Although the Minin & Pozharsky monument was erected in 1818, it commemorates events of two centuries earlier. In the early years of the seventeenth century Russia was deeply mired in a disastrous political, military, religious and social crisis – usually known as the “Time Of Troubles”. Ambitious barons had bumped-off the young heir to the throne – with convenient alibis and witnesses – and snatched the throne for themselves.
The Russian barons didn’t bargain for an obviously bogus claimant to the throne – who claimed he’d not been killed, but merely hiding – arriving in Moscow. “False Dmitry” was backed by a coincidental massed army of Poles and Lithuanians who had come along to “protect the young Tsar”. Behind this lay further conflict – the Polish invaders had the support of the Pope, who hoped to drive the Orthodox Church from its position of power in Russia.
All seemed lost – Russia had fallen to Poland, without a fight. But the nobleman Count Pozharsky and the wealthy Siberian merchant Minin joined forces to raise a partisan army and drive the invaders out. To prove they were not merely the latest throne-grabbers, they fought under the banner of Patriarch Nikon of the Russian Orthodox Church.
The Poles were vanquished, and Minin and Pozharsky were the heroes of the hour. Yet even two centuries later the sculptor felt obliged to give a seat to the noble Pozharsky, while making the commoner Minin stand.
The original idea had been to erect the statue to mark the two hundredth anniversary of Russia repelling the invading armies from the West – an anniversary which fell in 1812. However, the ceremony was overtaken by deeply ironic events, as Napoleon’s army swarmed across Russia and occupied Moscow. Unveiling the statue was put on hold until the new foe could be vanquished.
Six years after Napoleon’s legendary retreat, the carefully-stored monument was brought out once more, and it was put up in Red Square – not where it stands now, but on a spot near to where GUM’s central entrance on Red Square is now located. The euphoria following the much more recent military victory over Napoleon dominated the occasion, which was marked with military bands, a huge military parade and attended by enormous crowds.
By the 1930s the soviet love of military parades required the monument to be relocated, since it was in the way. It was dug-up and repositioned here outside the cathedral – yet something was lost in the process. The sculptor had carefully planned that Minin’s hand would be pointing towards the Kremlin, exorting his partisan army to save it – but now his hand is just waving vaguely in the air.
The Russian barons didn’t bargain for an obviously bogus claimant to the throne – who claimed he’d not been killed, but merely hiding – arriving in Moscow. “False Dmitry” was backed by a coincidental massed army of Poles and Lithuanians who had come along to “protect the young Tsar”. Behind this lay further conflict – the Polish invaders had the support of the Pope, who hoped to drive the Orthodox Church from its position of power in Russia.
All seemed lost – Russia had fallen to Poland, without a fight. But the nobleman Count Pozharsky and the wealthy Siberian merchant Minin joined forces to raise a partisan army and drive the invaders out. To prove they were not merely the latest throne-grabbers, they fought under the banner of Patriarch Nikon of the Russian Orthodox Church.
The Poles were vanquished, and Minin and Pozharsky were the heroes of the hour. Yet even two centuries later the sculptor felt obliged to give a seat to the noble Pozharsky, while making the commoner Minin stand.
The original idea had been to erect the statue to mark the two hundredth anniversary of Russia repelling the invading armies from the West – an anniversary which fell in 1812. However, the ceremony was overtaken by deeply ironic events, as Napoleon’s army swarmed across Russia and occupied Moscow. Unveiling the statue was put on hold until the new foe could be vanquished.
Six years after Napoleon’s legendary retreat, the carefully-stored monument was brought out once more, and it was put up in Red Square – not where it stands now, but on a spot near to where GUM’s central entrance on Red Square is now located. The euphoria following the much more recent military victory over Napoleon dominated the occasion, which was marked with military bands, a huge military parade and attended by enormous crowds.
By the 1930s the soviet love of military parades required the monument to be relocated, since it was in the way. It was dug-up and repositioned here outside the cathedral – yet something was lost in the process. The sculptor had carefully planned that Minin’s hand would be pointing towards the Kremlin, exorting his partisan army to save it – but now his hand is just waving vaguely in the air.
