To Kill Rasputin: The Life and Death of Grigori Rasputin (Revealing History)

by Cook, Andrew

  In addition to the serious doubts that must be raised (and which will be further explored in chapter 11) as to whether Rasputin was ever physically able to leave the basement dining room, climb the stairs and run or stagger across the courtyard, the identity of Hoare as the mystery man must also be seriously questioned.

  Hoare was indeed an Oxford University graduate like Yusupov, although an inspection of New College, Oxford records shows that Hoare matriculated in October 1899 and graduated in Classics in 1901 and Modern History in 1903. Yusupov, by comparison, matriculated in October 1909 and graduated in 1912. They were not, therefore, college friends or indeed contemporaries – in fact, there is no evidence that Hoare and Yusupov ever met at any time in their lives, let alone at university.

  As we have already noted, while Hoare was indeed informed of the plot by Purishkevich, he did not take it seriously. On the night of the murder he was apparently at home with his wife and dinner guests.19 Although invited by the police to see Rasputin’s body following its discovery, Hoare did not, as Shishkin claims, actually accept the invitation, due to a bout of recurring illness.20

  Having considered the versions of events proffered by those who were not present on the night of the murder, we must now turn directly to compare the accounts of three individuals who, by their own admission, were present and playing an active part in the events that took place – Yusupov, Purishkevich and Lazovert.

  TEN

  ONCE UPON A TIME

  In 1918, V.M. Purishkevich published his account of the murder of Rasputin in Russian, and after his death this was republished in Paris in 1923. Purishkevich’s Diary sheds a far from flattering light on the events of the night, but it seems the word ‘incompetent’ was not in his lexicon. He begins his tale early in the evening of Friday 16 December. He has been in the hospital train, reading, all day, a statement which does not tally with Maklakov’s assertion that he met Purishkevich in the Duma late that afternoon, but no matter.

  He intended to leave the Warsaw Station at half-past eight that evening, and catch a tram to a meeting of the Town Duma. There he would stay, ‘in order to kill time’, until a quarter to midnight, when Dr Lazovert, in his chauffeur’s uniform, would pick him up at the Duma watchtower for the drive to the Yusupov Palace. Just in case, at seven o’clock, he pocketed his Savage revolver and a brass knuckleduster.

  He set off late; he left the station at half-past nine, and took the short ride by tram only to find the Town Duma building empty and the hall unlit. A quorum had failed to assemble, so the meeting had been abandoned. Making the best of things, he got the janitor to open up the Deputy Mayor’s office so that he could write some letters and wait for Lazovert.

  He spent an hour on his letters, but at a quarter to eleven had nothing left to do. He did not want to hang around in the street outside wearing military uniform.

  I decided to spend the rest of the time on the telephone and, calling a lady-friend of mine, the actress N., I chatted with her until after eleven.

  To stay any longer in the Duma, however, would have been awkward, so I put on my coat and went out to the sidewalk. As the clock in the Duma tower struck 11.15, I dropped my letters into a mailbox and began to stroll along the side streets near the Duma. The weather was mild. It was no more than two or three degrees below zero and a light, moist snow was falling.1

  He dawdled. Minutes passed ‘like an eternity to me’, and at the appointed time there was no sign of Lazovert. When the car did turn up, more than five minutes late, he was cross, and shouted at the doctor, who said he’d had a puncture.

  They drove to the Yusupov Palace. The courtyard of number 92 had an iron [sic] grille fence separating it from the street, and two pairs of iron gates… which nobody had remembered to open.

  Thinking they must be too early, Purishkevich and Lazovert drove on, circled around Mariinski Theatre Square, and came back to the palace down Prachesni Lane. The gates were still shut.

  Purishkevich, who was already on a short fuse, had had enough. They pulled up outside the towering central doors of the palace.

  I rang. A soldier opened the door to me and, without taking off my overcoat, but looking around to see who else was in the foyer (there was one other man dressed in a soldier’s uniform sitting on a bench, but no-one else), I turned to the door on the left and went into the apartment occupied by young Yusupov.2

  He stomped in and found Yusupov, Sukhotin and Dmitri Pavlovich in the study. They accused Purishkevich of being late; this did not have a calming effect. Yusupov went away to have the gates opened, and shortly afterwards Lazovert appeared in his chauffeur’s coat, having now been able to park the car, according to plan, close to the courtyard door. They all trooped downstairs to the dining room, where the tea table was ‘abundantly spread with cakes and other delights’. The basement room was unrecognisable in its new, tastefully furnished state. They ate and drank slowly, aware that Yusupov must not leave until after half-past midnight o collect Rasputin. They disarrayed the table to make it look as if a party of ladies had been disturbed ‘by the arrival of an unexpected guest’ and had left hurriedly. Then they turned their attention to the poison. Dr Lazovert put on gloves ‘which Yusupov had procured’ and grated potassium cyanide ‘pieces’ onto a plate with a knife. There were two kinds of cake, sandwiched with either a pink or a chocolate mixture. Lifting the top halves of the pink ones, he concealed cyanide inside. Other pink cakes were cut and left as if half-eaten on the plates. Lazovert then burned the gloves. The chimney began to smoke. ‘We had to spend at least another ten minutes clearing the air.’

  Once they were upstairs in the drawing room,

  Yusupov took two phials of potassium cyanide in solution from his desk and gave one to Dmitri Pavlovich and one to me. Twenty minutes after Yusupov had left to pick up Rasputin we were to pour these into two of the four glasses sitting behind the bottles on the table in the dining room below.3

  By twenty-five to one, Lazovert in his chauffeur’s uniform and Yusupov in his coat with its upturned collar had left. Sukhotin went to see if the gramophone worked. Purishkevich put his heavy Savage pistol on the table. They were all quiet, and worried about whether they could smoke, for the smell of cigars or cigarettes would make Rasputin suspicious. Here Purishkevich points out for the first time that Rasputin had insisted that no other men be present on the night he came to the palace.

  Purishkevich and Dmitri Pavlovich went downstairs to doctor the wine glasses. Upstairs again, they waited, and, when the car was heard, Sukhotin set the gramophone and started to play Yankee Doodle – ‘a tune which haunts me even now’.

  On the other hand, we have Yusupov’s point of view.

  The fateful day arrived. This was to be murder de luxe. Our hero, a set designer manqué, returned in the afternoon from his in-laws’ palace down the road to spend a blissful afternoon supervising the arrangement of furniture in the vaulted basement.

  Arches divided it in two; the larger half was to be used as a dining-room. From the other half, the staircase… led to my rooms on the floor above.… The walls were of grey stone, the flooring of granite…

  When I arrived, I found workmen busy laying down carpets and putting up curtains. Three large red Chinese porcelain vases had already been placed in niches hollowed out of the walls. Various objects which I had selected were being carried in: carved wooden chairs of oak, small tables covered with ancient embroideries, ivory bowls, and a quantity of other curios… I have good reason to remember a certain cabinet of inlaid ebony which was a mass of little mirrors, tiny bronze columns and secret drawers. On it stood a crucifix of rock crystal and silver, a beautiful specimen of sixteenth-century Italian workmanship. On the red granite mantelpiece were placed golden bowls, antique majolica plates and a sculptured ivory group. A large Persian carpet covered the floor and, in a corner, in front of the ebony cabinet, lay a white bear-skin rug.

  In the middle of the room stood the table at which Rasputin was to drink his last cup of te
a.

  My two servants… helped me to arrange the furniture. I asked them to prepare tea for six, to buy biscuits and cakes and to bring wine from the cellar. I told them that I was expecting some friends at eleven that evening, and that they could wait in the servants’ hall until I rang for them.4

  He spent much of the evening praying at the Cathedral of Our Lady of Kazan. When he came back, he was delighted by the effect his efforts had produced:

  Comfortably furnished and well lighted, this underground room had lost its grim look. On the table the samovar smoked, surrounded by plates filled with the cakes and dainties that Rasputin liked so much. An array of bottles and glasses stood on a sideboard. Ancient lanterns of coloured glass lighted the room from the ceiling; the heavy red damask portières were lowered. On the granite hearth, a log fire crackled and scattered sparks on the flag-stones. One felt isolated from the rest of the world and it seemed as though, no matter what happened, the events of that night would remain forever buried in the silence of those thick walls.5

  It must have been a comforting thought.

  A bell rang; Dmitri Pavlovich and the others had arrived. Once they were in the basement dining room, Yusupov took ‘a box containing poison’ from a cupboard and the cakes from the table. Three were iced with chocolate and three with almond icing. Dr Lazovert put on rubber gloves and took out potassium cyanide crystals. He crushed the crystals and ‘sprinkled’them under the chocolate icing.

  They would put potassium cyanide crystals into the glasses later, in case the poison evaporated. Dr Lazovert ‘assured us that the dose was many times stronger than would be required to cause death’. They disarranged the room. Lazovert and Yusupov left; the others would go upstairs later. Dr Lazovert changed into chauffeur’s uniform and went to start the car, while Yusupov put on a fur coat and hat.

  Arriving at Gorokhovaya Street, Yusupov had a brief exchange with the yard man and went up the back stairs in pitch darkness. Rasputin led him in, through the kitchen. Yusupov felt someone was watching him ‘from the adjoining room’. After that night, Yusupov was the only living witness of what followed:

  We went into his bedroom, which was partly lit by a lamp in the corner, in front of the ikons. Rasputin applied a match to a candle. I noticed that the bed was disarranged – he had evidently just been resting. His fur coat and beaver hat were in readiness. On the floor were a pair of snow boots.

  He was dressed in a white silk blouse embroidered with corn-flowers and girded with a thick raspberry-coloured cord with large tassels, wide trousers of black velvet, and long boots, brand new. Even his hair and beard were carefully combed and smoothed. As he drew nearer to me I felt a strong smell of cheap soap. He had obviously paid special attention to his toilet that day; I had never before seen him so clean and tidy.6

  Rasputin began to talk about going on to the gypsies. He was worried in case Yusupov’s mother would be there;he knew she disliked him. And then he said

  And what d’you think? Protopopov drove round here this evening and made me promise that I’d stay at home during these next few days. ‘They want to kill you,’ he said. ‘Evil-minded people are plotting against you.’

  Dismissing this warning, he decided to go with Yusupov anyway. Before he left he opened a chest full of money in bundles wrapped in newspaper. He talked about his daughter’s wedding. He blew out the candle and they left.

  After a momentary qualm, Yusupov regained his courage as they headed for the Yusupov Palace.

  They drew up at the side entrance and Yusupov took Rasputin through the little door. At once Rasputin heard an American song playing on the gramophone above and asked whether a party was going on. Yusupov told him that Irina was entertaining friends and would join them soon. He took him down to the dining room.

  The visitor refused tea and coffee. They sat at the table discussing mutual friends – the Golovinas and Vyrubova. After a while, Yusupov gave him tea and biscuits. Later, the cakes. Rasputin didn’t want any of those; they were too sweet, he said.

  Finally, he ate the whole plateful. They had no effect at all.

  Yusupov urged him to try some Crimean wine. At first he gave him wine from a clean glass, and only later, after he had switched to Madeira, did he trick him into drinking from a glass that had crystals in the bottom.

  …he drank slowly, taking small sips at a time, just as if he had been a connoisseur.

  His face did not change;but from time to time he put his hand to his throat as if he found slight difficulty in swallowing.

  Three glasses of Madeira later, Rasputin was still waiting for Irina’s party to finish and they sat facing each other in silence. Yusupov thought his victim just might have caught on.

  A mute and deadly conflict seemed to be taking place between us. I was aghast. Another moment and I should have gone under. I felt that confronted by those satanic eyes, I was beginning to lose my self-control. A strange feeling of numbness took possession of me. My head reeled… I saw nothing… I do not know how long this lasted…

  Yusupov pulled himself together and offered Rasputin a cup of tea;Rasputin accepted, saying he was thirsty. Then he asked Yusupov to play his guitar and sing, which he did… and another song, and another. Soon ‘The hands of the clock pointed to half past two’. And there was a lot of noise from upstairs. Yusupov went up to investigate.

  Meanwhile, the others had been eavesdropping (we revert to Purishkevich’s point of view). No sooner had Lazovert the ‘chauffeur’ crept upstairs to remove his uniform than the whole party, under cover of the gramophone music, crept out and down towards the dog-leg landing and listened for noises from the basement dining room. As Purishkevich described it,

  We stood bunched together: I was first on the staircase, the brass knuckles in my hand; behind me was the Grand Duke; behind him Lt Sukhotin; and last was Dr Lazovert.

  They stood on the stairs for about half an hour, putting the needle back and furiously rewinding ‘Yankee Doodle’ so that it boomed faster through the great brass horn whenever it threatened to slow down. From below, they heard nothing but a quiet murmur of conversation. Then they heard the door below opening, and scampered back to the study like mice.

  Yusupov came in and told them that Rasputin would not eat or drink. What should he do? Dmitri Pavlovich told him to go back downstairs at once, in case Rasputin came up after him, saw the assembled company, and got suspicious – ‘and then we would either have to let him go in peace or finish him off noisily – this could be fraught with consequences’. Felix returned to the basement. The others returned to their previous positions on the stairs. Half an hour later they heard a cork popping and the tinkle of glasses. (Through the solid walls, the curtains and the door with its thick portière, that is.) Then silence. Dmitri thought they would not have long to wait. They returned to the study.

  Fifteen minutes passed and Yusupov came upstairs, pale-faced. Rasputin had eaten all the cakes and drunk two glasses of poisoned wine and ‘nothing has happened, absolutely nothing’ – Rasputin was belching and dribbling, but that was about it. And he was worried about why Irina didn’t come. Yusupov had told him she would be down in ten minutes.

  Again they told him to go downstairs and wait five more minutes for the poison to take effect. When he had gone, Purishkevich noticed that Lazovert, who had proved brave and imperturbable when in the battle zone and under fire, was having a crise de nerfs. He was ‘beet-red from apoplexy’, and went missing. After an unspecified time, he returned, ‘pale and haggard’, and said he had felt ill, had gone down to the car, and had fallen face forward into the snow. The cold had revived him.

  Yusupov came back; it was hopeless. Dmitri Pavlovich said they must abandon the plan and let the man go. But Purishkevich was resolute.

  ‘Never!’ I exclaimed. ‘Your Highness, don’t you understand that if he gets away today, he will have slipped away forever? Do you think that he will come to Yusupov’s tomorrow once he realises that he was tricked? Rasputin cannot,’ I continued
in a half-whisper, stressing each word, ‘must not, and will not leave here alive… If poison doesn’t work… then we must show our hand. Either we must all go downstairs together, or you can leave it to me alone. I will lay him out, either with my Savage or I’ll smash his skull in with the brass knuckles. What do you say to that?’

  They began to creep downstairs in single file behind Purishkevich with the knuckleduster. Lazovert had been given the truncheon, despite his protests that he was feeling too ill to use it. But Purishkevich had descended only a step or two when Dmitri Pavlovich told him to stop, and took Yusupov aside. The others returned to the study. When Dmitri Pavlovich and Yusupov came in, they had agreed that Yusupov would shoot Rasputin. ‘It will be quicker and simpler’, the Prince said, and took a Browning from his desk drawer and went downstairs.

  Five minutes later they heard a shot, a cry, and a body hitting the floor. They rushed downstairs and plunged headlong through the basement door, and one of them got caught somehow on the light switch, plunging them into pitch darkness.

  They groped for the switch and turned it on, only to find Rasputin dying on the bearskin rug and Yusupov standing over him, holding the revolver behind his back. There was no blood. ‘Evidently it was an internal haemorrhage – the bullet had entered Rasputin’s chest and had not come out.’