The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  Hardest on Alix had been the confrontation with her sister Ella. The saintly Ella, who had joined a religious order after the murder of her husband in 1905, had come from Moscow specifically to appeal to her sister. But Alix was incensed that Ella believed all the lies about Rasputin. In the end, Alix coldly asked her sister to leave.

  One by one, the tsar’s family was abandoning him. The Grand Duke Paul, Dmitri’s father and the tsar’s only surviving uncle, had summed up probably what they all were feeling. “Must we all suffer for your foolish stubbornness? You have no right to drag your family down with you!”

  They did not want to go down with a sinking ship. But Nicholas had to cling to the belief that the ship of his reign was not imperiled. He must never lose hope that he would pass the Crown on intact to his son. Not an easy thing to do with everyone conspiring against him.

  Just before Nicholas was to return to the Front, Rasputin came to dine at Tsarskoe Selo. It was not the send-off the tsar would have chosen. The starets seemed uncharacteristically moody and preoccupied. He spoke so much of death and approaching misfortune that the tsar finally sent the children to bed. No sense in subjecting innocents to such depressing talk. But Grigori wouldn’t let it go. “I have seen a river of blood and my ears are filled with cries of pain and suffering. Darkness surrounds me, like the night, like a shroud. I will suffer a great martyrdom, but I will forgive my tormentors. If the hand that is raised against me is of my brothers, the Russian peasantry, then you, my tsar, need have no fear. You and your son and his son will reign in Russia for hundreds of years. But woe to you if my blood is shed by nobles and by your own relatives! Then neither you nor your children nor any of your family will remain alive for more than two years.”

  Nicholas was glad the children hadn’t heard that. The man was in a strange mood. Nicholas and Alix tried to console him, assuring him that no such thing would happen. Nicholas poured Grigori another glass of wine to try to lift his spirits. But it didn’t help much, and when the starets rose to leave, his shoulders were slumped and he walked with shuffling feet, like a man about to be executed.

  Making another attempt to cheer the man, Nicholas said, “I will be leaving for the Front in the morning, Father. Please bless me.”

  “I cannot do it, Papa,” Rasputin replied dismally. “It is I who needs your blessing.”

  In the Duma the uproar against the present government had risen to fever pitch. Paul could remember the days when such attacks against the emperor would have been the surest path to exile, perhaps even execution. But now they continued even after the tsar resolved to replace several members of the Progressive Block of the Duma with right-wing conservatives, and failing that, to dissolve the Duma altogether.

  Although the idea shocked Paul’s sensibilities, he was not surprised when several army officers approached Kerensky with a plan to assassinate the tsar by nose-diving an airplane into the tsar’s motorcar. The most persistent plan, however—and perhaps the most sensible—was to force the tsar to exile Alexandra to the Crimea.

  Paul could not guess what would come of all this. One thing was certain—change had to be implemented at the highest level of the government or collapse was inevitable. Everyone believed this except, unfortunately, the tsar. Some still hoped that change might possibly come without violence, but Paul believed the country had come to the point where change would only come by uprising. There had never been any middle ground for Russia, after all, so why should anyone think it would happen now?

  Paul went to see his sister Anna, to warn her to prepare for the worst.

  “Stockpile whatever food you can,” he suggested. “I’m afraid it’s inevitable that this conflict will escalate into violence.”

  Anna smiled. “We barely have enough for our daily needs.”

  “Find a good hiding place for your valuables and money.”

  Mariana and Raisa listened intently. “Do you really think money will do us any good?” Mariana asked. “Even now, I couldn’t buy a loaf of bread with a hundred dollars.”

  “You’ll need it for bribes and payoffs, not food,” Paul replied. “And, Mariana, you would be wise to wire Daniel’s family to send you cash immediately. If you have any valuable jewelry, sew it into the linings of your clothes.”

  “Paul, you sound like you are preparing us for the end of the world,” Anna said.

  Mariana frowned. “You are frightening me, Uncle Paul.”

  “I’d rather you be frightened and prepared than ignorant like our emperor will be when doom falls upon him.”

  “Is it really so bad?”

  “It couldn’t be worse.” Paul shook his head. “I have worked all my life for the end of the Romanovs, the end of the monarchy. Yet, even if such a thing were to happen, I’m not certain that the immediate results will be good. Perhaps in the long run the outcome will be beneficial, but at first there will be chaos and violence, not unlike the ‘Time of Troubles’ following the demise of Ivan the Terrible.”

  “I may be old-fashioned,” said Anna, “but it will be too bad if everything that makes up Russia is destroyed. I know the monarchy is not perfect, isn’t even close, yet it has given a kind of security to us. The benevolent Little Father image is a comforting one—”

  Paul grimaced. “A fantasy!”

  “Perhaps,” sighed Anna. “But couldn’t we keep the good and throw out the bad? They have a good system in Britain.”

  “The same thing could happen there if a Rasputin came into power.”

  “What about the Magna Carta?”

  “A Rasputin would find a way to poison it as he has poisoned whatever might have been decent in our monarchy—not that I believe anything was decent about it!”

  “I wish he would go back to Siberia. The way he hurt poor Katya, he deserves some punishment.”

  “Is she recovering?”

  “Yes, she is, but slowly. She placed her trust in him, and he abused it terribly.”

  “Well, there are many who wish more than exile upon that beast,” said Paul. “And some are doing more than wishing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Each day I hear two or three plots against him. Some are even discussed openly in the Duma. Even Rasputin has begun to fear for his life. I’ve heard he hardly ever goes out in the daylight now.”

  “I agree he is an evil man, but to kill him—” Anna shook her head.

  “What if that were the only way to get rid of him?”

  “Paul, are you involved in such plots?”

  “No, but I cannot say I wouldn’t support a viable plan were it to be presented to me.”

  “Paul, no!”

  “I remember how Papa always used to try to see the best in life and in people, Anna. I never was able to do that, not when I was young and, unfortunately, not now. I have matured to some extent from those terrible days when I tried to kill Alexander the Second. I know now that such acts of hatred will only turn against the one who performs them. It nearly consumed me. But acts of patriotism, acts of expediency, are another matter . . . in many cases they are no different than the killing that occurs on a battlefield.”

  “And that is what you think the murder of Rasputin would be?”

  “He is a traitor, Anna. Many believe he is in direct collusion with the Germans. In time of war, traitors are shot.”

  “Ah, Paul, but I feel so very sorry for the one who ends up pulling the trigger.”

  “That man will be a hero of Russia.”

  Anna gazed at Paul with great sadness and no condemnation. “But he will also be a murderer.”

  60

  The conspirators met one final time to discuss the plan they would set into motion that very night. By the time they finished, Yuri was trembling. How could he be involved in such a plot? He was a doctor. He had sworn a solemn oath to uphold the sanctity of life. How could he kill a man, even a monster like Rasputin?

  Now that Katya had begun to recover from her ordeal, Yuri’s initial fury at the man was fadin
g, and for that, at least, he was thankful. It seemed far worse to kill a man out of hatred than it did out of “political necessity,” as his accomplice Pourichkevich would call it. But even at that, Yuri had debated frantically to convince himself of the necessity of the deed. What kept him going was the realization that he knew in his heart it must be done.

  He had considered leaving the matter in God’s hands. But he couldn’t decide if that was merely a convenient excuse so he could remain clean, or if it was truly a spiritual principle. The Rasputin problem wasn’t going to remedy itself.

  The Bible said, “Thou shalt not kill.” But thousands upon thousands of good Christian men were at that very moment killing other human beings upon the field of battle. Were all those soldiers doomed to eternal damnation? He didn’t think so, and he didn’t think he had a right to try to remain above that himself. This was his moment to take a stand for his country . . . and for his tsar.

  Still, even if war was morally no different than political assassination, killing a faceless enemy was a long way from luring an unsuspecting man to your home—in this case, Youssoupov’s home—and offering him wine and cakes laced with poison. Then, if that were not enough, wrapping the body in a rug and carrying it off to an isolated bend in the river to dump it under the ice. That’s what made Yuri shake with fear—the personal-ness of the affair. Granted, in the plan they had concocted, Felix would be the one to entertain Rasputin and feed him the poison. The others would wait upstairs and be in charge of disposing of the body—after Yuri had pronounced the man dead.

  The whole thing was gruesome, appalling.

  But necessary.

  How else to rid the country of an enemy more dangerous than any German?

  “Yuri?”

  Katya’s soft voice intruded into his grim thoughts.

  “Yes, my dear.” He smiled benignly, reaching out to take her hand.

  It was good to have her back, even though she still was wounded in her heart and in her soul. Rasputin had seriously undermined her budding faith. Because in her mind he was so wrapped up with her belief in God, she no longer knew what was right and true. She was back to groping around in spiritual darkness. But at least she hadn’t given up. She was still trying to seek the real truth. She and Yuri and Anna had had several discussions about faith since that awful night. Katya had many questions, and she was not going to be satisfied with easy answers. If anything, her experience had made her more determined than ever to understand true Christianity.

  Perhaps I should be thanking Rasputin rather than trying to kill him, Yuri thought. But his commitment to the deed had gone far beyond anger over his wife’s ordeal. He knew now it had been growing in him since his first encounter with the man, and especially since that first time he had seen him with the tsarevich. This was his destiny.

  “Yuri, you seem so far away,” said Katya. “What are you thinking about?”

  She had no idea what he was planning to do. In her delicate state, he hadn’t wanted to trouble her with his decision. But now that she was better, he didn’t want to lie to her. The last thing she needed now was for someone else close to her to lie and damage what trust she had. But he couldn’t tell her the full truth. It was best, for her sake, that she not know. The conspirators had sworn themselves to secrecy, although Yuri knew Pourichkevich was not being very discreet, and that there were vague rumors afloat about the plan. Nevertheless, it was best to keep it as quiet as possible. However, because of the possible repercussions to him, he wondered if it was fair to keep it from his wife. Shouldn’t she have a chance to be prepared for his possible arrest?

  “I’ve been thinking about the future, Katya,” he said finally.

  “Sometimes it doesn’t look very good, does it?” she said. “All the uncertainty about the war and the growing unrest at home—it can be frightening.”

  “You’ve been through so much, my love.”

  “Yes, but remember when we talked a few weeks ago about maturing? I thought I was mature then, but I was so very wrong . . .”

  “We both were a bit ignorant, weren’t we?”

  She nodded with a slight smile. “At least I am now mature enough to see how wrong we were. Your mama said something the other day that really struck me as true. Each trial we experience, each of life’s scars, can only mature us if we allow them to do so, if we don’t let them stop us in fear and panic. I’m trying hard to look at things that way. She said our lives are like a big chunk of marble, and the sculpting process is long and tedious. Each little chip doesn’t amount to much, but, chip by chip, it will eventually turn into a beautiful work of art. The saddest thing would be for the sculptor to tire of the process and quit too soon, leaving a half-carved piece of stone that resembles little or nothing at all. I don’t want my life to be that way, Yuri. I want to keep moving ahead. It scares me, but the alternative is even more frightening.”

  Yuri looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time, and what he saw left him breathless. Her little-girl tenderness was still present, but there was so much more depth to her than he had ever remembered—around her eyes, the curve of her mouth, the set of her jaw. Was it possible that her suffering had made her more beautiful than ever? She had matured. He saw it in the way she gazed at him with the understanding of a woman—yes, a woman—who was truly letting her trials work for good in her and not ill. She was stronger, perhaps, than he gave her credit for.

  “I want to be able to say the same thing of my life, Katya.”

  “You already can.”

  “We have so much further to go.”

  “What’s troubling you, Yuri? Even though I’ve been wrapped up in my own problems lately, I can’t help but see there is something wrong with you—something more than concern over me. I doubt I can help you much, but maybe just talking about it will help.”

  “I didn’t want to involve you, Katya. But I see now that if we are truly one, then you are involved. I can’t tell you everything—for your own safety—but I will say that I am about to do something dangerous, something that could well get me arrested. I am totally convinced, however, that it is for the good of Russia.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’d rather not tell you any more.”

  “Will your life be in danger?”

  “I don’t think so.” A half-hearted smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “Actually, if we are successful, I may well become a national hero.” But his attempt at levity faded. “That’s not why I’m doing it, though. It’s not a heroic act, but it is necessary.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t be so vague. Why can’t I—?” Suddenly she stopped, and all the color drained from her face. “You’re going to kill Rasputin, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t ask any more questions, please.”

  “Dear Lord, no! Yuri, you can’t.”

  “I know how you feel about him, Katya, and for that reason my decision has deeply grieved me—”

  “I don’t care about that, Yuri. I care about you and what could happen to you.”

  “I’ve gone too far to turn back—if I wanted to. But I don’t.”

  “Are you doing this to avenge what happened to me?”

  “I was approached long before that, and I’ve been thinking about it for some time. What happened to you only solidified in my mind the absolute necessity of . . . it. If he continues to reign, Russia will be destroyed. Not a single informed soul in this country doubts that.”

  “But why you, Yuri?”

  “I’ve asked myself that many, many times. I don’t know why fate led Felix to come to me. But now I believe it must be done and that it is Russia’s only hope of survival. To dump the dirty task on another would make me the worst kind of coward, Katya. I couldn’t live with myself.”

  “But how can you do this thing and live with yourself?”

  “It won’t be easy, not for any of us who are involved. I suppose it boils down to a choice between evils. I’d rather face the suffering that might
come of doing such a deed rather than pass it on to another. At least I can lean upon the strength of mind that God has given me. But if you cannot bear what may come of this, I will back out. I don’t want you hurt further.”

  “I have no idea what I can bear—no, I suppose I have a better idea today than I did a week ago.” She took a breath. “It would be so easy to use that to stop you. But I won’t. I will bear what I must bear. I’ve learned I can do that, if nothing else.”

  “And you truly have no problem with the fact that he was someone you once cared for?”

  “My eyes were opened the other night, and I saw the evil in him. But I feel very sorry for him, too. I think at one time he truly was a man touched by God. But he abused his anointing. He brought his own doom upon himself.”

  “That’s what he said of me.”

  “His prophecy ended up being for himself.”

  “I hope so.”

  “We must both be strong.”

  Yuri tentatively held out his arms, and Katya came swiftly to him. It was the first time since that night with Rasputin that she had allowed Yuri to be so close.

  “I just thought of something,” Yuri said, “something that has been important to me all my life. My brother and Talia and I recited it over a little ritual we once did so we could be blood brothers. ‘A three-fold cord is not easily broken.’ Katya, together, you and I will be far stronger than we ever were separately.”

  “I have always sensed that, Yuri.”

  “Even when you were running away from me?” He smiled.

  “Especially then. Why do you think I ran?”

  “I love you so, Katya!” He kissed her fragrant hair. He could feel their hearts beating almost as one. Thoughts of Rasputin faded. In her arms he could forget his fear of what lay ahead, basking only in her love.

  61

  Yuri tried to carry those final hours of love with him. He had assured Katya that his life was not in danger, and they had both chosen to believe it. But nothing could be certain. He did not know, when he told her good-bye that night, if he would see her again. Any number of things could go wrong, not the least of which was his capture after the crime was committed.