TV visuals of Lenin statues being taken down in Tripura reminded me that we saw more Lenin statutes standing during our three weeks in Russia than we had expected. He was there in every town or city we went to. Even the pretty little town of Vladimir, its population no more than 350,000 had Lenin standing in its leafy Cathedral Square, overlooking the magnificent Assumption Cathedral. Neither Vladimir Putin, nor even Boris Yeltsin, managed to banish Lenin from the Russian cityscape fully. (It is another matter, though, that Lenin himself would have squirmed at the sight of his own statues.)
But does Lenin still figure on the Russian mindscape? We started having our doubts almost as soon as we checked into our hotel in Kazan, our first port of call. The friendly lady at the hotel reception had not heard of the Lenin House museum that we knew was no more than a couple of kilometres from there. Nor had her chirpy friend who offered to call the museum on the phone when I said I had both the address and the number. It seems the phone rang, but no one took the call. ‘Must be closed’, she said cheerfully.
So, the following day, we were on our own as we tried to reach the museum, truly so because the Google map was not working on my phone, and my Russian was limited to Spaseebo, Eezveenete and Prasteete. City map in hand, we went round endless circles, asked no fewer than ten passers-by, nearly got our passports impounded by a burly policeman whom we had made the mistake of asking the way, and had all but given up when we were accosted by two strapping young students of Kazan University who took charge of our affairs without a moment’s hesitation. One of them was from Moscow while his friend was from Kazakhstan. Neither spoke English, but a combination of the Google translator and the Google map – to which both had access—was very reassuring.
But the museum proved to be a tough nut yet. So many times, we seemed to be so very near it, only to be newly disappointed each time. Meanwhile, our Google conversation was proceeding apace: why were we in Russia; was India a rich country; given an opportunity, which country would we like to settle in; why in India and not the US…… Engrossed in the conversation, our young friends once went around a whole park, the Google map steady in one’s hand, unable to find an exit from the park to the side of the Ulitsa Ulyanova-Lenina that we expected to reach.
A full 40 minutes later, huffing and puffing, we spotted the museum. Our friends were quite as glad as us. Now that they had located the place, and since they now knew that Lenin, too, had once been a student of their university, they wanted to come back some day to take a look at the museum. After a round of warm handshakes, they took their leave, two young men from what once was the Soviet Union that Lenin had helped found, nearly completely unaware of who he was.
We found the main gate to the premises locked. Three ladies sat on cane chairs in the garden patch, talking among themselves. Seeing us, one of them came near the gate. Sorry, but the museum was not open to visitors that day, as the place was being cleaned up, and could we please come back the next day? In our broken Russian, we pleaded with her. We had come all the way from India to Kazan, had so much hoped to see the museum, and the next day we were going to Bolgar. Could something be done, please?
She went back to her friends, had a quick chat, and came back to usher us in. She was sorry that the English-speaking guide was away, though, and she only would take us around, if that was alright with us. Our faces must have told her how grateful we felt, for she beamed with pleasure. Indian visitors were so rare, she said, although they received many from China.
The museum in Kazan gives a feel of the place and time that helped shape the main protagonist of one of history’s most dramatic episodes – the October Revolution. Credit: Lenin Museum website
58, Ulyanov-Lenin Street is a two-storey wooden house with a sloping white roof standing on a sprawling garden estate. The ground floor has a spacious hallway, a dining room, and two kitchens, while the upper floor has a large living room, three bedrooms and a closet. When Lenin’s mother, Maria Alexandrovna, moved into this comfortable house with her five children (Anna, Vladimir, Olga, Dmitry and Maria) and the family nanny in September 1888, she must have looked forward to a period of calm and stability after a tumultuous two years had turned the family upside down.
In January, 1886, her husband, the distinguished academician Ilyia Nikolayevich Ulyanov, had died of a sudden brain haemorrhage when only 54. The following year Alexander, the second-born and an exceptionally gifted child then studying at St Petersburg University, was arrested by the Tsar’s police in connection with a student group’s plot to assassinate Tsar Alexander III, tried for sedition, and executed on May 8, 1887 at Schlisselburg on Lake Ladoga. He had just turned 21.
Later the same year, Vladimir, a brilliant student and keen sportsman, graduated from the formidable Simbirsk Gymnasium with a gold medal, came to Kazan and enrolled at the university’s celebrated Law Faculty, staying in a rented apartment near the city centre. He soon got involved in the students’ council, led a protest march against the university’s decision not to allow the formation of a student society, and was expelled on December 4, 1887, briefly imprisoned, and ordered out of Kazan. He was allowed to return to Kazan from his exile in nearby Kokushkino in September 1888 but remained barred from resuming his studies in Kazan. The mother, hoping that things would settle down some day soon, moved over to Kazan with the rest of the family from Simbirsk. That was when this spacious house became home to the Ulyanovs. Vladimir was 18 then.
Vladimir, a brilliant student and keen sportsman, graduated from Simbirsk Gymnasium with a gold medal, came to Kazan and enrolled at the university’s celebrated Law Faculty. ,Credit:: Wikimedia Commons
Maria Alexandrovna’s hopes for a turnaround in the family’s fortunes were to remain unfulfilled, however. Vladimir had already cut his teeth on early socialist and narodnik/anarchist literature, started studying Russia’s agrarian problems, and was seeking to conceptualise a revolutionary path to ending autocracy while abjuring personal violence and terror. In exile at idyllic Kokushkino, he had read Nikolai Chernyshevsky’s 1863 novel, What is to be Done, a stirring work proposing the creation of small socialist cooperatives based on peasant communes and calling upon Russian intellectuals to blaze a trail to socialism for the country’s labouring masses. This book was to remain Vladimir’s life-long favourite, and for years he exhorted young revolutionaries to study Chernyshevsky in earnest.
Upon his return to Kazan, Vladimir discovered the young Nikolai Fedoseev’s socialist study circle and quickly became one of the circle’s most enthusiastic participants. It was here that he was acquainted with Karl Marx’s Das Capital. When, years later, the leader of the October Revolution was to pay homage to Fedoseev, the words Lenin chose clearly establish his personal debt to him: “Fedoseev played a very important role in the Volga area and in parts of Central Russia during that period, and the turn towards Marxism at that time was, undoubtedly, very largely due to the influence of this exceptionally talented, exceptionally devoted revolutionary”. Vladimir had not quite become a Marxist yet, but had already taken a big stride towards Marxism in early 1889.
There were enough reasons already for the mother to feel restive. Vladimir was clearly veering away from the path of respectable prosperity that Maria Alexandrovna wished for her extremely capable child to follow. The radicalism of Vladimir’s political views was soon an open secret and the Czar’s police was on his heels most of the time. Worried, Maria decided to move out of Kazan and into the relative obscurity of the village of Alakayevka, not far from Samara, where she bought a country estate and hoped–incredibly enough – to persuade the 19-year-old Vladimir to turn his energies to farming!
With this objective, the Ulyanovs moved out of their Kazan home in May 1889, having lived in that handsome house for no more than nine months.(The postscript to the Samara story: it took Maria all of three months to realise the hopelessness of her pursuit of happiness in the countryside. They moved to Samara town, where Vladimir promptly joined Alexi Sklyarenko’s socialist study group, embraced Marxism, and completed the first Russian language translation of The Communist Manifesto.)
Russian revolutionaries were all obliged to write and travel under several aliases, and the first time that Vladimir Ulyanov came close to using the name that the world knows him by was not until 10 years later, when he published his seminal work, The Development of Capitalism in Russia (1899), as ‘Vladimir Ilin’. Before that, he had been persuaded by his mother to take the law degree of St. Petersburg university as an external candidate (sure enough, he got a first class honours degree), practiced as a barrister’s assistant in St. Petersburg for several years, travelled to Europe and met émigré Russian and other socialist leaders, married Nadezda Krupskaya, and served three years’ exile in Eastern Siberia after being convicted of the crime of starting a workers’ daily in the Russian capital.
The Kazan house museum was inaugurated on November 7, 1937, on the October Revolution’s 20th anniversary and 13 years after Lenin’s death. Dmitry and Maria, Lenin’s two youngest siblings still alive then, helped set it up by donating stuff used by the family in its Kazan days and reconstructing the original lay-out from memory as well as period photographs. Many pictures, books and periodicals, articles of daily use and objects referenced in contemporary literature have been put together by the curators over the years, too. A hectograph machine, similar to the one that the Fedoseev circle used for cyclostyling pamphlets and documents, is on display in the living room that also exhibits photographs and plaster busts/statuettes of the family, friends and Lenin’s comrades. The hallway on the ground-floor has a Lenin statue of exactly the same unimposing height as its subject – five feet five – while the one standing on a white pedestal in front of the house recalls photographs and statues seen elsewhere. One of the ground-floor kitchens was often used by Lenin as a makeshift bedroom: he carried a key to the door at the back by which he could enter the house late at night without waking up the household. In his bedroom upstairs, an overcoat hung from a hook on the wall and a tiny, green-top worktable with an ink-stand and a notepad gives a lived-in impression still. The telephone in an alcove in the passage-way had been part of the Ulyanov household in the Kazan days.
Ours was not a long tour, the museum library was shut, but our guide was effusively helpful – though she spoke in unmixed Russian even as her visitors struggled to find out just what she was saying. What did not help much either was that most of the notices and legends were only in Russian and Tatar. We were not greatly disconcerted, however, as we amply got what we had come looking for – a feel of the place and time that helped shape the main protagonist of one of history’s most dramatic episodes – the October Revolution. The lady thrust the visitors’ book in my hands at the end, and I noticed that most recent visitors seemed indeed to have Chinese names.
I started here by talking about the Tripura vandals. Kazan also saw some such rogues in action once. On April 26, 2009, four days after Lenin’s 139th birthday, his statue near the university was vandalised by goons who wanted all trace of him erased from the Tatarstan capital. Had he been alive, Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov would have chortled in amusement.
Anjan Basu freelances as a literary critic and commentator. He can be reached at basuanjan52@gmail.com