Officeholder Who Bequeathed His Property to Orphans and the State
Probably few in Ukraine know that Europe’s largest avenue is in Dnipropetrovsk. Formerly known as Katerynynsky Prospekt, currently Karl Marx Prospekt, its size — length and width — is far bigger than Kyiv’s main thoroughfare Khreshchatyk and even the Champs-Elysees in Paris or Nevski Prospekt in St. Petersburg. While its architecture is no match for any of those others we mentioned, of course, the avenue in Dnipropetrovsk has its own inimitable charm. In summer, it is buried in greenery and every May sees the plush blossom of white acacia. At this time of the year the avenue is a small fragrant paradise on earth, a place inspiring poets and lovers. In fact, Katerynynsky Prospect with its old buildings, monuments, cast iron latticework, and cobblestone pavement, was lauded by Aleksei Tolstoi and Vladimir Giliarovsky. The latter even compared it with major European thoroughfares. And it is also a fact that its historical visage took shape thanks to a noted individual, later undeservedly forgotten, namely Andriy Fabr, the civilian Governor of Katerynoslav, as Dnipropetrovsk used to be called.
He did a great deal not only for the city, but also for the south of Ukraine and his life story is still to be researched and made public property. Currently available sources have it that Andriy Fabr was born in 1789, in Mykolayiv, into the family of a German gardener from Switzerland. He graduated from Kharkiv University and later was known for his erudition (he knew five European languages). He married quite early, but it failed to work out and he spent the remainder of his life alone, dedicating all his time and energy to public activities and civil service. The future governor’s career began in the Crimea where he spent a number of years as forestry warden and aide-de-camp to Count M. S. Vorontsov, Governor General of Novorossiya [New Russia, as the sparsely populated lands in the south of Ukraine became known after the annexation of the Crimean Khanate] and Bessarabia, who would build the famous palace and park at Alupka in the Crimea, still regarded as the gem of the peninsula. Later, working at the Governor General’s office in Odessa, Andriy Fabr founded the first dendrological museum in southern Russia, collecting all tree and shrub species in Right Bank Ukraine, Moldavia, and the Crimea. In addition, he was a cofounder of the History and Antiquarian Society that would play an important role in local cultural development. Even before arriving in Katerynoslav, Fabr published a map describing “antiquities and settlements on the right bank of the Pontus Euxinus (ancient name of the Black Sea)” and research papers “On the Ancient Highland Fortifications in the Crimea,” “On the Monuments of Pagan Peoples Inhabiting the Lands of New Russia in Olden Times,” etc. History would remain his life-long obsession.
In 1847, Count Vorontsov was appointed Lieutenant General in charge of the Caucasus and he made Andriy Fabr civilian governor of Katerynoslav and the province. There is every reason to believe that the newly appointed governor was shocked by what he saw on arrival: a backwater town lost amid the steppes. So he busied himself making the place another venue of civilization. The thoroughfare, built under Prince Potemkin, was remarkably wide, but that was all. In fact, the avenue was known as Broad Street to locals. And there was a deep ravine between the flat and mountainous sections of the thoroughfare. To make things worse, small rivers ran down to the Dnipro across the avenue, turning into gutters. Aleksandr Pushkin, visiting the city, had to “force” one such ditch and soiled his shoes and pants. Contemporary accounts point to the street as being one huge mud bath, with cows, pigs, and chickens wandering in the city center.
Andriy Fabr started by ordering landscaping works, changing the terrain, building a steep hill. For want of machinery, horse-drawn plows were used, then earth was carried down by wheel-barrows to fill in the ravine. The small rivers and brooks were confined to stone- paved storm drains (some of which are still in operation). That same summer of 1847, a two-way boulevard was laid, running along the avenue for several kilometers, lined by four rows of trees. The first sidewalks appeared and the carriage way was paved with stone by local prisoners (some of the pavement is still there).
The new governor straightened out the city with in iron hand. Those vandalizing ornamental greenery were heavily fined and even whipped. Fabr took a stroll along the boulevard every day and once, seeing a clerk break a lilac twig, grabbed him by the ear and punished him the way a teacher would do a troublemaker in class at the time. In the eleven years of his office the avenue became one of the most beautiful and comfortably planned streets of the Russian Empire. In fact, other streets were also kept tidy the European way. Residents would write gratefully in their memoirs that under Fabr the hospitals, schools, markets, and public utilities functioned well. The governor seemed to be omnipresent, now tasting food in a charitable dining room, then checking merchants’ weights, always keeping the local bureaucrats busy.
He was merciless toward feckless subordinates. For example, he once found out that many people complained about the chief of police. He summoned the “uniform- clad parasite” and ordered him, “Come with me.” For the next five hours the governor took the chief of police over the city, under the scorching sun. By the end of the day, the obese officer was on the verge of collapse from fear and fatigue. Before letting him go, Fabr gave him a lecture, saying, “Whenever you feel lazy, my friend, just come over and we’ll take a stroll like we did today. Goodbye.”
Naturally, the local bureaucrats feared and hated the German governor who, among other things, would die rather than waste a kopeck from the city and his own budget. They spread lies and anecdotes about him that would be told years after. One such story has it that the governor taught his boiler man to save on government-financed firewood, so it was always cold at his residence. The local aristocracy was shocked by his clothes: a worn-out trench coat and beaked cap, and he was rumored to have been mistaken for a bum now and then, when walking in the street dressed like that.
It should be noted that the city and the guberniya, while Fabr was still governor, suffered ordeals. 1848 brought a terrible drought followed by a cholera epidemic. In the winter, the city’s poor went down with scurvy. Thanks to Governor Fabr and Mayor Ivan Loviahyn (another spectacular personality, incidentally), the epidemic was stopped. On the governor’s insistence, Yekaterynoslav merchants and industrialists paid for food to thousands of people. In 1854-56, during the Crimean War, the city turned into a giant military hospital, accommodating tens of thousands of wounded and ailing men brought from Sevastopol. And again the municipal authorities and the governor gave a good account of themselves. Field hospitals were organized, barracks built, and quarantine stations set up in the outskirts under the able guidance of the brilliant Russian surgeon Nikolai Pirogov. Thousands of soldiers and sailors were saved owing to well-arranged service, supplies, and medical assistance that was of top quality for the time.
Even in time of ordeal, Governor Fabr did not neglect culture, remembering that man does not live by bread alone. The Potemkin Palace was restored in 1849; from then on the premises would accommodate public gatherings. One of the halls boasted Andriy Fabr’s collection of antiquities, the result of many years of indefatigable effort. That same year the Potemkin Garden, the city’s most scenic park, opened again after restoration, looking even more attractive (currently Taras Shevchenko Park). It had been started by an English gardener named Gould. On orders from Fabr, baba ancient stone images of female figures, once worshipped by pagans, were collected all over the guberniya and brought to Katerynoslav, lest they perish when plowing the steppe. This collection, still the largest in Ukraine, is displayed by the walls of the Dnipropetrovsk History Museum.
All perils notwithstanding, the governor dedicated his leisure to books on Crimean history. He published them at his own expense in Odesa and sent copies to universities and high school libraries across the Russian Empire.
In 1858, he fell ill, tendered his resignation for reasons of health, and left for his beloved Crimea. From what is known, he took up land reform and was involved in charity and history there. Interestingly, among his friends was Christian Steven, founder of the famous Nikitsky Botanical Gardens, a project meant to boost plant life in the south of the empire. He was also the first to come up with the idea of using Dnipro waters to irrigate Crimean soil. A group of friends and associates took shape, known as the Fabr Circle, among them A. F. Arendt, physician and academician; F. K. Milhausen, epidemiologist and military surgeon, and Academician P. I. Keppen. All of them were active enlighteners, researchers, and helpers of the poor in the south of Ukraine.
The ex-governor died in 1863 and was buried at his estate near Simferopol. All his property worth 250,000 silver rubles (800,000 in banknotes), a staggering sum at the time, along with some 10,000 hectares of land, he bequeathed to an orphanage in Simferopol, in a place known as Fabr Lane. The orphanage existed up to the Russian Revolution. No one in Katerynoslav, later Dnipropetrovsk, bothered to perpetuate the memory of this splendid man who had dedicated so much time and effort to his country. The remarkable fact remains that he also bequeathed several thousand silver rubles to the treasury, a good example to be followed by our current leaders.
In fact, the ordinary residents of Katerynoslav continued to refer to the main thoroughfare as Fabr Prospekt for a number of years. Something worth remembering now that the avenue still bears the name of the prophet of world Communism, Karl Marx, which is a glaring anachronism probably gladdening only the local bureaucratic ear.
