The Minister of Evil: The Secret History of Rasputin's Betrayal of Russia

After a pause Rasputin, lighting a cigarette, laughed lightly to himself, and said:

"The report furnished to me yesterday shows that Madame was one of the Plechkoffs of Lublin, and her balance at the Azov Bank is a very considerable one. The price of my silence is the money she has there. And I shall obtain it, Féodor—you will see," he added with confidence.

So ruthlessly did he treat the unfortunate woman that, by dint of threats to place the original of that statement of Lachkarioff before the Minister Protopopoff, he had before a week had passed every rouble she possessed.

I was present on the night when she came to him to make the offer, the negotiations having been opened and carried on by a man named Zouieff, one of the several professional blackmailers whom Rasputin employed from time to time under the guise of "lawyers." She was beside herself in terror and despair, and carried with her a cheque-book.

The interview was a strikingly dramatic one. She penitent, submissive, and full of hatred of the spy under whose influence she had fallen; the monk cold, brutal, and unforgiving.

"Yes," he said at last, when she offered him a monetary consideration in exchange for his silence. "But I am not content with a few paltry roubles. I am collecting for my new monastery at Kertch, and what you give will atone to God for your crime."

Within ten minutes she had written out a cheque for the whole of her private fortune, while at the monk's dictation I wrote out a declaration that his allegations were false, a document which he signed and handed to her, together with Lachkarioff's original statement.

Even then Rasputin's cunning was not at its limit.

Lachkarioff's usefulness to Germany in Russia was at an end. He was in Gothenburg, and being a close friend of an English journalist there, it was feared lest he should allow himself to be interviewed, and reveal something of the truth concerning the subterranean working of Germany in Petrograd.

"The man's lips ought to be closed," Steinhauer had written to Rasputin only a week before. "Can you suggest any way? While he lives he will be a menace to us all. Filimonoff is safe in an asylum in Copenhagen, though I believe he is perfectly sane. Only it is best that no risk should be run."

Here were means ready to hand to close the mouth of Felix Lachkarioff, for the woman whom he had betrayed was furiously vengeful.

"You said the other day that you would be ready to strike a blow at that enemy of Russia who has so grossly misled you," Rasputin said to her in a deep, earnest voice, as she sat in his room. "Would not such a course be deeply patriotic? Why not, as expiation of your sin, travel to Gothenburg and avenge those hundreds of poor people who were his victims at Obukhov? I can give into your hand the means," he added, looking her straight in the face.

"What means?" she asked.

He crossed to his writing-table, and, unlocking a drawer with a key upon his chain, he took out a tiny bottle of extremely expensive Parisian perfume, a pale-green liquid, which he handed to her.

"It looks like scent," he remarked, with a grin, "but it contains something else—something so potent that a single drop introduced into food or drink will produce death within an hour, the symptoms being exactly those of heart disease. That is what deaths resulting from it are always declared to be. So there is no risk. Meet him, be friendly, dine with him for the sake of old days in Petrograd, and before you leave him he will be doomed," added Rasputin, in a low whisper. "He surely deserves it after deceiving you as he has done!"

"He certainly does," she declared fiercely, unable to overlook how he had betrayed her. "And I will do it!" she added, taking up the little bottle. "Russia shall be avenged."

"Excellent, my dear sister. You will indeed be rewarded," declared Rasputin, crossing himself. "When you return to Petrograd, give me back that precious little bottle of perfume, which I call the Perfume of Death."

That the woman did not fail to carry out her promise was certain, for within a fortnight we heard in a secret dispatch that Hardt brought us from Berlin that the agent Lachkarioff had died suddenly from heart disease after dining with a Russian lady friend at the Grand Hotel in Stockholm.

Truly, the grip in which Germany held Russia and its Government was an iron one, and death most assuredly came to those whom Berlin feared, or who were in any way obnoxious to the German war party.

Ten days later a small packet was left at the house, addressed to the monk. When I opened it I found the little Parisian perfume bottle.

One morning, a week later, I went with Rasputin to the Ministry of the Interior, where we were ushered into the small, elegant private room of "Satan-in-a-silk-hat" Protopopoff, who greeted us cordially. But as soon as the door was closed, and he had invited us to be seated, he rose, turned the key, and, facing us, gravely said:

"Gregory, I fear something serious is about to happen. Late last night I received an urgent visit from the Under-director of Secret Police of Moscow, who had come post-haste to tell me that there has been a secret meeting between Miliukoff and the Grand Dukes Serge and Dmitri in that city, and it has been decided that at the reopening of the Duma Miliukoff will rise and publicly expose us."

"What?" shrieked the monk, starting. "Is that what is intended?" he asked breathlessly.

"Yes. He apparently knows the authors of the outrage at Obukhov and our association with them. It is believed that he actually holds documentary evidence of the money which we passed through the Volga-Kama Bank, in Tula."

"But this must be prevented at all hazards," declared Rasputin. "We cannot allow him to denounce us. Not that anybody will believe him. But it is not policy at this moment. Public opinion is highly inflamed."

"I agree. Of course, nobody will believe him. Yet he is dangerous, and if he denounces us in the Duma it will come as a bombshell. I called upon Anna Vyrubova early this morning, and she has gone to the palace," said Protopopoff.

Rasputin remained silent, his hand stroking his ragged beard, a habit of his when working out some scheme more devilish than others.

"Miliukoff will be supported by Purishkevitch, without a doubt," His Excellency the Minister went on. "Both are equally dangerous."

The "saint" grunted and knit his brows, for he saw himself in a very perilous position. In three days' time the Duma would re-open, and Miliukoff would probably bring forth certain documentary evidence of the treachery of Stürmer, Fredericks, Soukhomlinoff, Anna Vyrubova, and a dozen others who formed the camarilla which was working for Russia's downfall.

"The Duma must be prevented from opening," Rasputin declared at last. "The Emperor must rescind the order and further postpone it."

"The Duma has been prohibited from meeting for over five months. It can, I agree, wait still further. His Majesty must find some excuse, or–"

"I know what is passing in your mind, friend," interrupted the monk. "Yes, I will urge Nicholas further to prohibit it, and thus give us time to suppress our enemies."

"Action must be taken at once," said the Minister. "I had a telephone message from the secret police in Moscow to say that Miliukoff left for Petrograd at nine o'clock this morning. The Grand Dukes have gone south."

Two hours later, on our return to the Gorokhovaya, an Imperial courier arrived in hot haste from Tsarskoe-Selo with a sealed note for the monk, enclosed in two envelopes.

These I tore open, and, signing the outer envelope as assurance of safe receipt, handed it to the courier, who left. Afterwards I read the message to Rasputin, it being as follows:

"Holy Father,—Anna has just told me of Miliukoff's intention in the Duma. The Emperor must further adjourn its re-assembling. I have telegraphed to him urging him to do this. If not, let us adopt Noyo's suggestion to pay the agents J. and B. ten thousand roubles to remove him. I would willingly pay a hundred thousand roubles to close his mouth for ever. This must be done. Suggest it to P. [Protopopoff]. Surely the same means could be used as with T. and L. and the end be quite natural and peaceful! You could supply the means as before. But I urge on you not to delay a moment. All depends upon Miliukoff's removal. If he reveals to the Duma what he knows, then everything must be lost. I kiss your dear hands. With Olga I ask your blessing.—Your dutiful daughter,            "A."

It was thus evident that the Empress knew of what Rasputin gleefully called "The Perfume of Death." Ah! in how many cases, I wonder, was it used by the mock "saint" to stifle the truth and to sweep his enemies of both sexes from his path? Such a letter as this I have here given seems utterly incredible in this twentieth century, yet those who knew underground Russia immediately before the downfall of the Romanoffs will express no surprise.

At once we went to Tsarskoe-Selo with all haste, and Rasputin had a long conference in private with the Empress and Anna, the outcome of which was that Alexandra Feodorovna dispatched an urgent message in cipher to the Tsar, who was still absent at South-West Headquarters.

We remained at the palace all that day. At six o'clock Anna Vyrubova entered the room, where I sat writing some letters, and inquired for the monk.

"He was here a quarter of an hour ago," I replied.

"Then find him at once and give him this. It is most urgent," said the high-priestess of the cult of the "sister-disciples," handing me a sealed envelope.

Ten minutes later I found Rasputin walking alone on the terrace, impatient and thoughtful, and opened the envelope. Within was a message in Their Majesties' private cipher, which had been deciphered by the Empress's own hand, and which read:

"Tell our dear Father [Rasputin] that to postpone the Duma would, I fear, create an unfavourable impression, and I judge impossible. Protopopoff has asked my authority to arrest Miliukoff upon some technical charge, but I do not consider such a course good policy. I agree that to-day's situation is grave, and agree also that at the last moment some means should be taken to prevent him from speaking.

"Nikki."    

The monk at once flew to the Empress's side, where Stürmer was being received in audience. Again the situation was eagerly discussed. That night, when we returned to Petrograd, although it was nearly midnight, Protopopoff was summoned by telephone, and when the pair met I learnt what had been arranged at the Palace.

The Empress's wishes were to be carried out. The patriot Miliukoff was to be "removed."

CHAPTER XIV

MILIUKOFF'S EXPOSURE

Matters were now growing daily more desperate in Russia. Suspense, unrest, and suspicion were rife everywhere, while the deluded people were kept quiet by promises of a great offensive in the near future.

The Minister Protopopoff, wearing his gorgeous uniform, his breast covered with decorations—the man whom Great Britain regarded as so extremely friendly—had just paid a visit to the British Embassy, and on his way home called upon Rasputin.

"It is just as we heard from Moscow," he said to the monk anxiously. "Miliukoff intends to denounce you at the opening of the Duma. He has been in communication with both the French and British Embassies, and as far as I can learn both are in entire agreement with him."

"Then I must save myself," Rasputin declared, stroking his matted beard thoughtfully.

"The British never dream that I have been assisting you in your schemes with Alexandra Feodorovna. That is why they are so friendly with me at the Embassy. Indeed, only yesterday the French Ambassador handed me the latest report upon the output of munitions in France, and the details of their long-range gun. These I copied, and Hardt has left with them for Berlin."

"Truly, we have fooled the Allies exquisitely," laughed the Black Monk. "But if I am denounced, you also will be discovered as my associate, as well as Stürmer, Fredericks, and our other friends."

"That is why the Empress urges you to resort to the 'perfume,'" said the much-decorated traitor.

"Yes, but how?" asked Rasputin. "There is no time."

"There is sufficient."

"What do you suggest?" asked the monk.

"You know little Xenie, who married the Councillor of State, Kalatcheff, last year? She is one of your 'sisters,' is she not?"

The "saint" nodded.

"Well, according to a secret report made to me, she has conceived a violent hatred of Miliukoff, who was once a friend of her husband, and who still admires her. Miliukoff visits her home sometimes, and one day quite recently while in her salon he denounced you. She has been going about declaring him to be your bitterest enemy. If so, could she not invite him to take tea with her—and then?"

"An excellent idea!" cried Rasputin. "Xenie Kalatcheff warned me against Miliukoff some time ago, I recollect. I will see her and sound her upon the subject." Then, turning to me, he asked me to inquire over the telephone if Madame Kalatcheff was at home.

Five minutes later I informed the monk that the lady was at home, and was ready to speak with him if he wished.

At once Rasputin went to the instrument, and, after greeting her gaily, asked if she could possibly come round to see him "on a very urgent affair," to which she at once acceded.

"I had better not see her, so I shall get off," said His Excellency. "Be careful how you treat her. Recollect, her mind may have been poisoned against you by Miliukoff. These members of the Duma are often very clever and cunning."

"Leave the matter in my hands," said the "saint," with a grin. "I will soon ascertain her exact attitude, and act accordingly. First, we must remove Miliukoff, and next Purishkevitch—who is equally our enemy."

About twenty minutes later I ushered into the monk's presence a pretty, handsomely-dressed woman of about twenty-eight, who often attended our reunions, and who was one of the best-known society women in Petrograd.

I was about to turn and leave when Rasputin said:

"You can remain, Féodor. The matter upon which I have to speak with our sister here concerns you as well as myself."

Then, when the wife of the Councillor of State was seated, Rasputin carefully approached the subject of Miliukoff.

"It has been whispered to me that he is my bitter enemy, and that he is about to speak against me in the Duma," he said. "I believe your husband and he are friendly. Do you happen to know if there is any truth in this rumour?"

"Yes, Father, I do," was madame's instant reply. "I warned you of him three weeks ago, but you did not heed. I also told Anna Vyrubova, but her reply was that you, being divine, would be perfectly able to take care of yourself."

"So I am. But it is against God's holy law that human tongues should utter lies against me," he said, cleverly impressing upon her the fact that if Miliukoff were suppressed it would be no crime, but an act of duty.

"To me, in my own house, he has declared his intention of denouncing you—and also our dear Anna and the Empress."

The monk was silent. While she was seated he stood before her with folded arms, looking straight at her. Suddenly, fixing her with those remarkable eyes of his, he asked in a deep, hard voice:

"Xenie, will you permit this man to besmirch the name of him whom God hath sent to you?"

"I don't understand!" she cried, surprised at his attitude. "How can I prevent it?"

"It lies in your hands," declared the mock saint. "You are his friend—and also mine. He visits your house—what more easy—than–"

"Than what?"

"Than you should invite him to take tea with you to-morrow—to discuss myself. He knows that you are a 'disciple,' I suppose?"

"Yes, he has somehow learnt it—but my husband is in ignorance, and he has promised not to reveal the truth to him."

"If he knows of our friendship he might tell your husband. He is unprincipled, and probably will do so. That is why I suggest you should ask him to tea."

As he spoke he crossed to the writing-table, and, opening a drawer with the key upon his chain, he took out the tiny bottle of exquisite Parisian perfume.

"What is that you have there?" she asked, with curiosity, noticing the little bottle. "Scent?"

"Yes," he said, with a mysterious grin. "It is, my dear sister, the Perfume of Death."

"The Perfume of Death?" she echoed. "I don't understand!"

"Then I will tell you, Xenie," he replied, his great hypnotic eyes again fixed upon her. "I do not use perfume myself, but others sometimes, on rare occasions, use this. It is unsuspicious, and can be left upon a lady's dressing-table. A drop used upon a handkerchief emits a most delicate odour, like jasmine, but a single drop in a cup of tea means death. For two hours the doomed person feels no effect. But suddenly he or she becomes faint, and succumbs to heart disease."

"Ah, I see!" she gasped, half-starting from her chair, her face ashen grey. "I—I realise what you intend, Father! I—I–"

And she sank back again in her chair, breathless and aghast, without concluding her sentence.

"No!" she shrieked suddenly. "No; I could not be a poisoner—a murderess! Anything but that!"

"Not for the sake of the one sent by God as saviour of our dear Russia?" he asked reproachfully, in a low, intense tone. "That man Miliukoff is God's enemy—and ours. In your hand lies the means of removing him in secret, without the least suspicion."

And slowly the crafty, insinuating criminal took her inert hand, and pressed the little bottle into its soft palm.

"One drop placed upon the lemon which he takes in his tea will be sufficient," he whispered. "Only be extremely careful of it yourself, and return the bottle to me afterwards. It is best in my safe keeping."

"No! I can't!" cried the wretched woman over whom Rasputin had now once again cast his inexplicable spell.

"But you shall, Xenie! I, your holy Father, command you to render this assistance to your land. None shall ever know. Féodor, who knows all my innermost secrets, will remain dumb. The world cannot suspect, because no toxicologist has ever discovered the existence of the perfume, nor are they able to discern that death has not resulted from heart disease."

"But I should be a murderess!" gasped the unhappy woman beneath that fateful thraldom.

"No. You will be fulfilling a duty—a sin imposed upon you in order that, by committing it, you shall purify yourself for a holy life in future," he said, referring to one of the principles of his erotic "religion."

She began to waver, and instantly I saw that Rasputin had won—as he won always with women—and that the patriot Miliukoff had been sentenced to death.

"Go!" he commanded at last. "Go, and do my bidding. Return to-morrow night, and tell me of your—success!"

Then he bowed out the reluctant but fascinated young woman, who in her silver chain-bag carried the small bottle of perfume.

That night Rasputin, after drinking half a bottle of brandy, retired to bed, declaring that women were only created to be the servants of men. Then I sat down, and taking a sheet of plain and very common writing-paper, I typed upon it a warning to the man who, at the Empress's suggestion, was to be so ruthlessly "removed." The words I typed were:

"You will be invited to tea to-morrow by Xenie Kalatcheff. Do not accept. There is a plot to cause your death. This warning is from—A Friend."

I typed an envelope with Monsieur Miliukoff's address, and then, slipping to the door quietly, I stole out and dropped it in the letter-box at the corner of the Kazanskaya.

That I had saved the deputy's life I knew next afternoon when Madame Kalatcheff sent round a hurried note to Rasputin, explaining that, though she had invited him to her house, he had rather curtly refused the invitation.

At this the monk telephoned her to come round, and once again she sat in his room explaining that she had sent Miliukoff a note urging him to see her at four o'clock, as she wished to make some revelations concerning the monk that might be useful to him when speaking in the Duma. The reply, which she produced, was certainly couched in most indignant terms.

"Can he suspect, do you think, Féodor?" he asked, turning to me.

"How can he?" I asked. "Perhaps, knowing madame to be a 'disciple,' he doubts the genuineness of her promised disclosures."

"Perhaps so," Xenie said. "But what can I do if he suspects me? Nothing that I can see."

The pair sat anxiously discussing the situation for the next half-hour, until at last the State Councillor's wife, handing back the little bottle of perfume to the monk, rose and left.

I was secretly much gratified that I had been able to save the Deputy's life, yet Rasputin continued to discuss other plans with me, repeating:

"The fellow must die. Alexandra Feodorovna has willed it. While he lives he will always be a constant menace. He must die! He shall die!"

Our national hymn, "Boje Tzaria khrani" ("God save the Tsar"), was being sung at the moment in the streets, because news of a victory in Poland had just been given out to the public.

Already the foundation stone of the revolution had been laid, and M. Miliukoff, with purely patriotic motives, had assisted in cementing it. The Senatorial revision which was ordained to inquire into General Soukhomlinoff's treachery had, owing to Miliukoff's activity, ordered a search at the amorous old fellow's private abode early in the spring, with the result that he found himself incarcerated in the fortress of Peter and Paul. When the general was arrested, madame his wife—an adventuress named Gaskevitch, who had commenced life as a typist in a solicitor's office, and who was many years his junior—had a terrible attack of hysteria, for things had taken for her a most unexpected turn. The woman had been implicated in intrigue and treachery ever since. After copying some secret papers for a man in Kiev, she had blackmailed him, obtained a big sum of money, and then married a man named Boulovitch, a prosperous landed proprietor. By thus entering the higher circle of society in Kiev, she got to know General Soukhomlinoff, its Governor-General, who connived with her to obtain a divorce from Boulovitch, so that she subsequently married the bald-headed old Don Juan a few months after his appointment as War Minister.

Madame and Rasputin were ever hand-in-glove. From the moment the general was arrested she had worked with singular energy and adroitness to retrieve her husband's fallen fortune, and in doing so she assisted to lay the beginning of the first Revolution. She enlisted the sympathy of Rasputin, Anna Vyrubova and the Empress, all of whom were gravely apprehensive as to what might come out at the general's trial. She even threw herself at the feet of Alexandra Feodorovna, imploring her to intercede with the Emperor so as to save her calumniated and injured husband. And at last she succeeded.

The inquiries were suspended, the newspapers were silent regarding the scandal, and suddenly it became known that, "owing to the general's mental state," it had been decided, on the advice of a board of well-known medical specialists, to liberate him!

This astounding news passed from mouth to mouth, and Miliukoff, the patriotic fire-brand, declared everywhere that it was Rasputin's work. The news produced the most sinister impression upon the people, especially on those connected with the Army. The man who had been the primary cause of Russia's reverses was to escape punishment! It was, indeed, this insensate act of folly on the part of the Tsar which had undermined the people's trust in their Emperor, and gave Rasputin's enemies—and more especially Miliukoff—opportunity for his bitter denunciation.

On the afternoon of the day before the opening of the Duma, Rasputin received another letter from the Empress, in cipher, as follows:

"Dear Father,—Nikki still refuses to postpone the Duma, though I have done all I can to induce him to do so. Come to us at once and try to force him to our views. Not a moment should be lost. I have just heard that Miliukoff is still active, so conclude that what you told me has failed.

"P. [Protopopoff] has told me an hour ago that Skoropadski [a German agent living in Petrograd as a jeweller in the Nevski] has betrayed us all, and has placed some most incriminating documents in the hands of Miliukoff, who has, in turn, shown them to Purishkevitch. They will be produced in the Duma to-morrow. The police traced Skoropadski to Riga, but they have failed to arrest him, and he has, alas! escaped to Sweden.