Samovars

“Russia without samovars is not Russia.”

Pyotr Stolypin, prime minister under Tsar Nicholas II

Stolypin may have overstated things a bit, as the Russian samovar did not come into existence until the early 18th century, hundreds of years after the establishment of Muscovite Russia. Still, he could not overstate the samovar’s importance in the psyche of his fellow Russians: the samovar quickly became not simply a practical household object, but a prized family ornament, the de facto center of the Russian home — even, according to some, an artistic manifestation of the Russian soul.

“The samovar is Russian art,” says Andrei Lobanov, owner of the largest private collection of Russian samovars in the world. “It’s not so great as a practical object; its beauty lies in the creativity and energy the designers put into it.”

Samovars — the name comes from the Russian words sam (self) and varit (to boil) — are actually a hybrid of two types of heater/boilers: the Russian sbitenik and the Dutch bouilliotte. Russian sbiteniks were used to heat a
traditional drink called sbiten, which was made from light beer, honey and spices. And bouilliottes, which were brought to Russia from Holland by Peter the Great, were used to heat a drink called glintwein (a type of mulled wine).

Both the sbitenik and bouilliotte had their drawbacks, however, and so the samovar was designed — history has forgotten by whom — to eliminate the boilers’ weaknesses, while keeping the positive design elements. The sbitenik had a teakettle-like spout, which necessitated lifting the entire container to pour out its contents, an unwieldy process. The bouilliotte had a spigot tap, which was much more convenient to use, but there was one other problem.

“The bouilliotte was heated by lighting alcohol in the base,” says Lobanov. “For the wealthy, burning 150 grams of alcohol was not a problem. The peasants, though, wouldn’t dream of burning alcohol — they’d rather drink it, and then there would be nothing to burn for heating the tea.” So a hybrid was created:
a wood- or coal-burning heater with a spigot tap. And the samovar was born.

Samovars enjoyed a meteoric rise in popularity, especially in St. Petersburg, where residents and laborers spent long hours in the harsh climate building the new city up from the swampland claimed by Peter the Great. As it became clear that the samovar was a necessity to keep workers warm throughout the long months of cold weather, Peter founded a mine outside the city, and production of
samovars soared.

Although most 18th- and 19th-century samovars were made of copper, artisans soon began creating samovars not only of different materials, but in different shapes, sizes and fashions, according to the current tastes.

Samovars have been made from silver, platinum, porcelain, ceramics and even crystal, with wood and bone most frequently used for the handles and spigot control. And like architecture, sculpture and other art forms, samovars also followed the trends of the day in design: Lobanov’s collection contains samovars of baroque, classic, rococo, gothic, neo-Russian, style moderne, neoclassical and neobaroque design.

The value of Lobanov’s 250 samovars, collected over a period of more than 30 years, is considerable.

“The city of St. Petersburg has offered me $1 million for the entire collection,” he said. “But a representative from Christie’s auction house valued them in 1990 at around $4-5 million.

“It doesn’t really matter one way or the other, as I wouldn’t ever sell them anyway,” he continued. “To me, they’re invaluable.”

The Hermitage museum also recognized the artistic worth of the collection, exhibiting it in 1992. It was the only exhibition of a private Russian collection in the museum’s history, according to Lobanov. He has also shown the collection in Prague, Paris, Moscow and Bratislava, and has been approached by US museums, although no agreement has yet been reached to take the collection to the US. For now, the samovars will be on display at St. Petersburg’s Smolny Cathedral until September 15. While Lobanov’s collection is notable for its comprehensively wide range of samovars, there are also a few that are noteworthy all on their own.

Lobanov’s eye-catching ‘Samovar-Rooster,’ for example, draws attention for its unusual design — the spigot is shaped like a spitting rooster head — but its history is even more curious (see next page).

A similar samovar made of gold won the grand prize for design at the

1873 Vienna World’s Fair, and six  copies were made in celebration. During the 1917 revolution, the gold samovar-rooster was lost (it is suspected to have been melted down), as were three of the copies. Of the three remaining, according to Lobanov, two are in Russia (the one owned by Lobanov and another by a schoolteacher in Kirov), and the third is owned by Prince Lobanov-Rostovsky (no relation to Andrei Lobanov), a Russian living in Paris.

Even more curious is the story of the samovar taken by Tsarevich Nicholas (later Tsar Nicholas II) to Japan in the early 1890’s. This samovar was intended to be a gift to the Japanese emperor, but Nicholas’ visit was cut short by a Japanese who tried to attack the future tsar with a saber. Nicholas returned to Russia, Japanese-Russian relations were soured, and the samovar remained in the hands of the royal family until the 1917 revolution, when it was lost.

Then, according to Lobanov, in 1991 the samovar suddenly re-appeared at an auction organized by an antiques association. The sellers were gypsy barons, who may or may not have realized the history and worth of the object. Lobanov, who had spent much of his life becoming an expert on samovars, realized what was being offered, and promptly sold paintings and furniture from his house to obtain the funds to buy the samovar. While he does not recall the exact price he paid, it was far less than the samovar’s actual worth as a historic object. The samovar is now on display for the first time at the Smolny Cathedral exhibition.

Perhaps predictably, samovars began to lose popularity in the 20th century, as people became more active outside the home and old traditions of long evenings spent drinking tea began to go out of style.

“The rhythm of life is completely different now,” says Lobanov. “Everyone is in a hurry. People don’t want to take the time to prepare and heat up a whole samovar for a cup of tea.”

But there is one segment of Russian society that is spurring a samovar renaissance of sorts: so-called ‘New Russians,’ who not only have the money to invest in antiques and objets d’art, but are also seeking to reclaim the prestige of pre-revolutionary Russian gentry. Lobanov is frequently retained as an adviser by the newly wealthy, many of whom consider acquiring a quality samovar and antique icons a crucial step in setting up their
homes.

Although new samovars are still produced in Tula and Lipetsk, they are the conveyor-belt variety, and considered by many to be not only of inferior quality, but not even actual samovars. Seekers of genuine samovars — meaning hand-made antiques — go to stores such as St. Petersburg’s Tertia, located in the center of town on Italianskaya Street.

“Most Russians buy samovars to use at the dacha,” says Tertia saleswoman Irina Kulinskaya. “It doesn’t make sense to use them in the city,
as they produce too much smoke — it’s like trying to have a barbecue in your apartment. So people buy them and take them out to the countryside to use.”

Many city dwellers still own samovars passed down through generations, and even though they rarely, if ever, use them, the owners wouldn’t think of parting with them.

“I have two samovars at home,” said Alexander Blinov, who works for a furniture company, “and I haven’t made tea with either of them in the last 20 years. But one is a pre-revolutionary samovar, and the other was a gift to my parents on their silver wedding anniversary. So even though I don’t use them, they still occupy an honored place in my home.”

Any non-Russians, meanwhile, who wish to give a samovar an honored place in their home should take note: according to Inna Gushnikova of the Russian government’s Control Group over Export of Cultural Valuables, it is illegal to take any objects made before 1945 out of Russia. There have been reports of individuals being allowed to take antiques out after filing paperwork and paying fees, however, so the best bet is to call the Ministry of Culture and inquire.

If customs paperwork puts you off, though, this unique craft is one to be admired in Russia itself, in exhibitions like Lobanov’s, or together with traditional Russian hospitality in homes like Blinov’s.