Piotr Głuszkowski
The surname Marks is only widely associated with Karol, the German philosopher and economist, the creator of scientific socialism, or alternatively with Michael, the founder of the famous English retail chain, who came from Słonim. Naturally, neither of them was related to Maksymilian, who was sent to Siberia in the 1860s.
Marks was a Polish exile who greatly contributed to the development of science in Siberia in the second half of the 19th century. He was remembered by Polish-Siberian science associations as a geographer, meteorologist, the discoverer of cosmic dust, and participant in many expeditions to western Siberia. Furthermore, he was a pedagogue and a talented man of letters, as exemplified by his recently published memoir Zapiski starca [A Greybeard’s Jottings] (Scholar, ed. P. Głuszkowski, A. Jaskólski, S. Leończyk, transl. under the supervision of A. Jaskólski, Warsaw 2021).
In recent years there have been several papers popularising the Polish scientific and civilizational contribution to Siberia. Unfortunately, many of these articles are limited to a few repeated surnames, rarely going beyond the accomplishments of Bronisław Piłsudski, Edward Piekarski, or Wacław Sieroszewski. Although these are certainly remarkable figures, the list of Polish researchers of Siberia is decidedly longer. The surname Marks is only widely associated with Karol (1818–1883), the German philosopher and economist, the creator of scientific socialism, or alternatively with Michael Marks (1859–1907), the founder of the famous English retail chain, who came from Słonim. Naturally, neither of them was related to Maksymilian, who was sent to Siberia in the 1860s
Maksymilian Marks is one of at least several dozen forgotten Polish researchers of Siberia who, while in exile, were governed by the maxim he pronounced in a conversation with Czekanowski: “By troubling ourselves in the name of science, we work for all of humanity. Our homeland and our loved ones will get something out of it too”. One can hope that the recently published memoir will contribute to the popularisation of his contributions to the scientific development of Siberia. In recent years, a few researchers of local Belarusian history have tried to promote his legacy, but they unfortunately only focused on Maksymilian Marks’ time in the Vitebsk region. He is certainly a figure who deserves a comprehensive biography that will flesh out not only the details of his youth but also his educational and patriotic activity, as well as his life in exile.
aksymilian Marks was born in 1816 in Vitebsk, where he spent his childhood and adolescence. Much like many of the Polish nobility from the territory of today’s Belarus, he felt like both a Pole and a Lithuanian (citizen of the former Grand Duchy of Lithuania). No one asked his parents, much less him, about their nationality, since this identity characterised the majority of the people in that region. It is worth mentioning that many of them, often subsequent insurgents, felt like citizens (subjects) of the Russian Empire. Marks always reminisced about his little homeland fondly. He proudly emphasised its beauty and cultural wealth. He repeatedly referred to Mickiewicz’s poetry while in exile. Simultaneously he was sensible of the backwardness in the Vitebsk region. This is apparent from the example of his statements about the local townsfolk, whom he described as “a dim nation, with extremely limited horizons, obedient, fearful, yielding; in a word, no different from its rural countrymen – peasants”.
Marks received a thorough education. After graduating from middle school in Vitebsk, he continued his studies at Moscow State University. He had to cease his studies for various reasons, but after a dozen or so years he qualified as a geography teacher on an extramural basis. This allowed him to take a job at a prestigious middle school in Smolensk, where he lived from 1841 to 1860. He described the 1850s especially thoroughly: the Crimean war, the nobility’s reactions to the announcement of the abolition of serfdom, the arrival of Tzar Alexander II, as well as the state of education, whose issues he knew inside out.
Reasons for deportation
His grassroots work – including educational duties undertaken for Bulgarian students brought by the wife of Tzar Alexander II, Maria Romanova, and sent to schools all across Russia – gave him an opportunity to move to Moscow, where he fulfilled himself as a teacher. He also got involved in the activity of the large local Polish diaspora. As a well-to-do man, he could allow himself to support Polish youth. He happily advised students and supported them financially and morally. Additionally, he served dinner to a dozen or so Poles every week. Along with his wife Leokadia, they quickly earned the title of crucial figures in the lives of the Polish Community in Moscow. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that in January 1863 Maksymilian decided to start helping students who began “getting sick” en masse and going to the homeland “for the health”. Naturally, this was simply an excuse to leave Moscow and join the insurgents. Marks, similar to most of the members of the Patriotic Society Alliance “Ruch” (“Movement”), was held captive in the Peter and Paul Fortress in St. Petersburg for a few months, but this didn’t discourage him from plotting – not by a long shot. After his release, he continued his activity in the Polish Committee, helping Jarosław Dąbrowski, among others, escape Moscow prison.
However, Marks was sentenced to deportation not for helping the insurgents but for his later contacts with the organisation of Dmitry Karakozov, who attempted the murder of Tzar Alexander II in 1866. Marks never planned to go as far as terror, but the Polish Committee, for which he actively worked, had undeniable ties to Nikolai Ishutin’s circles. Similarly to Paweł Majewski and Bolesław Szostakowicz (other Polish defendants in Karakozov’s trial), he was deprived of his right to his assets and sent to Siberia.
Encountering Siberia
For Marks, exile was a true shock. His bitterness was compounded by his illness, which had prevented him from putting up any defence during his trial in the Russian capital. Initially, the Poles were supposed to be convicted to death anyway, just like Dmitry Karakozov. Therefore, the deportation to Siberia was a mitigation of this sentence, but this doesn’t mean Marks was grateful for it.
His journey to Siberia started on the 4th of October, 1866, and led him by rail from St. Petersburg, through Moscow, to Nizhny Novgorod, where the group of convicts was divided into two parts, then heading east under the escort of one officer and twelve military policemen. On the 22nd of October, they crossed the Perm River to arrive at Tobolsk, where they had a chance to meet the local governor, Aleksander Despot-Zenowicz, a former exile from Poland who had achieved the highest positions and respect in the Russian Empire. All the while, Marks didn’t know where exactly he would be deported to, just like the others convicted in the trial. At long last, he got to the Deportee Office in Tobolsk, where it was decided at random that he would be sent to the Yeniseysk Governorate. At this point he was not told any more details. “I found out that I would have to loiter around some place between the Sayan Mountains and the Arctic Ocean, at some creek of Yenisey, or maybe at Yenisey itself. An enormous distance – greater than any European country!”
At the beginning of November, he set out from Tobolsk to Krasnoyarsk, passing through Tara, Tomsk, and Achinsk. Only there was it decided after some time that he would go north along the Angara, and he would be told the exact location of his exile in Pitsunda. He eventually ended up in a small village called Kezhma, where he was the only deportee and one of just a few literate people.
Kezhma initially terrified him. The only person he could talk to normally was the local Orthodox priest, Gieorgij Ołofiński, who turned out to be an educated, open-minded, and very liberal person. The other citizens of the village initially seemed to him like alcoholics with a proclivity for superstitions and bigotry. “Vodka is drunk here in huge amounts. Men drink it, women drink it, the elderly drink it, the youth drink it, and they always drink it not to fortify themselves but to drink themselves insensible. Despite the extraordinarily high prices and low quality of the liquor, this addiction has increased here to nec plus ultra”, Marks mentioned. He also wrote about the villagers’ numerous superstitions and primal beliefs: they wanted to punish and exile a crone called Afonkina for transforming into a mare, turning people into dogs, and biting off a piece of the moon. The Polish scholar at first hoped that the bizarre accusations were a joke, but he quickly realised that Kezhma’s community treated this matter seriously and eighteen people were willing to talk about “the magic” this woman was committing in more detail. Years later, Marks joked that Kezhma’s residents had behaved like primitives. “If what I saw in front of me were not direct descendants, then they were at least nephews of a mesopithecus who had not yet turned into humans”. In 1867, he wasn’t laughing anymore and happily welcomed the arrival of local authorities, who quickly cleared the air.
The Evenki – as they were sometimes called by a zasiedlatel (a local authority representative) – made a completely different impression on Marks. He admired their pride, behaviour, and attitude, while being simultaneously aware of the horrible conditions they were forced to live in – much worse than serfdom. “I beheld the members of this nation for the first time, and from the very first look I couldn’t dislike them. Their clothes are short and beautiful, yet they are not very neatly dressed; they are light, agile, active, lively, completely unlike the others, who are sluggish, more reminiscent of bears than humans, clumsy, dirty, and smelly local Indigenous people, who we have an official name for here “stranger”.
Marks, much like many other exiles, feared that he could go crazy while staying in confinement in Kezhma. Detachment from family, homeland, culture, literature, and the inability to speak the locals’ language or discuss anything of interest made many Poles in Siberia commit suicide, or they simply went mad. Marks decided to fight the overwhelming apathy. To do so, he thought up new intellectual problems. “For mental hunger is just as painful as physical hunger, but if necessary, it can be satisfied with anything, even carrion. However, the main activity consuming all of my time and thoughts was mathematics. Without textbooks, I revised algebra, trigonometry, coordinate geometry, and infinitesimal calculus; I composed every possible combination of indefinite equations, solved exercises concerning so-called magic squares using these equations, followed by the theory of transposition and calculation of pi’s value to the thirtieth decimal”. He also made use of Orthodox priest Gieorgij Ołofiński’s library, where he found Aeneid, among others, and he revised foreign languages. He had it better than thousands of other deportees for he was bilingual in Polish and Russian and could easily communicate with the villagers. However, Marks had doubts about how long he would be able to stimulate his mind with these more or less elaborate practices. Luckily, after almost two years, he received a letter informing him that he could set out to Yeniseysk, where his wife Leokadia and daughter Katarzyna would be waiting for him.
Research work
Yeniseysk was a true cultural-scientific centre under Siberian conditions. In the 1970s, it numbered over seven thousand residents, over 100 of whom had Polish origins (they were mostly participants in the November and January uprisings). Since Marks was an exile, he was not allowed to continue his scholastic career. Just like many other Poles (such as Julian Glaubicz Sabiński), he had to restrict himself to giving private lessons. Therefore, he decided to channel his energy into scientific activity, as was typical of tens of other Polish exiles (Aleksander Czekanowski, Benedykt Dybowski, or Bronisław Piłsudski, mentioned above). Marks spent a lot of time observing the weather as far back as during his stay in Kezhma. From the spring of 1871, he noted down the results of his observations multiple times every day. At first, he had only crude meteorological equipment at his disposal, which he bought himself despite constant financial problems and adjusted to local conditions. His work was noticed after a few years. In 1874, an executive of a Pekingese observatory, Hermann Fristsche, visited Yeniseysk and made sure that Marks received fully professional equipment from the capital so that no one could challenge his credibility. Scientific texts and active correspondence with researchers all over the world caused him to be accepted as a member of the Russian Geographical Society. In 1877, he even received a prestigious gold medal from that influential organisation.
Marks did hydrological research work with great success too, and after getting tips from a Swedish professor, Adolf Erik Nordenskiöld, he took up cosmic dust observation, which he described a few years later in The 1882 Annual Yeniseysk National History Museum Report. Marks was quickly gaining fame as a researcher and a maven of the Yeniseysk Governorate’s lands, but the local authorities did not take kindly to this. Despite reprimands, harassment of citizens who sent their children to him for tutorials (necessitating frequent apartment changes), and even a temporary ban on conducting research, he did not forgo his passion. He conducted meteorological and hydrological research for the rest of his life, engaging in the academic life of Yeniseysk, including co-founding the local National History Museum.
Marks tried to help all researchers interested in scientific expeditions in the Yeniseysk Governorate. However, meeting Poles brought him particular joy. In 1872, a group of scientists headed by Aleksander Czekanowski visited Yeniseysk as they were coming back from an expedition to the Turukhansky District. Marks helped him not only with organising and describing rich geological and paleontological collections but also with preparing the expedition report. Similarly to Marks, Czekanowski believed that science and tedious research helped avoid insanity in exile. However, contrary to Marks, he claimed that the exiles were in for a bleak demise. “The one who has a purpose in life, based on their favourite scientific activities, will last longer, but insanity (awaits them) in the long run. If it does not come, death will”. These words turned out to be predictive, for Czekanowski committed suicide towards the end of 1876. Marks died seventeen years later, in 1893.
A Greybeard’s Jottings
In 1888, Marks wrote his memoires, titled A Greybeard’s Jottings. Despite some commutation of the sentence (in 1878, he was given permission to live in the Yekaterinsolav Governorate), he realised that no publisher in the Russian Empire would publish his life story in Polish, but he hoped that at least some of his experiences would come out in the most widely read Russian historical periodical, “Russkaja Starina”. With this end in view, he translated A Greybeard’s Jottings into Russian. This was a good move as censors in Moscow and St. Petersburg did not have to be as vigilant as those responsible for the lands of Congress Poland and the Borderlands. Unfortunately, most likely due to the contacts with Ishutin’s group in the 1860s and the accusation of an attempt on the Tzar’s life, the “Russkaja Starina” office would not risk publishing his memoir. The original A Greybeard’s Jottings was lost. Fortunately, Marks gave the Russian translation to Edward Pawłowicz, who worked at the Ossoliński National Institute in Lviv, where interest in Polish–Siberian matters was very high. However, Marks’ dream didn’t come true until 2021, when the Russian variant and its Polish translation were published. It’s worth noting that the translation was developed thanks to the involvement of young researchers – Russian studies students from the University of Warsaw.
Based on the memoir, it’s easy to say that Marks not only lived through and saw a lot but also had an unmistakable literary talent. A Greybeard’s Jottings are written with great lightness and volubility. The author depicts his life against the historical events he was part of and observed. His memoirs are woven through with numerous anecdotes and tales showcasing how colourful the Polish–Russian relationship was in the 19th century. Multiple digressions give colour to the narratives and descriptions of the events in Vitebsk, Smolensk, and Moscow on the way to Siberia, Kezhma, and Yeniseysk.
Piotr Głuszkowski is a Doctor of Russian Literature, a lecturer at the University of Warsaw.
Translated by Hanna Nawrocka.