(go down and read Day 1 first)
Sunday was and remarkably peaceful day, and very memorable. In the morning we went to the monastery (founded by Prince Vsevolod in 1117), which was a little ways outside of town. It was nice to see open fields and windmills, and the weather was amazing again. The grounds of the monastery were so quiet and nearly empty (we may have been the only real tourists).
Here is the bell tower of the monastery.
Above the gate:
Little blue church that is only one story because they ran out of money and is sinking into the ground because the domes are to heavy:
The monastery looks out toward the river, and thus was badly damaged during the war. The place has been restored some after the war, although much still remains in disrepair.
Only in 1992 did the monastery become functionary again. 9 monks now live here with 40 novices (or trainees). The life of a monk is very difficult, where they must take three unbreakable vows: celibacy, poverty, and obedience (apparently the most challenging). The trainees are given a probation period of a few years to decide if they really want to become full monks, since there is no going back after such a decision. It’s rare to see the monks since they mostly keep to themselves to avoid any earthly temptation. Being a priest is a little more sane, seeing as in Russian Orthodoxy priests are allowed to marry and have families and not live in such isolation and poverty.
Despite its current small size, this used to be a major monastery in Russia.
St George is the church right on the monastery grounds. It was built in 1119, and was Alexander Nevsky’s personal favorite. The church was built to appear higher than it actually is with its narrow windows that look like columns up to heaven. The building is said to have been constructed with a mortar of sour cream (how Russian), honey, and river sand in certain proportions that people are unable now to duplicate. But it worked very well, seeing as the Germans failed to blow up the church even after several attempts.
The church also has the best acoustics in Russia, even now, using the same bottle method as St Sophia. Apparently if one calls out the sound lasts for 6 seconds.
We were able to go inside of the church, where an Orthodox service was taking place. The orthodox service (of which I only saw a section) was very different from anything else I've experienced as far as religious services. There are no pews in Orthodox churches and people just stand inside the nave and in the little alcoves watching the mysterious acts of the priests before them. Everyone stands in church rather than sit as an act of respect before God, even during the special holiday services that last as long as 5 or 6 hours. The paradise doors in the iconostasis (behind which all the holy mysteries take place) are opened a few times during the service. As we came in we saw the paradise doors opening and one of the priests or whoever swinging burning incense into the air to the sound of voices singing in church slavonic. The acoustics were so amazing that one could hardly place from where these soaring voices that twisted around and within each other were originating. There were maybe a dozen or so people inside, mostly women in long skirts with their heads covered in scarves.
The church looked very different from churches I'd seen in Petersburg and elsewhere, much more sedate, earthy in a way, something settled, confident, and welcoming. Seeing this white box-like church, chaste in its beauty and interpretation of spirituality, I felt in a weird way that I was more in a Jewish temple than a church—hearing something in an ancient tongue, and feeling the same uncertain mystery I remember feeling as a child when stepping into synagogue and smelling lit candles and hearing the strange gurgling of Hebrew. There was something so at peace and so still about the church and also the other Novgorod churches, that did not scare or intimidate you into faith or awe like at other churches I had been to (Catholic, Protestant, and Orthodox churches elsewhere).
The grounds of the monastery on which this church rested were pleasant and had that same perfect combination of the natural and spiritual, where it seemed as if the church were some gigantic white block of stone cleft from the earth. While naturally St George and the churches in Novgorod were built as houses of God and thus not built upon human dimensions, I somehow felt as though this place was more welcoming to the human soul. I recalled visiting Notre Dame and how awe inspiring it was, but this was something else. This little Russian church didn’t just wow you and force you to marvel at the skill it took to create it and wonder about how many men it took to construct such a monster of stone ribs and crossing vaults (I recommend Mandelstam’s poem about it). Rather, these Novgorod churches were made by the hands of simple people and by a different sort of God. Compared to the at times gruesome focus on suffering and pain, penance and painful confession that one finds in Catholicism (look at Italian religious art compared to Russian, for example), this was something very different. (There’s a good chance I just really offended some people there.) But it seemed that regardless of one’s faith, one could find solace within these walls, among the pillars of light made material by the smoke of incense and pierced by the vibration of voices.
Because of growing up Jewish with a father who preferred on Passover to take us out into the desert for several weeks (yes, we actually did this) than to sit fasting in temple, because of having a natural suspicion of organized religion, a predilection for endless questioning (probably an aspect of my Jewishness) that rarely came to satisfying answers, and a sense of fear and self criticism at the possibility of allowing myself to be drawn into something that could not be explained, I was surprised to be so moved by an Orthodox service that would seem to smack of all the things I had found issue with in organized religion. The beauty of the service was disarming and I think it was the personal nature of this faith, its quietness, lack of preachiness and intimidation tactics that was so appealing, where if you wanted to give yourself to it you could, without demand or coercion. The soul unexpectedly feels at home with these strange and abstract images, who look straight at you with an indescribable expression. As I stood beneath a 12th century mural or fresco arching above, smelling the delicate yellow candles burn (one of which I had added myself), and hearing voices of unearthly beauty ascend into the domes, I could look into those immense eyes unflinchingly, and felt as if I were being seen.
If nothing else, (ignoring the question of the existence of God), this church has for centuries absorbed the thoughts, hopes, dreams, fears, and grief of countless souls, whether hundreds of years ago while the city was being raided, or even the past century when someone may have snuck into the near abandoned building to practice a faith that was being strangled. So perhaps it was not God, but rather these souls that had left traces of themselves behind in the plastered arches, in the crumbling stone floor the Russian woman next to me pressed her cracking lips to in adoration, in the chipping murals and frescoes… traces that were given voice here and could radiate back through these walls. It seemed to me that if here in a place where sound and light could materialize, why not also could not the invisible be beckoned forth.
And it seemed that if there is any place one can find God, it is here.
After the church service and monastery, we went to the museum of wooden architecture that replicates a Russian village. People have been building houses like this for centuries, and houses are still sometimes built this way out in the country. Most of these houses aren't too old, between 100 and 300 years. The houses have no basements, so during flood season it was not unusual to see people's houses floating away like wooden arks. The family lived on the second floor, whereas the first was mostly used for storage and goods. They had very primitive heating systems and a high chimney tax, (so the poor had only a hole in the ceiling), making living conditions extraordinarily unhealthy. The death rate was very high from breathing such fumes on a daily basis, so maybe 2-3 children out of the usual 15 a woman would have would survive.
The walls and ceilings of the rooms were charred black from this smoke. The poorer houses without chimneys were therefore called black houses, whereas the richer homes were called white houses. The interiors were very dark not only from smoke but from the small windows that could not be opened (having no hindes). Window panes were made from mica, which only let 50% of light through, makign it even darker. Only in the 16th century was glass used. The only thing metal was used for in house building was the hinges on doors, so other things like nails were all made from wood. The doors into the main room were deliberately made low so that when you entered the home you naturally had to bend forward, bowing to the icon in the beautiful corner of the room (the man's corner, where a woman could only sit on the day of her wedding when she'd present her future husband with her Hope Box, which she would've been preparing since childhood).
This is a chapel, which were generally made for private use and for travellers to stop at to pray on their journeys. In the winter they were used as morgues, seeing as they weren't heated, since the ground was still too frozen to bury people.
The architecture is very intersting in these churches.
We were told by our tour guide about some tricks the locals used, such as the frog in the milk trick. I guess frogs in Russia produce a certain chemical that preserves milk, so people would wash a frog and then put it in a bucket of mlk they'd then lower down the well. They'd check on the frog every couple of days to make sure it didn't die and spoil the milk. This frog method would allow the milk to keep from 7-14 days. I don't think I'm going to try this though.
Random painting that made me think of what Novgorod might've looked like years ago:
Later in the afternoon we went and saw a few more churches, including one (the Church of Transfiguration, b. 1169) Svetlana (prof Evdokimova) had been to as a teenager while growing up in the USSR. She had come to Novgorod with a few friends for a week to visit the churches, which were then being used as store houses by the Soviet government. At night she and her two friends managed to evade the guards and stay inside the church by hiding behind columns. After everyone left they scaled the scaffolding into the upper dome and were able to look at the ancient frescoes and murals up close, which are very difficult to see from below. She said it was one of the most incredible experiences of her life. One of her friends who was with her later became a priest, so moved was he by this experience. I can only imagine what it would have been like to ascend the teetering scaffolding that was so loaded down with materials by the Soviets, (who were trying to make practical use of this house of God), to see the forgotten and flaking heavenly images illumed by the glow of a white night through the thin slits of the windows. To them, it must have seemed as if they were literally climbing above the cluttered reality and horror of their present lives (both Svetlana's brother and father were imprisoned for anti-Soviet suspicions) to be able to reach out and touch the very presence of the God that was being blotted out.
The church now has far less frescoes than even the 20 odd years earlier when Svetlana seen it. The walls are mostly bare plaster with only patches of the previously painted walls left behind. The church was painted by Feofan Grek (not sure how to spell that in English), who was a well known icon painter and the teacher of Andrei Rubylov (another well known icon painter).
Dome from below:
Bare wall:
Kind of scary fresco:
We also went to another church right across from the Church of Transfiguration. I can't remember the name, but it was also in need of some serious restoration.
There were more murals left over compared to the Church of Transfiguration, but they were also painted more recently. These images from the entry way are only from the 17th century.
It began to rain as we left, so that was good timing. The trip back to Petersburg was ok and most of us slept the whole way. I hope sometime I can return to Novgorod, maybe in the winter.
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