Gilt

In both Peterhof and the Winter Palace, there are rooms that are designed to impress, and they do in one way or another. Gilt is what catches the eye, liquid gold painted onto the walls and decor, a nineteenth-century evidence of the ability to show off for other wealthy people. It is a difficult thing to enjoy, at least for me.

A poem I wrote during the evening between the two showy palaces would seem to fit here:

GILTY AS CHARGED

Taking an American through the Czar’s Peterhof Palace is a stretch.
Our bus dumps us out, an international lot with several Yanks, to the
Star Spangled Banner being well played by a trio that looked oompah.
They stroll us past a dozen tents of booksellers, toy sellers, merchants
Lining us up in the small garden to be worked by the street sellers again.
“Are these Russian Nesting Dolls made in China?” is heard over and over
Again, until the Cossack nature comes out in the form of argument.
Entry to the Palace is slow, checking coats and seeing several stores,
Then we enter to the gallery of gilt, which really should be guilt.
After the Soviet system fell, where were these new Russians left?
They honor no statues of the Soviet Empire, they hark back to the royals,
Their museums bring in dollars to see the excess that caused the problem.
Enough gilt in the hallway and ballroom to give an American a headache.
I paid my fee, I accepted my headache, gilty as charged.
Best wishes to Helen, our guide, and all Russians seeking success, freedom.