On her return to Petrograd for the winter, my Aunt Cherwachidze took up
again her charitable rôle of confidante to her protégés, who overwhelmed
her with visits, disputed for her favours or her kind looks, paid court
to her, were jealous of each other, even hated each other. One of them,
Baroness K..., a very pronounced type of the real Tartar, with waved
black hair, great round black eyes, and lips outrageously reddened, came
to see her very often. Her showy toilettes, red and yellow, a relic of
barbarous times, made one’s eyes ache. A big hat, a real lampshade,
generally scarlet, completed a toilette of the most doubtful taste.
Her gait was slow, her feet were much turned out; and as she walked,
balancing herself on her heels, slowly and deliberately, the chest out
and the head thrown back, she looked rather alarming. Her cousins, real,
savage Tartars living in their own country, were always threatening to
kill her, in order to possess themselves of her fortune which they
believed to be immense. Divorced and redivorced, it really was beyond
one’s comprehension.
She was the terror of my Aunt de Nicolay--to whose charge especially I
had been entrusted--this on my account only, but without any reason for
being so as far as I was concerned, for I was frightened of her and
always kept at a distance.
Her case seemed to me a bad one, almost desperate!
The next in assiduity was small and plump; she used to arrive dressed as
often as not in a tight black voile dress, in the old-fashioned style.
Her sleeves of transparent gauze eternally displayed the white skin of
her plump little arms, of which she was very proud.
She used to sink into a vast arm-chair, take breath, confer in low tones
with my aunt, and then they would both disappear into the comfortable
study, the usual scene of confidences. Her confession made, she would
reappear, more smiling and plump than ever, and seizing the parchments
from which she was never parted began to declaim verses, certainly
doomed to perish with her. In vain had she tried to flood the editorial
pastures, for the editors proved to be an impenetrable barrier to her
literary attempts.
One day she arrived for lunch much too early--my aunt, the little
feather of her hat blowing in the wind, not having yet returned--with
the added attraction of her son, a young puppy with a fascinating and
conquering air. His hair was fair, his face was pink with fairly good
features but--I could hardly repress a smile when, looking down, I saw
his little form clothed in a frock coat, tightly moulding his figure.
And what a figure, so Lilliputian. Choked by his high collar, he clasped
a shiny tall hat in his hands; a pair of gloves of delicate tint and
patent-leather shoes completed the accoutrement of this ridiculous
little fop.
The lady was dressed that day in canary yellow up to the waist, a bodice
very transparent on all sides, the marble of her little arms delicious
under the tissue, and her neck! and her throat! and--luckily my aunt was
short-sighted!
It fell to my lot to entertain the little dandy, her son, during the
whole of lunch. He embarked on every subject with the same
self-possession, and when I asked him how he spent his time, and he had
answered me over his high collar in a voice necessarily rather choky, “I
occupy myself with sport,” I felt myself suffocating with laughter. He
had lately been doing a little motoring and was consumed with pride, the
little puppet!
She, poor woman, had in the Caucasus a husband who had deserted her for
another fair temptress, and wished to divorce her--hence these
whisperings, this mystery, these tears when she spoke of him. Was there
no virtue then in these round and shapely arms?
I do not at all know how my aunt managed it, but the fact remains that
when I left Petrograd, the ex-unfaithful one, too, was always there, and
husband and wife seemed like two turtle doves. And more than ever the
fine, white gauzes fluttered round the white arms and the short neck,
and all her plump little being seemed to revel at the restoration of
her conjugal rights.
Prince Lucien Murat spent part of the winter at Petrograd. He sometimes
took us to see the wrestlers. He had a box there and this entertainment
was also a very smart rendezvous. Many officers were there and smart
young women. These wrestlers were real colossal masses of human flesh,
and most of them bore animal countenances. They began by parading one
behind the other in a long file in the arena, then in pairs they
wrestled together, he whose back first touched the ground being the
vanquished one, and the others in succession. They were of all
nationalities. They did not appear to make any real effort, at any rate
their movements were calm and slow, but they must have made some, for by
degrees one saw their skins begin to shine with heat.
Their costume was of the simplest, a little pair of bathing drawers.
It was forbidden to walk on the quays with a camera, for fear of its
containing a bomb. That did not prevent my doing so all the winter
without being troubled. Was I then in the good books of the police?
The Russian custom of not addressing others by their family names, but
only joining to their Christian names the name of their father, is at
first very perplexing for strangers. Thus, supposing your name to be
Olga, if your father’s for instance is Peter, you will be spoken of as
“Olga Petrovna,” and so on, really enough to make one’s head ache. In
the masculine the termination is altered to “vitch,” as for example
“Petro Petrovitch.”
In Russia all luxuries are very dear, but the first necessaries of life
are not more so than elsewhere, and my aunts asserted that flats were
cheaper than in Paris, where they become very dear when they are of any
size. At Easter it is the custom to give delightful little trinkets in
the shape of eggs, decorated with a little coloured stone, often real
ones. I brought back many of these. That day the dish consisted of
boiled eggs, painted red, blue, etc., and all the household ate them
too.
I terminated my winter at my Aunt de Nicolay’s, continuing with her my
social life and met a good many of her relations who were charming.
Sometimes there came to lunch some austere Protestant missionaries,
returned from far-off countries where they might have been eaten, had
they been more delectable morsels, but where they had escaped from
cannibal jaws. Some of them were good and interesting talkers.
Every Monday evening great commotion in the _salons_; the furniture was
removed and replaced by benches, and a minister began to speak to an
audience composed of male and female students and young girls. This was
the favourite work of my Uncle Paul and my Aunt Marie. I, for my part,
took myself off to my Embassy that evening, and in front of the open
folding-doors, past which I had to go, a screen was set up, behind
which I used to slip out, feeling terribly frivolous. The rustle of my
dress caused many heads to be turned, and how guilty I felt thus to
distract them from the solemn words--all the more guilty as I did not
feel much remorse, and one evening in the shadow of this same screen I
seemed to see a happy couple there unconscious of all else.
I was urged to go to the celebrated fair of Nijni-Novgorod. Splendid
furs were to be found there and at a very reasonable price, it appeared.
Several of my friends went; I should especially have liked to see so
unique a sight; so much local colour, so picturesque a diversity of
types, costumes and customs would have enchanted me.
In Russia the bureaucracy had a very bad reputation, it was said to be
very corrupt, but--was it more so than anything else? That was the only
question!
The Russian is a fatalist, a little dose of fatalism is perhaps
indispensable in life, but it must not be too great. Perhaps that is why
they are the victims of the famous “_Nichevo_”--“It is nothing,” “It
does not matter”--a word which the Russian constantly employs, and which
contains all the _laisser aller_ of characters there. This indifference
is in part responsible for the development of actual events.
Russian is a beautiful language for singing. I have always liked the
Russian accent, so melodious, so musical, and liked it to such a degree
that I more or less caught it; and, on my return to France, employed it
so much when speaking my native tongue that it was said by some,
doubtless jealous of this brilliant venture, that I made a pose of it. A
happy thought; what would I not now give thus to catch the accent of my
adopted country, but alas, it eludes me; perhaps I have lost the art of
posing, or perhaps this also is a pose--a long one!
Naturally the name of General Kouropatkin, Commander-in-Chief of the
Armies, was on everybody’s tongue. The prolonged resistance of Port
Arthur engrossed much of the conversation, as was natural. People began
by making a hero of its defender, General Stoessel, and a heroine of his
wife. We subscribed at the French Embassy to present him with a sword of
honour. In later days he seemed to be looked upon as no better than a
common traitor. I met the Stoessels once or twice at Petrograd; they
both looked very well fed, and I began to doubt their many privations,
but of course it may have been a question of temperament, for with some
people stoutness is a sign of illness and not of health and good living.
My first experience of a “little corner of English life” occurred at a
dinner party at the Napiers’, the English Military Attaché and his wife.
For the first time I saw wine-glasses placed at the side and not in
front of the plate, and I recall my first emotion, not knowing which
were mine, fearing a mistake. I hope I did not drink from my
neighbour’s glass, but I can hardly be sure that I did not commit
myself.
One day before my departure, my Aunt de Nicolay said to me, “I
acknowledge that you have two great qualities: punctuality and
discretion.”
_Mon Dieu_, punctuality--yes! I had always been trained to it at school
and at home, and I still remember the call to order of my father if we
had the misfortune to keep the horses waiting a moment at the front
door, those precious animals at whose orders, I maintained, one had
always to be.
As for discretion? Perhaps it may be thought that it has been a trifle
torn on the brambles along the road of life. Oh, very little, not so
much as it might have been--not so much as you think perhaps! If there
is a need of pardon? Well, give it or do not give it. Give it at least
to the child of twenty with her eyes hardly yet opened on life.
I went again to lovely Michaelovka for a little; and it was with a heart
as heavy as lead that I turned my back on this country to which I belong
in part, on this country which I had learnt to adore, where the sun is
so loath to set or to rise, this country of dreams, beneath its glorious
spring verdure, again of dreams beneath its snowy white mantle, to this
glorious Neva on which I had so often watched the huge barges silently
gliding on the still waters, bearing to Petrograd their great loads of
silver-birch wood from distant Finland, manned by bargemen in scarlet
shirts which gave such a touch of colour and brightness to the
landscape.
I felt almost envious of these poetic barges, and longed to float away
on one of them; but, alas, one must not indulge in too much romance in
this prosaic age! “The West” was calling--so, with a broken heart, I
turned my back on dear Holy Russia.
And there a last time on the platform of that Berlin Station, beside
that train which was going to take me away no doubt for ever, I embraced
for a last time my good and dear Aunt de Nicolay, whom I was not to see
again.
My heart swelled with gratitude, but I felt too choked to express my
feelings:--
“Partir c’est mourir un peu.”
Never have I felt this so much as on that day.
Did my aunt understand the tumult in my heart? I do not know, I do not
think so, and in her pretty voice of which I shall never forget the
pure, warm accents so full of real affection she said to me, “Renée, you
have not consented to recognize the qualities of--and I fear you will
regret it.” These were her last words, once more she pressed me to her
heart, the next moment I was far away.
And when I felt the woods and fields of the Kaiser unroll themselves
through the dark night in the contrary direction in which thirteen
months before, my heart full of joy, I had seen them flit by--oh, how
different it all was.
No I had not been able to--the want of foresight of twenty summers
perhaps, but also its frankness! That tall Russian with the pale face,
with the blue eyes, of the Grand Duke type--but what was the good of
dreaming, and even in that moment I did not regret. It was not, I
expect, what Paradise had in store for me.
PART IV
RASPUTIN: HIS INFLUENCE AND HIS WORK
CHAPTER XVII
Five or six years ago some Russian cousins of mine came for a short stay
to Paris, and for the first time they pronounced before me the name of
“Rasputin,” telling me of his disastrous influence at Court and
particularly over the Empress. “He has persuaded her”--they told
me--“that the Tzarevitch will die if she continues to live with the
Emperor as his wife, his object being to assure to the enemies of the
Romanoffs that their hope will be accomplished and that no other heir
will be born to the Emperor, which is their great fear.” Besides, at
that period the Empress was ill and nervous, and at times could not
walk, having to be wheeled about in an invalid’s chair; to-day, I am
told, she has returned to that chair, in Siberia, whither her
unqualifiable conduct has led her.
The Emperor certainly had an heir, and for once rumour was right as to
what had indeed happened to the poor child, and he had been made to
forfeit the hope of posterity to the line of which he might well be the
last member. “Therefore he will not reign,” said my cousins. The Emperor
had even chosen his successor, a son of one of the Grand Dukes.[C]
Grand Duke Alexis in addition has very feeble health, and the doctors
had doubts whether he would live beyond the age of sixteen, which he has
not yet reached. They said that also he was attacked by that infirmity
which consists in having a skin too few, and consequently a liability to
severe hæmorrhages.
My cousin told me that one day on getting into his bath, the Tzarevitch
slipped a little and immediately a great “pocket” of blood formed
itself; the same thing occurred one day in stepping out of a boat in
which he had been for a sail. In fact the poor boy suffered from a
strange and disconcerting illness, which is partly explained to-day, as
will be seen later on.
Then I asked who Rasputin was. I was told that he called himself a pope,
but in reality he was only a coarse and ignorant adventurer from
Siberia; and they spoke with disgust of this intruder and the position
he had contrived to acquire.
Rasputin, a name for ever detestable and detested by all who have a
grain of feeling of straightforwardness and honesty, is perhaps the most
diabolical figure of our century. Some hundreds of years ago he would
have been looked upon as a sorcerer.
A native of Pokrovskoe, a little village situated in the province of
Tobolsk in Siberia; a mixture of charlatan and satyr; neither monk nor
priest, but simply an illiterate peasant; a poor village driver; father
of three children left behind in their _izba_, but who later on came to
school in Petrograd.
To the most depraved morals he joined a great love of vodka.
After having tried theft several times, and been sentenced to two or
three terms of imprisonment, the luminous idea dawned on him one fine
day to pose as a saint, thinking the occupation would be more lucrative.
He therefore embarked on the life of one of those wandering monks living
on alms and of whom I have already spoken.
From the depths of those strange steel-grey eyes came a light endowed
with an enormous magnetism, amounting to hypnotism, it seems, and he
practised this power on nearly all the women whom he met irrespective of
age, surroundings, disposition, bent of mind--whether light or austere.
Naturally he employed this power to surround himself principally with
women in the best society, and also with those endowed with large
fortunes, this being at the same time more flattering and more
practical.
The new religion, if one may so describe the lax and too easy doctrine
that he preached, was, I am told, a mixture of those “religions” that
flourished in the Middle Ages, and appealed to that _milieu_ enormously.
He went so far as to preach that a laxity of morals should be regarded
as the sin most easily pardoned by the Almighty ... and women of the
best-known families and those placed in the highest position were
present incognita at these “religious” services.
During each of his so-called “pilgrimages” he continually made new
disciples; sister-disciples thronged his progress.
It was at one of these meetings at Petrograd that Madame Vyruboff, of
unlucky memory, who is to-day imprisoned in the fortress of St Peter and
St Paul but who was then the favourite lady-in-waiting to the
Empress--in fact the most intimate confidante of both the Tzar and the
Tzarina--met him for the first time. This intriguer, like so many
others, fell so much under his influence that she became one of his most
zealous and devoted followers--later she became his mistress--and formed
the project to present him at Court.
All the same, this was not brought about without a certain amount of
trouble and delay, for the scoundrel, who at the bottom of his heart
trembled with joy at the mere notion of this presentation, required
pressing, and even gave the impression of rejecting the idea, refusing
to accede to it on the pretext that he made no difference between the
lowest of the moujiks and the great ones of the earth.
He had then arrived at accomplishing “miracles”; his reputation of
“miracle worker” had already been established, and was spreading each
day, gaining ground like a spot of oil. Thanks to his ingenuity and to
that of an accomplice, he had continued to create the appearance of
effecting some.
Madame Vyruboff, knowing how vital to the Empress was the question of
the health of the Tzarevitch--to whom she wished at all costs to assure
the throne of the Romanoffs, in spite of the early death which the
doctors had foretold for him--had the “brilliant” idea of first
presenting Rasputin, the intriguer, believing that by so doing she would
make herself useful and important, conjecturing also that he might
perhaps, do something to ameliorate the health of that frail being.
The rascal pretended to hesitate, but consented at last, on receiving a
message from the Empress asking him to come and visit the little
patient. He was received with all the eagerness, all the ardour that can
be felt by a maternal heart which has borne a long agony of pain and
anxiety, and when she saw him stretch his hands over the frail little
body of her child in the act of blessing, and thus perhaps produced a
healing influence, she, too, while weeping grateful tears felt herself
fall under the influence of the strange fascination which he exercised,
above all, when turning to her, with that particular manner which made a
victim of nearly every woman he met, he promised her a complete cure.
And the Tzarevitch, as though to lend more weight to his words, seemed
to show an improvement after the visits. The Empress, full of hope, only
saw in this charlatan a saint, a messenger from Heaven sent to cure her
child!
From that time Rasputin took root in the palace and began to “instruct”
the ladies of the Court; the practical side was not forgotten by him,
and if he had made dupes he had also reaped a great harvest of money. He
pretended to collect for the monastery built by him in his native
village, where the monks lived an austere and most ascetic life of
prayer among the most luxurious surroundings, the fruit of the offerings
collected by him.
From time to time he would threaten his “sister disciples” to leave the
capital and return to the monastery, at hearing which they became
desolate, and one and all implored him to remain.
The Empress, more than anyone, was petrified at the thought of what
might happen, and all the more that, each time that Rasputin went away,
a change for the worse was noticed in the health of the precious child.
This may be explained thus: Rasputin was well versed in the composition
and effects of certain drugs known in the East, which he obtained from a
great friend of his, an Oriental quack doctor, who gave to his patients
infusions of herbs brought from Tibet, and he took care to have one of
them administered to the Imperial child by Madame Vryuboff when he was
absent. This, while making him ill, assured Rasputin’s recall, and as
may be imagined he was not anxious to cut short his brilliant career.
Sometimes it happened that the drug brought the child apparently too
near the gates of death. Hence the short despairing and heart-rending
notes, of which so much has been said, addressed by a poor distracted
mother to the “Saint”!
He made himself even more needed, and did not even reply to the Imperial
missives. Then, tiring of the charms of his so-called beautiful and
austere monastery, which had never existed, and was in reality but a
poor house where his family lived, and, in addition, twelve of his
admiring and fanatic “sisters” and where he had, as one may imagine, a
lively time, he would reappear, and be greeted as a saviour.
The Tzar did not like Rasputin, but he tolerated him. His Majesty
generally possessed a clear judgment, but never had quite the courage of
his opinions; and unluckily his courage stopped short of sending the
rascal away.
Among the friends of Rasputin must be mentioned Protopopoff, Minister of
the Interior, and Boris Sturmer, who thanks to the former’s intrigues
had been appointed Prime Minister of Russia. Both were known to be
pro-German.
The “monk’s” empire at the Court became so great that through the
intermediary of the Empress those who had been remiss to him in any
particular lost important posts, and he also caused his unworthy
“protégés” to be given the highest appointments. This grew to such an
extent that he really came to out-Emperor the Emperor himself, and he
knew it--that shameless rascal who endeavoured to make himself look like
the picture of Christ.
He had also powerful enemies, among whom was Stolypin, an honest man,
and then one of the most powerful men in the Empire. When in 1906 the
New Russian Imperial Duma assembled for its first session, the question
of the redistribution of land became at once the chief topic of the
debates. The second Duma took it up also, and after the dismissal of the
second Duma the Government considered the same question again. Monsieur
Stolypin, who was Prime Minister at the time, introduced his very much
discussed Land Reform Bill, which provided to a great extent for the
distribution of State and Crown land to the peasantry; but this land
reserve was big and would not have been exhausted for a long time. The
chief object of Monsieur Stolypin’s land reform was to break up the
communal ownership. There was no appropriation of private owner’s land
and no private owner was forced to sell his property. As a result,
2,000,000 new farms sprang up in different parts of Russia. Later on, he
also paid for his honesty, like so many others, by perishing from a bomb
explosion at Kief.
But the enemy Rasputin feared most of all others was Grand Duke
Nicholas, who had learnt a great deal about the so-called “Saint” and
esteemed him accordingly; Rasputin knew this and was consequently not
free from anxiety. I have been assured that at a ball given at the
Palace since the War, the Grand Duke Nicholas, assisted by young Grand
Duke Dmitri Paulovitch, seized the mock monk, who naturally was there,
the pupils of his eyes more charged with magnetism than ever, and
tearing off the pious emblems with which he was covered--one more
fascination--administered the most severe chastisement after having
thrown him outside.
Soon after the commencement of hostilities Grand Duke Nicholas was
appointed by the Tzar Commander-in-Chief of the Russian Armies on the
German frontier. Later on, he was appointed Viceroy of the Caucasus and
the Tzar took the full command of the Western front upon himself. It was
an established fact that the Grand Duke’s transference--which became a
burning question--was brought about entirely by the influence of the
pro-German group by which the Emperor was surrounded, these intriguers
finding the presence of the Grand Duke a great obstacle to the
realization of their dark plans.
A great sportsman, the Grand Duke had the best pack of hounds in the
Empire; his borzois were unrivalled in beauty, strength and speed, and
he possessed wonderful shooting preserves in the Caucasus and elsewhere.
Following on the Tzar’s abdication, it was decided by the existing
Government to reinstate the Grand Duke Nicholas as Commander-in-Chief of
the army, in which post he had so greatly distinguished himself at the
beginning of the war; and he was actually on the point of leaving for
head-quarters when the Committee of the Workers’ Delegates and the
Committee of the Soldiers’ Deputies, egged on by the Socialists,
protested against the measure. The Labour Party were alarmed that the
great popularity of the Grand Duke with the army might be the cause of
their proclaiming him Tzar of Russia; therefore they insisted on the
revocation of his appointment, and Kerensky upheld them, threatening to
resign from the Cabinet should the Grand Duke assume the Chief Command.
From the appearance of Rasputin, Germany was on the watch, realizing
what an easy prey Russia might become, and soon the pockets of the
“Saint” were bulging over with German gold. Surrounded by pro-German
friends, they began to plot for Germany to such an extent, and so
successfully, that Rasputin was sent for to Berlin by the Kaiser, who it
may be imagined did not waste his time. Rasputin, installed in a fine
house near the Moika, saw his religion develop every day; then it was
that Grand Duchess Olga, the eldest daughter of the Emperor, became one
of his most fervent “sister disciples,” and on his return from his
clandestine journey to Germany, in 1916, he began cleverly to insinuate
to his admiring female listeners that a separate peace would be very
profitable to the great Russian Empire.
It was in vain that Grand Duke Nicholas and others informed the Empress
what Rasputin really was, and told her of his depraved life and his
false miracles, it was in vain that they told her that he and his
friends would destroy Russia--all these efforts of persuasion were of no
avail.
In vain, also, Grand Duke Nicholas implored the Emperor to banish from
the Court all those Germans by whom he was surrounded, telling him
bluntly, “If you do not do so, the House of Romanoff is doomed.”
As for Rasputin, feeling himself tracked down like a wild beast, he
continued to terrorize the Empress on the subject of the Tzarevitch,
saying: “If any misfortune happens to me, the Tzarevitch will die too,
and that exactly forty days, hour for hour, after me.” Many people
disappeared and died in a mysterious manner, many dramas took place even
in the “Saint’s” house--and some of these, it was said, were by his own
hand--but he always succeeded in suppressing the scandal.
A young woman returned from Petrograd, who had the good sense not to
become his victim, has told me how she was invited not very long before
his tragic end to a tea-party at which the scoundrel was to be present.
He entered the room not only with a most self-satisfied air, but one
which tried to be also mystical, and began to speak to each of the young
women in his hideous jargon, staring with that hypnotic look, which made
each one of them his own, at the same time kissing each on the lips,
with an incredible and repulsive audacity, as if it were due to him. The
witness in question avoided the same fate but with difficulty, upon
which the “Saint” took on a puzzled anxious expression, and began to
turn round, saying that he felt a current of antipathy in the room and
came to a stop in front of her.
From the moment she entered the room Rasputin did not appear to be at
ease, no doubt because of that contrary current.
He seemed to this young woman to be a coarse creature, not even knowing
how to express himself; naturally with no manners, and repulsive in his
fatuousness; less than well cared for in his appearance, in
fact--abject. Only one thing about him was right--of very fine
quality--his linen. The Empress, it is said, gave him these very fine
shirts; and, when her children were ill, it is said that she insisted
that they should wear the “holy tunics” of the “Saint” so that they
should not get worse.
It was in 1916 that the power of the mock-monk attained its zenith.
Naturally on the occasion of his visit to England some years ago, the
German Emperor and his suite--cunningly chosen with a view to such
functions--were there as spies, and not, as so many naïve people
believed, as friends.
Prince Henry of Prussia repeated one of his spying tours and many other
Germans avowed their love for England publicly--and that with good
reason. Those journeys must have been very profitable for them, and I
myself have no confidence in those who are always reiterating the small
amount of interest they take in our country, while living in it all the
time--what then are they doing in it?
Among the number of those spies one must evidently also count the Queen
of Greece, sister of the Kaiser, who at Eastbourne on the eve of the
declaration of war, pretended to know nothing about it, notwithstanding
which she managed to escape just in time. She must therefore have been
informed beforehand, or at any rate at the last moment. Since then she
has but too much proved herself a fond sister for it to be possible for
us to be credulous; it is true that her affection has cost her her
throne, much it is said to her fury. In gratitude the Kaiser, directly
on her arrival in Switzerland, opened an account at a Swiss Bank for her
to the amount of £50,000.
Naturally, as the secret agent of the Kaiser in Russia, Rasputin was in
constant communication with Berlin. They wished to get rid of Brusiloff,
then of Korniloff, but failed in the two attempts at assassination,
which annoyed Berlin very much. What they desired was the cessation of
the great and victorious offensive.
Monsieur Goutchkoff, director of the Committee of War Industries,
denounced the “Holy Father” Rasputin to the Duma, but again he managed
to escape the consequences, and informed the Emperor that Heaven would
certainly take revenge on him and on his heir for what he himself had to
endure.
And the poor deceived Emperor did not in the least suspect that
Protopopoff was a traitor--that Protopopoff, who had come to England,
announcing himself as a friend, and then had gone to France, being
received everywhere with a warm welcome--refusing to believe the man to
be so double-faced.
Then the “Holy Father,” as he was called, told the Emperor that he would
do well to mistrust Brusiloff, whom he knew to be a traitor to his
country, and insisted on this to such an extent that the brave general
was on the point of being arrested a few days later.
He also poisoned the Emperor’s mind against Nebrasoff, the Minister of
Communications, who was dismissed, being a powerful obstacle to the
pro-German clique, and hindering their projects of internal
disorganization; for they dreamed not only of bringing about famine in
different parts of Russia, but also of sowing there, as well as at the
front, the most severe epidemics, the dangerous germs of which were sent
with great care from Berlin, and distributed in the food in the more
populous districts, so that the result should cause greater ravages. No
excuses can be found for the Empress, for I am assured that Rasputin
showed her every line of the correspondence sent and received in
exchange between Berlin and her many agents. Not only did she acquiesce
in their intrigues, but she incited them to more, encouraging them to
make a separate peace, and also to sow epidemics and to create famine;
and all the while German gold flowed into the hands of this clique.
Nevertheless, Brusiloff had recommenced his offensive, his successes
being followed with anguish at Berlin. Sturmer forced Rumania to enter
the war, knowing that she was not ready. It was easy to invade her in
spite of the valour of her brave troops, and Russia forgot one by one
the promises made to her new Allies, and did not come to her help. Then
came the great retreat, fruit of the intrigues of traitors. Certain
Russian generals had also joined the side of the traitors. Mackensen won
easy laurels, and Sturmer, Protopopoff, Rasputin and Co. hoped that the
great retreat and the invasion of Rumania would decide Nicholas II. to
make that famous “separate peace.” These tools of Germany, these
creatures of the Kaiser’s, hoping for its accomplishment, were delirious
with joy.
Sturmer deceived his allies, talking loudly of “no separate peace,”
while, as is known, he was using all his energies in a contrary
direction.
But if the Court and so many of the great ones of the earth knelt before
Rasputin, they did not all do so, and the masses had no belief in him.
They laughed at him, and this rascal, who knew more than anyone the
blackness of his own soul, went about protected by a coat of mail, for
he was not without anxiety as to what Fate had in store for him. If his
days sometimes gave the illusion of a veneer of piety, his evenings were
those of a libertine; and, if the women had gone mad about him, the
fathers, husbands and brothers had a mortal grudge against him.
In Kerensky, a lawyer and a member of the Duma, all this vermin scented
danger; they wished to be rid of him, aware that he knew rather too
much about their secret acts and their profits. An attempt was made to
assassinate him in the street, but this fresh scheme of murder failed.
Then followed the accusations, but too well justified, against General
Sukhomlinoff. Grand Dukes Nicholas, Dmitri and Serge got to work, and
wished to make the allegations public, for matters would have been
revealed, strangely deplorable, strangely compromising, for the clique
of the “Saint” and his creatures, so much so that it would have meant
without doubt the end of their reign, and their anxiety was therefore
great. This trial, again by their intrigues, was deferred by the
Emperor, and was only opened up again since the fall of the latter; the
General has been condemned to imprisonment for life, on the grave
charges made against him when Minister for War.
The respite of the traitors was, however, not of long duration, for
Monsieur Miliukoff, supported by the same Grand Dukes, conceived the
project of unmasking the “Saint” before the whole Duma. In vain was it
tried to prevent him, to arrest him, to kill him; he was able to escape
from the nets spread for him and all attempts failed against this new
subject of their apprehension, who, in a packed hall, before most of the
Ambassadors, and under the Presidency of Monsieur Radzianko, made that
memorable interpellation unveiling what Rasputin and Co. really were,
and gaining the applause of the house--November 14, 1916--and the
expression of a unanimous desire, as it seemed, for the continuance of
the war.
All Petrograd was stirred. There was a rush for newspapers, but these,
being censored, told nothing; private propaganda were organized to make
known the truth, and the speech was distributed in a complete form.
CHAPTER XVIII
Monsieur Radzianko, as is known, was elected President of the third
Duma, and again of the fourth, that is to say, he was President at the
moment of the Revolution. He married a Princess Galitzine, and was
formerly in the Chevaliers-Gardes, considered the first Russian
regiment. Adored by the peasants on his great estates, he was much in
touch with the Zemstvo Party, the friend of the peasants. A great friend
of Sir George Buchanan, our late Ambassador, his dream for his country
was to have a ministry appointed by the Tzar, though outside the Duma,
responsible to and dependent upon possessing and retaining its
confidence.
The Empress, in the Palace, breathlessly awaited the result, devoured
with anxiety as to the issue which none of them had known how to
prevent.
The “Saint,” seriously alarmed by the revelations of Miliukoff--the only
topic of conversation in the capital--thought it prudent to make himself
scarce again, and departed on a so-called “pilgrimage.”
The Empress was in a terrible state, not only on account of the
interpellation, but because since the departure of the scoundrel the
condition of her precious child seemed to have become worse every day;
hence a desperate summons to return. Madame Vyruboff had evidently
received orders to drug the poor boy to such an extent that his
condition should be sufficiently serious to madden the poor anxious
mother.
The result of the denunciation was the fall of Sturmer; but he received
a post at the Palace. He was replaced by Trepoff, an honest man, who at
once announced his plan of action: “No separate peace, and war on German
influence.”
Nicholas II. had not the least idea that Rasputin was the creature of
the Kaiser, and though his instinct did not allow him to regard him with
any favour, he bore with him, as I have already said, for the sake of
the Empress and to avoid family scenes; as he admitted on one occasion:
“I would rather put up with this man than have to endure five attacks of
hysterics a day.”
It is certain that Alexandra Feodorovna was ill, and that her nerves
were more than shaken; action should have been taken and on this pretext
she should have been sent away. One must admit that there was enough to
make her ill. Almost ever since her marriage, in any case since the year
before the first Revolution, she lived in constant anguish, asking
herself continually what was going to happen to her husband and
children; as regards that one cannot blame her--on the contrary. It is
said that the Empress has sent her magnificent jewels to Darmstadt, her
native country, to help the Germans continue the war.
Another dangerous spy of the Kaiser’s at Petrograd was Grand Duke of
Mecklenburg-Strelitz, on the best of terms naturally with Rasputin, and
also exercising a great influence at the Palace and over the Empress. He
had naturalized himself Russian in 1914; but who is more to be
mistrusted than one who has been “naturalized”?
It was then--at the end of November 1916--that Rasputin was more
especially warned that a plot had been made against him. The Grand Duke
Nicholas tried again to instil sense into the Emperor, but in vain. And
the scoundrel paraded the so-called visions which he had never had,
alarming the Empress more and more on the subject of her son, and
continuing his work of threatening his approaching death if the famous
separate peace were not signed. The Empress had come to believe that if
this peace did not immediately become an accomplished fact the Romanoffs
were doomed; and this she wished to prevent.
Germany naturally wished much for this peace; but to-day has to use the
greatest circumspection before accepting the proposals of Lenin, whose
government is recognized neither by the Ambassadors of the Allied powers
nor by the Russian Ambassadors in Allied countries.
The dark forces did their best to spread cholera amongst the troops at
the front, an epidemic that was luckily stamped out almost at once, to
the great disappointment of those who had instigated it. They then tried
to poison the Grand Duke Dmitri; but that also failed.
On the 16th of December 1916, Rasputin was invited by Prince Felix
Yousoupoff to spend the evening in his father’s mansion, under the
pretext of meeting a young woman who ardently desired to become a
“sister disciple.” What I do not understand is, why he should have
accepted the invitation, for he had been so often warned against his
would-be host. He therefore arrived at the Prince’s luxurious house, and
was received by him, but after a gay supper was left _tête-à-tête_ with
one of the Prince’s friends on the pretext of inspecting some _objets
d’art_ which had attracted his notice previously.
The friend in question did the honours of the princely house with
affability, and offered Rasputin wine--into which a strong admixture of
poison had been introduced!
The mock-monk sipped a few drops in the manner of a connoisseur, which
indeed he had become, having accustomed himself to the taste of the
famous vintages of the Winter Palace, and then addressing himself to his
interlocutor he appeared to be interested in some special work of art on
one of the tables in the room, which the latter felt obliged to show him
for closer inspection. On returning to Rasputin’s side he noticed the
monk had become paler as he passed his hand across his face as if
desirous of concealing a strong pang of pain.
The Prince’s friend positively held his breath, keeping his eyes fixed
on his prey as he noticed the glass standing empty beside him; he
imagined the inevitable was bound to follow quickly, as the dose was a
very strong one.
Upstairs, anxiety grew apace, many hearts were palpitating, every one
counting the seconds which seemed eternal. Prince Felix Yousoupoff was
there with a few friends who had all sworn to purge Russia, once and for
all, of her evil genius.
But, as it happened, at the end of a few minutes the momentary sensation
of discomfort seemed to disappear and the rascal became quite himself
again to the Prince’s friend’s amazement, who began to wonder whether
after all this extraordinary man opposite him was in reality entirely
like other men, and not, as some people affirmed, a demon or a sorcerer,
gifted with some wonderful and unknown power of resistance. This man who
had the power to heal had also the facility to kill, so it was generally
believed. And there, in that room, the silent witness of so many
festivities of the past, was about to be enacted the last scene of one
of the greatest dramas which had ever taken place in the world’s
history.
Driven at last almost to despair, the hero of the plot, anxious to
conclude his task, drew out his revolver and shot the “Saint” as he
gloated over the beautiful antiques; but, although wounded, Rasputin
still had sufficient strength to stagger into the hall and was on the
point of making his way to the street door as, pale with pain and
foaming with rage, he yelled out: “For you have tried to kill me, I will
revenge myself.” Upon which the hearer renewed his attack, emptying the
contents of his revolver into the “Saint’s” head--and breathed again
freely once more, as this time the “monk” was indeed dead. Then was
uttered one general shout of joy from the little group of the Prince’s
friends assembled not far off, although in concealment during the
tragedy. Rasputin had fired several times, but, as he was very drunk, I
was told he only killed a dog.
Prince Felix Yousoupoff, on hearing the first shot, had rushed down the
stairs and discharged his revolver; but it is said that owing to
nervousness his hand shook and missed proper aim, and it was his friend
who gave the _coup de grâce_.
It was afterwards discovered that Rasputin, profiting by his companion’s
momentary absence, had emptied the contents of his glass into a vase on
one of the pieces of furniture which stood close by; this, either from
distrust or because he had already indulged in too numerous libations.
It has been said that Rasputin was only killed in order to make clear
whether it was really he who was guilty of all that had happened, or
whether things would go on the same after his death. But it seems to me
that his death came too late, and his evil work had been so well
started that with or without him matters could no longer move up against
the stream--they could only follow the current on which they had been
started.
And there, in the great Neva, all black in the dark night, they threw
beneath the ice the body, at last reduced to impotence, of him who had
been the bane of the great Empire, cold in death as the deep icy water
that engulfed it.
During a whole week every one wondered what could have become of
Rasputin and why he had disappeared so suddenly and mysteriously; the
Court _camarilla_, his friends and the pro-German coterie were at their
wits’ ends concerning him.
When the body at last was found, the Empress came to prostrate herself
before the remains, showing the most violent sorrow, going afterwards
each day to pray at his tomb and invoking the most terrible vengeance on
his murderers.
These had been traced; and Nicholas II. left her free to inflict on them
whatever punishment she chose.
The Grand Duke Dmitri was sent to the Persian front, and Prince
Yousoupoff and his son were exiled to their estates, for it was not at
that time easy to inflict a heavier sentence on such important people as
the Grand Duke and his accomplices.
The Empress could not indeed by punishment slake the thirst of her soul
for vengeance, and the unhappy mother was maddened by dread, only
increased with the passing hours, of the realization of the sinister
words of the dead man: “If disaster happens to me and I die, the
Tzarevitch will die forty days, hour for hour, after me!”
The hour of the Revolution of March 10, 1917, struck; the Emperor being
at the time at the Front, the moment had been well chosen, or rather
arranged. The red rag of revolt was carried in triumph above the heads
of a delirious crowd; ensigns on monuments and everything that could
recall an Empire were burned in the great fires lighted in the streets.
The Emperor started to return precipitately to the Empress and his
children at the Palace of Tsarskoë-Celo, where all the Imperial children
were suffering from measles. His first thought was of resistance, and to
send his troops against the rebels of Petrograd.
The Grand Duke Nicholas, then Commander-in-Chief in the Caucasus, and
General Alexieff, Chief of the General Staff, siding with the Duma,
insisted on the abdication of Nicholas II., seeing in that act the only
chance of salvation for Russia, and accordingly telegraphed their
decision to Miliukoff who had just been appointed to the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs.
The nation knew little or nothing of the course that events had taken,
and the abdication was only the desire of a few scores of men; now, many
deem it a great mistake.
Generals Russky and Brusiloff also telegraphed to Miliukoff, stating the
adhesion of the armies to the new regime, and declaring that all was
well.
Grand Duke Michael-Alexandrovitch, brother of Nicholas II., was
nominated Regent, but without delay made it known that he would only
accept the Regency with the approval of the people. This never came; of
course the people did not have a chance of expressing an opinion;
Kerensky seized the reins of government and what followed is only too
well known.
At first every one was contented with the Revolution; it was hailed as a
saviour by those who thought themselves free from the pro-German clique.
Matters went well, everything seemed new-born, but when once anarchy
broke through its bounds faces began to lengthen, and a feeling of
despair arose--which feeling has gone on increasing ever since.
To-day in the depths of her exile, and in her invalid’s chair, Alexandra
Feodorovna wears mourning for happier days, in the depths of that
Siberia to which she never dreamt she herself would be deported one day,
that Siberia that she at least has so well deserved by her ignoble
treachery, and where she has been sent as a precautionary measure in
case of a reactionary movement. And there near the birthplace of her
hero now dead, she still mourns more than all else the disappearance of
the “Saint.” “All this was bound to happen,” she says. “It is the just
vengeance for the ‘Holy Father,’ the Romanoffs must end and perish.” The
Russian people accused the
[Illustration: PLOUGHING IN THE CAUCASUS]
[Illustration: THE IMPERIAL PALACE OF TSARSKOË-CELO]
Empress of bringing bad luck to everyone; but even at Darmstadt she was
considered a bird of ill-omen.
As for Nicholas II. he has become completely imbecile, if rumour is
correct, and will never recover his reason; the best thing that could
have happened, perhaps, as far as he is concerned.
During his imprisonment at Tsarskoë-Celo, the revolutionary party was
obliged often to change the soldiers who guarded him in order to be sure
of their fidelity to the new regime, so great was known to be the
ascendancy of the “Little Father” over his soldiers.
When he left the Palace for exile, many people knelt and piously crossed
themselves as he passed, just as they would had they been shown a holy
picture with miraculous powers. That which had been the religion of
these humble people, they retained still for their Emperor who was
losing his throne through his family affections, obstinacy and weakness.
The outcome of the first Revolution had for result the creation of the
Duma, which was intended to be the Saviour and Regenerator of the
Empire--it has witnessed its end. Gapon, the idol of the masses, the
precursor of Rasputin, appears no more but as a shadow pale, and
fugitive.
The outcome of the second Revolution has been the fall of the Romanoffs
and the institution of a self-styled Republic, which it was said would
bring glory in the field of battle and happy liberty to a great people.
I never believed it.
May the damaged walls of the Kremlin express to this great people--whose
passions were being let loose at the same time that they were being
deceived--the shame felt by them at the sight of the blood spilt around
them, blood shed among brothers by a Revolution which has brought them
only a civil war and mortal struggles, and will soon have produced more
victims than all the Romanoffs together have done with their sentences
of exile to Siberia--many but too well deserved, though accounted to
them as a crime.
May a Romanoff worthy of the name that he bears rally the real
Russia--she who endures and is silent, not being able to do more for the
moment--and so make of her again a great power worthy of respect and
gaining it, the terror of her ignoble neighbour, Germany--and not her
vassal.
That is my most heart-felt wish, and also my most sincere prayer for
that great country which is a little mine, and which from the bottom of
my heart I love as my second country.
Inquire of an anti-Semite the meaning of the Russian Revolution, and he
will expose to you the whole of the Jewish drama which unfolds itself in
all its force before you. It is a fact that ever since the Revolution of
March all the various Governments which have succeeded each other so
rapidly have in every instance been profitable to the Jews only and have
done their utmost to upset all the opposing barriers which the _ancien
régime_ had deemed good for Russia--by setting these up as a rampart
against their invading greed. Now that General Allenby has accomplished
what Richard Cœur de Lion and the whole of Christendom failed to
do--namely, the conquest of Jerusalem from the Turk--it makes one hope
that the time has come about for them all to _s’en aller caravaner_ back
whence they came so many centuries ago.
“Lorsque la grande guerre ou le grand soir révolutionnaire auront passé
sur le monde, il ne restera plus dominant toutes ces ruines que la
Banque juive.”
The above is a quotation from the great Russian author Dostoievsky,
which my father, Monsieur Gaudin de Villaine, Sénateur de la Manche, and
one of the most valiant leaders of the Right in the French Senate, has
made use of on more than one occasion in his interpellations when
addressing that body and in an article which was of course boycotted by
the Press. It seems to justify itself more forcibly every day.
With the exception of Lenin, who is not a Jew and whose real name is
Ullianoff--others say Lehrann and that he is a German--all the members
of the Direction of the Soviets are Jews sailing under assumed Russian
names. Thus, Trotsky’s real name is Braunstein and that of the miserable
wretch Zenovieff, who is one of the most active German agents, is really
Apfelbaum--and so on!
Lenin comes from a revolutionary stock, his brother having been hung in
1887 for conspiring against the Tzar Alexander III.
I have some Russian cousins living in Italy, where they have been for a
great many years, and I hear that according to Lenin’s laws they are
considered as emigrants, consequently their property in Russia has been
confiscated, and should they return they would be imprisoned.
Krylenko, appointed by Lenin as generalissimo of the Russian Army, is a
man of very mediocre intelligence; he was up to a few months ago
residing near Montreux in Switzerland and was merely a lieutenant of the
reserve of the Russian Army. He is not a Jew, but he is known by his
friends as Father Abraham, a sobriquet of which he is very proud.
The great Russian people appear to me like a huge ball sent
helter-skelter, rolling down a slide from an eminence--the slide is the
Revolution.
One Government will continue to replace another until the abyss of
anarchy is reached. Germany’s plan and interest are therefore to help
all the smaller separatist non-Russian people, Finland, etc., to stand
on their own feet as free political entities and autonomies.
May this revolutionary night not delay much longer to envelop the
country of the German Kaiser, whose greatest pleasure seems to be in
shaking and overturning the various thrones of the earth in order to
consolidate on their ruins his own--a dangerous game to play, for the
revolutionary mirage develops into a very virulent germ once spread
amongst a discontented populace.
This Emperor of whom a German diplomat before the war once said
jokingly: “If he goes to a christening he wants to be the child; if to a
marriage he wants to be the bridegroom; and if to a funeral he wants to
be the corpse!”
To-day this Emperor has been nick-named the “Red Kaiser,” the War
Kaiser, the Kaiser of the Ruins, the Kaiser of the Massacres, and of all
the horrors which have been committed.
But, vengeance will come, and justice will make itself felt. Sooner or
later, vengeance must come.
That which is not generally known, but what I know authoritatively, is
that France might have obtained for herself and her Allies a separate
peace with Austria. The brothers of the Empress of Austria were educated
in France and are very French at heart, they had gone so far as to open
peace negotiations through the intermediary of the Vatican, and all
would have gone well had it not been for the regrettable pride of the
Italians and the Masonic Lodges!
And to-day, December 1917, before closing these pages, I look back once
more in the direction of the dear great Russia and I salute her; there,
towards the great Steppe beneath its almost perpetual whiteness, where
the silence makes itself felt; towards the luminous and pure atmosphere
of the beautiful country of the Don Cossacks, where there seems still to
be a ray of hope, perhaps, if only it could assert itself and render
back to the moujik his religion venerated in his _izba_ during centuries
past, not only his sacred pictures, but afar, in a dream of purple and
gold his God, his All--a Tzar!
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Izba is the Russian word for peasant hut.
[B] Since this was written Sir Cecil Spring Rice has died while on a
visit to the Duke of Devonshire at Government House, Ottawa.
[C] The Tzar’s brother had at this time been excluded from the
succession on account of having contracted a morganatic marriage.