The Russian Century: A Hundred Years of Russian Lives

I didn’t notice him for a long time. But, having accidentally talked to him at length once, I was convinced that he read a lot and that his favorite books and authors coincided with mine. This instantly drew us together. We started walking home together from school and had endless conversations on the way. His name was Evgenii Voronov. In contrast to Gorozhankin and me, he did poorly in school. So poorly, that he was kept back for a second year in several classes and managed to stay behind for a third year in the fourth grade. Thus, Gorozhankin and I quickly passed him in grade. Finally, he was even expelled for his lack of achievement. Meanwhile, this was a smart 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.”