Хлеб-соль: bread and salt
There is probably no more iconic image of welcoming in Russia than an offering of
хлеб-соль (bread and salt). For visiting dignitaries, a lovely woman in traditional costume holds a
рушник (embroidered towel) supporting
каравай (a loaf of bread, usually round, decorated with dough leaves, flowers and other ornamentation).
In the center is салонка (salt cellar). The visiting dignitary — who must have rehearsed before the trip — breaks off a bit of bread, dips in the salt, swallows it and smiles.
The same ceremony used to be practiced — and sometimes still is — when Russians greeted guests or welcomed a newlywed couple into their new home. A new mother would be offered some right after the birth and then keep a bit of it wrapped and tucked under her bodice so that her nursing child would never go hungry. And when someone traveled, they’d take bread and salt with them to ensure good fortune and keep a symbolic bit of home and hearth with them.
As far as I can tell, no one knows when or exactly why the tradition began. Most scholars agree that the bread is
“the staff of life” — хлеб насущный (daily bread), the basic foodstuff that kept famine at bay.
The symbol of salt is harder to decipher. Some people maintain that ancient Slavs endowed salt with magical powers and served it as a kind of talisman, protecting those to whom it was offered. But it seems more likely that it was a symbol of wealth and abundance. Expensive, but necessary for cooking and preserving, a full salt cellar was a sign of prosperity.
Без соли не вкусно, а без хлеба не сытно (Without salt [food] isn’t tasty, and without bread [food] isn’t filling).
So by offering someone хлеб-соль, you are wishing them health in the bread and wealth in the salt.
In the old days if a person walked into a room and found someone eating, they’d say
Хлеб да соль! (something like “Bread and salt to you!” or perhaps “I wish you wealth and health!”)
Today they say приятного аппетита! (bon appetit!). Over the years, about a million Russians have asked me what the English equivalent is, and I’m always sorry to say that there really isn’t one. In similar situations, we’d tend to apologize for interrupting and then say, “Enjoy your meal.” This is perfectly nice and polite, but really not the same thing at all.
Хлебосольство is the quality of being a generous and cordial host or hostess, usually translated as hospitality. But in English, hospitality refers to all aspects of a cordial welcome, whereas хлебосольство refers primarily to generosity at the table. This makes translation difficult if I am in a nitpicking mood. For example, the English equivalent of хлебосольная хозяйка is not exactly a hospitable hostess, since that might mean that she is a welcoming hostess who pampers her guests. Part of that pampering might be lots of food, but — given these weight-conscious times — perhaps not. To be exact, I might translate the phrase as “a hostess who keeps a generous table.”
Хлебосол is a host who doesn’t stint when guests come to dinner. After one holiday celebration at the U.S. Embassy, a Russian newspaper described the U.S. ambassador as
чрезвычайный и полномочный хлебосол (the Host Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary).
For an honor like that, he must have put out a really good spread.
Michele A. Berdy is a Moscow-based translator and interpreter.
plenipotentiary
| 1. | a person, esp. a diplomatic agent, invested with full power or authority to transact business on behalf of another. |
| 2. | invested with full power or authority, as a diplomatic agent. |
| 3. | conferring or bestowing full power, as a commission. |
| 4. | absolute or full, as power. |
Policy (peace, war, nonalignment, alliances, shows of force, and double-dealing). To execute policies derived from these strategic geometries, ancient India fielded three categories of diplomats (plenipotentiaries, envoys entrusted with a single issue or mission, and royal messengers); a type of consular agent (similar to the Greek proxenos), who was...
[Medieval Latin plēnipotentiārius, from Late Latin plēnipotēns, plēnipotent-, invested with full power : Latin plēnus, full; see pelə-1 in Indo-European roots + Latin potēns, powerful; see potent.]
A diplomatic agent, such as an ambassador, fully authorized to represent his or her government.
Michele A. Berdy has lived and worked in Moscow for 30 years. She is an accomplished translator and interpreter. After graduating magna cum laude from Amherst College, she did post-graduate work at the Pushkin Institute in Moscow and then worked as a translator and editor at a Soviet publishing house (1979 to 1982). In addition to working as a simultaneous and consecutive interpreter, she has translated several books, hundreds of articles and short stories, and sub-titled over 50 feature and documentary films. She has taught at the Department of Translation and Lexicography at Moscow State University and currently conducts master classes and workshops on various aspects of translation and intercultural communication.
Following a decade-long career producing innovative public affairs programming for American and Russian television, since 1996 she has managed and consulted on communications programs in Russia and the region, specializing in health and public service promotion.
Ms Berdy writes a popular weekly column on language and translation for The Moscow Times and The St. Petersburg Times, as well as book reviews and feature stories about Moscow and Russian culture. Her articles on culture, current events and various aspects of intercultural communication appear in the Russian and English-language press. She was the lead or sole writer of four guidebooks about Moscow, St Petersburg and Russia, and co-author of a Russian-English dictionary.