Since the architectonic conditions were unfavorable to the creation of a magnificent whole, an attempt was made to ornament the individual parts with brilliancy and magnificence. Not contented to gild the churches inside and out, the floors were paved with half-precious stones, and the pictures (of no artistic value) were covered with jewels, diamonds, and pearls. Only the faces and hands are painted; the garments, crown, and all else are plated with silver, gold, and jewels.
Sculpture is entirely prohibited, as far as representing the human form is concerned; but they do not hesitate to represent God himself on canvas. The gilt background is of itself disadvantageous for the carnation of the pictures, and added to this are the long-drawn outlines of the Byzantine and old German schools, without the genuine feeling of the latter. Gigantic scarecrows gaze down from the cupolas, meant to represent the Virgin Mary, Christ, St. John, or God the Father. A Russian buys no holy picture that is not quite black or faded out. A lovely Madonna of Raphael, or a fine Sebastian of Correggio, does not seem to him expressive. His creed needs the obscurity of his church--the clouds of incense which at every mass veil the mysterious movements of the priests.
The Byzantine element in the Russian architecture is then historically easy to explain. The Moresque originated with the necessity of decorating the individual parts, and relates only to these.
The railings of the Ikonostase are interlaced with vines, garlands, and animal forms. The flat walls, principally where they are not gilt, are decorated with leafwork, rosettes, and twining vines. Where this could not be cut in stone it was painted, and the deficiency in drawing was supplied by a variety of the most glaring colors. Of course, they remained far behind the tasteful, artistic arabesques of the Alhambra and the Alcazar.
The craziest thing in the way of architecture is the Church of Ivan Blajennoj, on the Red Square before the Kremlin. It cannot be described. This building stands on uneven ground, although the fine level Place is before it. It crouches on the edge of the hill, and leaves one leg hanging down. There is no trace of any symmetry. It has no central point, and no one part is like another. One cupola looks like an onion, another like a pineapple, an artichoke, a melon, or a Turkish turban. It contains nine different churches, each having its own altar, Ikonostase, and sanctuary. You enter several of these on the ground floor. To reach others, you ascend a few steps. Between these is a labyrinth of passages so narrow that two people can with difficulty pass each other. Of course, all these churches are very narrow. The one in the main tower can scarcely contain more than twenty or thirty persons, and yet its vaulted roof reaches into the tower at a height of over a hundred feet. This church is painted with all the colors of the rainbow, inside and out, and plated with silver and gold. The cupolas shine with red, green, and blue glazed bricks, and even the masonry has been colored by the artist.