Here Mademoiselle Aliyeff had an interview with the woman Guseva, and later on after an inspection of the police records at Tobolsk and Tyumen, she returned to Petrograd and reported the result of her visit to the Right Party in the Duma.
Meanwhile, the Empress and also her favourite lady-in-waiting telegraphed to Rasputin urgently imploring him to return to Petrograd. But the verminous libertine was in too comfortable quarters with his dozen devotees to stir out far from his nest, and while going about the village standing drinks to all and sundry and ingratiating himself everywhere, he at the same time treated his old and ugly wife with brutal unconcern, and refused even to reply to the Imperial demand.
At last he grew weary of his retirement for, truth to tell, he usually retired there whenever he disappeared upon his many pretended pilgrimages in Russia whereupon he one day sent a telegram to the Empress saying that he had at last been directed by a Divine call to again return to the bedside of the Tsarevitch. This message was received with the greatest joy at Tsarskoe-Selo, where it set a-flutter hearts in which beat the noblest blood of Russia.
The Holy Father is on his way back to us! Such was the message whispered along the long stone corridors of the Winter Palace, the many windows of which look out upon the grey Neva. The Empress went to her sons bedroom and told him the glad news, laying a tender hand upon the poor lads brow.
And Madame Vyrubova meeting the Emperor as he came out of his private cabinet chatting with the Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz and the Minister Protopopoff, whispered the news into his ear.
The Tsar smiled happily. Little did His Majesty dream that by that return of the unwashed scoundrel whom the most delicately nurtured women worshipped, he was doomed to lose his throne.
On Rasputins arrival some intensely dramatic scenes ensued scenes that would be deemed fantastic if any modern novelist had dared to describe them even as fiction.
But from these voluminous reports and the dossier before me I shall attempt to describe them.
Chapter Two
Scandals at the Winter Palace
The rascalities of Rasputin were unparalleled, even in Russia.
The mock-monk, much against his will, returned to the Winter Palace where the Court had gone for a few days and only because of the Divine call, as he pretended. He treated the distracted Tsaritza with utter disdain when early one wintry morning he drove in from the Dvortsovy Square, passed the Palace Guards, and ascended the wide black-and-white marble staircase of the Great Hall, where she stood eager to receive him.
Ah! Forgive me! Forgive me, my Master! implored the Empress in a low agonised tone. I was thoughtless and foolish.
Take me to Alexis, said the charlatan roughly interrupting her. He is ill very ill and God has sent me to him.
Eagerly the Empress conducted him to the bedside of her son, the little Tsarevitch. Madame Vyrubova, the mistress of Rasputin, was awaiting him, together with two nurses and a physician named Letchitzki.
With rough deep-voiced dismissal the unkempt profligate sent everyone from the room, including the Empress herself. He wished to pray by the sick lads bedside, he explained.
This he did, Madame Vyrubova alone remaining. When the door was closed the blasphemous rascal quickly bent over the Heir to ascertain that he was sleeping, then he raised his own dirty hands for Madame to kiss, crossing himself at the same time, and whispering The drug? It seems to have acted well eh? Where is it? She slipped a tiny green-glass phial from her cream silk blouse and handed it to him, saying: Yes, Badmayeff was right! Each time I gave it to him in his milk, he grew worse.
Ah! laughed the verminous fellow, his sensuous face bearded and blotchy with drink. Now that I have returned Divine Providence will restore him. He will not get his six drops each day! The dastardly charlatan and poisoner of Russias heir concealed the Thibetan drug in the folds of his ample habit, and whispering in his rough uncouth peasant way, Now let the fools in again! he threw himself upon his knees by the bedside commencing a fervent prayer.
O God the Great! the Merciful! the Giver of all Bounties, the Creator, and the Death-giver the Maker of Kings and the Destroyer of Nations to Thee we pray and of Thee we ask
And as he uttered those blasphemous words the favourite lady-in-waiting opened the long white-and-gold door to admit the Imperial mother of the poor half-conscious elder son of the great House of Romanoff the boy whose life was being trifled with by the administration of those pernicious drugs which, at any moment, when Rasputin willed, might cause death from haemorrhage.
The fellow Novikh, the low-born thief and blackmailer from the far-off wilds of Siberia, had planted himself in the Winter Palace as a divinity to be worshipped. The Court circle of silly women in search of sensation, and headed by the Empress herself, had fallen entirely beneath his baneful influence, believing that only by first practising his disgusting rites could they offer prayers to the Almighty. Another of the Empresss intimates who had joined the Palace circle of Believers was Countess Ignatieff, who had also become a most devout follower of Rasputin and who exerted all her great influence in officialdom for his benefit and protection.
War had broken out, and while the newspapers of the Allies were full of Russias greatness and the irresistible power of her military steamroller, the world was in utter ignorance that the Empress was actually educating her own daughters to enter the secret cult of the Believers, a suggestion which they eventually obeyed! Such was the truly horrible state of affairs at Court. Thus in a few brief months that unmasked thief whom the workers of Petrograd contemptuously called Grichka, and whose very name Rasputin meant the neer-do-well had, by posing as a holy man, and a worker of mock miracles, become a power supreme at Court.
Daily at eleven each morning this verminous libertine, whose weekly reunions were in reality orgies as disgraceful as any organised by the Imperial satyr Tiberius, knelt at the bedside of the poor little Tsarevitch to drone his blasphemous appeals to God, while the Empress, always present, knelt humbly in a corner listening to that jumble of exhortations, threats, and amazing assertions of his own divine right as high-priest of the Believers. The Empress had fallen completely beneath the hypnotism of the grey steely eyes, the hard sphinx-like countenance that never smiled, and those long dirty knotted fingers, the nails of which were never cleaned. To her, filth, both moral and personal, was synonymous with godliness.
Then, after each prayer, Madame Vyrubova would assist the mock-monk to rise and declare
The Holy Father is, alas! tired, and then lead him off into the adjoining ante-room overlooking the Neva where a silk-stockinged flunkey stood ready to serve the scoundrel with his usual bottle of Heidsieck monopole the entire contents of which he would quickly empty and smack his lips over in true peasant manner.
Mademoiselle Sophie Tutcheff, governess of the Tsars daughters, very quickly perceived a change in the demeanour of her charges. They were no longer the charming ingenuous girls they were before. She had overheard whispered conversations between the Grand Duchess Tatiana and her sister, Marie. Rasputin, moreover, had now been given luxurious apartments in the Palace, close to the rooms occupied by Madame Vyrubova, and each day he came to the schoolroom in which the three younger Princesses, Tatiana, Marie and Anastasia were prosecuting their studies.
Mademoiselle Sophie Tutcheff, governess of the Tsars daughters, very quickly perceived a change in the demeanour of her charges. They were no longer the charming ingenuous girls they were before. She had overheard whispered conversations between the Grand Duchess Tatiana and her sister, Marie. Rasputin, moreover, had now been given luxurious apartments in the Palace, close to the rooms occupied by Madame Vyrubova, and each day he came to the schoolroom in which the three younger Princesses, Tatiana, Marie and Anastasia were prosecuting their studies.
It did not take Mademoiselle Tutcheff long to discern the true state of affairs. The monk one day used the most lewd language while chatting with the three young Grand Duchesses, whereupon Mademoiselle, who belonged to one of the highest families in Russia, went off to the Empress in disgust and indignation. Her protests were, as may be imagined, met with withering scorn.
I am Empress and the Holy Father is our guest in the Palace, exclaimed the Tsaritza, who was taking tea with two ladies of the Court who were her fellow-Believers. What you have said is an insult to him. You are dismissed in disgrace.
And an hour later poor Mademoiselle left the Palace without her pupils being allowed to bid her farewell.
This, however, was but one illustration of the power which the rascally ex-highwayman had secured over the Imperial Court, and hence over the great Russian Empire itself. His influence was more powerful than that of all the Grand Dukes, the Council of the Empire, and the Council of Ministers put together. True, His Majesty was Tsar, but Gregory Rasputin was equally powerful, if not more so, because of his innate craftiness, his pseudo-divinity, his mock miracles, and the support he received from a certain section of the Church.
Possessed of the curious cunning of the erotic criminal lunatic, Rasputin never allowed matters to run calmly for very long. He was much too clever for that, well knowing, that while Protopopoff, Minister of the Interior was his friend, he had as powerful enemies, both Stolypin and Miliukoff who, later on, became Minister for Foreign Affairs. Both the latter he feared, as well as the Grand Duke Nicholas Michailovitch.
The latter had secretly learnt much concerning the ex-thief of the far-off Siberian village more, indeed, than Rasputin had ever dreamed. One day, a week after the departure of Mademoiselle Sophie Tutcheff, the Grand Duke attended a great reception at the Winter Palace. The usual brilliant throng had assembled; the usual Imperial procession had taken place down the great Nicholas Hall, that famous salon wherein three thousand people can dance at one time the salon the walls of which are adorned with golden plates, and where on the night of a Court ball the assembly is indeed a gorgeous one of stars, medals, exquisite dresses and brilliant uniforms. Though Russia was at war, the Empress had given the ball, and all Russian Court Society had assembled.
Among the throng were two men the Bishop Teofan, of the Pravoslavny Church, and with him the monk, silent and unbending, upon whom the eyes of all the women were turned. Naturally there were many strange whisperings among those who were Believers and those who had not been initiated into the cult of the Sister-disciples, whispers among the old and young whispers which were not meant for any male ear.
Bishop and monk passed down the great ballroom, through the beautiful winter-garden beyond, where many men and women were chatting beneath the palms, and then into the Oriental gallery, a place decorated with those engraved golden and silver plates which Catherine the Great received with bread and salt from those who came to do her homage.
Thence the pair disappeared into one of the side rooms to what is known as the Jordan Entrance.
A tall, bald-headed man with heavy brow, moustache, small round beard, and wearing a brilliant white uniform with many decorations had followed the pair from the ball-room. With him walked a young, clean-shaven, dark-haired man in uniform, erect and determined.
The elder was the Grand Duke Nicholas Michailovitch, the younger the Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovitch.
They entered the small room unceremoniously, and confronted the illiterate Bishop and the peasant charlatan.
We have come to turn you out of the Palace! exclaimed the elder man firmly. Your presence is obnoxious to us, especially the charlatan of Pokrovsky. We are Grand Dukes of Russia, and we have no intention to mix with convicted thieves and beguilers of women! Come! His Imperial Highness cried, Go! You are not wanted here!
And pray by what right do you speak thus? asked the Starets with offensive insolence.
By the right of my position, was the Grand Dukes reply.
In response, Rasputin spat upon the pale blue carpet in defiance.
In a moment the young Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovitch, an athletic young officer who had only the day before returned from the German Front where he had been with von Rennenkampf, took the dirty monk by the scruff of his neck and flung him outside into the big marble hall, administering to him a severe kick in the presence of a dozen of the astonished Palace guards.
Put this scoundrel outside! he commanded the men, and two minutes later, Rasputin, with his dirty black habit badly torn, found himself flung down the steps headlong into the snow.
Meanwhile the Grand Duke Nicholas had administered to the dissolute Bishop whose sister, by the way, was one of Rasputins spiritual brides at his monastery, or harem, at Pokrovsky a very severe castigation and with his own hands had torn the big crucifix from his neck and cast it across the room.
Then, when at last the Bishop emerged into the Hall, he shared, at the Grand Dukes order, the same indignity that had befallen the dissolute blackguard whom the Empress caressed and called her Holy Father.
Of this episode Rasputin made no mention to Her Majesty. It, however, caused him considerable misgivings and before morning he had decided upon a dramatic course of action.
Next afternoon, a Wednesday, was the day fixed for the usual performance of the bi-weekly secret rites. He took luncheon with the Emperor and Empress in their private apartments, Madame Vyrubova alone being the only other person at table.
Suddenly the monk who had been talking with the Emperor, using his uncouth Siberian expressions, and even eating with his fingers, clasped his knotted, peasant fingers together and turning to the Empress, announced:
To-night, Great Lady, I go upon a pilgrimage. Divine God has called me to Moscow, where work there awaits me. I know not what it is, but when I arrive there I shall receive His divine direction. Alexis will be well in my absence, and will improve, for twice each day he will have my prayers. God has called me I cannot remain.
Not even this afternoon? gasped the unnerved hysterical woman who was Empress of Russia in this our Twentieth Century.
No. I must take leave of you, great lady, to obey the call, was his deep answer.
And by that nights express he left in a luxurious sleeping-berth for Moscow where, truth to tell, the Countess Ignatieff was awaiting him.
The only call the licentious blackguard had received was the news that two very prepossessing young girls, named Vera and Xénie, daughters of the late Baroness Koulomzine, of Moscow, had expressed their desire to Countess Ignatieff to join the secret cult. The Countess had shown him their photographs and the libertine, in pretence of performing a pilgrimage, travelled to Moscow in order to initiate them. Next day, at the Convent of the Ascension, where the libertine had spent the night, he interviewed the two young gentlewomen. Before an ikon with flowers upon the altar and in the presence of the Lady-Superior, he exorcised their sins according to his prescribed rite.