Igor Strojecki
‘I knew Colonel Barszczewski. He was tall and broad-shouldered. The high, arched, convex forehead was reminiscent of Socrates. He had a rather large, fair beard. His mannerisms were animated, his eyes – probably blue – piercing. He talked about his travel experiences vividly and enthusiastically. Sometimes he playfully demonstrated his ‘magical powers,’ which inspired primitive Asian highlanders to believe in his supernatural abilities, which often rendered him invaluable favours, including saving his life. I remember how he danced with spirit (though calmly and elegantly) during the carnival of 1908, and probably also led the mazurka at his daughter’s school ball.’ Years later, in the magazine ‘Fotografia,’ the eminent photographer Jan Sunderland (1891–1979), who had been friends with the Barszczewski family since their time in Siedlce, recalled the traveller.
A scientist in a Tsarist uniform
Leon Barszczewski was born on 20 February 1849 in Smila, in Czerkasy Oblast of Ukraine. He was one of eight children of Szymon and Adelajda (née Nowicka). After the untimely death of his parents, he was taken into Russian government care and sent to the St. Vladimir Military Gymnasium in Kiev. He then graduated from the 2nd Konstantinov Infantry School in St. Petersburg, followed by the cadet school in Odessa. Initially, he served in the 55th Podolsk Infantry Regiment in Bessarabia and the Kherson Governorate. In an interview given in 1901 to the Polish-language magazine ‘Kraj,’ published in St. Petersburg, he recalled those first years of military service as follows:
‘In my very early youth, I developed a particular fondness for the natural sciences and, insofar as it was possible, I eagerly devoured whatever zoological, botanical, or geological works happened to come my way at school… The practical outcome of those highly unsystematic “studies” was the early blossoming of a keen inclination towards collecting. I collected insects, bird eggs, stones; my herbariums even delighted my botany teacher. I indulged in this mania for home-grown hoarding later on, having received my officer’s rank. I also had quite the trouble transporting these, as my comrades called them, “bits of junk” from Odessa to Kherson, and from there to Mykolaiv and Chișinău, wherever my regiment happened to be posted next. I spent a long time in Chișinău, and since I knew from experience how difficult it was to cope with the fate of an orphan, I wanted to make life easier for other poor children. So, having gathered abandoned children from the poorest districts of the city, I set up a school for them in my own apartment, where, in addition to visual lectures on nature, I systematically taught carpentry, woodturning and bookbinding… I still keep in touch by letters with many of my former students, who are doing quite well.’
War with the Emirate of Bukhara
At the beginning of the second half of the 19th century, during the reign of Tsar Alexander II, Russia expanded its expansion into the countries of Central Asia. As early as 1853, the Russians, under the command of the Orenburg governor Vasily Perovsky, seized the fortress of Ak-Mechet on the Syr Darya, which belonged to the Khanate of Kokand, and later advanced further up the river. In 1862, Russia went to war with the Emirate of Bukhara, which was defeated in May 1866, and the Emirate lost most of its territory as a result of the conflict. In mid-1864, Russian forces operating out of Orenburg and Verny captured the city of Turkestan. In 1867, Alexander II appointed Konstantin von Kaufman as Governor-General of Turkestan. Tashkent, captured in 1865, became the capital of the new governorate. The war between Russia and Bukhara finally ended on 20 May 1868, resulting in the Emirate losing its sovereignty and Samarkand being annexed to the Russian Empire. For a further five years, the Khanate of Khiva remained the only independent state in Turkestan. From 1873, the Emirate of Bukhara was under a Russian protectorate. In August 1875, troops led by General von Kaufman defeated Kipchak-Kokand forces at the Machlam fortress and later occupied Margelan and Kokand. The peace treaty of September 1875 placed the khanate under Russian rule, while at the same time depriving it of its lands north of the Naryn River. These were incorporated into Turkestan as the so-called Namangan division (Namangan).
Kata-Tabib, or the Great Doctor
After Russia’s conquest of Central Asia, in 1876, Leon Barszczewski, at his own request, was transferred to the topographical detachment of the battalion in Samarkand, where he remained until 1897. From there, he undertook numerous expeditions into the territories of the former Emirate of Bukhara and the Khanates of Badakhshan and Darvaz. He explored strategic communication routes along the border with China and Afghanistan, and drew up detailed maps of the areas he travelled through. For a number of reasons, these expeditions were very arduous and dangerous, and he recalled one of the first in an interview with the ‘Kraj’ magazine as follows:
‘It was in 1878. I set out for the Fi-Turak glacier (“Nest of Danger” in the language of the locals) in the Pamirs. I was sent there by General Kaufman to search for a passage to the Hindu Kush. I took with me three locals and a dozen or so pack horses laden with various essential geognostic instruments, as well as provisions… We reached the glacier, where we were so heavily buried by a snowstorm that, trapped within an enormous snow cavern – its height equal to that of a several-storey building – we were unable to take a single step for eighteen days. Day and night, we worked in turns to clear a way through – all in vain. It was a Sisyphean task. The snow came down in such thick flakes, the likes of which I had never witnessed in my life. The silver lining was the breaking away of a chunk of the glacier above, which formed a barricade against the advancing force of nature – otherwise, we would have been completely buried in snow from all sides… Yet even here, we did not escape without loss: part of the fallen glacier resting on our position detached from the main body and plunged into the abyss, dragging with it a couple of our best-laden pack horses carrying the bulk of our food supplies… Before long, we were left entirely without provisions and, for several days, we had to subsist on small rations of dry tea, washed down with water… The horses, in a desperate attempt to stave off hunger, gnawed at their own manes and tails… We were resigned to the prospect of starving to death, despite the fact that through my telescope I could make out a meadow above us, covered with vegetation. My faithful guide Jakub finally took a heroic step… he didn’t have much to lose, and perhaps he even preferred to find immediate death by falling into the abyss than to die slowly of starvation… He began to climb up the seemingly inaccessible cliffs, crawling on his stomach in places, and soon disappeared from my sight. It was not until the evening of the following day that we heard joyful shouts from above… In response, I fired several shots, each one echoed multiple times by the mountain walls… After several more hours of anxious waiting, we finally caught sight of Jakub, in tatters, crawling on all fours, carrying on his back various roots: asafoetida, riskak (a mountain onion), odzhut (a sweet-bitter root), and kharch (a type of fungus). Can you imagine the look on our faces when we saw these gifts after fasting for several days!… Now you may say: they were saved! Here me out. We had barely chewed a few roots when exhaustion overcame us and we all fell into a deep sleep… When we awoke, our supplies were gone: they had been completely devoured by the horses, one of which soon died from overeating. The next day at dawn, led by Jakub, my two guides went to look for a passage, as the snow had begun to melt; I stayed behind, watching every move of the daredevils through my telescope… And when they planted a flag up there, improvised from a cloak… I scratched myself and followed in their footsteps… Laughter, tears and hugs were expressions of our happiness… Through my telescope, I can see the village, I can even make out people… it seems so close to us… We set off towards it with encouragement and reach our destination in the evening of the second day. The village turned out to be populated by blue-eyed Eskanders, descendants of Alexander the Great’s soldiers, in whose speech I noticed many Sanskrit words. Of course, we didn’t understand each other at all. We were received with rather hostile surprise, but giving medical advice to several sick people with the desired effect reconciled us with the local population. We spent a few weeks among them, with the aim of both relaxing and getting to know a people who had never before been visited by Europeans. The inhabitants of this mountain settlement turned out to be monotheists, not adhering to any religious rituals. During their brief prayers, they always raised their eyes to the sky, indicating that there is a power there that reigns over everything. I soon became friends with this people of nature, who lived a life without cares, knowing no money or material setbacks. They fed on dried mulberries and scones made from jute flour. The women, half-dressed, did not cover their faces in the manner of Muslim women. Things have changed there now – whether for the better – I don’t know. I am not sure whether the population is now cursing “Kata-Tabib” (“The Great Doctor”) – as I was called – through whom they later became acquainted with the benefits of civilisation…’.
Fascinated by photography
Leon Barszczewski loved the Asian mountains. His passion for research was sparked by the unimaginable white expanses of vast glaciers. He was fascinated by photography because it allowed him to capture on glass negatives the beauty and horror of Asian landscapes and the intriguing faces of the local natives. But above all, what mattered to him was people. It made no difference whether it was a wealthy beg, a soldier, or a simple farmer from a mountain village encountered somewhere in the Pamirs. He treated everyone fairly and gave his time to everyone with equal attention and offered a helping hand in times of need. The way he treated people was shaped by his personal experiences.
How unfairly and wrongly we judge these poor people…
‘[…] spending a long time with the semi-wild inhabitants taught me a lot. How unfairly and wrongly we judge these poor people. More often than not, we ourselves are the cause of misunderstandings that arise between us and them. More than once, I myself seemed to be in a no-win situation among these semi-wild peoples, where any trifle could entail the loss of life. And yet, I always managed, thanks to the fact that my attitude towards the local people was always warm and sincere; I made every effort to understand their lives, their customs and rituals, their beliefs and superstitions. I made many true friends among them. For nineteen years, I lived among them, and I have not been able to find a single example of their supposed savagery, so eagerly described by various travellers.’
Echoes of a forgotten world
The life, travels and adventures of Leon Barszczewski may seem like a fantasy today. Because the world he observed and documented no longer exists – it has been lost forever. It lives on only in the extraordinary photographs and glass negatives he recorded. The traveller today appears almost as a mysterious pioneer, journeying through unknown lands, a hero seemingly taken from semi-fantastical novels. Barszczewski was undoubtedly such a pioneer – in many villages nestled among Asian mountain peaks and glaciers, he was probably the first European the local inhabitants had ever seen. This foreigner from a distant country quickly gained their trust and affection thanks to his openness, straightforward manner and desire to be on equal terms with them. The fact that he mastered the local languages and their dialects was also significant. His knowledge of the healing arts, access to basic medical supplies – such as quinine – and familiarity with various crafts, along with ‘supernatural abilities’ and at times even sleight-of-hand skills, often gave him an almost ‘miraculous’ aura of power in the eyes of the locals. During his frequent travels, Leon Barszczewski took approximately seven hundred photographs, capturing mountain landscapes, city architecture, and scenes from the everyday life of the inhabitants of the regions he visited.
Discover a glimpse of the future in pure water…
Unfortunately, relatively few handwritten materials have survived from the traveller. Among them are an eight-day travel journal from an expedition to the Hissar Mountains, ‘A Secret Report on the Roads to Afghanistan and India,’ a short story devoted to the legend of the saint from Makszew and the grave of Sang-Tuda, as well as ‘Wedding Celebrations in Eastern Bukhara,’ published in instalments in the weekly ‘Naokoło świata’ [‘Around the World’] in 1902. In the latter, he described the divinations performed by the local mullah at the end of the ceremony as follows:
‘The mullah said amin and began to distribute the mud he had prepared to the guests, piece by piece. Turning to the mullah, I asked for an explanation. “You see, sir,” he replied, “some righteous people, if God so desires, can discover in clear water a glimpse of the future of a man who desires to know it. We, the mullahs, stand above them; for we can see the future of every human being and everything that ordinary people are unable to see or comprehend. However, what we perceive is sometimes so awful that we are sometimes unable to repeat it to the people, and in such cases we only give advice on how to proceed. We pray over a bowl of water and in this way drive away evil spirits, and the water becomes miraculous and protects us from evil. This is the kind of water everyone asks for, but how to distribute it so that everyone can carry it with them. Here we mix it with soil, make a thick paste and distribute it in small pieces; let each of the hungry carry it wrapped in a rag on their chest as a talisman.”
After thanking the mullah for everything he had done for the poor man and for the explanations he had given me, I rewarded him by throwing a cape over his shoulders, corresponding in value to his rank. These customs and superstitions clearly indicate that the population of these regions had their own distinct religion not so long ago. In some corners of the country, we still find semi-wild inhabitants who have retained their ancient faith. They are distinguished by their openness, simplicity and honesty, and although they pray to objects that we call idols, they nevertheless raise their hands to heaven, seeking the true God there! Don’t we also look for Him there? Having spent many years among these peoples, I have come to believe that they all have one God, but only in concepts and interpretations of the essence of the matter – the peoples have chosen different directions. You can tell that there was a belief in the one God among these tribes too.’
At a Tajik wedding
During his expeditions, Leon Barszczewski often had the opportunity to observe various customs of the local peoples. This is how he described the Tajik wedding rite:
‘The inhabitants of the roughly described Marguzar lakes belong to the Mountain Tajik tribes, but differ from the inhabitants of other mountainous places in the diversity of customs that are completely different. This is particularly characteristic of the inhabitants of the kishlak [a winter pastoral settlement] of Roshna-Pojen, where, for example, weddings are arranged quite differently from those in the Muslim world as a whole. A “viewing” is organised for any young man from the village who expresses a desire to marry. The bridegroom is presented with a succession of girls who are not covered by chadras, so that he can choose his future wife, indeed to his liking. Then the bargaining with the woman’s parents begins. The average payment ranges from fifty to twu hundred roubles. When the parties reach an agreement, it is the bride’s task to organise the wedding feast, and if she does not have the means to do so, the groom can immediately take his bride to his home. This unique custom and the renown of the beautiful girls often attracted suitors from afar. Life for the Tajiks here is hard and every inch of land is used, yet the profits of the locals are extremely limited.’
Waterfall in honour of wife, mountain pass in honour of daughter
Many documents relating to this great Polish traveller are probably still kept in Russian archives. His scientific legacy is not entirely known. The geopolitical situation is not conducive to conducting searches in the vast archives of Moscow or St. Petersburg. One can only surmise the magnitude of his scientific achievements, which contributed to the growth of the power of the Russian Empire at that time. His collaboration with great Russian, French and German scientists and travellers places Leon Barszczewski among the outstanding European figures of the scientific world of the second half of the 19th century. Leon Barszczewski undoubtedly belongs among the greatest Polish personalities of that time. It was, after all, at his initiative and from his collection – the largest private assemblage of antiquities from the Central Asian region – that the current Historical Museum of the city of Samarkand was established. He was the first to conduct archaeological research on the Afrasiab hill, contributing to the discovery of fragments of ancient Samarkand. Moreover, as the discoverer, he had the privilege of naming many newly identified sites – such as St. Irene’s Waterfall, named after his wife, and St. Anne’s Pass, in honour of his youngest daughter. One of the glaciers in the Hissar Range bears the name of Leon Barszczewski in recognition of the achievements of this distinguished glaciologist, explorer, and expert and enthusiast of Central Asian glaciers. Barszczewski was also a highly regarded botanist – he collected insect specimens for the collections of various scientific institutions and museums, including those in Moscow and St. Petersburg. Sometimes he was assisted in collecting insects by his children. The Polish Academy of Sciences Archives in Warsaw keep some letters from German entomologist Alfred Otto Hertz (1856–1905), who ordered insect specimens from Barszczewski that were found in the Emirate of Bukhara, sending him special pins and boxes for preparing insects.
A picture worth gold
Leon Barszczewski can be considered a pioneer of Polish travel photography. His photographs were highly regarded and won numerous awards. He was awarded a gold medal at the 1895 exhibition in Paris for his photographs of Asian glaciers, and received a similar honour for ‘Eastern landscapes and genre scenes’ at the first major photographic exhibition held in 1901 at the Warsaw Town Hall. Among the dozens of exhibitors, Zygmunt Józef Naimski, editor of ‘Kurier Warszawski,’ was particularly impressed by the presentation of photographs by the traveller: ‘The collection of photographs by Colonel Leon Barszczewski, an outstanding traveller in Central Asia, is also very interesting. It consists of seventy photographs from the Far East, often taken with great difficulty, as they were taken on huge mountains reaching heights of twenty thousand feet.’ However, the then ‘Gazeta Polska’ reported on 26 September/9 October: ‘From the photo exhibition. As is well known, the top award in the scientific section of the photo exhibition went to Colonel Leon Barszczewski for his beautiful photos of Central Asian towns and people. The author of these words had the pleasure of meeting the first explorer of the mineral riches of Bukhara and Turkestan during their several years together in Samarkand.
Earnings without reward…
Extremely modest and quiet, during his twenty-year stay in Central Asia, Colonel Barszczewski gained renown in the academic world thanks to the results of his expeditions into the depths of an unknown land, which he explored with unparalleled thoroughness – geographically, ethnographically, and naturally. He discovered vast deposits of various mineral resources in Turkestan, on which hundreds of people made enormous fortunes, but he himself did not benefit from these profits. When asked why he helped others get rich without any personal gain, he always gave us the same answer: “People who work in science usually lack practicality in life, and I am no exception in this regard.”’
Everything can be overcome with a kind word and heartfelt simplicity…
After his service in Central Asia, Leon Barszczewski was transferred to Siedlce in 1897. There, in 1904, he founded a School of Economics for girls (now St. Queen Jadwiga Secondary School No. 2), whose headmistress was his daughter Jadwiga, who was only twenty years old at the time. In July of the same year, he was called up for the Russo-Japanese War. After retiring early in 1906, he travelled throughout Europe, visiting Belgium, France and Switzerland, among others. He died suddenly on 22 March 1910 in Częstochowa. After his exhumation in 1995, his remains were laid to rest in the family grave in section twelve of the Old Powązki Cemetery in Warsaw.
Leon Barszczewski’s motto was: ‘Everything in the world can be overcome with a good word and heartfelt simplicity – not pride and conceit.’
Igor Strojecki is a grand grand son of Leon Barszczewski.
Mid-titles from the editorial team. All photographs are from the author’s collection.
Translated by Małgorzata Giełzakowska.