Anichkov Bridge

Stand still for a moment on the granite pavement and feel the bridge move. It is a faint hum, carried up from the traffic on Nevsky Prospekt. Below you, the Fontanka River runs dark and slow between its stone banks. Above you, a bronze horse rears into the sky, front hooves thrashing, while a young man pulls hard on its bridle. You are standing on Anichkov Bridge, where the main avenue of Saint Petersburg crosses one of its oldest waterways.

This crossing is older than most of the city around it. In the early eighteenth century, the Fontanka marked the edge of town. Beyond it lay marsh, forest and scattered estates. The first bridge here was a simple wooden structure, built around 1715 by an engineering battalion. Its commander was an officer named Mikhail Anichkov. His name stayed with the bridge, and with the palace and the neighbourhood nearby, long after the wooden planks were gone.

That first bridge was more than a crossing. For a time, it also worked as a kind of checkpoint at the city limits. Travellers entering Saint Petersburg from the south passed over the Fontanka here. It is strange to imagine today. You are now in the middle of the city, with shops, theatres and palaces in every direction. But three hundred years ago, this spot was close to the frontier of a young capital.

The wooden bridge did not last. Later in the eighteenth century, it was rebuilt in stone, with small towers on top, in a style shared with other bridges on the Fontanka. Then, as Nevsky Prospekt grew busier, the bridge became too narrow. In the early 1840s, engineers rebuilt it again and made it much wider. The broad, flat crossing under your feet today comes largely from that rebuilding.

Now look at the four corners. Each one holds a bronze group of a horse and a man. Together, they are known as the Horse Tamers. They are the work of the sculptor Peter Clodt von Jürgensen, a Baltic German baron who was fascinated by horses. He studied real animals for years, and you can see it. Look at the veins on the necks, the flared nostrils, the tension in the legs.

Here is the first surprise. The four groups are not copies of one figure. They tell a story, in four stages. In the first, the horse is wild, and the man struggles to hold it. In the next, the fight continues. Then the horse almost throws the man to the ground. In the last, the animal is calm, and the man stands beside it as its master. Walk the four corners in order, and you see the full sequence, like frames in a film.

The story of the statues has a twist of its own. When the first bronze pairs were ready, Emperor Nicholas the First liked them so much that he gave some of them away. One pair went as a gift to Berlin, and another to Naples. So Clodt had to cast new figures for Saint Petersburg. Today, related versions of these horses stand in both of those cities. A traveller in Germany or Italy may suddenly see a familiar horse, far from the Fontanka.

The twentieth century brought the hardest chapter. During the Second World War, the city, then called Leningrad, lived through a long siege. In 1941, residents took the bronze horses down from their pedestals. They buried them in the garden of the nearby Anichkov Palace to protect them from bombs. After the war, the sculptures came back to their places on the bridge.

The bridge itself did not escape. Look closely at the granite pedestals. On one of them, you can find damage from a shell fragment. It was left unrepaired on purpose, as a memorial, and a small plaque marks it. Most people hurry past. But this rough patch of broken stone is one of the quietest war memorials in the city. It is worth a moment of your time.

Saint Petersburg also has its legends about these horses, and locals enjoy them. According to one popular tale, Clodt hid a face in the anatomy of one of the stallions. Some versions say it shows an enemy of the sculptor. Others say it shows Napoleon. There is no proof for any of this. It is folklore, and part of the fun is watching visitors search for it under the bronze bellies.

Next, look down at the railings. They are made of cast iron, in a dark, rich pattern. Among the curls and waves, you can find sea horses and mermaid-like figures. The design echoes a bridge railing in Berlin, another link between the two cities. Run your eye along it, and you see how the iron frames the river below.

Now turn and look at the buildings around you. On one corner stands a palace with a deep red facade, the Beloselsky-Belozersky Palace. Its heavy carved figures and bright colour make a strong contrast with the grey granite of the river. Across the water, along the Fontanka, the embankment houses stand in a long, even line. Tour boats pass under your feet, and you may hear a guide's voice drift up from the water.

Stay a little longer, and notice how the light changes on the bronze. In bright daylight, the horses look almost black. In the evening, the streetlamps give them a warm shine on the muscles and manes. Then step to the railing, look down at the Fontanka, and listen to the city around you. The traffic, the footsteps, the water... As you walk on along Nevsky, glance back once at the rearing horses. They have watched this crossing for nearly two centuries.