The mysterious fate of Alexander I

Ever since taking a course in the subject as an undergraduate some thirty years ago, I have had a fascination with Russian history. Thus I was pleased to receive for Christmas a copy of Alexis S. Troubetzkoy's Imperial Legend: The Disappearance of Tsar Alexander I. Alexander was the grandson of the Empress Catherine the Great, who raised him to embrace the liberal reformist ideas which she so admired in the philosophers of the French enlightenment. He came to the imperial throne in 1801, after a palace coup deposed and assassinated his father, the militaristic Paul I, who had reigned for only five years. A youth of only 25, Alexander had been persuaded to co-operate with this conspiracy on condition that his father's life be spared. When it was not, the new Tsar felt he himself was culpable and spent the rest of his life trying to atone for the sin of patricide.



Alexander I

Alexander came to the throne brimming with notions of reforming a terribly antiquated autocratic political and social system, including the introduction of a constitution, the drafting of a comprehensive legal code and the abolition of serfdom. By the time he had twice fought Napoléon, these proposals had largely been forgotten and the Tsar grew more introspective and less interested in affairs of state. Alexander immersed himself in the Bible and consorted with christian mystics of various sorts, ostensibly as part of a lifelong effort to expiate his sin.

After reigning for nearly a quarter century but living for not quite fifty years, Alexander suddenly became ill at the end of 1825 in the unlikely port city of Taganrog on the Sea of Azov. He had brought his wife Elizaveta there from St. Petersburg to recover her health. The official history has it that he died there from a mysterious illness that felled an otherwise healthy man within days of its initial symptoms. But did he really?

Troubetzkoy points out the numerous discrepancies in the various accounts of his death and the extreme measures taken to prevent the vast majority of his subjects from viewing his body as it made its way back to St. Petersburg for burial. For years Alexander had spoken of wishing to retire from the throne, possibly leaving the country to do so.



Fyodor Kuzmich

In 1836, eleven years later, a certain Fyodor Kuzmich, a man who seemingly came out of nowhere, suddenly appeared near the Siberian town of Tomsk. He was a starets, an "elder" and hermit, who lived until 1864 and gained a widespread reputation for wisdom and holiness. On his wall he kept an icon of St. Alexander Nevsky, patron of the "late" emperor. He spoke at least three languages and had something of an aristocratic bearing -- unusual for a simply-living starets. Most extraordinary of all, he bore a startling physical resemblance to Alexander I, as more than one acquaintance observed. Rumours that he was Alexander surrounded Kuzmich for the rest of his life, but he did nothing to either confirm or deny them.

Troubetzkoy (descended, incidentally, from the Sergei Troubetzkoy who instigated the Decembrist rebellion in the chaotic aftermath of Alexander's sudden "death") examines the evidence surrounding the case and tentatively concludes that the two men were one and the same. Most impressive of all, the late Grand Duchess Olga, the sister of Nicholas II who lived in Toronto until her death in 1960, told the author that "we have no doubt that Feodor Kuzmich was the emperor" (p. 11).

Was it so? I personally believe the book's thesis is plausible. However, two factors give reason for doubt. First, there are quite a number of minor errors of fact throughout the book, extending even to the final paragraph. For example: Alexander II was on the throne in 1874, not Alexander III. The Times could not have carried a story on Alexander I's possible poisoning in March 1825 because the Tsar was still very much alive at the time. Grand Duke Andrei Vladimirovich was Nicholas II's cousin, not his uncle. Peter III inherited the throne from the Empress Elizaveta, who was his aunt, not his mother. Alexander's journey from St. Petersburg to Taganrog took just under two weeks, not three weeks. I could keep going, but I'll stop here. These are fairly minor points, but the cumulative effect is to make the book as a whole less persuasive for the reader knowing something of Russian history. One hopes these have been corrected in the paperback edition.

Second, the story of Alexander I's survival is by no means unusual in the larger context of his country's historical narrative. Remember the two "false Dmitris," who claimed to be the deceased son of Ivan IV the Terrible. During Catherine the Great's reign a rebellion was fomented by a certain Pugachev, who claimed to be her assassinated husband, Peter III. Then of course there are the rumours circulating after 1918 that Nicholas II's daughter Anastasia (whose name in Greek means resurrection) survived the family's murder by Bolsheviks and lived until 1984 as "Anna Anderson." Finally there has been more than one claimant to the identity of the hemophiliac tsarevich, Alexei. The fact that the remains of Alexei and one of his sisters were never found when the family's bodies were exhumed at Ekaterinburg several years ago has only served to fuel the rumours. So Troubetzkoy could be right, but there are also good reasons to doubt his conclusions.

One last thing. After reading this book I purchased the DVD version of Anatole Litvak's 1956 cinematic rendition of Anastasia, starring Ingrid Bergman and Yul Brynner. It's a great film, albeit highly fictionalized. It struck me that the story of Alexander I and Fyodor Kuzmich would also make a good film, and I am somewhat surprised no one has ever undertaken it. Perhaps someone in the film industry will come across this entry and take up the challenge one day.