This article is from a series by the invaluable William Brumfield, (Wikipedia), Professor of Slavic Studies at Tulane University, New Orleans, USA.
Brumfield is the world’s leading historian of Russian architecture. He makes frequent trips to Russia, often to her remote regions, and records the most unusual examples of surviving architecture with detailed, professional photography.
His most recent book is a real treasure, Architecture At The End Of The Earth, Photographing The Russian North (2015). (Amazon). This truly beautiful book was made possible by the support of a US philanthropist, and its true cost is 3 times its retail price, and we can’t recommend it highly enough. Here is our 2015 review of it.
Bravo to RBTH for making Brumfield’s work possible, and providing such a great platform for his beautiful photography. We recommend visiting the RBTH page, which has a slide show for each article with many more pictures than we can fit in here.
Don’t believe in miracles? Well, we can assure you, Brumfield’s work is undoubtedly just that.
Nestled in a corner to the south of the Kremlin and not far from the Moscow River is an enchantingly beautiful ensemble that reflects centuries of turbulent history. Even native Muscovites are not always aware of Krutitsky Court, located by a lane of 19th-century wooden houses, yet its remarkable display of 17th-century church architecture and ceramic tiles is a unique part of Moscow’s cultural heritage.
The origins of the Krutitsky Court (Krutitskoe Podvorye) reach back to the 13th century and the aftermath of the Mongol/Tatar invasion of medieval Rus (1237-1241). Following the Mongol conquest, thousands of Russians were held in captivity as slaves near the center of the Horde at Sarai on the lower Volga.
The Mongols respected the Russian Orthodox Church, and at the request of Grand Prince Alexander Nevsky of Vladimir, they allowed the formation in 1261 of a diocese to minister to this large group. The diocese was called Sarsky and Podonsky, reflecting the fact that its boundaries stretched from Sarai to the Don River.
A decade later, in 1272, the distant diocese established a legation, or court (podvorye), on the outskirts of Moscow with the support of Prince Alexander’s son Daniil, founder of the Moscow Riurikovich dynastic branch. The Krutitsky Court was located downriver from the Kremlin on the high left bank of the Moskva River at a site known as Krutitsy (from the Russian word for “steep”). Its first church was dedicated in 1272 to Sts. Peter and Paul.
The Sarsky and Podonsky eparchy was not alone in establishing legations near Moscow. The Orthodox Church sensed Moscow’s increasing power — already rivaling that of Vladimir and Tver — and legation gave bishoprics far from the capital a foothold near the center of political power and provided a suitable residence during the bishop’s visits. Krutitsy was also located in the vicinity of two marge monasteries — New Savior and Simonov — and near a major route to Kolomna and the southeast, which was the route taken by Moscow princes during their obligatory journeys to the Horde.
Descendants of Prince Daniil — notably Ivan II and Dmitry Donskoi —made important gifts to the Krutitsky Court. Funds for a new church dedicated to the Dormition of the Virgin were provided by Grand Prince Ivan II, who ruled from 1355 to 1359.
With the waning of Tatar authority in the 15th century, few Russians remained in an area whose rulers had adopted Islam. In 1454, Bishop Vassian transferred the seat of the bishopric from Sarai to Krutitsy, and the word Krutitsy was added to the name of the eparchy.
Decades after this transition, Krutitsky Court gained a new masonry Cathedral of the Dormition in 1516. With little practical connection to their original territory, the Krutitsky bishops began to play a more important role in managing church affairs within the Kremlin. By the middle of the 16th century, the Krutitsky Diocese had its own court within the Kremlin. In 1589, the year when the first patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church was installed, the Krutitsky bishop was elevated to the level of metropolitan.
In the early 17th century, Krutitsy played a momentous role in sustaining the Orthodox presence during the Time of Troubles, a national catastrophe that lasted from 1605 to the end of the next decade and combined a dynastic interregnum with civil war and foreign invasion. There were moments in the Polish occupation of the Kremlin when the “Little” Dormition Cathedral at Krutitsy performed as a surrogate for the inaccessible Kremlin Dormition Cathedral — Russia’s main church.
In 1612, the Krutitsy Dormition Cathedral was ransacked by the Poles, and became a rallying ground for the forces led by Prince Dmitry Pozharsky, which expelled the Poles from the Kremlin in November 1612. In 2012 a large votive cross was placed at Krutitsy to commemorate these events.
As the situation in the country slowly stabilized after the establishment of the Romanov dynasty in 1613, Krutitsky Court also underwent a revival. Major expansion occurred during the tenure (1664-1676) of Metropolitan Pavel II, who in 1667 initiated the construction of the present Dormition Church (at that time a cathedral), with a ground floor chapel dedicated to Sts. Peter and Paul.
The design of the Dormition Church, completed in 1689, was typical for the late 17th century, with a closed domical ceiling vault supporting a roof with five decorative cupolas. Although the interior was ransacked during the early Soviet period, some of the 19th-century wall paintings have remained, and the icon screen has been recreated. The construction of the church included an elevated, arcaded passage known as the Dormition Gallery that led from the cathedral to the Metropolitan’s residence and refectory.
The rebuilding of Krutitsky Court continued under Evfimii, who was metropolitan between 1688 and 1695. He was one of the 17th-century prelates who made no apologies for a display of the wealth and beauty of the Orthodox Church, which at this time witnessed a revival of ceramic decorative art. The effusive use of ceramic decoration was often interpreted as a preview of the beauty of paradise itself. Perhaps nowhere in Russia was this revival more lavishly displayed than in the “Teremok,” built above a gateway leading to the courtyard of the Metropolitan’s Chambers (palaty). Begun in 1693, the Krutitsky gateway was completed shortly before Metropolitan Evfimii’s departure in 1695 to become Metropolitan of Novgorod and Velikye Luki.
The north façade of the Teremok, which included two pairs of windows, was covered in almost 2,000 polychrome tiles, including ceramic columns. The bays of the façade were divided by carved limestone columns with a grape vine motif, symbol of the Eucharist. The pitched wooden roof above the Teremok was clad in dark ceramic roofing tiles. The architects of this display were Osip Startsev and Larion Kovalyov, and the design of the ceramic tiles has been attributed to Stepan Ivanov. It should be noted that the main, north façade receives direct sunlight only in the summer, yet the variety of the ceramic tiles is perhaps best perceived in indirect light.
The late 17th-century expansion begun by Pavel II at Krutitsky Court also included the rebuilding on the foundations of the earlier Dormition Cathedral of a refectory known as the Cross Chamber (Krestovaya palata; 1665-1689) because of the cross vaults that supported the ceiling of its dining hall. Attached to the north of the refectory was the small Church of the Resurrection, a remnant from the earlier cathedral. These various components were united by the building of the Metropolitan’s Chambers, a two-story residence with a pitched roof begun by Paul II. In 1727, the residence gained a more imposing, elevated entrance with a stairway and porch in an early Baroque style. The residence overlooked a courtyard with an ornamental garden, one of the first of this type in Moscow.
Court in decline
Although a half-century of work had created a unique architectural setting, the travails of Krutitsky Court were far from over. In 1721, Peter the Great abolished the Russian Orthodox patriarchate, a move that led to the demotion of Krutitsy from a metropolitanate back to a diocese. Then, in 1737, a catastrophic fire (the Trinity Fire) caused serious damage to the ensemble, including the Teremok, whose ceramic roofing was replaced with sheet metal.
During the church administrative reforms of Catherine the Great, the dioceses of Sarsky , Podonsky and then Krutitsy were abolished, and the Krutitsy ensemble was transferred to the War Ministry. Only the Dormition Church continued to function, and it too suffered major damage from the 1812 fire during the French occupation of Moscow.
After the 1812 fire, the military administration recommended converting the Dormition Church to barracks, but the discovery of bishops’ graves led to the preservation of the remaining Krutitsy ensemble. Its restoration became a personal project of Grand Duke Alexander Nikolaevich (subsequently Tsar Alexander II), which lasted from 1833 to 1865. At the same time, the military expanded its presence with the construction of the Krutitsky Barracks and prison at the perimeter of the ensemble along the Moscow River
The establishment of Soviet power brought new threats to Krutitsy, whose military barracks compound continued to function. Paradoxically, the restoration of the Moscow Patriarchate (part of the separation of the Church administration from the Soviet state) led to the creation of the Metropolitanate of Krutitsy and Kolomna as an administrative arm of the Patriarchate.A new era in the history of Krutitsy began in 1947 when the restoration of the ensemble was declared a national priority and entrusted to the leading specialist Peter Baranovsky. In 1982, the ensemble was placed under the administration of the State Historical Museum, and in 1991, Krutitsy was returned to the Russian Orthodox Church. Restoration of the main space of the Dormition Church was completed in 2007 As in the 19th century, the Krutitsky Barracks military post coexists with Krutitsky Court.
Today, preservation work gradually continues at Krutitsky Court, closely related to the Moscow Patriarchate. Despite the many threats to its existence over the centuries, fate has spared this peaceful enclave, which bears witness to so many dramatic events in Russian history.
The Covid-19 pandemic divided the world in two: those who tackled personal projects, taking advantage of the collapse, and those who later regretted not having done so. For Chuck Palahniuk, 60, confinement was not as problematic – after all, a writer needs a certain degree of isolation in order to concentrate – as the closing of the gyms. Suddenly, he had no way of working up. So, he set himself a new routine: building a castle with his bare hands on top of a cliff outside of Portland. He chuckles as he recalls: “I changed a completely abstract activity in the gym for lifting rocks weighing more than 40 pounds. I started with a simple room and before I knew it I was making windows, niches for statues, a patio… There it is, without ceilings, like a strange uninhabitable fantasy.” During those months, he took on something he had been avoiding: teaching and preparing a manual for aspiring novelists: Consider This: Moments in My Writing Life After Which Everything Was Different (Grand Central Publishing).
Question. You start this book by saying that you never wanted to write it. What made you change your mind?
Answer. Before publishingFight Club, I used to work on a truck assembly line. There were so many of us journalists in that company that we joked that they should teach welding during the career. Then I signed up for the writing workshop of Tom Spanbauer [author of The Man Who Fell in Love with the Moon] and everything changed. I owe him a lot of what I know. Thanks to him, I was able to develop my career. And since Tom is not in good health and was never going to write this book, I owed it to him.
Q. Tom Spanbauer created the concept of “dangerous writing,” which you practice. What is it about?
A. It’s about exploring something threatening and unresolved in your life, overcoming fears from painful personal truths.
Q. What advice, as a writer, would you have given to yourself as a young person?
A. Relax. You need to take your time to publish something that matters; you only have one first novel.
Q. In your case, it was Fight Club. You did take your time… you wrote it when you were 33.
A. I was still young, wasn’t I? [Laughs]
Q. How did you manage to keep grounded after its success?
A. It was not a success, on the contrary. During my first promotional tour, in Seattle two people showed up, and in San Francisco, nobody. And even though the film rights were acquired, nothing indicated that it would actually be filmed. When it was finally released, it lasted a couple of weeks in the theaters. By then, it had hardly been sold; almost all copies of the book remained in a warehouse. It wasn’t until Fox released it on DVD that it really found its audience.
Q. Is it true that after you were introduced to Brad Pitt on the set, you wanted to get his lips?
A. [Laughs] We all have our insecurities. I, for example, have been trying to hide my neck since I was a child. It’s too long. That’s why I always had my promotional photos taken with a turtleneck. But I hadn’t paid attention to my mouth until a friend told me: “Have you noticed how the attractive thing about Brad Pitt are his perfect lips?” They are very pronounced, very full. That made me self-conscious about mine; they are quite thin. I needed lips like those. So I called several cosmetic surgery offices to get information and tried one of those telemarketing-style inventions that do suction to achieve a fuller effect. It was a complete disaster. And I took the opportunity to write about it, of course.
Q. Why are you so keen on exploring the limits of the body?
A. Funny you should mention it, because I have realized that the stories that most attract me as a reader are those that include some physical element. And that is always present in my writing: it could be in violence, in sex, in drugs or in illness. Creating a very intense feeling of the character’s body generates a physical reaction in the reader.
Q. When would you say you moved on from your obsession with provoking?
A. The 1990s was the decade of transgressive novels. It started with American Psycho and continued with Trainspotting and Fight Club. Novels about bored kids who would try anything to feel alive. But everything changed with 9/11. Suddenly, anything transgressive was in danger of being accused of inciting terrorism, and publishers decided not to take legal responsibility for their authors. That is why there was such a strong revival of codified formulas of transgression, such as horror. I published my own horror trilogy: Lullaby, Diary and Haunted. I had to sharpen my wits to hide the message. I don’t see it as something bad; on the contrary, it forces the reader to exercise their intelligence to decode what you’re really telling them.
Q. You have a short story, Guts, about risky forms of masturbation that can end in tragedy. It is famous for causing fainting among the audience. Why do you like to read it in public so much?
A.Guts comes from true stories. I wrote it as a personal challenge, thinking about Shirley Jackson and her story The Lottery. When she published it in The New Yorker in the 1950s, the magazine lost subscribers; some people were very offended. I was obsessed with the idea: what would a story capable of amassing the same level of anger look like today? Reading it in public is the most humiliating thing I can do, because I have to put all my dignity aside. It is a message especially for the youngest: in order to create, the first thing you have to lose is shame – only then do you end up facing your own fears.
Q. Shirley Jackson’s daughter sold her mother’s ashes online, and gave you some. Where do you keep them?
A. They are too precious a relic to keep in my hands. I bought two beautiful wooden boxes from an antiques dealer, split them up and sent them to my agent and publisher. The truth is that I’m not particularly fetishist.
Q. In your book, you raise two unanswered questions: why are we so obsessed with stories about losers? Why do high culture tales end badly?
A. In most movies of my generation the good guys used to lose. Rocky lost, Rosemary gave birth to the devil’s son, Taxi Driver croaks, Carrie kills everyone and then herself, Midnight Cowboy ends terribly… Everyone goes after an ideal and loses the battle, although many persevere. Someone named this “romantic fatalism.” We had seen the failure of Vietnam, Nixon’s corruption, the environmental crisis… Nobody was going to go for a nice ending, we had to see the hero try and try and fail. The decline of the Summer of Love would give rise to the Me Generation of the 1970s and the yuppies of the 1980s. And so, we have remained in love with tragic endings until today.
Q. In 2018, you experienced a particularly difficult moment: you lost the income of your last years due to the embezzlement committed by your literary agency’s accountant. What was it like to suddenly find yourself in scarcity?
A. It was disturbing, but it helped me not to be so confident. In any case, I didn’t start writing for money, and it has never been my main goal. I’m not a big spender either. So, essentially, nothing changed. At that time, much worse things happened to me, like the death of my father-in-law from cancer.
Q. You have always been very discreet about your relationship with your husband, with whom you’ve been with for almost 30 years. But you now talk about it more openly. What has changed?
A. The death of my parents was decisive. I didn’t want to embarrass them when they were alive, because homosexuality wasn’t something they quite agreed with. Also, my husband feels more comfortable with it. In 2018, we were invited to the Rome Film Festival, and when I walked the red carpet we posed together and he hugged me from behind. It was a natural gesture that we don’t usually do in public.
Q. You’ve had no problem writing about your addiction to sedatives, but I read that you’ve given them up. What drove you to do it?
A. I started because I suffer from insomnia. I can spend weeks wandering sleeplessly. Then I discovered that they were a fantastic tool for writing in one sitting or for keeping up with the pace of promotional tours. Vicodin or Ambien were useful to turn my body into a machine that responded to the need to rest or to be awake when needed. Until I was invited to a cultural festival in Borelo, Palermo, and I got hammered mixing pills with booze. I ended up acting like a jerk in front of people I admire, like the writer John Irving. On my return to Portland, I was so embarrassed that I said to myself: never again.
Norway’s prime minister said Friday the country, which has become Europe’s biggest supplier of natural gas, had accepted military contributions from France, Germany and Britain to secure its oil and gas sector.
Published: 30 September 2022 19:01 CEST
File Photo: Norway’s Prime Minister Jonas Gahr Store addresses the 77th session of the United Nations General Assembly at the UN headquarters in New York City on September 22, 2022. (Photo by Tomothy A. Clary / AFP)
“We are in discussions with our allies to increase the (military) presence in the Norwegian sector and have accepted German, French and British contributions,” Norwegian Prime Minister Jonas Gahr Store told a press conference, following the alleged sabotage of the Nord Stream pipelines in the Baltic Sea.
His comments came days after four leaks were discovered in the Nord Stream gas pipelines in the Baltic Sea, which bring Russian gas to Europe.
The leaks were caused by underwater explosions corresponding to hundreds of kilogrammes of explosives and look like a deliberate act, a Danish-Swedish report said Friday.
“I understand that people are worried about the consequences that the situation in the Baltic Sea may have and that something similar may happen to the oil installations,” Store said.
“We have no indication that there are any direct threats to the Norwegian oil sector,” the Norwegian leader added.
Following the Nord Stream explosions and leaks, Norway had already said it would beef up security around its oil installations, amid allegations of sabotage.
“The government has decided to put measures in place to increase security at infrastructure sites, land terminals and platforms on the Norwegian continental shelf,” Norwegian Energy Minister Terje Aasland said in a statement on Tuesday.
Norway has become Europe’s main gas supplier in the wake of the war in Ukraine, taking the place of Russia.
The Scandinavian country has a vast network of pipelines, stretching for almost 9,000 kilometres, linking it to the continent, which experts have said are at risk of sabotage.
On Friday, Støre said that two Norwegian Coast Guard vessels had been diverted to patrol near oil platforms and that the area was also being monitored by a maritime patrol aircraft.
The Norwegian prime minister met several European leaders and the head of NATO on Friday, and is expected to visit the Sleipner oil platform in the North Sea on Saturday.
Norway, as well as Britain, France, and Germany, are all members of the NATO military alliance.
Although the last publications in Ladino – or Judeo-Spanish – have been surviving in Turkey against all odds, this Romance language is about to disappear.
“We are the last generation of Sephardic Jews who speak Ladino… even my children barely understand it,” warns Ivo Molinas, 60, director of the weekly Salom and the monthly El Amaneser. Both papers – founded 75 years ago – are published entirely in the language used by the Sephardic community in Turkey.
Molinas notes that he directs the only press in the world that has published uninterruptedly in Ladino. The reasons he gives for the decline in the language – which is in real danger of extinction – are both demographic and cultural. The Turkish Sephardic community has decreased over the last few decades from about 50,000 to only 16,000 members, with the vast majority concentrated in Istanbul. Meanwhile, the new generation prefers to speak Turkish, English… and now Spanish, since Spain granted Spanish nationality to the descendants of Jews expelled in 1492 by Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand. It makes more sense to use some of the world’s major languages, rather than learning a minor one that’s on life support.
“In fact, while 40% of the community understands it, we no longer speak Ladino like our parents did,” Molinas explains. However, he believes that the use of the old language will survive through the newspapers: more than 3,000 copies of Salom are sold weekly, with even more readers checking out the online version. He thinks that there will always be someone to take care of these publications – even if it’s just out of love.
Newspapers written entirely in Ladino were very popular in Turkey in the past. Since 1492 – when Jews were expelled from Spain – the language laid down roots in the area. In Izmir – where there was once a large Sephardic community – three newspapers with many readers were published at the end of the 19th century: La Buena Esperanza, El Novelista and El Meseret. In the first years of the 20th century, El Pregonero, La Boz de Izmir, La Boz del Pueblo and El Comercial joined the list, according to Dina Damon, professor of Judaic Studies at Binghamton University in New York.
The director of Salom points out that Spain does not show much interest in the preservation of Ladino… although he recognizes that the real problem is the disinterest of his own community. In fact, the Cervantes Institute in Istanbul had to cancel some free Judeo-Spanish courses last year due to a lack of students. The Sephardic Jews who come to the Institute are more interested in learning Spanish.
Gonzalo Manglano, director of the Cervantes Institute in Istanbul, argues that Spain does everything possible so that Ladino does not disappear: “Together, with the Saramago Foundation of Portugal and the Jewish community of Turkey, the Cervantes Institute has requested a tender within the EU Horizon Program for a €3-million project aimed at rescuing languages in danger of extinction.”
If the funds for this project are obtained, the Cervantes Institute will lead the project, in coordination with the Casa Sefarad of Madrid and the Turkish Ministry of Culture. This initiative plans to renovate the Selaniko synagogue in Istanbul, which will host a cultural center that promotes – using modern technology – the preservation of Ladino… a language that any Spanish-speaker can understand.