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Savrola: Churchill’s Novel and Its Most Beautiful Appearance
“Molara advanced until he had descended half way; then he paused. ‘Here I am,’ he said. The crowd stared. For a moment he stood there in the bright sunlight. His dark blue uniform-coat, on which the Star of Laurania and many orders and decorations of foreign countries glittered, was open, showing his white shirt beneath it. He was bare-headed and drew himself up to his full height. For a moment there was silence.” — Savrola (Illustration by André Collot for the 1950 Monaco Edition)
Savrola: A Précis
Churchill’s only novel is often dismissed as a “Ruritanian romance” of the Anthony Hope genre. Although it was his third published book, it was the first he started, spun off in an idealistic moment. Many reviewers saw it as forgettable—had the author not been who he was. But the scholar Patrick Powers argues that Savrola was “the Polestar of a Statesman’s Philosophy, [giving] dramatic voice to Churchill’s mature philosophical reflections about his fundamental political and ethical principles at the very moment when he settled on them for the rest of his life.” Churchill himself said he had “consistently urged friends to abstain from reading it.” But the historian A. L. Rowse, reviewing the 1956 edition, wrote that despite Sir Winston’s modesty about it, Savrola “holds one’s attention for its own sake.” And Robert Rhodes James called at “a greatly neglected self-portrait.”
Savrola is set in a mythical Mediterranean republic whose unscrupulous President Molara is becoming a despot. Savrola, a popular reform leader, resists Molara’s brutal repressions. He hopes to put things right by constitutional means, but with force if necessary. Savrola’s rival is a man named Karl who believes “in the equality of incomes.” This is a clear reference to Marxism, which Churchill would oppose all his life. Ultimately Savrola is vindicated, returning from exile to lead his city-state back to peace and prosperity.
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Many students of his canon consider that the hero is Churchill as he liked to imagine himself then. An appreciator of beauty and fine living, Savrola cannot live “in dreamy quiet and philosophic calm in some beautiful garden, far from the noise of men” while the life of the nation is at stake. “‘Vehement, high and daring,’ was his cast of mind. The life he lived was the only one he could ever live; he must go on to the end.” Forty years later the novelist would exhort his countrymen: “We shall go on to the end….We shall never surrender.”
Whether one finds Savrola a key to Churchill’s philosophy, morality and constitutionalism, or just a yarn, Savrola will be of interest—now to the new generations through electronic as well as print editions. — Richard M. Langworth, A Connoisseur’s Guide to the Books of Sir Winston Churchill.
The Monaco Edition • by Antoine Capet
“This Monaco edition is overlooked by many collectors because it is not in English,” continues the Connoisseur’s Guide. Indeed it is to be wondered how many Churchill admirers are even familiar with the 1950 French Savrola, produced in Monaco by a small, high-quality publisher, “À la Voile Latine” (“At the Sign of the Lateen Sail”). The company seems to have been active between 1945 and 1952, judging by its volumes on the antiquarian book market.
A brief history of the French language Savrola: The work first appeared in three parts in the February-April 1948 issues of France Illustration Littéraire et Théâtrale. These were illustrated by Lucien Boucher, a well-established French artist. The text was condensed, however, so does not constitute the first complete French appearance. But it was a compliment to Churchill, since few of his early books were serialized, let alone illustrated, in languages other than in English.
Translations
Whereas the (poor) translator of the Mémoires was not named, the French translation of Savrola is credited to Judith Paley, whose name is English-sounding. She was probably a bilingual expatriate, but little is known of her. The Bibliothèque Nationale de France, our copyright library, otherwise mentions her name only in connection with a series of 1930-46 pamphlets on Anglophone authors like Aldous Huxley and Daphne du Maurier, and film figures such as Vivien Leigh and John Ford. All French editions use Paley’s translation, including the 2011 reissue by Éditions Écriture.
My paperback has a promotional band suggesting that few French knew of Churchill’s fiction: “A revelation! Churchill novelist.” It sold well: my copy announces “6e mille,” 6000 copies. (The average new novel sells about 500 in France today.) Whether buyers read it is another story. My copy is uncut, thus unread. Its relative success must have inspired À la Voile Latine to create the Monaco limited edition pictured below. They commissioned color drawings from a well-known illustrator, André Collot (1897-1976), who had made a name for himself before the war producing mildly erotic drawings for (at the time) risqué titles like Brantôme’s Vie des dames galantes or Tales from Boccaccio’s Decameron.
À la Voile Latine’s Monaco Edition
Specialty publishers in mid-20th century France often designed a deluxe edition of some well-known classic, or the work of a famous author. It would be finely printed in large type with wide margins on expensive rag paper, sometimes with “deckled” (rough untrimmed) edges. The size was usually “quarto” (29x22cm, about 11×9 inches). This required sheets of raisin format (65x50cm, similar to the old “Royal” format) folded into four, yielding untrimmed quires or signatures measuring about 13×10 inches. If the paper was hand-made, the pages were often left rough with deckled edges. If from machine-made paper, pages were trimmed by a bindery. The pages were unsewn—buyers would commission a binder of their choice after selecting cover material, endpapers and decoration, like tooling or page edge gilding.
À la Voile Latine followed this well-established pattern. Their limited edition was printed on 15 February 1950 on the Dumoulin Press, H. Barthélemy, Director. The engraving was by Jose Barbaré Bracons-Duplessis, who worked with Collot on other fine books. Elaborate protection was provided for the unbound pages. Wrapped in glassine, they were held in a loose chemise (wrapper) with the printed title on its spine. (Nothing was glued, of course.) The chemise, covered with good-quality paper, was housed in a slipcase with the same type of paper overlay. Thus all six sides of the volume were protected from exposure to dust, sunlight and humidity.
Printings
This beautiful Savrola offers many variants which delight the bibliophile. The total printing was 1000 copies, 950 of which were intended for commercial sale. Copies 1-50 were printed on vélin d’Arches pur chiffon à la forme (hand-made pure-rag wove paper from the Arches mill). Copy 1 was supplied with sketches and studies by the artist (quantity unstated), twelve original drawings, and a suite of black ink illustrations. Copies 2-13 came with two original designs and the suite of illustrations. Copies 14-50 included the suite of illustrations only.
Variants
Copies 51-950 were printed on papier pur fil des papeteries Lafuma (pure paper from the Lafuma mill), without the suites of illustrations. Fifty more copies, numbered HC 1 to HC 50, were hors commerce (not for sale), intended for the publisher, author, illustrator and associates. Bibliographer Ronald Cohen owns HC 6 and a bookseller has recently advertised HC 9. The location of copy 1 is alas unknown.
With a copy I recently acquired was a publisher prospectus with a price list. It shows that copy HC1 cost 100,000 francs, HC2-13 40,000, HC 14-50 12,000. The “ordinary” numbers 51-950 cost 8,000 francs. The paperback from Éditions du Rocher bears the price 240 francs. As a point of comparison, in 1950 a stamp cost 15 francs, like a local newspaper, and the average working man’s monthly wage was 15,000 francs. So 100,000 francs was an enormous sum to ask for a book. One wonders who bought HC1 at that price.
Two materials differing slightly in size were used for the chemise and slipcase. Most, including the special copies 1-50, were covered in pale grey-blue “laid” paper, a quality material with a finely ribbed appearance. The spine carries the title, author and illustrator in black type. A variant material resembled parchment, with red borders and red spine letters reading “W.S. Churchill – Savrola.” The variant seems to be a late change, since my “parchment” copy is number 826 and my blue-grey copy is 166.
Churchill’s Copy
There is an extra dimension to the story of this fine work. André Collot apparently sent a copy to Churchill himself (probably one of the hors commerce variety). Churchill replied, referring to “my little novel of sixty [sic] years ago,” adding, “It is a pleasure to be able to sign the fly-leaf which you enclosed with your letter….”
Later Collot bound some copies in padded tan pebble grain morocco, page edges gilt, titles gilt on spine and cover, with raised spine bands and a tan leatherette slipcase. After the title page, these copies contain a bound-in facsimile of Churchill’s 4 May 1951 letter of thanks, and Collot’s fine pen and ink sketch of WSC in his wide-brimmed Stetson hat.
Three such copies have come to light. In book No. 69, Collot signed the sketch in pencil and numbered the print “61/200.” It was sold in the 1990s to a collector in New England, where it remains. I was pleased recently to acquire two more examples. No. 76 is identical, including Collot’s signature and the print number “75/200” (left). The third, No. 596, is the same as the other two, except that the Collot sketch is unsigned and unnumbered.
Unique examples
Three other special copies exist. No. 674, owned by a French collector who got it from one of Collot’s friends, is unbound. But the typewritten letter and the “Stetson” drawing (without date or number) are printed on loose sheets, larger than other pages. Possibly these “extras” were sometimes provided by Collot on “regular” copies.
Another copy offered on a Spanish bookseller site bears the legend: “specially printed for Dr Schumacher.” This is not a hand-made later addition, but it was evidently printed at the same time as the rest of the page.
The third copy, HC24, is indeed unique. In Paris in 2013, Vincent Wapler auctioneers assignd an estimated price around €7,500. The catalogue description and the accompanying illustrations suggest this copy was kept by Collot himself. It contains numerous preparatory sketches, the (original?) typewritten letter of 4 May 1951, and a printed handwritten thank-you from Churchill. The latter, dated December 1950, seems to be one of the many printed holographs sent out by Churchill’s private office. It contains ten variants of the Stetson portrait, signed and unsigned, and a one-off watercolour of Savrola, Lucile and (probably) Molara, signed “Hommage” (homage, tribute).
Mysteries
All this leaves the bibliophile with tantalizing questions. How many presentation copies with the facsimile letter and sketch of Churchill are there? The machine-made slipcase is not the same quality as the binding, suggesting that several were produced. Second, while one would expect the “temporary” paper cover to have been retained in the best French binder’s tradition, said cover is missing on my bound copy. Third, were these special bindings commissioned by Collot or by À La Voile Latine, or both? Fourth, were Nos. 69 and 75 the only copies besides HC24 to bear Collot’s signature and number on his sketch of Churchill?
Finally, what happened to the very special copy number 1, with its accompanying artist sketches? Its value makes it unlikely that it was the copy Collot sent to Churchill. What then is the copy which Churchill acknowledged in his letter of 4 May 1951?
Unfortunately, we don’t know. I checked with Sir Winston’s great-grandson, who neither possesses it nor remembers it. We do know that Sir Winston’s son Randolph inherited his father’s library and disposed of its contents over the years. Perhaps one day these priceless copies will resurface.
The Author
Antoine Capet, FRHistS, is Professor Emeritus of British Studies at University of Rouen, France, and author of a new reference work, Churchill: Le Dictionnaire. Our thanks to Ronald I. Cohen, author of the Bibliography of the Writings of Sir Winston Churchill, for his kind assistance in research.
Fascinating.
I recently acquired number 678, which is neatly inscribed in blue ink by Collot to the first loose endpaper. It’s missing the slipcase but still has the paper cover and the acetate dustwrapper, and the contents are otherwise complete and fine. It is beautiful to behold.
The question is, do I go to the huge expense of commissioning a binder, or leave it unsewn as is? If the former, what style? And should I seek copies of WSC’s letter and the Collot sketch of Churchill to include in the binding?
Either way, I had better swot up on my French!
To Andrew Greenwood: You are lucky to have a signed copy! There is absolutely no doubt from the modern bibliophile’s point of view: a precious edition should be tampered with as little as possible. The best artistic binders today only use reversible techniques, showing that they know that fine copies must not be “frozen” forever by their intervention. The ideal solution is a Solander case, the more so as the slipcase is missing. There is no particular thought on the style of the Solander case. Art specialists tend to argue that the style prevailing at the time (for the Monaco Edition around 1950) is best, but there is no hard-and-fast rule. I would say the simpler the better, and to avoid aping Collot. Naturally, it would be highly desirable to have the letter and the sketch as loose documents in the Solander case.
Thank you Antoine. I shall gladly take your advice and consider a Solander case for my copy. You ask, “what happened to the copy Collot sent to Churchill… which Churchill acknowledged in his letter of 4 May 1951.” I note that The Churchill Collector lists a part-leatherbound number 950, signed by Churchill (dated 1955) on the the title page verso, and suggests it’s a presentation copy. Is that potentially the copy Collot sent to Churchill? One might have expected WSC to have signed his own copy in 1951, rather than 1955, since he received it that year. Then again, perhaps he did so when he finally got some time to spend in his vast library, as he was no doubt rather busy between 26 October 1951 and 5 April 1955! 😉
Dear Mr Greenwood, Many thanks for your message, and your keen interest in fine Savrola editions.I went to the site indicated and here are my comments:
• The binding is a typical French hand-made “demi-reliure” of the postwar decades (“demi-reliure” means that only the back and the corners are in leather). The classic French geometrical rule is that the diagonal of the corners should equal the width of the back flats, and the rule is fully applied here.
• The “marbled” (in fact printed) paper is cheap industrial stock, extremely common on “demi-reliures” of the time. A fine binding would have a one-off hand-made sheet of really marbled paper. Ditto for the endpapers, not visible on the photographs, except a tiny protruding one which seems to be plain pale blue paper.
• The leather is the cheapest “basane” (sheepskin). The scratches on the “head” are typical of that variety of leather with a fragile cuticle (like Churchill !) A fine binding would be in calf or “chagrin” (goatskin or “morocco”).
• The false bands are also typical of the postwar decades: they are “fashionable” and “modern” in that their spacing departs from the (complicated) classic French rule.
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All this to say that the binding is undoubtedly “d’époque” (contemporary with the book), but of the cheaper kind. Thus it is unlikely that it should be a special presentation copy offered by or to Churchill. It would have been insulting to his work and to the recipient to commission a cheap binding. My hunch is that the lucky owner of #950 was not an amateur of fine bindings but a collector of autographs. He probably asked Churchill to sign it for him in 1955.
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Churchill’s own special copy would at least have a full binding in calf or morocco, and it would have a profusion of extra illustrations like HC24. Finally, why should he sign his own copy? So, the only interest (apart from its historical value for those interested in the evolution of French bookbinding techniques and styles) is that it bears #950—the very last number in the series of “ordinary” printings.
Bonjour, quelle merveille de tomber sur votre article car je me trouve en possession d’un exemplaire très insolite du portrait de Churchill “au Stetson” : il s’agit visiblement d’un des quelques exemplaires “sur papier plus grand” et qui n’ont pas été insérés dans un livre… et qui est tombé entre les mains d’une poétesse et artiste belge, Marianne Van Hirtum, puisqu’elle a réalisé un très beau dessin au dos, dessin que j’ai acquis via une maison d’enchères. Une fois le dessin arrivé, je me suis intéressée au mystérieux portrait qui se trouvait au dos, pas du tout dans le style de l’artiste… il me faisait penser à Churchill mais portant un Stetson, j’ai écarté cette piste ! Puis finalement en faisant une “recherche par image” sur un moteur de recherche j’ai pu constater que c’était bien lui grâce à votre article qui donne de précieux détails. Mais j’étais intriguée car André Collot avait quand-même 30 ans de plus que Marianne Van Hirtum, donc comment était-elle en possession de ce tirage ? Au final, une recherche croisée sur les noms indique qu’elle a été traductrice d’un ouvrage (“le dit du vieux marin”) pour lequel André Collot a réalisé des gravures sur cuivre… à cette occasion ils se sont certainement rencontrés et les circonstances ont mis cette gravure entre les mains de Marianne qui plus tard s’en est servi comme support pour dessiner ! Très cordialement, Anne Dubois
Madame, j’ai été très intéressé par votre message car je rédige actuellement un essai sur l’art plastique de Marianne van Hirtum et serais intéressé de prendre connaissance du dessin d’elle que vous avez acheté. Je vous communique mon adresse mail internet au cas où vous accepteriez de prendre connaissance de l’oeuvre de Hirtum dont vous êtes en possession : [email protected]
D’avance merci pour votre réponse, avec toute ma sympathie. Patrick Négrier