In the Footsteps of Andrei Rublyov

Whenever images from my childhood come flowing back, I picture myself bundled up in an artificial fur coat (leopard-skin design) sitting atop a sleigh pulled by dedushka Mikhail Stepanovich. He would drag me down Shkolnaya street, then onto Maly Andronikovsky lane, which led to Andronikov monastery. Looking back as an “experienced” parent, I realize that pulling a five-year-old boy that distance in your late sixties was a daunting task. But then, as the Russian proverb has it, “your own load doesn’t weigh heavily on you.”

Today, the tiny square near Andronikov seems so tiny. But then, in the now remote 1960s, its alleys and trees loomed large. It was particularly romantic to go sledding at night, watching the snow fall under the light of the lanterns. The woolen blanket tacked to the wooden seat of the sleigh, plus my leopard coat (and requisite shapka--fur hat) kept me warm. The contrast between this feeling of warmth and the cold snow created a unique sensation of coziness that strengthened as we returned from our regular nightly promenade to our communal apartment on Shkolnaya street. There, dedushka Misha would be offered a glass of hot tea in a podstakanchik (holder). I had to resign to a detskaya (children’s) teacup decorated with daisies. While I poured a bit of tea into the saucer to cool it, dedushka cut the chunk sugar into small square pieces and then sip on his very hot tea, occasionally putting a piece of sugar in his mouth, as he like to have his tea vpriskusku (i.e. with sugar in the mouth versus vnakladku, directly in the tea). I swore that, when I grew up, I would have a tea glass and podstakanchik of my own. As it turned out, I inherited dedushka Misha’s podstakanchik when he died. It had been given him by his sisters Olga and Katya on his 75th birthday, and bears the inscription: “Misha, may you live to 100.” Unfortunately dedushka died just five years later, and now I treasure this podstakanchik that seems as if it were addressed to me.

IN THE SPRINGTIME, visiting Andronikov was a different story altogether. Riding my Orlyonok tricycle, I made a point of hitting every puddle in and around the monastery. Of course, sometimes the puddle was too big, and my trike lacked “stamina” and would be stuck in the middle of the puddle. No matter; I would just hop off and drag my Orlyonok to safety, then pour the water from my soaked sandals. Dedushka would later take all the blame himself, as my babushka (who probably had a point) complained of being tired of cleaning and drying my footwear after such rides.

But the most captivating distraction was to put a sliver in a stream going down the hill of the monastery and then watch it fall into the Yauza river. Older, school-aged boys would show up with makeshift carts, which in fact were just the dollies used by food stores. Ungreased, their carts would make a terrible noise as they careened down the grassy hill.

And then, of course, there were the beautiful fireworks viewed from the hill of Andronikov monastery on May 9--Victory Day, the only day when I was allowed to stay up until 10 PM.

TODAY, AS SEEN from the heights of an adult, Andronikov does not seem like such a bad place to suggest to a traveler, as it houses the icon museum named for Andrei Rublyov, Russia’s most famous icon painter. In the 1960s, when we went for walks near the monastery, the museum was closed. Once, we peered into the monastery’s interior through the holes of the gate and saw two cavalrymen disguised as Tartars and two Russians kneeling before them. We later found out that the director Andrei Tarkovsky had been there filming his soon to be legendary film, Andrei Rublyov.

When I was a kid, I for some reason associated the name Andronikovsky with a ferocious warrior. It turned out I wasn’t far from the truth. The monastery’s first abbot, and the man who oversaw its construction was Andronik--a disciple of the brave Sergei Radonezhsky (later canonized as a saint by the Russian Orthodox Church). Today, a square adjacent to the monastery is named after Radonezhsky, as is the blue church located on the square.

Moscow’s Metropolitan Alexei established the monastery in 1357. While on a mission to Constantinople in 1353, he prayed to be delivered from a terrible storm, promising to build a monastery named for the saint on whose day he sailed safely into port. It was the 16th of August—the day the Russian Orthodox Church venerates the Icon of the Savior, when he and his retinue sailed safely into harbor. As it turned out, Alexei was gifted an icon of the Savior by the Greek patriarch in Constantinople, which Alexei brought back and gave to this new monastery.

Raised on the shores of the Yauza river not far from the road leading to Nizhny Novgorod, the new monastery served as a fortress on Moscow’s eastern border. To commemorate a bay at Constantinople called Golden Horn, the stream which flowed into the Yauza north of the monastery was named Little Golden Horn. Today, the name is retained in the Zolotorozhskaya embankment on the left shore of the Yauza river.

In 1371, Moscow’s Prince Dmitry Donskoy stopped here on his way to the Mongol Horde, where he was to have his status of prince confirmed. Nine years later, Dmitry again passed by the monastery on his way to meet the Mongols. But this time it was a military, not a diplomatic engagement, and Russia dealt a lethal blow to the Mongols on Kulikovo field.

In the late 14th and early 15th century, Spaso-Andronikov monastery became a major center of for the arts. Russia’s famous icon painters Andrei Rublyov and Daniil Chyorny lived and died here. Here Andrei Rublyov executed his last-known work (circa 1520s)-- the frescoes of the monastery’s Spassky Cathedral, the oldest monastery cathedrals in Moscow (completed 1427) and a model for many subsequent Moscow churches. Unfortunately, in the 18th and 19th centuries Spassky Cathedral was distorted by renovations which resulted in the loss of several unique Rublyov frescoes; only a fragment of his work remains in the cathedral.

In the 16th century, a church was built over the entry gates in commemoration of the Victory on Kulikovo Field. In 1670, next chambers for the abbot were added next to this church.

The Cathedral of Archangel Michael was built in 1697-1739. It was commissioned by Peter the Great’s first wife, Ustinia Lopukhina, in commemoration of the birth of Alexis. It is a bright example of Moscow baroque (also called Naryshkin’s baroque), with its shell inserts in the arches of the church’s walls.

The monastery also used to have a cemetery for the heroes of Kulikovo Field, the abbots of the monastery, heroes of the wars of 1613 and 1812, as well as major boyars and other dignitaries. But, of course, under the Soviet regime it was all in a dilapidated state.

However, the monastery proved luckier than thousands of other places of Orthodox faith. In 1947, a resolution of the Council of Ministers decreed that a Museum named after Andrei Rublyov, the founder of the Moscow School of Icon Painting, would be housed at Andronikov Monastery. On September 21, 1960, during the celebration of the Rublyov’s 600th anniversary, the museum was opened here. It now features a collection of icons of different schools from the 13th to the 20th century.

Memories never go untouched. They are constantly shaped by life experiences, by what others tell us about our past. Some memories are forgotten; others are amplified and embellished. But some have a feeling of being true and pure. My memories of Andronikov are like that. And, indeed, this beautiful monastery is itself something of a well-preserved memory, passing down to us feelings and visions of lives long past.