Wow,
I was lucky to meet Chairil at the Artic ice cream shop, in Kramat Raya,
Batavia. He was sitting in the corner at a rattan chair and table. As usual, he
was busy reading a book without paying attention to his surroundings. When I greeted
him, he lifted his head from the book and smiled kindly to me. He seemed to
remember his promise to give me an interview, but all this time it was very
difficult to meet him. Maybe he tried to avoid it because he actually doesn't
like the noise of publicity. So, I was lucky to cornered him here.
But
ouch, his face was crumpled, his eyes were red as if he hadn't slept. His face
was gloomy and tired.
"Last
night did you stay up late, Ril...?" I asked.
"Not
really... this is how I am..." he said absentmindedly, then glanced at the
entrance when the doorbell rang. Apparently an IndoDutch girl came in. This ice
cream shop is visited by many Indonesians, Dutch and IndoDutch teenagers, many
of whom have just come home from school. The atmosphere became lively. Apparently,
this is what this 'Wild Beast' (so he called himself in his famous poem) is
looking for, hanging out here while enjoying the view of many pure white,
blonde-haired girls.
There
was no ice cream on the table yet, so I offered: “Would you like some ice
cream… Ril? “
"Anything..."
he said.
"Okay...
I'll order mocha ice cream... the one with biscuits..." I spoke.
But
he didn't seem to care. He really doesn't care what he eats, he just smokes a
lot. His body was thin and looked neglected. His face was pale, with dark
circles around his eyes. His clothes were casual, his shirt was faded and his
trousers were shabby. Truly like “The Wild Beast, cast out from the herd.”
In
fact, as far as I know, his parents are well to do, his father is the regent of
Indragiri. And he was an only child, so you can imagine he was spoiled from
childhood. Everything is there and never lack of anything. I really want to ask
him about his family.
I
said: "I can ask you... Ril, your childhood must have been abundant and
enjoyable... right...?"
Chairil:
“Look
at the faded orange love:
And
I choose
the
view blurs, the surrounding leaves fall
the
house is hidden in tall shady cypresses
in
the glass window no shadow comes floating
Marbles,
spinning toy, wooden horses, little boats of
childhood,
Look
at the faded orange love:
If a
mirage typhoon comes,
rolling
the marbles, spinning toys
wooden
horses, blowing little boats
I
was already rigid.”
At the age of 19, after his parents'
divorce, Chairil and his mother moved to Batavia. He lived in the house of his
uncle, Sutan Sjahrir, Prime Minister of Indonesia. However, he is like someone
whose life is unusual, his clothes are shabby, he eats irregularly, he wanders
everywhere and often sleeps in his friends' rooms.
The waiter served two mocha ice creams at
our table. Chairil ignored it, he just stared, until the ice cream started to
melt.
I asked: “Do you have a nostalgia about
this shop… Ril…?”
Chairil:
“Between
happiness now and later an abyss opens,
My
little sister enjoys licking artic ice;
This
evening you are my love, I garnish with milk plus coca cola
My
wife in training: we stop the clock ticking.
You're
really good at kissing, I can feel the scratch remains
when
we cycle I bring you home
Your
blood is hot, you will quickly become a woman,
The
old man's dream is rising to the sky.
Your
choice every day picks up, every time
changed;
Tomorrow
we'll cross paths, we don't know who each other:
Heaven
is just a short game.
I am
like you, everything passes quickly
I
and Tuti plus Greet plus Amoi heartbroken,
Love
is a danger that quickly fades”
Some time ago, after Indonesia proclaimed
independence, the Dutch carried out military aggression to regain control of
Indonesian territories. Together with the Allied troops they succeeded in
controlling the West Java region. When the Dutch army invaded Bekasi, thousands
of people fled towards Karawang. Fighting then broke out in the area between
Karawang and Bekasi. As a result, many of the Indonesian Republic Army (TRI)
chose to retreat to the countryside and join with local people to build
defenses against Dutch attacks. Several TRI troops were headquartered in
Rawagede village and led by Captain Lukas Kustarjo. Unfortunately, the
fighter's headquarters in Rawagede village was discovered by Dutch henchmen.
Without thinking further, the Dutch
military immediately prepared a plan for a sudden attack on Captain Lukas and
his soldiers. The Dutch tried to find Captain Lukas, but they were unable to
catch him. The Dutch then gathered male residents aged around 14 years in the
field. One by one they were asked about Captain Lukas' whereabouts, but none of
them knew. Their answer certainly did not make the Dutch immediately believe
it. The young men were then ordered to squat with their backs to the Dutch
soldiers with their hands placed above their heads. In an instant, bodies began
to fall after being executed by the Dutch.
I asked him: "You wrote a poem to
commemorate these teen youths who were recently killed by the Dutch between
Karawang and Bekasi, can you tell us about the memory..."
Chairil:
“We who are now lying between
Karawang-Bekasi
cannot shout "Freedom" and take
up arms again.
But who no longer hears our roar,
imagine us moving forward and beating heart?
We talk to you in silence on a lonely night
If your chest feels empty and the wall
clock is ticking
We die young. What remained were bones
covered in dust.
Remember, remember us.
We've tried what we can
But the work is not done, we cannot comprehend
the meaning of 4-5 thousand lives
We are just scattered bones
But they are yours
You are again who determine the value of
the scattered bones
Or our souls soar for freedom, victory and
hope
or not for nothing,
We do not know, we can no longer say
You are the one now saying
We talk to you in silence on a lonely night
If your chest feels empty and the wall
clock is ticking
Remember, remember us
Keep going, keep our souls going
Guarding Bung Karno
look after Bung Hatta
look after Bung Sjahrir
We are now corpses
Give us meaning
Always stay on the line between statements
and dreams
Remember, remember us.
all that remains is bones covered in dust
Thousands of us lay between
Karawang-Bekasi.”
THE END
This is imaginary interview in memory of
Chairil Anwar
It was winter when I
walked from the Shinjuku Metro station to the Shinjuku Gyeon National Garden. Of
course many people would prefer to visit this garden in Spring to see the Sakura
blossoming, or to see the colors in autumns, however in winter the garden has
its own colors. Not the white color of snow, but the colors of the plants
subdued by the cold winter. A range of green colors not as green in summer
mixed with the remaining color of maple trees.
Shinjuku Gyoen, located
a few hundred meters away from Shinjuku’s heart-beat, is a combination of
Western style garden, which are French garden and English garden, with Japanese
traditional garden. The beauty of Japanese style garden lies in its
asymmetrical beauty, unlike the symmetrical beauty of Western style garden.
Other than that, almost all elements in a Japanese garden indicate a symbolism
deeply rooted in Shinto, which considered the close bond between nature, human
and deities. The word Shinto itself means “the way of Kami (deities)”. Kami
live in the same world as human beings, in the nature. Therefore, nature as the
home of the Kami, is sacred and worshiped with awe. Shinto regards every
element of nature as divine, and that the Kami are present everywhere.
Shinjuku Gyoen was
constructed on the site of a private mansion belonging to Lord Naito, a feudal
lord of the Edo era in 16th century. Later it was converted into a
botanical garden before converted into an Imperial Garden of the Emperor Meiji
in 1906. After the Second World War it was designated as a national garden and
opened to the public. This park features large ponds with islands and bridges,
in Japanese style garden. About 10,000 trees grow in this park, tulip trees,
cedars, cypresses, which give the garden a solemn atmosphere. However, the
skyscrapers in the background awaken us that this place is in modern Tokyo.
Makoto Shinkai's 2013
anime movie, The Garden of Words, is set in Shinjuku Gyoen. The movie is about
a 15 year old high school boy and a 27 year old woman meeting consistently on a
rainy day in the park. The reason Shinkai made this movie had to do with the
East Japan Earthquake and Tsunami of 2011, that made him question the scenery
that we see everyday with the knowledge that it could someday turn into nothing
and might be lost in one day because of disaster like that. He wanted the keep
all the scenery that he personally love and what people might relate to into
the anime.
Thunderous
applause from the audience when the blood-red curtain came down ending the
performance of the comedy drama 'Government Inspector' that evening. This
performance tells the story of how nervous the Governor and other officials
were when they found out that there would be an inspection by a Government
Inspector who came incognito to their area. They are frantically trying to
cover up all the bad things in this area which is infiltrated by corruption
everywhere, which is depicted hilariously and full of satire. The audience who
filled the Akimov Comedy Theater greeted the performance with smiles and
laughter. It was fitting that the audience's response was like that, it is said
that Tsar Nicholas I chuckled at the premiere of this comedy drama and gave a
standing ovation at the end of the performance. Although this drama is actually
a humorous criticism of the depravity of bureaucrats under the Tsarist
government.
Before
the applause died down I slipped out, because I had an appointment to meet
someone very important. Who can say, I made an appointment to meet with
Nikolai, the playwright of this drama! So I rushed down Nevsky Prospekt, the famous
street in St Petersburg, on a cold night. We arranged to meet at the Literary
Café, a café frequented by many aristocrats, poets and other artists. The
famous Russian poet Alexander Pushkin also often hung out here. When I arrived,
Nikolai was already sitting waiting in the corner of the room with dark brown
wooden walls. The hanging lights make the atmosphere of this café cozy and
calm. The chairs are also patterned with dark brown checks, making this room feels
truly aristocratic.
Nikolai
stood up and greeted me in a friendly manner. It turns out he was small, with
legs that were too short for his body. His rather baby face was plastered with
long strands of hair that hung down from her forehead to the side of his face
covering his ears. His nose looked too ponty for his face. He wore modest
clothes, not showing off his fame. With a smile he invited me to sit down.
I
started the conversation:
“Nikolai, I have just finished
watching 'The Government Inspector' at the Akimov Building..., I am amazed that
such a horrendous performance was permitted by the Tsar, who imposed strict
censorship on all works in Russia... The audience responded with uproarious
laughter. laughing at the corrupt behavior of the governor and his government
officials, who were worried about being investigated by the Government
Inspector, who would come incognito. The governor and government officials are
frantically trying to cover up their lies and corruption in every possible way.
They even bribed the person they thought was the undercover Government
Inspector.… There had never been a performance like this before, this was truly
a new movement for the performance art in Russia…”
Nikolai:
“However, there were also hue and cry
raised by the offended press and officials…”
I
said:
“It is not surprising that this drama
dares to attack the bureaucratic foundations of the government in Russia. It
directly mocked all officials, and exposing corruption among high-ranking
officials. It hurled insults directly at all Russian local government
officials, and, indirectly, pointed out the system of corruption that existed
among the highest officials.”
Nikolai:
“In
the Inspector-General I resolved to gather together all the bad in Russia I
then knew into one heap, all the injustice that was practiced in those places
and in those human relations in which more than in anything justice is demanded
of men, and to have one big laugh over it all. But that, as is well known,
produced an outburst of excitement. Through my laughter, which never before
came to me with such force, the reader sensed profound sorrow. I myself felt
that my laughter was no longer the same as it had been, that in my writings I
could no longer be the same as in the past, and that the need to divert myself
with innocent, careless scenes had ended along with my young years.”
I
said:
"It
is said that Aleksandr Pushkin, the famous Russian poet, was one of your first
admirers... how is your relationship with Pushkin?"
Nikolai:
“Our relationship was very close,
Pushkin considered me his student, and I respected Pushkin and considered him
my mentor. I really respect the taste and criticism he gave me. And ‘Government
Inspector’ was the theme he suggested to me ….”
I
asked:
“Why do you write a satirical comedy
like this?”
Nikolai:
“The
comic, actually is hidden everywhere, only living in the midst of it we are not
conscious of it; but if the artist brings it into his art, on the stage say, we
shall roll about with laughter and only wonder we did not notice it before.”
I smiled:
"Yes,
I remember when the governor in this play remembered something he was careless
about: ‘Good God, though, I forgot that about forty cart-loads of rubbish have
been dumped against that fence. What a vile, filthy town this is! A monument,
or even only a fence, is erected, and instantly they bring a lot of dirt
together, from the devil knows where, and dump it there.”
Nikolai:
“When all his depravity was revealed,
the Governor was very worried about his reputation, and complained: ‘Now his
coach bells are jingling all along the road. He is publishing the story to the
whole world. Not only will you be made a laughing-stock of, but some scribbler,
some ink-splasher will put you into a comedy. There's the horrid sting. He
won't spare either rank or station. And everybody will grin and clap his hands.
What are you laughing at? You are laughing at yourself, oh you! ‘ … Stamping
his feet.”
I
said:
“However, about your comical works,
Pushkin once said: ‘Behind laughter we can feel sad tears.’…. This is really
felt in a short story you wrote entitled 'The Overcoat'.... concerns a simple
humble scribe. His income was so small that he only had one overcoat and it had
been worn for too long and was full of patches. Through various thrifts and
sacrifices, which you describe comically, the scribe finally had a beautiful
new robe, which he adored all the time. But one day he was robbed and the overcoat
he was wearing were taken by the robbers... How tragic,... even though the
story is told in comical way .....”.
Nikolai:
“Yes, in a certain department there was a certain
official -- not a very high one, it must be allowed -- short of stature,
somewhat pock-marked, red-haired, and short-sighted, with a bald forehead,
wrinkled cheeks, and a complexion of the kind known as sanguine.
His
family name was Bashmatchkin. This name is evidently derived from
"bashmak" (shoe); but when, at what time, and in what manner, is not
known. His father and grandfather, and all the Bashmatchkins, always wore
boots, which only had new heels two or three times a year.
I
said:
“His
complete name was Akakiy Akakievitch, and it is said that he was very dedicated
to his work as a scribe…”
Nikolai:
“It
would be difficult to find another man who lived so entirely for his duties. It
is not enough to say that Akakiy laboured with zeal: no, he laboured with love.
In his copying, he found a varied and agreeable employment. Enjoyment was
written on his face: some letters were even favourites with him; and when he
encountered these, he smiled, winked, and worked with his lips, till it seemed
as though each letter might be read in his face, as his pen traced it. If his
pay had been in proportion to his zeal, he would, perhaps, to his great
surprise, have been made even a councillor of state. But he worked, as his
companions, the wits, put it, like a horse in a mill.”
I
said:
"Hmm,
I remember that you also worked as a scribe, copying clerk..., where did you
ever work like that...?"
Nikolai:
“When
I left college at nineteen and went to St. Petersburg, where I secured a
position as copying clerk in a government department. He did not keep his
position long, yet long enough to store away in his mind a number of
bureaucratic types.”
I
said:
“So
those experiences are what provide material for your writings, regarding the
ins and outs of bureaucracy in government, with all its depravity..."
Nikolai:
“But,
well, even though Tsar Nicholas I chuckled during the performance of
'Government Inspector', this performance had made fun of everyone. They said, perhaps rightly, that they
themselves were the targets of the satire. Naturally official Russia did not
relish this innovation in dramatic art, and indignation ran high among them and
their supporters. Bulgarin led the attack. Everything that is usually said
against a new departure in literature or art was said against the drama. It was
not original. It was improbable, impossible, coarse, vulgar; lacked plot. It
turned on a stale anecdote that everybody knew. It was a rank farce. The
characters were mere caricatures. ‘What sort of a town was it that did not hold
a single honest soul?’
The
ensuing uproar in polite society was so intense that I felt I had to flee
Russia for Europe, eventually settling in Rome “
I
asked: “Do you feel comfortable in Rome?”
Nikolai:
“I
adore Rome. I studied art, read Italian literature and developed a passion for
opera. The religious painter Aleksandr Ivanov who worked in Rome, became my
close friend, and I also met several Russian nobles who visited there,
including Princess Zinaida Volkonsky, we often met. “
I asked:
“Did you write a lot in Rome?”
Nikolai:
“Yes, the short story ‘Overcoat’ I wrote while in Rome. Also, most part of ‘The Dead Souls’ I wrote there.”
I
said:
“Oh, the novel Dead Souls, your
masterpiece…. At first, I thought that the title Dead Souls was a metaphor,
about Souls not caring anything, or something like that..., but it turns out
the meaning is completely different. This novel tells the story of Chichikov,
who you present as the hero, an accomplished imposter who, after several
experiences of bad luck, wants to get rich quickly. Among his tricks he had the
idea to buy dead slaves, which their deaths had not been officially recorded in
the official census. So, officially they are still alive. Then, he had the idea
to buy dead slaves, as if they were still alive, at a cheap price from the
landowner who owned the slaves. Thus Chichikov had proof that he was a rich man
who owned many slaves, which he could use to obtain capital loans from the
bank. That way, he could pawn the certificate of ownership of the slaves to a
bank to borrow a lot of money for capital for his agricultural business. This
is something very unique, which we have never heard of, and never even thought
about... how do you get idea of the story like this...?”
Nikolai:
"I
got the theme of this novel from Pushkin too, which is based on real
event..."
I
said:
"But,
that Chichikov, whom you put forward as the hero of this story, is an imposter,
he is a rascal..."
Nikolai:
“It
does not lie in me to take a virtuous character for my hero: and I will tell
you why. It is because it is high time that a rest were given to the “poor, but
virtuous” individual; it is because the phrase “a man of worth” has grown into
a by-word; it is because the “man of worth” has become converted into a horse,
and there is not a writer but rides him and flogs him, in and out of season; it
is because the “man of worth” has been starved until he has not a shred of his
virtue left, and all that remains of his body is but the ribs and the hide; it
is because the “man of worth” is for ever being smuggled upon the scene; it is
because the “man of worth” has at length forfeited every one’s respect. For
these reasons do I reaffirm that it is high time to yoke a rascal to the
shafts. Let us yoke that rascal.”
I
said:
“I remember Chichikov's father's
advice to him when he was little, which he always remembered: ‘See here, my
boy. Do your lessons well, do not idle or play the fool, and above all things,
see that you please your teachers. So long as you observe these rules you will
make progress, and surpass your fellows, even if God shall have denied you
brains, and you should fail in your studies. Also, do not consort overmuch with
your comrades, for they will do you no good; but, should you do so, then make
friends with the richer of them, since one day they may be useful to you. Also,
never entertain or treat any one, but see that every one entertains and treats
YOU. Lastly, and above all else, keep and save your every kopeck. To save money
is the most important thing in life. Always a friend or a comrade may fail you,
and be the first to desert you in a time of adversity; but never will a KOPECK
fail you, whatever may be your plight. Nothing in the world cannot be done,
cannot be attained, with the aid of money.”
Nikolai:
“More
than once, while taking these walks, our hero pondered the idea of himself
becoming a landowner—not now, of course, but later, when his chief aim should
have been achieved, and he had got into his hands the necessary means for
living the quiet life of the proprietor of an estate. Yes, and at these times
there would include itself in his castle-building the figure of a young, fresh,
fair-faced maiden of the mercantile or other rich grade of society, a woman who
could both play and sing. He also dreamed of little descendants who should
perpetuate the name of Chichikov; perhaps a frolicsome little boy and a fair
young daughter, or possibly, two boys and quite two or three daughters; so that
all should know that he had really lived and had his being, that he had not
merely roamed the world like a spectre or a shadow; so that for him and his the
country should never be put to shame. And from that he would go on to fancy
that a title appended to his rank would not be a bad thing—the title of State
Councillor, for instance, which was deserving of all honour and respect. Ah, it
is a common thing for a man who is taking a solitary walk so to detach himself
from the irksome realities of the present that he is able to stir and to excite
and to provoke his imagination to the conception of things he knows can never
really come to pass!”
THE
END
This
article is an imaginary interview in memory of Nikolai Gogol.
Bolshoi in Russian means ‘grand’, and we can capture the
grandness of Bolshoi theatre from a far from Teatralnaya Ploschad (Theater
Square). The famous Apollo Quadriga, or
the chariot of the gods, adorned the theater top. Apollo is depicted driving
his chariot across the heavens, with four horses, delivering daylight and
dispersing the night. The neoclassical façade with white pillars appeared on
the Russian 100-ruble banknote and made it one of the iconic landmark of Moscow
and Russia.
The interior is even grander, after an extensive six-year
renovation of around 700 million US dollars restoring it to the original
imperial decoration, it reopened in 2011 with the historical hall stage of the richly
adorned in red and gold décor, with huge chandeliers. The Bolshoi's return to
glory includes an interior that was once paneled with rare pine and gilded by
hand with real gold for the best acoustics. The theater's stage also gained a sound-reflecting¸ specifically
designed for opera and ballet stage.
The imposing home of the internationally-famed Bolshoi
ballet and opera was constructed in 1824 by Osip Bove, under permission of Empress
Catherine the Great to be a public theater.
For most of the last three decades the Bolshoi was led by Yuri
Grigorovich, an artistic director known as much for his accomplished, classical
choreography. Under Grigorovich's tenure, and graced by the presence of a
series of remarkably gifted dancers, the Bolshoi's became known as one of the
world's great ballet companies.
Bolshoi Theatre became renowned all over the world for
brilliant ballet dancers such as Maya Plisetskaya, Vladimir Vasiliev, Galina
Ulanova, Maris Liepa. They built the theater's reputation and boosted their
careers into international success.
And the list of reputation goes on, Tchaikovsky's ballet
Swan Lake premiered at the theatre in 1877. Other famous performances include
Tchaikovsky's The Sleeping Beauty and The Nutcracker, Adolphe Adam's Giselle, Prokofiev's Romeo and
Juliet, and Khachaturian's Spartacus.
And the operas, Bolshoi theatre specializes in the classics
of Russian opera such as Mussorgsky's Boris Godunov, Glinka's A Life for the
Tsar, and Rimsky-Korsakov's The Tsar's Bride, as well as the operas of
Tchaikovsky. Many operas by western composers are also performed, especially
works of Italian composers such as Rossini, Verdi, and Puccini. Until the
mid-1990s, most foreign operas were sung in Russian, but Italian and other
languages have been heard more frequently on the Bolshoi stage in recent years.
In the South of the Red Square stood a colorful cathedral
with onion shape domes, it was the first time I saw such cathedral. Red bricks
with white-stone ornaments mixed with vibrant swirling patterns in green, blue
and red of the domes. At first look people might mistook it as a Cinderella’s castle
in Disneyland.
But it is no Disneyland fantasy, it is a church loaded with history
and devotion, it is the Cathedral of St. Basil. It was built in the 16th
century by order of Russian Tsar Ivan IV to fulfill his vow to have a church
built for his victorious conquests of Kazan. He intended to build the church on
a scale reflecting the importance of his victory of Kazan, which not only
eliminated a troublesome Kazan, but also opened a vast area for colonization
and trade.
The cathedral is not one large space, it consists of 11 small
churches, one of them built over the grave of St Basil. The churches are
connected with the labyrinth of narrow corridors with arched roofs, beautifully
decorated with colorful flower patterns symbolizing the heavenly garden. Each
church looks like a vase, a narrow room with a high ceiling. Perhaps this shape made the acoustics
amazing, we can hear clearly hymns and chants sung in other room, the sound of their
voices was divine.
The cathedral of St. Basil is so impressive that legend has
it that supposedly Tsar Ivan IV blinded the cathedral’s architects so that the
designs of this new and impressive structure could not be replicated in any
other buildings. Although this cannot be verified, it aligns with what is known
of his complex personality and his severe temperament, his harsh treatment of
Russian nobility, his people and servants. There are notes of his mental
outbreaks, with one tragic instance, he accidentally killed his own son during
an argument. Because of his cruelty and temper, he is also known as Ivan the
Terrible.
The legacy of the cathedral built to memorize Tsar Ivan IV’s
victories in Kazan has been overshadowed by Basil, known as a beggar, a “Fool
for Christ”, a prophetic voice of conscience clothed in rags, buried under the
Cathedral. Basil and the Tzar had a complicated relationship. The strong and
vicious Tsar Ivan IV did not dare to trample the beggar who stood in his way, the
entire population of Moscow hung on the beggar’s every word and action,
revering him as a prophet. The Tsar once showered Basil with gifts, wanting to
test if Basil was tempted by wealth. Basil accepted the gifts but promptly gave
away all of them to the first needy person he met. When Basil died in 1557, the
Tsar Ivan IV himself was among the pallbearers
to bring his body to its resting place: now known as the Cathedral of
St. Basil.
For us knowing Red Square in Moscow from the Red Army parade
at the square to commemorate the October Revolution it can’t be helped that our
image of the Red Square is that of the Red Army, communism and blood. So, if we
come there we would expect to see a cold square with monuments of Lenin, or
Stalin or Marx, along with red communist propaganda posters and banners,
something like that. How wrong are we.
When we come from Ploshchad Revolyutsii metro station to the
Red Square we enter through the front gate of the city from the side of
Tverskaya street and Manezhnaya Square. This is the Kilometer Zero of Moscow,
it has red brick color walls with white linings and two archways. In the inside
of the gate there is an icon depicting the resurrection of Christ, therefore the
gate is named the Resurrection Gate. Ironically the gate has been demolished
and resurrected a number of times, first appeared in 1534 and was reconstructed
in 1680, torn down by Stalin to make way for large-scale Soviet ceremonies in
the square. The Gate was once again assembled between 1994 and 1995.
Going further, we can see a huge department store in the
late 19th century Russian Architecture. It is the GUM (Glawny
Uniwersalny Magasin) Department Store, occupying the majority of the Red
Square’s East side flanked by Nikolskaya and Ilyinka streets. It is the largest
in Russia, selling luxury goods with walls in intricate forms, with abundance
of decor, composition and picturesque glass windows and roofs. But we should
know that Red Square originally began as a slum, a shanty town of wooden huts
clustered beneath the Kremlin walls that housed a collection of peddlers,
criminals and drunks whose status left them outside the official boundaries of
the medieval city. It was cleared on the orders of Ivan III at the end of the
1400's, but remained the province of the mob, the site of public executions,
and rabble rousing, until much later. Today GUM stands brightly at the side of
Red Square presenting itself to the locals and visitors as a noble shopping
center characterised by boutiques in the upper price ranges.
In front of the GUM Shopping Mall stands a cathedral with
various colorful onion shaped cupolas, it is St Basil cathedral, the iconic
building of Russia, and is probably the first image that comes to mind when
people visit Russia. The cathedral’s
fame might be due to its distinctive, eccentric design, the 10 onion shaped
cupolas with the vibrant clash of colors.
At the center of the square we can see a multi-tiered
pyramid building, which is Lenin Mausoleum. Made of granite and labradorite, it
shows the character of the mausoleum as a monumental burial place, designed by
the renowned architect Alexey Shchusev. Inside the mausoleum, the lavishly
embalmed corpse of Vladimir Lenin rests in an armored glass sarcophagus. To
this day, the mausoleum is open to visitors on certain days.
The Red Square ('Krasnaya Ploschad' in Russian), is indeed
dominated by the brick red color of the buildings in the square, so perhaps that
is why many of us associated the Red Square name with the color of the
buildings there. Many people also believe that Red Square is so named because
communism and Russia are associated with the color red, even further associated
with blood(shed). But, actually the word Krasnaya originally means beautiful in
old Russian language but now in modern times it means ‘red’. Therefore, common
assumptions that the 'Red' in Red Square referred to the red brick colour of
the buildings, Communism, or even bloodshed - are misunderstood.
The Red Square is indeed a beautiful square, with beautiful
churches overshadowing the Lenin Monument, and the privately-run luxurious GUM
Department Store overshadowing the socialistic way of the country. And it is a pity
that the image of this square is misrepresented by the military parades of the
Red Army broadcasted on television worldwide.
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