On the bright day of Christ’s Resurrection, many of us congratulated one another on this wonderful holiday. In times long past, not everyone was able to do this in person. 119 years ago, in 1898, the first artistic postcards were published in the Russian Empire, right on the eve of Easter.
As one might easily guess, the theme of the postcards was Easter. The creator of these colorful and original postcards—which gave thousands of people the opportunity to exchange the traditional greeting “Christ is Risen!” despite the distance— was a nobleman from the Kharkiv Governorate, the grandson of the founder of Kharkiv University, and the most famous Slobozhansky artist, Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin. This is the contribution—albeit a small one—that our fellow countrymen made to the celebration of this joyful day.
Here is how Tatyana Grigoryevna Morozova, a native of Kharkiv who attended one of the most prestigious schools not only in Kharkiv but in the entire Russian Empire, remembered Easter. In her 1913 memoir, *At the Institute for Young Ladies*, we read the following:
Around Easter, we baked Easter cakes (in Ukraine they were called “pasha”), dyed eggs, and grew oats on plates ahead of time, placing the dyed eggs among the green sprigs. It turned out bright and beautiful. We always made a cheese (cottage cheese) Easter cake. In the evening, we set the table, which was very colorful and beautiful. There were flowers—for some reason, hyacinths were a must. The Easter cakes were probably blessed at church, but this was done by an orderly or a housekeeper. I don’t remember my parents ever going to church. Only once around Easter, when my father was at the front, did my mother go to some women’s monastery near Kharkiv—to pray for her husband’s well-being.
Unexpectedly, Dad returned from active military service. He immediately went to the monastery and caused quite a commotion there by breaking into the women’s quarters in the middle of the night. The next day, Mom and Dad returned home calm and joyful.
However, Kharkiv’s Easter celebrations in the early 20th century gained worldwide fame thanks to the humorous story “The Visitor,” written by the outstanding writer, satirist, and theater critic Arkady Timofeyevich Averchenko.
The writer lived in our hometown for about 7 years (from 1900 to 1907) and was fired from his job with the words, “You’re a good person, but you’re not worth a damn.”
An acquaintance of mine told me a most intriguing story about Easter visits.
It is entirely credible, since this acquaintance served as an official at the Assay Office and owns a two-story house in St. Petersburg. I don’t think such a person could have made up this story, or exaggerated it, or embellished it. Besides, he was far too simple-minded for that. To anyone familiar with the custom of Easter visits, this story will not seem particularly strange or out of the ordinary.Here is what he recounted:
Once, shortly before Easter, he had to travel from St. Petersburg to Kharkiv on business. He was unfamiliar with the city, and he spent the entire Holy Saturday bored out of his mind. The next morning, when he woke up, the sun was shining through the window, and a carefully cleaned tailcoat lay next to his bed. The customs official stretched sweetly and joyfully in bed and said to himself:
“Today I need to make the rounds—it’s the first day of Easter, thank God! It’s time to get dressed.”
He got up, got dressed, shaved, and went out onto the street. On the street, he haggled with a cab driver, got into the cab, took out his address book, and glanced through it.
“Take me to 7 Dvoryanskaya Street.”
He arrived at Dvoryanskaya Street, found Apartment 4—just as it was listed in the guidebook—and rang the bell.
“Is anyone home?” he asked the maid. “Are they receiving visitors? Christ is risen.”
“Please come in! Indeed.”
The official was warmly welcomed by the master of the house; he exchanged kisses with him and approached the mistress with his lips outstretched.
“But I don’t exchange the Easter greeting with men,” the mistress declared coquettishly.
“Why not?”
“Oh, no, no—how could I!”
The official kissed first a ruffle on her neck, then an earring, then the air, and then all three of them, laughing merrily, made their way to the table…
“A shot of Zubrovka!” “Try our kulich—it seems to have turned out well this year.”
“I’ll try some! Yes, the kulich is wonderful.”
“Where did you attend Matins?” asked the hostess.
“At the university church.”
“So where did you break your fast?”
“At home.”
“Do you plan to spend the summer at your dacha?”
“At the dacha.” “Well, I have to go.”
“Stay a little longer! It’s been ages since you’ve gotten together.”
“No, no, don’t be silly.”
The official stepped outside, got into a cab, and glanced at his address book.
“Moskovskaya Street, 12, Apartment 20.”
The cabbie dropped him off. The official rang the bell, exchanged a Christmas greeting with the mischievous maid, kissed the host on the cheek, was utterly surprised by the hostess’s refusal to exchange Christmas greetings, and then drank a doppel-kümmel.
“Where did you attend the early morning service?”
“At the university church.”
“At your summer house?”
“Yes, well, I have to go. Goodbye?”
“Where are you going?”
The third place the cab driver went to was:
“Ivanovskaya Street, 9, Apartment 6.”
After the usual exchange of greetings and two shot glasses of cognac, the landlady asked:“Where did you go to morning service?”
“At the university church. I was going to go to St. Isaac’s Cathedral, but it’s too far from where I live, you know.”
“I think so,” said the hostess.
“Yes,” confirmed the official. “It’s a forty-minute drive.”
“From where?!!”
“From my place!”
“Good heavens, what are you saying!” How can it be a forty-minute drive from Kharkiv to St. Petersburg?”
The official stood up, utterly stunned.
— That’s… what city?
The landlady laughed.
— Well, I’ll be! A man in Kharkiv lives on Ivanovskaya Street with the Sverchkovs—and he doesn’t even know what kind of city this is.
—So you’re the Sverchkovs?—exclaimed the official. “But my address book lists this address: Ivanovskaya Street, 9, Apartment 6—the Chaplygins. So you’re not the Chaplygins?”
“No, we’re the Sverchkovs.”
“Then I apologize,” the official stammered. “All the best. I’ll be going now.”
“Where are you going? Stay a while!”
“You see,” the official told me as he recounted this incident, “what a mess it turned out to be.” In both St. Petersburg and Kharkiv, there are streets named Moskovskaya, Dvoryanskaya, and Ivanovskaya. I was going to the St. Petersburg addresses.
— But how did they receive you, a stranger?— I asked in surprise.
— What’s it to them? A visitor arrived, in a tailcoat, exchanged the sign of the cross, attended Matins, drank vodka—so everything was just as it should be, exactly as it ought to be… And my situation is the same—how can you possibly remember all the familiar faces? If I hadn’t brought up St. Isaac’s, no one would have noticed a thing.Life throws us amazing twists and turns and weaves the most intricate plots. If the story told above seems unbelievable, let me repeat: surely an official at the assay office—the owner of a two-story house—couldn’t have made it up?!
The first Easter cards, family stories, and humorous anecdotes—all of this makes up the history of the city we all love. All of this is part of Kharkiv’s little Easter miracles.
And the more of these details—both significant and insignificant—you discover, the closer the past feels…
- About the military pilot school and the airfield in Kharkiv… - 04.11.2020
- Nikanor Savich—A Political Career by Mistake - 13.07.2020
- And once again, about the Cavalry Guards… - 21.01.2020