Books, Betrayal, & the Uprising: The Story of a Wartime Librarian

biblioteka_na_koszykowej_glowna_sala_czylenicza_1936_foto_z_broszury_faustyna_czerwijowskiego.jpg, default, Library on Koszykowa Street, Main Reading Room, 1936, photo: Faustyn Czerwijowski’s brochure

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The story of Lew (Leon) Bykowski, director of the Public Library on Koszykowa Street in Warsaw, could be the basis for a feature film.

I once had a real treat during a visit to the public library known to Warsaw residents as the Library on Koszykowa. As soon as I opened the émigré magazine Tabor [Camp; Ukrainian military journal for émigrés published in Warsaw, ed.], which I had ordered for the reading room, something that looked like a bookmark fell out of it. I looked at the narrow strip of paper and couldn’t believe my eyes… Ivan Ohienko’s bookplate! I asked the librarians to stick this valuable memento of a renowned Ukrainian state and church activist back into the magazine. Then, I returned to the rest of the Ukrainian publications from the interwar period that I had ordered. My intuition was right – there were more magazines from Ivan Ohienko’s collection. How did they, like many other rare Ukrainian printed matter from the 1920s and 1930s, find their way into a library in the capital of Poland?

Миниатюра — Lew Bykowski, 1944, photograph from ‘From the General Government to Watergau’.

This is thanks to Lew (Leon) Bykowski (1896–1992), an outstanding Ukrainian bibliologist and library scientist who devoted sixteen years of his life to Warsaw’s largest municipal book collection. Although he contributed greatly to the development of Polish bibliology and the professional training of Polish librarians, he is much less known in Poland than in Ukraine, which he left as a young man of twenty-six. Perhaps one of the reasons is the series of dramatic events that took place in Bykowski’s life during the uprising in August and September of 1944. At that time, attempts were made to falsely accuse the Ukrainian emigrant of collaborating with the German occupiers, thus provoking his escape from Warsaw. This took place amid the turmoil of war, during a period of unprecedented tension in Polish-Ukrainian relations, in an atmosphere of mutual distrust and suspicion, so it was not easy for observers to understand what had actually happened.

Fortunately, Lew Bykowski kept writing diaries throughout his long life and recounted in detail the events of 1944 in Warsaw. The memoirs, with the telling title Powstanie polskie w Warszawie 1944 roku. Wspomnienia świadka (The 1944 Polish Uprising in Warsaw: Memoirs of a Witness) were first published in London (in Polish in 1964 in the quarterly Zeszyty Historyczne [Historical Notebooks] published in Paris). It is worth emphasising that the bibliologist was noting down his observations of Warsaw in flames while events were still unfolding. This makes his memories all the more valuable to contemporary readers. Recalling that dreadful year and the attitudes of his acquaintances, the author admitted, ‘Only a few knew that I was Ukrainian. Others did not suspect I was, and I kept my head down’.

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Public Library on Koszykowa Street, 1936, photograph from ‘Public Library of the Capital City of Warsaw’ by Faustyn Czerwijowski, 1936

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Indeed, although Bykowski was actively involved in scholarly and social activities in Ukrainian émigré circles, Polish bibliologists and librarians considered him to be a Pole. In 1928, when the Ukrainian emigrant took up a job at the Public Library of Warsaw, he declared his nationality as Polish and his religion as Roman Catholic. Among Poles, the scholar used the Polish version of his first name: Leon. These facts are recorded in Lew (Leon) Bykowski’s personal files, which are kept in the Koszykowa collection.

Polish researcher Grażyna Lewandowska does not rule out that the emigrant provided such information because it was a condition for his employment in a state institution. According to Lewandowska, in 1933 Bykowski converted to Protestantism. It was in the Evangelical Reformed Church that in 1937 he married Maurycja Goczałkowska, a Polish physician-stomatologist. Judging by his entries in books dedicated to her, he loved her madly. Did this newcomer from Ukraine stray far from the truth when informing his employer about his Polish origins? It is worth recalling the turning points in his life.

Lew Bykowski was born and raised in the Zvenyhorodka Raion in central Ukraine. He recounted his childhood and adolescent years in his memoirs, Vid Pryvorottia do Trapezundu (From Pryvorottia to Trabzon). He emphasised that he was raised in a mixed Polish-Ukrainian family. His father, Justyn Bykowski, came from impoverished Polish nobility, while his mother, Anna Sławińska, had Ukrainian-Roma roots. The future bibliologist’s father, a forester by profession, was Roman Catholic, while his mother was Eastern Orthodox. Little Lew was baptised in an Eastern Orthodox church.

Lew Bykowski recalled that Ukrainian and Polish were spoken in his family home, and his parents attended both the Eastern Orthodox and Catholic churches. He remembered the tolerant atmosphere that prevailed on his parents’ household: ‘My parents, being of different faiths, never discussed this issue within the family’.

Particularly interesting is the part of his memoirs concerning a book that made a big impression on the boy and influenced the formation of his worldview. It was the novel With Fire and Sword (orig. 'Ogniem i mieczem') by Henryk Sienkiewicz. Young Bykowski was very moved by the image of the Cossack Bohun, whom he considered a hero and patriot of his homeland.

After his extraordinary adventures during World War I, Lew Bykowski wholeheartedly supported the project of creating an independent Ukrainian state. The young bibliologist saw his mission in creating a modern library policy, so he immersed himself completely in the process of expanding the National Library of Ukraine (the future Volodimir Vernadsky National Library of Ukraine).

However, in 1921, fearing repression from Soviet authorities, he was forced to flee to Poland, where his parents had moved two years previously. At first, Lewko stayed in Warsaw only briefly. Disappointed by the living conditions and the standard of education at the University of Warsaw, where he had attempted to study history, he left illegally for Czechoslovakia in 1922 to study economics. After obtaining a Czechoslovakian degree in economic engineering and broadening his knowledge of bibliology, Bykowski returned to Poland in 1928. By then, he had already gained valuable experience working with the Czech bibliologist Ladislav Živný and had published several important works on bibliology.

The promising scholar was immediately offered a position, prestigious for an immigrant, as head of the book acquisitions department at the largest library in the city. Such a considerable career advancement would have been impossible without the support of the eminent Polish bibliologist Faustyn Czerwijowski, who noticed the talented bibliophile from Ukraine as early as the beginning of the 1920s. Czerwijowski, who came from Podolia, ran the Warsaw public library for twenty-five years. He is considered one of the leading reformers of Polish libraries in the interwar period. In the 1930s, Lew Bykowski became Czerwijowski’s right-hand man. Working together, two immigrants from Ukrainian lands expanded the network of branches of the public library in Warsaw, ensured that librarians gained higher qualifications and developed concepts for library activities.

At that time, Bykowski edited Polish library publications, gave lectures on courses for librarians and, above all, devised strategies for developing libraries in reborn Poland. It was he who was entrusted with preparing the keynote speech for the Fourth Congress of Polish Librarians (31 May–2 June 1936), where a programme for the development of public libraries was presented. In his proposal, Bykowski emphasised the need for ‘free and unrestricted access to books’. He also expressed the view that, after a long period without their own state, Poles must create a modern and uniform library system, abandoning the legacy of the period of the partitions, which hindered the development of libraries. Bykowski’s proposals did not go unnoticed among Polish bibliologists. Eugeniusz Golus, reviewing the programme presented by the Ukrainian emigrant, emphasised:

Leon Bykowski’s short brochure is the first attempt in Polish literature to address library policy as a separate academic discipline.

Despite his active involvement in Polish circles, Bykowski also found time for Ukrainian projects, primarily in the field of book studies. A telling example of such activity is a training programme for librarians which he wrote in Ukrainian; it was published in Kalisz by the Ukrainian Publishing Association. The brochure, Knyhoznavstvo, bibliohrafija ta bibliotekoznavstvo (Bibliology, Bibliography and Library Science) was written based on the experience gained by Lew Bykowski during several years of lecturing at the Warsaw Higher Library Courses. In the preface to this work, he emphasised:

I am hopeful that this brochure, even in such a fragmentary form, may occasionally be helpful to aspiring librarians in larger Ukrainian libraries and may remind their managers once again of the need to publish a Ukrainian textbook on library science at a higher level.

In the 1930s, Leon Bykowski collaborated with Ukrainian émigré scholars whom he knew from the days of the Ukrainian People’s Republic and his studies at the Ukrainian Economic Academy in Poděbrady, Czechoslovakia (currently Czechia). His circle of coworkers included Warsaw professors such as Oleksander Lototsky, director of the Ukrainian Scientific Institute in Warsaw; Ivan Ohienko, lecturer at the Faculty of Orthodox Theology of the University of Warsaw; Ivan Shovheniv (father of poet Olena Teliha), then inspector of the Polish Ministry of Agriculture; and others. He had an exceptionally friendly relationship with Yurii Lypa, a physician, writer and geopolitician. Discussions with hydrologist Shovheniv and Lypa’s visions inspired the untiring Bykowski to create the Ukrainian Black Sea Institute in Warsaw, which would study the Black Sea and its significance for Ukrainians. The establishment of such an institute became possible only in 1940, under German occupation.

It was during this period that the life of the emigrant bibliologist was shaken up by the problem of his dual national identity. While performing his duties as director of the Public Library from 1942 to 1944, Bykowski had to maintain contact with the occupying authorities. These relations consisted in making decisions regarding the library’s resources. Both Bykowski in his memoirs and researchers of his biography emphasise that the library housed valuable collections of Polish and Ukrainian books during the occupation. According to data provided by the émigré bibliologist, the library entrusted to him served as a kind of ark of salvation for the books of many famous people:

In addition to deposits from Polish scholars, the Library also housed Ukrainian books of great value, which only one other member of staff and I knew about. […] In those turbulent times, the Library enjoyed great public trust. It accepted deposits from various people and of various calibres. Storing them could have put us in danger from both the Germans and the insurgents.

When listing some of Koszykowa’s collections, the library director mentions, among others, the books and archives of Ivan Ohienko and Ivan and Yurii Lypa, as well as documents of the Ukrainian Black Sea Institute. Some of the Ukrainian publications saved by Bykowski at that time are still housed in the library he managed during the war.

Despite the bibliologist’s unequivocal declaration of loyalty to Poland at the beginning of the Warsaw Uprising, representatives of the underground intelligence services accused Bykowski of acting contrary to the interests of the Polish nation. At that time, the book scholar was reproached for his Ukrainian roots, which, in the context of war and tense Ukrainian-Polish relations, were a sufficient ground for accusation.

Thanks to Bykowski’s memoirs, Powstanie polskie w Warszawie 1944 roku, we can reconstruct the events of those days as seen through his eyes. From his detailed description of the daily functioning of the library at that time, a picture emerges of a man devoted above all else to saving books. That was an attitude worthy of a patriotic librarian who, even at the height of the Warsaw Uprising, remained convinced that the most important task of a library was to preserve books, not to serve as a fortification for soldiers or a shelter for civilians. This was met with incomprehension and criticism from other library staff and insurgents.

In his memoirs, Lew Bykowski explains his views at the time as follows:

I tried to follow a path of compromise – I gave in to the insurgents’ demands, while at the same time trying to isolate the Library from the uprising. I believed that if the Library participated in the uprising, its collections could be damaged or even destroyed.

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South Downtown: barricade next to Public Library building, 26 Koszykowa Street, photo: Marian ‘Wyrwa’ Grabski / Warsaw Uprising Museum

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Also interesting are the comments the bibliologist made regarding unfounded rumours which, during the uprising, spread throughout the city about the participation of Ukrainians in the suppression of the Polish liberation movement and their brutal crimes against the civilian population of the capital. Bykowski clearly stressed that such accusations were irrational and that it was the German occupiers who were most interested in sowing discord between the two nations.

Bykowski’s memories of everyday life in the library during the uprising are complemented by a diary of the library, which he published together with librarian Janina Peszyńska. A digital copy of this unique document was posted on the library’s website a few years ago. The tense atmosphere in the library, complaints from employees, personal feuds and finally the extremely strained Polish-Ukrainian relations – the combination of these factors almost led to Bykowski’s death. On 22 August, at the height of the uprising, the library director was arrested by officers of the National Security Corps, the underground police force of the uprising. He was accused of surrendering Polish books to the Germans.

The scene of Bykowski’s arrest was described not only in his memoirs but also in Maria Dąbrowska’s novel Przygody człowieka myślącego (Adventures of a Thinking Man). The writer portrayed Bykowski under the fictitious name Oleniuk. The author witnessed this scene with her own eyes, as she and other prominent Polish activists found refuge within the thick walls of the library at the invitation of its director.

Both sources mention that Bykowski’s arrest was brutal, that he was insulted and subjected to violence. The bibliologist was accused of concealing his Ukrainian identity as if it were some kind of serious offence. At the same time, both authors point out that representatives of the Polish intelligentsia tried to defend the library director.

Lew Bykowski spent two weeks in an insurgent prison on Poznańska Street. The underground prosecutor’s office found no evidence of a crime and cleared him of the unjust charges. However, the humiliation he suffered in prison and the wound inflicted on him by a German sniper took a toll on Bykowski’s mental health and moral strength.

The bibliologist who had put so much effort into developing Polish library activities was deeply affected by the humiliation of his arrest and imprisonment.

Even today, many years after the tragic events of 1944, the scenes of life in the ruins of Warsaw described by Bykowski are still moving. The handful of librarians who remained on Koszykowa Street after the fall of the uprising resembled castaways in a sea of rubble. However, even in such circumstances, they tried to save books and archival documents, carefully collecting them from severely damaged buildings.

Meanwhile, the Red Army was about to enter burnt-out Warsaw, followed by Stalin’s executioners hunting down Ukrainian emigrants. On 17 October 1944, on the eighth anniversary of their wedding, the Bykowskis said goodbye to Warsaw forever and left for the West. Lew, weakened by his wounds and Maurycja, who was seriously ill with tuberculosis, were helped by their emigrant friends. Thanks to their support, Bykowski managed to evacuate some of the Ukrainian books and documents from Koszykowa’s collection.

As Maria Dąbrowska emphasises in her novel, friends and colleagues from the Koszykowa Library responded negatively to the director’s escape. Some believed that such behaviour confirmed Bykowski’s collaboration with the Germans.

Today, when we know the tragic fate of Ukrainian activists who remained in the territories occupied by the Red Army, Bykowski’s decision to flee hardly surprises anyone. It is therefore difficult to disagree with Grażyna Lewandowska, who considers Maria Dąbrowska’s assessment to be extremely unfair.

After leaving Warsaw, Lew Bykowski faced many difficult experiences, including his first wife Maurycja’s death of consumption. However, new horizons lay ahead of him: a career in book studies in the United States, many books and memoirs of his turbulent past to write. He had a long and eventful life and lived to see his dream of an independent Ukraine come true.

Perhaps one day, next to the plaque commemorating Faustyn Czerwijowski on the façade of the Public Library of the Capital City of Warsaw, another plaque will appear to commemorate his talented student and colleague, Lew (Leon) Bykowski.

Written in Ukrainian by Rostysław Kramar, 15 March 2022

Translated into Polish by Marcin Gaczkowski

Translated from Polish into English by Agnieszka Mistur

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