Great loser
Dr. Daniel Messerschmidt and his journey through Siberia
Author: Sergey Tashevsky
Peter and the Struggle with Melancholy
Like many other Russian statesmen, Peter the Great preferred to seek medical treatment abroad, in Europe. But he was perhaps the only Russian ruler who managed to wage war while simultaneously fighting in Europe. Moreover, he did so in virtually the same places. For example, in 1716, the Russian emperor spent several months in Danzig, until mid-March, when he was diagnosed by German professors Philipp Brein and Hermann Boerhaave. "Hypochondria and melancholy!" was their verdict. Having received this diagnosis, Peter briefly left for Russia, and a few weeks later, at the end of April, he reappeared near Danzig—this time with a fleet of 45 ships, their cannons gazing melancholically toward the docks, warehouses, and coastal batteries (yes, Danzig could have fired back). The situation escalated, as Peter had serious grievances against the city authorities, who continued to trade with the hated Sweden. But the burgomaster hastened to assure him that "this will not happen again," and the matter ended not with a shootout, but with a hefty monetary contribution and an artillery salute to each other. Peace, friendship! However, in September 1717, Peter again visited Danzig, returning from a European journey during which he had been treated "at the waters," and again underwent a lengthy examination by local luminaries. Needless to say, after the military demarche and the journey across Europe, most of his ailments disappeared without a trace.
The Hanseatic city of Danzig was, in fact, a wonderful cure for Peter's melancholy. During the emperor's visits, the streets were flooded with Russian troops, and the Russian fleet was anchored at anchor. Peter's formal ally, the Polish King Augustus II, came here for meetings but behaved in Danzig more like an obedient vassal than a sovereign ruler, which undoubtedly flattered the Russian monarch's vanity. Even at the height of the Great Northern War, long before the Treaty of Nystad, Peter felt triumphant here. It's no wonder he returned to Danzig again and again.
Moreover, for Peter, who spoke excellent German, treatment was combined with pleasant conversations about science. Philipp Breyne, for example, was renowned for the natural history collection he maintained in Danzig, and for the Russian monarch, who had just founded the Kunstkamera in St. Petersburg, this was of great interest. He was in need of staff willing to travel throughout Russia, explore it, and expand the new museum's collection. Upon learning of this, Breyne recommended his longtime acquaintance, Daniel Gottlieb Messerschmidt, a Danzig native and a graduate of the University of Halle. Peter probably saw him as the ideal candidate: a young man passionately devoted to science, single, with a doctorate in medicine, whose dissertation was entitled "On Reason as the Primary Principle of All Medical Science." Peter always found this philosophical approach appealing. The emperor was even more delighted to learn that the young scientist (Messerschmidt was only 32 at the time) had already organized several expeditions across Europe and was skilled in collecting herbariums and conducting reconnaissance. Moreover, in Halle, Messerschmidt had studied in the same faculty as the son of the Russian court physician, Lavrenty Blumentrost, who soon became Peter's personal physician (and later the first president of the Academy of Sciences—more on that later). In short, he was "one of the guys"!
Messerschmidt himself also found the offer to go to Russia appealing. A new, vast field of activity! In conversations with Peter (they met a couple of times in Danzig), he wasn't particularly interested in money, but rather inquired about his responsibilities. Peter liked Messerschmidt, even hinting that perhaps he was considering heading the Kunstkamera. And, filled with hope, Daniel set off for Russia. His travel document stated:
"After we learned of the erudition and experience possessed by the most noble and learned Doctor Messerschmidt, by decree of His Imperial Majesty it was ordered to invite him to serve in all jobs that correspond to his profession, first of all, to study the hidden riches and forces of nature of the great Russian state."
But the German scholars who had long been established in St. Petersburg greeted Messerschmidt as an uninvited competitor. He was particularly skeptical of his recent classmate, Blumentrost, who himself had ambitions to head the Kunstkamera. He, of course, had all the levers of power: unlike Daniel, Blumentrost had been born and raised in Russia and spoke excellent Russian. Moreover, his father and brother held the highest "medical" positions at court. Whether through the efforts of this family, or because of Messerschmidt's indifference to his career and "worldly goods," he was granted a salary of only 500 rubles a year (almost the minimum wage in Russia for Germans with academic degrees). Just a few months later, the former chairman of the Medical College and curator of the Kunstkamera, Peter the Great's court physician, Robert Karlovich Areskin, who had been Messerschmidt's patron since their first meetings in Danzig, died suddenly. Blumentrost assumed the leadership of the College, and almost immediately decided to send Daniel away from St. Petersburg, sending him on a long-term scientific expedition to Siberia.
An expedition of one scientist
Strictly speaking, this was the first scientific expedition beyond the Urals in Russian history, and no one in St. Petersburg's scientific circles really knew what such expeditions entailed. Therefore, Messerschmidt was tasked with absolutely everything scientific. Initially, the Medical Chancellery sent him to Siberia "to search for all sorts of rarities and apothecary items: herbs, flowers, roots, and seeds." But the list of duties quickly expanded: Messerschmidt was to draw maps, make drawings, study "natural history," medicine, epidemics, monuments and antiquities, search for minerals, make herbariums and stuffed animals, and, "to avoid getting up twice," study local languages and "generally anything noteworthy." It is said that he received a separate assignment from Peter the Great, who was interested in legends about Siberian gold and treasures. The Emperor even issued a special decree stating: "Ancient gold and silver items found in the land of ancient treasures are ordered to be reported to Tobolsk by people of all ranks. These items are to be taken from them and placed in the treasury of the great sovereign, and money from the treasury is to be paid to them for these items." Messerschmidt was also to oversee this. And not just oversee it, but also to study these antiquities and, if possible, organize his own excavations in the necessary locations. In other words, he was also to engage in archaeology.
To this end, his expedition staff included a great many specialists: two soldiers and two of his own servants. This, according to the officials of the Medical Chancellery, was quite sufficient. Daniel, however, accepted everything without objection and seriously prepared to lead the four-man expedition (with a budget of several hundred rubles per year) to great scientific achievements.
There was, however, another problem: the expedition's leader had never managed to learn Russian. Messerschmidt had an excellent command of Latin and Ancient Greek, and spoke English and French, but he somehow struggled with Russian. Either he considered it unnecessary, or the language somehow clashed with his logical German way of thinking. Who knows? In any case, in his daily life (at inns, taverns, and at the market), he conducted business primarily through servants, who already spoke Russian quite fluently. However, this was the practice of almost all foreigners in Russia. And for communication in St. Petersburg, it was always possible to find someone who understood European languages. But in Moscow, and especially in Siberia... Understanding all this, Daniel asked the chancery for an interpreter for the expedition, but his request fell on deaf ears. After all, a translator was another expense item, and no one had foreseen it in the expedition's budget. So he had to travel to this incomprehensible Siberia like an astronaut on another planet. But there was nothing else to do, and in the spring of 1719, Daniel Gottlieb Messerschmidt, along with four of his "research associates," sipping bad homebrew and smoking cheap homegrown tobacco on the back of his carriage, departed St. Petersburg for Moscow. Thus began the first-ever scientific journey of a doctor of philosophy across Russia.
Or maybe to China?
Messerschmidt and his men remained in Moscow for several months, and for the first time in his entire service in Russia, Daniel felt like he was in luck. He was to travel to Siberia with Lieutenant General Lev Vasilyevich Izmailov's embassy, which was en route to China.
To China! It was a complete blank spot for European science at the time. China was far less known than Russia, and any scientist who went there would have instantly become a celebrity. Moreover, the embassy included the Swedish engineer and state councilor Lorenz Lang, captured at Poltava and now serving Peter the Great. Traveling with him was much more comfortable; one could talk to him! Messerschmidt literally bombarded the Medical Chancellery with letters and requests, begging them to attach the expedition to the embassy. It would be more convenient for everyone and would not require additional expenses.
“You would do me a special favor if you helped me to travel further from Tobolsk to China, since I have no doubt that this would provide a number of opportunities to obtain information about various sights and to make observations on insufficiently studied questions both in the field of science and in the field of practical medicine of China, in particular - <…> wounds to the stomach and the art of healing intestines, cauterization of skull sutures, etc.; for the study of barometers, thermometers and hydrometers, individual works on hydrostatics and the study of medicinal waters, minerals and various fossils; magnetic deviations occurring in these areas, asbestos cloth, or fireproof fabric, and its production; birds and fish born in captivity from embryos; various mechanical devices; the production of glass and framed jewelry that can easily be counterfeited; in particular, the study of local plants in relation to whether they can be grown in our adjacent lands, etc.,” — Messerschmidt wrote to Petersburg. But Blumentrost was adamant. To Siberia, and only to Siberia!
Messerschmidt and his men nevertheless completed the first part of the journey with the embassy. They left Moscow on September 5, 1719, reached Kolomna, then rafted down the Oka to Nizhny Novgorod, down the Volga to Kazan, and from there (just as the frosts had set in) by sleigh through Khlynov, Solikamsk, Turinsk, and Tyumen, arriving in Tobolsk by spring. All this time, Messerschmidt continued to dream of China and wrote new petitions to St. Petersburg, but they remained unanswered. And already in Tobolsk, a final rebuke arrived from Blumentrost, who had allegedly consulted with Peter, who rejected the traveler's requests. "You, highly esteemed doctor, must adhere to your original orders," wrote the head of the Medical Chancellery, not without glee. What could he do? Daniel said a warm farewell to Lang and, still somewhat despondent, set about his main duties of exploring Siberia.
Or rather, he continued what he had already attempted on the road—but it was winter then, so how much could he see? Now, around Tobolsk, he began collecting herbariums, studying soils, and sketching landscapes. Messerschmidt worked with an almost maniacal conscientiousness. He stuffed birds and animals himself, sketched plants, conducted meteorological observations, and haggled (with the help of loyal servants) with locals for "pagan sheitans, great mammoth bones, and ancient Kalmyk and Tatar letters." And almost every day, he chronicled his journey. Peter Simon Pallas, who studied his archive half a century later, wrote admiringly: Messerschmidt "often wrote his diary all night until morning," allowing himself only a few hours for sleep, and "observed excessive punctuality in everything." The result: a diary of 1599 pages, covered in tiny handwriting on both sides. Only a small part of it has been published so far.
Ostrog as a science city
But he soon discovered he wasn't the first to study the natural environment in these parts. Another scientist, Tabbert von Strahlenberg, who had compiled the first maps of Siberia, was also working here in Tobolsk—a captured Swedish officer. For many years, enjoying a certain freedom of movement, he and his compatriot, NCO Daniil Kappel, had been conducting small expeditions, making sketches, and collecting materials. Messerschmidt was incredibly pleased to make this acquaintance and soon negotiated with the prison commander the right for the Swedish officers to accompany him on scientific expeditions. They, in turn, generously (though not always gratuitously) shared their previous discoveries and observations with Daniel. For example, he managed to acquire from Strahlenberg a unique manuscript of the "History of the Turks" by the Khiva Khan Abulgazi, which the latter traded with a local resident for a pouch of gunpowder. Moreover, Strahlenberg, who had become Russified during his years of captivity, proved to be a good language teacher—and after a few months, Messerschmidt finally began speaking Russian. In his letters, he described his teacher with undisguised affection: "diligent, loyal, my only friend and support."
In 1721, he approached the Siberian governor with a request to assign Swedish prisoners to him for at least a year, during his voyage to Irkutsk. The request was granted, and from that moment on, the expedition finally began to look like a real expedition: at least it now included several people who understood what they were doing. In addition to Strahlenberg and Kappel, Daniel's voyage included Carl Gustav Schulman, a brilliant draftsman who had languished in Russian captivity for many years, and two or three other Swedish prisoners. The expedition "grew" to 14 wagons, carrying personal belongings, finds, and scientific instruments. All this equipment was periodically transferred to boats, as summer transportation in these parts was unrivaled.
Their Swedish colleagues had been living in Siberia for a long time and were well-versed in the local population, so finds, stories, and discoveries literally flowed. For example, hunters brought back numerous mammoth tusks and bones, which were soon abandoned for expeditionary transport. Messerschmidt (incidentally, one of the first European scientists) came to the definitive conclusion that these extinct giants were related to African elephants. Questioning local residents also yielded considerable valuable information, although this required a certain amount of "lubrication," as also reflected in Messerschmidt's diaries:
"On April 28, 1721 (Friday), we interrogated Lieutenant Eenberg, who said there should be a treasurer here named Vilkaselsky, who could provide all sorts of information on all sorts of local affairs; but he needed to be treated to some good vodka. He… also said there were three salt lakes here near the Ob River, between it and the Irtysh, from which salt is brought here. Further, 1,5 versts from Verkhotomsk, there should be a mountain near the village of Mazukina, where good copper ore might be found. Also, between Komarovo and the village of Krasnaya, on the left bank of the river, there should be coal…"
"Komarov" is most likely the site of the modern city of Kemerovo, and this entry in Messerschmidt's diary is considered the first evidence of coal deposits in Kuzbass. But the scientist didn't confine himself to rumors; a few days later, he and his companions set out for the mountain, from where they brought back numerous coal samples. A few years later, they arrived in St. Petersburg, where they made a huge impression, significantly changing the perception of Siberia's economic potential.
A little later, near Tomsk (and again thanks to inquiries from local residents), Messerschmidt and his companions discovered the famous "Tomsk Pisanitsa"—a complex of ancient rock carvings. This was the first discovery of petroglyphs in Siberia. Some of them were carefully sketched and included in the expedition report. Another "batch" of petroglyphs was then discovered in the upper reaches of the Yenisei River.
Gold and Prophecy
All this reminded Daniel of Peter's orders—to search for "golden treasures." Indeed, the locals were eager to sell the expedition various antique utensils plundered from burial mounds. But mostly copper and bronze. They seemed to have come across no gold or silver at all—and Messerschmidt soon realized why. It turned out this was already an established trade:
"The Russians who live along the upper reaches of the Ob are called Ishimtsy; they are the ones who go out to dig up gold and silver found in graves; they gather from all the surrounding villages, break into detachments, and disperse in different directions, but only so far as to maintain constant communication with each other and, should Kalmyks or Cossacks arrive, be able to defend themselves. They are often forced to fight them, and some pay with their lives. Having found such mounds over the graves of pagans, they sometimes, admittedly, dig in vain, but sometimes they happen to find in these graves many gold and silver items, five to seven pounds each, consisting of horse harnesses, armor ornaments, idols, and other objects. They secretly sell this gold to the military commanders..."
Nevertheless, Messerschmidt's expedition collected a vast amount of archaeological material, made sketches and plans of ancient settlements and burial grounds, recorded legends about them, and sent hundreds of ancient objects to St. Petersburg. In essence, it conducted the first systematic archaeological research in Siberia. And in ethnography, Messerschmidt, despite being German, was also a pioneer: he compiled concise dictionaries of local languages and studied customs, rituals, and beliefs. One day, he and his companions, wishing to become more familiar with shamanism, asked one of the shamans for a prediction of their future:
“…The man began to beat the drum with a spoon ever harder, and at the same time he screamed louder and louder; he jumped up and down, skipped around the room like a madman, grabbed the hot ashes that were lying in the fireplace with his hand, and generally grimaced wildly. After he had done all this for a quarter of an hour, he suddenly stopped, looked up, and stood for quite a long time without moving; then he began to speak almost in a singsong voice, [that] the doctor left four children at home, of whom one had died, and also that the doctor would stay in Siberia for seven years, that one of his horses would go lame before we reached Tomsk; in short, this goose lied to us through his teeth, and it was clear that all the predictions and fortune-telling were utter nonsense…” — Messerschmidt wrote in his diary.
But, as it later turned out, the shaman had guessed almost perfectly the timing of his Siberian journey. Messerschmidt managed to reach Lake Baikal (where he was forced to part with the Swedish part of his team). His route then led to Achinsk, Mangazeya, up the Lower Tunguska, then back through Chitinsk to Irkutsk, along the Angara to Yeniseisk, and back to Tobolsk. In the spring of 1726, orders arrived from St. Petersburg to return to the capital immediately. The shaman proved correct—Messerschmidt's Siberian journey ended precisely in his eighth year.
Return to melancholy
In March, the doctor of philosophy, his servants, and 14 carts returned to Tobolsk. During this time, he had lost considerable weight (money from St. Petersburg arrived in small increments, irregularly, and his wages were late. He had to feed the drivers and servants, replace horses, and buy interesting finds, leaving Messerschmidt with almost nothing left for food). They say that compassionate peasants even fed him in some places. His clothes were tattered, his hair long uncut and uncombed, and overall, he initially struck the Tobolsk officials as a beggarly wretch. The customs officers laughed as they rummaged through the carts, scattering strange stuffed birds, stones, papers, and leaflets. No one was in a hurry to help him.
With all these riches, Messerschmidt finally managed to reach St. Petersburg on his own, where he hoped for a warm welcome. Instead, on orders from Blumentrost, who now headed the Academy of Sciences founded by Peter the Great, all the property and records Messerschmidt had brought from Siberia were seized. Peter the Great himself had been dead for two years by then, and there was no one left in the Russian capital to intercede for the scientist.
Professors from the Academy inspected the carts, made inventories, and selected the most valuable items for the academic collections, according to their own tastes. Messerschmidt himself was placed under house arrest—under the absurd pretext that he had "appropriated government funds for the expedition."
He eventually managed to defend himself against this accusation, but they tried to keep him away from working on the expedition materials. The collections and herbariums were sent to the archives, and Messerschmidt himself was offered a rather modest position at the Academy. However, he was willing to accept this, as long as he could continue working on his manuscripts. Over the course of several years, he completed ten volumes of the "Survey of Siberia," which, along with his collections, was stored in the Kunstkamera vaults and later destroyed in a fire in 1747.
But Messerschmidt, of course, couldn't have known about this. Now, having returned to St. Petersburg after eight years of travel through the "barbarian land," he was almost happy. His salary, delayed throughout his years of travel, was finally paid in one enormous sum—and in his joy, he began to think about marriage. Especially since in 1730 he met Helene, a charming German woman from St. Petersburg. Messerschmidt seemed to see her face in visions, somewhere on Lake Baikal or Lake Teletskoye. This was his destiny...
Indeed, Helen soon began to control his fate. She probably didn't like that he was content with a modest position at the Academy. And she didn't like St. Petersburg at all. "Get away from here, go home! To Europe!" Messerschmidt, gentle by nature, couldn't resist her, and began to lobby for his departure. But leaving Russia was always more difficult than entering it. He had to submit endless petitions and wait for countless permissions. In the end, he was forced to sign a pledge not to publish or use any of the results of his work in Siberia. In other words, he voluntarily abandoned all his scientific ambitions.
He agreed.
But fate had more to offer. En route to Danzig, the ship carrying the Messerschmidts sank—and although they managed to escape, all of his manuscripts and scientific materials that he had managed to smuggle out of Russia sank. Miraculously, only his diaries survived. He returned to Danzig unknown, aged, and penniless. He lived there in poverty for several years and, after separating from his wife, returned to St. Petersburg, hoping to somehow find work at the Academy. Alas, in vain.
The melancholy from which German doctors in Danzig had once successfully cured Peter now consumed Messerschmidt's soul. He felt unwanted and alone. He was fundamentally incapable of achieving fame and recognition, for, according to the recollections of his contemporaries, he was a "twilight" man: quiet, shy, and withdrawn. Few remembered his titanic labors after his death in March 1735 in a cold, small apartment in St. Petersburg. But gradually it became clear that he had been the first everywhere in Siberia. He was the first to describe the "permafrost," the first to travel many routes, the first to draw up any kind of accurate maps, the first to undertake scientific excavations... And, they say, there are places where no scientist has set foot since Messerschmidt.
Yes, Messerschmidt remains in the history of Russian science as a model unsuccessful scientist. All that's been named after him is a variety of wormwood and a species of amphipod crustacean—recognition and fame on a nearly microscopic scale. Yet his diaries, written with ease and irony, read almost like fiction. The courage with which this modest and helpless man launched his expedition practically "out of nothing" still amazes researchers and biographers. And he is arguably one of the most famous, published, and quoted failures who ever explored Siberia.
