Pyramid & Paskha

On the outskirts of St. Petersburg, nestled amid trees and snow, sits a church. Near the church’s entrance a man, who looks as if he probably comes from Central Asia, is begging for money. A parishioner casts an unfriendly glance his way before entering the church, where she hurriedly approaches some women who work there.

“This is outrageous! How can there be a Muslim begging at the entrance to an Orthodox church? This simply won’t do, especially here, at Kulich and Paskha!” she exclaims, using the affectionate nickname people have given this eighteenth-century church.

Post-secular Russian reality is fraught with paradoxes, the by-products of a tangled web of pagan mysticism, Soviet materialism, Christian ethics, reverence for the punitive power of the law, and other highly incompatible credos. The same people who seek the savior’s mercy and forgiveness for their own sins use Russia’s law against “offending religious sensibilities” as a weapon against anyone they don’t like. Meanwhile, the Communist Party leader publicly attends church, and Easter sometimes coincides with Space Day.

St. Petersburg’s Church of the Blessed Trinity, with its pyramidal belfry, somehow fits nicely into this contradiction-ridden landscape. The church’s nickname – Kulich and Paskha – was inspired by the shape of its belfry and classical rotunda. The belfry’s pyramidal form is reminiscent of a paskha, a rich, conical cheesecake, while the rotunda is more or less the shape of a kulich, a tall round loaf, usually topped with icing and eaten with paskha. Both paskha and kulich are central to the celebratory breaking of the pre-Easter fast – the Great Lent. This tradition was preserved within many families even throughout the years of the officially atheist Soviet state.

This unusual church was designed by Nikolai Lvov, a brilliant autodidact from the Russian provinces who was commissioned for various projects by Catherine the Great herself. Apparently, during a trip to Rome, Lvov was captivated by the Pyramid of Cestius, which was itself modeled on the pyramids of Nubia. He became forever enamored of the form. Among his accomplishments, Lvov translated the works of the sixteenth-century Italian architect Palladio and developed expertise in Ancient Egyptian architecture.

On his own estate, Lvov built pyramids that served simultaneously as ice houses and cold cellars. Legends about the mystical properties of these structures endure to this day. He also constructed several pyramids on his friends’ estates and even penned epigrams about his passion for this unusual form:

Defying reason and chagrining time unlimited,

To sniggers from the clever,

Though I’d pardon forgetting my endeavor,

Of dust, I built a pyramid.

Рассудку вопреки и вечности в обиду,

А умницам на смех,

Построил, да его забвен не будет грех,

Из пыли пирамиду

It was in the late 1780s, at the very peak of his success, that Lvov took it into his head to build the belfry of an Orthodox church in the form of a pyramid, something unprecedented in church architecture.

This innovative move stands in sharp contrast with contemporary church architecture, which endlessly recycles traditional forms, offering variations on the age-old blending of classical style with the specifically Russian style of church architecture that has evolved over the centuries, all the while shunning experimentation. Today, almost two and a half centuries later, the faithful would probably be offended by anything as unusual as Lvov’s church. Indeed, people still speculate that Blessed Trinity’s belfry represents a sly wink at the Freemasons, since the pyramid shape echoes the triangular Masonic Square and Compasses symbol. Most likely, Lvov really was a Mason, as were most educated Russians of his day. Probably in an effort to sidestep this sensitive question, the church staff claims that the idea for the unusual belfry came from the man who commissioned the church, the owner of the estate on which it was built, Prince Alexander Vyazemsky, one of Catherine’s most senior officials. It was Vyazemsky who wanted his church to resemble the kulich and paskha Easter treats, they tell visitors.

Here is what the eminent historian Mikhail Korobko has to say on the subject: “There is no doubt that something as unusual as a belfry pyramid could only have been conceived by Lvov. Overall, this sort of nod to the images of classicism was typical for this period, although recalling Ancient Egypt was less common than recalling Ancient Greece and Rome.” The architect often used rotundas, but here “he tried putting both forms side-by-side to see how that would work. An ice-house pyramid could be rather small, but a belfry pyramid had to be much larger. Of course, it’s this belfry pyramid that’s most interesting here, the only such belfry in all of Russian architecture – this reflects Lvov’s true know-how. Little wonder the church caught the eye of the great Giacomo Quarenghi, who even sketched it.”* It is important to remember that the church was once part of an estate: all of Russia’s most unusual churches result from estate owners commissioning these works of architecture on their own property, free to build whatever they fancied, free of outside interference.

Blessed Trinity now falls within St. Petersburg city limits, and although it is just a few steps from a Metro station, St. Petersburgers tend to fall into one of two categories: those who’ve never heard of the church, and those who vaguely remember hearing something about it. Korobko believes that this undeserved obscurity has to do with location: if the church were closer to Nevsky Prospect, it would be a famous tourist attraction. As matters stand, its only visitors are loyal parishioners, some of whom come by tram from neighboring districts that have churches of their own. “Kulich and Paskha is special! It’s like stepping into another world. No matter the weather, I would never let laziness stop me from coming here. It’s the only church for me,” one babushka explains as she steps into a tram without giving her name.

And what became of the poor Muslim-looking beggar? The outraged parishioner had targeted her demand that he be driven off at the church’s bookkeeper, Olga. Not sure how to handle the situation, Olga turned to Natalia, the choir director, who also leads discussion groups. After a moment’s thought, Natalia replied that anyone may ask for alms, there’s nothing wrong with that. Furthermore, she explained, Muslims are our brothers, and if he were to convert to Orthodoxy, that would be a fine thing.

So, Muslim or not, the man is probably still standing by a replica of an Egyptian pyramid asking Orthodox Christians for alms. RL