Of all the figures that have risen to prominence throughout the history of Russian culture, few have been so plagued by misfortune as Vasily Bazhenov. This is a tall claim, since fortune has not exactly showered favor on Russia’s greatest architects, artists, writers, poets, or musicians.
As often happens, however, in his youth Bazhenov appeared to be blessed with a lucky star. The son of a sexton serving in one of the Kremlin churches, he grew up surrounded by extraordinary works of Russian architecture. By the middle of the eighteenth century, although it was still thought of as Russia’s traditional capital, Moscow had been forced to cede primacy in this regard to its younger sister, St. Petersburg. But this “dethroning” had a positive side: the city was able to preserve its ancient appearance; it was spared the never-ending construction of government buildings and sumptuous palaces.
Little Vasya Bazhenov spent his childhood drawing old churches and buildings. At one point, somebody noticed that he had quite a knack for this. The renowned architect Dmitry Ukhtomsky was shown the boy’s drawings and took him on as a student. This was his first stroke of luck.
While studying under Ukhtomsky, Bazhenov demonstrated such ability that no less eminent a personage than the empress’ favorite, Ivan Shuvalov, interceded to have him admitted into the Academy of Arts. This was his second stroke of luck.
At the academy, Bazhenov was taught by another remarkable architect, Savva Chevakinsky, who was so taken with the talents of his young pupil that he involved him in the construction of one of the most exquisitely beautiful buildings yet to be built in St. Petersburg, the St. Nicholas Naval Cathedral (nicknamed “Nikola the Wet”). And this was not his last stroke of luck.
In 1759, the 20-year-old Bazhenov was sent to study in Europe at Academy expense, the first person to be so honored. He spent time in Paris and Rome, where he constructed miniature models of Louvre galleries and St. Peter’s Cathedral and saw a multitude of outstanding works of architecture before returning to his native Moscow full of hopes and plans.
It was at this point that fortune started to fail him.
Bazhenov was put in charge of an important project: the construction of a new suburban palace for the new empress, Catherine II, in the village of Tsaritsyno. Here was a project he could really sink his teeth into! On top of this, the empress asked him to design a huge new Kremlin palace. The old cathedrals that he so lovingly drew in childhood were to be mercilessly demolished and replaced by a huge new building in the classical style. Fortunately for posterity, but not, of course, for the architect, the empress rejected his design. Maybe he was demanding too much money, or perhaps Catherine, who always tried to show her respect for Orthodoxy and Russia’s past, simply decided against tearing down the old buildings. The Kremlin was left as it was.
But Bazhenov still had the huge task of creating the Tsaritsyno complex, which included a palace, an opera house for all sorts of stage performances, charming footbridges, and an elaborate park featuring, in the spirit of Neoclassicism, painstakingly replicated “ancient” ruins. Construction was already underway when suddenly, like a thunderbolt out of the blue, came an explosion of imperial wrath. While inspecting some ornate red and white structures built in a style somewhere between Gothic Revival and Old Russian, she was outraged to see some circles and odd lines suggestive of a compass embellishing the building. Could these be Masonic symbols?
Catherine, who came to power by overthrowing her own husband, Peter III, had a lifelong fear of conspirators, and, in her mind, Freemasons represented a serious threat. Of particular concern to the empress were rumors that Masons were attempting to establish contact with her son, heir to the throne Pavel Petrovich, who was impatiently awaiting the day when his mother would finally cede him the power he felt was rightfully his. What if these symbols ornamenting the Tsaritsyno complex held some hidden conspiratorial meaning? Catherine proclaimed the palace to be too gloomy and ordered that Bazhenov’s assistant, Matvei Kazakov, complete construction. Bazhenov’s largest and most ambitious project was thus taken out of his hands.
This incident, however, did not put an end to his career. He built a series of churches around Moscow’s perimeter, as well as the stately and elegant Pashkov House on a hill overlooking the Kremlin, right in the center of the city. Later, when Pavel finally ascended the throne after his mother’s death, Bazhenov took part in designing the Mikhailovsky Castle, which Pavel wanted to make his residence, since the Winter Palace held too many unpleasant associations for him. However, he was not allowed to head the project and had to work under the direction of Vincenzo Brenna.
Bazhenov died before the castle was completed, but misfortune pursued him, or at least his outstanding architectural legacy, even beyond the grave.
Over the course of the nineteenth century, the Tsaritsyno Palace gradually fell into disrepair, and during the Soviet era turned into a genuine ruin, of the sort that had been carefully and intentionally created there for effect when it as first built. You could not approach it without taking your life into your hands, due to the detritus that would occasionally come crashing down from its upper reaches. Rock climbing aficionados, however, felt no compunction about scaling the walls of this neglected architectural masterpiece.
In recent years, Tsaritsyno was “reborn.” The palace and outbuildings have been restored and concerts are now held there. This is all very nice for twenty-first century Russians, however, it is somewhat unclear what Bazhenov himself would think about the fact that the restorers, in violation of all the best practices of their craft, simply made structural repairs to his buildings as they saw fit, without regard to the original design. Visitors to Tsaritsyno are no longer in danger of being brained by falling chunks of stone, however a glorious but deteriorating architectural monument has been transformed into something with a touch of Disneyland, where crowds stroll, vendors grill shashlyk, and people go horseback riding.
The situation with Pashkov House is even more lamentable. Fortunately, this stunning piece of architecture was restored with great care and retains its original form. However the hill on which it rests does not seem to be able to withstand the building’s weight. Some say the problem is that it sits atop the Borovitskaya metro station. Others say the hill and building were riddled by cracks before the station was built, due to communication conduits excavated by the KGB (it appears unlikely that the FSB has since removed them).
The exterior of Pashkov House is periodically covered with huge advertising banners, and the interior, where the Russian State Library’s Manuscript Department is currently housed, has evident structural problems.
Furthermore, there are scholars who believe that it was not Bazhenov who designed this exquisite building in any event, but some Italian architects.
Poor Bazhenov. Some sort of ill wind seems to have plagued his life and legacy. Perhaps this hint of the sinister is what tempted Mikhail Bulgakov to choose Pashkov House as the setting from which Woland, the diabolical hero of Master and Margarita, departed Moscow.
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