mockob-
CKoro FIpoAora30 (MocKBa: neaaTHbin ABOp, 29.08.1641). Ha npojiore (nep-
Ba a nonoBHHa, mockobckoc H3AaHne 1659 r.; OPKnP HB Mry, hhb. 3034-
28-75) ero BAaAeJieA Hanncan b pa3Hbix MecTax KHnrn: ‘Hth, 3pn n hth.
Hth, 6o xopomo. Hth h pa3yMen, 3eno nojie3Ho n nyuiM yMHJiHTejibHO. 3ejio
noAe3HO. Hth HenpeMeHHO. HnTan yMHJiHTejibHO n nojie3HO.’ Ha npoAore
B MOCKOBCKOM H3AaHHH 1675 T.31 KapTOHOJlCA Eb(J)HMHH KnnpHHHOB CblH
HynjioB Hanncan: \..nep>KHMa 6ame Ha nonb3y npoaTymHM aenoBeKOM. . 7.
A ero BHyK AneKcen ‘nonnncan cnio KHnry paAH 3HaTHOCTn’ — hccomhchho,
paAH ‘3HaTH0CTH KHnrn’, TaK KaK o ce6e oh roBopnT: ‘y6ornn AneKcen CBoeio
6peHHOK> pyKoio’. Oh yToaHnn (j)opMyny nena, Ao6aBHB Mbicnb o nonb3e He
npocTO npoHHTaiotAHM, ‘a... cnbnuamnM aenoBeKOM’. Ha MnHee o6men c
npa3AHHHHon oahh H3 ee BnanenbueB b XVIII b. Hanncan: ‘IlpocTH mh, OTae
CBJiTbin, uito a rpeuiHbin n HenocTOHHbin nep3bHyx CBaTbiHio chk) nncaTH 6ec
CTpaxa Goaoia, HeycMOTpeHneM onncbraaacb; npocTHTe, othm n 6paTna, MeHe
HeBeacy nypaKa HeMbicneHaro rnynaro, HeHMymaro noGparo He ennHoro nena
k Eory’ ( Ocunoea , No 100).

noyHHTenbHbie cnoBa E(J)peMa CnpHHa (MocKBa: neaaTHbin ABop,
29.08.1667 r.)32 b XVIII b. BnoaceHbi ‘a na aacroro npoanTaHna CBemeHHOM
uepKOBHOM cnyacnTenaM n nx acthm Ana no3HaHna\ 3Ty TeMy pa3BHBaeT
TaKace napcTBeHHaa Hannncb 1656 r. Ha mockobckom KaHOHHHKe 1641 r.
H3AaHna,33 b KOTOpon coo6maeTca, hto ‘ . . .hhok Hoacacj) OnarocnoBnn Cbma
CBoero nyxoBHaro ronoBinnKa Moncea HOBOTopacija b BeaHoe eMy KenenHoro
npaBnna b nyxoBHoe HacnaacneHne. . nocToaHHo b 3anncax noBTOpaeTca
Tpe6oBaHne aKKypaTHO anTaTb n xpaHHTb KHnrn. TnnnaHbiM npnMepoM aBna-

30 OPKhP Mry, 5M99, hhb. 5906-4-82. (Haxo,mca apxeorpa(|)HHecKOH 3KcneziHHHH.)

31 Kuceneea 92, .No 646.

32 TaM >Ke, Ne 604.

33 TaM ace, No 189.

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

155

eTca BKjia^Haa XVII b. Ha mockobckom AnocTOJie (30.09. 1633), 34 KOTopbiH
6mji oT,aaH b ijepKOBb IIoKpoBa: ‘ . . .roBopHTb c bcahkhm GepeaceHHeM, jihctob
He ApaTb... CMOTpeTb h no Hen roBopHTb 6epeacHO, CBemeio He HCKanaTH h
He H3MapaTH... HeGpeaceHHeM ahctm H3AepyT hjih CBemeio HCKanaioT, hah
jiyHHTb yHHyT, OTAaBaTb hc uepKBH b HHyio ijepKOBb h 6e3 Harnero noBene-
HHa.’ B XVIII B. 3Ta MblCAb 6bIAa c4>OpMyAHpOBaHa B BHAe HapOAHOH nOCAO-
BHAbi: ‘He noAo6aeT khhth AepKOBHbie MapaTb, 3a to HaAo6HO y TaKOBbix
yuiH ApaTb’.35 3aMenaTeAbHbi no coAepacaHHio npHnncKH XVII b. Ha bhach-
ckom H3AaHHa 1627 r. flyxoBHbix 6eceA Maxapna ErnneTCKoro. nepBaa H3
hhx — xopomo H3BecTHaa nocAOBHua: ‘KopeHb yaeHHa ropeic, nAOAbi ace ero
CAaAKH’; BTOpaa — oaeHb peAxa: ‘Taaoco TaM npaijOBaTH, rAe Heaero y3HaTH’
( JJyKbHHeuKo 75, c. 105). B tom ace XVII b. Ha mockobckoh Tphoah abcthoh
1630 r. nojranaeTca 3anncb: ‘Khhth cen B03aceAan npHAeacHo aecTH, Aa He
6yAeuiH k cyeTaM yM cboh cbccth’ ( rpuifeecKax 93, N° 81).

Macro b 3anncax AaeTca xapaKTepHCTHKa coAepacaHHa khhth. Ha nep-
bom MecTe no KOAHaecTBy BOCTopaceHHbix 3annceH rnaBHaa KHHra npaBO-
CAaBHoro AOMauiHero HTeHHa h oOyaeHHa rpaMOTe, ‘uapb-KHHra’ — ncaA-
THpb. KaK npaBHAO, hmchho ncaATHpb onpeAeAaAa ypOBeHb h coAepacaHne
GorOCAOBCKHX, 3THHeCKHX H 60T0CA0BCK0-n0AHTHHeCKHX B033peHHH, CTaHOBH-
Aacb HenpepexaeMbiM yaHTeAeM B3aHMOOTHomeHHH c oxpyacaiomHM MHpoM
h BoacecTBOM. CTapoo6paAeu-pecraBpaTop mockobckoh ncaATHpH 1631 r.
HanncaA Ha noaHHeHHOH h AonncaHHOH hm khhtc: BaM HHTaTb bcaio ncaA-

Tbip, hto6m xopomo [6bmo]; xto aHTaeT co BceM ycepAHeM — k Bory npH-
6AHacaeTca, h Bor k HeMy’ (OPKhP HB MrY, hhb. 6201-2-78).

Eme oahh npHMep 3annceH Ha ncaATHpH (BypneBCKoe H3AaHHe 1634 r.):36
‘Cna KHHra ncaATbipb Coah BbiaeroAUKOH nocaAAKoro aeAOBexa MBaHa ,Hmh-
TpneBa cbma’, h AaAee: ‘JleTa 7155 roAy HiOHa b... AeHb cna KHHra rAaro-
AeMoe ncaATbipb Ayme noAe3Hoe ecTb, obo Bora xBaAHT, co aHreAbi BKyne
npeB03HOCHT BeAHHM TAaCOM; 3a napH H 3a KH5I3H Bora MOAHT, H 3a BeCb MHp
ncaATbipbio h o caMOM ce6e Bora yMOAHiiib. EoAbiue h Bbime ecTb Bcex khht
cna, y6o HapHijaeTca ncaATbipb. Chio KHHry ncaATbipb xynHA Ha /Jbhhc Me3e-
neu Cmoachckoh AcpeBHH BacHAen MeHmHKOB, noAnncaA CBoepyHHO . . .’. Ha
mockobckoh ncaATHpH KpaTKaa, ho Bbipa3HTeAbHaa naMaTHaa 3anncb XVII
b.: ‘no cen ncaATHpH BbiyaHAca MHTpocjiaH ^[kobacb. .

BeAHHanmee yBaaceHHe h Aio6oBb k ‘3AaTbiM ycraM’ xpHCTHaHCKOH AHTepa-
Typbi MoaHHy 3AaToycTy ACMOHCTpnpyeT apxaa h 3MOHHOHaAbHaa 3anncb Ha
3K3eMnAape mockobckoto H3AaHHa MaprapHTa (MocKBa: neaaTHbiH ABop,
01.09.1641). CAeAaHa OHa, ohcbhaho, b XVIII b. b Bcahkom Ycriore xeM-
to H3 co6opHoro KAHpa: ‘KHHra MaprapHT TpyAonio6HeM 3AaToycTa cohh-

34 Amocob 83, c. 288, Ne 7.

35 JlyKbHHBHKO 93, c. 150. 3anncb Ha 7-m 3K3eMnjiflpe BHJieHCKoro EBaHrejiHH 1575 r.

36 fopfiyuKeAb 70, JSf b 77.

156

Solanus 1996

HeHHbiii, HTymeM h pa3yMOM b nojib3y BepHbix npe/uioaceHHeM Becb 3JiaT,
Becb cepe6p5iH, Becb nane MeAa cnaAHaHniHH, Becb necTeH, Becb Apar, Becb b
MyzjpocTH uiHpoHaHiiiHH nojib3bi xoTJimy B3HpaTH b Hero na^a6aeT, Aa yM
Hacjia^HTca — 3jiaToycT 3JiaTOH HanHTaeT...’.37

LJeHHeHiiiHH MaTepnaji o pe(j)nexcHH khhjkhoh KyjibTypbi, npe>KAe Bcero
CBH3aH c BonpocaMH peajibHOH (jiyHxijHH AaHHoro TexcTa hah AaHHoro 3K3eM-
njiflpa H3,aaHHH. 3to, HepeAxo, 3anncH 3anpemaiomHe Hcnojib30BaTb BJioaceH-
Hyio KHHry min o6yHeHH» /jeTen hjih cjiy^KHTb no Hen BHe uepxBH. OAHaxo
HeMano 3annceH h ^eTajibiio nepeHHCAJiiomHx cjiynan, b KOTopbix hmchho
3Ta KHHra AOA5KHa HHTarbCH. HanpnMep, 3K3eMnA5ip FlcajiTHpH c boccacao-
BaHHeM b H3^aHHH 1642 r. (MocKBa: nenaTHbiH Aeop, 12.05; OPKhP HE
Mry, hhb. 6335-10-76) b 1745 r. no cmcth MOHaxa Hcann Cbhto-Tpohakoto
AxTbipcKoro MOHacTbipa GbiJia 3a 30 xoneex nepenneTeHa ‘h onpeAejieHHO
cen KHHre 6biTb b Tpane3e aah htchkh’. /JaAee b 3anncH noApo6HO, xax b
ycTaBe, onpeAeAaeTca, xorAa h hto aoa^kho HHTaTb H3 khhfh 3a Tpane3oii,
HanoMHHaeTca hto BnpeAb ‘...H3 Tpane3bi cea khhth HHKOMy He 6paTb h b
Kennax Aep^caTb He hbaaokht’.

3HaHHTejibHyio HH(J)opMaiiHio no 3thm BonpocaM coAep>xaT HaAnncH Ha
KHnrax Apyroro THna — KOMMeHTHpyiomHe, AononHjnomne, HcnpaBjiHioinne
meKCm U3daHUH, K KOTOpbIM, HToGbl cpa3y OTAHHHTb HX OT 3anHCeH, B03-
HHKUIHX B CBH3H C 6bITOBaHHeM AaHHOTO 3K3eMUAHpa U3ddHUR , MbI npHMeHJieM
TepMHH ‘MapTHHaJIHH’. HMeHHO H3 HHX MbI MO)KeM nOHepnHyTb CBeAeHHH o
(J)yHKAHOHHpOBaHHH TeKCTOB MHOTHX H3AaHHH. IlpHBeAy B AAHHOM KOHTeK-
CTe TOAbKO oahh npHMep, npe3BbiHaHH0 aKTyanbHbiH ceroAHH, KorAa b CTa-
poo6pHAHecKHx uepKBHx ocTpo o6cy*AaeTca Bonpoc o BpeMeHH HcnoAHeHHH
Hmia ocBemeHHH boah b npa3AHHK EoroHBAeHHH. Ha 3K3eMnA»pe mockob-
ckoto Cjiy>Ke6HHKa, BbiiueAuiero H3 nenaTH 31.08.1655 r. ( Ocunoea , 103)
Ha nojiax ahctob c TexcTOM 3TOTO HHHa npHnHcaHO, hto no pemeHHio co6opa
29 Aexa6pa 1655 r. ero hcoOxoahmo OTnpaBAHTb He b caM npa3AHHK, a 5
HHBapa ‘b HaBenepHn’.

PiHTepeceH h axTyaneH MaTepnan 3anHcen no uenoMy p»Ay coBepineHHO
eine HeH3yneHHbix BonpocoB. npHBeAeM b KanecTBe npHMepa toabko OAHy
TeMy: GoAbuiHHCTBo 3annceH 3axaHHHBaeTCH Tax Ha3bmaeMOH l(j)opMyAOH
npOKAHTHH’, aApeCOBaHHbIX TeM, KTO HapyniHT BOAK) AapHTeAH KHHTH, nOAO-
)KHBinero ee b H36paHHyio no toh hah hhoh npHHHHe nepKOBb, xax npaBHAO,
‘noxoAe MHp ctoht’. HepeAxo, 3Ta nacTb 3anHCH oxa3biBaeTCH AOCTaTOHHo
npocTpaHHOH h, cyAH no nocTOHHHOMy abh^cchhio Aa>xe Ha ‘BenHbie Hacbf
BAO^ceHHbix khht, oHeHb Ba>KHOH. Bot, nanpHMep, THnHHHaa pa3BepHyTan
‘(()opMyAa npoxAHTHn’, CAeAaHHan b 1632 r. Ha mockobckoh Tphoah nocTHOH
(1621 r. H3AaHH«; OPKhP HE MTY, hhb. 2717-2-80), h yAOCTOBepaiomeH, hto

37 KuceAeea 92, JVg 261. 3Ta xapaKTepwcTHKa Bnojme Tpa^HUHOHHa.

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

157

^apHTejib ‘npHjioacHJi’ KHHry ‘HenoABHacHo bo bckh bckom, AOKOJie 6naroBo-
jiht Bor CBfiTbiM 6o)khhm uepbKBaM cToaTb’. B 3anHCH roBOpHTca: ‘A xto Toe
KHHry ot tcx npecTOJioBb xTo-HH6yAb bo3mct hjih OTAacTb hjih npoAacTb hjih
yxpaAeT KaKHM-HH6yAb BpaacbHM yMbiuiJieHHeMb h B03Aan ace eMy, rocnoAH,
no jjejioM ero h no nyKaBCTBy ero h eMy cyAHTija c hhmh np qr CocAaTeneMb
b ohom Beue. H He 6y#H Ha HeMb MHJiocTb Eoacna, npenncTbia EoropOAHAbi h
Hio^OTBOpna Hhkojibi 3acTynjieHHeMb h MHnocepAbia KpecTHaHCKHa HaAeacn
h noMoniHHHbi, h Bcex CBaTbix Eory LJapio He6ecHOMy yroAHBiHHM ot BeKa,
6jiarocjioBeHHfl h npomeHHa hh Bb chh BeKb hh b 6yaymeH...\

3to peAKaa 3anncb, b kotopoh He TOJibKo raeB 6oaorii npH3breaeTca Ha
rojiOBy yKpaBuiHX KHHry, ho h 6oacna MHJiocTb Ha Tex ‘xto no cen KHHre
ynHeT roBOpHTH cTHxepw hjih KOHyHbi . . . hjih nopaAeeT’. B 3tom cjiynae,
oOpamaeTca aBTop 3anncH k rocnoay: ‘Aapyn eMy... cnaceHHa h npomeHHa
H B paH nOKOH CO CBaTbIMH bo bckh’.

XapaKTepHyio pa3BepHyTyio ‘(J)opMyjiy npoKnaTHa’ Mbi HaxoAHM b 3anncH
XVII b., c^ejiaHHOH pyKOH nona MnapnoHa IlHMHHOBa IlpoTononoBa Ha
3K3eMnjiape nepBOH neTBepTH mockobckoio Ilpojiora 1661 r. H3AaHHa,
BJioaceHHoro ‘KajiyaceHHHOM’ nocaACKHM HenoBexoM Hbahom lOpbeBHaeM
rOJiy6jITHHKOBbIM: ‘...a KTO BOCXOineTb yCBOHTH KHHry CHIO 5IKO... CbIHb
XapMHeBb hjih yTaHTH hko ace AHaHHa h Cancjmpa, j\2l OTbHMeTb ot Hero

r ocnojlb Borb CBaTyiO CBOIO MHJIOCTb H 3aTBOpHTb ABepH CB«TbIXb me^pOTb
CBOHXb h jja npHHAeTb Ha Hero He6jiarocjiOBeHHe h KJiaTBa b HbmeniHHH BeKb,
a Bb Gy/iymHH BeaHaa MyKa. Kto KaKHMb 3JibiMb cbohmb yMbiuiJieHHeMb cne
nncaHHe ot khhth H3BejjeTb a a H3AepeTb ero hmb Tocnoab Borb ot khhth
acHBOTHbia bo BeKH BeKOMb. AMHHb’ (OPKhP HB MTY, hhb. 5906-2-82).

Ha YHHTejibHOM eBaHrejiHH, H3AaHHOM b 1606 r. b Kpnjioce, BKjiaAHaa
3anncb 3aKaHHHBaeTca ‘(jiopMyjioH npoKnaTHa’: ‘Cna KHHra hhkhmb HHKorAa
ac ot cero CBaToro xpaMy h hh aKHMb ace o6biaaeMb oTAajieHa a hh oTHHMaHa.
Eace ame 6bi kto Aep3Hyn ottbohth, auie jih KTHTopb hjih nonb npHaeTHHKb
hjih TaTb hjih hh kto ac kojibck, TaxoBaa KaacAaa oco6a cynepHHKa jia HMaeT
npeancTyio Eoacnio MaTepb b aeHb CTpauiHoro BbAaHHa npaBeAHaro cyAHH
XpHCTa CnacHTejia Harnero, AMHHb’ (OPKhP HB MTY, hhb. 10534-8-71).

‘OopMyjibi npOKJiaTHH’ 3anpemaioT He TOJibKo H3biMaTb KHHry H3 xpaMa,
ho h Hcnojib30BaTb ee He no Ha3HaaeHHK), HanpHMep, yHHTb no Hen AeTen.
CTapen Chmohobb MOHacTbipa CeprHH, BKJianbiBaa b 1661 r. MnHeio o6myK)
(MocKBa, 19.08.1600; OPKhP HB MTY, hhb. 1502-1-82) Tpe6yeT: ‘A cna eMy
KHHra MnHea. H kto 6y/ieT CBauieHHHK cjiyacamy, hc nepKBH HHKOMy He
nOXHTHTH HH 3aJIOaCHTH ac nOA 3aKJiaA HH B bIHyK) HepKOBb He nepeHOCHTH,
hh yneHHKOBb no Hen He yaHTH. H kotopoh cBameHHHK hjih AHaK nepKOBHbiH
hjih HHb npo^acTb KHHry chk> hjih noA 3axna a 3ajioacHT hjih yaeHHKOB no
Hen CTaHeT yaHTH h MHe c hhm cyAHTHca Ha rocnoAHGMb HauiHMb Hcyco-
BOMb XpHCTOBOMb npHUieCTBHH . . OAHaKO, KaK npaBHJIO, Bee 3TH Tpe60Ba-

158

Solanus 1996

hha HapymajiHCb, Korna KHHra nepexonuna b npyrne pyxw; h yneHHKOB TaK5Ke
o6ynajiH, (fmKTHHecKH, no jiioGoh nepKOBHon KHnre. HanpHMep, Ha 3-m H3na-
hhh BHjieHCKoro AnocTOJia ([1595 r.] OPKnP HB Mry, hhb. 3580-1-82) b

XVII B. noBBHjiacb 3anncb: ‘KHHra... Ternena HecBeTaa CTe(J)aHOBa anocTOJi
no HeMy ynHJica cmh ero /JpyacHHa, a nan nojuopa py6nn\

H3penKa, 3anncn BKjnonajiH n Tpe6oBaHne B03BpaTa KHnrn Ha mccto, Kyna
OHa 6bijia nepBOHanajibHo BJioaceHa: ‘ . . .h HHKynbi He nponaTb h He 3ano>KHTb
h He nponnTb h k hhoh nepbKBe He OTnaTb h nony co6oio HHKynbi He CHecTb.
A r ne cna KHHra HHne o6bBBHTHa onpHHb cen nepKBH lloKpoBa EoroponHHbi
h TyTb chk) KHHry BbiHBTb h npeBe3[TH] cHOBa b orpanxy cynbflM nna OHHine-
hhb npomB cen nonnHCKH’ (3anncb Ha mockobckom YcTaBe 1633 r.; OPKhP
HB Mry, 50q’a660, hhb. 2747-6-80). HHorna 3Ta nacTb 3anncH npennona-
raeT 3HaHHTejibHoe neHOKHoe B03Me3nne, ecjin KHHra 6yneT yKpaneHa: 4 . . .kto
3ajio^cHT hjih nponacT, h to eMy 6bi nonpaBHTb 4 py6jin c hojithhoh’ (3anncb

XVIII b. Ha mockobckom AnocTOJie 1633 r.; OPKhP HB Mry, hhb. 729-40-
81).

HacTo b 3anHcax 3apaHee oroBapHBaeTca HeB03M0>KH0CTb B03BpameHHa
BKjiana poncTBeHHHKaM (h na>Ke caMOMy BKnannHKy!). OneBHnHo, TaKHe
nonbiTKH 6biJiH HepenKH. HanpHMep, Ha ceHT«6pbCKOH mockobckoh MHHee
1607 r. (OPKhP HB Mry, hhb. 2276-2-87) b CBoepyHHOH 3anncH ToproBoro
HenoBeKa AHnpea HBaHOBa cbma CejiHBaHOBa ‘a npo3BHmeM npnes^eBo’,
BJio^cHBUiero KHHry k nepKBH MjibH npopoKa Ha IIpo6oHHOH yjinue ‘b Epo-
cnaBjie BojibuieM IIonojibCKOM’, roBopHTca: ‘...a cne KHHrn ot nepKBe He
OTjiynaTH HHKOMy h He BjianeTH cen) KHHroio HHKOMy KpoMe nepKOBHaro
co6opHaro neHHB h htchha, hh nony hh nuaKOHy hh npnxoacaHOM hh HHbiMb
npHUieJIbneMb CTOpOHHHMb JlK>neM HH MOeMy pony hh nJieMBHH HH caMOMy
MHe AHnpdo.’ Hhok na(j)HyTbeBa BopoBCKoro MOHacTbipa b CBoen BKnanHOH
3anncH roBopHT o tom >Ke kopotko: ‘...a noHa 6e3 OTBopoTy h BbnpeTb He
cnpauiHBaTb Moe khhth HHKOMy’ (OPKhP HB MTY, 50h622, hhb. 6335-2-76;
AnocTOJi, MocKBa, 29.06.1648).

He3aBHCHMO OT yCJIOBHH BKJiana H HeCMOTpfl Ha npOKJIBTHB BKJianHHKa ne-
pe3 KaKoe-TO BpeMH KHHra hjih ycTapeBana hjih 0Ka3biBajiacb ‘b jinuiKax’, npo-
naBajiacb hjih oOMeHHBajiacb (oGmhho c nonjiaTon) Ha HOByio, Ha kotopoh
hmb BKJianHHKa y)Ke hq noflBJiajiocb. PenKHM HCKJnoneHHeM HBjiaeTCJi 3anncb
Ha mockobckoh neKa6pbCKoii MHHee 1636 r., cnejiaHHaa b kohhc XVIII b.
pyKoii CTpoHTejiH BnuiepKoro CaBBHHa MOHacTbipa BapjiaaMa noHTH nepe3
100 jieT nocjie BKnana; OHa npH3BaHa, oneBHnHO, npHMHpHTb HOBbie HHTepecbi
MOHacTbipa h CTapbie Tpe6oBaHHa BKJianHHKa. HryMeH coo6maeT: ‘188... naji
chk) KHHry neKa6pb 6oapHH KH»3b lOpbH MnxaHJioBHH OnoeBCKOH.’ OnHaKO
H3 6ojiee nonpo6HOH 3anncH npyron pyKH TaK)Ke kohhb XVIII b. bm y3HaeM,

HTO KHB3b OnoeBCKHH B 1680 T. BJIO>KHJI B MOHaCTblpb nBe TpHOnH - nOCTHyK)

h HBeTHyio, h Korna KHHrn CTajiH bctxhmh ‘Te KHHrn nse TpnonH npOMeHHnn

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

159

a BbiMeHejiH ^Be khhth MeceHHbia’ — mhhch Ha ^eKa6pb h HHBapb (OPKhP
HB Mry, hhb. 1671-4-86).

ToBopa o 3anHcax Ha KHHrax KaK 06 yHHKajibHOM hctohhhkc HayneHHa
MHornx BonpocoB MeHTajiHTeTa, hct opnaecKOH h coiinajibHOH hchxojiofhh,
cjie^yeT ynoMHHyTb ‘npo6Hbie’ noMeTbi hjih, TOHHee, ‘npo6bi nepa’ co,aep>Ka-
HHe KOTOpbix pacKpbmaeT coBepuieHHO Heo6biHHbie h hhmm cnoco6oM (J>aK-
THHeCKH He (J)HKCHpyeMbie 0C06eHH0CTH JIHHHOCTH B paMKaX HCTOpHHeCKOH
3nOXH.

OzjHaico b 3aBepuieHHe CTaTbH, uejibio KOTopon ABjiaeTca TOJibKo pa3BepHy-
Taa nocTaHOBKa Bonpoca, ocTaHOBHMca Ha MaTepnajiax, xapaKTepH3yiomHx
pa3JiHHHbie acneKTbi Hapo/iHoro co3HaHHa h MeHTajiHTeTa h no^TBep^KAaio-
hjhx H^eio ejjHHCTBa nncbMeHHOH h ycTHOH KyjibTypbi b paMKax e^H-
HOH TpaAHUHOHHOH pyCCKOH CJIOBeCHOCTH. LJejlblH pfl £ HHCTO (j)OJIbKJIOpHbIX
acaHpOB, a Taioice e^HHaa h £jia khh>khocth h ajia ycTHOH CJIOBeCHOCTH
o6jiacTb jjyxoBHoro cTHxa, aBjiaioTca (JiopMaMH HapoAHoro, b tom HHCJie,
H HapOZtHO-3CTeTHHeCKOTO OCMbICJieHHfl H XyACOKeCTBeHHOTO Bbipa>KeHH5I cym-
hocth npaBocjiaBHJi. He ocTaHaBjiHBaacb, BBHAy cneuH(J)HHHocTH npo6jieMbi,
Ha HHTepecHOM AOTMaTHKO-GorocjiOBCKOM co,aep)KaHHH 3anHceii, yxa>KeM
HH^Ce TOJIbKO Ha THnHHHbie BHAbl (J)OJIbKJIOpHbIX 3anHCeH, KaK yBH^HM, J\ OCTa-
TOHHO LHHpOKO OCBeUjaiOmHX 6bITOBaHHe 3TOH (})OpMbI pyCCKOH CJIOBeCHO¬
CTH. B coxpaHHBuiHxca aoeMmiapax cTaponenaTHbix H3AaHHH Mbi HaxoAHM,
npe>KAe Bcero, MHoroHHCJieHHbie HpaBoyHHTejibHbie ceHTeHAHH, jjaBHO ctbb-
uiHe nacTbio ycTHOH CJIOBeCHOCTH h Hpe3BbiHaiiHO, OHeBHAHO, nonyjiapHbie,
TaK KaK 3TH TeKCTbl, B TOM HJIH JJpyTOM BapHaHTe, Mbi HaXOAHM Ha MHOTHX
KHHrax. Hmchho hx Hanajia HepeAKO Hcnojib3yioTC5i h aji» npo6Hbix 3ann-
ceii. npexpacHbiM npHMepoM TaKHx tckctob MoryT 6biTb 3anncH Ha 3K3eM-
njiape ‘Khhth o Bepe’ (MocKBa: nenaTHbiH ABOp, 08.05. 1648). 38 CHanajia b
3K3eMnjiape hact BjiajiejibnecKaa 3anncb: ‘BaBHJibi BacnjibeBa cbma CbiTHOBa
yKcycHHKa’, a 3aTeM rbq 3aMeHaTejibHbie ceHTeHAHH, nepBaa H3 KOTOpbix npe3-
BbinaHHo nonyjiapHa, a BTOpaa — AOCTaTOHHo opHTHHajibHa h, CKopee Bcero,
OTHOCHTCH K o6yHeHHK> HKOHOnHCaHHIO hjih rpaMOTe. 06e OHH HanncaHbl Ha
nycTOM o6opoTe 289 jiHCTa H3AaHHa. npHBe^eM hx TeKCTbi: ‘He hlljh, ne-
jiOBene, MyApocra, hiah, HejiOBene, kpotocth. Ame o6pemeiHH MyApocTb, to
o6ojieeTH KpoTOCTb, He tot MyAp, kto mhoto 3HaeT — tot, kto MyAp, mhoto
Ao6pa TBopHT.’ H Apyraa, 6jiH3Kaa k nepBoii, nocjioBHua: ‘He tot MyAp, kto
mhoto 3HaeT, a tot MyAp, kto hhkobo He oGhaht.’ H cjiejiyioiuee noyneHHe:
‘Bo hmh CBflTbia Tponubi OTija h Cbma h CBHTaro flyxa, xotcth yMeTH h
HayHHTHca ce^eTH KpenKo, a nncaTH rjia^KO, He ocnecHBO, MacTepa hthth, a
ce6e noGoeB He hhhhth.’ TaKHx KpaTKHx noyneHHH-ceHTeHHHH — acchtkh, h

38 KuceAeea 92, N° 356. K cwKajieHHK), nepBaa 3ariHCb He flarapoBaHa, a ase cjieayiomHe
OTHeceHbi JI.M. KHceaeBOH k XVIII b. OaeBHZiHO, k TOMy >Ke BpeMeHH othochtch h nepBaa.

160

Solanus 1996

cmjhoh H3 hx H3Jiio6jieHHbix TeM aBjiaeTca npoGjieMa nbaHCTBa. B 3tom cjiynae
(h b cjiynaax, Kor^a 3aTparHBaioTca HHbie nonyjiapHbie TeMbi) ceHTernmn, Kax
Mbi Heo^HOKpaTHO BH^ejiH Bbiiue, npeBpamaioTca b nocjioBHUbi: ‘A ame kto
onuBaeTCH BHHa, tot Mano Ha6HpaeTC» yMa h rjiyn ObrnaeT’ (Tpe(j)OJiorHOH,
MocKBa, 01.06.1637; OPKhP HB MW, hhb. 6268-4-88). H BTopaa ‘o6paT-
Haa’ nepBOH nocjiOBHiia: ‘Ame kto He ynHBaeTca bhhom, tot 6bmaeT KpenoK
yMOM’ 39 hjih: ‘/],o6po TOMy mnn, kto mo^cct b ce6e hhahctbo CKpbiTH a
3Jiaa cjiOBeca bo ycTax cbohx coxpaHHTH.’ 40 ‘Ame kto xoner mhoto 3HaTH,
He noAo6aeT TOMy nejiOBeKy mhoto cnaTb, pa3yMa HCKaTb...’.

OneHb nacTO b KHHrax 3anHCbmaK>Tca npHMeTbi, roBOpaiime o noroae,
h 3HanHTejibHO pe>Ke (jmKcnpyioTCH npHMeTbi, npenuiecTByiomHe hjih
oGbacHHiomHe KaKHe-jiH6o Ba^KHbie coObiTHa. HanpHMep, 3anHCb XVIII b.
o CMepTH HMnepaTopa IleTpa I: ‘...b jieTHee BpeMa b peKax Bona bo Bee
jieTO 6biJia 3ejieHa’ h ‘c nojiyHOiim ho CBeTy 3anajmoH CTpaHe xohhjih mho-
THe CTOJinbi’ hjih ‘xoahjih CTpauiHbie orHeHHbia CTOjinbi’ (AnocTOJi, MocKBa,
08.10.1648; OPKhP HB MTY, hhb. 10572-4-67). Topa3HO 6ojibme Ha CTapo-
neaaTHbix KHHrax 3annceH mojihtb, mhothc H3 KOTopbix 6ojiee hjih MeHee, ho
6jih3kh k TeKCTaM HpeBHHx 3aroBopOB, HanpHMep, 3anncb XVIII b. Ha neTBep-
toh neTBepTH mockobckoto Tpe(j)o.norHOHa: Tocnojm Bo^ce, BejiHKHH U,apio,
nocjiH, rocnoHH, apxaHrejia CBoero Mnxanjia Ha noMoum pa6y CBoeMy, hma
peK, h 3aiHHTH Ma ot Tpyca h noTona, ot othji h Mena h ot HanpacHbia
CMepTH h ot TjieTBopHbix BeTp’ ( Ocunoea , N° 46).

He MeHee nonyjiapHbi 6biJiH, cy/m no nocTOHHHO BCTpenaioiHHMca b KHH¬
rax TeKCTaM, HpaBoynHTejibHbie 3aramcH. HeKOTopbie H3 hhx oco6chho na-
CTbi, 3to, HanpHMep, 3aranKa o 6oraTCTBe: ‘Ctoht nejiOBeK b Bone no ropjio,
npocHT nHTb, a HanHTbca He Mo^ceT. TojiKOBaHHe: 6oraTbiH nejiOBeK — BceM
6oraT, ame ^cejiaeT 6ojibme’;41 o tom tkq nbtfHCTBe: ‘Ctoht Mope Ha nnn
CTOJinax, uapb tobopht — pa/iocTb moh, uapHua tobopht — norH6ejib Moa'
(oTBeT Ha 3aranKy — narna BHHa, Tejio h nyrna). /JoBOJibHO nacTo 6biBaioT h
3aranKH o KHHrax, HanpHMep, Ha pyKonncHOM XpoHorpa(})e XVII b.: ‘Hexaa
npeMynpaa Beum — hh He6o, hh 3eMjia, jihijom CBeTji03apHa, no Hen co3H-
naioTca nTHHbi nepHbi h KpacHbi, co3HnaioT Tex nTHij Tpoe, non3HpaK)T £Boe,
Bpa3yMJuieT ohhh. Otbct:... 6yMara... nepHHJia nepHbi h KpacHbi... Tpne
nepcTa, ... jma rjia3a, ej^HH — yM HejioBenecKHH.’ /JocTaTOHHo nacTO Ha CTa-
ponenaTHbix KHHrax Mbi HaxojmM h caMbie pa3Hbie 3aranKH h nocjiOBHHbi.
HanpHMep, HpoHHHecKoe co>KajieHHe: ‘nncaji pyKOH — nojmHcaji kjhokoh’

39 Cnupuua 81, X? 46. Oktohx, h. 2. MocKBa: IleHaTHbiH jjBop, 1666.

40 KaHOHHHK XVII b. (pyKonHCb). BocKpeceHCKoe co6paHHe, Xe 63. Tuxo.Mupoe M.H. 3arwcH
XIV — XVII bb. Ha pyKonHcax My^OBa MOHacTbipa // Apxeorpa(f)HHecKHH e)KeroaHHK 3a 1958 r.
MocKBa, 1960, X° 75.

41 roptfiyHKejib A.X. KaTajior khht khphjijiobckoh nenaTH..., 70, X° 110. 3anncb XVIII b. Ha
3K3eMnjiape Tpe6HHKa 1647 r. H3,aaHHH.

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

161

hjih ‘3flTb jiio6ht B3HTb, a TecTb jiioGht necTb’ (EBaHrejine ynHTejibHoe,
MocKBa: nenaTHbiH Aeop, 1662; OPKhP HE Mry, hhb. 2741-3-80).

Mo>kho HanoMHHTb TaioKe HajiHHHe b KaTanorax caMbix pa3JiHHHbix cBe-
AeHHH o nepenneTax, b hhx yHTeHbi CBeAeHHfl o xyAoacecTBeHHOM o(J)opMjie-
hhh, ABTupoBKe, AeHax; h, Kax y>xe roBopHjiocb Bbirne, b pane KaTanoroB
HH(J)opMauH5i o HexoTopbix CTopoHax xyAo^ecTBeHHbix nepenAeTOB coGpaHa
b yKa3aTejiax.

OaeHb peAKO 3anncH coo6maioT HaM hmh HejiOBexa, nepenjieTaBmero
KHHry, ho HHorAa ero mo>kho AOCTaTOHHO yGeAHTejibHO ycTaHOBHTb, n3ynHB
Bee xapaKTepHCTHKH aoeMnjiapa, hto h 3acTaBjiaeT Hac HacTaHBaTb Ha noji-
hom ero onHcaHHH, He orpaHHHHBacb TOJibKo (J)HKcau,HeH 3anHceii. Hanpn-
Mep, 3anHCb Ha eeHTJi6pbCKOH (AononHHTenbHOH) neTBepTH Tpe(()OJiorHOHa
(OPKhP HE Mry, hhb. 2747-6-80) o npOAa>Ke khkth b 1653 r. b MocKBe
4KHH)KHbiM nepenjieTHHKOM’ HBaHOM OeAOpOBbiM eAsa jih 6bi Bbi3Bajia Taxon
HHTepec, ecjiH 6bi Mbi He 3HajiH, hto, Bo-nepBbix, Ha 3K3eMnjiape coxpaHHJi-
c a nepenneT c cynep3KCJiH6pHCOM MocxoBCKoro nenaTHoro Aeopa, h, bo-
BTOpbix, b cnncKax MacTepoBbix nenaTHoro ABopa b 30 — 40 r. 4>HrypHpyeT
nepenjieTHHK HBaH OeAopoB (PrAflA, 4>- 1182, on. 1, eA. xp. 37, ji. 162 h
Ap.)- OneBHAHO, HBaH <I>eAopoB nepenneji h coGcTBeHHyio KHHry, yKpacHB ee
npHBbIHHbIM AA5I Hero THCHeHHeM.

TaKHM o6pa30M, xapaKTep h coAep^caHHe 3annceH noncTHHe 6e3rpaHHHHO
pa3Hoo6pa3Hbi, Tax KaK po>KAaeT hx ynoMimyToe Bbirne BcerAa yHHKajibHoe
coneTaHHe KHHrn h HenoBTOpHMOH aenoBeHecKOH jihhhocth, c ee HenocpeA-
CTBeHHbiMH 3MOHHOHajibHbiMH peaKUHHMH h CTpeMJieHHeM ocTaBHTb o ce6e
naMHTb b Bexax.

noacajiyn caMbiM nopa3HTejibHbiM npHMepoM 3Toro, H3BecTHbiM aBTopy
AaHHOH CTaTbH, HBJiaeTca HaxoAKa KHHrn c 3anHCbio — aBTorpa(j)OM HoBa
JlbroBCKoro. B 1971 r. aKcneAHAHen MocxoBCKoro yHHBepcHTeTa 6bui
nonyneH pyxonHCHbiH c6opHHK, npHHaAJie^caBuiHH CnMeoHy MoxoBHKOBy —
CTOpo>xy KpeMJieBCKoro EjiaroBemeHCKoro coGopa, coAep>KamHH HecKOjibKO
opnrHHajibHbix yHHKanbHbix tckctob,42 b tom HHCJie h noBecTb o >khthh
HoBa JlbroBCKoro (OPKhP HE Mry, BeTKOBCKO-CrapoAyGoBCKoe co6pa-
HHe, JVo 293). HH(j)opMaHH5i noBecTH o npoHcxo^cAeHHH HoBa npHHHHnHajibHo
OTJiHHajiacb ot CBeAeHHH, npHBeAeHHbix paHee B.T. /JpyacHHHHbiM b ero KHHre
‘PacKOJi Ha JXony b KOHue XVII b.’ (CaHKT-neTep6ypr, 1882), nonepnHyTbix
yneHbiM b cahhctbchhom (yTpaneHHOM! H3 coGctbchhoh KOJiJieKHHH yneHoro)
cnncxe >khthh HoBa. MHorojieTHHe noncKH AOKa3aTejibCTB cnpaBeAJiHBocTH
toh hjih hhoh peAaxuHH reKCTa, Aa>xe cnennajibHaa axcneAHUHa Ha J\ oh h
Hnp (rAe yMep Hob JlbroBCKHn) HHnero He AaJiH, TaK>xe kslk h 3anpocbi

42 Ilo3deeea M B. 3anjiaHHpoBaHHoe nyjio nowcKa: O >khthh HoBa AbroBCKoro / / 06mecTBeH-
Hoe co3HaHHe, khh^hoctb, jiHTepaTypa nepHoaa 4>eojiajiH3Ma. Hoboch6hpck, 1990, c. 176 — 183.
Ee >tce. HmHTe h oOpameTe // PoaHHa, 1990, JV9 9, c. 50—55. LJepKOBb, 1992, Me 2, c. 32 — 42.

162

Solanus 1996

b ocHOBHbie pyxonncHbie xpaHHjiHina CTpaHbi. H TOJibKO b 1977 r. otbct
6bin nojiyneH GjiaroAapa HaxoAxe xhhth co CBoepynHOH brjibahoh 3anHCbio
caMoro Piosa JlbroBcxoro, HenocpeACTBeHHO H3 CBoero XVII b. ‘yAOCTOBepH-
Brnero’ npaBHJibHOCTb cbcachkh ‘IloBecTb o 5xhthh’, xoTOpaa cooGmajia, hto
nOABH)KHHK npOHCXO^HJI H3 CeMbH JlHXaHCBblX, >XHBLHHX B BoJIOKOJiaMCKOM
ye3^e Gjih3 Mockbm, othom ero 6biJi Thmo^ch JlHxaneB, TaxHM o6pa30M
CBeTCKoe hmh MoBa — MoaHH THMO(j)eeBHH JlHxaneB.

Eme OAHa Ba>KHaa nepcnexTHBHaa h otjihhho ‘oGecneneHHaa’ Gojibiumm

KOJIHHeCTBOM HCTOHHHXOB TeMa - nOHHMaHHe H oGbHCHeHHe, - C OAHOH

CTopoHbi, — pyxonHCHbix BCTaBOK k TexcTaM cTaponenaTHOH xhhth, Bnn-
caHHbix Ha ee nojia hjih BnjieTeHHbix b KHHry, xax npaBHJio, b nocjieAHHe
TpH sexa, h, no Gojibmeii nacTH po^eHHbix GbiTOBaHHeM KHHrn b pyxax
CTapoBepOB; c Apyroii CTopoHbi, — <J)parMeHTOB nenaTHbix KHur, bxjuohch-
Hbix b CTapooGpaaHecKHe pyxonncHbie KOHBOJiiOTbi. 3Ta TeMa Tax)xe AaBHo
npHBjiexaeT xhhtobcaob h hctophxob, a He^aBHo eii nocBflTHji cboio CTaTbK)
A.B. Bo3HeceHcxHH,43 oGpaTHBUiHH BHHMaHne h Ha H3yneHHe hctophh 3X3eM-
njiapOB CTaponenaTHbix xhht, h Ha ‘cymecTBOBaHHe cTaponenaTHbix xhht b
BH^e xohbojhotob’, h Ha pyxonncHbie AonojiHeHHfl, BHeceHHbie b nenaTHbie
3X3eMnjiapbi, h Ha caMOCTOHTejibHoe (JiyHxiiHOHHpOBaHHe onpeneneHHbix aa -
CTeH H3^aHHH. FIpOHCXO>XneHHe GojIbUIHHCTBa H3 HHX aBTOp CnpaBeZlJIHBO
CB»3biBaeT c xhh)xhoh xyjibTypon cTapooGpa^HecTBa, xoth noHTH Bee 3th
HBJieHHa, B TOH HJIH HHOH (j)OpMe, XapaXTepHbl H JXJin GbITOBaHHa XHHTH B
nepBOH nojiOBHHe XVII b.

HecoMHeHHO, xaTajiorn cTaponenaTHOH xHpHJiJiHHbi aojdxhm conpo-
BOx^aTbca yxa3aTejiaMH tcxctob, AoGaBJieHHbix x 3X3eMnjiapy CBepx H3Aa-
hhji, xax 3to c^ejiaHO b xhhtc M.M. TpmieBcxoH, coGpaBuieH b cneijHajibHbie
yxa3aTejiH He TOJibxo Bee, BXjnoneHHbie b H3yneHHbie eio 3X3eMnjiapbi pyxo-
nncHbie TexcTbi (71 Ha3BaHHe), ho Tax>xe h (j)parMeHTbi XVII — XX b. H3
H3H,aHHH ocxaBuiHxca aBTOpy HeH3BecTHbiMH. PyxonncHbie BCTaBXH, cyAfl no
3TOMy yxa3aTejiK), noHTH He AarapyioTca, xpOMe nacxajiHH, xoTopaa (Ha pa3-
Hbie toabi) oGHapy>xeHa b ab yx THnax xhht (MacoBHHx h TpH 3X3eMnjiapa
CBATueB). B XHHre JI.I4. KncejieBOH ecTb yxa3aTejib HOMepoB 3X3eMnjiapOB,
b xoTopbix ecTb pyxonncHbie jiHCTbi, x co>xajieHHK), Ge3 Ha3BaHHH BoccTaHo-
BJieHHblX HJIH AoGaBHeHHblX TCXCTOB.

Bee Bbiuiecxa3aHHoe no3BOJiaeT yTBep>XAaTb, hto 3X3eMnjiap CTaponenaT-
HOH XHHTH flBJIJieTCJI HeOH,eHHMbIM HCTOHHHXOM AJ™ H3yHeHH5I pyCCXOH HCTO-
pHH h xyjibTypbi. Tax xax b 3anHCflx, xax npaBHJio, oGbeAHHeHa HH())op-
MaHHa npoconorpa(|)HHecxa5i, counajibHaa h reorpac^HHecxaa, Aaiomaa bo3-
MO)XHocTb ycTaHaBjiHBaTb TAe, b HbHx pyxax h xorAa Ha MecTax Ghto-

43 Cm. BojHeceHCKuu A.B. CTaponenaTHaa pyccKaa KHHra h HeKOTopbie npo6jieMbi ee 6biTOBa-
HHH // McTOpHH pyCCKOTO H3bIKa H CeBepHOpyCCKHe TOBOpbi: Me)KBy30BCKHH c6opHHK HayHHbIX

Tpy^OB 1994, c. 36 — 46.

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

163

Bajia /jpeBHJia KHHra, nocKOJibKy penb H/jeT o Tbicanax 3anHcefi, to c co3,aa-
HHeM Ha 3tom MaTepHajie GaHKOB ^aHHbix HccjieAOBaTejm KyjibTypbi h khhth
nojiynHjiH 6bi He TOJibKO 3HaHHTejibHbie, ho h npHHHHnHajibHo HOBbie bo3-
mo)khocth. fljia 3TOTO HeoGxo/mMa: yHH(j)HijHpoBaHHa5i o6pa6oTKa Ony6jlH-
KOBaHHbix aaHHbix, MaKCHMajibHbiH yneT h /jocraTOMHO nojiHoe onncaHHe eme
HeH3yHeHHoro KHpHJuiHHecKoro ())OH^a KaK b Pocchh Tax h b 3apy6e)KHbix
6H6jiHOTeKax; H3,aaHHe KaTajioroB npn AocraTOHHOH CTeneHH yHH(J)HKauHH,
xax MeTo^HKH caMHX onHcaHHH Tax h no/iroTOBKH yKa3aTejieH k neaaTH.
nporpaMMa MauiHHHoro onHcaHHH Bcex ocoGeHHOCTeii aoeMnjiapa h cocTa-
BJieHHe cooTBeTCTByK)u^eH 6a3bi ziaHHbix napajuiejibHo no^roTOBKe KaTajiora
k nenaTH pa3pa6oTaHa h anpoGnpoBaHa b Apxeorpa(j)HHecKOH jiaGopaTO-
pHH Kacj)eapbi McTOHHHKOBeneHHa OTenecTBeHHOH hctophh McTopHnecxoro
(J)aKyjibTeTa Mockobckoto rocyAapcTBeHHoro yHHBepcHTeTa hm. M.B. JIomo-
HOCOBa. O^HaKO ajih ocymecTBjieHHH 3thx uejien HeoGxoaHMo oGbeflHHeHHe
(h MeTO^HHecKoe44 h npaKTHHecKoe!) GojibuiHHCTBa ochobhwx <J)OHaoAep>Ka-
Tejien.

H ecjiH MaTepnaji TOJibKO 20 KaTajioroB CTaBuinx HCTOHHHKaMH npezyiara-
eMoro HCCJieAOBaHHH no3BOJi5ieT roBopHTb o cTOJib pa3HooGpa3Hbix h cyme-
CTBeHHblX HCTOpHKO-KyJIbTypHbIX npoGjieMaX, TO npH yCJIOBHH MaiHHHHOH
oGpaGoTKH HCTopHHecKOH HH(J)opMaaHH mhothx KOJiJieKijHH cTaponenaTHOH
KHpHjiJiHUbi, ero HCTOHHHKOBe^necKoe 3HaneHHe hcbo3mo>kho nepeoueHHTb.

44 B paMKax HayHHOH nporpaMMbi ‘Pe/iKaa nenaTHaa h pyxonHCHaa KHHra b By3ax Pocchh.
CoxpaHeHHe. H3yneHHe. Mcnojib30BaHHe’ npe^npHHMTa noiibmca Bbipa6oTaTb ochobw o6men
MeToziHKH onHcaHHfl 3K3eMnjiapa CTaponenaTHOH khphjijihhcckoh khhth KaK HCTopHHecKoro
HCTOHHHKa, M3KCHMajIbH0 yHHTbIBaa npH 3TOM OnbIT MHOTHX pOCCHHCKHX H 3apy6e>KHbIX Xpa-
HHJiHLU. Cm. Ilo3deeea M.B. OnncaHHe 3K3eMnjiapoB cTaponenaTHbix H3,naHHH khphjijihhcckoto
mpH(J)Ta: MemaHHecKHe peKOMeH/iauHH. MocKBa, CaHKT-neTep6ypr, 1994.

16 Be&. HACTOTHOCTb COXPAHHBUIHXCH 3K3EMIUWPOB H3,HAHHlt (PHE/CII6.)

164

Solanus 1996

XapaKTep h o6beM HCTopanecKOH mi(()<)pMaunH aioeMiuinpoB CTaponenaTHbix HijaiiHH (no yKa3aTejiHM KaiaioroB)

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167

B paGoTe Hcnojib30Bam>i KHHm:

1. ropfiyHKeAb A.X. KaTajior KHHr khphjijiobckoh nenaTH XVI — XVII bb.
JleHHHrpaA, JleHHHrpaACKHH rocyAapCTBeHHbiH yHHBepcHTeT, HaynHaa
6H6jiHOTeKa hm. M. ropbKoro, 1970. (TopffiynKejib 70.)

2. JlyKbHneHKo B.M. KaTanor OejiopyccKHx H3,aaHHH KHpHJinoBCKoro
mp Hejira XVI — XVII b. Bbin. 2 (1601 — 1654 rr.). JleHHHrpa#, 1 1 1 B hm.
M.E. CajiTbiKOBa-meApHHa, 1975. ( JlyKhnneuKo 75.)

3. JIo6anoe B.B. CjiaBHHCKHe khhi h khphjijiobckoh nenaTH XVI — XVIII b.
HayHHOH 6h6jihotckh Tomckoio rocyAapCTBeHHoro yHHBepcHTeTa.
Tomck, H3AaTejibCTBO ToMCKoro yHHBepcHTeTa, 1975. ( JIo6anoe 75.)

4. Ulaudaxoea M B. OnncaHHe kojijickijhh KHHr KHpHJUiHHecKOH nenaTH
XVI — XVII b. TopbKOBCKoro HCTOpHKO-apxHTeKTypHoro My3eji-
3anOBeAHHKa. TopbKHH, FopbKOBCKHH TOCyAapCTBeHHblH HCTOpHKO-
apxHTeKTypHbiii My3eH-3anoBCAHHK, 1975. ( Ulauxadoea 75.)

5. IJo3deeea MB., Kaiuxapoea M.ff., JlepeHMau M.M. KaTajior KHHr
KHpHJUiHHecKOH nenaTH XV — XVII bb. HayHHOH 6h6jihotckh Mockob-
CKoro yHHBepcHTeTa. MocKBa, MTY, 1980. ( IJo3deeea 80.)

6. IJo3deeea M.B. npu ynacmuu M.M. Byeanoea. Kojijickuhji CTaponenaT-
Hbix KHHr XVI— XVII bb. H3 co6paHHH M.H. MyBaHOBa: KaTajior.
MocKBa, rocy/iapCTBeHHaH 6n6jiHOTeKa hm. B.H. JleHHHa, 1981. (I 103-
dee ea 81.)

7. Cnupuna JIM. Khkoi KHpHJUiHHecKOH nenaTH XVI — XVIII bb.
3aropcKoro HCTopHKO-xyjjo^ecTBeHHoro My3e5i-3anoBejuiHKa: KaTajior.
MocKBa, 1981. ( Cnupuna 81.)

8. IJo3deeea MB., Tpoux^Kuu A H. PyKonncHbie h cTaponenaTHbie khhth
B JIHHHbIX Co6paHH5IX MoCKBbI H riOAMOCKOBbfl: KaTaJIOr BbICTaBKH.
MocKBa, KHHra, 1983. ( Mo3deeea 83.)

9. IlaMJiTHHKH nHCbMeHHOCTH b My3eax Bojioro^cKOH o6jiacTH: KaTajior-
nyTeBO^HTejib (1564 — 1825) / Otb. coct. A. A. Amocob. Bojioma, Bojio-
ro^cKoe o6mecTBO BOOIIMK, 1983. (Amocob 83.)

10. IlaMflTHHKH nHCbMeHHOCTH b My3eax Bojioro^CKOH o6jiacTH: KaTajior-
nyTeBO^HTejib. h. 2, Bbin. 2. Khk™ KHpHJUiHHecKOH nenaTH BojioroA-
CKoro o6jiacTHoro My3ea (1575 — 1825) / Otb. pe/r B.B. Mopo30B.
Bojior/ja, Bojioro/iCKoe oT^ejieHHe BOOFIMK, 1985. (Mopo3os 85.)

11. Ocunoea H.n. KaTajior KHHr khphjijihhcckoh nenaTH XVI — XVII b.
IlcKOBCKoro My3ea-3anoBejiHHKa. 2-e H3JT IIckob, IIckobckhh rocy^ap-

CTBeHHblH oGbejIHHeHHblH HCTOpHKO-apXHTeKTypHblH H Xy/IO)KeCTBeH-

HbiH My3eH-3anoBe^HHK, 1985. ( Ocunoea 85.)

168

Solanus 1996

12. BeceAoea JI.&. KaTajior KHHr KHpHJuiHHecKOH nenaT XVI — XVII bb.
Ka3aHCKoro rocyAapCTBeHHoro yHHBepcHTeTa. Ka3aHb, H3AaTejibCTBO
Ka3aHCKoro yHHBepcHTeTa, 1986. ( BeceAoea 86.)

13. CaeocmbHHoe B.B. KojuieKuna KHHr KHpHJuiHHecKOH nenaTH XVI — XVII
bb. rocyaapcTBeHHoro apxHBa .HpocjiaBCKOH o6jiacTH. ilpocjiaBjib,
1986. ( CaeocmbHHoe 86.)

14. AdpocuMoea C.B. CTaponenaTHbie KHpHjijiHHecKHe H3£aHH5i b flHenpo-
neTpoBCKOM HCTopnaecKOM My3ee (1574 — 1800): KaTajior. ^Henpone-
TpOBCK, 1988. ( AdpocuMoea 88.)

15. IlyTeBOAHTejib no (})OH,aaM CTaponenaTHbix KHHr h pyKonncen JIa6opa-
TopHH apxeorpa())HHecKHx HccjieaoBaHHH, coct. A.B. IlojTeTaeB. CBep-
/jjiobck, 1990. ( IJoAemaee 90.)

16. KuceAeea JIM. Kopnyc 3annceH Ha CTaponeaaTHbix KHHrax. Bbin. 1:
3anHCH Ha KHHrax KHpHjuiHHecKoro uipH(j)Ta, HanenaTaHHbix b Mockbc
b XVI — XVII bb. CaHKT-IIeTep6ypr, BAH, 1992. ( KuceAeea 92.)

17. PeAKHe KHHrn HaynHOH 6H6jiHOTeKH CapaTOBCKoro rocy^apCTBeHHoro
yHHBepcHTeTa. Bbin. 13. CTaponenaTHbie H3^aHH5i XV — XVI bb., coct.
H.H. AneKceeBa, H.A. nomcoBa. CapaTOB, 1993. (Cry 93.)

18. rpuifeecKax M.M. Khhth KHpHJuiHHecKOH nenaTH XVI— XVII bb. b (})oh-
^ax Hn^ceropoflCKOH oGjiacTHOH 6h6jihotckh: KaTajior / Hn>Keropo£-
CKau KHH^Haa KyjibTypa: MaTepnajibi h HCCJie^OBaHHa. Hh>khhh Hob-
ropofl, 1993. ( rpuifeecKajH 93.)

19. JlyKbHHenKo B.B. BhAaHHtf KHpHJuiHHecKOH nenaTH XV — XVI bb.
(1491—1600): KaTajior KHHr H3 co6paHH« rnB. CaHKT-neTep6ypr,
1993. (JlyKbHHenKo 93.)

20. B CTaTbe Hcnojib30BaHbi MaTepnajibi 2-h nacTH KaTajiora CTaponenaT-
Hbix H3/jaHHH Mry (1555 — 1640), no/iroTOBJieHHoro rpynnoii aBTopoB k
nenaTH. /Jjia tthx KHHr yKa3biBaioTCfl o6biHHbie ^aHHbie, Heo6xo£HMbie
jbJia H^eHTH(J)HKauHH 3K3eMnjiflpa b GhOjihotckc.

Ranniaia kirillicheskaia kniga

169

Cyrillic Early-Printed Books:

The Importance of Descriptions of Individual Copies

The purpose of this article is to analyse the range and nature of information which
can be revealed through the description of individual copies of cyrillic early-printed
books and the publication of catalogues of collections held in particular libraries. Study
and comparison of twenty catalogues published between 1970 and 1996 highlights the
importance of thorough description and a wide range of indexes. On the basis of infor¬
mation about the state of preservation of particular copies, the number of surviving
copies of a particular edition, on bindings, source of acquisition, marginalia and, most
importantly, inscriptions, historians of culture and of the book can find answers to
many questions.

Given the wealth and variety of information which is to be found in just these twenty
catalogues, it is evident that a database which drew together data about the holdings
of a wide range of libraries, in Russia and abroad, would be an absolutely invaluable
source for research. For this it would be necessary for a unified method of description
to be adopted. A programme suitable for such an enterprise has been worked out and
tested in the Archeographical Laboratory of the Department for the Study of Sources
on Russian History which is part of the History Faculty at Moscow University.

Sorbian Book Printing

Franc Sen

As an introduction, a Sorbian1 poem by Jurij Koch from 1961:

Susodza

Na dowolu w Tatranskej Lomnicy

so mje prasachu

za nowymi wersemi Lorenca,

Krawze a Brezana.

A powedach, stoz wedzach.

Ducy z dowola,
na Budyskej staciji busa,
zetkach mlodej holey.

Dwurecne plany studujo, hodastej,

hac su za Polakow, Cechow
abo sto we za koho?

Snano su za Serbow?

‘Ja, kann man denn wendisch auch schreiben?’

Mi je so wolojnik zlamal.2

The young poet, delighted by outsiders’ interest in the small literature of
his own people, comes home to Lusatia and encounters two women, appar¬
ently just arrived, who are puzzled by the bilingual timetables. Their question
is not really so absurd, nor the answer so obvious, as the poem suggests. It is
possible to imagine that they might somehow have sensed that there are cer¬
tain problems associated with putting any language into writing. It requires
suitable characters, the choice of a dialect as widely comprehensible as possi¬
ble, and not least a standard for the written language and an orthography; but
writers and patrons are also needed, publishers and printers, booksellers and
hundreds of readers. This is an attempt to outline the history of the Sorbian
book through six stages of development or manifestations.

1 In both colloquial and literary German, the term wendisch is commonly used interchangeably
with sorbisch. The name Wenden is a foreign designation of the Sorbs. See also Gerald Stone, The
Smallest Slavonic Nation: The Sorbs of Lusatia (London, The Athlone Press, 1972), pp. 3-5.

2 Jurij Koch, Nadrozny koncert (Bautzen, Domowina, 1965), p. 14. ‘Neighbours. / On holiday
in Tatranska Lomnica, / asked / about the latest poetry / by Lorenc, / Krawza and Brezan. / 1 told
them what I knew. // Back from holiday / at the Bautzen bus station / two young girls. / Studying
the bilingual timetables, wondering / whether they were for Poles, Czechs / or whoever. / For the
Sorbs perhaps? / “Can you really write Wendish too?” / My pencil broke.’

Sorbian Book Printing

171

1. The Beginnings (1574-1668)

The oldest Sorbian book known to us, and of which happily one copy has
survived, was printed in Bautzen in 15 74. 3 It is a hymn-book with Luther’s
Small Catechism,4 which served a parish in Lower Lusatia for a century or
so. It set an example for further printings of the Catechism in other areas:
in Upper Lusatia in 1595, and in 1610 on the northernmost edge of Lower
Lusatia.5 In all, we have at least some evidence for seven printings.

Historical surveys often remark that the Sorbs owe the birth of their print¬
ing to the German Reformation. It is said that Luther’s principle of using
the native language gave rise to the need for religious publications in the
vernaculars of the time. That was not always the case: for instance, in spite
of the Reformation we know of no book in the language of the Dravenopo-
labians in the Hanover Wendland , who had been completely assimilated by
1700. For the Sorbs around Wittenberg, too, and everywhere else where it
was possible, Latin in church services was replaced by German. In Upper and
Lower Lusatia, however, where the rural population

gually Sorbian, and where it was harder for the Reformation to make headway
because of diversified property relations, Sorbian had to be accepted — at least
temporarily — as a language for church use.

Pastors were therefore compelled to translate the most important texts
impromptu, or to have them translated; the most commonly used dogmas,
formulations and hymns were committed to paper in manuscript, and con¬
tinued to be used by their successors. Then some of the clergy found with
concern that many of these renderings made by theologically uneducated men
(Tharaeus speaks of ‘idiots and artisans’6) were irreconcilable with the tenets
of the new faith. There was only one thing to be done: to print and publish
better translations. This was done by editors of books in Sorbian, generally
drawing on their own resources. Naturally they had to work out for them¬
selves the most suitable style, and had also to accept that their books would
probably not be accepted in other parishes, given the patchwork of dialects
in the two Lusatias. Of the earliest Sorbian printed books, those from Lower
Lusatia had been almost completely destroyed by about 1688 on the orders of
the authorities in both Saxony and Brandenburg-Prussia.7

3 See Christiane Kind-Doerne, ‘Sorbischer Buchdruck in Bautzen, vom Ausgang des 16. bis
zum Beginn des 18. Jahrhunderts’, in Archiv fur Geschichte des Buchzvesens, 13 (4), 1973, pp. 933-
1020.

4 Albin Moller, Niedersorbisches Gesangbuch und Katechismus: Budissin 1574 (Berlin, Akademie-
Verlag, 1959) (VerofTentlichungen des Instituts fur Slawistik, 18).

5 Andreas Tharaeus, Enchiridion Vandalicum: ein niedersorbisches Sprachdenkmal aus dem Jahre
1610. Hrsg. . . . von Heinz Schuster-Sewc (Bautzen, Domowina-Verlag, 1990).

6 Tharaeus (note 5), p. 64.

7 See Frido Metsk, Verordnungen und Denkschriften gegen die sorbische Sprache und Kultur
wahrend der Zeit des Spatfeudalismus: eine Quellensammlung (Bautzen, Domowina-Verlag, 1969),

172

Solanus 1996

2. The Development of the Two Written Languages (1670-1730)

Despite these laudable beginnings, even 150 years after the Reformation the
great majority of Sorbian parishes were still improvising and using manuscripts
for their services. But then in 1679 there appeared in Prague the first printed
grammar of the Sorbian language,* * * 8 six years later a Sorbian Catholic Cate¬
chism written according to the rules of that grammar, and shortly after that a
book of the Gospels. This was due to the fact that about one-tenth of the popu¬
lation in Upper Lusatia had remained Catholic under the terms of the religious
status quo (the so-called Traditionsrezess ) agreed in the Peace of Prague, when
the province became a Saxon fief in 1635. As a result Catholic priests, who
had received their training in Prague shortly afterwards, also began to employ
the vernacular; one even translated the entire Bible into his own Middle Lusa-
tian dialect, which seemed well suited to the re-Catholicization of further areas
of Lusatia.

The Protestant clergy were no less active. A commission set up by Michal
Freneel, ebfisisting of incumbents from various dialect areas, had translated
the Gospels before 1670; but the authorities in Upper Lusatia did not allow its
printing until the Catholics had published their own version. Freneel himself
had taken the risk of having separate Gospels printed at his own expense, but
these were immediately confiscated. He complained at the Saxon royal court,
and after decades of relentless struggle finally saw his Sorbian New Testament
published in 1706. His persistence, allied with the support of Pietist-inclined
nobles and the activities of the Counter- Reformation, forced the provincial
diet of Upper Lusatia to reconsider. They finally decided to tolerate Sorbian —
indeed, even to subsidise the printing of some common church texts, and
ordered these to be distributed to every parish in Upper Lusatia which was still
Sorbian-speaking.9 This further, and decisively, promoted the development of
a common Upper Sorbian written language, albeit in Protestant and Catholic
variants.

In Lower Lusatia circumstances were less favourable. There, despite resis¬
tance from the inhabitants, Sorbian was gradually being ousted from church
use. Only in the district of Cottbus, which belonged to Prussia though located
within the Electorate of Saxony, was the language tolerated for political rea¬
sons. Here a German Pietist established the first printing-house himself, and

pp. 15-17 (Schriftenreihe fiir Lehrer und Erzieher im zweisprachigen Gebiet, 1/69); and Frido

Metsk, Der Kurmarkisch-ivendische Distrikt (Bautzen, Domowina-Verlag, 1965), pp. 126-130

(Schriftenreihe des Instituts fur sorbische Volksforschung, 24).

8 Jacobus Xaverius Ticinus, Principia linguae wendicae, quam aliqui wandalicam vocant. Neu-
druck mit einem Vorwort von Frido Michalk (Bautzen, Domowina-Verlag, 1985).

9 Frido Metsk, ‘Der Anteil der Stande des Markgraftums Oberlausitz an der Entstehung der
obersorbischen Schriftsprache (1668-1728)’, in Frido Metsk, Studien zur Geschichte sorbisch-
deutscher Kulturbeziehungen (Bautzen, Domowina-Verlag, 1980), pp. 24-44 (Schriftenreihe des
Instituts fur sorbische Volksforschung, 55).

Sorbian Book Printing

173

in 1706 published Luther’s Catechism, then three years later — using manu¬
scripts already available — the entire New Testament.10 In so doing he laid the
foundations of the Lower Sorbian written language. Owing to the significant
differences between Upper and Lower Sorbian, and to the lack of a single
common economic and cultural centre, these two separate written languages
have survived to the present day.11

To return to Upper Lusatia: although the Catholic clergy were the first to
translate the Bible, they did not receive the necessary support from their supe¬
riors for printing it; so four Protestant pastors were in fact the first to publish
the entire Bible in Sorbian, in 1728. This edition, thanks to its popular lan¬
guage and high quality of printing, ranks today as one of the most precious
Sorbian books ever produced.

3. The Book Reaches the People (1730-1830)

By around 1 7 1 0 at the latest, with the publication of the first Protestant hymn-
book (a Catholic one had appeared sixteen years earlier), the printed book had
ousted the old manuscripts in all the parishes of Upper Lusatia. This firmly
ensured the stability of the Sorbian-German language boundary for over 150
years. Moreover, the sales of Frencel’s New Testament had shown that the
printing of Sorbian books could also be lucrative for the bookseller. With the
gradual improvement of elementary education during the eighteenth century,
the book became an object which even the ordinary man would acquire for
himself. In 1742 a German Pietist published the full Bible in Sorbian again,
and for the first time brought it genuinely to the people by means of the afford¬
able price and the large print run.

The flood of devotional literature now also discovered the Sorbian market.
Soon at least one Sorbian book or pamphlet was appearing each year. Besides
constant new printings and revisions of the hymn-book, there were parts of
the Bible, Catechisms, prayer-books, sermons and many more.

In the period of the Enlightenment, scholars began to take an interest in the
fortunes of the Sorbs and in Sorbian books: in 1740, commemorating three
hundred years of printing, there was published a ‘History of Upper Lusa-
tian printing-houses’ by Christian Knauthe, which contained a contribution
‘On Upper Lusatian Wendish books’.12 A little later, a pastor wrote about
the fifty and more ‘Wendish writings’ which he possessed, thus for the first

10 See Frido Metsk, Die Brandenburgisch-Preufiische Sorbenpolitik im Kreise Cottbus: vom
16. Jahrhundert bis zum Posener Frieden (1806) (Berlin, Akademie-Verlag, 1962), pp. 35-36
(Veroffentlichungen des Instituts fur Slawistik, 25).

11 See Helmut Faflke, ‘Der Weg des Sorbischen zur Schriftsprache’, in Language Reform: His¬
tory and Future , vol. VI, hrsg. Istvan Fodor, Claude Hagege (Hamburg, Helmut Buske Verlag,
1994), pp. 257-283.

1 2 Christian Knauthe, Annales typographici Lusatie Superioris oder Geschichte der Oberlausitzischen
Buchdruckereien (Koln, Bohlau, 1980), pp. 12-36 (Slawistische Forschungen, 30).

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Solanus 1996

time describing a Sorbian library.13 Shortly after the end of the Seven Years’
War there appeared three works of importance to the formation of a national
consciousness, all of them with bibliographies of earlier Sorbian publications.
The most detailed one — not yet superseded — was by Knauthe.14 In the same
year a pastor named Jurij Mjen demonstrated the ‘worth, riches, beauty and
honour’ of the Sorbian language in his metrically accurate translation from
Klopstock’s Messias. In the Recerski kerlis (‘Poetic song’), written in hexame¬
ters in the same style, the same writer celebrated the ‘crowd of pious writers’
and founded secular Sorbian poetry.

4. Foundation and Development of Sorbian Publishing

and Book Culture (1830-1933)

In the mid-nineteenth century, after a hundred years of almost exclusively
religious publishing, numerous books on secular subjects suddenly began to
appear: in 1841-43 Smoler’s encylopaedic work Volkslieder der Wenden in der
Ober- und Niederlausitz — Pesnicki horny ch a delnych Luziskich Serbow;lFj in 1847
Serbski kzvas (‘Sorbian wedding’), the libretto of a secular oratorio by Handrij
Zejler; in 1849 Mucink’s Ribozvcenjo (‘The citizens of Ribow, or a political
tale of modern times’); in 1850 a book on Greenland and its inhabitants; in
1852 Wjela-Radyserb’s historical account of the battle of Hochkirch; and in
1854 Stempel’s metrical translation into Lower Sorbian of Phaedrus’ fables —
to mention only a few typical examples. All the writers were inspired by the
ambition to make a general education accessible in Sorbian to their own peo¬
ple, to apply scholarship to their own history and national culture, to transmit
that scholarship in their own language, and to develop the latter further in so
doing.

With this purpose, in 1847 Protestant and Catholic clergy and teach¬
ers formed a scholarly and cultural society, the Macica Serbska. From then
onwards, this private institution has published a scholarly journal16 as well as

13 ‘Verzeichniss aller edierten wendischen Schriften, des oberlausitz-budissinischen-
camenzischen und lobauischen Creises, nebst kurzen Anmerkungen, welche alle zusammen
colligieret und besitzet Christoph Friedrich Faber [...]’, in Acta historico-ecclesiatica (Weimar),
10 (1746), pp. 518-550.

14 Georg Korner, Philologisch-kritische Abhandlung von der Wendischen Sprache und ihrem Nutzen
in den Wissenschaften [. . .] (Leipzig, 1766); Kurzer Entwurf einer Oberlausitz-wendischen Kirchenhis-
torie abgefafit von einigen Oberl. wendischen evangel. Predigern (Budissin, 1767); Christian Knauthe,
Derer Oberlausitzer Sorberwenden umstandliche Kirchengeschichte [Gorlitz, 1767], hrsg. von R. Olesch
(Koln/Wien, Bohlau, 1980) (Mitteldeutsche Forschungen, 85).

15 Volkslieder der Sorben in der Ober- und Nieder-Lausitz — Pesnicki horny ch a delnych Luziskich
Serbow. Fotomechanischer Nachdruck mit einem Vorwort von Jan Raupp (Bautzen, Domowina-
Verlag, 1992).

16 Casopis Macicy Serbskeje — Zeitschrift der Gesellschaft Macica Serbska. Fotomechanischer Neu-
druck. Auswahl, Zusammenstellung und Bibliographie Jan Petr (Bautzen, Domowina-Verlag,
1986-1987), 2 vols.

Sorbian Book Printing

175

books for education and recreation. Whereas, up to 1840, only one or two
Sorbian books had been published in a year, ten years later the number was
between ten and twenty.

The principal instigator of the society’s foundation was Jan Arnost Smoler. 1 7
He was also the first editor of the journal just mentioned, Casopis Macicy Serb-
skeje ; he established the first Sorbian publishing and bookselling concern in
Bautzen in 1851; and in 1873-75 he erected the Macica building, the first
home of the nation’s cultural life. The library and archive of the Macica
Serbska, previously in private accommodation, were housed there; and there
Smoler also set up a printing-house with loans from fellow Slavs. The Sorbian
House in Bautzen, financed by contributions from the Sorbs themselves and
inaugurated in 1904, also owed its existence to his initiative.

By the turn of the century, numerous published series were covering a grow¬
ing range of instructional, recreational and factual literature, including several
series of dramatic texts for the secular theatre. ‘To keep Sorbian as a living
language, so as to develop with its help the highest attainable level of human
culture’, as Jakub Lorenc-Zaleski put it in his diary in 1936 18 — this was the
hope and endeavour of the Sorbian intellectuals.

5. The End for a Time (1933-1945)

Notwithstanding all the financial sacrifices which authors and publishers had
made in order to secure the existence of the Sorbian book, the most difficult
years were still ahead. Two-and-a-half months after the National Socialists’
assumption of power in Germany, all the senior staff of Smoler’s printing-
house and bookshop were removed. Outsiders, with no interest in the enter¬
prise but accommodating to the Nazis, replaced them. In the spring of 1934
the enterprise was declared bankrupt. A courageous young lawyer, Dr Jan Cyz,
bought the Sorbian firm and attempted, with as few concessions as possible,
to carry on its publishing and printing activity on a more modest scale. This
was not tolerated for long. On 25 August 1937 a unit of the Gestapo occupied
the Sorbian House, arrested the manager and sealed the rooms.19 The print¬
ing equipment was dismantled, and the books in the stock-room and the shop
were sent for shredding. The valuable library of the Macica Serbska was con¬
fiscated and carried off to Berlin. Sorbian teachers and clergy were transferred
to German-speaking areas. Deprived of its foundations, the Sorbian language
for years disappeared almost completely from public usage. Even the use of the

17 Johann Ziesche, "Das sorbische Druckereiwesen in Bautzen’, in Bautzener Kulturschau ,
14 (1) (1964), pp. 8-10; 14 (2) (1964), pp. 10-11.

18 Serbska citanka — Sorbisches Lesebuch, hrsg. von Kito Lorenc (Leipzig, Reclam-Verlag, 1981),
P- 5.

19 Jan Cyz, W tlamje jecibjela: dopomnjenki na leta 1926 do 1944 [Memoirs] (Budysin, Ludowe
nakladnistwo Domowina, 1984), pp. 134-138.

176

Solanus 1996

terms Wenden or Sorben in any publication was prohibited by the authorities.

6. The Serbian Book after the Second World War

Until 1937 Sorbian imaginative literature was almost universally published
in small, very modest and cheap popular editions. This was dictated by the
limited print-runs, the absence of a middle class and the predominantly rural
readership. There were a few exceptions: scholarly publications and definitive
editions of national literary works, led by the four-volume collected works of

Handrij Zejler (1883-1891), and Jakub Bart-Cisinski’s first volumes of lyrics,
with which he first introduced classical poetry in Sorbian.

By the sixties of this century, after many post-war difficulties and makeshifts
had been overcome, an entirely new scene presented itself: Sorbian books in
attractive bindings, many of them well illustrated, were appearing in growing
numbers at the international book fairs in Leipzig and Warsaw. This was a
sign of both the cultural and the linguistic blossoming of this small Slavonic
literature. Whereas the role of the Sorbian book had until then been limited to
exploring the identity and forming the consciousness of its own people, now
critical modern lyric poetry, novels and multi-volume historical works were
appearing, often in bilingual editions. Sorbian fairy-tales and translations of
children’s literature indicated in their imprints collaboration with foreign pub¬
lishers. New, substantial collected editions of the literary heritage appeared
alongside historical and linguistic writing, illustrated books, reference works
and so on. Most striking of all was the number of new titles: 90 to 100 per
year — ten times that of the period before 1937.

The first cause of this unexpected flowering was the state-owned Domow-
ina publishing-house, founded in 1958, with its editorial staffs for imagina¬
tive and scholarly literature, which took an active part in the development.
The second cause was the setting-up of Sorbian schools and of two extended
secondary schools (now Gymnasia). An editorial staff for school textbooks at
Domowina supplemented this. The third cause was a university department of
Sorbian studies at Leipzig University and a non-university research institute at
Bautzen, both of which could — and still can — devote themselves professionally
to the study of Sorbian history, language and literature. The prerequisite for
all this was the ‘Law guaranteeing the rights of the Sorbian population’ passed
by the provincial parliament of Saxony in 1948, which ushered in the insti¬
tutionalization of the minority culture. Allowing for justifiable doubts about
the good faith of some state representatives of the GDR in furthering Sor¬
bian interests — for this process was also linked with domination, regulation
and censorship — nevertheless after 1945 the Sorbian book was afforded the
same opportunities as those possessed by the literatures of other peoples. Its
long and difficult earlier history proved to be a precondition which allowed
the new possibilities to be fully exploited. The professionalization of Sorbian

Sorbian Book Printing

111

culture which now set in enabled it to rise above provincial narrowness and
limitations, and to foster effectively the creative potential at hand.

7. Preserving the Cultural Heritage for the Future

A number of Sorbian libraries were founded from the mid-eighteenth century
onwards by private individuals or associations. The most important one to
collect early and current Sorabica relatively systematically was the library of
the Macica Serbska, set up in 1848. As has been mentioned, its stock was
confiscated and removed to Berlin in 1937, and then in 1943 evacuated to
an estate in Lusatia. Happily, after the war the Sorbian books were found
unharmed and largely intact. This part of the stock of the Macica’s library
formed the basis of the Sorbian Central Library in Bautzen, founded in 1949,
which was shortly afterwards attached to the Sorbian Academy-Institute set
up there in 1951. Early and rare Sorbian printed books are also preserved in
other libraries in Germany and elsewhere.20 One of the desiderata for research
on Sorbian printing is the listing and description of these books. Together
with the recording and preservation of this heritage, and facing a diminishing
readership and changed economic conditions, the chief concern of the Sorbs
is to carry on the four hundred years and more of tradition behind Sorbian
printing and literature.

Translated from German by Gregory Walker

20 For example, the Herzog-August-Bibliothek in Wolfenbiittel possesses the first Upper Sor¬
bian book — Wenceslaus Warichius’ Small Catechism printed in Bautzen in 1595 — and the Rats-
schulbibliothek in Zwickau has a reprint of 1597, while the sole copy held in Bautzen was burned
in St Michael’s Church during the fighting in April 1945.

Slavic Studies Librarians in North America:
Current Challenges and Future Expectations*

June Pachuta Farris

Introduction

It seems nearly as difficult to provide a concise portrait of North American
Slavic Studies librarians as it is to formulate one, all-encompassing descrip¬
tion of the collections they manage or the academic programs which provide
the basis for their development. Nevertheless, creating a profile of a North
American Slavic Studies librarian is not such an impossibility as it might seem,
because we do all share some fundamental goals and because, generally speak¬
ing, we share a commonality of experience, through our library education,
through the professional organizations and activities in which we participate
and, most of all, through our shared problems and struggles to find solutions
to them. I will at least make the attempt to provide a composite sketch of who
we are and what we do.

The very term ‘Slavic Studies librarian’ is elusive and inexact, opening the
door to a myriad of possible variations in both the geography encompassed and
the tasks performed. We are bibliographers, catalogers, reference and informa¬
tion specialists, preservationists, administrators, accountants, linguists, trans¬
lators, consultants, scholars, researchers, writers, editors and teachers. Some
of us must perform all of these functions within the scope of one job, acting
as their library’s sole representative of ‘things Slavic’; many others of us share
these responsibilities among a professional staff of two or three or four, while
a very few of us are able to concentrate all of our attention in one area or lan¬
guage, either because we are part of a large staff of specialists or because our
library (and academic institution) has chosen to focus on only one language or
area of Slavic and East European Studies. Our libraries are organized in what
seems like an infinite number of ways, from the most decentralized network
of specialized and autonomous departmental libraries to the most centralized
type of library where all procedures must conform to a fixed set of standards.
This, of course, directly influences the ways in which we can function and
interact with our colleagues at other institutions.

The geographic areas and the languages we must deal with are equally
diverse, so that our formal titles rarely encompass the extent of our ‘area’. Per¬
haps the ideal, if staggeringly awkward title for most of us would be ‘Librarian

* Research for this publication was supported by a grant from the International Research and
Exchanges Board, with funds provided by the U.S. Department of State (Title VIII) and the
National Endowment for the Humanities. None of these organizations is responsible for the views
expressed.

Slavic Studies Librarians in North America

179

for Slavic, Baltic, Balkan, Central Asian, Transcaucasian, Central and East
European Studies’ or some such variation. For the sake of simplicity, in the
course of this paper, I will use ‘Slavic and East European’ as the most repre¬
sentative form used in our tides and in our publications.

Likewise, since the great majority of Slavic and East European specialists
work in academic libraries or large research libraries such as die Library of
Congress or the New York Public Library, for the purposes of this presenta¬
tion, my remarks will be limited to research libraries, while being aware that
there will be some important differences for those in other types of libraries.
Also, I will most often speak of the situation pertaining to libraries and librar¬
ians in the United States, all the while keeping in mind our close contacts
and many similarities with our Canadian colleagues, with whom we regularly
exchange ideas and information, both informally and through a wide variety
of conferences, meetings and workshops in both of our countries.

Shared Backgrounds

The history of Slavic collections, particularly Russian collections, in U.S.
libraries reaches back into the first decades of the nineteenth century and
even earlier for some small number of U.S. academic and research libraries
clustered on the eastern seaboard, with only a few widely scattered collec¬
tions of any size or significance to be found in the midwest or west before the
middle of the twentieth century. The real growth in the number and size of
Slavic and East European collections began only in the late 1950s and early
1960s, concurrent with the formation of a network of federally funded uni¬
versity area studies centers. Generous grants from private foundations and
funding agents further enhanced the growth of these Slavic collections. As
the collections grew, the necessity for more staff with language and subject
expertise also grew. By the 1970s and 1980s, the earlier generations of Slavic
librarians, recruited primarily from the ranks of academic departments, were
followed by a generation trained expressly as librarians, albeit with strong cre¬
dentials in other academic disciplines as well. (In general, Slavic librarians who
began working in the field during the last twenty years hold a library masters
or doctorate degree, as well as an advanced degree in some area of Slavic and
East European studies, most often in history, literature or linguistics.)

With very few exceptions, the current state of library education for Slavic
specialists continues this traditional dual pattern of separate degrees. In prepa¬
ration for a national conference on ‘The Future of Area Studies Librarianship’,
which took place in Indianapolis, Indiana, in July 1995, under the auspices of
Indiana University, a questionnaire was sent to over 550 area studies librari¬
ans, library directors and deans of library schools. Of the 35 library schools
responding to the questionnaire, only two reported offering a joint degree pro¬
gram, one of them being Indiana University’s new program for Slavic and East

180

Solanus 1996

European librarianship. Only six libraries (17.1%) reported offering course
work that focuses primarily on area librarianship. The most usual manifesta¬
tion of this course work for the Slavic and East European area is one course
or sequence of courses on Russian bibliography or Slavic bibliography, gen¬
erally offered to both library school students and graduate students in other
disciplines. In addition, some few schools offer the possibility of an internship
or practicum, allowing the student to gain experience by actually working in
a Slavic unit or department. Although the need for specialized training has
always been there, particularly since a significant number of Slavic librari¬
ans fill unique positions within their institutions, with no other Slavic librar¬
ian available for consultation, formal specialized training remains difficult to
obtain.

Hie initiative for professional development for Slavic librarians has come
from Slavic librarians themselves, most often through numerous externally
funded ad hoc programs, workshops, seminars and lecture series offered on
the local, regional or national level. In the early 1970s, the University of Illi¬
nois Slavic and East European Library sponsored a workshop for beginning
Slavic librarians, not followed by another until nearly two decades later in
1989. In 1978, that same library hosted a workshop on ‘Slavic Bibliography’
funded by the National Endowment for the Humanities, followed by another
workshop on ‘Russian, Soviet and East European Bookstudies’ in 1990. Since
1984, the Slavonic and Baltic Division of the New York Public Library has
offered a series of staff seminars on a wide variety of topics, drawing on the
expertise of the many Slavic library specialists in the New York metropoli¬
tan area. The Slavic and East European Section of the Association of College
and Research Libraries (SEES/AC RL), a division of the American Library
Association, for many years now has had a Continuing Education Committee,
which, from time to time, has itself sponsored workshops on a variety of top¬
ics. The most recent of these took place during the 1992 National Conference
of the American Library Association, concerning ‘Slavic and East European
Collections and the Dilemmas of the Non-Specialist’ and ‘New Challenges
in Slavic and East European Librarianship’. Supplementing these workshops
are the Section’s annual program panel. And over the last twenty-five years,
the number of library-related panels and roundtables presented at the con¬
ferences of the American Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies
(AAASS) has grown considerably, so that each year’s conference offers the
opportunity of six or seven separate panels on a extensive array of topics, both
scholarly and practical. A review of the SEES Newsletter (1985-)1 can provide

1 The SEES Newsletter is published annually by SEES ACRL, a division of the American
Library Association (latest volume: no. 1 1, 1995). Non-members may subscribe by sending $6.00
(U.S.) and $8.00 (foreign) to: SEES Newsletter, c/o Allan Urbanic, The Library, Room 346,
University of California, Berkeley, CA 94720.

Slavic Studies Librarians in North America

181

a detailed picture of most of these events and a host of others. Through mem¬
bership in SEES/ACRL and/or AAASS, as well as participation in a variety of
special workshops, Slavic librarians new to the field have generous opportu¬
nities for increasing their expertise and knowledge of their field in a relatively
short period of time.

Shared Goals

In my introduction, I made reference to some fundamental goals and objec¬
tives that we Slavic librarians share, whatever the size of our collections, staffs
and budgets or whether these collections are found in private institutions or
public. Although these objectives are obvious, basic, and simple in their state¬
ment, the obstacles to fulfilling them are enormous and complex. I would list
the following among the most important of our common goals:

— To provide our own library’s primary users with the specific materials
and information they need to conduct their study, teaching and research,
whether through acquisition or the sharing of resources.

— To maintain a reasonable and representative level of acquisition of new
materials in all of the languages and from all of the countries under our
jurisdiction.

— To maintain in-depth coverage in those areas of the humanities and social
sciences that have formed the basis of most of our academic collections.

— To build collections in new areas of research and in areas for which there
is renewed interest or for which information is newly available.

— To preserve our collections using both traditional and new technologies.

— To continue to make our collections as physically and bibliographically
accessible as possible, using both traditional and new technologies.

Shared Problems

Slavic librarians have always faced serious and distinctive problems in develop¬
ing and managing their collections, which I will not go into in any great detail
here. For an excellent and concise summary of the state of Slavic librarianship
in North America up to 1991, I would recommend Marianna Tax Chold-
in’s contribution to the article ‘Area Studies in United States Libraries’.2 The
many new difficulties which have arisen since 1991 seem interminable and
infinite in scope and have consumed the major portion of our professional
lives and meetings for the last four years. In no particular order or emphasis, I
will merely mention a few of the most pressing (and depressing) of them:

2 Advances in Librarianship , v. 15, pp. 239-245.

182

Solanus 1996

— The lack of bibliographic control over currently published materials, cou¬
pled with very small tirages and a very short ‘in print’ life for most publi¬
cations.

— Substantial increases in book prices and serial subscriptions, coupled with
static or declining budgets for most North American libraries. (Repeated
serial cancellation projects are a common circumstance at many libraries,
just at this time in history when hundreds of interesting and important new
Slavic and East European journals, almanachs and newspapers are being
published.)

— The diversity of subjects, languages, countries and vendors we must deal
with, because no one or two dealers is now able to provide comprehensive
coverage for all countries and languages in which we collect materials.

— The deterioration of exchange programs. (Many libraries once relied upon
for extensive exchange programs can no longer provide comprehensive
coverage or can do so only at greatly increased prices which, at times,
exceed those of commercial vendors. Other libraries, with access to impor¬
tant institutional publications, have been forced to cancel their exchange
programs or suspend them indefinitely. Developing new subject profiles
and renegotiating new exchange terms in relation to wildly fluctuating cur¬
rencies has more than ever become a time-consuming process.)

— Large cataloging arrearages which remain (and continue to grow) in spite
of many local, regional and national projects to reduce their numbers.

— The continued need for the preservation of materials already in our collec¬
tions, an expensive and labor-intensive process.

— The need for direct and speedy communication with our colleagues at
libraries in all the countries of the former Soviet Union and Eastern
Europe.

Shared Solutions

Because these and many other problems seem almost insurmountable, both
in the past and in the present, the need and desire for formal and informal
cooperative efforts in acquisitions, cataloging, preservation and reference have
emerged over the last twenty-five years as a consistent theme at our confer¬
ences and workshops. The development of our two national automated bib¬
liographic utilities, OCLC (On-Line Computer Library Center) and RLIN
(Research Libraries Information Network), has done more to foster cooper¬
ation and the exchange of data than any other single factor, followed in the
last few years by the rapid development of the Internet and personal elec¬
tronic communication. Whether it be for the acquisition of new materials, the
retrospective conversion of card files to electronic records, the dissolution of
uncataloged arrearages or the preservation of deteriorating collections, Slavic

Slavic Studies Librarians in North America

183

and East European-related library grants, almost without exception, include a
component for loading any new bibliographic records created into OCLC and
RUN, thus making them available to the world at large.

Cooperative efforts seem to have been most successful and sustained in the
areas of cataloging and preservation, areas for which one can define known
quantities of material with some precision, divide responsibilities likewise and
measure the results. Reviewing the ‘Library News’ column of the AAASS
NewsNet 3 and the ‘Grants’ section of the SEES Newsletter reveals an impres¬
sive array of cataloging and preservation projects involving Slavic materials.
However, it becomes immediately evident that individual libraries cannot sup¬
port such efforts using their own monetary resources, but must rely on fed¬
eral and private foundation programs such as the U.S. Department of Educa¬
tion’s Title II-C competitions, programs of the National Endowment for the
Humanities (NEH), as well as other programs such as the ‘Special Projects for
Library and Information Science’ of the International Research and Exchange
Board (IREX). The future for continued federal funding at past levels seems
distinctly discouraging, given the current impetus of the federal government
to decrease grant programs of every kind. All of our ingenuity and skill will be
needed to pursue similar efforts in the future.

Cataloging! Retrospective Conversion

Among the national shared cataloging initiatives which have included a
Russian or Slavic component are the Library of Congress’s NCCP project
(National Cooperative Cataloging Project), for which various libraries have
provided authority records and bibliographic data to RLIN and OCLC. Other
projects, such as the recent University of California Berkeley/Stanford Univer¬
sity/Hoover Institution’s three-year project to convert 186,360 manual records
into machine-readable form and load them into their online catalogs and
OCLC and RLIN (adding 24,300 new titles to those databases), have made
significant contributions to all aspects of our cooperative efforts.

Enormous backlogs of uncataloged Slavic and East European materials
have been a chronic problem for North American research libraries for
many decades. In May 1989, through the sponsorship of the Social Sciences
Research Council (SSRC) and the American Council of Learned Societies
(ACLS), a conference of some fifty Slavic and East European library and
information specialists was held to discuss the problem of access to Slavic and
East European materials in North American libraries. Cataloging arrearages
that number in the tens of thousands were deemed to be a primary prob¬
lem of the profession, a major obstacle to truly effective cooperative collection

3 NewsNet: The Newsletter of the AAASS. Published five times a year by AAASS, 8 Story Street,
Cambridge, Mass., MA 02138. Fax: 617-495-0677.

184

Solanus 1996

development and a barrier to research. In 1992 and 1993, in response to this
situation, SSRC and ACLS were able to offer awards totaling $676,000 for 17
cataloging projects at 1 5 different institutions.

Preservation

Over the last twenty years, a substantial number of individual library
projects have been funded, such as the New York Public Library’s $21 1,000
Department of Education Title II-C grant for the preservation of ‘The
Russian Illustrated Book and Photographic Collections’ or the University of
Kansas’s $105,000 Title II-C grant for the preservation and cataloging of
3,000 nineteenth-century titles on the social history of Imperial Russia. Many
other large, cooperative efforts contain a substantial Slavic component, such
as the Hoover Institution’s NEH grant of almost $1,000,000 for the preser¬
vation of more than 60,000 rare European pamphlets, many of which were
published in Eastern Europe. And, beginning in 1988 and continuing through
the present, in a series of preservation projects funded by NEH, the CIC con¬
sortium (Committee for Interinstitutional Cooperation) has received several
millions of dollars for joint preservation projects, a number of which have
included Slavic materials: the University of Illinois has filmed and recataloged
1,500 eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Russian monographs, while Indi¬
ana University Library filmed 140 Russian, Polish, Czech, Slovak, Yugoslav
and Bulgarian serial titles found in its collections and the University of Michi¬
gan is currently filming 1,950 volumes of Russian, Soviet and East European
serial publications of academies, universities and learned societies.

Reference

Although generally much more informal and individualized than coopera¬
tive efforts in the technical services, cooperation in the field of reference ser¬
vice has perhaps been the most immediately effective area of interaction and
cooperation. The Slavic Reference Service of the University of Illinois Library,
available to the international community of scholars since the early 1980s, is a
source of last resort often used by librarians as well as researchers. In 1991, in
a stroke of good fortune that kept us from total despair during the collapse of
the Soviet publishing and book distribution network, came the full emergence
and availability of the Internet and the consequent development of the Slavic
Librarians Forum/Listserve (initiated by Allan Urbanic of the University of
California Berkeley Library). Both of these events changed the dimensions of
our professional world forever. Among its many other uses, we use the forum
to query each other about difficult or elusive reference questions and perhaps
most importantly, to determine specific serial holdings not listed in any pub¬
lished sources.

Slavic Studies Librarians in North America

185

A cquisitions /Collection Development

Cooperative efforts in the area of acquisitions and collection development
have been much more problematic, difficult to formulate and even more diffi¬
cult to execute, perhaps because we are dealing with the unknown elements of
changing user needs and materials yet to be published or yet to be acquired.
In addition, our individual materials budgets are so complexly tied to our indi¬
vidual libraries’ general budgets, that it is often quite difficult to make long¬
term commitments that we know would be of benefit to our own institution
and the scholarly community as a whole. Sharing information about major
acquisitions is not at all uncommon, but a truly satisfactory model by which
one can predetermine which library should purchase certain materials from
certain countries and in certain languages, has not yet evolved. Nevertheless,
many efforts at cooperative acquisitions have been made in the last twenty-five
years, particularly at the local and regional levels. Although a few collabora¬
tive efforts have been in existence for some time (the University of North Car¬
olina/ Duke University/University of Virginia arrangement, for example or the
Indiana University/University of Michigan Slavic acquisitions guidelines), no
comprehensive, large-scale program for the cooperative acquisitions of Slavic
and East European materials yet exists. In all of our present and future efforts,
the importance of formal consortia in this process is likely to be great, provid¬
ing the infrastructure necessary to administer special arrangements and agree¬
ments. Among the more broadly based groups which currently exist or are in
the process of being organized are:

— CIC. The Committee for Interinstitutional Cooperation is a long-standing
consortium of twelve midwest universities and their libraries, including
the public universities of Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, Minnesota, Iowa
and Pennsylvania, as well as private institutions such as the University
of Chicago and Northwestern University. Its subgroup of Slavic and
East European specialists formally met in 1992 to discuss possible future
projects and areas for cooperation. They have surveyed their library staffs
and produced a joint list of staff language expertise and regularly exchange
information about large acquisition purchases.

— ECCSC. The East Coast Consortium for Slavic Collections, whose mem¬
bership includes the libraries of Columbia University, Cornell, Harvard,
Princeton, Yale and the New York Public Library, first met in 1993 to
explore the possibilities for cooperative efforts and have continued to com¬
municate via an electronic mail listserve.

— PACSLAV. The Pacific Coast Slavic and East European Library Consor¬
tium whose participating membership includes Stanford University, Uni¬
versity of California Berkeley, University of Washington and the Univer¬
sity of Hawaii. Affiliate members include the University of California Los

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Angeles, University of Oregon and the University of British Columbia.
They are in the final stages of formalizing their by-laws and have already
begun to identify areas for further discussion.

— SEEMP. The Slavic and East European Microforms Project is in the
beginning stages of organization. The Center for Research Libraries has
formed a steering committee, with representatives from CIC, ECCES,
PACSLAV and the Bibliography and Documentation Committee of
AAASS, in order to explore the possibility of a Slavic equivalent to other
area studies microform projects currently administered by the Center.

— SLAVIC LIBRARIANS WORKSHOP. This workshop was first orga¬
nized in 1991 in response to the problems created by the collapse of the
Soviet Union’s publishing and book distribution network and has since
met annually in conjunction with the University of Illinois Russian and
East European Summer Research Laboratory. The workshop is not a for¬
mal consortium per se, but an unofficial forum to discuss in detail various
aspects of collection development and cataloging. Participation is open to
all Slavic and East European librarians and each year draws a diverse group
from a variety of regions in the United States and Canada.

Conclusion

‘Future expectations’ is the final phrase of this paper’s title, so I will end with
what I think these expectations can reasonably be in an environment where so
much is beyond our control. These expectations are modest and achievable, I
think, but nevertheless, extremely important, not returning us to past patterns,
but creating some degree of order so that we all can deal with the difficulties
inherent in our work in new ways. Among my expectations for the next five
years are:

— Improved bibliographic control over currently published materials in all
the countries in which we have an interest.

— A better understanding of the uses, benefits, limits and capabilities of
exchange programs.

— A more stable and developed infrastructure for publishers and commer¬
cial vendors, with a subsequent improvement in reliable book distribution
networks. (One effort in this direction is the ‘Handbook on Procedures
For the Acquisition of Slavic and East European Materials for Vendors
and Exchange Partners’, being compiled by the Subcommittee on Collec¬
tion Development of the AAASS Bibliography and Documentation Com¬
mittee. The handbook is now in draft form and will hopefully be ready
for publication by the end of 1995; it is meant to be widely distributed
internationally among Slavic and East European publishers, vendors and
librarians.)

Slavic Studies Librarians in North America

187

— A more stable pricing system, somewhere between the very inexpensive
books of the Soviet era and the often inflated cost of many current imprints.

— Improved bibliographic and physical access to special collections and
archives.

— A continued increase in the communication and cooperation of Slavic
librarians around the world.

One final word about what is perhaps our most useful resource — our abil¬
ity and willingness to communicate with each other, whether electronically,
through print or in person. Throughout this talk I have mentioned the Inter¬
net, electronic mail, the Slavic Librarians Listserve and several other manifes¬
tations of new electronic technologies that have greatly changed the way we do
what we do and how we communicate with each other. We do communicate
with each other without hesitation and with much more frequency than in the
past. When we do meet face to face, there has usually been a great deal of ear¬
lier electronic discussion that allows us to focus our attention on the issues at
hand more quickly and productively than in the past. This ease and breadth of
communication is now beginning to extend itself to our colleagues around the
world and will stand us all in good stead as we pursue common interests and
develop strategies to solve mutual problems on an international level, some¬
thing which is surely necessary, given the scope of the areas we cover and the
obstacles we face.

Political crisis half a world away, monetary restrictions at home and the
infinity of cyberspace have succeeded in bringing North American Slavic
librarians together into a close-knit working group, something that could not
have been foreseen when the first Slavic Librarians Conference was organized
almost twenty-five years ago. In many ways we are among the most diverse
of groups, responding to the individual needs of our very different institu¬
tions and addressing our problems from very distinctive perspectives. But after
reviewing our activities of the last twenty-five years or so, even I was surprised
at the sheer quantity of our joint efforts and the many little successes we have
brought about. These are what I have chosen to emphasize. In spite of having
to resort to broad generalities, I hope that I have been able to convey to you
the dimensions of our activities and the interest, commitment, concern and
affection that we feel toward our work and each other.

Reviews

R. H. Davis, Jr., Slavic and Baltic Library Resources at The New York Public
Library: A First History and Practical Guide. New York: The New York Public
Library; Los Angeles: Charles Schlacks, Jr., 1994. xviii, 173 pp. Illustrations.
ISBN 0871044382.

The Slavic and Baltic Division of The New York Public Library occupies a
central place in the landscape of American Slavic studies, as Davis amply doc¬
uments in this fine publication. It also played a key role in late imperial and
early Soviet Russian librarianship. The works of L. B. Khavkina, one of the
leaders of the library profession in Russia before and after the October Revo¬
lution who wrote extensively on American library practice in general and The
New York Public Library in particular, exerted a great influence on the emerg¬
ing profession. V. I. Lenin read these works, as well as the Library’s annual
report for 1911, which left such a lasting impression that he later coined
the term ‘Swiss-American system’ (of library service) to express the ideal
to which the Soviet library profession should aspire (his experience in Swiss
libraries also impressed him favourably). NYPL staffers Avrahm Yarmolinsky
and Harry Miller Lydenberg travelled to Russia in 1923-24 to buy books,
and while there lectured at the Rumiantsev Museum Library (very shortly to
become the State Lenin Library) to an enthusiastic audience of Russian librar¬
ians. At last library historians can begin to assess the influence of The New
York Public Library on Russian and American libraries alike, using this ‘first
history’ as their starting point.

Davis’s history is chiefly a story of collection-building, with some reference
to the Library’s users, and deliberately relatively little discussion of the Divi¬
sion’s internal organization and operation, or of key personnel. Three themes
dominate the story. First and foremost, there is the pivotal role of the Russian,
Baltic and East European emigration in the building of the collection, serving
at once as producer, consumer, benefactor, donor, facilitator and vendor. Sec¬
ondly, Davis chronicles the rise of Slavic studies in the U.S. as an academic
discipline and relates the development of the Slavic and Baltic Division to this
phenomenon. Thirdly, he documents the evolution of inter-institutional coop¬
erative relations and collaboration with other great Slavic collections in the
U.S., such as Harvard University, the Library of Congress, Columbia Uni¬
versity, the Hoover Institution and Yale University, which proved vital to the
Division’s success from the outset. There are tantalizing references to other
facets of the Library’s history that Davis does not explore in depth, such as
the steep decline in use of the Slavonic Division in the 1970s and 80s, and
the rise and fall (and rise) of the Division’s acquisition budget. Except for the

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Chiefs, the Division’s staff is mentioned only in passing, and, as Davis notes in
his introduction, this topic richly deserves its own investigation. (One cannot
look at illustration no. 6, depicting four female Slavonic Division staff mem¬
bers circa 1910, without wondering about the professional culture of librari-
anship at NYPL and its place in the larger sociocultural context.) These are
but three of a whole host of issues that Davis poses for future research, and he
has provided an excellent point of departure in his very extensive bibliographic
apparatus.

Beyond the relatively small community of library historians, the larger audi¬
ence for Davis’s book are the scholars and researchers in Russian, Baltic and
East European studies who plan to conduct research in the Library. For the
Division’s clientele, the volume is essential reading, providing explicit direc¬
tions for gaining access to the Library’s resources. Although Davis gives only
capsule summaries of the collections and refers the reader to other publica¬
tions for a more detailed overview, he deftly guides the prospective reader
through the complicated web of bibliographic control of the Library’s vast
resources. Scholars will find the ‘practical guide’ to be a very convenient start¬
ing point for understanding the organization of materials within the Library
and the reference tools that facilitate their discovery.

The text is beautifully written and illustrated. One might argue about the
practice of relegating so much material to footnotes that might be integrated
in the text to better effect. One certainly cannot argue, however, with Davis’s
meticulous documentation. For the reader’s convenience, the captions for the
excellent illustrations should have been placed below the individual illustra¬
tions themselves, rather than listed separately in the volume’s prefatory matter.

Appended to the volume is a list of books and articles describing the
Library’s Russian, Baltic and East European resources; a list of the NYPL
classmarks relating to the Slavic, Baltic and East European areas; a list of staff
seminars held from 1984 to 1994; an incomplete list of exhibits mounted by
the Division, 1932-1993; and a partial list of Divison personnel.

Mary Stuart Urbana, Illinois

Valeriia D. Stel'makh (ed.), The Image of the Library: Studies and Views from
Several Countries (Collection of Papers). Haifa, University of Haifa Library,
1994. 125 pp. No price given.

Librarians the world over worry about the image of ‘the library’ and ‘the
librarian’. However, much of the published work has focused on the USA
or on literature written in English. When IFLA’s Round Table on Research in

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Reading tackled this issue, it aimed to go beyond the familiar Anglo-American
experience and disseminate research from a number of different countries and
cultures. The papers in this book come from Russia, Hungary, France and
Israel as well as the English-speaking world. All the papers are in English,
although there are some mistakes in translation and several papers would have
benefited from more rigorous editing.

The Hungarian contribution reports on two studies of the image of the
library held by library members and non-users carried out in 1978 and 1985-
86, and a separate questionnaire on the image of the librarian also carried out
in 1985-86. What is particularly interesting about these studies is their com¬
ments on the relations between the political and ideological environment and
popular perceptions of libraries and librarians (a paternalistic model). Ferenc
Gereben looks forward to ‘a democratization of the image of librarianship and
librarians: the propaganda and guidance function will give place to the serv¬
ing, informative and socially helpful functions, and librarians will turn from
the strict school-mistress into educated, empathetic, sometimes criticized but
equal partners’.

There are four Russian contributions. Valeriia Stel'makh opens the collec¬
tion with a perceptive discussion of why the image of the library matters, for
society as a whole as well as for librarians. D. K. Ravinskii (National Library
of Russia, St Petersburg) uses Russian literature from the 1960s and 1970s
to establish the image of the librarian in the mind of the Soviet people. He is
particularly interested in the idea of the library as a place where intellectuals
might take refuge, but also be trapped. The article would have been improved
by the provision of more detail about the books discussed — most are not read¬
ily available in English translation, and the brief allusions to works and char¬
acters are frustrating to those without specialist knowledge of the literature
of the period. Marina Dubrovskaia of the Russian State Library conducted a
survey of participants at the IFLA Conference in Moscow in August 1991,
hoping ‘to reveal self-evaluations and self-images of those who represent the
profession’. In the circumstances, it is surprising that she collected nearly one
hundred completed responses; there are some revealing comments on libraries
in Russia and Romania. In her second contribution, Stel'makh reports on the
Russian State Library Sector of Sociology’s study ‘What do Russians think
about libraries?’. They used a similar approach to that employed by Hungar¬
ian sociologists of reading. Important features of their findings include the sig¬
nificant numbers of respondents who held an idealized view of the library as a
temple, a guarantor of intellectual freedom, open to all, a place for broad intel¬
lectual communication. A small but significant group saw it as a refuge from
the difficulties of everyday life, and about a quarter of respondents stressed
the information role of the library. These findings confirm the high but largely
symbolic status of reading and libraries in Russia. Stel'makh is concerned by

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the gap between people’s images of the library and the reality of the libraries
they actually use, and the second survey (in 1992) demonstrates the extent of
dissatisfaction with the actual services. Indeed, she asks whether the libraries
inherited from the previous regime are worth keeping at all. Her conclusion is
sobering: ‘Right now there is no hope to lead the libraries out of the crises and
bring them up to readers’ expectations. But they have to be at least preserved
as they are until the time when “the man with a gun” gives way to “the man
with a book” ’.

Jenny Brine Lancaster

Slavic Studies: A Guide to Bibliographies, Encyclopaedias and Handbooks , com¬
piled and edited by Murlin Croucher. Wilmington, Delaware, Scholarly
Resources Inc., 1993. 2 vols. 986 pp. Author and title indexes. $1 50.00.

The compiler of this bibliography of bibliographies and other reference
works relating to Slavophone Europe cannot be accused of offering a light¬
weight contribution. The two volumes weigh over three kg. (they are printed,
very sensibly, on ‘permanent’ paper and stoutly bound), and they occupy
over eight cm. of quarto self-space. Between them they present the user with
5264 annotated entries (monographs and specialist journals only), covering, in
addition to bibliographies pur sang , dictionaries (monoglot only), encyclopae¬
dias, and ‘handbooks’, i.e. encyclopaedic works devoted to a single country.
Murlin Croucher, who is the Slavic specialist at Indiana University Library,
and the publishers deserve all credit for an undertaking that is unprecedented
on such a scale.

The compiler is very properly a devotee of the de visu school of bibliography,
using the Indiana University Library as a base (and including Indiana and,
where necessary, other US library call-numbers), and has worked in Washing¬
ton, Illinois and other US and European libraries, but not apparently in the
former USSR. But the downside of the de visu approach, unless it is tempered
by thorough bibliographical research, is sadly in evidence: the libraries vis¬
ited evidently often possessed superseded editions — or no editions at all — of
important reference sources. The compiler sensibly disclaims comprehensive¬
ness, but some of the many omissions (occasionally relating to widely available
works) and outdated entries seriously diminish user confidence. For example,
the work’s only predecessor in the genre, Walter Andreesen’s incomparably
more modest but excellent Wie finde ich slawistische Literatur? (Berlin, 1986),
surely deserved inclusion. Other examples are, in the Czech and Slovak field,
the inclusion of only two of Kotvan’s more than a dozen incunabula cata-

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logues; and in the Polish field, the Drukarze dazvnej Polski and the Polonia typo-
graphica saeculi sedecimi are omitted. In the Russian field, Karataev and many
other catalogues of early cyrillica are absent, as are Zverinskii (much fuller bib-
liographically than Denisov (3634)), and Savelov (the standard bibliography
of Russian heraldry and genealogy). The Ukraine does badly with Zapasko-
Isaievych, Maksymenko and Pelenskyi all absent, and the former Yugoslavia
lacks standard works by Bosnjak and Medakovic. Examples could be multi¬
plied, but worst off are the Sorbs — completely ignored as far as one can judge.
Furthermore, in a work that purports to be a guide, annotations must be
full and accurate. Croucher’s vary in judiciousness and amplitude, and reg¬
ularly exclude, for example, current published extent (in the case of works in
progress) and edition size (in the case of malotirazhnye editions) .

In a work on this scale presentation of the material is of critical importance,
and alas, its compiler has succumbed to the siren song of alphabetical arrange¬
ment in the shape of acceptance of a Library of Congress subject heading
for each entry (within, of course, each of the seven major national divisions).
Now, the alphabet is a good servant but a bad master, and the consequent
scattering means that, for example, a guide to the archives of the Ukrainian
Academy of Sciences in New York (2812) is entered in the Soviet Union divi¬
sion (which takes in all the former Union Republics and Autonomous Areas,
including Belarus and Ukraine) under the heading ‘Emigres — Archive guide’
without references under ‘Archives’ or ‘Ukraine’. Moreover, any topic may
appear within any of the seven major divisions. These range from ‘Area Stud¬
ies’ through ‘Bulgaria’, etc., to ‘Former Yugoslavia’; as a consequence, a user
of the volumes interested in works on, say, heraldry is condemned to search
in all seven divisions and, in the absence of a subject index, may still have
the uncomfortable feeling that he or she has not exhausted the hidden riches
of this mine of references. The historian of printing is in even worse case:
he or she will have to search under three headings — to wit, ‘Early printings’,
‘Imprints’ and ‘Incunabula’ — in all seven national divisions, making twenty-
one searches in all.

Murlin Croucher does not rule out a second edition ‘with diacritics’. A thor¬
oughly revised, augmented and corrected edition with classified arrangement
and chronological order within sections, plus a subject index (in addition to
existing author and title indexes), would convert a useful ‘quarry’ into a splen¬
did reference tool for the Slavist.

John S. G. Simmons

All Souls College , Oxford

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193

N. A. Bogomolov, Materialy k bibliografii russkikh literaturno-
khudozhestvennykh al'manakhov i sbornikov , 1900-1937 , vol. 1. Moscow,
Lanterna-Vita, 1994. 624 pp. Indexes. No price available.

This reference book is an extensive supplement to the four-volume biblio¬
graphical directory Literaturno-khudozhestvennye al'manakhi i sborniki (1957—
60), edited by O. D. Golubeva and N. P. Rogozhin, which was published under
Communist censorship, and therefore contained many omissions dictated by
political considerations. Bogomolov’s ‘additional’ volume covers the same his¬
torical period (1900-37) and retains a similar structure. It contains 445 entries
on literary almanacs and anthologies, arranged in chronological order and ren¬
dered alphabetically within each particular year. The bibliographical descrip¬
tion and contents of the books are normally given in full, including not only
the usual details (such as date and place of publication, publisher, price and
print run), but even the names of the designers of the book and of the logo of
the publisher, if available. The guide also includes indexes of authors and of
anonymous works (described by their titles and/or first lines), as well as of the
almanacs’ titles and geographical locations.

Bogomolov’s modest ambitions (he refers to his work as ‘bibliographical
materials’, being only too aware of the fact that there is no such thing as a
complete bibliography) should not mislead the reader. There is no doubt that
this book, just like Golubeva’s and Rogozhin’s compendium, will be in con¬
stant use by everyone who deals with Russian literature of the late nineteenth
to early twentieth century. This formidable achievement by Bogomolov once
again disproves the attitude, common to many scholars, that bibliographical
studies are something which should be looked down upon. As for the book’s
occasional slip-ups (for instance, Moldanskaia on p. 1 22 (and in the index of
authors) should be Iordanskaia; Nikolai Rerikh’s memoir of Leonid Andreev
on p. 147 was called ‘Pamiati Leonida Andreeva’, not just ‘Pamiati Leonida’;
the real name of V. Iretskii was Viktor Iakovlevich Glikman, etc.), they will be
corrected in the second edition, which has already been promised. It would be
splendid to see all five volumes of this joint bibliographical monument even¬
tually recast, revised and republished. The current project was implemented
under the auspices of the Russian Bibliographical Society (the book in ques¬
tion launched its principal series of publications, ‘Studia Bibliographical and
as a result of the financial support of the British ‘Signals Trust’.

Andrei Rogachevskii Department of Slavonic Languages and Literatures

University of Glasgow

194

Solanus 1996

Deutschsprachige Drucke Moskauer und Petersburger Verlage 1731-1991. Aus
den Bestanden der Universitats- und Landesbibliothek Munster. Ausstellungs-
katalog. Zusammengestellt, kommentiert und eingeleitet von Gottfried Kratz.
Liineburg, Institut Nordostdeutsches Kulturwerk, 1995. 160 pp. Illustrations.
Tables. Bibliography. Indexes. DM36.00.

German-language publications have a particular place in the history of
Russian and Soviet culture. In the eighteenth century, when publishing first
became a major feature of Russian cultural life, much of it was centred
around the German-dominated Academy of Sciences in St Petersburg, and
Russia’s newly conquered, culturally German southern Baltic provinces pro¬
vided a major contribution. Consequently German works predominated in the
Empire’s foreign-language titles 1701-1800: according to Gottfried Kratz’s
figures, all foreign titles (3,525) constituted 28.2%, German titles (2,218)
17.7% of the total. Data for the nineteenth century are fragmentary, but sug¬
gest that while the share of non-Russian titles remained about one quarter,
that of German fell steadily away. In the twentieth century and the Soviet
period, German-language books constituted a tiny fraction of a much larger
total: they now reflected various separate factors — for example the early Soviet
desire to encourage radical movements in Europe, or the post-Stalin appear¬
ance of an indigenous Soviet German belles lettres (the 1989 census registered
over two million Soviet Germans). For the whole period covered Kratz extrap¬
olates an estimated 47,348 German-language titles. The Munster University
and Land Library’s holdings are based on several collections acquired in the
nineteenth and twentieth centuries; searches have so far revealed 662 titles,
of which 235 (35.4%) were published in the two Russian capitals. The exhi¬
bition of which this is the catalogue presented 133 titles. In view of the exhi¬
bition title, it is curious that the first 28 items are either in other European
languages, or published in other places: no rationale is given. The remain¬
der address a wide range of material, divided here into eight subject areas.
Entries are admirably full, often including excerpts from editorial and illustra¬
tive matter from the work itself, and together give a good impression of the
diversity of interest covered by German publications within the Russian and
Soviet empires. There is also some interesting detail on otherwise little-known
areas, for example one page and three illustrations for a book from the State
Publishing House of the Volga German Republic (no. 20). The bibliography
includes 276 reference items and sources. Overall, however, the book is a dis¬
appointment. The extensive introduction (pp. 1-48) is primarily concerned,
in a deluge of inevitably not very reliable statistics, to place German-language
publishing as a whole within the broad Russian/Soviet context, and secondly to
explain how the Munster Library acquired its holdings. Rather little attention
is given to the actual presses, some of them very significant, which produced

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195

the publications. Their particular profiles and roles are scarcely brought out,
while the acquisition history of Munster’s collection necessarily gives a some¬
what random character to the sample. Nevertheless, the catalogue does offer
a positive if modest contribution to the history of Imperial Russian/Soviet cul¬
ture, and to the current scholarly interest in Russian/Soviet German history
and literature.

Roger Bartlett School of Slavonic and East European Studies

University of London

Geoffrey Arnold (comp.), Short-Title Catalogue of Hungarian Books Printed
before 1851 in the British Library. London, The British Library, 1995. 295 pp.
Indexes. £60.00.

The present bibliography comes as a great help to all students of Hungar¬
ian literature and cultural history. The old Hungarian collection of the British
Library is amongst the best collections of its kind in Western Europe. While
the majority of its holdings were printed in the nineteenth century, there is a
substantial corpus of books and tracts printed earlier, the number of pre- 1711
books exceeding two hundred. As the compiler, Geoffrey Arnold, explains in
the Introduction, this bibliography lists all books printed in ‘historical’ Hun¬
gary (that is, the territory of the Kingdom of Hungary before the post-First
World War treaties) as well as all books published abroad which have a sig¬
nificant element of Hungarian in them. In the Appendix a list of Hungarian
books is printed which had been in the British Library before the last war but
were destroyed as a result of bombing raids. This is a particularly useful list,
for many, if not all, of these books appear in the large printed catalogue of the
Main Reading Room without any indication of their destruction.

Some of the books listed in this bibliography are unique copies (editio fac¬
simile), for example the 1578 edition of Szep historias enek az Telamon kiralyrol
. . . and the Protestant tract printed in 1580/1581 Az eletnec kutfeie. Another
rarity is Peter Huszti’s verse translation of the Aeneid (the 1582 Debrecen
edition). It is here that one has to mention the lack of cross-references, e.g.
the translation of Vergil’s epic is listed only under ‘Virgilius, Maro Publius’
and not under the name of the translator. This is particularly unsatisfactory in
such cases as the works of Gyorgy Kultsar and Miklos Telegdi, which are both
listed under the heading ‘Bible’ but are in fact biblical commentaries rather
than translations.

While the bibliography was compiled with obvious care, there are still
some minor omissions. The Short-Title Catalogue fails to list Gyorgy Csip-
kes Komaromi’s Wollebius translation (published in Utrecht, 1653), as well as

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Gyorgy Kalmar’s Prodromus (Pozsony, 1770), of which the Library holds two
copies. Also, the first name of Posahazi (p. 211), author of Igazsag istapja , is
Janos, not Lajos. The Appendix needs to be corrected, too: one book by the
Transylvanian bishop Istvan Katona Gelei listed here as missing (destroyed in
the last war) is in fact on the shelves of the Library (shelfmark 4224. bb.6).

Of the five indexes I have found Index II the most useful — it gives a list
of books according to the place of publication. From here it transpires what
an important role in Hungarian book-publishing was played by the printing
shops of such towns as Kassa (now Kosice), Kolozsvar (now Cluj), Nagyszom-
bat (now Tirnava), Nagyvarad (now Oradea), and Pozsony (now Bratislava).
This Short-Title Catalogue uses Hungarian place-names (giving in brackets the
present name and country), and rightly so. After all, there are no books in
the pre-1851 collection of the British Library published under the place-name
‘Cluj’ (apart from the Hungarian ‘Kolozsvar’ occasionally Klausenburg and
Claudiopolis are used). A small point, perhaps, but it tells you a lot about
Hungarian — and, incidentally, Romanian — history.

George Gomori University of Cambridge

Z. Jaroszewicz-Piereslawcew, Starowiercy w Polsce i ich ksi^gi. Rozprawy i mate-
rialy Osrodka Badan Naukowych im. Wojciecha K^trzynskiego w Olsztynie,
No. 145, Olsztyn, 1995. 206 pp.

Dr Jaroszewicz-Piereslawcew’s study opens with a brief introduction giving
a history of the rise of Old Belief, followed in Chapter One by a history of the
Old Believers within the Polish State. Here details are given of the number
of Old Believers between 1835 and 1862 and their churches, in particular, in
the province of Suwalki, and the data are supported by first-hand observations
based on work conducted in the last decade in the region of Suwalki, Wodzilki,
Gabowe Gr^dy and Wojnowo. Documents from the Lithuanian State Archive
in Vilnius have also provided new information about the religious and social
life of the Old Believers of Suwalki and Sejny regions between 1862 and 1918.

The Pomor’e Old Believer Church of Poland (Naczelna Rada Staropra-
woslawnej Pomorskiej Cerkwi w Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej) in 1994 num¬
bered some 952 followers, dispersed over 48 different localities, especially in
Suwalki, who had preserved their religious and national traditions. Despite a
renewal of their religious and social practices during the 1980s Dr Jaroszewicz-
Piereslawcew notes a gradual assimilation of their number into the local com¬
munity owing to local conditions and social changes.

Chapter Two deals with the history and specific characteristics of book
production by the Old Believers, and draws its conclusions from a detailed

Reviews

197

programme of work carried out on editions found in the libraries of Poland,
Russia and Ukraine. It also contains an extensive bibliography. Old Believer
books were printed in Mogilev (1701-05, 1733-73), in the printing presses
of the Uniate monasteries in Vilnius (1767-1800), in Suprasl (1777-91), in
Pochaev (1782-95), in the Grodno press founded by Antoni of Tyzenhauz
(1781-92) and by Piotr Dufour in Warsaw (1785-88 and possibly 1798). 150
editions were commissioned by Old Believers and printed in these localities,
including reprints of pre-Nikonian books of the period of Patriarch Iosif, and
also texts compiled and written by the Old Believers themselves, which were
deemed necessary for conducting the divine service, explaining the history
of the struggle for the Old Faith and polemics with the official church. The
outut of the Old Believer printing press in Pisz (Jansbork) in East Prussia,
founded by the head of the Wojnowo monastery, Pavel Prusskii (Lednev), and
which operated from 1860 to 1867 under the guidance of monk Konstantin
Efimovich Golubov, was similar. From 1925 to 1937 printing activity was car¬
ried on also by the Supreme Old Believer Council of Poland (Naczelna Rada
Staroobrz^dowcow w Polsce) in Vilnius.

Chapter Three surveys the results of an investigation of books found among
Polish Old Believers in which 29 private collections from twelve localities
in the Suwalki, Sejny and Mazura regions (Suwalki, Sejny, Wodzilki, Holny
Wolmera, Avgustow, Gabowe Grqdy, Wojnowo, Galkowo, Osiniak, Ruciane-
Nida, Elk and Mr^gowo) and 140 books, including 22 manuscript books and
26 early-printed books of Mr^gowo and Olsztyn, are described. The hold¬
ings of churches in Suwalki, Wojnowo and Wodzilki, as well as the convent
in Wodzilki, are also investigated, and total some 67 books, of which 15 are
manuscript books and 12 are early-printed books.

The work has four appendices listing the books examined and a bibliogra¬
phy, and two maps, one of which unfortunately is not clearly reproduced and
therefore difficult to read (p. 51).

However, this is not to detract from Dr Jaroszewicz-Piereslawcew’s impor¬
tant and thorough investigation of the very special role that books played in the
life of the Old Believers. Her valuable study employs much new material from
archives in Warsaw, Olsztyn and Vilnius, and will remain essential reading for
scholars interested in this aspect of Old Believer research.

John Sullivan University of St Andrews

Notes

Proceedings of the Fourth International Conference
of Slavic Librarians and Information Specialists
(Przegorzaly, Cracow, 3-5 August 1995)

An English edition of the proceedings has been published as:

Libraries in Europe's Post-Communist Countries: Their International
Context , edited by Maria Kocojowa & Wojciech Zalewski. Cracow,
Polskie Towarzystwo Bibliologiczne, Oddzial w Krakowie, 1996.

290 pp. (Materialy Edukacyjne z Bibliotekoznawstwa i Informacji
Naukowej, n. 5.) ISBN 83-901577-7-2.

The publication was sponsored by IREX, and each participant at the confer¬
ence is entitled to one free copy. Further copies may be ordered from:

Polskie Towarzystwo Bibliologiczne

Oddzial w Krakowie

ul. Gol^bia 16

31-007 Krakow

Poland

Tel. 012 22103, ext. 1323 or 1420
E-mail [email protected]

A Polish edition has also been published:

Biblioteki w europejskich krajach postkomunistycznych w migdzynaro-
dowym kontekscie. (Wybor materialow.) Redakcja Maria Kocojowa.
Cracow, Polskie Towarzystwo Bibliologiczne, Oddzial w Krakowie,

1995.

Contributors

Radoslaw Cybulski is a Professor at the Institute of Library Science and Sci¬
entific Information (Warsaw University) .

Janusz Dunin is the Director of Lodz University Library and a Professor in
the Faculty of Library and Information Studies.

A. Dzhigo is Head of the Research Department of State Bibliography at the
Russian Book Chamber, Moscow.

June Pachuta Farris is Bibliographer for Slavic and East European Studies at
the Joseph Regenstein Library, University of Chicago.

Armin Hetzer is a Lecturer in Linguistics (specialising in South-East Europe)
at Bremen University.

G. V. Mikheeva is a Senior Researcher in the Department of Bibliography and
Book Studies at the Russian National Library, St Petersburg.

I. V. Pozdeeva is Head of the Archeographical Laboratory in the History Fac¬
ulty of Moscow University.

Franc Sen is Head of the Sorbian Library at the Sorbian Institute, Bautzen.

V. D. Stel'makh is Head of the Section of Sociology of Libraries and Reading
at the Russian State Library, Moscow.

K. Sukhorukov works in the Research Department of State Bibliography at
the Russian Book Chamber, Moscow.

Christine Thomas is Head of Slavonic and East European Collections at the
British Library, London.

Lidija Wagner is Head of the Bibliographic Department of the National and
University Library in Ljubljana, Slovenia.

Viesturs Zanders is Director of the Baltic Central Library at the National
Library of Latvia, Riga.

Janet Zmroczek is Curator of Polish and Baltic Collections at the British
Library, London.

UBON & SAGNER

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Import of books with special stress on linguistics, literature, and history.

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Import of 7,000 items from all East and Southeast European countries.

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Scholarly publications on the cultural history of East and Southeast Europe.

Edition program:

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and Evanston, supplies Russian books and

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some of the participants in the events which reflect the turbulent history of the lands which until recently
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AND THE SOUTH SLAVS,

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The Russian Academy of Sciences Library,

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A Biographical Index, 1984-June 19J

Soviet Biographic Archive, 1954-196

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First title in series *

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Materialy k bibliografii russkikh literaturno-khudozhestvennykh
al'manakhov I sbornikov, 1900 - 1937.

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