Hopchytsa's Madonna

Ukrainian archaeologist Petro Kurinnyi planned to make the statue of the Virgin Mary from Hopchytsia one of the highlights of the Kyiv Museum of Arts, Industry and Science (now the National Art Museum of Ukraine).

In the end, however, the museum was forced to return it after an outcry from the local parish community.

This detective-like story was published by Iryna Khodak, a researcher of the history of Ukrainian art scholarship and an ethnographer, in her book Human Labour: Danylo Shcherbakivskyi — A Portrait of a Ukrainian Art Historian.

Here is how one of his acquaintances from the neighbouring town of Pohrebyshche recounted the Hopchytsia story in a letter to Petro Kurinnyi:

“You were right! After your departure from Hopchytsia, the mood there shifted so dramatically that it nearly ended in the priest being beaten. 

These faithful and obedient children of Christ’s flock raised such a howl that it could have frightened every wolf—whether in sheep’s clothing or not.

A hundred heads of this ‘flock of Christ’ rushed to the village of Krupoderyntsi to complain to Countess Ihnatieva about their priest, who, they claimed, had sold the statue of the Mother of God to an unknown person for selfish gain.

Judas,’ they said, ‘sold Christ, and our priest sold His Holy Mother.’ And do you think this was about offended religious feelings?! Not at all! This flock is simply unhappy with their priest and is looking for any excuse to sink its teeth into him. 

The countess roused the bailiff into action, but he found himself at a loss: what was he to do? A complaint on such an extraordinary basis must have left him as bewildered as it did the countess. 

And so, dear archaeologist, this is what your noble, platonic love for the history of your native land has brought about when put into practice. 

The poor priest will have much to endure in his old age, for this “dear flock of Christ” has already convened three councils over the matter. I earnestly beg you: help deliver this new Daniel from the lions’ den—extend your noble hand and disperse the throng that has beset him. 

Writing swiftly with your pen, send a note to the museum to have this fetish shipped back to Hopchytsia, addressed to the priest, Father V.Butkevych — postal station Bosyi Brid, railway station Ros. And the sooner you do it... 

However, if the statue was indeed made by a local self-taught craftsman, one would expect other works by him to have survived in Hopchytsia or the surrounding area.

It seems unlikely that an artisan would create only a single piece in a lifetime — and leave behind no stories or memories among fellow villagers.

The Hopchytsa Madonna continues to guard its secret. We have a letter addressed to an archaeologist; we know of the villagers’ outrage and the frightened priest; we know of a museum forced to return its would-be exhibit…

Yet we still cannot say for certain that the statue now kept in the village chapel is the very one that once had all of Hopchytsa ready to rise up in protest. Perhaps that is where her strength lies. 

Folk memory does not always need an inventory number or a scholarly attribution. What matters is that, for Hopchytsa, she remains the Holy Mother—dressed with care, protected, and honoured with candles, as people bid their loved ones farewell on their final journey.

And the detective story? It continues. Because the true Hopchytsa Madonna, it seems, still has a word to say in this tale—she is simply waiting for the moment when we learn to listen not only to archives, but also to the silence of an old village chapel.