A crazy mystic under the cover of the NKVD
Why Alexander Barchenko never made it to Shambhala
Author: Sergey Tashevsky
A thick stream of tobacco smoke flowed from the open door. A ray of sunlight rested against it. People sat in the dimly lit room. Smoking seemed their primary duty. On the rough boards of the platform, next to the presidium table, at the red-haired lectern, a fat, gray-haired man pointed to a map of Lapland.
"The dating of the geological rocks places the antiquity of these images at approximately two thousand years BC. This means that culture developed here earlier than in Greece," he said in a velvety voice. "Legends of an ancient northern culture have long been known: the Scandinavians came here. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say: they originated here. Lapland is as ancient a center of culture as Asia Minor." The plump man lifted his black, horn-rimmed glasses with both hands, leaned back, and rested his plump, strapped hands on the lectern. His hair was a silvery beaver. "Comrades!" He slowly glanced around the benches. "The task of Soviet science is to find and study this ancient culture!"
That's how historian and anthropologist Nina Gagen-Thorn saw Alexander Barchenko in Murmansk in 1922—and immediately sensed a rogue in him. However, she had no idea the sheer size of the figure looming through the clouds of tobacco smoke. Coming from nowhere, barely educated, helplessly nearsighted, and plump like Pierre Bezukhov, the 40-year-old Barchenko, who was giving a lecture to sailors and port officials that day on the search for ancient Hyperborea, could well have become one of the leading figures in Soviet science. And he very nearly did.
Absolutely nothing is known about his childhood. He was adopted into the family he listed as his birth family in all his documents as a teenager, so even Barchenko's date and place of birth remain a mystery. It was likely 1881, in the city of Yelets. At the very least, it was in Yelets that the attorney Vasily Barchenko, who adopted him and gave his surname to his adopted son, lived. Thanks to his care, Alexander received a good education—he completed eight years of schooling in Yelets and was sent to St. Petersburg, where he graduated from the Second St. Petersburg Gymnasium in the spring of 1901. Most of its graduates almost automatically went on to higher education, and Barchenko, who was then interested in medicine, enrolled in the Military Medical Academy, but did not study there for long. For unknown reasons, he transferred to the medical faculty of Kazan University, where he attended lectures for two years, and from there to Yuryev (Dorpat) University, which he ultimately did not graduate from. Something always hindered him. Perhaps it was his absent-mindedness and wide-ranging interests, or perhaps it was the family he started barely out of high school. By 21, he already had a wife and child, but at 25, he separated from them, sending them away from Yuryev to Moscow. However, this did not improve his academic performance, and he was expelled from Dorpat University in 1905, allegedly "for lack of funds." So he remained in Yuryev—penniless (probably because his adoptive parent no longer wanted to support him) and without a family. But with a slew of unfinished educations, a disorganized erudition, and vague theosophical dreams in his head. These dreams, it is said, were instilled in him back at Kazan University by Professor Krivtsov, who spoke of Shambhala and other "mysteries of the millennia." But these mysteries couldn't be spread on bread, so Barchenko lived hand-to-mouth, spending days and nights among books in the local library. Everything seemed to be pushing him toward the path of the ascetic scholar.
However, he loved women, and apparently knew how to please them. His charm had an effect on many, and soon he easily found a new girlfriend, with whom he settled (and soon, apparently, married her, somehow "forgetting" his previous marriage). It was then that he moved to Narva. At the same time, he discovered his talent as a writer: his short stories, under the simple pseudonyms "Narvsky" and "Yeletsky," were eagerly accepted by tabloid newspapers and magazines. In 1910, Barchenko decided to publish "Narvskaya Zhizn" himself, pouring all his resources and spiritual energy into the publication. This newspaper was arguably the most tabloid and "yellow" newspaper in Russia. Although life in provincial Narva provided little news, every page contained at least one scandalous article, and at least two or three mysterious stories capable of stunning even readers from the capital. Of course, Barchenko "generated" 90 percent of this material himself. However, oddly enough, this was not a success, and the "fake" publication was soon forced to close. The only evidence that it had any subscribers at all is a couple of lawsuits for the protection of honor and dignity, which can be found in the archives of Narva courts (due to Barchenko's lack of funds and property, no serious legal proceedings were pursued).
Meanwhile, in Russia, a fascination with esotericism and secret doctrines was reaching epidemic proportions in those years, and Barchenko returned again and again to his "dreams," attempting to give them literary form. Mysticism was offered for all tastes, but Alexander was apparently most strongly influenced by the works of Peter Uspensky (a famous esotericist who later became a student of Gurdjieff). He even wrote a novel, "Doctor Black," whose protagonist was hard to miss, and to the end of his life he considered it his best literary work. Alas, published in 1913, the novel was a complete failure and sank into oblivion along with hundreds of similar books that flooded the Russian book market at the time. So Alexander had to earn money in other ways. Sometimes, in a truly gypsy-like manner, for example, by palmistry or organizing spiritualist séances. He also dabbled in telepathy and hypnosis.
Barchenko was very good at this, and he was convincing. He was particularly impressed by the young women, many of whom, after the sessions, much to the dismay of his new wife, stayed with Barchenko until late at night. However, they brought in money for the family, and she had to endure it.
This continued until 1914, when the outbreak of war brought the threat of conscription to Barchenko. His age and social standing made him well-suited for cannon fodder. The only way to avoid being conscripted into the lower ranks, who were immediately thrown into the trenches, was to volunteer. Many did so. And in the fall of 1914, he was enlisted in the 1st Infantry Reserve Battalion, stationed in Petrograd, on Malaya Okhta. He was soon promoted to ensign. He was sent to the front only briefly, just a month, in early 1915, and then, judging by the documents, Alexander Barchenko suddenly found himself... in a psychiatric hospital.
What was the cause—a concussion (the official version) or a reluctance to be on the front lines? Who knows. However, the medical commission unanimously declared him insane. The conclusion read: "He is poorly oriented in his surroundings and has no understanding of his situation. He answers questions very readily, is verbose, and his judgments reflect a weakened intellect. He becomes very agitated during conversations... His memory is greatly impaired, especially with regard to current impressions. The patient's medical history includes several epileptic seizures and syphilis (the last word is highlighted in red in the medical document)."
Well, how is this possible, Alexander Vasilyevich!
However, Barchenko somehow cured his syphilis, and with the help of this syphilis, he managed to permanently rid himself of military service, which is not a pleasure and can undoubtedly cause far more significant damage to health. He settled in St. Petersburg, where started receiving a pension for front-line disability "due to insanity."
Crazy or not, he nevertheless continued his diligent pursuit of esotericism, perhaps expecting to be able to invent his own teaching. And then, of course, all his problems would end. But the time was lost: Roerich and Gurdjieff were blazing in Russia, and Rudolf Steiner was representing the universal mysteries of existence. Breaking into this league was a tall order. In his grief, Barchenko wrote a couple more "esoteric" novels, which, like the first, were "scattered in the dust in stores," and gave up on literature. Somewhere around 1917, he firmly decided to apply his genius (which he never doubted for a second) to science. And his wife supported him. Whether this was Barchenko's second or third wife, however, is unknown to science. But it doesn't matter.
Then, as everyone knows, the revolution broke out, abolishing the "old," including the old institutions of marriage and the old education system. Everything became simpler and faster. Higher education institutions flourished under the Bolsheviks, accepting crowds of illiterate people in leather jackets and shortening their studies. Barchenko, compared to these "new" students, looked very attractive, and so easily enrolled in the natural history and geography department of the one-year Higher Pedagogical Courses, and then completed courses in biology there. By the end of 1919, he had earned two degrees. A madman with a teaching degree? What's so special about that? It was quite common.
All sorts of "papers" certifying education were now in everyone's possession—executioners, murderers, bandits, burglars, and other revolutionary elements. Compared to them, Barchenko was truly a true scholar. Moreover, he gave popular lectures almost daily—anywhere, from schools, police stations, to Baltic Fleet ships—and on all sorts of topics, from world history to the latest astronomical theories. He had a truly bottomless memory; he could talk about anything. But, of course, he especially loved esoteric topics—for example, Atlantis, other mysterious civilizations, and ancient myths. In short, "the strange." He was especially drawn to the problems of telepathy and hypnosis (and, by the way, he really could hypnotize women, no joke).
Perhaps he was also able to hypnotize men, because in that same year, 1919, he somehow quietly found a job at the Psychoneurological Institute and befriended its founder, the great Bekhterev. Just five years earlier, Barchenko would have found his way there only as a subject for study. But now, under the Bolsheviks, it was a different matter: he became a scientist himself. And two years later, he had even risen to the rank of professor!
How so? It's very simple. At the institute, he almost immediately attracted attention with his superficial yet incredibly broad erudition. And what energy, what energy! It was as if some internal dynamo were at work within Barchenko; he literally sparkled with ideas, ready to implement them immediately. For example, while lecturing sailors about Shambhala, he captivated them so much that they demanded an immediate Soviet expedition to the land of the sages. Two of them even decided to accompany Barchenko; they came to the institute with him and practically demanded funds from their superiors for this undertaking, pistols in hand. In other words, ordinary sailors supported the scientist—just like the soldier Gusev in Alexei Tolstoy's "Aelita"! True, "The Red Count" began writing his novel a year later—and it's quite possible he used Barchenko's story as the starting point. Who knows?
However, he still wasn't given the funds for Shambhala—but (perhaps wanting to temporarily get rid of the energetic employee) Bekhterev sent Alexander to the Kola Peninsula as the institute's official representative in Murmansk. This was in early 1920. Barchenko was sent there to study a mysterious mental illness— measuring, or “polar hysteria,” which was then occurring everywhere among the Lapps.
It was certainly a timely decision to study the "measuring" in the midst of the hysteria of the civil war. Incidentally, Murmansk (Bekhterev, it seems, was unaware of the situation) was still in White Guard hands at the time, so Barchenko's departure was delayed somewhat. Only towards the spring of 1920, when the "civil measuring" in the north had calmed down somewhat, did he depart for the Kola Peninsula.
Upon arriving, Barchenko found no serious support among the newly appointed local authorities. No one in Murmansk cared about him, Bekhterev, or even Moscow, much less about the "measuring." But Alexander didn't lose his composure. He immediately announced the creation of the Murmansk "Maritime Institute of Higher Type of Regional Studies" (the word "type" here probably refers to "higher," not "institute") and appointed himself its rector. That's how he became a professor.
True, not for long. Probably sensing that things would end quickly, he himself immediately announced that the full course would take only six months. One course was completed there, and even then, it seems, it didn't even get to exams. There was only one lecturer (that is, Barchenko himself), and ten or fifteen students. Mostly, they were sailors discharged ashore. As they used to say, "scourges."
Ultimately, the Murmansk administration closed the institute, and Barchenko began to be driven out of his government apartment. In early 1921, he wrote to Bekhterev in Moscow with complete conviction: "I must leave Russia immediately and will not return here for the next ten years. Such is fate."
But fate is fate, to turn different parts of its body toward a person. Within a few months, everything changed, and Barchenko received funds from the capital for the expedition. Whether it was a lot or a little is unknown. In any case, it was money. With this, he immediately formed the "core" of the expedition, which included his wife, mistress, and secretary as scientific assistants. With this scientific harem, he set off. Of course, no one was seriously considering any "measuring." What nonsense! Barchenko's goal was entirely different. If not Shambhala, then Hyperborea. And he knew for sure what he was about to discover and find.
When you know the outcome in advance, discoveries happen easily and simply. The expedition lasted only two weeks, but it was truly rewarding. sensational discoveriesBarchenko discovered a wealth of evidence of Hyperborea's existence on the Kola Peninsula: the ruins of colossal ancient structures, carvings of gigantic human figures on rocks, mysterious artifacts (massive rectangular stones), and even traces of an ancient road, supposedly once paved with brick. And all of this was ancient, dating back thousands of years. The expedition report included testimony from Lapps, who claimed, "Yes, of course, Hyperborea was here, everyone knows about it," as well as the story of Barchenko's miraculous healing from a heart attack by a local (young and attractive, naturally) shaman. In short, the expedition was a success, no less than a good science fiction novel. It's just a shame they ran out of money, and had to return to Murmansk.
It was while Barchenko was reporting the results of his research and trying to solicit funds for the next expedition (a mere 50 chervonets) from the Murmansk Committee that Nina Gagen-Torn spotted him, immediately deciding that she was confronted by a scientific charlatan. But perhaps she wasn't entirely right. Barchenko sincerely believed everything he had seen during his journey—and even managed to instill this belief in the other expedition members (who all confirmed his stories). His desire to "discover" Hyperborea seemed to transport him and his companions to another, parallel world of emotions and fantasies, where a fantastical ancient land became reality. It happens. But this time, he failed to convince the pragmatic sailors. Many of those gathered in the smoke-filled room were well acquainted with the Kola Peninsula and had never encountered anything like it there. So, Barchenko received no funds for further archaeological research. Six months later, a "check" was sent out to follow his trail—and, of course, no ancient artifacts were found. The road turned out to be an ordinary ravine, the colossal ruins merely ridges of stones. And the gigantic images were "nothing more than weathered dark layers in the sheer cliff, shaped from a distance like a human figure."
But for Barchenko, this no longer mattered, as he had long since departed for Moscow. As soon as he returned, he gave several reports on Hyperborea and immediately became a scientific celebrity. In October 1923, he was hired as a staff member at Vavilov's newly organized "Brain Institute," and soon... Soon, people from the GPU knocked on his door.
But not for what he first thought. It was for an entirely different reason. He was being invited to work at a secret laboratory studying hypnosis, telepathy, and other paranormal phenomena. It was the brainchild of Chekist Gleb Bokiy, the legendary "Red Freemason," who miraculously combined revolutionary convictions with mystical awe.
He was a truly terrifying man. They say that not a single death sentence issued by the OGPU collegium was issued without his signature. He oversaw the Solovetsky camp, personally tortured and executed prisoners, and even many of his colleagues were surprised by his cruelty. But! At the same time, he was a committed mystic, avidly interested in the occult, parapsychology, secret societies, and Eastern esotericism. It was said that he even founded an esoteric commune at his dacha in Kupchino—with regular meetings, meditations, and, according to some accounts, a rather unbridled lifestyle. A romantic executioner, indeed.
In those days, this was par for the course. Semi-literate Chekists (mostly from lower-class or provincial petty-bourgeois families) were genuinely drawn to science and the arts, desiring to be part of something "sublime." But the power they wielded inevitably bred in them a conviction of their own competence in all areas. And, of course, no one dissuaded them of this. Quite the contrary. Thus, for example, Yakov Agranov (deputy head of the secret OGPU department, responsible for dozens of executions) was a regular at Moscow literary salons, a friend of Lilya Brik, a member of the artistic council of the Meyerhold Theater, and an interlocutor of Boris Pilnyak. And Genrikh Yagoda, famous for organizing the first show trials and building the White Sea Canal, collected art and was friends with Gorky. And so on and so forth. All Soviet art had such "curators." But Gleb Bokiy was interested not in writers, but in scientists. And first and foremost, in Barchenko, with whom he literally fell in love at first sight.
This was precisely how Bokii imagined true science—enthusiastic, voluble, witty, enigmatic, and persuasive. Moreover, Barchenko promised him the discovery of "ancient knowledge" that would allow him to control mass consciousness, influence the enemy's psyche, and gain technological superiority over the capitalist world. One could say they found each other. And literally merged in ecstasy.
Perhaps this isn't even a figure of speech: Bokiy immediately invited Barchenko to his "dacha commune," and a few months later, Barchenko accepted him into the "United Labor Brotherhood"—an esoteric organization suspiciously reminiscent of a Masonic lodge, in which Barchenko played the role of master. But besides him and Bokiy, the "brotherhood" consisted almost exclusively of women: the wife of that same esotericist Uspensky, several other old friends of Barchenko's, as well as his second and third wives. All, as they say, "with traces of their former beauty." In this esoteric harem, the two friends—the executioner and the mad mystic—spent many days, and perhaps even nights…
Needless to say, Barchenko's powers expanded rapidly. In 1924, on Bokiy's orders, a secret bioenergetics laboratory was created within the OGPU, headed by Alexander Vasilyevich. It's very difficult to explain what they did there. In short, they did everything from biological experiments to studying ancient manuscripts, from investigating paranormal phenomena to planning archaeological expeditions to various mysterious places around the world. In some ways, this laboratory was reminiscent of the one Himmler created ten years later.ANENERBE"," an organization engaged in occult research and the search for the Grail, Shambhala, and the Atlantean legacy. But Barchenko and Bokiy's scope was broader: they sought practical manifestations of "magic" everywhere, primarily in real people. Therefore, mediums, healers, hypnotists, clairvoyants, and other individuals endowed with supernatural gifts were invited to the laboratory for examination. For example, among the "guests" of the secret laboratory for several months was the Lapp shaman Ivan Danilov, who could determine from a photograph what the person depicted was doing at the moment. Where all these people subsequently disappeared to is unknown; not even photographs remained of them. However, they were soon replaced by other "test subjects."
At the same time, Barchenko repeatedly attempted to realize his long-held dream: organizing an expedition to search for Shambhala, to China and the Himalayas. He even spent several months in a Buddhist datsan in St. Petersburg, where he listened to the teachings of one of the teachers of the 13th Dalai Lama, the Buryat Agvan Dorzhiev. He communicated with the Mongolian Minister of Internal Affairs, developed an expedition route, and established contacts with some agencies in Afghanistan. But here, it seemed, the all-powerful Bokii's authority was running out. Yakov Blumkin, the notorious terrorist and master espionage officer who then headed the Foreign Department of the OGPU, upon learning that someone was planning to send an expedition to Tibet "behind his back," suddenly flew into a rage and threatened to wipe out "this Barchenko of yours and his family." Nevertheless, later, when Roerich set off for Tibet, the NKVD followed his expedition with great interest. For now, Barchenko was offered to limit himself to the territory of the USSR.
In 1927, Alexander and part of his “labor brotherhood” went to Crimea, where he “established contact with Islamic religious mystics” (probably from the Crimean Tatars), and two years later he went to Altai, where he continued to search for traces of forgotten ancient civilizations.
As always, successful.
Numerous ruins and mysterious objects related to the famous "Belovodye" were discovered (enthusiasts are still searching for these sites in Altai, but they lack Barchenko's magical vision). Furthermore, the expedition brought back a couple of still-living shamans from Altai, who "astonished with their magical abilities and practice of hypnotic states." A successful trip, no doubt about it.
In this symbiosis of mysticism and the OGPU (and later the NKVD), Barchenko felt absolutely safe. True, in the mid-30s, more and more colleagues and acquaintances from various scientific institutes began disappearing, and those who remained free trembled at every doorbell. But as long as his best friend, Bokiy, was alive, there was nothing to fear. They said he was invulnerable because he supposedly possessed a "Black Book" containing incriminating evidence against senior officials. It was impossible to imagine that he, too, was in any danger...
But in 1937, when the NKVD began devouring itself, it swallowed Bokii literally in one sitting, without even choking. He was arrested on May 16, and very soon he confessed to everything imaginable and unimaginable, including espionage, an assassination attempt on Stalin, and ties to Trotsky. On November 1, 1937, his name appeared on the "execution" list of former NKVD officers, which landed on Stalin's desk. But Stalin crossed his name off the list. Why? Perhaps he remembered something good about Bokii? However, two weeks later, Bokii's name appeared on the next list—and this time, for some reason, Stalin left it in. Perhaps he changed his mind, or perhaps he simply didn't pay attention. Who knows? And on November 15, Bokii was executed.
Incidentally, there's a theory that his arrest was based on a denunciation from Barchenko. The times were such that denunciations were being written at a rapid pace (Bokiy himself, of course, testified during the investigation that it was Alexander Vasilyevich who had persuaded him to become a spy). But that was no longer important; everyone was doomed. Barchenko was arrested on May 22, a week later than Bokiy, and accused of creating Masonic counter-revolutionary terrorist organization and espionage in favor of England. The investigators used such methods that Barchenko fully accepted the charges, and then, delaying the inevitable, wrote more and more confessions. His case file accumulated three volumes, and many of those involved in the Labor Brotherhood and the secret laboratory's activities (including both his wives) were arrested based on his testimony. Thanks to this, he outlived his protector—but only by a few months. On April 25, 1938, the Military Collegium of the Supreme Court of the USSR found him guilty and sentenced him to death. The sentence was carried out that same day.
He was rehabilitated "along with all his colleagues," that is, at the end of 1956. All three volumes of Barchenko's criminal case were preserved in the Lubyanka archives and were briefly accessible to researchers in the early 90s. Access was then blocked again. As for the manuscripts and research materials confiscated from him, the official version is that they were all destroyed. However, at one point, rumors circulated that Barchenko had mastered the secret knowledge of vanished civilizations. Some even claimed that the recipe for hypnotic influence on the masses, which he supposedly discovered in his laboratory, is still hidden deep in the FSB archives. It may even be used in practice.
But this is, of course, a completely crazy idea.
