A Dream of the Hermitage Cats

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Welcome to Get Sleepy, where we listen, we relax and we get sleepy. My name's Thomas and it's my pleasure to be your host. Tonight we'll follow an art history student named Michael as he makes a rather informal dream visit to a very famous museum in Russia called the Hermitage. While he's there, Michael will not only get private access to one of the world's greatest collections, but he'll also meet some surprising residents. As in fact, the Hermitage is almost as famous for its cats as it is for its artwork. Tonight they will end up being the finest tour guides a visitor could ask for. Thanks to Alicia Steffan for writing this one and a wreath will be reading it for us. Before we hear our story, let's take some time to relax and prepare for sleep. Make sure you're comfortable in your bed. Ideally, if you plan to follow along with our relaxation, you'll want to be lying on your back for the next few moments. Once you're settled, just begin to slow down the breath, lengthening the exhale in particular. As power and listener request, tonight we're going to focus on releasing tension and stress in our facial muscles. So firstly, just consider how much your face does for you. It allows you to communicate and express yourself, to eat and drink, to see, hear, smell, taste and feel as you go about your life. And our faces tend to be our most recognizable form of physical identity. That's a lot of responsibility for your face. And perhaps we don't always give them the due care and attention they deserve. At least in terms of relaxing and resting, all the little muscles there. So let's make space to do just that, tonight. Begin by simply noticing how your face is feeling right now. Notice if there's any lingering tension, or any areas that feel particularly relaxed. Then starting at the forehead, consciously relax and smooth this part of your face. If it helps, you can imagine a warm light bathing your forehead, softening any tension you feel there. Next, move to the eyebrows. We engage this area a lot when we're thinking, frowning, smiling. The muscles here tend to get involved in all of our expressions. So just consciously relax and soften the eyebrows too. And focus next on your eyes. With your eyelids closed, they have the opportunity to rest. If it helps, you can tighten the muscles here for a few seconds. Then release. Any tension you feel behind the eyes can ease away. With that warm glowing light, softly bathing the top half of your face. Perhaps you feel some left over tension in your temples, at the sides of your head. If that tension is particularly noticeable here, you could try very gently massaging the temples with your index and middle fingers. Continue moving your focus down through the face, into the nose and the cheekbones. Again, take time to release any tension there, tightening those muscles and releasing again if it feels helpful. Sense how your face is gradually becoming more and more relaxed. Now move your attention to your mouth and let the lips soften and entirely relax. Inside your mouth, your tongue can rest gently. Finally, and perhaps most notably of all, your jaw. The muscles here are strong and particularly responsive to stress or frustration. And we often hold onto that tension here for long stretches of time. If it feels helpful to do so, you can intentionally tighten your jaw, gritting your teeth together for a few seconds. Then releasing. Hopefully, you'll find that tension eases away when you do this. Just invite your jaw to soften and relax, with your teeth now slightly parted and your tongue resting comfortably. Your whole face is now welcome to relax and rest throughout the night. You've spent some time giving it the care and attention it deserves. And now, you can move yourself into whatever position feels best for sleeping. As your mind continues to clear, make space to listen along and envisage the calming scenes of our story. Even to imagine a crisp winter evening. The street lights have just flickered on and there is a beautiful library dusted in soft white snow. This is where our story begins. The snow was just beginning to fall when Michael reached the library. As if enticing him to stay outside and play, the huge white flakes gathered all around him. They rested briefly on his shoulders and the arm of his coat, showing off their beautiful crystals for a brief moment before melting away. Smiling to himself, he brushed a few off his eyelashes before he resolutely pulled open the front door of the library. He would watch the snow from inside, he told himself. He had research to do. The door quietly fell shut behind him and he walked across the tiled entryway near the circulation desk. Instantly, he was enveloped in the protective bubble of the library. He loved it here. There was something comforting about it. Perhaps it was the friendly silence broken only by the occasional whisper. Or maybe it was the low lighting in the nooks and crannies hidden everywhere. He loved that he could be together with all these people and yet find a spot that hid him completely from view. Everyone in the library had an implicit agreement that they would be working together, but each in their own snug little corner. Michael knew exactly where he was heading. He smiled briefly at the student who was tending the circulation desk. She wasn't very busy this evening and seemed to be getting in a little bit of homework behind the counter. In fact, the entire main floor of the library was sparsely populated. He spotted one or two other people curled up in a chair with the book or sitting at a table tapping on a computer. He made his way to the stacks and then walked the length of the outside row, traversing a long wall of windows on the other side. As he did, he peered outside, delighted by the view of the snowstorm. When he reached the corner of the first floor, he entered the stairwell and began to climb. One, two, three floors. Just when he was feeling a little winded, he arrived. Almost reverently, he pushed the door open to his favorite place in the library. It was completely silent up here. He knew it was possible he was the only person on the floor. The heady scent of books was very noticeable in this area, which was filled with stacks of old tomes. Other parts of the library had slowly pushed out actual volumes for digital friendly spaces. But the trade-off had been the loss of that library smell he loved so much. Here, his old friends still reigned supreme. That was why he used it as his study space. Making his way to a familiar row, he quickly identified the shelf he was looking for. With a practiced eye, he pulled a large art reference book from the shelf, parking the hefty volume under his arm. Then he continued on until he reached his secret spot, a comfy chair in the very back corner, next to a large window. There was rarely anybody else in this seat. He assumed it was because nobody wanted to bother with the stairs and to be so far from the conveniences of the main floor. But to Michael, this was his happy place. He could think here. He could see what was going on outside and study, unobserved. Settling himself into his customary nook, he paused for a moment, unmoving, to soak up the feeling of the silence and warmth inside. He loved how it contrasted with the increasingly heavy snowfall on the other side of the glass. Michael set his bag and his reference book gently on the floor, respecting the quiet around him. Then he sank into the welcoming embrace of the chair. Magic. This weather was the perfect inspiration for a presentation he was working on for class. Students had each been assigned a world-famous museum. Their job was to give a 10-minute talk for their classmates. Altogether, it would provide a basic overview of some of the world's most important art collections and their histories. Michael had been assigned to the Hermitage Museum in Russia. Based on the research he'd already started, he knew he had his work cut out for him to fit this information into such a short time. But the snowfall that night was putting him in the mood to imagine the Hermitage in the Russian winter. Exhaling and settling more comfortably into his chair, he began to review the basics. The Hermitage Museum was located in St. Petersburg as one of the world's most impressive collections. It covered more than 233 square meters and contained about 3 million artifacts and works of art. Although only a fraction, about 5% were displayed at any given time. These included items such as paintings, sculpture, jewelry, and armor. There was also a surprisingly large holding of numismatic objects, which were items related to money like coins, tokens, and medals. Michael paused for a moment and looked at his notes. It was hard for him to get his head around all these numbers. Scanning down the page, he came upon a fact he knew he'd include, because it really gave a feel for the size of the place. He'd read in an article that if a person viewed every item in the exhibits for one minute, eight hours per day, it would take ten years to see them all. The museum had started with Empress Catherine the Great, beginning with her personal art collection at the Royal Residence, known as the Winter Palace. Quite early in her reign, in 1764, she had acquired a large collection of art that had originally been assembled for King Frederick II of Prussia. When Frederick had ultimately refused to purchase the collection he had requested from the dealer, Catherine gladly took the opportunity to swoop in and acquire it for herself. The Hermitage website itself characterized that collection as being of uneven quality. Apparently, the man who had rounded up the pieces for Frederick had not been an expert. It consisted of 225 paintings, mostly by Dutch and Flemish artists, with some additional works by 17th-century Italian painters as well. However imperfect, this acquisition by Catherine formed the basis for astonishing achievements in the future and set her on a path that would see her vastly expand her holdings and the footprint of the palace that would contain them. Shortly after the first key acquisition, Catherine had an addition made to her residence, the Winter Palace. She called the new section the Small Hermitage. It only took a year to build, and she subsequently had a pavilion added. She used this space for gatherings with close friends. It contained a state room, drawing rooms, and a hothouse. In this retreat, she hosted events she called Small Hermetages, during which games and plays would take place. This was the area that housed her first art displays. In 1769, Catherine made a more impressive purchase than her first. She acquired over 600 works from the heirs of a man named Count von Brühl, who had been chancellor of Saxony. The collection was more varied than her last, featuring many of the Western European masters, such as Rembrandt, Busan, and Diapolo. Not surprisingly, this addition strained her existing storage and gallery space, and she soon began construction of what is now known as the Great Hermitage. This began in 1771 and stretched on until 1787. Then, in order to keep up with her passion for art, another expansion was soon added in 1792. This area was eventually used to house the Raphael Lodges, which were 18th century copies of the frescoes at the Vatican. Michael paused and looked out the window at the falling snow. It was really coming down. He glanced back at his notes and realized he was going to have to summarize some of the additional history about Catherine's passion for collecting. It seemed she had kept buying up other people's collections and mass. He ran his finger down the list. She'd bought one from the heirs of Baron Pierre Crozot in 1772. Then the Walpole Collection in 1779, sold by the grandson of the former prime minister of England. This was a particularly notable collection because it had formed the basis of her Italian holdings. Then in 1781, she had landed the collection of a man named Count Boudoir, featuring more Dutch and Flemish masters such as Rembrandt, Van Dijk, and Van Rysdale. Michael tapped his chin with his finger. Yes, he thought, he had read somewhere that the Hermitage had the largest collection of Rembrandt paintings outside the Netherlands. This was a memorable detail he'd be sure to mention to his classmates. You didn't forget a fact like that. In 1787, Catherine had shifted to an interest in sculpture, seeking out Roman and Greek pieces. This pursuit had continued. Michael remembered from a map he'd been viewing that most of the ground floor of the museum was now devoted to classical antiquities and prehistoric art, many of them acquired by Catherine's successors. This treasured trove of antiquities was really quite a long way, he thought, from where she'd started with the collection of Dutch and Flemish paintings in 1764. All told, Catherine had managed to create a legacy that must surely have made her proud. As her actions demonstrated, she loved to think of herself as a patron of the arts. In her lifetime, partially via the growth of the Hermitage, she achieved her goal of presenting Russian society as one of enlightenment and culture. She had put Russia on par with the Western powers of the time in that regard. Michael set his laptop down and stretched. Once again, he turned to look out the window. The world was cloaked in darkness, but he could see downy drifts of snow forming under the lights that lined the walkway outside. Inside their golden pools of illumination, the snow fell silently, accumulating without any sign of stopping. As he watched, a bunny hopped slowly across the lamp light, sinking deeply into the snow with each jump. He turned back to his presentation. He needed to highlight just a few of the extraordinary art pieces in the museum, although of course it was to be a mere sample. He picked his laptop up again and tapped a few keys, pulling up an article he'd found earlier. Scanning down the list, he pondered what to mention. Ancient statues of Aphrodite and Jupiter, precious cameos, the Madonna Lida by Leonardo Da Vinci. He thought he couldn't recall that Da Vinci painting, picking up the art history book he'd pulled from the shelf earlier. He flipped to the index and found the artwork in the list. Turning to the correct page, he chuckled to himself, because the baby in the picture stared out at the viewer with a skeptical look. He put the book back on the floor and returned to the article he'd been using. There was a Madonna by Raphael, then a painting of Venus and Cupid by Lucas Cronach, the elder. He remembered that one. The Cupid had been yet another wise-looking little baby. These worldly infants seemed to be a feature of the era. He continued down the incredible list of works. Caravaggio, Velasquez, Titian, but then something really caught his eye. It was a mention of a display called the Peacock Clock, which had been obtained from London. He doubted this timepiece would be in his art book, so he searched for it online and a photo appeared. It was a stunning golden clock, apparently ordered for Catherine the Great by one of her favorite courtiers, Potemkin. Michael was riveted by this contraption and found himself wishing he could see it in person. His list of works was long enough now for the presentation, but just as he was about to close the informational page he was viewing, he saw a menu item that said, Cats of the Hermitage. Cats, he thought. Was there an entire display about cats? Clicking on the link, he found the most surprising article unfolded before him. Apparently, there were more than 50 cats who lived at the Hermitage. They made their home in the basement and were allowed to roam freely throughout the courtyards, using small cat doors in the service entrances. Intrigued, Michael sank further into his chair and kept reading. Apparently, the cats had been introduced to the Hermitage in 1745. By Empress Elizabeth Petrovna, who had founded St. Petersburg. According to the article Michael was reading from the Telegraph, she had issued a decree that year, instructing her emissaries to go to a particular place renowned for cats who were good mouse catchers. They were told to find in Kazan the best and biggest cats capable of catching mice, and send them to the court of her Imperial Majesty, along with someone to look after and feed them. Later, Catherine the Great at first kept her private art collection in the basement. She had reportedly joked once to her friend, the French philosopher Diderot, that her paintings were enjoyed only by herself and the mice. So it makes sense that she would have kept the cat population in place during her reign. With only a few historical bumps in the road that made life too difficult for the cat, they had almost always been there ever since. Nowadays, they no longer even had to work for their keep, as mouse control was handled by humans. Instead, they reigned supreme at the Hermitage, greeting guests outdoors, lounging about, and enjoying dedicated staff who took care of them. They weren't allowed in the galleries anymore, which seemed quite sensible, but they were known to roam around the offices and sing their feline songs through the vents. They could even be adopted, along with an official certificate. Since 2009, the museum had even observed an annual day of the Hermitage cats. Michael found himself smiling as he finished reading the article. What a delightful detail for him to add to his report, he thought. Then he sighed and rubbed his eyes a little bit. He was feeling rather sleepy, and the quiet warmth of the library tempted him to put down his work and rest for a minute. He told himself he would just take a pause and think about his presentation. Pushing the laptop and the textbook away from him on the carpeted floor, he leaned back and tilted his head to look out the window once more. The scenery had not changed. Like a snow globe, it continued to show him a pristine winter wonderland. He closed his eyes and imagined the snow falling in the square outside the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg. It would be grand, he thought. The palace had been built in the Baroque style, favored by Empress Elizabeth. He had seen pictures of it, proudly keeping watch over the palace square, with its row of statuary up high as its crowning glory. In the austere white covering of the Russian winter, its green and gold accents would look opulent, he imagined. A clock would be visible above the main entrance, keeping time for the city. Tick tock, tick tock. In his mind's eye, Peter began walking across the stately expanse. He was heading toward the elaborate wrought iron gates in the very center of the Winter Palace. Just as he did, a black cat strolled into view and sat down before him. Appraising him coolly. It was a sleek and shiny creature with green eyes that echoed the colors on the building. It held his gaze only briefly before turning and walking gracefully toward the entrance. Mesmerized, Michael followed the cat as it moved with purposeful steps, its ebony fur offering a stark contrast to the wintry landscape. The cat slipped through the partially open gate. Michael followed with only brief hesitation. Nobody else was around. Was he allowed to be here? With a delicious thrill, he realized he didn't care. The gate was open and he would go inside. It was almost like he floated across the courtyard he found there. Then, although Michael had never really seen the entryway of the Winter Palace, he was suddenly through the door. He was the only visitor in the main vestibule, which soared around him, its graceful white columns pushing the ceiling toward the sky. The decor reminded him a little of a wedding cake. The walls were all painted a sunny baroque yellow with bright white trim. The floors were covered with patterned gray and beige tile that had been worn down by the footsteps of countless visitors. As Michael took in the grandeur of the lobby, the black cat reappeared and sat down directly in front of him, waiting for him to continue. Oh, excuse me, he said aloud to the cat as if to apologize for gawking. With a haughty demeanor, the black cat stood up again and disappeared behind a column to the side. Michael couldn't see where his companion had gone. It seemed to have vanished completely. As he craned his neck here and there, he saw a grand staircase and eagerly walked toward it. The wide, shallow steps were carpeted with a rich red carpet runner. On either side, the walls of the staircase were adorned with fancy gold light fixtures, worthy of royalty. At the landing of the staircase, straight ahead, there was an elegant statue. In fact, the statue area was also visible on the walls above and in the niches to either side. The entire area was full of natural light that streamed in from windows up high. This was a stairway that was made to impress Michael thought. As he was approaching the steps, he was surprised to see a different cat stroll into the middle of the landing. This was a glorious, fluffy white one and around its neck, there was a red velvet ribbon that matched the carpet. The cat appeared very relaxed as Michael approached, gingerly climbing the steps with silent footfalls. But just as he got close to the silky creature, extending his hand, the feline turned and walked away. With a flash of white, it briskly ascended the next flight of stairs and disappeared. Well, Michael thought, so much for cats not being allowed in the galleries. Michael followed in the direction where the cat had gone. He was impressed by the amount of gold decoration all around him. He turned left and then left again. As he neared the top of the grand staircase, he looked up and saw that there was a stunning ceiling fresco visible up above. At the top, he saw that the gold and white decorations continued on the walls and the arches in the ceiling. To the right, a large window lit the hallway and he could see some sort of exhibit beyond. Straight ahead, through an open door, a large room held something displayed inside a cupola. But when he turned to the left, he saw his fluffy white friend waiting patiently for him. Behind the cat was a very long hallway and the suggestion of enticing exhibits. His guide began trotting in that direction and he followed. Michael walked through a pair of very impressive doors and found himself in a large, airy space. The cat had sauntered off to the side and was rubbing its ears on a pedestal that held a plaque. Michael turned his face upward and admired the enormous gilded bronze chandeliers. Vases stood around on pedestals, some quite large. The walls were lined with paintings of men in military dress. The cat seemed unimpressed by these fellows and casually hopped up on a nearby padded chair to begin having a bath. This contrast between the delicate cat and the military men amused Michael and he found himself admiring his dainty white companion even more. As impressive as the room was, Michael wanted to see what was next. He peered down a long hallway off to the side, noting that it seemed to be full of wall coverings. Leaving the vases and the soldiers behind, Michael walked into a long gallery simply covered in tapestries. The light was streaming in from windows on the left and smaller gold chandeliers hung in a perfect row from the ceiling. Michael stopped at a few of the tapestries reading about the subjects and learned that they were made in the 1600s. He had just finished looking at one of the plaques when he felt something soft on his ankle. He looked down to see a short haired tabby cat winding around his legs. It was purring loudly. Delighted, Michael reached down and stroked the cat, which leaned into his leg even more. Then, in a bold move, Michael picked up the kitty and started walking to the end of the hall with it. The cat didn't seem to mind at all, resting comfortably in his arms. As Michael reached the end of the corridor, the cat gave a gentle push, hopped down, and scurried into the next gallery ahead of him. He found his latest museum friend lying luxuriously on its side in the next room, which was filled with paintings of religious icons. Michael had learned a little bit about altarpieces, and he read the plaques with interest. They were Russian, dating to the 14th and 15th century. Most of these items were visible in the succession of rooms to the left. It was a large collection that he found a bit dour, but the cat seemed not at all concerned or reverent. It hopped up and followed him as he traversed the connected rooms. Then it slipped around his ankles at the last door and ran off without warning. Michael took a little turn, looking for the cat, and before he knew it, he was entering an entirely new kind of room. It was light with beautiful high ceilings, and it was dripping with white and gold, much like other large spaces he'd seen. There was a marble fireplace at one end, with a clock sitting atop it. There was the tabby cat regarding the clock, as if it was waiting to find out the time. Then the cat pivoted and walked past Michael, causing him to turn around. Michael caught his breath. In the middle of the room was the very peacock clock he had been reading about a little while ago. He realized he was in the pavilion. Michael slowly skirted the graceful arches and columns that lined the interior of the room and stood right in front of the glorious peacock, which rested in a beautifully detailed replica of a tree. Upon closer inspection, he saw that there was an owl there, as well as a cockerel. The trio were protected by a large glass house, where they stood poised for the mechanical dance they must surely perform at the right time. And even as he gazed upon it, that time magically arrived. The clock began to chime with tiny little bells. The cage around the owl rotated as the bird turned its head from side to side. The peacock stretched and moved its own delicate head gently, as its enormous wings elevated slowly to the sky. Down below, a dragonfly rotated, functioning as a second hand. It was so intricate and clever that Michael felt he could have watched it forever. Behind the miraculous clock, he could look outside through tall arched windows. The snow was falling thickly over the Neva River, a serene backdrop for the shining birds inside. Then, as Michael stood mesmerized, the clock finished its performance and gently settled back into silence. Michael didn't move. He didn't want to break the spell. But when he did turn around, he realized all three of his cat guides were there. The black cat, the white cat, and the tabby sat patiently. As if to bid him farewell, he didn't feel ready to end his museum tour, having just seen a tiny fraction of the treasures within. But he sensed that the art was safe here, resting as it had for hundreds of years. And he felt certain that the cats would take care of it for him until he was able to return. Then Michael faced the window again, losing himself in the peacefulness of the falling snow. As the flakes drifted down and the scenes of the hermitage melted imperceptibly into the distance of his mind, he knew that he would have sweet dreams that night. Was it the palace embankment he saw or the walkway outside the library? Smiling drowsily, he felt that they were the same thing. Tick tock tick tock. There would be more time to see the treasures of the hermitage another night. For now, it was time to sleep in companionship with the cats who would be keeping watch over them.