In 2009, Agraf Publishing released Armand D. L.’s book *The Theosophist’s Journey in the Land of the Soviets: Memoirs*.
It was not until 33 years after his death that the life story and personal experiences of this outstanding Soviet physical geographer, landscape scientist, popularizer of geographical knowledge, and author of more than 700 scientific works (6 monographs, 5 popular science books)—more than 60 of which have been translated into foreign languages—were published.
David Lvovich Armand, who held a Ph.D. in Geography, served as vice president of the Moscow branch of the Geographical Society of the USSR, was a member of the editorial board of the journal *Questions of Geography*, and was a member of the Writers’ Union, had an extremely difficult life.
The book *The Theosophist’s Path in the Land of the Soviets* is a kind of confession by a man of high spirit who survived three revolutions, the “dictatorship of the proletariat,” famine, and his confrontation with the Soviet judicial system.
In his youth, the “knight of noble character” (as David Armand’s friends and colleagues called him) also visited Kharkiv.
And although he lived in our beloved city for only a few weeks in the early 1930s, our memories of him are extremely precious—and sometimes even mysterious.
To give me some credibility, they decided to send me to KEMZ—the Kharkiv Electrical Machinery Plant—for a two-week internship. I was happy to go to Kharkiv. A new place, new experiences! I settled into the interns’ dorm and started going to the plant. In Kharkiv, everyone still called it VEK (All-Russian Electrotechnical Company) out of old habit. The plant specialized in manufacturing synchronous generators for turbines, but it also produced small motors. It was a “monstrous beast—huge, mischievous, a hundred-eyed, and barking.” It had 18,000 employees—four times as many as at “Dynamo”—and just as much chaos. However, there were also quite a few technical innovations that never ceased to amaze me, and I intended to apply them later in my own workshop.
The Khmzov workers welcomed me very warmly and, at my request, tirelessly retrieved technical documentation from their vast archives—which were further complicated by a jumble of files—and provided endless explanations on the shop floor. It seemed as though the engineers and workers were happy to take a break from their monotonous tasks to chat with a visiting Dynamo player. I took full advantage of them. I was free in the evenings. It was my first time alone in a strange city. It was really great.
I felt like a young god and indulged in refined pleasures: I wandered around the city, went to the movies, and even ended up at a Ukrainian ballet once, where all the ballerinas were eloquently silent in Ukrainian, so I didn’t understand half of it. What impressed me most in the city was the gigantic House of Industry; I really liked the new Soviet architecture.
It was just a shame that a deep ravine stretched out nearby, crammed full of caves and shacks where third-class citizens huddled. They heated their homes illegally and used pine torches for light. In Kharkiv, I turned out to have many acquaintances—members of the Shabshayev movement who had infiltrated all of the city’s electrical engineering institutions, often in high-ranking positions. I also made some new acquaintances. I had a letter of recommendation—a letter addressed to certain Theosophists in Kharkiv.
When I began to miss the family atmosphere, I went to see them. This family lived in their own mansion, built by the head of the household. The family consisted of an elderly architect—a good-natured, lame, bald, and nearly blind man who, in his day, had designed some of Kharkiv’s finest buildings; his wife, a woman about 20 years his junior, strikingly beautiful though already with streaks of gray; and a lodger who lived as a member of the family—a pianist, a stately man with an inspired face and a head of hair like Beethoven’s. The wife loved her husband dearly and tenderly cared for him (he had survived a stroke). The pianist was openly in love with the lady of the house, revered her, and constantly carried out small household tasks for her. He seemed to have fully come to terms with his role as a lover. He gave a two-hour private concert to mark my arrival. He played magnificently, and I—who usually yawned at concerts—listened to him with delight.
We can only guess what this “deep ravine” was and what kind of family’s life we happened to glimpse… However, any memories people from different eras have of Kharkiv are priceless to us. After all, thanks to them, we are transported back in time and see places that are painfully familiar and dear to us through their eyes.
So there will definitely be a sequel.
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