Treasure on the Onega

To this day, historians are unable to agree on when Kargopol was founded and what its name means, although there are many competing answers to both questions. Most specialists would agree, however, that this small town of some 12,000 souls, located in the southwestern part of Arkhangelsk province, is one of the oldest settlements in the Russian north and was probably founded in the 11th or 12th century. A few centuries ago, it was also one of the north’s most important settlements, although that is difficult to imagine now.

By the 19th century the trading routes along the Onega River to the White Sea had lost their significance, and Kargopol no longer monopolized the northern salt trade. And today, the local tourist trade has substantially decreased because of new economic difficulties. Logging and subsistence-level agriculture are about all the area can sustain, apart from state-subsidized jobs in the town itself. Only Kargopol’s remarkable white stone churches remind of its wealth in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Even though many of these landmarks are in a state of disrepair, their cumulative effect is impressive, particularly in a setting that has preserved its historic scale.

Kargopol is not a particularly easy place to reach. Over the past few years, the paved road network in the area has expanded, and it is theoretically possible to reach the town by road from the south, via Cherepovets and Belozersk. The easier way is to take a train from Vologda to Nyandoma, a singularly graceless town whose main occupation – apart from the railroad – is the local forest products industry. From Nyandoma Station, regular bus service runs to Kargopol, 90 kilometers to the west.

The other, and faster, way from the Nyandoma station is to hire a private car – not so expensive if there are other passengers to split the fare. For my first trip, at the end of last February, I chose the car. My train arrived at 2:00 in the morning, and in winter weather I did not care to wait another forty minutes for a bus whose existence seemed doubtful. (I later learned that the bus was right on time.) The car proved a mixed blessing: four people crammed into a Zhiguli, together with a driver who played an endless, mediocre pop rock tape at ear-splitting levels as we careened over a snow road at 80-100 kilometers an hour. So much for the romance of the northern forest!

After an hour and a half, I finally stumbled out of the car into a snow drift while the driver took my 20 rubles, vaguely pointed in the direction of Kargopol’s one hotel, and drove off. 

A brisk wind, a meter of snow, a barking dog, a couple of dimly lit windows, and one street light. The poet Alexander Blok could have made much of this. I felt only the ultimate sense of isolation, intensified by the dull roar that remained in my head from the rock tape. 

Although the hotel turned out to be only a block from where I uncertainly stood, my disorientation was so great that it took another half hour of wandering and disturbing law-abiding citizens in the middle of the night before I desperately rang the bell at the small, two-storied hotel. Miraculously, a concierge appeared with an electric kettle and a space heater, and I – the only guest in the hotel – was escorted to a room on the second floor.

The next morning, sun appeared between scudding clouds, and I walked out to take the town’s measure before my meeting with the staff of the local museum, directed by Lidia Sevastyanova. (I should say at the outset that the museum staff was most helpful during the several days of my stay in the area.) 

Everywhere in Kargopol one sees stacks of firewood, even next to many of the two or three-storied apartment buildings of standard Soviet design. Local residents later explained to me that a proposed gas pipeline extension to Kargopol had foundered because of inadequate funds. Therefore, most of the housing in the town continued to be heated with firewood, at ever-increasing financial and ecological cost. Bottled gas is available, but, because of the expense, it is used mainly for cooking.

Nonetheless, many residents prefer the present system, because it gives them greater control over the temperature of their rooms, in contrast to the situation in larger cities such as Arkhangelsk, where gas shortages frequently keep interior temperatures frigid during the winter. Throughout the morning, I heard the raspy grind of small, gasoline chain saws, as boys in pursuit of spending money went through the streets cutting firewood to usable lengths. Some households buy the more expensive, pre-cut wood, hauled into town on carts pulled by farm tractors. Many of the log houses in the center of town are virtually barricaded by walls of neatly stacked firewood. For the residents of Kargopol, certain basics of winter existence have changed little since the nineteenth – indeed, the sixteenth – century. 

In other ways as well, Kargopol is straight out of the sixteenth century. Its dimensions are much the same now as they were four or five centuries ago. Very little has remained from that earlier time, however, primarily because of a fire in 1765 that leveled much of Kargopol and severely damaged even its stone churches. When the town was subsequently rebuilt, the construction of log houses was prohibited in the immediate vicinity of churches, both for reasons of fire safety and as an aesthetic measure, to allow a clearer view of the white stone churches, which unfold in beautiful progression along the wide Onega River. 

Within this majestic natural landscape, Kargopol adheres to a regular grid plan dating from the time of Catherine the Great, with blocks of one and two-storied log houses, most of which are covered with plank siding. As is typical for Russian wooden houses, the window surrounds are elaborately carved and decorative cornices cover the eaves. In this town of merchants, craftsmen, clerics, and clerks, the carved decoration of wooden houses reflected a modest prosperity and way of life deeply rooted in tradition.

One of the charms of Kargopol is its concentration of museums and architectural landmarks within an easily accessible area. As one strolls through these little streets of wooden houses, the town’s dominant landmark comes easily into view: the bell tower on the square next to the Cathedral of the Nativity of Christ. The cathedral itself is the oldest structure in Kargopol, and in some ways the most imposing. Built in 1552-1562, the cathedral has been much modified since then. In 1652, the chapel of Saints Philip and Alexis was added to the north facade, with a raised porch and flanking staircase. Shortly thereafter a similar structure was attached to the south facade, and a large porch and staircase were added to the main entrance on the west facade. 

The severity of the 1765 fire caused cracks to appear in the Nativity Cathedral walls, which were subsequently reinforced with large bulwarks at the corners. Thus the original, graceful white structure, with its five domes, is encumbered from all sides. The fire also damaged the frescoes that covered the interior. The domes, which were made partly of wood, caught fire, and the portion of the wall paintings that survived the flames and smoke eventually succumbed to the elements, as the upper part of the church stood open to the sky for five years. The walls are now covered in whitewash, with only a small patch of the original frescoes visible above the west wall. What remains of the icon screen is also post-1765. One curious element on the interior is a cast-iron arm extending from the brick cylinder supporting the main dome. From its hand descends the chain that held the central chandelier of the church.

With the replanning of the town after the fire, the area around the Nativity Cathedral was cleared to form the so-called New Marketplace, bounded in the northeast by the Church of the Nativity of John the Baptist, built before the fire, between 1740 and 1751. Although austerely simple in form, this church, with its extended baroque cupolas, soars above the surrounding landscape. The interior is flooded with natural light from the large windows and was formerly used to display an excellent exhibit on the architecture of the Kargopol region. Alas, lack of funds has led to the closing of this part of the local museum. 

The centerpiece of the New Marketplace ensemble (also referred to as Cathedral Square) is a large, three-storied bell tower, begun in 1767 with a mixture of baroque and neoclassical elements. The lower part of the tower was intended to serve as a triumphal arch for Catherine the Great. Although her visit never took place, the bell tower serves admirably as a point of orientation for the town’s main streets. Weather permitting, visitors may ascend the tower for a superb view of the surroundings.

The northwest part of the cathedral square is occupied by the Church of the Presentation of the Virgin, built in 1802 in a severe, archaic style that merges well with the rest of the ensemble. This structure now houses an art gallery that displays the work of local painters. One of the best of these is Valentin Shevelov, currently the patriarch of an entire clan of artists and crafts specialists. To this day, Kargopol continues a long tradition of nurturing masters in crafts such as weaving, clay toys and the making of baskets and other containers with strips of birch bark. 

On the eastern part of town, near the old earthen fortress and a few hundred meters from New Marketplace, stands the large limestone Church of the Resurrection, built at the end of the seventeenth century in a style reminiscent of Russian cathedrals two centuries earlier. As with many other towns in the impoverished Russian north, it is now difficult to imagine the wealth needed to create such churches and their interiors. So much has been lost in recent decades – and before – and so little support is available to maintain what is left. For example, the Resurrection Church, which gave its name to the adjacent square, had another church flanking it and a beautiful log church nearby. Both churches are now absent from the ensemble.

Not far from the Resurrection Church rises the enormous Greek-style dome of the Trinity Church, one of the earliest churches in Russia to be built in the neo-Byzantine style. Begun in 1790 and completed in 1802, the Trinity Church also gave its name to a square that had another church in its ensemble. Now the Trinity Church houses the main crafts exhibit of the Kargopol museum. The great space beneath the dome has been used very effectively in displaying local handicrafts (such as the work of master weaver Nina Krekhaleva) and folk art, including recently restored icons.

On the other, western, side of Kargopol there is a similar grouping of churches, including the grand Church of the Annunciation, completed in 1692. Also built of local limestone, the church has tall windows, framed with carved surrounds that are so rich in detail that the art historian Igor Grabar wrote at the beginning of this century that they rivaled the palaces of the early Florentine Renaissance. Indeed, we might have expected to see them in the Moscow Kremlin at the end of the fifteenth century; but Moscow has nothing like this. The apse of the church, with its blind arcade, is simply incomparable. Another enigma of the Russian north: who devised and executed these marvels?

The Annunciation Church now stands abandoned. Just to its north is the whitewashed cube of the eighteenth-century Saint Nicholas Church, so austere as to look modern. (Four of its five cupolas were removed during the Soviet period.) Together, these churches formed the Old Marketplace, which was marked on the north by yet another church, the Nativity of the Virgin, completed in 1680. Although smaller than the Annunciation, it too has refined, decorative carving, and the structure is perfectly balanced by two chapels attached to the north and south facades. This is now Kargopol’s one functioning Orthodox church. The town could hardly support another in these times.

At the western edge of the original town boundaries, on a rise that passes for a “hill,” stands the latest of Kargopol’s churches to have survived. It is the Church of Saints Zosima and Savvaty, completed in 1819 for a visit of Tsar Alexander I. The classical style and rotunda dome suggest a Roman temple, or a grand estate house in the Russian provinces. This church was one of the town’s wealthiest in the nineteenth century, because of the extensive forestlands it possessed. The building has been renovated and is now used as a branch of the local history and art museum, with an interesting display of icons and other church art, including carved wooden images of saints such as Nicholas of Mozhaisk. It should be noted that some of Kargopol’s best icons are now in museums throughout Russia, including the Hermitage and the Russian Museum in St. Petersburg.

By the turn of this century, Kargopol had approximately 3,000 residents and 22 churches (including those made of wood), as well as two monasteries. Like other ancient Russian towns that were bypassed by railroad construction (Suzdal is the primary example), Kargopol sank into a legendary torpor. Unfortunately, this did not save its monuments of art and architecture after the revolution. During the Soviet period, half of the town’s churches vanished through neglect or demolition. 

But however difficult the struggle to preserve this artistic legacy in Kargopol itself, the situation is even worse in the countryside, renowned for containing some of the best examples of log architecture in Russia. Many of them now exist only in photographs. Nonetheless, there are still villages within a hundred-kilometer radius of Kargopol that contain major landmarks. The closest to Kargopol is the village of Saunino (five kilometers away), with its tent tower Church of St. John Chrysotome (1665; renovated in the early 20th century) and an adjacent bell tower. 

A hale and hearty village elder holds the keys to the church. When I entered the church, I saw only fragments of the icon screen, but the painted suspended ceiling, or “heaven” (nebo), still had most of its panels intact. So many of these ceilings have been taken out of country churches for preservation in museums – a difficult and controversial decision.

As impressed as I was by Saunino, the day had even better in store at the village of Oshevensk, on the Churyuga River, which one crosses over a recently renovated bridge of fragrant pine–one of the best surviving examples of a wooden bridge in the Russian north. On approaching Oshevensk, one sees the grand ruins of the nineteenth-century buildings in the Monastery of St. Alexander of Osheven, founded in 1453 – the year Constantinople fell. 

Ochevensk was a large village, consisting of three hamlets, and it is still well preserved, with local inhabitants renting some of the log houses to summer visitors. Oshevensk contains not only the exquisite, miniature Chapel of St. George (partially restored), but also the log Church of the Epiphany (1787), with its tent tower over the sanctuary and a detached bell tower. The interior has one of the largest spaces among wooden churches in this area, and its icon screen and “heaven” are staggering in their extent and color. The woman who kept the keys said that a priest does not regularly hold services here, but women from the community frequently gather in the church on Sundays to sing hymns. Thus devotion returns in its purest sense.

The most remarkable monuments of wooden architecture that I have seen during my travels in this area are in the village of Lyadiny, almost 40 kilometers from Kargopol. This extraordinary ensemble consists of three parts: a summer Church of the Intercession (1761, with tall tent tower); a winter Church of the Epiphany (1793), with its panoply of cupolas; and a large bell tower. Both churches have highly distinctive design features, and the combination of icon screen and “heaven” inside the Intercession Church is the most striking that I have seen. Such three-part ensembles of churches were once common in wealthy, northern farming communities, but most have disappeared. (Kizhi Island has the most famous of the surviving ensembles.)

Lyadiny has now lost its prosperity. Lidia Sevastyanova, director of the Kargopol Museum, said that the Epiphany Church is in desperate need of repair. Restoring the entire ensemble would require not quite 500,000 new rubles, or slightly less than $90,000 (before the recent devaluation). But the Arkhangelsk provincial government cannot allot such sums for these projects, nor apparently can the central government. Yet this is one of the priceless treasures of the Russian countryside. As Kargopol endures this difficult and uncertain time, we can only hope that these masterpieces, and others like them, will find the support needed for their continued existence. 

SUMMER POSTSCRIPT

The contrast between winter and summer in Russia is always sharp, but rarely had I experienced such complete opposites as on my return visits to the region in June and July. An unusual heat wave coated the log buildings with a light patina of dust, and the seemingly endless sun gave everything a new texture and shape. The roofs of houses were now visible, and instead of stumbling through snow drifts, I could move freely over fresh green squares in the center of Kargopol or through fields and meadows in the countryside, sweet with the smell of hay. In June, I attended an international conference on the history and culture of Old Believers, sponsored by the Kargopol Museum with great skill under difficult circumstances. Even in the midst of economic depression, the local hospitality – both in Kargopol and in the surrounding villages – was all that I had come to expect. And the light on the interior walls of the log churches was much richer than in the winter, when I first discovered the painted icon screens and “heavens.” Whatever the season and however difficult the road, the Kargopol region is well worth the effort for experienced travelers in search of the remarkable treasures hidden in the Russian countryside.  RL

William C. Brumfield is Professor of Slavic Studies at Tulane University. A leading authority on Russian architecture and an accomplished photographer, he is a regular contributor to Russian Life. His article on Novgorod appeared in our Oct/Nov 1998 issue. He is also author of several books on Russian architecture, including Lost Russia, A History of Russian Architecture and Landmarks of Russian Architecture (all available through Access Russia, ph. 800-639-4301)