The palace was once lavish. Now, apartments and storefronts hid it from the street.

A small sign pointed us through a gate toward a snow-covered courtyard.

At the entrance, a guard shook his head then pointed instead to an unmarked door half a flight of stairs below ground.

Inside, low brick vaults forced us to duck as we followed signs to the ticket counter.

The woman behind the glass wasn’t selling tickets either. At least, not yet.

She stood peeling a handwritten notice from the door.

Instead of using fresh tape, she carefully pressed the same cloudy strips back onto the new sign. They’d collected enough dust and paper fibers that they no longer stuck.

One corner sagged.

Then another.

She pressed them down again.

We waited.

Eventually the sign surrendered, and so did she.

She sat behind the counter with her paper still in hand and sold us the only tickets available to foreign visitors.

“They include the mansion.”

And they did.

Mostly.

~

The audio guide led us from room to room describing paintings, sculptures, and furniture that no longer lived there.

“This masterpiece is now in the Hermitage…”

“The original furnishings are now in the Hermitage…”

Again.

And again.

The rooms themselves stood almost empty. Pale rectangles marked where paintings had once protected the wallpaper from sunlight.

~

This mansion had never been meant to be a museum.

Instead of wide galleries, it had parlors and bedrooms joined by doors that seemed to lead anywhere except where you wanted to go.

To keep traffic moving, the attendants had developed a system.

One escorted us upstairs to the proper starting room.

Others stood at key intersections throughout the house, waiting for visitors to wander off course.

We emerged through the wrong doorway. An attendant appeared almost immediately, pointing to another door.

We followed.

When we finally reached the Chinese Room, one of the few spaces that still contained its original silk walls and carved woodwork, a guard waved us through before we had finished looking.

“No stopping.”

“No touching.”

“Keep moving.”

He said to each person, no matter how quickly they moved.

A few rooms later another guard blocked another doorway. Through the window, it looked furnished.

“Special ticket.”

We moved on.

~

To our surprise, the chapel doors opened.

Inside, three singers appeared without announcement and filled the room with music.

The tour groups fell silent.

For five minutes the palace stopped feeling like a museum.

Then everyone applauded, stood, and shuffled toward the theater.

Gold leaf scaled the walls.

Red velvet covered the seats and balconies.

Above us, painted figures disappeared into the curve of the ceiling, and rows of empty chairs descended toward the stage.

T here, another attendant explained to a disappointed group of tourists that the evening performance required yet another ticket.

As they packed away their snacks and filed out, the theater emptied.

For the first time all afternoon, nobody hurried us anywhere.

We sat alone beneath the carved balconies and red velvet curtains until another group arrived.

The attendant stood.

“Special ticket.”