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Muscovites, to whom their saints were fellow citizens, worshiped God in their city and their city in God. The rest of the world seemed more remote than the saints. Wrote Gogol: "Moscow is an old home-keeping person, it bakes bliny, it looks from afar and listens, without rising from the armchair, to the tale of what goes on in the world." Muscovites retained their simple faith, which often took the homey form of poetic superstition. Perhaps the most widespread legend was that the huge Tower of Ivan within the Kremlin was married to the Sukharev Tower, a cute little number outside the Kremlin walls. Muscovites called them Jack & Jenny and claimed that every year they moved a little closer together.
The legend came to an abrupt end when the Bolsheviks tore down Jenny.
The Changes. Moscow could no longer listen to the tale of the world. It was the heart of the tale. The Revolution once more made it the capital of Russia. Once more, the country's tyrants dwelt in the Kremlin. With the new masters came symbols of the age that produced them—factories (steel, machine tools, electric equipment, autos, locomotives). The Communist planners went to work, tore down whole sections, built new functional concrete palaces.
The Kremlin, open to all citizens under the Czar, was tightly closed; Red Square, where once Muscovite merchants had inspected parades of prospective brides, was given over to endless military shows. The Truba, a noisy quarter where children used to buy pet robins or wrens to set free on Annunciation Day, was quieted down; birds were rarely set free nowadays —for one thing, they served as food, and for another, the symbolism of freedom involved was frowned upon. The Kremlin chimes no longer played Glory to our God in Zion; instead they played the Soviet Anthem. But the people still clung to their saints, with whom Moscow's new masters have, of late, tried to make an uneasy peace.
The Prophets. Last week, Moscow saw more gaiety than it had in years. But, as usual since the Revolution, joy moved in strictly organized channels. More than 100,000 dancers, singers and musicians had been ordered to Moscow to provide entertainment; they roamed the city in brigades, performed on huge wooden stages or at street corners, supported by sound-trucks. There were relay races around the town, boat races on the river, eight straight hours of spirited horse racing.
The city as a whole, as well as the fire department and the subways, was awarded the Order of Lenin. The trolleys were presented with the Order of the Red Banner, while the Stalin Water Supply Station received the Order of the Patriotic War, First Class. Pilgrims from all over Russia and foreign emissaries from such diverse capitals as Rome and Bangkok were on hand. From all over Russia came birthday presents to the revered capital—gleaming new trolleys, carloads of cabbages, carrots, tomatoes and flour, which were sold in the street at unusually low prices.