Crossing the Ruined Bridge—this is how this cascade is sometimes called—we quietly enter New Sylvia. Before entering it, on a wide platform surrounded by lilac bushes, stands a bronze statue of Apollo Musagetes. The leader of the Muses, dressed in long, light garments, is inspiredly playing the lyre. Although the image of the instrument has not been preserved, it seems that Apollo’s flexible fingers are plucking the strings. A laurel wreath crowns his raised head.

Two paths, winding around the sculpture, lead deeper into New Sylvia. Narrow straight paths are bordered by acacia bushes, behind which stand mighty centuries-old firs and pines. There is almost no gap between the trees. Twilight. Only high above the head does a strip of sky lighten, and here and there, where a sunbeam breaks through the thicket, the pine trunks blush pink. It is always quiet here, and only above, among the branches, the wind hums faintly, and the trees creak slightly as they sway. Occasionally, a cuckoo makes itself heard, or suddenly the tapping of a woodpecker is heard. But these rare sounds only emphasize the mysterious silence. You forget that you are in a park, that not far from here there are wide bright alleys bustling with crowds and activity.

How did the artist manage, on a relatively small area of 20.5 hectares, moreover intersected by alleys, to create the impression of a large, dense forest? For this, he uses a number of interesting techniques. Five main roads are laid out in one direction. Like long green corridors, they run through the entire area. Sometimes they connect with small squares and then diverge again. And although the roads are close to each other, they are separated by densely growing trees and tall trimmed shrubs between them. By slightly deepening the paths into the ground, Brenna achieves the effect that the trees seem taller than they actually are. In addition, the alleys, despite their overall similarity, differ in width, and therefore in the degree of illumination. All this diversifies the walk in New Sylvia, creating the impression that you are in a dense forest.

And only the road that runs along the very edge by the coastal slope is always relatively bright. Walking along it is especially pleasant in sunny weather. To your right rises a dark pine forest, and to the left, through the gaps between the trees, the brightly lit cheerful riverbanks are visible.

Another turn—and the path suddenly leads to a small hill. We stop before a column of pink marble called “The End of the World.” This is what it began to be called in the early 19th century after it was moved here. (Previously, it stood near the palace behind the Triple Linden Alley). At that time, this was the end of the park. Standing alone among the trees, the column enhances the feeling of remoteness of this corner.

A barely noticeable path leads us to the most secluded part of New Sylvia. Here, where darkness always reigns, is one of the most remarkable architectural structures of Pavlovsk—the Mausoleum of Paul.

In the first quarter of the 19th century, new sections appeared in Pavlovsk Park according to Gonzago’s design: the Valley of Ponds, Red Valley, White Birch, and Parade Field. In scale, they surpass everything created here before.

Pietro Gonzago, a decorator of the imperial theaters, invited to Pavlovsk in 1799, was initially Brenna’s assistant, but after Paul’s death, he became the head of all work in the park. The artist devoted more than a quarter of a century to its creation.

The Valley of Ponds became the name of the park area in the southeastern part of the Great Star. Here, on the site of forest ravines, ponds were dug according to Gonzago’s design. Their sizes and shore outlines vary. The depth of water filling and the nature of the surrounding vegetation are not uniform everywhere. This largely determined the diversity of landscapes. Having preserved the main forest mass almost untouched, the artist introduced only individual “pictures” into it.

Paths and trails running throughout the area, winding around the ponds, sometimes lead to clearings, then disappear again into the forest thicket... Indeed, is this a forest or a park? Tall gloomy firs are everywhere, their dense shaggy branches touching the ground. The trees approach the very ravine, and below, in a narrow crevice, lies a pond. Its water is dark as black. Following the shore’s outline, a small path winds. Around is forest wilderness. Step aside a little—the moss is underfoot. You want to lie down near a tall pine, put your head on its mossy roots, and watch how its top sways somewhere high above.

But ahead again glimmers the smooth surface of a pond. You take a few steps and involuntarily squint from the sun and bright greenery. The forest, having retreated, opens a narrow glade covered with lush grass. In its green frame lies another pond with low even banks. The water, reflecting the sky and low willows, seems light. But such lyrical scenes are rare here. In the Valley of Ponds, gloomy, severe landscapes prevail.

The Red Valley has a different, lighter and more joyful appearance.

Descend to the Pil Tower and look downstream along the Slavyanka. Far, far away, the winding, sparkling river is visible like a snake. The slopes of its banks here are equally high, covered with dense coniferous forest. They limit a long, even valley on both sides, not accidentally called red, meaning beautiful. It is always somehow especially quiet here, perhaps because the high slopes hold back not only sounds but also gusts of wind...

The path runs along the shore. Right at the water, tall grass sways slightly, and around are wildflowers—a whole sea of daisies and bellflowers. Here and there stand centuries-old oaks and silvery willows. Their sprawling crowns form islands of shade in this kingdom of the sun. In the distance, the steep arch of the humped Novosilviy Bridge is visible. Simple, built of gray porous stone, once with railings made of birch trunks, it complements the landscape well.

In creating this part of the park, Gonzago largely preserved the natural appearance of the valley. The artist seemed to have just brushed over it, shading some parts and highlighting others with bright strokes. On the slopes, he left tall dark trees, as if pushing the banks apart. The valley seemed narrower and deeper, and the willows planted by the water, in contrast to the dark forest, appeared lighter and more elegant.

Reaching the Novosilviy Bridge, we notice two half-ruined arches on the forest edge. One of them leads to a small room whose vaulted walls are partially covered with earth. Nearby are the remains of a stone staircase with a small platform; “broken statues, bas-reliefs, cornices, columns of rare marbles, peeking out from the grass and covered with moss, represented to the imagination a vivid notion of the ruins of Greece, still breathing grandeur and glory.” This is how the writer and ethnographer of the early 19th century Pavel Svinin describes these ruins, created by Cameron in 1801.

Sources:

https://www.spb-guide.ru/page_20053.htm

http://museums.artyx.ru/books/item/f00/s00/z0000018/st001.shtml