Trevelyon's Miscellany of 1608.
bookburn
(quote)
Thomas Trevelyon's Colorfully Twice-Told Tales
By Linda Hales
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, January 24, 2004; Page C02
At the Folger Shakespeare Library, display cases are filled with
83 pages from a magnificent book, the Trevelyon Miscellany of
1608, which is being exhibited in significant portions for the
first time.
This brilliantly illustrated 594-page tome is a history of the
world since the beginning of time, as seen through the eyes of a
17th-century Englishman, Thomas Trevelyon.
"There is really nothing else like it from this period," says
Heather R. Wolfe, curator of manuscripts.
Trevelyon remains a major mystery. No record of birth, marriage,
death or livelihood has been found. And his purpose for the book
is unclear. Scholars believe it was intended for a circle of
family and friends. Thanks to a mention in a second text, we know
that he was 60 when this work was done.
In the exhibition, which opened Thursday and remains on view
through May 22, several pages show how Trevelyon took pains to
spell out his name in pictoral letters. It is one of the few
contributions for which Trevelyon can claim sole authorship. For
although the Miscellany is highly original, and perhaps unique in
its day, the content is not. The Folger gently describes a
"mixture of many familiar genres." What that means is Trevelyon
copied.
He lifted from chronicles, almanacs, manuals and posters with a
freedom that would be publishing heresy today. He appropriated
illustrations from woodcuts and engravings. He attributed almost
nothing. Other than a few biblical references, the most
significant tidbit he acknowledged was a complete list of the
lord mayors of London.
"I think we have different ideas about originality," says Wolfe.
"Today there's a real sense of ownership about ideas, about
'patenting' ideas. That sort of individualism wasn't in place in
the 17th century. I think it says we're more individualistic and
ownership-oriented."
Wolfe and two colleagues, curator of art Erin C. Blake and
curator of books Rachel H. Doggett, spent the past year tracking
down Trevelyon's likely sources. It might chill a modern
plagiarist's heart to know that, after nearly 400 years, the
trail had not grown cold.
"Some of the writing was pretty obvious," says Wolfe. "By knowing
the reading practices of the era, it was feasible to sort of
track things down. It was very satisfying when we found direct
matches."
Lack of original material did not keep Trevelyon from producing
extraordinary work. The Miscellany is best known for a series of
embroidery designs, which have become a treasure-trove for
costume designers. The Folger exhibit includes a beaded,
embroidered cap made in 1997 that is based on one of Trevelyon's
20 cap patterns. Unpainted motifs of carnations, roses, cowslips
and columbine, or acorns and oak leaves indicate Trevelyon might
have had a career in textile design.
In the exhibition, scenic morality tales are laid out alongside
political sagas. He enlivened the lessons with a spectacular
universe of images: people, plants, animals, landscapes,
astronomical charts, calendars, parables, recipes and all the
kings of England. Trevelyon excelled at costumes, dressing
characters in ruffled collars, fur-trimmed capes, feathered caps
and elaborate helmets. His drafting skill is shown admirably in a
rendition of Daniel in the lions' den, which has been copied from
the work of a Dutch engraver, Jacob de Gheyn, who was himself
indebted to Dirk Barendsz, a student of Titian.
Portraiture was another matter. Trevelyon devoted 109 pages to
images of rulers, mostly two to a page. Those on view are
presented in such similar poses that they appear identical,
except for a grand Henry VIII, who gets his own page. Curators
suggest Trevelyon used sameness to convey the world as an orderly
place. That would not explain his chapter on marital happiness,
in which the same female character appears as the good "Wife" and
the wicked "Whorish Woman."
Despite the book's age and extreme fragility, each sheet remains
rich with greens, reds and blues. Much of the clarity is due to a
painstaking two-year restoration involving significant
innovations by Folger conservators. The linen-and-rag paper is
remarkably durable. But copper in the verdigris pigments and iron
in the black ink ate so many holes in the fabric that it began to
resemble lace. Before-and-after images of repaired pages show how
colors bled after being inadequately treated in an earlier
restoration. Conservators neutralized the metals. To stabilize
the pages, they developed a method of splitting the back-to-back
sheets and inserting gossamer custom-made Japanese paper in
between. The book has been rebound in 10 volumes in such a way
that future scholars will never actually touch a Trevelyon page.
Digital images have been made for even easier and safer access.
The graphic intensity of 17th-century technique holds up well
under 21st-century scrutiny. And Trevelyon achieved plenty of
drama without a computer's digital tricks. In one series, he
simply turned the page sideways to convey an apocalyptic moment.
When peace and calm returned in the tale, he righted the drawings
again.
The Miscellany's history is almost as elusive as its creator's.
It is actually the shorter of two grand projects undertaken by
Trevelyon. His "Great Book," completed in 1616, is preserved in
the Wormsley Library in England. That volume duplicates most of
the Miscellany's original 654 pages and offers 300 more pages of
plant and animal drawings and embroidery and marquetry patterns.
Wolfe surmises the Folger's book remained in the Trevelyon
family, or in one place, for a long time. In the late 18th
century, when wealthy English people began collecting, it
probably became someone's grand acquisition. Fast-forward to
1923, when the book appeared at auction at Sotheby's and was
bought by a London dealer. In 1944 it was back on the block with
the estate of J. Pierpont Morgan Jr. The Folger received the
Miscellany as a gift the following year.
In our world, ideas have become commodities that one buys, sells
or sues to protect. Trevelyon's Miscellany reminds us of a
provocative alternative. During the English Renaissance, when
knowledge flowered, the act of copying was not unseemly but
rather the highest compliment.
© 2004 The Washington Post Company
(unquote)
Greg Reynolds
bookburn wrote:
Trevelyon was obviously the Earl of Oxford.
Consider:
he was male, literate, in England some of the time,
and alive some of the time.
The same qualifications Oxford has to be Shakespeare!
Can the Trevelyon Fellowship and Smearing Society be far behind?