The prisoner appeared in the fortress, according to some historians, on July 24, 1785. This year is remembered in Russian history for the Charters of Nobility and Towns. The place of detention for the prisoner was the Powder Cellar. Documents did not specify his first name, last name, or nickname, but called him “The Nameless.” This was the punishment for the most serious crimes.

The Korela Fortress still looks quite severe today. It was built by the Novgorodians in 1310, during the Livonian War it passed to the Swedes, and in 1710 it returned to Russia and was used no longer as a defensive structure but as a prison for state criminals. The main tower of the fortress is called the “Pugachev Tower.” Inside is a gloomy, dark cell with a huge hole leading to the underground. For many years, members of the family of the rebel Pugachev languished there. But as heavy as the fate of the innocent relatives of the rebel, who spent many years in captivity, was, the fate of another prisoner, recorded in the fortress prison books as “nameless,” was incomparably more tragic. One night in 1785, an officer from St. Petersburg brought a new detainee whose face was tightly wrapped in a scarf. By his order, the prisoner was taken to the farthest underground cell, and stonemasons were called to seal the door, leaving only a small window for passing bread and water. The officer ordered the commandant never, under threat of punishment, to ask the prisoner who he was or why he was imprisoned in the fortress. And although, contrary to the order, the commandant made such attempts, the prisoner replied that he had given his word of silence and would never break it. In 1796, Catherine II died, and after her death, Emperor Paul I ascended the throne. He was an enemy of much that Catherine and her officials had done, granting freedom to the writer Radishchev and the leader of the Polish insurgents Kościuszko, but he did not free the Nameless prisoner. Moreover, Paul I issued an order concerning the prisoner to leave his fate unchanged. Historian Pylyaev believes this can only indicate a strong personal interest in keeping the secret. In March 1801, Paul I was overthrown, and his eldest son Alexander I, raised in the spirit of the Enlightenment era, ascended the throne.

Information about the prisoner appeared among scholars 20–30 years after his death. The first brief mention of the Nameless was made by philologist Professor Yakov Karlovich Grot from the University of Helsinki. From Grot’s travel notes “Travels through Finland,” it is known that in 1803 the fortress in Keksgolm was visited by the young Emperor Alexander I. He was interested in the fate of every prisoner. The Tsar spoke personally with the Nameless for several minutes without witnesses and ordered his release. Grot did not specify the exact date of this man’s death but mentioned that he lived until about 1818 and had good relations with the locals. In 1876, a note titled “The Mysterious Prisoner” appeared in the historical journal “Russian Antiquity.” The author wrote only four lines and differed from Grot’s information only in the date of Emperor Alexander’s visit to Keksgolm, indicating August 1802. By the beginning of the 20th century, information about the enigmatic prisoner came from people recalling stories told by their ancestors. In 1904, in the same journal “Russian Antiquity,” a letter appeared from a woman who clearly did not want to disclose her real name and surname. She cited her grandfather’s story, who had visited the fortress in Keksgolm in the early 19th century. Thanks to her, it became known that the prisoner was kept in the prison on bread and water, and he communicated with Alexander I for about an hour and received spare clothes and a cap from the Tsar.

From the “Story of the Nameless” it can be learned that the emperor arrived in Keksgolm early in the morning, personally flipped through the prison book, and walked through the cells. All prisoners were freed, and only one remained—the Nameless. Obviously, he was an unusual prisoner, and even the commandant did not know the location of his cell. The emperor’s retinue was led to the prisoner by an 87-year-old grandfather, a native of Keksgolm. He brought bread and water to the prisoner. Before meeting the emperor, the latter had not eaten or drunk anything for two days because the prison staff were busy with other detainees.

And only he freed the almost blind Nameless prisoner. At the beginning of the 19th century, the latter was about 50 years old. In 1803, Emperor Alexander I, traveling through western fortresses, also visited Korela. Giving the order to free the prisoners, he asked the commandant if all the cells were now empty. The commandant replied that the “nameless” prisoner—sealed in—still remained. Upon learning this, the emperor, accompanied by others, descended into the underground. In his presence, bricks were removed, the rusty door was barely opened, and the commandant led out the prisoner. The latter, inhaling the heavy, musty air of the underground, fainted—such fresh air seemed unusual after the cell’s atmosphere.

The prisoner’s appearance was terrible—only scraps remained of his prison clothes, his hair was matted into a solid tangle, his nails resembled claws, and dirt covered his body like bark. His face and hands looked slightly lighter—the prisoner sometimes washed them, conserving drinking water. The unfortunate man was washed, shaved, dressed, and given chicken broth. When he regained some strength, under the supervision of the emperor’s personal doctor, he was brought to Alexander. But when the emperor asked the prisoner to state his name, he replied that he could say it only to the reigning sovereign. Learning that he was facing the emperor himself, the prisoner agreed to answer all questions but only face to face.

After a private conversation lasting more than an hour, the emperor left the room with tears on his face. The prisoner was immediately freed and given the right to live wherever he wished. It is known that he lived in Keksgolm for several years, almost without communicating with anyone.

For about two hundred years, his secret remained unknown to anyone except Alexander I. Only relatively recently, after long archival searches, Dmitriev, a research associate of the Korela fortress museum, claims that the nickname “Nameless” concealed Ivan Pakarin, who considered himself the son of Catherine II and Count Nikita Panin.

And although the “nameless” name became known, many questions remained. Cases of impostors claiming to be descendants of royal persons are quite numerous. But none of them were walled up, maintaining the strictest secrecy. Why was Pakarin subjected to such a fate? And why did the emperor cry? Much may become clear if we assume that he was not an impostor at all. Count Nikita Panin, “charming, of fine appearance,” belonged to the empress’s closest circle—he was entrusted with the upbringing of the heir to the throne.

Let us fantasize and imagine that she might have had a third son, whose birth might have been reported, for example, as stillborn. And Count Panin, a bachelor, known as a sybarite who valued his own peace very much, not wanting complications, did not reveal the truth to the empress. Especially since cunning intrigues were constantly woven at court: Count Panin’s faction opposed the faction of the Orlov brothers.

It is not excluded that it was precisely because of these intrigues that Pakarin, who resembled Catherine II in appearance, was walled up. If we accept this assumption, it becomes clear why Alexander I was so affected by the story of the freed prisoner. The emperor wept over the terrible fate of his own uncle.

Candidate of Historical Sciences Usenko agrees with Dmitriev that Ivan Pakarin was an impostor. However, he believes that the secret prisoner called himself not the son but the fiancé of Catherine’s daughter. This version does not withstand criticism, as it is known that the empress had no illegitimate daughters.

Historian Pylyaev believes that the nameless prisoner was Ioann Antonovich. The infant was crowned at two months old, and a year later the nephew of Anna Ioannovna was overthrown by Elizabeth Petrovna. The empress tried by all means to eradicate the memory of the heir’s existence. Together with his mother, he was sent into exile in the north, and at 16 years old was imprisoned in the Shlisselburg fortress. On the first day of her reign, Catherine II ordered the Nameless to be transferred to the Keksgolm prison. And the whole story with Mirovich’s rebellion and his death was staged to more deeply conceal the prisoner.

So was Ivan Pakarin an impostor? Or did royal blood really flow in his veins? The Korela fortress continues to keep its secrets...

Sources:

https://spbvedomosti.ru/news/nasledie/zamurovannyy_uznik/

https://ekaterina-ii.ru/sovremenniki/bezymyannyy-uznik-keksgolma/

https://weekend.rambler.ru/other/42640978-bezymyannyy-uznik-keksgolma-chto-stalo-s-samym-taynym-russkim-zaklyuchennym/

https://cyrillitsa.ru/history/136484-russkaya-zheleznaya-maska-kem-na-samom.html

https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Безымянный_(узник_Кексгольма)