Whenever I take a walk down Kontorska Street, I like to stop at a certain building.
With each passing year, the building that once housed D. K. Kromsky’s confectionery factory is falling into disrepair, and it seems likely that sooner or later it will be demolished due to its dilapidated condition.
Yet it was precisely this company that was Georges Bormann’s main competitor.
They produced wonderful goods there, and the factory had branches in many cities… But perhaps most importantly, it was ours—a Sloboda Ukraine institution. Yet who in Kharkiv today remembers the factory’s founder, Dmitry Kromsky, and its subsequent owners, the Romanenko brothers?
Practically everywhere, you hear only one name—Georg Bormann! It should be noted that if we examine the operations of the empire’s other major confectionery companies—namely Abrikosova, Einem, and Siu—we can conclude that there was no “Bormann phenomenon” in the confectionery industry.
Everyone had beautiful tin boxes. Everyone had elegantly decorated stores and display windows. Everyone had cars bearing their logos. Everyone had famous artists designing their labels. Representatives of all the “sweet” companies were also actively involved in charity work.
Thus, Georges Bormann’s business did not stand out in any way and, in many respects, actually lagged behind its main competitors. However, there were a couple of significant factors.
First, Bormann was the only one of the four who operated a factory and brand-name stores in our city. Second, his confectionery products were cheaper and therefore extremely popular with the public. In fact, the price difference was so significant that it is Bormann’s chocolate that is mentioned in many literary works from the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
I’ll write more sometime about the history of the factory on Kontorskaya Street and the Kharkiv myths associated with Bormann. Today, however, I’d like to touch indirectly on the topic of literature. Take, for example, the book by Ivan Afanasyevich Kushchevsky (1847–1876), *Short Stories: Essays, Sketches, and Light Sketches” (St. Petersburg: A.F. Bazunov, 1875), specifically the story “Before the Golden Calf”:
“I could really use some chocolate… O-o-oh! O-o-oh!”
The colonel was tossing and turning on the couch, trying as best he could to turn his face toward the wall, since he didn’t think he could keep from laughing.“We have some grated vanilla chocolate from Borman, Uncle, seventy-five kopecks a pound… Would you like me to melt some, Uncle?” Olga Petrovna whined.
“I suppose so…” “O-o-oh! O-o-oh!”
Arkady Timofeyevich Averchenko (1881–1925), the short story collection *The Boiling Cauldron* (Constantinople, 1922).
“Listen! Even though you’re just the owner of a small shop, perhaps you’ll understand the cry of an old Russian intellectual’s soul and take pity on me…”
“What’s the matter?”
“Listen…” After all, you don’t need your sign at night when you lock up the shop, do you? Let me read it before I go to sleep—I can’t fall asleep without reading. And the text on it is very interesting—it mentions soap, candles, and sour cream—it talks about all sorts of things. I’ll read it and bring it back.
—You’re always saying you’ll bring it back! Just the other day, someone else did the same thing—he took the label off a box of Georges Borman cookies to read it, and got completely absorbed in it. And there was a little picture and all sorts of letters… You see, I have a son growing up, too!
And so on. Indeed, there are quite a few such references in the literature.
The New Year’s and Christmas holidays are fast approaching. The city streets, store windows, parks, and squares are taking on a festive look, and the twinkling lights of the garlands lend it all a certain aura of fairy tales and magic. Naturally, children are the ones most delighted by all this. Adults, however, are left with all the hassle of the preparations.
In 1885, a wonderful collection of humorous stories by Nikolai Alexandrovich Leikin—a writer who was extremely well-known at the time—titled *Azure Flowers* was published in St. Petersburg. As a talented writer, Leikin masterfully recreated scenes from the lives of merchants and the petty bourgeoisie in his works. During the Soviet era, Leikin’s works were forgotten and were rarely reprinted.
The story titled “At the Pastry Shop” from the aforementioned collection takes place at Georges Borman’s pastry shop in St. Petersburg. Although Borman’s shops didn’t appear in our city until much later, this is the story I’d like to share today. It perfectly captures the pre-New Year’s mood and the atmosphere of that time, and accurately describes the customs of the era. And, alas, I have never come across similar stories about Kharkiv pastry shops.
It’s the run-up to the holidays. Christmas is just around the corner. Gostiny Dvor is teeming with crowds. Toy shops are under siege. Pastry shops are packed to the brim.
A merchant in a raccoon-fur coat bursts into Georges Bormann’s pastry shop on Nevsky Prospect. Pulling back the collar of his fur-trimmed coat, the merchant brushed the icicles off his beard and mustache and began looking around, trying to squeeze his way through the customers to the counter.“Kirill Maksimych!” came a voice right next to his ear.
The merchant in the raccoon fur turned around and saw another merchant—a young man with a mustache, wearing a greatcoat trimmed with sable fur.
— Ah! Senichka! A living soul on crutches! What brings you here?
— Just like you, Kirill Maksimych. I hopped on a yellow-eyed horse by the Glazov Bridge and said, ‘Take me to Borman on Nevsky for two grivnas.’
— But you’re a newlywed with no kids yet—so why do you need this Christmas tree fun?
— Newlyweds, Kirill Maksimych, are supposed to go to Borman’s.
— Or do you want to treat your own lawful wife to a Christmas tree?
— Not that sort of thing at all. We go to Bormann’s just as one would go to a pharmacy. We’ll pick up some medicinal provisions for my wife, and use this vehicle to take them to her. I was thinking about the chocolate…
— In what sense?
— To feed her with it and build her up. They really starved her at the boarding school, so now we’re trying to fatten her up the merchant’s way. — You see, Kirill Maksimych, I married a well-educated woman. She plays the piano and speaks French. She even reads French poetry and knows gymnastics. She can sing all sorts of songs from sheet music. I swear to God… — said the young merchant in his sable-lined gloves. — Of course, all this “education” is very pleasing to a husband, because it always gives him something to boast about in front of guests, but on the other hand, all this learning has done her body a great deal of harm. They’ve really worn her out with all that learning.
— Why did you marry her, then? asked the merchant in the raccoon coat.— You’ve got eyes in your head, after all.
— “Her education was just too alluring.” Just imagine—they compose poems in French, sing all sorts of Gypsy songs, and play the cancan for themselves on the piano. It’s flattering to anyone.
— What’s so flattering about that if there’s a flaw in their physique?
— There’s no flaw whatsoever in them, Kirill Maksimych. Just one thing—they’re very thin. Judge for yourself: to endure such an education at a boarding school! Seven teachers from the academies of sciences taught them. The food was poor… Well, and they left the boarding school as young ladies in all their physical delicacy and to an officer’s taste…
— Merchant, but he married according to an officer’s taste! — the merchant winked at the raccoon.
“Excuse me… Even though they’re to an officer’s taste, they come with a good merchant’s dowry. We, Kirill Maksimych, aren’t fools. They’re educated and come with a good merchant’s dowry! They just lack a bit of physicality—they don’t have that merchant look—but we’ll give them that look in half a year. And that’s exactly why we come here for chocolate, added the young merchant.
— You need to fatten her up with porridge, not chocolate, said the merchant in the raccoon costume.
— Porridge, Kirill Maksimych, only makes her belly fat, but it doesn’t give the whole body a round shape. — Believe me… That’s what doctors and folk healers have told me. Folk healers know even more about these matters than learned doctors. Now, oatmeal jelly—that’s another story… But oatmeal jelly, again, doesn’t give you a healthy glow. You can build up your body with it, but it doesn’t give your face any radiance, whereas Borman’s chocolate gives the body a rounded figure and adds a rosy glow to the face. Have you seen the Borman portraits of a certain lady?The merchant pulled two chromolithographic pictures from his pocket—the ones that came with Borman chocolate—one depicting a woman as skinny as a herring and the other a woman as fat and round as a pumpkin.
— Here is this lady before she was fattened up with chocolate—she was so skinny back then—and on this card, the same lady after being fattened up with chocolate. Just look at what an unexpected transformation this lady has undergone! She’s gained three puds. She could be performing in a sideshow right now…
— But maybe this is all a lie, — the merchant in the raccoon suit doubted.
— Do you happen to know Amphilochus Stepanovich?
— Of course… He’s one of our own from Yaroslavl. — Fourteen versts from us.
— Well, so he’s been sweet-talking his lawful wife with that same Bormann chocolate.
— Surely you’re not going to try to mold your own wife to that same standard?
— No, why on earth would I do that?” We don’t need tricks like that just so we can balance a tray of cups on our chests. And we’ll get her down to half that standard, as suits our taste, and then we’ll call it quits.
— Do you feed her every day?
― Three times a day. Morning, evening, and at lunch.
— And does she eat heartily?
— At first she ate with gusto, because life at the boarding school was such a novelty to them, and women generally love sweets—but then she started to lose her appetite. But I just kept feeding her and feeding her. Now she’s started to hate it, but I force her… I’ve even resorted to a little strictness. She cries, but when I’m strict, she eats. Now she can’t even hear the word “chocolate” without shuddering.
— Look, she wouldn’t run away from food like that… said the merchant in the raccoon’s fur.
— Why on earth would she run away! After all, they love me dearly, and they even take pride in pleasing their husband with their merchant-like appearance.
— Is there any benefit to it?
— Her figure had already begun to take shape considerably, though it wasn’t yet very noticeable in her face, although a blush had already appeared. I wondered if the rascal was puffing it up or applying makeup… I rubbed it with a white cloth—the color didn’t come off. “But Kirill Maksimych, she needs a whole year to be brought up, and I’ve only been using her since
St. Catherine’s Day. — How much more torment will she have to endure!
— There’s nothing to be done about it, Kirill Maksimych. My husband commands it, so I must obey. — And have you also deigned to come here for some chocolate?
— Why would I? I have my own, and it doesn’t even fit in a one-and-a-half-seater carriage. I ordered a new two-seater today.
— And without chocolate?
— Without chocolate. — As for me, I popped in here to buy some Christmas tree treats for the kids. You just can’t do without a Christmas tree these days, brother. There’s a new trend out there—you’d howl like a wolf, but you’ve still got to give the kids a Christmas tree! — the raccoon-fur merchant sighed, moved toward the counter, and said,
— We’d like three pounds of assorted candies with little hangers. Just make sure they’re the kind that won’t give the kids stomachaches. — After all, they say these days they’re mixing copper sulfate and sulfur into the candy for color. So please—no copper sulfate and no sulfur.”
Years have passed. Just as before, the pre-holiday season brings a flurry of activity to pastry shops. For some merchants, “a tray of cups balanced on the chest” remains a symbol of beauty, and the magical properties of “chocolate”—even if not Bormann’s brand—are known to every woman. Thank God they at least don’t mix copper sulfate and sulfur into the candy to give it color.
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