The Menshikov Palace, on Vasilyevsky Island, is one of the oldest buildings in St. Petersburg’s history and a monument to the vision of the city’s founder, Peter I. Peter wanted the new capital and its citizens to reflect the best of European living standards, which culminated in a new architectural era in Russia. Palaces such as Menshikov’s, built by an Italian architect, could not be found anywhere else in the vastness of the former Russian Empire at the time of its construction. Today, the palace is a museum which transports the visitor to life in St. Petersburg during the early 1700s.

The palace appears, disappointingly, almost decrepit from the street level: it has not been painted in many years and the building materials look to be in disrepair. Once inside, there is an unpleasant lingering stench throughout most of the museum. The interiors of the lower level are historical exhibits about the founding of Petersburg and the role of Prince Menshikov in its founding and in the Great Northern War. The kitchen and dining room are preserved to this day, and one can see the difficulties of preparing and storing food during winter, in addition to the heating system. The lower floor does not offer much that is interesting or new, by way of history or exhibitions.

The upstairs of the palace is far more interesting, with rooms displaying various art collections and the earliest interior decoration styles of Petersburg’s elite. Similar to the Oak Dining Room at the Yusupov Palace, there is a room constructed from oak on the top floor of this palace (albeit much smaller). In fact, the rooms at the Menshikov palace are noteworthy for their relatively small size compared to the city’s other palaces. While at the Yusupov or Winter palaces one walks through “halls”, at the Menshikov they are truly “rooms”. In addition to the oak room, there is a beautiful “oriental” room in the palace. The walls are decorated with silk illustrations of Chinese folklore and everyday life, with an extensive collection of Chinese porcelain on display too. There is a small room on the top floor which houses Menshikov’s private art collection, which is almost entirely Dutch. The Prince also collected portraits of Russian and European monarchs which are on display in their own room and contain the likes of Peter, Catherine I, Peter II, and Louis XIV. One of the last rooms of the palace is the Grand Hall, which is still notably smaller than that of other Petersburg palaces but no less beautiful.

Prince Menshikov was Peter’s trusted advisor and one of his closest friends, perhaps the most powerful person in Russia after the emperor. His palace is a testament to the wealth and heightened living standards that Peter ambitiously sought to bring to Russians through his new city, the window on the West.

On the Moika River embankment, there’s the façade of an 18^th century Neoclassical house which falls into line with those neighboring it. It doesn’t invite any special attention; its color, height, and exterior decoration are truly unremarkable. If you approach this house from its other entrance, though, you will find yourself in a long park with gravel roads, but still nothing conspicuous. Walk a little farther, and you will begin to see the layout of a massive estate, only to realize that the riverfront fooled you. This is the Yusupov Palace, a city-center estate belonging to the powerful Russian aristocratic family by the same name. The palace is a marvel of architecture and riches, and embodies the unfathomable level of spending by Petersburg’s wealthiest dwellers. I want to focus on the interior of the palace and the architectural elements inside it, some of which are breathtaking. As a disclaimer, I embarked on this tour in reverse order to avoid the herd of tourists beginning at the same time as me, so that they would not be in my way.

The tour of the palace requires an audio guide, and the tour begins with the grand staircase. It seems as if every palatial staircase in Petersburg is modeled after the Jordan staircase, especially in the Yusupov Palace. Again, white marble with walls completely covered in white stucco decoration. On the top, instead of an allegorical painting, is a surface coated in the same white stucco featuring the Yusupov family seal, and a grand chandelier hanging from the center. Bring sunglasses for the staircase, as you may go blind from the white on the surfaces.

The first room, however, is the complete antithesis to the previous display of white and bright grey. To the right of the landing at the top of the staircase is the most remarkable and breathtaking room I have ever encountered in Petersburg’s palaces. This is the Oak Dining Room, a room from floor to ceiling built out of dark oak wood. What hit me first was the smell of this room, which transported me to the setting of an antique library filled with old texts. Think the Hogwarts Library, for example. The scent is enthralling, and I spent significant time alone in this room examining the details of the carvings on the walls and the ceilings.

In the middle of the room is a bulky oaken table, hand-carved from Venice. The four legs of the table are perhaps its most impressive attribute: they are carved lions, carrying the enormous weight of the structure on their backs. The lions are incredible pieces of woodwork and the table is one of the most impressive things I have seen in St. Petersburg. Hanging above the table is a grand, oaken chandelier with several blind figurines as each candleholder. The chandelier is as marvelous as the entire Oak Dining Room, which feels like the first royal palace made out of a wood cabin. It is a must-see.

The rest of the Yusupov Palace is as glamorous as the Winter Palace for its architecture and materials but lacks the art display of the latter. The private serf theater, a feat of the Rococo style, is very well-decorated and the original curtain is still in place. Blue marble columns and Italian marble fireplaces can be found in the Rotunda Room. On the first floor of the palace is Count Yusupov’s study, which boasts hand-carved pear wood furniture from France. A few rooms over the from study is the Count’s billiards room, followed by the Arabic bathhouse. This last room is beautifully decorated, with gilded Arabic text lining the walls and large white bathtubs in the middle of the room.

The Yusupov Palace is a museum of architectural styles, in my opinion, and embodies the wasteful spending of the old Petersburg elite. While walking through the palace you will find yourself crossing between neoclassical, rococo, Ottoman, Russian, and other styles of architecture. The gaudiness of the palace is therefore off-putting, but so are most palaces! I would highly recommend a visit to the Yusupov Palace, if not to see the Oak Dining Room, then to experience the grandeur of Russia’s most elite aristocratic families.

After attending The Storm at the Tovstonogov Drama Theater, I high-tailed it on foot across town to the world-famous Mariinsky Theater for an evening ballet performance of the The Legend of Love. Unlike at the previous theater, where I had lower-level tickets smack in the middle of the auditorium, I was in the highest row of the Mariinsky and could almost touch its beautiful ceiling.

The Mariinsky’s physical layout and decoration rings of imperial Petersburg’s heyday. The original tapestry curtain of the stage is still in use, lending to the vintage air of the theater. I had long heard that the Mariinsky’s ballet performances were superior to those of the Bolshoi in Moscow and decided to find out for myself. While I am not a connoisseur of ballet, I thought the dancers were quite talented and they made the emotion of their performance come across. My eyes were peeled to every move, which is a testament to their talent because my attention is not always continuous.

Whenever the lights come up at the Mariinsky during intermission, I used the high vantage point of my ticket to my advantage, and scanned the auditorium in detail. From the allegoric painting on the ceiling of the theater to the rich red velvet of the lower-level seats, I was amazed by the beauty of the Mariinsky. Between this and the talent and emotion of the ballet at hand, it was a great decision to attend this show. On top of everything, I had only just come from The Storm!

Tonight, I attended two spectacles in two of St. Petersburg’s finest art venues: The Tovstonogov Bolshoi Drama Theater, and the Mariinsky Ballet.

At the first venue, I had the pleasure of watching Ostrovksiy’s Groza (The Storm), which originally premiered in 1859. The reason for reading and then attending this play is a fun story: earlier in the term, in Moscow, I read and then attended a performance of Woe from Wit at the Maliy Theater with our program leader, Professor Diane Ignashev. In front of the Maliy there is a statue to Alexander Ostrovskiy, which I asked professor Ignashev about. Ostrovskiy’s plays were most often performed there, and he was Russia’s leading playwright during his career. So, I received the opportunity to see this performance as part of the cultural curriculum of my Petersburg sojourn.

The Storm was controversial upon its release for several reasons, among which were its critique of Russia’s detached aristocracy (a common theme among 19^th century Russian plays, I have found) and its dealing with women’s sexuality. Katya, the heroine of the play, falls in love with another man despite being married, albeit to a terrible partner. Her husband is a hilarious figure in the staging of the play: he speaks only in whiney tones and commands the maturity of an 8-year old. He is loyal to his mother to the point of being her slave and fails excuse anything she does, even if it’s at the expense of Katya, who is so gentle to the point that she is willing to take the abuse. Further adding to Katya’s torment is the fact that she cannot comprehend her best friend and confidante, who apparently speaks another language. The characters and the execution of the plot are funny and entertaining. Most striking of all, however, is the play’s experimental atmosphere.

Throughout its entirety, there are three jester-like figures who stand on either end of the stage with their mouths open and their hands shaking the entire time. Only rarely do they make a peep and, if they do, it is incomprehensible. They serve to introduce characters who come onto the stage via catwalks beginning in the rear of the auditorium, which add a whole other physical dimension to the stage and make us feel as if we are more a part of the show. The jesters are an inquisitive addition the play, as they play no major role but they are sometimes difficult to train your attention away from. I still wonder why Ostrovskiy placed them there. The transitions during the play were also unlike anything I had seen in Russian drama performances. There was always loud disjointed music, characters and extras running back and forth across the stage, and a lot of smoke, which created an appearance of chaos and disjointedness. The purpose of this eludes me, but it drew me in every time because of its curiosity.

Overall, The Storm is a fascinating play worth reading to anyone who is a fan of performing arts or creative literature. As a stage performance, Ostrovksiy’s work is marvelous and feels ahead of its time even in 2019 for its experimental and chaotic visual aesthetic but beautifully woven plot and characters. The Storm is one of the most impressive plays I have seen to this day.

Today’s visit was spent at the Mikhailovksy Zamok (castle), one of the former residences of Paul I and the site of his murder. I must admit, I was not particularly excited to travel to the castle and spend time here, as I was keen to visit the Russian Museum or the Hermitage again. While palaces are indeed exciting and tend to inspire awe from their riches and architecture, I was unsure of what, if any, art would be on display here. I quickly realized how wrong I was to judge Mikhailovsky based on its uninspiring imperial occupant, and was shocked by how much time I ended up spending here. The Mikhailovsky Zamok is a five-star museum which caters to both art fans and Russian history nerds.

The castle’s interior is no less grand than its imperial counterparts, and is even on par with the Winter Palace for the amount of gold coloring and ceiling art one can stuff into a room. Mikhailovsky even has its own grand staircase which closely resemble the Jordan Staircase, albeit on a smaller scale. Each room in the castle varies by design and decoration, further tying it to the variety on display at the Winter Palace. From the exterior, the castle was designed such that its five facades differ from one another, ranging from neoclassical to gothic. The contents of the museum, though, are what really made this visit worthwhile.

Allow me to start off with what I considered the most interesting part of the exhibitions, which was the display pertaining to the history of the royal family. Portraits of the emperors I had never seen before are displayed at the castle, such as youth portraits or family portraits. There are images of the young Alexander and Konstantin Pavlovich, Alexander II as a young man at war, and portraits of Alexander III in his study. One of the most fascinating portraits was of Catherine the Great presiding over the Orthodox baptism of Alexander I’s future wife in the Uspensky Cathedral in Moscow. Depicted alongside Catherine are all the historical figures of that time, including the future emperor Paul and a youthful yet mature Alexander. Beyond the emperors, though, are portraits and artifacts from the entire Romanov dynasty. On display at the castle are the crown and staff held by each Romanov Tsar in their portrait, prior to Peter the Great. It is striking to see such a predominant piece of the imperial family’s history in person, and was completely unexpected. In addition to this item, the museum is filled with relics from the imperial family such as watches, miniature jeweled portraits, and a jeweled New Testament belonging to Peter’s father, Theodore Alexeyevich.

Once I finished the exhibits of the imperial family, I moved onto an unexpected art gallery on the top floor containing works by some of the most prominent Itinerants. On display are portraits by Ge, Repin, Makovsky, and others. These form part of a larger exhibition tracing the depiction of various Russian social classes throughout history. On one wall, portraits of the aristocrat class are documented from the 18^th century through the 20^th. Itinerants lay next to Soviet artists, with everything in between. The other classes depicted in this gallery are peasants, proletarians, and beggars. This was an exhibit, I thought, worthy of being in the State Russian Museum because of its artistic merit. Later on, there is a photo exhibition displaying some of the Soviet Union’s most prominent figures and leaders.

Between the visual history of Russia’s social classes and the breadth of artifacts and portraits belonging to the Romanov dynasty, the Mikhailovsky Zamok is a must-see as a visitor to St. Petersburg.

Today I visited the Hermitage Museum at the Winter Palace for the first time since last spring. On the 2018 Moscow program, our group embarked on a guided tour of the palace’s second floor. The tour guide, Valery, was phenomenal: he was knowledgeable, humorous, and went to great lengths to show us everything on the second floor with the short amount of time at his disposal. That tour though, was provocative and resonated with me more than anything else in Saint Petersburg last year. I was stunned by the Hermitage and its splendor, but on Valery’s tour there was little time to pause and gander in each hall. Imagine standing in the private apartments of Russia’s emperors for all of 2 minutes, and then departing with the probability that you will never return. As someone with an interest in Russia’s imperial period, it was painstaking to leave every room, but that pain was immediately replaced by the wonder and history of the next room!

Now, if you aren’t interested in Russian imperial history, then you are forgiven for dismissing my feelings during last year’s Hermitage tour. But I suspect you will sympathize with me, when you learn that the halls we were gliding through displayed works by artists such as Reubens, Rembrandt, Rafael, Da Vinci, Velazquez, and much, much, more. If you could gaze upon Rembrandt’s The Prodigal Son for 3 minutes, would you do it? Or would you pass, because 3 minutes would never satisfy you? It depends on your taste of course, but in the Hermitage, there is something for everyone. I left the Hermitage last year in a state of wonder and despair, but the latter weighed on me more. The Hermitage, to me, was a museum within a museum: the best artwork of Europe on display within the residence of Russia’s emperors.

So it is that I found myself in Russia’s imperial capital just one year later, with a student ID card that permitted me free entrance to the city’s crown jewel. On my first trip, which lasted all of two hours, I decided to dedicate my time to inspecting the imperial apartments and the objects on display there. I first encountered the imperial portrait gallery, where I was particularly struck by the full-length portrait of Alexander I, who is the object of my independent seminar this term. It was striking to see this portrait in person, and it loomed large over me. Seeing Alexander in full-length, in his formal home and the seat of Russian imperial power, contributed to a numbing effect which washed over me. It is a sight to be seen.

The other sights I took to during my first visit were the Malachite Room of the Winter Palace, and Nicholas II’s library. The library is constructed entirely of wood and reminded me of the Oak Dining Room at the Yusupov Palace, which I contend is the most magnificent palatial room I have encountered in Petersburg palaces. Check out my blog on the Yusupov Palace to see pictures of the Oak Dining Room. This first of three visits to the Hermitage was rejuvenating and surreal, as I had the opportunity to see the imperial apartments with an additional year’s worth of knowledge under my belt.

Today was the annual Cat Day celebration at the Hermitage Winter Palace section, where the museum stages special events to celebrate the history of its storied feline guardians.

The presence of cats at the Winter Palace is almost as old as the structure itself. In 1745, the Empress Elizabeth issued an ukaz (order) for the immediate procurement of cats from the city of Kazan to serve as mouse control. She specified Kazan because, according to a Russian legend, cats originated from there. Also, Kazan cats are apparently larger than most. The cats have dwelled underneath the palace since their arrival, and have become a part of Petersburg’s folklore. There are some 70 cats in service at the moment, and they are all named. The cats no longer perform their duties in the museum’s halls and galleries, but rather serve to protect the underbelly. According to one New Yorker article, the fluffy protectors are no longer even predators by nature; they are “fat and lazy”, as the personal assistant to the Hermitage’s director puts it.

Nonetheless, the cats are beloved by Petersburgers and Cat Day is a celebration of their long presence in the royal household. The museum stages a nationwide competition among Russian schoolchildren to produce illustrations of the cats, with the winning portraits earning a display in the foyer-area Rastrelli Hall, where everyone can see them. Most exciting of all is the temporary “exhibition” open to all patrons of the Hermitage on this happy day: access to the palace’s basement, the 279-year old residence of the cats.

I took the opportunity to go underneath the Winter Palace in hopes of finding something earth-shattering a la National Treasure, as well as seeking some feline companionship. As far as the first goal is concerned, there is nothing unbelievable about the Hermitage’s basement. As I bobbed and weaved through a network of massive pipes, there were cat towers in the form of wooden pyramids here and there. Further complicating my tight-rope excursion through the basement was a hanging clothesline with hundreds of runner-up portraits of the cats. Between trying not to bump my head on pipes, the low ceiling, and not wanting to damage the priceless artwork of Russian schoolchildren, this was my most physically demanding trip in Petersburg.

I did manage to see a dozen or so puffballs, which was the gold prize of the day. The cats are adorable, especially as they curiously looked on at the humans photographing them. Some were playful and willing to get close, others stared at us from a distance. The most overwhelming part of this excursion, however, was the stench. Throughout the entire time I was underneath the Hermitage, I saw only one litterbox. If you do the math, then you can understand what stench I’m referring to and infer how strong it was. One litterbox for approximately seventy cats means the whole basement itself is a potty for these noble guardians. In the same New Yorker article, the author notes that the cats are fat and lazy because they do not need to hunt anymore as a result of their collective smelliness serving as the main deterrent to rodents.

It was an exciting experience to go beneath the Hermitage and see some early 18^th century foundations, but it’s not an essential. What made it worth it though, was being able to interact with a living, breathing remnant of the imperial family. The cats are as imperious as their former masters, between the food they eat and the comfort of their residence, and they certainly treated us like plebeians. Most of them, suffice it to say, looked upon us with disgust and wanted us out of their imperial quarters.

Today I made my first foray into the General Staff building of the Hermitage museum complex. This beautiful Italian-built structure sits opposite the Winter Palace on Palace Square, and houses the museum’s impressionist collection, permanent exhibition on African art, and more. The impressionists include an early Picasso, adding to the prestigious names the Hermitage can boast. My purpose in visiting the General Staff, however, was not to gaze upon the museum’s numerous art exhibitions but rather to visit the old imperial ministries which were housed there and have been preserved. On permanent exhibition here is the Russian Empire’s Finance Ministry and its Foreign Ministry. The latter ministry is stunning, and a must-see for anyone who considers Russian history interesting. It is a display of the most stunning jewels, diplomatic gifts, military history, and even the clothing Peter the Great wore at the famed Battle of Poltava. Most importantly for my academic pursuits this term, the Foreign Ministry displays a considerable exhibition about the history of the emperor who founded it, Alexander I.

The items on display from Alexander’s rule are striking in many respects. Some from the Napoleonic Wars, such as commemorative coins to Russian battle flags, are priceless mementos of this monumental event in European history. Others, such as Alexander’s clocks and lavish diplomatic gifts he received, are an insight into how the emperor lived. A common theme running through Alexander’s rule is how he was portrayed to the public. The symbol Alexander is most associated with is that of an angel, which any biography on the emperor will indicate. If you’ve ever been to Petersburg and seen the Alexander Column on Palace Square, did you notice what sits atop it? An angel. The historical reasons for this symbolism and the purposes it served are topics beyond the scope of this blog post, but it is an interesting detail of his rule. I bring this up because, on a majority of the commemorative coins from battles or any other event, Alexander’s depiction is that of an angel. While I had read about this in books, it was riveting to see how pervasive this image was in real life. The angel is depicted not only on coins, but also on porcelain commemorating his move into Europe, candlestick holders in his Foreign Ministry are in the shape of angels, busts of Alexander depict him as such, and clocks with angels are scattered throughout the ministry. There is still much more which depicts this image!

The Foreign Ministry displays news illustrations from the emperor’s summit with Napoleon at Tilsit, and paintings depicting both leaders. As I moved through the Alexander portion of the Foreign Ministry, I was chronologically following the Napoleonic Wars. The mementos and history of Alexander on display here are, in my opinion, the most impressive exhibition of this emperor’s rule over Russia.

Elsewhere in the Foreign Ministry are fascinating exhibitions of how the military transformed and developed under each emperor, with original costumes and weapons on display. What I paid particular attention to, though, were the various portraits of each ruler conducting foreign affairs. In the General Staff, original portraits hang which depict Russia’s rulers in different costumes, meeting with European rulers, and engaging in the kind of work which is otherwise not prominently displayed. For example, I spent a good deal of time examining a portrait of an equestrian Emperor Alexander II leading an exercise with his Prussian counterpart Frederick III, in Berlin. The image of Alexander II was not one I had seen before, but I was particularly interested in seeing images of Russia’s emperors conducting these sorts of foreign affairs.

Tonight I went to the beautiful Grand Hall at the Saint Petersburg Philharmonic to witness a musical suite of Prokofiev’s War and Peace, performed by a large orchestra and including an additional lecture on the background of the war’s personalities.

It is only my third full day in Saint Petersburg, and I have been keen to explore the city’s landmarks, museums, and streets to learn more about Alexander I, the subject of my independent study. In a prior class at Carleton we read through Leo Tolstoy’s masterpiece, and I gleaned much about the former emperor from that alone. What is difficult about studying someone who lived so far in the past, though, is that they predate audio or video. Normally this is isn’t a consideration in history courses, but as this is my first time studying a personality, I have found myself curious about how Alexander moved, gestured, and what his voice might have sounded like. The musical suite at the Philharmonic was a surreal substitute for any audio or video; I felt like I gained invaluable insight into Alexander’s emotions and thought-process through hearing the orchestra while the images of him were on the slideshow.

At the beginning of Alexander’s portion of the suite, the slideshow showed him in the early years of his reign and slightly before the war. As the musical narrative built up to beginning of the war, and Alexander’s portraits on-screen scrolled to correspond with the same years, the visual and audio elements began to align and offer a full portrait of the emperor. While the first phase of the war was underway, the orchestra performed music which inspired a distinct feeling of fear and anxiety; at some points it even sounded like the soundtrack to a Hitchcock horror film. It didn’t immediately dawn on me, the connection between the orchestra and the slideshow, and I had trouble drawing the lines. I wasn’t sure what the music had to with the visual. Then, when the music washed over me (the acoustics are phenomenal in the Bolshoi Zal) and I grasped the fear in the music, the connection became clear. Earlier in the term, through reading a biography on Alexander, I learned that he had no desire for war with France. Napoleon was a formidable enemy whose personality was particularly challenging to Alexander, who sought to be a reformer, because the French ruler was the product of a people’s revolution. Napoleon was the result of the ultimate reform, if you will. Fear was a dominant emotion in Alexander’s personal approach to this war. After Napoleon took Moscow, Alexander was stricken with fear and pushed to the point of tears in the company of his sister, wishing to return to a better time. The sounds of the orchestra spelled out, in astounding detail, the emotions and level of fear within Alexander.

When the war’s tide began to change, the music gradually grew more triumphal. The famous 1812 Overture was not performed, but the composition contained notes which betrayed a similar feeling of joy and victory. The portraits of Alexander shifted from the frightful young leader, set against a dark background, to the emboldened emperor on horseback at battlefields, culminating in a portrait depicting his arrival in Paris.

The musical suite was a powerful combination of audio and visuals which offered a unique glimpse into the personal and emotional state of Alexander, while the Bolshoi Zal and the orchestra were magnificent.