THE TRAGEDY OF MADAME SVETCHINE
"SISTER! thou who hast chosen to become the bride of Heaven, listen unto
me, and repeat these words after me!" exclaimed the monk Rasputin,
holding over the kneeling countess the big bejewelled cross which the
Empress had given him, and in which were set some of the finest jewels of
the Romanoffs.
"I will, O Father," replied Paula Yakimovitch, a pretty young woman,
whose husband was Governor of Yakutsk, far off in Siberia, and who had
begged him to leave her in Petrograd.
"Then repeat these words," said the bearded saint, fixing his weird,
hypnotic eyes upon her. "Thou art my holy Father--"
"Thou art my holy Father----" exclaimed the Governor's wife in obedience.
"To thee I bow, and to thee I acknowledge that thou art sent by Almighty
God to save our holy Russia."
She repeated the words amid the silence of that afternoon assembly of the
sister-disciples at the Starets' house, a gathering which included Madame
Vyrubova and her sister, Madame Soukhomlinoff; Madame Katacheff, wife of
the Governor-General of Finland; pretty little Madame Makotine, to whose
salon everyone scrambled; and old Countess Chapadier, bedecked, as
always, with diamonds.
"I hereby swear in my belief that God has sent to our Russia his divine
saviour in the human form of Gregory Rasputin, and that the sin I commit
in my belief is the sin which is easiest forgiven, and that by prayer and
fasting my sins will be remitted, even as I am admitted to the sect of
the righteous and holy."
These blasphemous words the young woman repeated after the unwashed
saint, who, standing upon a sort of dais in the big upstairs salon, still
held up the jewelled cross suspended from his neck in front of him.
"Salvation is in contriteness," the monk went on, for that was what the
sly scoundrel had invented. "Contriteness can only come after we have
sinned. Let us therefore sin, my sisters, in order to gain salvation! By
sinning with me," he added, having reached the apogee of his influence,
"salvation is all the more certain to come to you for this reason--that I
am filled with the Holy Spirit!"
"God be thanked! God be thanked!" fell from the lips of those thirty or
so bamboozled and hysterical women, who, seated on forms as
school-children might sit, had assembled to assist at the admission of
Countess Yakimovitch to the secret and disgraceful cult of the
blasphemous charlatan.
The date was September the 7th, 1914.
Russia had been at war with Germany for a month, and the Press of the
Allies was full of cheerful optimism regarding what one of your London
journalists had called "the Russian steam-roller." We in holy Russia
believed in "the mills of God," and the nation as a whole was confident
that it could resist the Teuton invasion.
The neophyte, beneath the extraordinary hypnotism of the "saint," felt
the dirty fingers upon her brow, as, in a strange jargon of religious
phrases and open blasphemy, he pronounced a kind of benediction upon her,
adjuring her carefully to preserve the secrets of the sect "from your own
mother and father, sister, brother, husband and child." Then he added:
"In me, Gregory Rasputin, you see the One sent by Heaven as the Healer
and Deliverer of Russia from the hands of the oppressor. To me the
Emperor, but an earthly king, hath delegated his imperial powers. I am
the saviour of Russia. Believe in me and in my teachings and ye shall
have life, health and prosperity--with the life beyond the grave.
Disobey, and thou shalt be eternally damned, together with all thy
family. I, Gregory Rasputin, who hath been sent to thee as saviour," he
added, "take unto me as sister Paula Vladimirovna to be my disciple!"
"May God forbid!" cried a woman's voice from among those assembled. "Let
us end this blasphemy!"
The effect was almost electrical. Rasputin started, and gazed at the rows
of elegantly-dressed women, his disciples, and the few good-looking young
women whom he had invited to be present.
"Yes," went on a young and pretty woman seated at the back of the little
audience. "I repeat those words!"
Startled myself at the boldness of the young lady, I saw that she was
dark, extremely good-looking, and refined. Rasputin had met her a week
before at the salon of old Countess Lazareff, and she having expressed a
desire to know more of the secret cult of which so many curious rumours
were rife in Petrograd society, he had allowed Madame Trevetski, the wife
of the ex-Commander-in-Chief in the Caucasus, to bring her that
afternoon.
Now, it must be said that no lady was admitted to those weekly reunions
of the sister-disciples unless she first had the full approval of the
Starets. She must be good-looking and possessed of either wealth or
influence, but in preference wealth. And it was certain that no woman was
ever invited unless it was Rasputin's intention to admit her to the
secrets of his "religion."
Yet here was open defiance! This lady, whose name was Madame Anastasia
Svetchine, was the wife of Colonel Svetchine, who was on the Staff of the
Etat-Major at Vilna, and who was already at the battle front. Before
Rasputin had allowed her to be brought to his house it had fallen to my
lot to make some inquiries concerning her, and I had found that she was
of good family, that her husband was possessed of fair means, and that
besides their house in Vilna they had a comfortable residence in the
Kirotshnaya, in Petrograd. She moved in that rather gay, go-ahead set of
which, prior to the war, the reckless Madame Soukhomlinoff was the
centre, and she had recently become quite a notable figure in Petrograd
society.
Rasputin, furious at her interruption, roared:
"Silence, woman! Go out of the room at once!"
But Madame Svetchine, springing to her feet, cried: "It is monstrous!
Disgraceful! Blasphemous! It is true what Purichkevitch has said in the
Duma--that you are the evil force in Russia! Though a woman, I will have
none of your mock piety and disgraceful licentiousness!"
"Ah! I see, madame, that you are an enemy--eh?" he said in a slow,
deliberate way. "And let me tell you, when Gregory Rasputin has an enemy,
he does not rest until that enemy is swept from his path. If you defy me,
you defy your God!"
"I defy you!" cried the woman shrilly, making a dramatic scene. "But I
fear my God, and Him alone."
"Oh! be silent, I beg!" cried Countess Lazareff in French, wringing her
hands, she having introduced her, while all were horrified that the holy
Father should be thus openly denounced before his "sisters."
"What is that woman saying?" the monk shouted across to me, for he did
not know French, and was suspicious that the words contained yet another
insult until I translated them to him.
"I refuse to be silent!" declared the colonel's young wife. "I will
describe to all whom I meet what has taken place here to-day--the mockery
of it all. It is shameful how any woman in her senses, refined and
educated, should fall beneath the fascination of such a brute!"
This was greeted with wild exclamations of surprise and indignation.
Indeed, so furious became the "sisters" at such open insult that I was,
at Rasputin's orders, compelled to conduct her out.
In the hall the young lady, who was certainly very pretty, became quite
quiet again, and turning to me said:
"Monsieur Rajevski, I came here on purpose to denounce that infernal
charlatan who is your employer. I am not without friends--and influential
ones. I have spoken my mind fearlessly and openly. No doubt I have made
an enemy of Grichka, but for that I care nothing, so long as I have
exposed him."
Little did the unfortunate young lady know of Rasputin's low cunning and
diabolical unscrupulousness when she had uttered those words. I made no
reply, for I feared that she would live to regret having created that
scene in the monk's holy-of-holies.
Late that evening, having been out, I returned to find the "saint" seated
with the Minister Maklakoff, the man whom the newspaper _Utro Rossy_
described as "The love-sick Panther." Both were in an advanced state of
intoxication, and when I entered, Rasputin, in a thick voice, exclaimed:
"Ah! my dear Féodor, I have just been describing the scene to-day with
that woman Anastasia Svetchine--the little spitfire! But a pretty woman,
Féodor--very pretty woman, eh? It's a pity"--he sighed--"a great pity!"
"Why?" asked the long-moustached Minister, who had just come from an
official reception, and was in his hussar uniform, with gold braid and
many decorations. "Are you not better rid of her, my friend? Women of her
sort are usually dangerous."
"I know she is dangerous," growled the holy Father, taking a deep gulp of
champagne. "That is why I intend that she shall pay dearly for her
defiance."
"Is she worth troubling about?" I queried. "You have so many affairs to
attend to just now."
"Gregory Rasputin always attends to his enemies first, Féodor," he
replied huskily.
The eyes of "The love-sick Panther" twinkled through his rimless
pince-nez. Well he knew the bitter revenge which the Starets wreaked upon
any who dared to challenge his divinity.
Maklakoff was at the time the Tsar's favourite Minister, and it was quite
usual after a Cabinet Council for the Emperor to ask him and
Soukhomlinoff to remain behind, as both were voted "really jolly
fellows." Then Their Majesties would unite with the children and a few
intimates, including the Father and Anna of course, and they would have a
little fun. Maklakoff was famed for his power of mimicry. He could
imitate the barking of dogs, and frequently announced his presence to the
Imperial family by barking in the corridors of Tsarskoe-Selo, while his
most famous imitation was that of a panther. And this of a Cabinet
Minister in days of war!
"O Nicholas Alexievitch, _do_ let us see you as a panther!" the Emperor
would often say.
Then the Minister of State would coil himself up beneath a sofa and roar
like a panther. Then, crawling slowly out on all fours, he would suddenly
take a leap and land in an arm-chair or upon a sofa, greatly to the
delight of the Imperial family, while the Grand Duchesses and the
Tsarevitch would go wild with glee.
When, by the way, Maklakoff was dismissed in 1915, as a result of the
anti-German riots in Moscow, the paper _Utro Rossy_ was fined three
thousand roubles for publishing an article headed "The Leap of the
Love-sick Panther."
Maklakoff was a bosom friend of Rasputin, a dissolute evil-liver after
the monk's own heart, and more than once had, in my presence, mentioned
the names of certain good-looking women in various classes of society who
might be invited to become disciples of the sadic Anti-Christ.
Within a week of the scene created by Madame Svetchine, Rasputin had
already commenced to seek his revenge in a deep and cunning way. He had
heard from several persons that Madame Anastasia was going about
Petrograd openly denouncing him, and that she had been in communication
with Monsieur Miliukoff of the Cadets, and also Count Bobrinski. For the
time being Rasputin was devoting his days to the reorganisation of his
"disciples." His traitorous interference in politics had already borne
fruit in favour of Germany.
The events that were happening at that very moment mercilessly showed up
the faults of our Russian administration, which was Germanic by origin in
its traditions and its sentiments. Indeed, at that moment, when the enemy
at the gates was knocking over the fortresses of Poland like ant-hills,
intrigues for place and honour were rife everywhere, and Maklakoff was
playing the "panther" to amuse the ladies of Tsarskoe-Selo!
Rasputin one day called to him one of his half-dozen sycophants of the
secret police, whom the Minister Protopopoff had placed at his disposal
for purposes of personal protection, but in reality to act as his spies
and _agents-provocateurs_.
To this fellow, Depp by name, he had given instructions that the
_dossiers_ of both Colonel Svetchine and his wife should be brought to
him. Next day they arrived, and for half an hour Depp sat reading over to
him the various police reports from Vilna and those of Petrograd.
The monk, leaning back in his arm-chair, stroked his unkempt beard, his
eyes fixed out of the window, brooding over his devilish scheme.
An hour later, after he had dispatched Depp to make certain inquiries in
Petrograd concerning the doings of the colonel's young wife, he said to
me:
"Féodor, I must see Soukhomlinoff to-night. Telephone to him at the
Ministry. If he is not there, you will find him at the palace. If so,
tell him to call here at once when he returns to Petrograd."
I found the Minister of War was at Tsarskoe-Selo, and spoke to him there,
giving him Rasputin's message, and receiving a reply that he would be
with us at ten o'clock that night.
I had to keep an appointment, at Rasputin's orders, with Protopopoff--to
deliver a letter and receive a reply; therefore I was not present when
His Excellency the General arrived. What the pair arranged I had no idea,
for when I returned to the Gorokhovaya the general was just stepping into
his big car with its brilliant headlights.
"Good night, Féodor!" he shouted to me merrily, for he was of a genial
nature, and next moment the powerful car drove away.
Events marched rapidly during the next fortnight. I had gone with
Rasputin to the General Headquarters of the Army at the Polish front, a
journey which the intriguer had been sent upon by those at Court whose
mouthpiece he was--to discuss a peace necessary for the Empire, he
declared.
Truth to tell, I knew that three days before the secret messenger Hardt
had arrived from Berlin by way of Sweden, bearing a dispatch with
elaborate instructions to the Starets.
The Grand Duke Nicholas Nicholaievitch received us on the evening of our
arrival at Headquarters, and, of course, the monk was full of one of
those fantastic tales which succeeded so well with many, either the
ignorant or credulous, or those to whose personal advantage it was to
pretend to believe him.
The Grand Duke received the Starets politely but stiffly, for he well
knew the power he wielded in the Empire, and that his will was law.
"Ah, Highness!" exclaimed the monk, "war is indeed a calamity. Alas! that
Russia hath offended God by entering upon it. But thou, in thy wisdom,
must put an end to it. The Holy Virgin appeared to me in a dream, and
told me we must conclude peace. I come to inform thee of her will."
"When didst thou see the Virgin?" asked the Grand Duke.
"Three days ago."
"Now that's odd," he replied. "I, too, saw her, but it was only two days
ago, and she said to me: 'Gregory is coming to see thee. He will advise
peace. Don't listen to him, but expel him like the scoundrel he is. If he
goes on troubling and intriguing have him thrashed.'"
The monk went livid.
"And further," continued Nicholas Nicholaievitch, "if you remain here,
you infernal charlatan and blackmailer, that is what I shall do. So you
can return to Alexandra Feodorovna and tell her what I say. My soldiers
are fighting for Russia, and they will continue to do so, however many
visions you may have--and however much German gold you may grab with your
filthy paws. Get out!"
Rasputin stood speechless for a moment. Then, with an imprecation upon
his lips, he turned and retired.
Three days later we were back in Petrograd, but the monk, who never
forgot, at once set about plotting the Grand Duke's retirement.
One morning, among the monk's correspondence, I found a letter for
Rasputin, which had been brought by hand from the Ministry of War, marked
"Strictly private." On opening it, I read the following, which bore as
signature the initials of Soukhomlinoff:
"In a further reference to the suspicions against Colonel
Svetchine, inquiries made fully confirm your view. The political
police who made domiciliary visits to his house in Petrograd and
his apartments in Vilna found nothing of importance. In Vilna,
however, it has been discovered that, immediately prior to the
war, he had established friendly relations with Elise Isembourg,
who was an agent of Germany and a friend of Miassoyedeff. At my
instructions we have allowed the Colonel leave, and he returned
to Vilna to meet the woman, who had, at our orders, written to
him. She, acting upon our instructions, offered him a sum of
money to betray certain plans of the defences of Grodno, agents
of secret police being concealed during the interview. At first
he stoutly refused, but next day he met her again and succumbed
to the temptation, so at the present moment he is preparing the
information she seeks."
I read this over to the monk, who at once rubbed his hands together in
satisfaction.
"Ah! all goes well, my dear Féodor!" he exclaimed. "That woman will be
sorry she denounced me, I assure you."
I could discern the motive of the conspiracy, but as yet had no idea of
its true depth.
It was not until a week later, when one night the Minister of War called
upon the monk, and in my presence they discussed the Svetchine affair.
"You did well, General," declared Rasputin, with an evil smile. "What has
really happened in Vilna?"
"Well, the woman Isembourg, though she was a spy of Germany, is now on
our side in the contra-espionage service," was his reply. "From the first
she assured me that the colonel was extremely honest and patriotic.
Though before the war she had several times tried to induce him to give
her military information, yet he always declined and endeavoured to avoid
her."
"Well, that difficulty can be overcome, surely?" asked the monk.
General Soukhomlinoff, a traitor himself, laughed lightly as he replied:
"Of course. There were other means. Elise, three days ago, handed over to
me a typewritten document revealing the secrets of the defences of
Grodno, which she reported had been given to her by Colonel Svetchine in
return for a promise of ten thousand roubles when she could obtain the
money from a secret source in Petrograd."
"Then he is a traitor!" exclaimed the monk eagerly.
The general winked, and replied: "Elise Isembourg declares that he is,
and that he gave her the document."
"He, of course, denies it?"
"He knows nothing as yet," said His Excellency. "I have issued orders for
his arrest to-day, and have given instructions for the court martial to
be held here, in Petrograd."
The evil monk laughed gleefully.
"Ah! I see," he remarked. "And probably the colonel has never yet seen
this typewritten document?"
"Probably," replied the Minister of War, with a mysterious smile. "There
have been such cases. I have fixed the court martial for next Thursday,
and I assure you it will be difficult for the colonel to prove his
innocence!"
From that conversation I gathered the diabolical nature of Rasputin's
plot against a perfectly innocent man, as revenge for his wife's insults.
Next day we were called to the palace, for the Empress was sorely worried
over the health of the Tsarevitch, and she implored the holy Father to
pray for him, little dreaming that the ever-recurring attacks were due to
the subtle poison administered in secret by her most trusted favourite,
Madame Vyrubova. For several days we remained at the palace, while
Rasputin performed one of his "miracles," namely, the restoration of the
lad to his normal condition.
What if the Empress had known that the "miracles" in which she so
fervently believed were merely performed by the administration of certain
antidotes to the poison already given!
While at the palace on that occasion I witnessed some strange doings at a
spiritualistic séance to which Bossant, the notorious French medium, had
been commanded. The Emperor, Empress and their intimates were present,
including Rasputin and myself, and when the circle was formed and the
séance in full swing the Tsar consulted the spirit of his dead father as
to how he should act in the conduct of the war against Germany.
The reply, of course, arranged by the Empress and her friends, was
something as follows:
"Thou hast done well, my son, and thou art worthy the throne of
the Romanoffs. Continue to defend our beloved land. Trust in the
counsels of those about thee, of thy wife, of thy Ministers,
especially Stürmer, Protopopoff and Soukhomlinoff, as well as the
advice which the holy Father is ever giving thee. All have been
sent to thee as good and faithful guides. My blessing is upon
thee, O my son!"
Such was the "message" so cleverly given to the credulous monarch by the
traitors and intriguers about him. And alas! he believed truly and
absolutely, ignorant of the fact that some thousands of roubles had gone
into the medium's pocket as price of his connivance.
On returning to Petrograd late on Thursday night I found among the monk's
correspondence a letter from Madame Svetchine, a long, regretful letter,
in which she expressed the greatest sorrow for the words she had uttered
at the assembly of the sister-disciples, and begged to be forgiven.
Further, she announced her intention of calling upon the Father "upon a
serious and urgent matter."
I told him this, whereat he growled:
"Ah! the woman is coming to her senses. Yes. If she comes I will see her.
She is pretty, Féodor--pretty--yes, very pretty."
I drew a long breath. The unfortunate woman knew, no doubt, the serious
charge against her husband, but never dreamed that Rasputin was the cause
of that false accusation.
Just before I ascended to my room to retire--the hour being about one
o'clock in the morning--the telephone bell rang, and I answered it.
One of the officials at the War Office was, I found, at the other end.
"His Excellency the Minister has an urgent message to transmit to the
Father," said the voice.
"Very well," I said, stating who I was.
"Then listen, please. The message he has written reads: 'Colonel
Ivan Svetchine has been tried by court martial, which sat until half an
hour ago. He has been condemned on a charge of dealing with the enemy and
revealing military secrets to Germany, and ordered to be executed for
treason. The execution is fixed to take place in the Peter and Paul
Fortress at dawn on Saturday.'"
I replaced the telephone receiver with a heavy heart. Yet another
innocent man was to die as victim of Rasputin's overweening vanity and
evil influence in every quarter.
When I entered and told the monk, who was already in bed in a
half-drunken state, he merely turned over and continued snoring.
On Friday night, when, as usual, we had returned from Tsarskoe-Selo in
one of the Imperial motor-cars, I was told that a lady was waiting to see
the Starets, but she would give no name. She was persistent that she must
see him, and had already waited nearly three hours.
When I entered the waiting-room, a small chamber at the end of a
corridor, I found it to be the wife of the condemned man. She was dressed
in dead black, her beautiful face tear-stained and deathly pale.
"Ah! Monsieur Rajevski!" she cried, rushing towards me. "You know
me--Madame Svetchine--eh?"
"Yes, madame," I said. "I remember you."
"You will let me see him--won't you?" she cried in great distress, as she
gripped my hand nervously. "He has, I hope, forgiven me; surely he----"
"I gave him your letter," I said.
"Yes--and what did he say?" she gasped in eagerness.
"Well, the truth is that he said nothing," I replied, adding: "He was
much occupied with other things."
"Ah! I must see him!" cried the frantic woman. "I was wrong to speak as I
did. The Father is the great power in Russia. I must throw myself upon
his mercy."
I promised to take her to him, and left her to inform Rasputin of the
arrival of his expected visitor.
With an evil glint in those terrible eyes of his, he rubbed his hands
together.
"Good, Féodor!" he said, striding across the room. "I will see the woman.
Oh, yes, if she wishes to see me I will not deny her that pleasure," he
added with biting sarcasm. Truly, he was weird and horrible in the hour
of his triumph.
A few moments later I ushered the pale, wan woman in black into his
presence.
"Holy Father!" she cried wildly, "forgive me--say that you forgive the
unconsidered words of a weak and unworthy woman."
"Forgive--why?" he asked, standing erect and fingering his bejewelled
cross. "I do not understand why I am honoured by this visit, madame."
"Ah! Of course you do not know. Pardon, I have forgotten to explain. My
husband----" And she broke into tears. "My dear husband----"
"Well, what of your husband?" asked Rasputin. "He is at the front. Has he
been wounded--or----"
"No, no--not that!" she cried. "They have made a false charge against
him. Some woman named Isembourg, whom he knew in Vilna before the war,
has made an allegation against him of traitorous dealings with the
enemy. She has given over to the Ministry of War some documents
containing the plans of the defences of Grodno, which she declares he has
sold to her! But it is lies--all lies. I know it!"
"Really, this is quite a romantic story, madame," said Rasputin, quite
unmoved. "Why should this woman make such charges?"
"How can I tell? Ah! but you do not know the worst!" she went on. "The
court martial actually accepted this woman's statements--statements that
were lies--all of them! My husband is devoted to me, and I love him--ah,
so dearly! He is all in all to me. And----"
"But the woman--Isembourg, I believe you say--she is a friend of his,
eh?" interrupted the monk, his hands crossed over his breast in that
pious attitude he always assumed when listening.
"She says she was his friend before the war--before we married, indeed.
Perhaps she was," answered the condemned man's wife. "But she is
undoubtedly an _agent-provocateuse_ of police set to tempt men to their
downfall."
"Of that I have no knowledge," was Rasputin's cold reply.
"But you will help me, holy Father! Do--for the sake of a man who is
innocent--for the sake--the sake of his unborn child! Ah! you will show
mercy, won't you?" she begged.
"I do not follow you," was the monk's reply, in pretence of ignorance.
In a frenzy of despair the wretched wife flung herself upon her knees
before the scoundrel, and cried:
"My husband! There is yet time to save him! He--he is to be
shot--to-morrow--as soon as it is light! You--and you alone--can induce
the Emperor to order a revision of the sentence or a new trial. You
will--you are all-powerful and divine!"
"Pardon, madame, that is not your true estimate of Gregory Rasputin," he
said, with biting sarcasm. "Only a short time ago I was a charlatan and a
fraud! No; your opinion cannot have altered in so short a time."
"But you--if you are sent by God to Russia--will never allow an innocent
man to be murdered in this fashion--condemned upon the word of a
notorious woman."
"The affair does not concern me, I assure you," he laughed. "If your
husband has been condemned to death he must have had a fair and impartial
trial by his brother officers. I am not a military man, and know nothing
of such matters. If he has been found to be a traitor," added the unholy
spy of Germany, "then the sentence is just."
"But he is no traitor. He is as patriotic as you are yourself, Father! He
has ever been so," cried the despairing woman.
"I have no means of knowing that," he replied in a hard voice, gazing at
her with those strange, wide-open eyes, and endeavouring to put that
spell upon her that few women could resist. "Nevertheless, I will forgive
you, and, further, I will exercise my influence to save your husband's
life if you will consent to enter the circle of our holy disciples."
The desperate young woman held her breath for a few seconds, staring at
him wildly as upon her knees she still knelt, clutching the "saint's"
dirty hands.
"No," she replied. "That I will never do."
Rasputin saw that his plot had failed. Here at least was one woman over
whom he was powerless, one who regarded him as a fraud. In an instant he
flew into a sudden rage.
"Enough!" he cried, throwing her off. "You refuse to accept my
condition--therefore your husband shall die!"
The wretched woman, her countenance pale as death, tried to speak. Her
lips moved, but no sound came from them. Next moment, by dint of supreme
effort, she struggled to her feet and rose stiffly. Then, a moment
later, her hands clenched and despair in her splendid eyes, she turned
and staggered out.
Four hours later Colonel Svetchine boldly faced a firing-party in the
yard of the fortress. There was a word of command, and next second the
gallant soldier fell forward on his face--dead.