飞机抵达莫斯科上空时,舷窗外阳光灿烂,但向下望去是一片茫茫大海——那是翻滚的浓云。对我说来,那“大海”底下似乎隐藏着一个神秘的世界。待到飞机穿云而下,大雪纷飞的苏联首都就赫然在目了。在这个戏剧事业素称发达的国度里,在斯坦尼斯拉夫斯基、梅耶荷德、契诃夫、高尔基……的后代们中间,我能寻求到对我思考问题的某些启发吗? When the plane arrived in Moscow, the sun shone outside the porthole, but looking down was a vast ocean - it was a thick cloud of rolling clouds. To me, there seems to be a mysterious world beneath the “sea.” Until the aircraft through the clouds, the snow-capped Soviet capital impressively. Can I seek some inspiration for thinking of me in the descendants of Stanislavsky, Meyhold, Chekhov, Gorky ... in this highly developed theater industry?