Author: Nana Kvishareli

“We should declare Kutaisi a nature reserve, where only educated, polite, patriotic Georgians will have the right to enter without a permit.”

This phrase was written by the famous Kutaisi scribe, folklorist, and public figure Pipinia Mikeladze, who was also well-known for his rare sense of humor. His jokes have survived to this day—sometimes in their original form, other times in modified versions, though many people do not realize that these sayings actually belong to Pipinia.

Let us recall the great Pipinia once again, this time through the story of his son. Professor Archil Mikeladze, head of the Applied Department of the Georgian State Institute of Subtropical Agriculture, lived as a refugee in Tbilisi and occasionally came to Kutaisi to deliver lectures. In 2001, during one of his visits, I recorded an extensive interview with him.

Professor Archil Mikeladze shared some wonderful photographs of his father, as well as personal letters addressed to Pipinia from Giorgi Leonidze, Shalva Dadiani, Nino Chkheidze, and others. However, he regretted that the main archive of Pipinia’s documents remained in Sokhumi, and its fate is unknown. It is truly sad because Pipinia Mikeladze was friends with the most prominent representatives of Georgian culture during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Professor Archil Mikeladze’s Story

A large part of society believes that Pipinia Mikeladze was simply a good humorist, singer, and dancer. My father was indeed all these things, but above all, he was an extremely talented scribe!

Pipinia (Pimen) Mikeladze was born in 1869 in Kutaisi, to Konstantine Mikeladze and Ekaterine Lortkipanidze. Though he did not receive higher education and only graduated from a noble gymnasium, he was highly intellectual and well-read. Through self-education, he earned a reputation as an erudite person. Sargis Kakabadze, a renowned expert on Georgian history, often debated with Pipinia. Their intellectual sparring was legendary, as Sargis frequently visited our home.

My father had close relationships with many great figures of Georgian culture: Akaki Tsereteli, Niko Nikoladze, Kirile Lortkipanidze, Giorgi Zdanevich, the Ghoghoberidze brothers, Dimitri Nazarishvili, Shalva Dadiani, Galaktion Tabidze, Niko Lortkipanidze, Giorgi Leonidze, Paolo Iashvili, and many others. They appreciated Pipinia’s personal charm and intellect. Unfortunately, when I was young, I did not fully understand the importance of these friendships. Now, I regret it deeply, but what can be done?

Pipinia Mikeladze’s singing and eloquence were famous from his youth. A relatively young man, 26-27 years old, he was invited by Ilia Chavchavadze to be the master of ceremonies at his birthday party.

This is how it happened. In 1896, the Archbishop of Imereti, Gabriel Kikodze, passed away. According to his will, he was to be buried in Gelati, but the funeral was postponed due to heavy snow. All of Georgia had come to Kutaisi, including Ilia. Who would have shown less respect to guests, especially him? And wherever Ilia was invited, Pipinia was welcomed as the master of ceremonies in every family.

At a big dinner held by the Kutaisi intelligentsia, Ilia addressed the young master of ceremonies: “Next year, you should honor me by visiting me in Saguramo for the Ilia feast. You should be my master of ceremonies.”

Pipinia was surprised: “With you, Mr. Ilia, Grigol Orbeliani, Rafiel Eristavi, and all those people used to lead the table, what kind of toastmaster should I be, can you imagine?”

Ilia snapped: “Imeretian man, I asked you once!”

In short, Pipinia put on a white chokha and set off for Saguramo with a few of his chosen friends. Ilia received him with great joy.

“Anyway, how many people will you have at the table, at the feast, Mr. Ilia?” asked the young toastmaster.

“So, one thousand and five hundred or one thousand and six hundred,” he answered.

As I remember from my father, there were many excellent singers and dancers at the table, but the “Imereti Group” overshadowed them all, receiving the greatest universal praise. Pipinia drank to the end and was very brave. Ilia himself was extremely satisfied and pleased.

At the end of the feast, Pipinia said to his host:

“You mentioned one thousand and five hundred or one thousand and six hundred people, Mr. Ilia, but about two thousand came here.”

“My Pipinia, let there be honey, even a fly will come from Tehran,” the host smiled.

At the beginning of the twentieth century, somewhere between 1911 and 1914, the Rustaveli Society was formed in Kutaisi, one of the founders of which was Pipinia Mikeladze.

The father of actor Giorgi Gegechkori, Vladimir Gegechkori, had an article published in the newspaper “Komunist”. The article was called “Who created ‘Tsitsinatela?’” ( the name of a famous city romance) and named the first performers of “Tsitsinatela”—Pipinia Mikeladze and his friends: Bondo Mikeladze, Kokinia Dgebuadze, Sandro Paghava, and Daniela Uria. They sang “Tsitsinatela” for the first time, and the song later spread throughout Georgia and became very popular.

I remember that in our family, we used to keep invitation cards for when communities and families would invite folklorists from different parts of Georgia, for example, from Kakheti, to perform “Tsitsinatela” or “Tseduri Mravalzhamieri.” This “Tseduri Mravalzhamieri” was also performed by them for the first time on stage—with a different singing voice. The version sung by the folklorists from Kutaisi was also recorded on tape and later was sought after everywhere, especially by the famous singer and great keeper of Georgian folk songs, Anzor Erkomaishvili.

I hope to find it with the help of the descendants of my father’s closest friend, Niko Lortkipanidze. It was in the family of the great writer that the gramophone record was kept for a long time. When Niko died, it was with his wife, Tatu. Tatu left it to her son, Nodar, and Nodar passed it to his brother, Merab. Merab is no longer alive today. Today, the daughter of Niko’s youngest son, Gogi, lives in his family. She is a very good girl. I spoke to her personally and explained everything. She told me, “I will find the recording and call you.”

Now the National Bank building stands at the intersection of Tsereteli and Pushkin streets. Diagonally opposite it was a very simple hotel, with a wonderful small restaurant, where Akaki dined for years and where all the distinguished guests who came to Kutaisi were honored.

I myself have seen a poster from 1913-1914, with the following inscription: “At such and such time, a showy Georgian banquet will be held in this restaurant. Pipinia Mikeladze will be hosting.” This poster was not in our family. When Babo Khundadze came to Kutaisi for Pipinia’s funeral, he said that he had such a poster.

I went there and, indeed, I saw it. In addition to the master of ceremonies, the members of the table were also listed there: Kokinia Dgebuadze, Bondo Mikeladze, Sandro Paghava, Daniela Uria… In short, Pipinia’s friends, folklorists from Kutaisi.

“What can you say about the feast, the table?” I asked.

“Well, everything degenerated: a Georgian table does not look like a table, a Georgian feast does not look like a feast, and a Georgian wedding does not look like a wedding. That is why they were agitating in society—how to hold a Georgian table. Pipinia Mikeladze was the host, and there were singers, dancers, a reciter, and drinkers at the table.”

Pipinia’s hospitality was famous. Not only did he excel in toasts, he drank very well and stayed at the table until the end. My father also stood out in appearance: he was a handsome man, one meter and 93 centimeters tall. He had the Georgian chokha, refined, measured manners.

Professor Irakli Chumburidze has a photo in his book of memoirs, which depicts Pipinia Mikeladze, the famous teacher Silovan Khundadze (he was Pipinia’s sister’s husband), and his son Kukuri. According to this photo, we can also assess Pipinia’s external charm.

I also witnessed my father’s hospitality. The open windows of our house often attracted passersby, curious to hear the songs and lively conversations within. His toasts and wit left everyone enchanted, and the atmosphere he created was unforgettable.

Before his death, he had a rare memory, which helped him in many ways. The Sukhishvili ensemble had arrived in Kutaisi. One fine day, Merab Lortkipanidze brought Iliko Sukhishvili and Nino Ramishvili to our family. A feast was held, my lord, and then Pipinia made a remark to Iliko about one dance movement. He was a man of rare character, one who could attract everyone’s attention. I have never met such a sociable yet self-possessed man. In general, he loved people deeply. He would find the positive in every person and see something in everyone for which they deserved respect and appreciation.

You couldn’t miss his greeting! As soon as someone passed by his balcony, he would definitely stand up and greet them, always tipping his hat. It was Shota Sharashenidze, my friend’s brother. Once, it turned out, he passed under our balcony, and Pipinia didn’t notice him. Later, when Shota’s brother came to visit us, he said: “Tell your brother Shota that when he passes by, he shouldn’t forget to greet me!” Shota was told this and immediately ran over, upset: “Mr. Pipinia, I just didn’t want to bother you to stand up. How many other times have I passed quietly under your balcony without disturbing you?”

Pipinia was a very charming man, the kind of person everyone wanted to be around. Many times, I heard my mother’s patients say, “Mrs. Zhenia, yes, we come to you for dental treatment, but more so because we want to catch a glimpse of Mr. Pipinia.” He was never lazy when it came to talking; he was a man of great talent. Pipinia worked before World War II, first in a nobleman’s bank and then in a state bank. He stopped working around the age of 70. What exactly he worked on, I can’t say, as I don’t know. However, I have often heard about Pipinia’s public activities from him and others.

For example, I know that Pipinia, Jaba Lominadze, and Simon Ezikashvili (Guram Ugrekhelidze’s father-in-law, Mindia’s grandfather) established a private court in the early days, without any remuneration. If families had a dispute they couldn’t resolve in court, or if the truth was distorted, they would say: “Let’s ask Pipinia’s court.” Indeed, these three mediators administered justice without any hindrance. The court even had a name, though I don’t remember it exactly now. I think it was “Japis” (Jaba, Pipinia, Simon), or something like that.

Pipinia was not only a man of song but also a great lover of poetry. He had wonderful memories of his contemporaries among the great Georgian writers. I remember that Galaktioni invited Pipinia from Kutaisi to one of his anniversaries. My father could not attend as he was already an elderly man, so he sent a very modest letter. By the way, this letter is kept in the Literature Museum; it dates back to the time of Giorgi Leonidze’s directorship.

Pipinia was always very hospitable. Once, Shalva Dadiani and Konstantine Gamsakhurdia visited us with Futsu Dgebuadze. Futsu said something to Shalva in Mingrelian, and Konstantine reprimanded him: “Either don’t speak Mingrelian, or say that you are not Mingrelian” (he scolded him for speaking poor Mingrelian).

In the 1950s, when I was a fourth-year student, Paolo Iashvili’s brother, Tupia Iashvili, a brilliantly educated man, came to Tskaltubo for a vacation. He also sang magnificently. When the trip ended, his closest friends from Tbilisi came to visit him. At the station, they were met by their own circle of friends: Bidzina Ghoghoberidze, Vasiko Kiknadze, Koki Dadiani, Pila Ioseliani (a man who sang like a nightingale), Bondo Dadiani, Kotso Radanaia, and others (they were all called the next generation of Pipinia). They informed my father in advance: “Uncle Pipinia, the people from Tbilisi are coming. They will go to Tskaltubo and, in the evening, will visit your family.”

Indeed, in the evening, they all came to us with Tupia. My father was a friend of Paolo. I don’t know if he knew Tupia, but the meeting was wonderful. Twelve people sat at the table, all excellent singers except for Varden Chikovani (known as “Varden-Grad”).

We lived next to the “Obekhaes” building, on the second floor, in the former Kirov Street building at number 42. I don’t remember everyone who came, but there was Kotsia Lortkipanidze – the best singer and scribe, Petya Bokeria… In short, twelve singers sat at the table, but half an hour passed, and no one sang. Then Bidzina Ghoghoberidze said: “What’s wrong with you, you… you… you bastards? Do you need at least a choir of thirty people to start singing?”

As he said this, they heard: “I hugged your crystal neck…” (a Georgian song). The first voice was sung by the great singer Kotso Radanaia. My father, who was very old at the time, over 80, took the first voice from Kotso! At that time, the windows were open because of the cigarette smoke – our “hall” overlooked the street. People stopped walking, stood in front of our house, and gathered outside. The ovation was endless!

A little later, a militia captain in a uniform entered modestly: “I’m very sorry, but there’s a traffic jam on the street. The place is packed with people. Maybe you should at least close the windows.” They closed the windows and invited him to the table. They handed him a glass – he drank it. They handed him another – he drank that too. When he had finished the third, he sang such a beautiful Polychronion that it surprised everyone. Then he blurted out: “What would have made me endure today in ‘Obekhaes’ when I heard such a song for the first time!” And then the songs continued on and on.

Pipinia was a very eloquent man. His jokes have survived to this day – either in full or in modified form – and the authorship is often attributed to others. But, in fact, they were Pipinia’s. For example, one of his famous jokes was recorded by Niko Lortkipanidze and preserved in his archive:

One of the famous people of Kutaisi had died. During the funeral, a woman stood at the door and shouted: “I don’t believe it, I don’t believe it!” (She meant she didn’t believe he was really dead.) Pipinia addressed her in a sarcastic tone: “Whoever believes it, let us in, lady!”

The secretary of the city committee, Narsia, often visited us and loved consulting with Pipinia. Once, he asked: “Comrade Pipinia, tell me honestly – is the time of the communists better or that of Nicholas?”

“How can you ask that?” the prudent Pipinia replied ambiguously. “So much joy, as we have now, where was it then?”

“What do you mean?” Narsia asked.

“Well,” Pipinia explained, “water comes – we’re happy; we get sugar – we’re happy; white bread appears – we’re happy. How can we withstand so much joy?!”

If I’m not mistaken, Pipinia met Anton Purtseladze on the White Bridge and asked him what was new in politics. Anton said: “What else can I say? France has recognized us de jure.”

“That’s nice, nice!” Pipinia replied. “But it’s like this, my lord: you were standing on this bridge, and I was being carried away by the water (Rioni), shouting: ‘Help me! Help me!’ And you were calling to me from the bridge: ‘You know me, Mr. Pipinia. I recognize you!’ And I was begging: ‘If you recognize me, at least throw me a belt (to save me)!’”

Everything that Mr. Archil told us felt like stirring a hot ember. Aren’t Pipinia Mikeladze’s brilliant words truly timeless? He died in 1953, at the age of 86.

Time has proven that the old aristocrat was one of the most distinguished residents of the “Kutaisi Reserve.”

Nanuli Tskhvediani

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