The Russian Century

and capable boy—even talented, it may be said. In any case, he was smarter and more talented than many of our “top students” whose names adorned the gold board [of honor]. Whenever he was called to respond to a lesson, he would invariably become dull and unintelligible. That was how he was perceived by all the teachers. I do not know the explanation for this.

What were the things that interested and linked us? Even now, I cannot fathom how boys of twelve to fourteen years old could have had the interests that we did then. We devoured an incredible number of books and lived in a state of feverish enthusiasm—shifting from one captivation to another. We read Adam Smith and Mill (always with Chernyshevskii’s commentary), Darwin, Buckle. We studied astronomy; our idol was Tolstoy; we were fascinated by Chekhov. In Voronov’s room, which was always filled with a multitude of books, there was a table on which the latest books lay—he called them “my sins.” These were the books which he had to read first. This was pretty much the case with me as well. In imitation of Chekhov’s story “Whist,” we invented our own special card game. Essentially, this was the simplest of games which children called the “game of drunks.” Its special feature was that instead of having four suits, we had four categories—belles-lettres, the socio-political, science and art. Rather than having face cards we had writers, publicists or public figures, scientists and artists. Tolstoy, Uspenskii, Chekhov, Darwin, and Beethoven were aces and the others followed according to rank. This game engaged us because we changed our aces and kings in relationship to our current enthrallments and had heated arguments and debates on this issue.

We overthrew our idols frequently, but in the end always came to an agreement. The one irreplaceable ace was always Tolstoy. The leading role in these arguments was played by Voronov. He was the most inquisitive among us, and Gorozhankin and I usually deferred to his ardor and pressure. I remember that for a time we were fascinated by Malthus. But then we realized that,

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Chapter Seven

in essence, his law of demographics was a deeply reactionary invention—and we threw him down in shame. He was replaced by Henry George with Progress and Poverty. It seemed that he supplied the key to solving all of humanity’s social ills. I recall that right during the period of my fascination with Henry George, who saw all mankind’s ills in land ownership and land tenancy, my father bought land in the Caucasus, and I experienced horrible moral suffering because of it. But, Henry George, too, was later removed from the pedestal. Our circle of interests was very broad. We even reached Herbert Spencer though, as Voronov said, his Psychology was as unpleasant to read as was the cod liver oil which had to be taken daily. The social sciences, such as economics and sociology, were of particular interest to us. I think that there was much in these books that we did not understand. But we took these books by storm, the way in which a fortress was attacked.

Our moral development instinctively paralleled the development of Russian societal opinion. We worshiped the Decembrists, knew lines from Ryleev by heart, were captivated by the 40’s, and, as a substitute for their idealism, we accepted the nihilism and realism of the 60’s. This was followed by a reaching out to the people and the recognition that we must serve them, the discharge of societal obligations, and the rejection of privileges. Secretly, I even imposed strict limitations on myself—I slept under a light blanket, refused sweets and other extras.

For a long time our idol was Mikhailovskii who was then writing and battling in the journals with a nascent Marxism. We waited impatiently, as if for an event, for each issue of Russkoe Bogatstvo. We would go to the journal’s office, located near the Nikitskie Vorota [Gates], in order to receive it directly from the office manager. Someone told us that this was likely the uncle of Gleb Uspenskii, who was then in an institution for the mentally ill. We were especially fascinated by Mikhailovskii’s theory of progress, by his doctrine of “hero and crowd.”

Something that gave a specific edge to our intellectual concerns was the constant striving to apply each new discovery to everyday life and to engrained habits. We found the roots of animism and beliefs peculiar to primitive people, as well as countless survivals of the past, in contemporary society. We mocked these fiercely and applied the “hero—crowd” theory to everyday life. We would, in so doing, cite Taylor’s two-volume History of Primitive Culture, Malthus, Henry George, Darwin, Spencer, and Mikhailovskii. The leading role in all of these obsessions was played by Voronov. He was the most temperamental, impatient, and fervent, the same Voronov who was expelled from the gimnazium for being “dull” and an “un-derachiever.” Together, the three of us wrote letters to Leo Tolstoy, Chekhov, Mikhailovskii—we posed questions to them, expressed our enthusiasm and

Vladimir Zenzinov, Coming of Age

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support and sometimes even criticized them. And what is most astonishing, we received replies from them. It is unlikely that they suspected they were dealing with fourteen to fifteen year old youths!

From the very beginning, social problems were at the very heart of our aspirations: thoughts of how society could be better governed, a society in which injustice could be seen at every step. How was humanity to achieve universal happiness? We knew that human life was short, that banality could soon crush us in its grasp, the way it crushed all those who had reached the age of thirty. So we rushed to effect our ideas into an actual project. We began to publish a [political] journal.

As I noted, Voronov undoubtedly had some troubles with the police and this forced my mother to request that I stop corresponding with him. But then my time came. When I was in the eighth year [final year of the gimnazium] and eighteen years old, my father received a summons to the Okhrana [secret police]. He was invited there for a discussion along with me. This was not much of a surprise for either him or me. I did not hide my political convictions from my family and my parents knew that I was growing up a revolutionary. Totally uninterested in politics themselves, they were very tolerant in this matter. Sometimes we even conversed on the issues, though very rarely, and even argued. But both mother and father were respectful of my views.

As I and my father were walking to the Okhrana department (this was February 1899), he coughed a few times ( which was a sign of worry) and said: “Of course, I don’t know what they’ll be talking to us about. You must have gotten into some mischief. So don’t be offended if I yell at you a little bit for propriety’s sake!” I promised that I wouldn’t.

A captain of the gendarmes greeted us at the Okhrana. This was my first encounter with the “blue uniform” which I already despised. “Young man,” the captain said to me triumphantly, “we are aware of all your contacts with the revolutionaries who are abroad. I consider it necessary to forewarn you that if you continue these contacts in the future, you risk serious consequences.” Turning to my father he said, “And I would ask you to pay more attention to your son’s upbringing and behavior.” Evidently, this upset my father who, instead of scolding me as he had intended, suddenly said: “I don’t know what you are talking about, but I must say that I am proud of my son.” This was a complete surprise for me as well. “You and I don’t know,” the captain replied, “but he (tossing his head in my direction) knows very well!” This was said in such a manner that I involuntarily looked closely into the captain’s eyes—in them I read anger and hatred.

As we were returning home, father said with irritation: “Of course, from their point of view it would be better if you were involved in debauchery and drunkenness! Scoundrels!”