A researcher's journey to Siberia

Tag: Ignatii (Page 1 of 2)

Klyuev in Tomsk: A story worth exploring?

One of the more interesting stories in Tomsk in the 1930s was that of poet Nikolai Kliuev (sometimes spelled Klyuev), discussed earlier in this blog.

While I’m still not fully committed to a focus on Kliuev, he draws together some interesting threads from other subjects I’ve been working on in the 44 Lenin Avenue project.

  • Memory (part 1): Kliuev’s case was one of the first explored by the Tomsk Memorial Society, according to L.F. Pichurin in his short, 1995 book, Poslednie dni Nikolaia Kliueva (Tomsk: Volodei, 1995). It is the Tomsk Memorial Society, of course, that took over basement 44 Lenin Avenue in 1989 with the purpose of creating a museum. Why was this one of the first cases? Aside from being a well-known poet, there had been a mystery surrounding his death. It was well-known that he had been exiled to the Tomsk region in 1934 and had spent time in both Kolpashevo and Tomsk, but his death remained a mystery until there was archival access in the late-1980s. Reports from the 1960s had stated that he died of a heart attack at a train station on the way back to Moscow. Archival documents, however, confirmed his arrest and execution in 1937.

  • Memory (part 2): Kliuev, interestingly, was also subject of an article in the late-1980s in the conservative literary publication, Nash Sovermennik. Iurii Khardikov published some thoughts and re-published some documents pertaining to Kliuev’s time in Tomsk in the 12th issue of the journal from 1989. This publication is noteworthy for the 44 Lenin Avenue project in part because Nash Sovremennik had a slavophile bent, and in some ways fits into some of the ideological debates and discussions that had surrounded the 1909 murder of Ignatii. In Kliuev, we also see early evidence of the memory battles that have played out in post-Soviet Russia, which have seen conservative-nationalist versions of the past pitted against more liberal, human-rights versions (for more on this, see Zuzanna Bogomił’s book, Gulag Memories).
  • Russian Literature: In the 1909 murder of Ignatii Dvernitskii, I have discussed the real or imagined role of Dostoevsky. Kliuev, like Dostoevsky, was in some ways a conservative writer (at least from what I understand – I need to do more research!) who saw something distinct and spiritual about the Russian peasantry. This element to Kliuev’s writings is probably the reason for Nash Sovremennik‘s interest in the writer. But it also links Kliuev to another writer, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, who was the first official visitor to the Tomsk Memorial Society’s museum at 44 Lenin Avenue in 1994.

One problem with all of the links to the 44 Lenin Avenue project in the Kliuev story (which is fascinating for a number of other reasons, too, that I won’t explore right now), however, is the lack (so far) of direct evidence that Kliuev spent time at 44 Lenin Avenue. It is likely that he did. The building was, after all, one of two headquarter buildings for the NKVD for the whole period that Kliuev was in Tomsk (1934-37). It also housed an investigative prison in the basement where he could have been incarcerated before his execution. Right now, I’m going through some of these publications pertaining to Kliuev’s time in Tomsk, to see if the building is ever mentioned.

Does the murder method matter?

When I presented at Dalhousie’s Stokes Seminar in September, one interesting question that came up in discussion related to the method of murder in the Ignatii case.

Krista Kesselring, Chair of the history department and expert in the history of crime in early modern England, noted that in her research she found that only about 5% (if I remember correctly) of murders in her data set were by strangulation. Moreover, in almost all of those murders there was an intimate connection between the victim and the perpetrator (they were close relatives, or lovers, or married, and so on). Dr. Kesselring thus questioned if the method of murder in the Igantii case (strangulation) meant that the relationship between Ignatii and the pupils was somehow closer than might appear (perhaps there had been some abuse, for example?).

I had not thought much about the murder method before this question, and just assumed that strangulation could be explained in a relatively straightforward way: the perpetrators did not need to find a murder weapon. But, the question does make one wonder if there’s a deeper meaning behind the method, and also if perhaps cultural differences between early modern England and late Imperial Russia are too great to draw any conclusions. Nevertheless, I’m now very curious about murder methods in late Imperial Russia: how common was strangulation? In strangulation cases, was there usually an intimate connection between the perpetrator and victim?

In any case, it’s fascinating to find further avenues to explore in this project.

More on Ignatii

My current research assistant found a blog post from 2012 that is, essentially, a scan of a pre-revolutionary publication about the murder of Ignatii Dvernitskii. Unfortunately, the blogger (a priest named Andrei Spiridonov) did not post the publication information for the book, and I’ve asked my research assistant to look into this.

In any case, the publication includes several photographs, including one from Ignatii’s funeral procession (below). It is also a defence of Ignatii, and includes a lot more information about the murder than did the newspaper reporting at the time.

Funeral Procession of Ignatii Dvernitskii. Original source unknown.

For instance, this publication states that yes, Ignatii was found strangled, but also that his neck was broken, and that his hand was clutched around his cross. The publication also defends his role at the school: admitting that Ignatii was very strict, the (still unknown) author states that Ignatii improved the food at the school and was generally a positive influence in what had been a hotbed of revolutionary activity.

If we can believe the basic details in this publication (and yes, I need to find out more about it), the author provides a description of how the Kuimov and Iurinov were caught. The author writes (forgive the rough translation),

The police chief found a fragment of a mother-of-pearl button from a shirt on the floor. Since all the buttons on the shirt of the deceased were intact, the police gathered all of the pupils and examined them. Gerasim Iurinov’s shirt had a broken button. When placed with the broken button found in the monk Ignatii’s room, it turned out that they fit together. […] The criminal first obfuscated, but then in prison not only confessed, but named his accomplice, Grigorii Kuinov [sic.]

Anyway, there is a lot more information to unpack in this piece, that I won’t bore you with, now. I’m skeptical, considering that the church went to great lengths to depict Ignatii as a martyr, that everything in this piece is true. Still, so far, it is the most detailed available account of the murder and the arrest itself.

P. V. Vologodskii and the legal angle

One aspect of the Ignatii Dvernitskii murder that I haven’t really explored, yet, is the trial itself. This is partly because, as mentioned previously, the case was tried by military tribunal on Nov. 23, 1909, and the records have likely been lost. Because the authorities closed military tribunals to the public, moreover, there was only limited reporting on the trial itself. Sibirskaia pravda, the newspaper of the nationalist Soiuz russkogo naroda, reported on the trial in its December 5, 1909 issue (pictured).

Cover page of the December 5, 1909 issue of Sibirskaia Pravda

While there are quite a few points of interest in the Sibirskaia pravda article (including the republication of the photograph that supposedly shown Ignatii’s body refusing to decompose), I’m particularly interested in the note that one of the accused, Kuimov (misspelled as Kuinov in the article) was represented by an attorney with the last name Vologodskii.

While the Sibirskaia pravda reporting does not give the first name and patronymic of the attorney, it seems likely that he was P. V. Vologodskii, a very well-known Socialist Revolutionary (SR) lawyer in revolutionary-era Tomsk.

If it is indeed the same person (and hopefully it won’t take too much digging to confirm this information), that would help explain the accusations that Kuimov was involved with the SRs. Vologodskii also helps bring the the story of Ignatii’s death full circle, moreover, as Vologodskii was a key lawyer involved in the trails related to the 1905 pogrom, trials that also took place in 1909 Tomsk (August).

P.V. Vologodskii. Image via Wikimedia commons, public domain.

His biography is fascinating. From the Tomsk region, he trained as a lawyer in 1880s St. Petersburg, but was expelled for poor behaviour, and managed to finish his studies back in Tomsk. He was on the Tomsk city duma (city council, basically), from 1901-1917, and was a founding member of the Tomsk SRs in 1905. He would eventually go on to become editor of Sibirskaia zhizn’, just before the 1917 Revolution. In January 1918 he became part of the anti-Bolshevik, Provisional Siberian Government, and served as foreign minister. All of this to say, the threads of the Ignatii murder go in so many fascinating directions, and I need to pay more attention to the trial and those involved, even if I never find the trial records.

Stokes Seminar at Dalhousie University

As I begin the academic year of my sabbatical, I will be presenting on my research at Dalhousie University in Halifax, N.S.

I completed my undergraduate degree in History and Russian Studies at Dalhousie in the year 2000, so it’s exciting to be presenting at the department (even if it has physically moved from some beautiful Victorian houses into a large, but cramped, academic building).

I’m particularly delighted to be part of the Stokes Seminar. The late Lawrence Stokes was one of favourite professors while at Dalhousie. I took German and Holocaust history courses with him, and was especially fond of the tangential stories he would tell related to certain historical figures and events.

The presentation is titled, “A Murder Most Siberian: The ‘Bad House,’ Crime, and Punishment in 1909 Tomsk.” It will build on my research around the murder of Ignatii Dvernitskii as I get closer (fingers crossed) to submitting this aspect of the project for publication. One of the main areas I’m trying to explore in the project, as a whole, is the importance of place/space… rather than a backdrop to the events, the place of the events (in this case the building at 44 Lenin Avenue) is of crucial importance. Was the “Bad House (нехороший дом),” as the building came to be known, destined for “bad” events?

Tomsk as Imperial Project

I’ve been thinking a bit about Tomsk as a project of empire. These thoughts arose partly out of my early modern European survey course at TRU, during which I recently lectured about Russia’s eastward expansion. Tomsk was founded in 1604 as one of a series of fur-trading outposts along Siberia’s vast river routes, and thus in timing and motivation wasn’t that different from much of the European expansion into North America (my hometown of Annapolis Royal, NS, for example, was founded in 1605 as Port Royal, a French fur-trading outpost).

Outpost of Tiumen. Wikimedia commons. Public domain.

My thoughts about Tomsk and empire also relate to my upcoming presentation at the 2017 ASEEES (Association for Slavic, East European and Eurasian Studies) Annual Convention in Chicago, Nov. 9-12, 2017. The title of my presentation, “A Murder Most Siberian: ‘Crime and Punishment’ in 1909 Tomsk,” is a nod to Louise McReynolds’ excellent book, Murder Most Russian: True Crime and Punishment in Late Imperial Russia (Cornell U.P., 2012), which notes, among other arguments and information, that Dostoevsky’s novel, Crime and Punishment, influenced the criminal justice system in numerous ways. The 1909 murder of Ignatii Dvernitskii, supposedly motivated in part by Dostoevsky’s writings, seemed to fit into McReynolds’ framework (“a desire to put Dostoevsky to the test,” one of the perpetrators allegedly said. See: unknown author, “Ieromonakh’’ Ignatii i ego sistema,” Sibirskie voprosy vol. 5, no. 20 (30 May 1909): 24-37, quotation 36-37).

Still, as I was writing the paper and thinking about the title, I thought, “What is specifically Siberian, as opposed to Russian, about this murder?”; “Does it tell a story that is unique to, or reflective of, specific issues that Siberia and/or Tomsk faced?”; “Is this murder, in other words, most Siberian?”

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Katorga Questions

Of the questions related to the murder of Ignatii Dvernitskii, many remain unanswered. For example, what was the fate of the two perpetrators, Gerasim Iurinov and Georgii Kuimov? The temporary military tribunal sentenced them to death, commuted to katorga. Katorga was the harshest form of punishment in tsarist Russia, after the death penalty. It generally involved exile and hard labour. Eastern Siberia, particularly the areas in the relative vicinity of Irkutsk, was the main area for katorga punishment in the late-Imperial period. The picture, below, is of katorga prisoners who worked near the Amur River in the Far East, sometime between 1908-1913, and is in the public domain from wikimedia commons.
Russian prisoners of Amur Railway
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Records destroyed?

As should be clear from my posts, one of the key events I’m studying for this project is the murder of the headmaster and monk Ignatii Dvernitskii by two of his pupils in 1909. The case was quickly transferred from the regular courts to a temporary military tribunal, sent from Omsk (The military district court in Omsk covered the military tribunals for all of western Siberia). It was not uncommon, at the time, for especially sensitive cases to be tried by military tribunals, as these courts avoided juries and had less scrutiny. I would love to find the court transcripts of the tribunal for this particular case (took place in October 1909), as such a transcript would be of obvious help in telling the story.

In any case, when I was in Tomsk last summer, I discovered (not surprisingly), that the State Archive of Tomsk Oblast’ did not have the records of the temporary military tribunals. Since then, I’ve been asking around, using connections through friends and colleagues to figure out where these records might be. Could they be in Omsk? Moscow? St. Petersburg? After some back and forth with a colleague at Central European University (CEU) who has many connections with Russian scholars of the pre-revolutionary period, one of these scholars, from Omsk, sent him the following piece of information: “…события гражданской войны привели к массовому уничтожению документов – были разгромлены архивы Акмолинского областного правления, омского военно-окружного суда… уничтожены часть жандармских, полицейских и тюремных архивов” [rough translation: “… the events of the Civil War led to mass destruction of documents: the archives of the Akmolinsk Oblast government [and] the Omsk military district court were destroyed… [also] destroyed were parts of the gendarmerie, police, and prison archives”]. I’m waiting for more information about the source of this information, but the destruction of the Omsk military district court archive likely means that any transcripts or records from the Ignatii Dvernitskii case no longer exist.

Burning of the Akmolinsk District Court

The same CEU colleague sent a photograph from EtoRetro.ru (included in this post) showing the burning of the district court in Akmolinsk. The dates given in the photo are Feb 27-28, but no year is included.

In any case, I’ll keep up the search, but it looks unlikely that I’ll be able to find the court records. Who said hindsight is 20/20?

CAS Conference, May 27-29

I’m excited to be presenting, “The 1909 Murder of Ignatii Dvernitskii: A microhistorical approach,” as part of a panel on microhistory approaches to Russian and Soviet history at the annual convention of the Canadian Association of Slavists, part of the larger Congress of the Humanities and Social Sciences that will take place at Ryerson University later this month. This paper will expand on the paper I presented at the Dostoevsky conference in the Fall, and follow a few of the threads that, I think, show the significance of the murder for understanding late-Tsarist Siberia: education, the press, conservatism, anti-Semitism, Dostoevsky, and student activism.

There are a few aspects of the panel that are particularly exciting for me. Nigel Raab is chairing the panel, and aside from his work on Russia, he is also the author of the recent, Who Is the Historian?, an excellent book on historical methods that I assigned in HIST 3000, “The Historian’s Craft,” here at TRU in Fall 2016. One aspect of the book I particularly like is its emphasis on the research and writing of history as a collaborative process. On that note, I want to give a shout-out to my excellent research assistants (three in 2016-2017, and four in 2015-2016) who have helped me with the 44 Lenina project so far (I won’t mention their names without explicit permission, so perhaps in another post). Their work has been invaluable, particularly related to issues of memory and memorials, the murder of Dvernitskii, and the topics of religion and punishment in the late Tsarist era. One of these assistants even accompanied me for part of my research trip to Tomsk, last summer. While on the collaborative methodology note, it’s also worth emphasizing that none of this would be possible without the work of the archivists, librarians, and museum staff of the Tomsk research venues, as well as the inter-library loan librarians here at TRU. Funding for the entire project has come directly from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC), a research grant I would not have won without the help of TRU’s Office of Research and Graduate Studies. And, of course, I’ve received tremendous support from friends, colleagues, and, most importantly, my family. I’m certainly far from alone on this project! Thank you, everyone!

I’m also excited to be presenting with two amazing panelists. Alison Smith is the author of two great books on Imperial Russia, and was the “internal external” reader on my doctoral thesis at the University of Toronto. My approach to the murder of Ignatii is partially inspired by her incredible blog posts on “Russian History Blog,” including the very engaging series on the death of the cheese master. To me, her posts demonstrate the value of microhistorical approaches to Russia’s history. The other panelist, Alan Barenberg, is a long-time friend and fellow Gulag specialist (author of the excellent, Gulag Town, Company Town), whose work and support over the years have meant a tremendous amount to me, and who has definitely made my own work stronger.

On that last note, I’m also very pleased to be part of a roundtable discussion at the CAS titled, “New Directions in Gulag Studies,” chaired by Lynne Viola (my mentor and dissertation advisor), and also including comments from Alan Barenberg, Steve Maddox, and Sean Kinnear. It should be a great conference!

Finding Compelling Stories

As touched on in several earlier posts (e.g. here and here), the building at 44 Lenin Avenue, from its humble beginnings as a church-parish school to its role as local NKVD headquarters to its transformation into commercial and commemorative space itself provides a compelling story. This story runs parallel to many of the main trends of Siberia and Russia’s tumultuous 20th century. For the early years and the later years of the building, the specific microhistory stories are themselves rather obvious. For example, the construction of the building connects to threads of education, religion, architecture, and Tomsk’s role in the Russian empire. The architect, V. V. Khabarov, was involved in numerous other projects–including the construction of the enormous Trinity Cathedral a stone’s throw from the parish school–that helped make Tomsk Siberia’s capital in the late-Tsarist period. Another compelling story is the 1909 murder of the school headmaster. In more recent years, the founding of the Memorial NKVD Remand Prison Museum, or the visit of Solzhenitsyn to the building in 1994, also make compelling stories related to post-Soviet reckoning with Stalinist repression.

Nikolai Klyuev. Photo via Wikimedia commons. Public domain.

Even though the building’s infamy today largely derives from its role as local NKVD headquarters and remand prison during the height of Stalin-era repression, finding a specific, compelling story is proving somewhat difficult. Several famous prisoners spent time there, including philosopher Gustav Shpet and poet Nikolai Klyuev. It is even quite possible authorities shot Kluev in the basement of the building, or in the underground passageway underneath the building’s small square. So, the story could move to biography at this point. Several NKVD bosses who spent time in Tomsk achieved infamy either there or elsewhere, including Ivan Ovchinnikov (the “local Beria”), Ian Krauze (better known for his NKVD work in Leningrad), and Ivan Maltsev. The stories linked to the building seem so male dominated (the basement murder, Solzhenitsyn’s visit, and so on), and biographical stories related to the building during its NKVD incarnation risk continuing a trend. In any case, as a historian, it is my job to find a story that is both compelling but also representative, or, perhaps, exceptional, but exceptional in a way that leads to important information and analysis of the time in question. I wonder what NKVD stories will fall along these lines?

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