Field of Mars

Listen for a moment. The traffic of central Saint Petersburg fades into a soft hum here. Under your feet the paths are packed earth and gravel, and around you the ground opens into a wide, flat space. It is rare to find this much sky in the middle of the old city. On a windy day you can feel the air coming off the river, carrying a hint of cold water.

This is the Field of Mars. It is one of the largest open squares in the historic centre. It sits between the Moika River, the Swan Canal and the old trees of the Summer Garden. Today it feels calm and green. Its long life holds parades, fairs, a revolution and a burial ground. Let us walk through that story slowly, one layer at a time.

In the early years of the city, this land was wet and marshy. Peter the Great founded Saint Petersburg in 1703, and the ground around his young capital was low and soaked by the river. Over time the marsh was drained. The space became a meadow used for celebrations, fireworks and military exercises. In the eighteenth century it carried several names. One of them was the Tsaritsa's Meadow, which tied the field to the royal court nearby.

The name you hear today comes from Mars, the Roman god of war. The name fits the field's main role in the nineteenth century. This was a parade ground. Regiments of the Imperial Guard marched here in long, straight lines. Officers on horseback reviewed them. Emperors came to watch. Picture rows of soldiers in bright uniforms, the sound of drums, and boots striking the earth all together.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. The famous statue of the general Alexander Suvorov once stood on this field. The sculptor Mikhail Kozlovsky showed him as Mars himself, in armour, with a sword and a shield. Later, in the early nineteenth century, the statue was moved to the northern edge of the field, near the Neva and the bridge. You can still find it there. It is the general, dressed as the god who gave this place its name.

Now turn toward the long building along the western side. It is a calm, classical building with columns. This was the barracks of the Pavlovsky Regiment, one of the guard regiments that drilled on this ground. The architect Vasily Stasov designed it in the early nineteenth century. Its pale walls make a quiet frame for the open space. The soldiers who lived inside could step out of their doors and straight onto the parade ground.

The field was not always neat. Without trees or paving, it turned to dust in dry weather and to mud in rain. Locals are said to have joked that it was the city's own little desert. During festivals, though, it filled with people. Wooden booths, swings and street shows appeared here, especially around the holidays before Lent. For ordinary families, this was a place of noise, food and fun. It was not only a stage for the army.

Then came 1917. During the February Revolution, people died in the street fighting across the city. In the spring of that year, many of them were buried here in a mass funeral. Huge crowds walked in the procession. A parade ground for emperors became a resting place for those who fell in the uprising. This was a deep change in meaning. The field turned from a symbol of imperial power into a memorial of revolution.

In the centre of the field you will see a low, square monument of dark granite. This is the Monument to the Fighters of the Revolution. The architect Lev Rudnev designed it in the years just after 1917. Its blocks are heavy and simple, with no statues at all. Look closely at the stone. Carved inscriptions run along the walls. They were written by Anatoly Lunacharsky, a writer and an official of the early Soviet government.

In the middle of the monument burns an eternal flame. It was lit in 1957, on the fortieth anniversary of the revolution. Here is the second surprise. This flame is closely linked to Moscow. When the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier was later created by the Kremlin wall, its flame was carried from this one. So a small fire here in Saint Petersburg helped light one of the most visited memorials in Russia.

In the 1920s the field was redesigned as a public garden. The architect Ivan Fomin laid out the paths, lawns and low hedges you are walking among now. The design is formal and balanced. The paths cross at clear angles and lead your eye toward the monument. Lanterns line the walks. In late spring, lilac bushes flower across the field. Their scent drifts over the paths, and the whole place turns soft and purple.

Take a moment to look beyond the field's edges. To the east, across the Swan Canal, the Summer Garden shows its tall trees and iron railings. Nearby stands the Marble Palace, faced in coloured stone. To the south, over the rooftops, you may catch the bright domes of the Church of the Saviour on Spilled Blood. Few places in the city let you see so many landmarks from one spot. The open space gives them room.

Today the field is a place for slow walks. Students cross it on their way to class. Couples sit on the benches. Families stop by the flame, and sometimes newlyweds leave flowers on the granite, as a quiet local custom. Please remember that people are buried here. Walk with care around the monument, keep your voice low, and do not step onto the stone or sit on the walls.

Before you leave, stand still once more. Look at the gravel paths, the granite blocks and the small flame moving in the wind. Soldiers once marched across this ground. Crowds once came here to mourn. Now it is just you, the trees and the wide northern sky. As you walk toward the river or the Summer Garden, glance back. The field stays open behind you, quiet and wide, as it has for centuries.