Yussoupov’s next meeting with Rasputin was at the flat in Gorokhovaya Street; he and Munia were dropped at a discreet distance away. Rasputin himself welcomed them at the door: ‘You’ve come at last. I’ve been waiting.’ Yussoupov disapproved of the flat décor, sniffily noting paintings badly executed and a general feel of ‘bourgeois wellbeing and prosperity’.
The two men were left alone after the Man of God snapped at Munia: ‘Go into the other room.’ By way of a conversational gambit, Rasputin sneered at the Duma, evidently forgetting his intention not to ‘uselessly offend’ members. He now dismissed them as ‘dogs collected to keep other dogs quiet’, adding over-optimistically that ‘their babblings won’t last much longer’. He boasted to Yussoupov: ‘Say the word and I’ll make you a minister,’ and unnerved him by taking his hand and saying: ‘Don’t be afraid of me.’
Both parties seemed to enjoy a certain theatricality. But how clear were they about their ever-changing roles? Rasputin, increasingly the fearful victim, was playing, once again, the mover and shaker at the heart of Government. Yussoupov, masquerading as the tremulous patient, was steeling himself to play murderer.
There was no doubt that Yussoupov, once the St Petersburg flâneur, had become an intriguer. He was confounding detractors with his new sense of purpose, not least the Tsar’s younger sister, Grand Duchess Olga, who in the past had spoken disparagingly of the: ‘utterly unpleasant impression he makes, idling at such times’. After Yussoupov’s visit, Rasputin reverted to tragedy, writing plaintively to the Tsar: ‘I shall be killed. I am no longer among the living.’
The Tsarina was, as usual, immersed in her own scenario. On November 2 1916 she wrote: ‘Anxious about Baby’s arm so asked our Friend to think about it.’ On December 4, by which time Rasputin was in imminent danger, she told her husband to have ‘more patience and deepest faith in the prayers and help of our Friend’. And a few days later she urged him to ‘rely on Rasputin’s wonderful brain – ready to understand everything’.
Prince Felix Yussoupov spent the snowy day of December 16 adding finishing touches to an elaborate mise en scène. An empty wine cellar at his sumptuous palace on the Moika Canal had been converted into a dining room. The room was freshly painted and decorated: new curtains were hung, doors nailed in place and electric wiring installed. Lavish furniture was brought from other rooms, including carved wooden chairs, porcelain vases and a bearskin rug.
The table was laid as though a dinner had just taken place, with smeared plates, used cutlery and scrunched-up napkins. Drops of tea were poured into the teacups and half-eaten cupcakes strewn alongside place settings on the table at which, as Yussoupov pronounced proudly, ‘Rasputin was to have his last cup of tea’.
In the afternoon, Yussoupov took himself off through the blizzard to the Kazan Cathedral, to pray for two hours. Convinced of the justice of his mission, he would have enjoyed an inspiring session, unaware that his victim had visited the cathedral days before. After attending to his spirit, Yussoupov visited the Military Academy; he intended to take his exam the following day.
He had three main fellow conspirators. Vladimir Purishkevich was the Duma member whose recent speech had so impressed Yussoupov. He was known for several idiosyncrasies, not least throwing water at his adversaries and cocking a snook at the Socialist element by sporting their symbolic red carnation in his fly buttons. It fell to Purishkevich to procure chains heavy enough to carry a body to the bottom of the Neva River. That fateful day he spent several nervous hours working at home, before venturing out to attend the Duma.
Purishkevich was 46, balding, with a full black beard and pince-nez. He had been immediately taken with what he saw as Yussoupov’s ‘indescribable elegance and breeding’ and was clearly enamoured of the romance of the murder plot. Later, describing the stage set of a cellar, he noted excitedly that it resembled an ‘elegant bonbonniere in the style of ancient Russian palaces’ and that ‘the pink and brown petits fours were chosen to complement the colour of the walls’.
The second conspirator was Grand Duke Dmitri, the Tsar’s cousin, who was aged just 25 and also striking, with large, plaintive, hooded eyes. Purishkevich described him as a ‘handsome, stately young man’.
And the third was Dr Stanislaus Lazovert, a friend of Purishkevich: an army doctor, he had worked in a hospital train run by Purishkevich. Among Lazovert’s tasks was the preparation of one of Purishkevich’s hospital cars, to be used to transport the body to a hole in the ice next to the Petrovsky Bridge. Lazovert spent hours tinkering with the engine, though not very fruitfully as it turned out: during its brief mission, the car kept stalling. He painted over an identifying ‘semper idem’ (‘always the same’) emblem on its side.
Dr Lazovert’s primary role, however, was to provide the cyanide, which he cut up and sprinkled into wine glasses and cupcakes. He created a setback during the preparations when he threw his rubber gloves into the fire, filling the room with smoke. He later passed out and had to be revived in the snow. But at this early stage of the proceedings, he readily prepared himself for the role of chauffeur. By 11.00pm he had dressed up in a suitable coat and peaked cap. He collected Purishkevich and the pair arrived at Yussoupov’s splendid Moika Palace at the same time as Grand Duke Dmitri.
Purishkevich and Dr Lazovert were both no doubt acting altruistically, taking personal risks in order to right what they perceived to be a terrible wrong. Purishkevich had publicly expressed his fierce disapproval of Rasputin, but he may have been as beguiled by the conspiracy’s drama as with its justice. Dr Lazovert’s motives remain less clear; but, by this time, it was of course a commonly held belief that Russia would be better off without Rasputin.
Grand Duke Dmitri and Yussoupov were very close. It was rumoured that the pair had once been lovers and that Dmitri, in a jealous rage, had tried to kill himself. Yussoupov, though happily married, was known never to have been averse to what he called ‘love affairs of a special kind’, and Dmitri, though once betrothed to the eldest Grand Duchess, Olga, certainly wrote Yussoupov highly emotional letters: ‘How desperately I long at times to have a talk with you… For God’s sake write to me… I must again restrain my urgent desire to see you.’
Rasputin, incidentally, was not as fond of the Grand Duke as he was of Yussoupov. He claimed that Dmitri had a skin disease so contagious that the Imperial children were told to wash their hands with a special solution after touching him.
Shortly before midnight, Dr Lazovert drove Yussoupov to Gorokhovaya Street to collect Rasputin. The late pick-up was unusual, but its peculiarity had not particularly struck Rasputin. He may have been more than usually befuddled by the prospect of meeting the stunning Princess Irina.
Dr Lazovert’s later statement that, at this point, he entered Rasputin’s flat is not borne out in any other account. His other claim regarding Rasputin’s feelings during his last drive – ‘Rasputin was in a gay mood’ – is equally contentious. Yussoupov had no recollection of Rasputin being either gay or, as Maria claimed, slightly apprehensive. In fact, he was unnerved to find Rasputin completely calm and exhibiting nothing at his reputed ‘gift for knowing people’. Once the pair arrived at the Moika Palace, he helped Rasputin off with his overcoat: ‘I looked at my victim with dread as he stood before me, quiet and trusting. What had become of his second sight?’
What were Yussoupov’s own feelings that night? It has been claimed that he had some sexual fixation with Rasputin. Yussoupov’s description of the trances into which he was put by Rasputin definitely have a sensuous relish. It was widely acknowledged that the Man of God’s eyes were mesmeric and that he could expand and contract his pupils at will. Yussoupov gave a graphic account of one of Rasputin’s so called ‘cures’: ‘His hypnotic power was immense. I felt it subduing me and diffusing warmth throughout the whole of my being. I grew numb; my body seemed paralysed. I tried to speak, but my tongue would not obey me, and I seemed to be falling asleep, as if under the influence of a strong narcotic.’
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Maria was adamant that during the course of their meetings over the previous month, Yussoupov had been trying to seduce Rasputin. Watching the two of them avidly at the flat, she once caught Yussoupov ostentatiously drinking from the same side of a glass as her father. She also recalled her father telling her of an occasion when he had found Yussoupov lying naked on his broken sofa during what was supposed to be a treatment session for his homosexuality. ‘There is no doubt what he had in mind. Papa was dismayed to find that all his efforts were in vain.’
Any sexual advance would have been particularly contrary. Yussoupov never tired of listing Rasputin’s unattractive traits, describing him as having ‘a mincing gait’ and walking around ‘bending, squatting, rubbing his hands’. He talked of Rasputin’s ‘untidy tangle of hair’ and his face ‘of the more ordinary peasant type – a coarse oval with large ugly features overgrown with a slovenly beard and with a long nose’.
Of his qualities as a healer, Yussoupov was no less critical, saying he had ‘no trace of spiritual refinement’ and was prone to ‘mutter incoherently’. But then his general repugnance need not have deterred him: the Prince was known for being perverse.
For his part, Rasputin was clearly drawn to Yussoupov; his name for him, ‘The Little One’, was blatantly affectionate if not sexual. One of the Tsar’s cousins was insistent that Rasputin was in the grip of a ‘carnal passion’ for Yussoupov.
Later, describing the events of that fateful night, Purishkevich would reveal his conviction that something had happened between Yussoupov and Rasputin when they were left alone together in the cellar. He reported having heard a suggestive groaning sound or, as he put it in French, a gémissement. Years later, Yussoupov seemed to incriminate himself, revealing all sorts of intimate details about Rasputin’s sexual attributes to Duff Cooper. At what point he had acquired this knowledge is unclear. Yussoupov claimed to Duff Cooper that Rasputin could withhold orgasm for prolonged periods and that he had three large penile warts.
Accounts vary as to that evening’s exact sequence of events. But Yussoupov’s and Purishkevich’s versions are similar enough to have been accepted as true.
Yussoupov first settled Rasputin at table, amid the after-dinner clutter, explaining to him that the guests had adjourned upstairs with the beautiful Princess Irina. Rasputin’s meeting with the Princess, he said, could take place as soon as these others had left. To give the illusion of a party above, the conspirators planned to play gramophone records. Sadly, at some late stage, they discovered that the Yussoupovs had only one record: ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’.
The Prince had also prepared to play some music himself: against the cellar wall, he had carefully propped his guitar. Yussoupov was known for singing and playing gypsy songs; he and Dmiri performed duets. Rasputin perked up when he spotted the guitar. ‘Play something cheerful,’ he demanded, later adding: ‘You have much soul in you.’ Otherwise the pair shared desultory conversation, during which they discussed ‘mutual friends’. In one account Yussoupov claimed that he tried to persuade Rasputin to leave Petrograd.
Rasputin may not have been suspicious of Yussoupov, but nor was he inclined, initially, to be convivial. He turned down ever more insistent offers of poisoned food and alcohol. When he finally did eat and drink, he showed no ill effect. Yussoupov began to suspect that his victim was being protected by supernatural powers. Increasingly unnerved, he left the room three times to complain to his conspirators upstairs. Purishkevich remembered Yussoupov’s words: ‘The poison’s effect is apparent only in the fact that he keeps belching and there seems to be an increase in saliva.’
In exasperation, Grand Duke Dmitri, the least committed, suggested they abandon the plot altogether. But he was overruled by the others. They all now agreed that their only option, with the failure of the poison, was to shoot him. All four ventured downstairs together, but, as they were creeping down, Yussoupov snatched Grand Duke Dmitri’s gun, announcing that he wanted to carry out the assassination himself. He went on ahead and found his victim gazing, enraptured or dazed, at a 17th-century bronze and crystal crucifix. When Rasputin made some appreciative comments, Yussoupov admonished him: ‘Grigory Efimovich, you would do better to look at the crucifix and pray.’ As soon as Rasputin began praying, Yussoupov shot him, point blank, in his side.
Claims that the conspirators, now a full two floors up, heard Rasputin’s body landing on the white bearskin rug seem unlikely. What the conspirators did hear, however, was Rasputin’s ‘wild scream’ as he was shot. All three rushed down to see what was happening, but, as they entered the room, one of them either flicked the light switch or tripped on a wire and the room was plunged into darkness. Yussoupov said he froze in terror, lest he step on his victim. A few minutes later, the lights came back on and they surveyed the crumpled body on fhe floor.
Although Purishkevich had spoken out against Rasputin in the Duma so vociferously, he had never actually set eyes on him. He wondered now how this so-called Man of God could have influenced the destiny of Russia: a peasant ‘si banal et si odieux’. The rattled Grand Duke was the first to speak; he told the others that, to avoid stains, they must get the body off the bearskin rug and onto the stone floor. After moving him, the conspirators switched off the lights, locked the door and went upstairs.
But Yussoupov, it seems, couldn’t resist returning to the cellar. Half an hour later, he crept back downstairs and peered closely at the corpse. He swore that, at that point, Rasputin came back to life: ‘First one eye, then the other, opened with a look of diabolical wickedness.’ The Man of God now lunged at Yussoupov, ‘bellowing and snorting like a wild animal’. In the ensuing scuffle, Rasputin tore off one of Yussoupov’s epaulettes: ‘It seemed that the devil himself, incarnate in this muzhik [peasant], was holding me in vice-like fingers never to let me go.’
Upstairs, Purishkevich heard Yussoupov’s ‘cri sauvage, inhumain’; both attacker and victim were now screaming like animals. Grand Duke Dmitri and Dr Lazovert had left the palace to burn Rasputin’s clothing, though, confusingly, none of it was ever burnt. Purishkevich had been relishing a moment of quiet, with a celebratory cigar, when he heard the terrible commotion downstairs. He rushed, spluttering, into the corridor and collided with Yussoupov, who barged past him and ran into his parents’ quarters shouting: ‘He’s alive! He’s getting away.’
There were disputes about whether Purishkevich did, in fact, fire the fatal shot. It was mooted that Grand Duke Dmitri (above), a trained soldier, was the more likely candidate.
Purishkevich leapt downstairs, drawing a gun from his pocket. Rasputin had by now somehow heaved himself through a gate and into the palace yard, and was running at speed through the snow yelling: ‘Felix, Felix, I’ll tell the Tsarina everything.’ Purishkevich ran after him and fired two shots, but they both missed. In a desperate bid to help himself focus, Purishkevich then bit his own left hand and fired a third shot which he claimed killed Rasputin.
There were disputes about whether Purishkevich did, in fact, fire the fatal shot. It was mooted that Grand Duke Dmitri, a trained soldier, was the more likely candidate. The Tsar’s eldest daughter, Grand Duchess Olga, was in no doubt that it was her former fiancé. She wrote in her diary: ‘We have learned that Father Grigory has definitely been killed, it must have been by Dmitri.’
There is also evidence, however, that the coup de grâce was fired by a British secret service agent. The idea is not so outlandish. The Tsar and George V were cousins: the Man of God had become an embarrassment for the British as well as the Russian monarchy. But the more urgent concern would have been the widely held notion that Rasputin was somehow lobbying for a separate peace with Germany.
The agent most frequently referred to as the assassin was Oswald Rayner, a friend of Yussoupov’s from Oxford. He had visited the Moika Palace several times during November; he was with Yussoupov the morning after the murder and for the next 24 hours. Another British agent said shortly afterwards that ‘awkward questions were b
eing asked.’ The Tsar later told the Ambassador, George Buchanan, that he had heard that British officers were involved. Buchanan’s insistence that the allegation contained ‘not a word of truth’ did nothing to quell rumours. It is said, even now, that King George V was involved.
Alternative rumours were rife. Bertie Stopford, an English friend of the Tsar’s cousins, was in close contact with Yussoupov at the time. He was told that Rasputin had been given a gun and ordered to shoot himself. Perhaps the least likely suggestion put forward was that Rasputin was shot by Yussoupov’s Ethiopian servant, Tesphe, a man so unsophisticated that he liked to peer into lavatories to watch the water flushing.
In the early hours of the morning of the 17th, Purishkevich persuaded two soldiers to help him drag the body inside. He then searched for Yussoupov, finding him in a bathroom, trembling, spitting and vomiting. Purishkevich led him to the stairs above where the body was lying, so that he could see that Rasputin was actually dead. Yussoupov peered over the bannister and glared at the body, before throwing Maklakov’s cudgel at it. He then ran downstairs and set about beating it. In the end Purishkevich – puzzled by the passionate ferocity of Yussoupov’s attack – had to order the two soldiers to pull him off.
Yussoupov was by now finally convinced that Rasputin was dead, but, at that moment, Purishkevich began to entertain his own doubts. He maintained that he saw and heard Rasputin still showing signs of life: ‘Turning his face up, he groaned and it seemed that he rolled his right eye which fixed me, dazed but terrible, I see it before me now.’
A spanner should have fallen into the works when the police called, after hearing shots at 3.00am. But Yussoupov somehow managed to fob them off, telling them he had been holding a party and that Grand Duke Dmitri had shot the porter’s dog for fun. In the course of the evening Yussoupov had, indeed, shot his dog as a way of accounting for blood in the snowy yard. He later complained: ‘Because of that reptile I had to shoot one of my best dogs.’
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