The Russian Century: A Hundred Years of Russian Lives

Vladimir Zenzinov (1880–1953) is an example of a quintessential revolutionary. Born in Moscow, he graduated from gimnazium in 1899 and went to Europe. There he spent four and a half years at the universities of Berlin, Halle, and Heidelberg studying philosophy, economics, history, and law. His contacts with revolutionary émigrés in Switzerland solidified the oppositionist views formed in his gimnazium years. Upon returning to Russia as a member of the SR’s (Social Revolutionaries), he embarked on a life of active protest. He was arrested and exiled numerous times. He escaped numerous times as well. Like other revolutionaries of a moral suasion, he could not support the Bolsheviks and had to leave Russia in 1918. From then until his death he lived in Paris, Prague, Berlin and New York working and writing for numerous democratic and socialist publications. Taken from Vladimir Zenzinov, Perezhitoe [My Life’s Experiences]. New York: Izd. Imeni Chekhova, 1953.

On Saturday evenings we always had many young people at our house. Insofar as I recall, they were exclusively from Siberia, and principally university students of medicine, law, and philology. There were usually ten to fifteen of them, mostly the same ones. They respected my father very much; as to my mother, they not only respected her but they loved her. They treated her with tender attention, like their own mother. And she attended to them with a motherly gentleness. She followed their destinies and knew the personal and family lives of every student. Apparently, for many of them, our home substituted for the family from which they were torn away. Muscovites and Siberians are famed for their hospitality and our home seemed to doubly justify this reputation. Things were always joyful, lively and pleasant. Needless to say, the principal activity was drinking tea.

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Vladimir Zenzinov, Coming of Age

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Everyone gathered around the large table on which a boiling samovar stood. Without fail, mother herself poured the tea and washed the glasses. The table was filled with everything that Muscovite and Siberian hospitality could think of: jam, cheese “Danish,” nougat, black Chinese fruit jelly, sweet cakes, candies, fruit. Spirited conversations took place on anything that interested those present—news and letters from home, current events, university life, concerts, theater. Strange as it may now seem, I do not recall political discussions or debates. There were animated debates, but I don’t remember any which left a bad aftertaste. The atmosphere was almost familial, one of great sincerity. Many actually knew each other through their families in Siberia and had grown up there. After tea we went to the living room where the conversations continued or games were organized. There were happy games of forfeits, “opinions and comparisons,” “cities,” our “neighbors,” complex charades, the “ring,” and “madam sent one hundred rubles, buy what you want, don’t say what it is and don’t refer to black or white.” Someone would begin playing the piano and we would dance. There were young women as well. Some had also come from Siberia to pursue higher education for women while others were my sister’s friends who were studying at the first women’s gimnazium near Strastnoi Convent. My sister was five years older than I.

Of course, in such an atmosphere there could not but be romances and infatuations. But at that time, this was of no interest to me. I even despised such things. I would repeat a phrase I had heard somewhere that “in courting there is something dog-like.” But how could this not occur in the midst of joyful, lively, and boisterous youth? Only later did I find out about the “hopeless loves” which, as it turns out, were being played out before my eyes. Two students were in love with my sister (she was very attractive). One was the brilliant and handsome Mikhnovskii from Irkutsk, the other—our fat bumpkin Kolia Ocheredin, who resembled a Siberian bear. My sister rejected them both and married a doctor whom she met on the Black Sea.

Presumably, there were other romances. I recall that my sister had striking friends. One was a blonde (Davydova) with large eyes and a long braid. Another was a fiery Jewish brunette with a bright blush (Gortikova). Incidentally, I met her later while in emigration in Paris and together we recalled the distant days. She was then a mother of two adult sons and nothing remained of her former beauty. She had become a short, hunched old woman. My sister’s best friend Bibochka Bari (Anna Aleksandrovna) was enormously popular. She was the oldest daughter in the very large family of Aleksandr Veniaminovich Bari, an Americanized engineer. He owned the Moscow factory where the famous Shukhov boilers were manufactured. Bibochka was a cheerful, plump blonde who radiated health and joy. My older brother Kesha was hopelessly in love with her. But only we, his

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Chapter Seven