It was then—at the end of November 1916—that Rasputin was more especially warned that a plot had been made against him. The Grand Duke Nicholas tried again to instil sense into the Emperor, but in vain. And the scoundrel paraded the so-called visions which he had never had, alarming the Empress more and more on the subject of her son, and continuing his work of threatening his approaching death if the famous separate peace were not signed. The Empress had come to believe that if this peace did not immediately become an accomplished fact the Romanoffs were doomed; and this she wished to prevent.
Germany naturally wished much for this peace; but to-day has to use the greatest circumspection before accepting the proposals of Lenin, whose government is recognized neither by the Ambassadors of the Allied powers nor by the Russian Ambassadors in Allied countries.
The dark forces did their best to spread cholera amongst the troops at the front, an epidemic that was luckily stamped out almost at once, to the great disappointment of those who had instigated it. They then tried to poison the Grand Duke Dmitri; but that also failed.
On the 16th of December 1916, Rasputin was invited by Prince Felix Yousoupoff to spend the evening in his father’s mansion, under the pretext of meeting a young woman who ardently desired to become a “sister disciple.” What I do not understand is, why he should have accepted the invitation, for he had been so often warned against his would-be host. He therefore arrived at the Prince’s luxurious house, and was received by him, but after a gay supper was left tête-à-tête with one of the Prince’s friends on the pretext of inspecting some objets d’art which had attracted his notice previously.
The friend in question did the honours of the princely house with affability, and offered Rasputin wine—into which a strong admixture of poison had been introduced!
The mock-monk sipped a few drops in the manner of a connoisseur, which indeed he had become, having accustomed himself to the taste of the famous vintages of the Winter Palace, and then addressing himself to his interlocutor he appeared to be interested in some special work of art on one of the tables in the room, which the latter felt obliged to show him for closer inspection. On returning to Rasputin’s side he noticed the monk had become paler as he passed his hand across his face as if desirous of concealing a strong pang of pain.
The Prince’s friend positively held his breath, keeping his eyes fixed on his prey as he noticed the glass standing empty beside him; he imagined the inevitable was bound to follow quickly, as the dose was a very strong one.
Upstairs, anxiety grew apace, many hearts were palpitating, every one counting the seconds which seemed eternal. Prince Felix Yousoupoff was there with a few friends who had all sworn to purge Russia, once and for all, of her evil genius.
But, as it happened, at the end of a few minutes the momentary sensation of discomfort seemed to disappear and the rascal became quite himself again to the Prince’s friend’s amazement, who began to wonder whether after all this extraordinary man opposite him was in reality entirely like other men, and not, as some people affirmed, a demon or a sorcerer, gifted with some wonderful and unknown power of resistance. This man who had the power to heal had also the facility to kill, so it was generally believed. And there, in that room, the silent witness of so many festivities of the past, was about to be enacted the last scene of one of the greatest dramas which had ever taken place in the world’s history.
Driven at last almost to despair, the hero of the plot, anxious to conclude his task, drew out his revolver and shot the “Saint” as he gloated over the beautiful antiques; but, although wounded, Rasputin still had sufficient strength to stagger into the hall and was on the point of making his way to the street door as, pale with pain and foaming with rage, he yelled out: “For you have tried to kill me, I will revenge myself.” Upon which the hearer renewed his attack, emptying the contents of his revolver into the “Saint’s” head—and breathed again freely once more, as this time the “monk” was indeed dead. Then was uttered one general shout of joy from the little group of the Prince’s friends assembled not far off, although in concealment during the tragedy. Rasputin had fired several times, but, as he was very drunk, I was told he only killed a dog.