Transcript
John Hopkins (0:03)
It's the 1st of May, 1918, and the sun is rising over Moscow. In a small basement workshop beneath the mighty red walls of the Kremlin, Russia's historic center of power, a young woman sits at a sewing machine. Its needle clatters through yet another row of stitching. She is one of a platoon of female workers who have been toiling day in, day out for weeks, creating vast seas of red fabric for a very special project. Finally, she is finished. She scrapes back her stool and joins several other women who have their own rolls of material ready to go. Carrying the bolts as best they can, they stumble through the basement door and climb to ground level. Then, once outside, they rush across the cobbles towards one of the Kremlin's famous towers. It may be early, but nearby Red Square is alive with activity. Carpenters hammer away at a hastily constructed stage. A foreman barks orders as a team of workers string up a seemingly endless double row of red flags. They serve as a corridor into the Kremlin, the city's mighty complex of buildings, grand palaces and churches with spectacular spires and gilded cupolas, all contained within colossal walls. Just half a year has passed since Vladimir Lenin's Bolsheviks overthrew the Provisional Government and seized power. And only a couple of months ago did Lenin decree that Moscow is to serve as the nation's capital for the first time since 1712. The new regime has set aside today for celebration. There is to be a workers carnival, a chance to mark the victory of the world's first proletariat revolution. The Kremlin needs to look its best dressed, of course, in red, the color of the Bolsheviks. Approaching the tower, the woman meets a team of workmen, their cigarettes smoldering in the dawn air like fireflies. She and her colleagues hand over their bolts of fabric, and the men promptly set about affixing them to the tower. Soon it is completely swaddled in red. The woman wanders back across the square, passing other workers tying evergreen garlands evocative of new beginnings. A little further along, she calls hello to a team of gardeners tending the graves of those who have died in the recent struggles. The bells of the Kremlin's savior tower ring in the morning, reminding the woman that she should head off. Her husband needs his breakfast before he makes his way to the square, ready to take his place as flag carrier with his fellow workers to march in the shadow of the Kremlin. It is a day for commemorating the past and looking to the future, to a world that promises equality and plenty. As the seamstress makes her way home through the early morning breeze, she is content that she has played her part, decking out the Kremlin in Bolshevik Red, ready for whatever challenges are to come, doing her bit towards writing another chapter in this venerable old institution's already storied history. Over roughly a thousand years, the Kremlin has come to symbolize Russia itself. With all its varying fortunes, allegiances and leaders. Like the White House and 10 Downing street, it is a physical location that has become synonymous with government and nationhood. Through war and peace, siege and safety, the Kremlin has ultimately stood firm. And Russia's leaders have always striven hard to forge their own identities alongside that of this famous old complex. But what were the origins of this for forbidding citadel? How did it become intrinsically linked to the rise of Moscow and Russia itself? And what of its enemies, from the Mongols to Napoleon to Hitler, who have attempted to strike against it? I'm John Hopkins from the Noiser Network. This is a short history of the Kremlin. Sitting on Borovitsky Hill and nestled between the Moskva river, the Alexander Gardens and Red Square, the Kremlin remains one of the world's most imposing structures. Its famous red crenelated walls, punctuated by 20 stunning towers, stretch for nearly a mile and a half around a 27 hectare site about the size of 40 football pitches. In places, the walls soar over 60ft high and are up to 20ft thick. With its domes and tent roofs, it has a distinctly Russian feel, but it also wears international influences, especially from the Italian Renaissance. Within its walls are four cathedrals, though not the famous onion domed St. Basil's Cathedral, which sits just outside them. There are palaces and of course, the offices and official residence of the Russian president, a curious mixture of power hub and a national museum. Professor Catherine Meridale, author of Red History and Illusion in the Kremlin, has previously worked within the complex. Its enticing combination of aesthetic beauty and rich history attracts over a million visitors a year. But Professor Meridale was granted special access inside, using a Kremlin office for research.
