There is probably no place in Saint Petersburg more mysterious and mystical than the Mikhailovsky Castle. Everything about it is unusual: the very appearance of the fortress-like building, the color of its facade, and, of course, the tragic history of its owner—the Russian Emperor Paul I, who shared the fate of his father Peter III, who died as a result of a palace coup in his bedroom within the walls of his castle.

The first small Summer Palace near the confluence of the Moika and Fontanka rivers, opposite the Summer Garden, began to be built during the reign of Catherine I, on the site of Rossi’s Pavilion in the Mikhailovsky Garden. It was completed under Anna Ioannovna. In the early 1740s, Francesco Bartolomeo Rastrelli began constructing the Summer Palace in the 3rd Summer Garden, right at the confluence of the two rivers, for the ruler Anna Leopoldovna. However, while construction was underway, a coup occurred, and the building’s mistress became Elizabeth Petrovna. By 1744, the wooden palace on stone cellars was roughly completed. Elizabeth Petrovna loved the Summer Palace very much. At the end of April – beginning of May (weather permitting), the ceremonial move of the Empress from the winter residence was marked by a lavish ceremony involving the court, orchestra, guard regiments, and artillery salutes. The return journey took place in late September with the same ceremonies. On September 20, 1754, the future Emperor Paul I was born within the palace walls. After the Empress’s death, the palace continued to be used: the peace treaty with Prussia was celebrated here. In the throne hall, Catherine II received congratulations from foreign ambassadors on her accession to the throne. However, over time, the owner began to prefer other summer residences, especially Tsarskoye Selo, and the building fell into disrepair. Initially, it was assigned as residence to G. Orlov, then to G. Potemkin. (source https://rusmuseumvrm.ru/data/collections/painting/17_19/neizvestniy_hudozhnik_letniy_dvorec_elizaveti_petrovni_tretya_chetvert_xviii_veka_z_3132/index.php)

It was in this place that his long forty-year path to the imperial throne began. One of the first legends associated with the construction says that, forever remembering his father’s fate, feeling the hatred of the aristocracy and fearing conspiracies, the emperor was afraid to live in the Winter Palace and once said: “I want to die where I was born.” In 1797, construction began on the site of the Summer Palace of a castle named after Archangel Michael. And this verbal wish came true: Paul I would be killed here, in the Mikhailovsky Castle, a few years later.

However, according to one of the most romantic legends of Saint Petersburg, the castle was founded under different circumstances. The large cycle of legends about the Mikhailovsky Castle—mostly romantic—begins with the vision of a sentry standing guard at the old Summer Palace of Elizabeth Petrovna. A youth appeared to him in a radiant glow, calling himself Archangel Michael, and ordered him to immediately go to the emperor and say that the old Summer Palace must be destroyed and a temple built in the name of the Archangel Michael in its place. The soldier did as the saint commanded, to which Paul supposedly replied: “His will shall be done.” That same day, he ordered the construction of a new palace and a church in the name of the archistrategos. This seemingly minor inaccuracy, according to folklore, doomed the unfortunate emperor. It was not a church at the palace but a temple in the name of the archistrategos that was proposed to be built for Paul. “Why, sovereign, did you not fulfill the command of Archangel Michael exactly?” a monk named Abel once asked him. “Neither tsars nor peoples can change God’s will. I see your tomb in that castle, faithful sovereign. And it will not be the residence of your descendants, as you think.”

According to another legend, on the eve of the archangel’s apparition, when the empress was preparing to give birth to her tenth child, Paul noticed an unknown old man in a monk’s robe at the door of his study. The old man had a beautiful face marked with wrinkles, a long gray beard, and a friendly gaze. “Your wife,” the stranger said, “will give birth to a son whom you, sovereign, will name Michael. By the same name of the holy archangel, you will name the palace you build on the site of your birth. And remember my words: ‘To your house belongs the sanctuary of the Lord for length of days.’” The mysterious guest disappeared. A few days later, the empress indeed gave birth to a son, who, by Paul I’s wish, “was given the name Michael at prayer.” That is why in some versions of the legend about the vision that appeared to the soldier on duty at the Summer Palace, in response to the sentry’s story, Paul replied: “Yes, I know. And this has already been fulfilled by me.”

The next day, the legend continues, Paul I invited the architect Brenna. “On the pediment of the main facade of the palace,” he ordered, “make this inscription.” And he handed him a sheet of paper on which was written: “To your house belongs the sanctuary of the Lord for length of days.”

In fact, the text “TO YOUR HOUSE BELONGS THE SANCTUARY OF THE LORD FOR LENGTH OF DAYS” is a modified quote from Psalm 92 of David: “To your house, O Lord, belongs holiness forever.” The copper letters were made for the Resurrection Cathedral of the Smolny Monastery, then transferred to the construction site of St. Isaac’s Cathedral, and under Paul were moved to his residence. The mysterious inscription indeed had symbolic meaning in the emperor’s plans for his new home, but exactly what meaning remains uncertain. The coincidence between the number of letters and the years the emperor lived is most likely a retrospective observation; there is no reliable evidence of a prophecy.

The new royal palace was built in the style of a medieval castle, and its appearance corresponded to the superstitious and mystical state of the emperor’s soul. On all four sides, the castle was surrounded by the waters of the Moika, Fontanka, and two specially dug canals: the Church Canal along the facade facing today’s Sadovaya Street, and the Resurrection Canal opposite the main entrance. The castle was connected to the outside world by a chain bridge, raised at night. Armed guards were on duty around the clock at the entrance to the gloomy well of the octagonal courtyard. Isolated from the city, the emperor’s residence inspired both respectful awe and panic fear.

When the castle’s construction, according to one legend, was nearing completion, at a palace ball during the dances, the future favorite of the emperor, Anna Lopukhina, suddenly dropped a glove. Paul, nearby and demonstrating chivalrous courtesy, picked it up and was about to return it to its owner but noticed the unusual reddish-brick color of the glove. After a moment’s thought, the emperor immediately sent the glove to architect Brenna, who was overseeing construction, as a sample for color matching. Thus, Saint Petersburg urban folklore tries to explain the unusual color of the Mikhailovsky Castle. However, this is a legend. It is unlikely that Paul seriously faced the problem of choosing the color of the palace walls, much less that Anna Lopukhina played a decisive role in this choice. Most likely, the architecture of the Mikhailovsky Castle, unusual for the northern capital, excluded the use of traditional classical tones typical of Saint Petersburg buildings. In any case, the mysterious color of the castle turned out to be so successful that it is impossible to imagine this “tyrant’s monument” in any other color.

By the way, many high-ranking courtiers, to flatter the emperor, hurriedly began repainting the facades of their mansions in the gloomy color of the royal residence. But nothing came of it. The color did not take root. It was eventually rejected by other architectural styles.

As mysterious as the architecture of the Mikhailovsky Castle is the authorship of this masterpiece of Saint Petersburg architecture. For two centuries, historians have been unable to decide which of the two greatest architects of Paul’s Petersburg—Bazhenov or Brenna—should be credited. There is even a legend about this. It claims that “within the walls of the Mikhailovsky Castle, Vincenzo Brenna left his autograph. But the face of the architect, indeed depicted on the panel above the main staircase of the castle, is so idealized that it can equally be attributed to both Brenna and Bazhenov.” The story adds that both architects are named as authors of the castle.

https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brenna,_Vincenzo

Here are just a few examples. In 1971, in the second edition of the reference book “Architectural Monuments of Leningrad,” the author of the Mikhailovsky Castle project was named “the great Russian architect V. I. Bazhenov,” and the construction supervisor was V. Brenna, who “mainly contributed creatively to the interior design.” The official reference book “Historical and Cultural Monuments of Leningrad under State Protection,” published in 1985, unconditionally names V. I. Bazhenov and V. F. Brenna as the authors of the Mikhailovsky Castle. The encyclopedic reference “Saint Petersburg – Petrograd – Leningrad,” published by the scientific publisher “Great Russian Encyclopedia” in 1992, does not mention Bazhenov’s name at all in the article “Engineering Castle.” The authorship is attributed solely to Brenna. Finally, in the 1995 second volume of the “Nevsky Archive,” on page 222, it reads: “Recently published drawings by V. I. Bazhenov in the journal ‘Petersburg Panorama’ show that he was the author of the main idea of the Mikhailovsky Castle. However, during the implementation of Bazhenov’s plan, Brenna reworked some parts, including building the attic above the northern facade.”

Both architects—Vincenzo Franzovich Brenna, as he was called in Russia, and Vasily Ivanovich Bazhenov—were favorites of the emperor and his court architects. One grim legend about Brenna’s life, told with reference to V. V. Stasov by V. F. Levinson-Lessing in the book “History of the Hermitage Picture Gallery,” circulated among Hermitage workers. Brenna was once the custodian of the Hermitage collection of drawings and prints. It is said that he systematically stole them, smuggled them abroad, and sold them in some Parisian shops.

A bright personality with an extraordinary dramatic fate was the brilliant graduate of the Paris Academy, member of the Roman and Florentine Academies, architect Vasily Ivanovich Bazhenov, who had a colossal influence on the further development of Russian, and especially Saint Petersburg, architecture. According to the authoritative opinion of V. Ya. Kurbatov, Bazhenov’s grand projects “inspired boldness” in subsequent generations of architects who designed majestic ensembles in Petersburg that amazed contemporaries. At the same time, none of his own gigantic plans were realized. There is not a single building in Petersburg that can be reliably attributed to the great master. His involvement in the creation of the Kamennoostrovsky Palace is presumed. His participation in the construction of the Bezborodko country estate on the right bank of the Neva is also presumed. He is credited with the authorship of the famous bell tower of St. Nicholas Cathedral on the Kryukov Canal, but this is considered a legend. And finally, the Mikhailovsky Castle is presumably his design.

Paul maintained friendly relations with Bazhenov even while heir to the throne. A convinced Mason, Bazhenov “managed to bring the Grand Duke into Freemasonry.” This supposedly caused the architect’s removal from construction projects in Tsaritsyno. However, there is a legend that Paul Petrovich was “secretly initiated into Freemasonry” after a visit to Petersburg by King Gustav III of Sweden, who made a strong impression on Paul Petrovich, then still heir to the throne. Bazhenov probably had little to do with this mysterious act. It is difficult to say with certainty where the emperor’s Masonic traces lead. But what is interesting is that many Masons were in Paul I’s close circle, and all of them belonged to the so-called Swedish Rite.

At that time, Bazhenov lived in Moscow. Only after ascending the throne did Paul summon him to Petersburg. According to legend, this was preceded by the following circumstance. A French architect, once talking with Paul Petrovich about famous architects, said to him: “You forget one great Russian architect; I have seen his drawings and admired them, but I cannot recall his name.” – “You must be talking about Bazhenov?” – “Exactly. Where is he and what is he doing? I hear nothing about him.” To which Paul Petrovich confidentially replied: “Do you not know that there is no prophet in his own land?”

But there was, if one believes Saint Petersburg folklore, a third person somehow involved in the design and construction of the Mikhailovsky Castle. This was Emperor Paul I himself. Again, we must refer to literary sources. One of them—a guidebook to Petersburg from the late 19th century—literally states: “The architecture of the Mikhailovsky Castle and its decorations belonged to Emperor Paul I himself, while its construction was entrusted to architect Brenna.” This is confirmed by the discovery in the archives of the Academy of Arts of a mysterious folder labeled: “Drawings of the Mikhailovsky Castle made by His Majesty Paul I.” All would be well, but the folder turned out to be empty.

Meanwhile, the fact that the castle appeared to many as “a terrible, crude mismatch of forms and tones, a strange mixture of luxury and extreme simplicity, and a complete lack of harmony and artistic taste” was seen by contemporaries as the result of the impulsive emperor’s direct intervention in the design. At least, according to legend, he demanded that the emblems of imperial power “appear in the most absurd abundance in all the ornaments.” And once, as the legend goes, the emperor kissed some noble lady in front of everyone, who, climbing the monstrously steep stairs of the Mikhailovsky Castle, decided to flatter the emperor by saying: “What a convenient staircase!”

Paul hurried the construction of the castle. Sharply feeling the lack of building materials and workers, he halted work on many religious and secular buildings in the capital. Contrary to logic, common sense, and construction practice, digging of trenches for foundations began in late autumn, and wall masonry in winter. Plastering and finishing work were carried out almost simultaneously. There was no time for drying. On February 1, 1801, the impatient and categorical Paul, together with his large family, moved into the new residence.

For the first lunch at the Mikhailovsky Castle, a special dinner service featuring the castle’s image was ordered by Maria Feodorovna. According to legend, Paul I kissed the items depicting his beloved creation.

Like the history of the Mikhailovsky Castle, the life of its owner is permeated with dark secrets and mystical omens. In 1799, a gypsy woman supposedly came to Paul and read his coffee grounds. According to legend, she told the emperor that “he would only reign for three years, as after three years he would end his life.”

It was said that within the walls of the Mikhailovsky Castle, the voice of Peter the Great was heard, and Emperor Paul himself once saw the shadow of his great great-grandfather. Peter supposedly left his grave to warn his great-grandson that “his days are few and their end is near.” This coincides remarkably with one version of the legend about the heir to the throne Paul Petrovich’s meeting with the shadow of his famous ancestor during a walk on Senate Square. We will discuss this further. It is important to note here that on that night, the ghost of Peter the Great not only supposedly indicated to Paul the place for his own monument but also added: “I wish you not to be too attached to this world, for you will not remain in it long.”

On the eve of the new year 1801, a holy fool appeared at the Smolensk Cemetery on Vasilievsky Island, who prophesied Paul Petrovich’s imminent death. The number of years of the emperor’s life, she foretold, would equal the number of letters in the inscription above the main gates of the Mikhailovsky Castle.

 This dreadful prophecy was passed from mouth to mouth. Superstitious commoners read the biblical text with fear: “To your house belongs the sanctuary of the Lord for length of days.” There were 47 letters. They awaited 1801 with horror, the year in which the emperor was to turn that many years old.

In 1901, this text still existed. It is mentioned by V. I. Sukhodrev in essays published for the 200th anniversary of Petersburg. The same is repeated by V. Ya. Kurbatov in 1913. Later, mentions of it seem to disappear. The inscription itself vanished, leaving only the mysterious Saint Petersburg legend and dark spots on the blank field of the frieze above the Resurrection Gates of the castle—long-standing attachment points for mystical signs.

The last days of Paul Petrovich were filled with a premonition of catastrophe. He saw terrible omens everywhere. Once, Paul entered his son Alexander’s room and found a volume of Voltaire on his desk. The book was open to the tragedy “Brutus,” and the lines caught Paul’s eye: “Rome is free! Enough, let us thank the gods.” This seemed so suspicious that Paul could not help but react. According to legend, he instructed Kutaisov to bring his son “The History of Peter the Great,” opened to the page describing the death of Tsarevich Alexei. Whether Alexander noticed this is unknown.

There were other signs, which were deciphered only after the emperor’s death. For example, the homeless dog was remembered. Once attached to the emperor and never leaving his side, the dog did not allow anyone else to touch it. This privilege was reserved exclusively for Paul. On the day of the emperor’s death, “it suddenly disappeared, and no one knows where it went.”

The feeling of “animal fear” did not leave Paul in his last days. He once confessed that he often “saw blood appearing on the white walls of the bedroom.” Witnesses said that once at a ball, Paul suddenly fainted, and when he came to, he looked around absentmindedly and said: “Will they really strangle me?”

On the eve of his death, Paul slept poorly. He dreamed that he was being dressed in clothes that were too tight.

The last dinner was especially dramatic. Paul, as always, sat surrounded by his family. Everyone was tensely silent. Suddenly, his eldest son sneezed unexpectedly. Paul turned to him and sadly said: “I wish, Your Highness, that your wishes come true.” Then he stood up, went to the mirror, and bitterly smiled. He had known before that the mirror distorted reflections, making faces look crooked, but only today did he draw his family’s attention to it: “Look, what a funny mirror. I see myself with my neck to the side,” he supposedly said. He smiled once more and went to his room, saying farewell: “What will be, will be.”

On the night of March 11 to 12, 1801, at the age of 47, Emperor Paul was killed. Not immediately, Saint Petersburg urban folklore claims. According to legend, when the doctors called to “take the body away” arrived, Paul was still alive. A brief business meeting was held, during which “after cold-blooded discussion, it was supposedly decided to finish him off.” According to legend, the conspirators made the final decision to kill the emperor in the wooden house of Count Zubov, located on the territory of today’s Izmailovsky Garden. Contrary to the common historical claim that the conspirators entered the Mikhailovsky Castle by the main staircase in almost orderly columns, the people’s legend preserves that Paul’s killers used an underground passage supposedly existing between the Winter Palace and the emperor’s new residence.

Among the many legends of the Mikhailovsky Castle is a legend about another underground passage, accessible directly from the emperor’s bedroom, leading to a secret chamber beneath the monument to Peter I in front of the castle. Caught off guard by treacherous killers, Paul, according to this legend, did not manage to use it and died, taking its secret with him forever. Another tradition about the possibility of saving the emperor claims that as soon as Paul sensed mortal danger, he immediately sent a messenger for Arakcheev. But the messenger was supposedly intercepted at the city checkpoint by the Saint Petersburg military governor Count Palen, one of the main conspirators against Paul. Whether this actually happened is unknown, but folklore is certain that had Arakcheev arrived in time, Paul would have been saved.

After Paul Petrovich’s death, Saint Petersburg numerologists decided to contribute to his mystical biography. It turned out that Paul I reigned for four years, four months, and four days. From these three fours came the fateful number twelve—the date of his death, March 12. And that’s not all. Recall the number of letters in the inscription on the pediment of the Mikhailovsky Castle. There were exactly 47. Paul Petrovich lived exactly that many years. And exactly that many days—47—can be counted from his birth on September 20 to his accession to the throne on November 6. All these numbers contain the fateful four—a mystical number for Paul I.

Contrary to the established Russian tradition, Paul I’s murder did not give rise to any significant adventures or frauds. According to the Decembrist G. S. Batenkov, imprisoned in the Shlisselburg Fortress, the guard soldiers asked if he was Paul Petrovich, as it was said among the people that the deposed emperor was imprisoned there. In Eastern Siberia, a certain exiled vagabond named Afanasy Petrovich appeared once, who earned his living by calling himself Emperor Paul Petrovich. That was all. No one doubted the emperor’s death. Moreover, rumors spread that “Emperor Paul was strangled by generals and gentlemen for his justice and sympathy for the common people, that he is a martyr, a saint; prayers at his grave are salvific: they help with failures at work, in legal cases, helping everyone to achieve justice in courts, in unlucky love, and unhappy family life.”

It is no coincidence that candles are always burning at Paul’s grave in the Peter and Paul Cathedral, brought by Petersburgers. Just like the grave of Blessed Xenia at the Smolensk Cemetery and the figure of Christ at the Novodevichy Cemetery, Paul’s tomb has certain esoteric, secret properties. It has become one of the miraculous places of modern Petersburg. But again, as with everything concerning the unfortunate emperor, stories about this gradually lose their heroic myth qualities and take on the traits of an amusing anecdote. According to city belief, touching the lid of Paul I’s sarcophagus with one’s cheek cures toothache.

Since 1801, the ghost of the murdered emperor has inhabited the Mikhailovsky Castle. Cadets of the Engineering School, which once owned the castle, claimed that every night at exactly midnight, the shadow of Paul appeared in the windows of the first floor holding a burning candle. However, it was once discovered that this shadow was a prankster cadet who, wrapped in a state white sheet, impersonated the deceased emperor. But builders repairing the Mikhailovsky Castle before its transfer to the Engineering School, according to legends, “repeatedly encountered a short man in a tricorn hat and boots who appeared out of nowhere, as if slipping through walls, strode importantly back and forth along the corridors, and shook his fist at the workers.” Isn’t that very much like Paul Petrovich?

Many castle residents still claim to have seen the emperor’s ghost playing the flageolet—an old musical instrument similar to a flute. To this day, the echoing rooms mysteriously creak parquet floors, doors unexpectedly and inexplicably knock, and windows open in the absence of wind. The castle’s inhabitants, as if enchanted, stop their work and say: “Good day, Your Majesty.”

According to Saint Petersburg legends, at the hour of the emperor’s death, a huge flock of crows took flight from the roof of the Mikhailovsky Castle. Since then, it is said, this happens regularly once a year in March. Remember Alexei Tolstoy’s “The Road to Calvary”: “From the gloom of the Summer Garden, from the dark bare branches, ruffled crows rose, frightening the killers of Emperor Paul.”

Later, the castle lost its significance as a ceremonial residence, passed under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of the Imperial Court, and gradually fell into neglect. Since 1823, the Nikolaev Engineering School was located here, giving the castle a new name—the Engineering Castle. Source — kuda-spb.ru, the best events of Saint Petersburg.

Sources: History of Petersburg in Traditions and Legends, Sindalovsky Naum Alexandrovich