I went to Moscow that summer, it was June in early summer. The sky is light blue, and the melody of cranberry blossom and hawthorn is mixed with the smell of tobacco. A group of Chinese writers from Northeast China. In fact, we walked a total of three cities: Irkutsk, Moscow, St. Petersburg. Some people say that this route is like a three-fold screen of Russian history and culture: Irkutsk has Lake Baikal and the Decembrist Museum; St. Petersburg has “White Night”, the Winter Palace, the Summer Palace and Pushkin’s Imperial Village; , as it does as the capital.
What is there in Moscow? First, the bells and the church. There are so many churches in Moscow. Even the Red Square and the Kremlin, the entire building complex is more solemn and magnificent because of the surrounding of several cathedrals. There was light rain that day, baroque, a kind of tender green, a kind of light gray, unique style. The bells sounded melodiously along the way, the air smelled of rain, and the bells also smelled of rain. Our minibus passed through the streets and alleys, as if the poems of Du Mu, a Tang Dynasty man, were flying obliquely. middle”.
But we are not here for these. It is self-evident that a person who likes to read and write, the biggest wish in Moscow is to see the former residence of Toon. So when the tour guide said that he was going to that small courtyard, a carload of people from the Northeast cheered up as if the trip was worthwhile, as if visiting relatives and worshiping. Someone talked about Harvard University in the United States, saying that a certain professor taught Russian literature to students, first drew all the curtains, and the classroom was instantly dark. Then he lit a candle and said that this was Pushkin; then turned on the light again and said that this was Chekhov; finally went to the window, opened the curtains, and the sun poured in, bright and beautiful, the professor announced, This is Tolstoy!
It was a very appropriate narration, and everyone nodded. isn’t it? This is Tolstoy.
1
The car stopped, and what appeared in front of me was a small street and a small courtyard. The tour guide said that this is the Tolstoy House Museum, and the street is also called Leo Tolstoy Street. So a group of people got out of the car enthusiastically, and just entered the yard, but were told that the museum was closed that day. You can see the small courtyard and the garden behind, but you cannot enter the small building of the former residence. What’s going on, because it’s raining? But it was light rain, and it was about to stop. The tour guide said she didn’t know either. Someone reconciled and said that we should come back tomorrow. The tour guide said no, there is still an itinerary for tomorrow. In short, I was very helpless, as if I had come from afar, but was turned away by relatives. But thinking of Tuo Weng’s magnanimity, I had no choice but to be magnanimous for a while, so let’s go to the back to see the garden, it’s not in vain to visit here.
The courtyard is as small as Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. The ocher-yellow small building, green eaves and casements, and even the works of Toon displayed beside the door are pocket books, the size of a palm. Thinking that this is where Tolstoy wrote “Resurrection”, that feeling of loss, something. Just as he was about to turn around, a woman who looked like a college student walked out from the opposite side, the adult version of Alice. Her clothes are old and not fashionable, and she wears a simple blue gauze scarf and acts generously. Hi, hello! I hurried forward and tried to communicate in English. I have studied English for a few years, and I have taught English for a few years, and that time it came in handy.
The communication went smoothly. She said that she was a graduate student at Moscow State University, and she had come here many times to check information because she was writing Tolstoy for her graduation thesis. After hearing me tell you that you cannot enter the small building, she smiled, and said Follow me in English like a fairy tale—come with me.
In this way, when all the traveling companions went to the garden, I followed the “blue scarf” and sneaked into the small building where Tuo Weng lived. We walked through the secret door, and the aisle was very narrow. Entering, there is an old Russian woman, with an indifferent expression, sitting still. “Blue Scarf” said a few words in Russian to the old woman. The old woman nodded and pointed to the Russian-style samovar on the table next to her, which was simple and vast.
Some kitchen utensils, a piano. A bust of Tolstoy, with five willows hanging down his chest. Many black and white photos. There are long corridors, more than a dozen rooms, and a large restaurant, as if still nostalgic for the full house of guests. Master bedroom, nursery room, small classroom. The eldest daughter’s room, the second daughter’s room, and the boy’s room. Big living room, small living room. The study where Tolstoy wrote. In short, the upstairs and downstairs are very friendly. “Blue Shajin” pointed and acted as a commentary, telling me about the old moonlight of the small building and Tuo Weng’s past and shadow.
——Count Tolstoy bought this house in 1882, Yes, the whole family lives there. There are nearly twenty years. It was here that he read and wrote, received guests, and often went to the yard to feed the horses and chop wood, and sometimes went out to fetch water as far as the Moskva River. Yes, this is the Earl and Lady. At that time, there were too many guests who came here to visit, and the Countess was sometimes very annoying.
——In Russian, Tolstoy means “fat”. Of course it was a noble family, and his aunt could often see Tsar Nicholas II. His father’s linen must be sent to Holland to be laundered. His mother hadn’t even heard a word that was indecent. Well, this is a picture of him when he was young, everyone was young. He once shaved his eyebrows back then because he said it would make them thicker and thicker.
- He became a vegetarian in 1885 and has been in good health. bike? Yes, he learned to cycle when he was sixty-five and loved it. Of course, he can also ride a horse. At the age of eighty-two, he can ride a horse and raise his whip. Looking at this picture, he looks like a young man, and he even broke off birch branches on the horse. Probably on the way back to Yasnaya Polyana, Tolstoy’s hometown, about a hundred and twenty miles south of Moscow.
—Yes, there is his manor and land there. Leo Tolstoy loved the land and working with himself. Every spring or summer, he has to return to his hometown, often on foot, each time for three days, and stays at the farmer’s house at night. Sometimes I ride horses too. There are many stories about Tolstoy and farmers, hometown, and land.
——Do you like this picture? Many people like it, and I like it too, very much. It is in the fields of his hometown, and the flowers in his arms are forget-me-nots. Sorry, I said Russian, English is forget-me-not, what is your Chinese name? Oh, don’t forget me, there is no such thing as “I” in Russian, it just means don’t forget, don’t forget…
”Blue Scarf” walked and talked like this.
I should remember her name, she told me, was it Vera or Lisa? Or just call it Vera, this name is closer to her temperament. It took more than an hour. Vera accompanied me around the small building. Finally we sat in the kitchen for a while, and Vera gave the old woman some coins and treated me to a cup of strong black tea. I didn’t thank and leave until I heard the voice of the tour guide outside. Vera insisted on sending me. When we walked out of the yard, the traveling companions were already sitting in the minibus. The tour guide had complex eyes and said that he would have lunch first, and then go to see Chekhov’s former residence, Gorky’s Academy of Literature and Peter the Great’s childhood estate.
2
It has been almost ten years since that summer. At that time, only a few writers who went on a trip together maintained their phone calls and WeChat. Occasionally contacted, and would talk about that trip, with an unfinished look, saying that I saw who wrote about Lake Baikal, and who wrote about White Nights in St. Petersburg, and I felt very cordial. There are also articles about Moscow, but mainly about the Gorky Academy of Literature, as well as Arbat Street, the Bolshoi Theater, and the Mayakovsky Metro Station. I said, why no one wrote about Tuo Weng’s former residence? They said, that’s up to you to write, didn’t you go to the garden? And that “blue scarf”, the car is already driving, and people are still waving below.