In this town, one gets the feeling that not only time, but life itself has come to a standstill. This sensation is present in almost every small Russian town, with rare exceptions; yet in Torzhok, it is intensified by the imperial, pseudo-Greek scenery of the architect Lvov. The meaning is simple: everything has its day, and both cities and lives are doomed to be eroded by time.

Torzhok is known, and tourists do visit. Well, they “stop by”—though this hardly leaves a mark on the town itself. There are the famous Pozharsky cutlets and a couple of excellent museums kept afloat by aging enthusiasts. I remember staying in a dilapidated apartment there once for mere pennies. The landlady warned us we had to leave by 3:00 PM. I offered to pay for the evening, but it turned out the issue wasn’t the money; her violent husband or brother was expected to show up, and he was likely to arrive completely drunk.

Visually, the town is quite picturesque, at times reminiscent of the impoverished regions of Asia or Africa that photographers are so fond of capturing. But for me personally, the fading of authentic historical Russia into the earth is a deep, personal tragedy. I have been to Torzhok many times, and with each visit, I have noticed new losses. This is how the “pristine” Russia is dying—the Russia that became useless after 1917. Neither the Communists, nor the post-Soviet “democrats,” nor the “advanced” IT specialists, nor the metropolitan office class—no one has bothered to pick this precious treasure up from the flea market of time.