The Russian Century: A Hundred Years of Russian Lives

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!”

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Chapter Seven

I was very pleased. I cannot but observe now that at that time even the “blue uniforms” were humane compared to many of our contemporary heroes who cloak themselves in a humanitarian mantle. They certainty had material evidence of my “criminal” contacts with revolutionaries abroad (intercepted letters from and to me) but they did not wish to destroy a youth. Later this became even more clearly apparent.