Time to read: 16 minutes(s)

Millions to be forgotten

How much did Alexander Sibiryakov's loneliness cost him?

Author: Sergey Tashevsky

On September 5th, the world celebrates International Day of Charity, established 13 years ago in memory of Mother Teresa. But, of course, every country has its own iconic figures who have become symbols of charity and selfless service to others. They are remembered and known everywhere. Or rather, almost everywhere.

On November 2, 1933, in Nice, France, one of Europe's wealthiest cities, a man died in complete obscurity at the age of 85. His name, literally the day before, had been featured in front-page headlines in Soviet Russia and around the world. This moment even made it into Kaverin's novel, Two Captains: "...ignoring what the astonished instructor was saying, I glanced at that page again—I wanted to read it all in one glance. 'The Great Northern Route is Opened'—the title of one article! 'Sibiryakov in the Bering Strait'—the title of another!"

Yes, the man after whom the icebreaker Alexander Sibiryakov, which sailed the Northern Sea Route during a single navigation season, was named was dying at that time in a cheap French hospital, in poverty and obscurity, despite having once been one of the richest men in Russia. Only four people attended his funeral: a Frenchwoman (the owner of the inexpensive hotel where he spent his final years), two Swedish diplomats, and a journalist. Other foreigners were uninterested in Sibiryakov (apparently, it simply hadn't occurred to them to connect his name with the name of the heroic Soviet ship), and for all Russians and residents of the USSR, he was long dead, as encyclopedias and dictionaries indicated that Alexander Sibiryakov had died back in 1893. It was either an unfortunate joke by envious people, or simply a mistake that was repeated everywhere (it was only corrected in the 21st century), and which Sibiryakov himself may not even have known about, since he rarely visited Russia from the 1890s onwards. That's why an icebreaker was named in his honor even before the revolution, in 1916 (we'll tell you more about him). And perhaps for the same reason, the Bolsheviks didn't bother to rename the ship, named after a class enemy, a millionaire merchant. After all, no one knew he was still alive. And no one learned of his true death.

A correspondent for the newspaper Svenska Dagbladet wrote in the issue of November 8, 1933:

"It was a strange funeral. When the mourners approached the small white chapel in the Russian cemetery, located on a beautiful hill behind Nice, they looked at each other—no one but the four of them had attended the funeral. Present were the Swedish consul in Nice, Bargtren; the director of the Nordisk Voyage travel agency, Persson; the owner of the hotel where the deceased had stayed; and yours truly, a correspondent for the newspaper Svenska Dagbladet. They stood silently in the dazzling sun and waited. But eventually they realized that not one of the deceased's 50,000 compatriots on the Riviera wished to bother showing up. Six elderly men in gray blouses lifted the unpainted coffin and carried it up the hill. An elderly Russian priest spread a tattered blanket with yellow and blue embroidery over the coffin, and the Swedish consul placed a wreath with a yellow and blue ribbon at the head of the coffin. Smiling, the priest thanked the four mourners who had come to the funeral. The innkeeper, with tears in her eyes, asked what the elderly Russian gentleman had done wrong that his compatriots had forgotten him. The consul replied that he had done nothing wrong. But over the years, he had become lonely and poor, while he had been one of the richest men in his country…

Thus ended the life of one of the most famous Siberian philanthropists, the last of the Sibiryakov merchant family.

Golden Family

This family was one of the most famous entrepreneurial dynasties in Siberian history, accumulating (and sometimes generously distributing) its wealth over six generations. The first member of this family to be mentioned was Afanasy Sibiryakov, a peasant from the Arkhangelsk province who, in the first quarter of the 18th century, moved to Irkutsk with his sons. His parents or grandfathers likely also visited Siberia (hence the surname), but Afanasy moved there permanently and began a highly successful business on several fronts: trade, fishing, and shipping on Lake Baikal. His eldest son, Mikhail, even became a millionaire (a significant figure at the time—a million was roughly equivalent to a billion today). He began intensively mining silver at the famous Nerchensk mines and even built a silver smelter there.

For such success, Mikhail was elevated to the rank of nobility—and completely ruined by competing with the state (or rather, the Imperial Cabinet Mining Department, which enjoyed preferential treatment), which ultimately seized the mines and the plant for itself. Nevertheless, Mikhail managed to save part of his million: during a business trip to St. Petersburg, he discovered the architect Quarenghi, and according to his design, a house (almost a palace) was built in Irkutsk for the merchant Sibiryakov. The building still stands there today.

His younger brother, Alexei Sibiryakov, continued his father's work, developing fishing and shipping on Lake Baikal. He was already an educated man, collecting books and poring over law textbooks, so it's no surprise that Irkutsk residents elected him as a deputy to the Legislative Commission, where he oversaw "post offices and hotels." In other words, as they say today, he engaged in socially useful activities. In the third generation of the Sibiryakov merchants, this activity almost turned into a political struggle when Mikhail Sibiryakov led the Irkutsk merchants' protests against the despotic Governor Treskin, appointed to "restore order." But the merchants lost this struggle, and Sibiryakov himself was exiled to Nerchinsk, where he soon died. However, the family did not die out, nor did its wealth diminish. On the contrary, it was increased by the enterprising Ksenofont Sibiryakov, who was even elected mayor. And his nephew, Mikhail Sibiryakov again, was made a hereditary honorary citizen of Irkutsk—and for good reason. He already owned gold mines in the Lena taiga, plus the Voznesensky and Alexander Nevsky distilleries. And what could be more honorable in Rus' than alcohol production? It would seem he could just sit back and enjoy the honor.

But it was Mikhail who was the first in the dynasty (in the mid-19th century) to invest in charity, education, and culture—for example, together with other merchants, he financed the construction of a city theater and entirely financed the construction of an almshouse for the elderly. All of his children also became patrons of the arts and philanthropists, and on a much larger scale. Innokenty Sibiryakov financed expeditions to explore China, Tibet, and Siberia, published books on Siberian history, and supported education, helping to open museums, schools, and libraries in many cities. He later went to Mount Athos and took monastic vows. His sister, Anna Mikhailovna, assisted the starving (during the famine in the Tobolsk province of 1890-1891 alone, she spent over a million rubles).

Another of Mikhail's sons, gold miner Konstantin Sibiryakov, a talented sculptor captivated by Tolstoy's ideas, built schools, public schools, and, like Levin in Anna Karenina, "model" farms. He imported expensive agricultural equipment from abroad and calculated crop rotations... Later, however, all of this fell into disrepair and rust.

None of them lived to see the revolution (although the exact date of Konstantin's death is unknown; he likely died after 1908 in Georgia, where he had his own vineyards near Batumi). They were all outlived by Alexander Sibiryakov, Mikhail's eldest son, the last (and most famous) benefactor in the family. What he did for Russia and Siberia deserves a little more detail. And about his life—or rather, the first half of it. Because we know almost nothing about the second half.

Sibiryakovsky tract

So, he was born on October 8, 1849, in Irkutsk, and was, as already mentioned, the eldest son in the family of Mikhail Sibiryakov, the wealthiest Irkutsk citizen. Since Mikhail Sibiryakov believed that education was a person's greatest asset, he spared no expense in his son's education. Alexander graduated from the Irkutsk gymnasium, then from the Swiss polytechnic, and continued his studies in Germany, France, and Sweden. It was in Sweden that his future interests were determined. At the age of 25, he met the renowned geologist and polar explorer Nils Nordenskjöld, who was interested in exploring the Northern Sea Route.

Oh, that Northern Route! For centuries, Swedes, Russians, Englishmen, Norwegians, and Americans have gazed upon it with interest. The possibility of trading across the Arctic seas between Europe, America, and Japan, saving hundreds of days and thousands of miles of travel—isn't that a dream? And for entrepreneurs from Irkutsk, this route could work "both ways," as if connecting them to the "big world" via the Siberian rivers. So it's no wonder that Alexander Sibiryakov became enamored with the idea and began funding polar exploration. He dreamed of connecting Western and Eastern Siberia, Yakutia, the Far East, and Kamchatka with a single transportation network using the great Russian rivers: the Ob, Irtysh, Pechora, Yenisei, Angara, Lena, and Amur. To this end, he later founded the Angara Shipping Company and the Amur Shipping and Trade Society.

Nordenskiöld wrote in his book that the young Sibiryakov was willing to help him not only with money (which was certainly important), but also with information about Siberia and the northern seas, which he had collected while studying the history of Arctic voyages over many years. The money came after his father's death in 1874, when Alexander assumed control of the gold mines. The capital he inherited amounted to 900 gold rubles. Just a year later, he managed to organize his first expedition: Nordenskiöld sailed from Norway to the Yenisei River on the schooner Preven. This was, in other words, half of the Northern Sea Route, allowing Siberia to trade with Europe. But many had already sailed this route; reaching the Bering Strait, beyond which lay America and Japan, was far more difficult. And so, in 1878, Alexander suggested that Nordenskiöld make such an attempt. The expedition on the steamship Vega set off, and... disappeared for two years.

Of course, there were no radio transmitters back then, so Nordenskiöld's fate remained a mystery. But Alexander couldn't sit idly by—a year later, he dispatched a steamship, specially purchased in Sweden, to search for the missing expedition, which (probably believing in the magic of names) he named "Nordenskiöld." The magic didn't work—the ship was quickly wrecked, and its crew barely escaped with their lives. Sibiryakov then set out on the steamship "Oskar Dikson" to the mouth of the Yenisei River, hoping to encounter the Vega (or at least some news of it) there. However, there too, he had no luck: the vessel was almost immediately trapped in ice. The crew prepared for winter, but Alexander and several companions decided to abandon ship. Although he had no Arctic experience, a week or two later he successfully reached Salekhard—and there, at last, he learned that the Vega had managed to complete its journey, having passed through the Northern Sea Route. Even though it took a long winter, I still made it!

This essentially unnecessary rescue expedition became a "baptism of fire" for Alexander, who had spent most of his adult life abroad and had a largely speculative understanding of Siberia. Now he truly fell in love with it and devoted himself entirely to his passion for exploration. He financed expedition after expedition, any kind—Swedish, Norwegian, German, and, of course, domestic, Russian. In 1879-1880, he provided funds for Alexander Grigoriev's expedition (for research in the Arctic Ocean), allocated money for studying the lower reaches of the Ob and Yenisei, and at the Academy of Sciences, he awarded prizes for the best works on the geography of Siberia. He himself took part in some expeditions. The idea of ​​creating a "network of roads and canals" never left him. "Siberia is rich in its waterways... therefore, it is natural to assume that our task is to use them properly; "If necessary, create a communications system with an outlet on the sea," he wrote in one of his articles. Soon, Sibiryakov began testing his idea in practice, building a road from Pechora to the Ob (the so-called "Sibiryakov Highway"). Along this road, and then by river and sea, Siberian cargo was transported to the Murmansk coast, and from there to northern Norway and Denmark. The system worked remarkably well, and goods flowed to Europe! And for the Pechora region, often plagued by famine, the road became a salvation; thanks to it, bread prices in the region dropped threefold in 1887. At the same time, work began on deepening the Angara River (dynamite was just coming into fashion, and Sibiryakov wanted to use it to clear the river's rapids, but he was unable to complete the work—a couple of riffles proved too much even for Nobel-grade explosives...).

Transformation into a steamship

All this required, of course, a huge amount of money, but gold mines are a good thing. Gold's price was rapidly rising. No matter what he spent the money on, it never ran out. Truly, "the hand of the giver never grows poor." Back in 1878, having just received an inheritance, he donated 200 rubles (a quarter of his entire fortune) to equip the laboratories of the newly opened Tomsk University.

He donated considerable sums to support the "Siberian theme" at the Academy of Sciences (a "Sibiryakov Prize" was even established) and to publish books about Siberia. In Irkutsk, several churches were opened, hospitals and public schools were built with his funds (the first of these opened right in the Sibiryakov mansion, using the entire ground floor of the family home). Yet, his primary concern was organizing traffic along Siberian rivers and the Northern Sea Route—this, he believed, would bring the greatest benefit to Russia. He tried to convey this message in his articles and in the book "On Siberia's Communication Routes and Its Maritime Relations with Other Countries," which was published in Russia in 1907. However, for some reason, many considered it a posthumous publication.

Why?

Because Alexander Sibiryakov himself was increasingly less likely to visit Russia, much less his hometown of Irkutsk. He deeply disliked the role of "master" and millionaire. By the late 19th century, he had completely withdrawn from commercial affairs, handing over all responsibilities to his managers. Then, he began quietly selling his business, using the proceeds for charity. His brothers, however, followed suit. It seems the world of Siberian merchants alienated the entire sixth generation of the Sibiryakovs. They were interested in anything—science, religion, art—but not money and trade. And gradually, they seemed to disappear, abandoning the solid and well-established capitalist lifestyle, immersing themselves in a different, more interesting life. The sisters Olga (said to be a talented pianist) and Anna (who was fascinated by Tolstoy's writings) moved to St. Petersburg, and after the Revolution, their traces were lost in exile. Konstantin also became a Tolstoyan, then became fascinated with revolutionary ideas and left for Georgia. Innocent became an Athonite monk. And Alexander Sibiryakov simply disappeared.

It was said that he lived with his brother in Batumi, then in Paris and Zurich... Alexander Sibiryakov visited Russia only occasionally in the last decade of the 19th century, and so the date of his death listed in encyclopedias and dictionaries—1893—raised no particular questions. And although the "deceased" Sibiryakov, along with Dmitri Mendeleev, was elected an honorary professor at Tomsk University in 1904, people remembered the famous Siberian philanthropist less and less. After all, apparently, he had run out of money. His last major income apparently came from the sale of his portion of the Baikal flotilla, which passed into the hands of an Irkutsk merchant in late 1898. The gold mines had already been sold by that time, and the proceeds spent on polar expeditions, book publishing, and charity. He left almost nothing for himself, save perhaps a small income that allowed him to live modestly and discreetly on the French seashore. But when World War I broke out, followed by the Revolution, this income also vanished, and by 1920, Alexander Sibiryakov found himself virtually penniless. Salvation came unexpectedly—and not from his compatriots.

The fact is that back in the 80s, Alexander Sibiryakov was awarded the Cross of the Order of the Polar Star by the King of Sweden for his assistance in organizing the Nordenskiöld expedition, and as a member of the Stockholm Geographical Society, he could count on a small pension. That's why, in 1921, the Swedish government awarded Sibiryakov a lifelong stipend of 3000 kronor annually. It wasn't much money, but it allowed him to rent a tiny room by the sea and sit on the shore in the evenings with a glass of wine, admiring the ships passing in the distance. What else could a man who had been forgotten want?

But no, not everyone forgot. Since he was considered dead in Russia, the name "Alexander Sibiryakov" was immortalized in 1916 by naming an icebreaker purchased in England. Although not new (it was already seven years old by then), this ship was perfectly suited for winter navigation in the White Sea. However, after the Revolution, in the early 30s, the Bolsheviks decided to reopen the Northern Sea Route—along roughly the routes Sibiryakov had envisioned. They had no new ships, so they chose a former English icebreaker, which they hastily prepared for the expedition. It featured iconic figures destined to become symbols of Soviet polar exploits: Captain Vladimir Voronin, Academician Otto Schmidt, and so on and so forth. They became truly famous when, a year later, they trapped the defenseless Chelyuskin in the ice and sank it. But something similar almost happened with the Alexander Sibiryakov expedition in 1932. They lost a propeller in the Chukchi Sea ice and continued under makeshift sails. They would likely have been trapped in the ice, but luck had it not: a powerful current carried the ship into the Bering Strait. And from there, onto the pages of newspapers around the world.

Unfortunately, the Alexander Sibiryakov later achieved another measure of fame. "Unfortunately" because it was its final voyage, in August 1942. It was sailing from the port of Dikson with cargo for polar stations on Severnaya Zemlya when it encountered the German cruiser Admiral Scheer, which was hunting Allied convoys. The Sibiryakov was armed with four small guns (a mere trifle compared to 14 powerful German guns), but the captain and crew refused to lower their flag and accepted battle. The Sibiryakov was sunk within minutes, killing most of the crew, but the radio operator managed to report the German cruiser's presence to base, and the ship was forced to retreat from Russian shores.

The Alexander Sibiryakov found its final resting place between Belukha and Tsentralny Islands, at a depth of 49 meters. Now, any ship passing here must lower its flag and salute the fallen sailors with its horns. This is the site of the military glory of the "Polar Varyag," as historians call it. Expeditions are organized to visit the sunken ship, and in 2015, a metal memorial plaque was installed on it. It's certainly an expensive undertaking, but the state has plenty of money. And the plaque looks much better than Alexander Sibiryakov's neglected grave on the edge of the old cemetery in Nice, which remains neglected.