in which we visit Chekhov's house

Sick of Chekhov yet? Me neither. Today is his 150th birthday.

So today I went to his house, which you can probably see from the Embassy if you are in the right office. It's on Kudrinskya; I like saying it.

I walked in and saw a sign that said, students, 60 rubles, foreigners, 100 rubles. There is probably a "local" price, which you are entitled to, with your embassy badge, but I didn't even try. 100 rubles = $3. To see Chekhov's house? I don't need to negotiate it down to $2.50. Then the lady came out of her little booth, took me by the arm, sweetly, to show me the sign in English that explains that the price posted is to take pictures. And no more than two pictures in each room. Okaaaaay.

I'd worn fifteen layers of clothing, even though it's warmed up to 7F,  but I checked my coat. I get the feeling the coat check guy is a hoot, but I can't understand him, so I just laugh in a generalized, idiotic way. He offers me overshoes, which I decline, I don't want to be the only freak with overshoes.

The first room is portraits and someone's parasol, maybe Chekhov's walking cane, I think I recognize it from photos, but who can tell? The lables are all in Russian. It's all cool though--parasols and canes and early playbills-- I mean, no one loves ephemera more than I do. And hitting me in the face is the portrait I love, the one his brother painted. You know it by now.

But there is another room! His sitting room! Where he received patients, and friends. Oh, only people like Tchikovsky, but, whatever! Check out his leather doctor bag and eye glasses. His desk and lamp, and here have a chair. You can sit and hang out for a while, commune with his ghost.

Off the sitting room, on either side of the Carl Larson-esque stove, are his and his brother's rooms. Why do we have such huge beds now? Here is the bed Anton Chekhov slept in, and it's like a junior twin. I love the 19th century.

And it's all in dacha style with the tapetry on the wall, next to the bed. His mother made that tapestry. *dies*

I'm fangirling over Anton Chekhov and his interiors. Fine. Also, there is a rug over the table in the sitting room. *rumages through closet to find rug to put on table*

There's more, you can go upstairs, run your hand along the worn red velvet-covered handrail his sister loved. Upstairs, a piano his brother played in the mornings while Chekhov wrote downstairs. Chekov's favorite piece was Chopin's prelude #6. "Chopin is everyone's favorite," says Peter.

His sister's room is upstairs. Her little sewing machine, her gray velvet-covered sofa. Could you die of love?

So as I'm wandering around communing with every little thing, I notice I am the only clueless person not ruining the best short-story writer in the history of the universe's floor by not wearing overshoes.

Americans! We are so clueless, and dirty. And I took more than two pictures in some of the rooms too! But I evened it out by not taking ANY pictures in other rooms.

You can see his playing cards, and his toothbrush, (ew, says Camille) prescriptions he'd written out, photos he'd taken and his dishes, and envelopes he'd made out of newsprint and tied with red string, (I'm so doing this) his waistcoat that closed with cuff-link-like buttons and pajamas embroidered with his initials, and hand-written manuscripts and little notebooks...his life, all right there to see. Everything and almost him.

Click and the collage will get bigger. Click on Moscow Photo a Day to find out more about Chekhov and his crazy-amazing life.

Comments

[Melissa]

so jealous!!! This is one of the places I wanted to go when I visited but didnt have time. I am happy you checked it out...and real close to your house too!

[MamaLana]

Dr. Chekhov, I presume? I love it!

[Jim Madril]

I thought Chekhov lived in the future with Capt Kirk. Did you get a picture of his tricorder?

[Jane]

Ha ha, right after I read "His mother made that tapestry. *Dies*" I said to myself OMG she's fangirling over Chekhov - then I read your next line. I know you too well! D'ya think some day some latter day version of you will be going through DC's house in KC & fangirling over it?

[Annie]

I don't know when I've ever felt I understood a person's feelings better than reading this post! (Or that someone might understand mine.) You wrote this up so well... My friends took me to Tolstoy's Moscow house when we were there two years ago... It was holy ground for me and how eternally grateful I was/am/will be that we were the only people there....that my friends were willing to let me stand and stare and take it all in. I LIVED on that visit; for nights I'd put myself to sleep by walking through Tolstoy's house in my mind, thinking of every little detail that I could remember, trying to imprint it permanently. His writing desk; his cobblers tools. Sonya's designs for embroidery. Tatiana's room, and the tablecloth she had everyone who visited sign so she could embroider their names on it. I first read Tatiana Toltoy's diaries when I was about twelve years old.....and from that time on wanted to be an artist like she was. Only later did I learn she had a famous father...so how I lingered at the door to her room. Well...just to say: I understand.

I did wear the overshoes - mine were WAY too big, I could barely climb the stairs, but it was OK to humble myself in the cause.