Not motoring
A certain triumph
Gavin Stamp
In the park next to the Saratov (now Paveletsky) station in Moscow is a recon- dite little museum. Constructed in 1938, it houses the train that brought Lenin's body back to Moscow from Gorki in 1924. But it is a museum no longer; private security guards control the entrance to the park, for this is Yeltsin's Russia and the museum has been converted into a showroom for luxury cars. The great steam engine, ten- der and single carriage that carried the body of the founder of the Soviet Union are now surrounded by Porsches, BMWs and Mercedes Benzes (I think: they all look the same to me. . . ).
Until the Russian government decides what to do with the embalmed corpse of the old monster in the red marble mau- soleum in Red Square, Lenin's funerary train must remain in such inappropriate company. Perhaps this surreal juxtaposi- tion nicely expresses the present ambiva- lent state of Russia and the triumph (so far) of capitalism over communism. But I rather hope that it does not symbolise the replacement of public transport by the Thatcherite glorification of the private car. Certainly the number of cars in Moscow's streets is increasing — with plenty of black stretched limos carrying Mafia tycoons but the huge and burgeoning population of that great city must always need its com- prehensive public transport system.
Moscow has trams, Moscow has trolley- buses (whose virtues are too easily forgot- ten); but, above all, Moscow has an underground railway network which has to be seen and experienced to be believed. On my return from my first visit to this most extraordinary and fascinating of capi- tal cities, I happened to use the new esca- lator at the Angel, Islington, which, I gath- er, is proudly claimed to be the longest in London. As if that makes it special: after Moscow I am afraid it just seems puny, pathetic. Escalators there (as in St Peters- burg) go down four abreast for what seems like hundreds of feet (no statistics avail- able) to reach huge marble-lined, subter- ranean, halls which make the tight tunnels of the London Underground seem ama- teurish as well as claustrophobic.
The Metro was the highlight of my tour of 20th-century Moscow architecture organised by Roderick Gradidge. The first line was proposed in 1931 and opened a mere four years later. Further, deeper lines soon followed. The typical station is like a basilica, with a wide central nave to take the crowds coming off the (very fast) esca- lators, and the platforms and trains placed in the aisles. And the trains — with wide carriages on the wide Russian gauge seem to arrive without fail every two min- utes; the sheer efficiency with which thou- sands of people are moved is deeply impressive.
But what is astonishing is the architec- ture. Some of the early stations were designed in a constructivist manner, but after Stalin rejected modernism in favour of an extravagant classicism, the stations reflected the dictator's taste. The buildings above ground are temples inspired by Rus- sia's neo-classical traditions while the spaces below are unbelievably sumptuous in their decorations and illuminations. Sculptors and artists embellished them, all of which are lit by elaborate and most beautiful chandeliers. Despite the style, even Frank Lloyd Wright was impressed in 1937: 'The Moscow subway makes the New York subway look like a sewer.' And it is all intact today — not officially vandalised as in London.
The most impressive station I saw was named after the youth organisation, Komosol, and enhances a feast of railway architecture. Opposite the folksy-Russian Kazan station and standing between the original Leningrad station and the art nou- veau Yaroslavl station (by Moscow's Mack- intosh: Shekhtel) is a large building which looks like a porticoed classical church. But it is a Metro station, designed by the versa- tile Shchusev — creator of the brilliant Lenin mausoleum — and it connects with a spectacular celebratory 'Hall of Victories' deep below ground. Here, the vault is enlivened with mosaic panels in baroque cartouches, depicting subjects from Alexan- der Nevsky to the taking of Berlin. . . Need I go on?
Kaganovitch, who was in charge of this whole enterprise, wrote that, 'A socialist state may permit itself the construction of an undertaking for the people which is more expensive, but which on the other hand provides comfort, cheer and aesthetic enjoyment to the population.' Surely any civilised state should do as much? Of course, this great public work was only achieved with huge (and unrecorded) loss of life, but that should not diminish its value and its sheer beauty today. I am sorry to learn that some of those now in charge of the Metro, foolishly diverted by inferior western models, think of replacing marble with plastic. I hope they think again: the Moscow Metro is one of the wonders of the modern world.
Previous page
