#@ask-grigori-rasputin

[sakuraswordly]

[dingostrash]

horny kirei art should balance things out.

No idea what this is a response to but you're right

[nickl-art]

the most successful influencer of the late 1890s to the early 1900s

[soullessjack]

31 for the ask game?

31 / three random facts

> the Iron Maiden torture device never actually existed, and was a myth heightened by the idea that the Middle Ages were uncivilized.

> Grigori Rasputin’s dick is allegedly being held in a pickle jar in St. Petersburg, Russia’s Museum of Erotica, after his daughter sold it to them in 1977

> Costas Mandylor aka Mark Hoffman from Saw V, VI and 3D asked for real glass to be put in his glass coffin trap and for his trap bindings to be tighter, and was described as “an actor that likes to be bound.”

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Boney M. - Rasputin 1978

"Rasputin" is a song by Germany-based Afro Caribbean pop and Eurodisco group Boney M. It was released as the second single from their third studio album Nightflight to Venus. The core of the song tells of Grigori Rasputin's rise to prominence in the court of Tsar Nicholas II during the early 1900s, referencing the hope held by Tsarina Alexandra Fyodorovna that Rasputin would heal her hemophiliac son, Tsarevich Alexei of Russia, and as such his appointment as Alexei's personal healer. The song claims that Rasputin was Alexandra's paramour, a widespread rumour in Rasputin's time, with which his political enemies intended to discredit him. It accurately states that the conspirators asked him "Come to visit us", and then recounts a widely popular account of the assassination in Yusupov's estate: that Rasputin's assassins fatally shot him after he survived the poisoning of his wine.

"Rasputin" rose to the top of the charts in Germany, Austria, Belgium and Australia, and went to No. 2 in the UK, Argentina, Finland, Spain and Switzerland. It enjoyed great popularity in the Soviet Union, however it was omitted from the Soviet pressing of the album and Boney M. were barred from performing the song during their ten performances in Moscow.

It's pretty safe to say this song put a impressive and unbeatable record in the amounts of votes and reblogs! 💖 This is currently the most liked song on this poll blog with a whooping 94,8% total yes votes.

[otmaaromanovas]

Romanov myths part three - did the Grand Duchesses go shopping?

Over the years, a prevalent belief that the Romanov Grand Duchesses, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia did not go shopping continues to be repeated. Some historians have even suggested that the girls did not know how paying for items worked. However, primary sources from people who knew the girls, were members of their entourage, and the Grand Duchesses' own diaries, tell a different story...

"Saturday. 10 August. … We walked along the historic boulevard and the main streets, but crowds followed us everywhere, so we were able to go into only 2 shops for a minute..." "Friday. 15 November. Had lessons, after that went shopping for wool with Nastenka as usual.." From Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna’s 1913 diary [my underlining]

In this entry, Olga describes shopping Countess Anastasia 'Nastenka' Vassilievna Hendrikova, who was a young lady-in-waiting at court and a particular favourite of the Grand Duchesses, often accompanying them on trips. As described in the first entry, it appears that safety and security concerns due to crowds, rather than a lack of understanding about shops, contributed to the Grand Duchesses not being able to shop frequently. Nastenka is frequently mentioned by the Grand Duchesses in their diaries, and volunteered to join the Romanov family in their house arrest and imprisonment. She was murdered by the Bolsheviks in September 1918.

"After coffee, I went for a walk with my pupils… They really liked to go to the shops and buy everything. Anastasia Nikolaevna was especially attracted to stores, where they sold doll shoes of various sizes… Tatiana Nikolaevna did not always accompany since the doctors found her heart was weak and she went with the Empress to take baths." A Few Years Before the Catastrophe by Sofia Ivanovna Tyutcheva.

Sofia Ivanovna Tyutcheva was a maid-of-honour to Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna, and in 1907 was appointed as governess to the Grand Duchesses. The Grand Duchesses referred to her as "Savanna". She was dismissed in 1912 when she voiced concerns over Grigori Efimovich Rasputin. She wrote a short memoir in 1945, and passed away in 1957.

"[The] Grand Duchesses went shopping in the morning with one of the ladies-in-waiting to the Empress. They delighted in that because they could mix with the crowd and buy things just as everyone else did, and they were so pleased if they were not recognised at once." -- Upheaval - Olga Voronova

Countess Olga Konstantinovna Voronova was part of the aristocratic Kleinmichel family and in 1914, married one of the Romanov's favourite officers, Pavel Alexeievich Voronov. Through these connections, Olga Konstantinovna became a friend of the Grand Duchesses, exchanging frequent letters with Olga and Tatiana in particular, before and after the Revolution. She published her memoirs in 1932. Once again, it is inferred that being recognised and subsequent security concerns stifled the Grand Duchesses' shopping sprees.

Where did the myth come from?

It appears that the myth came about due to this extract from Margaretta Eagar, an Irish nanny who cared for the children from 1898 to 1904:

Her only knowledge of shops and shopping was derived from the toy and sweet shops in Darmstadt. One day she asked me why the Americans spoke English, not American. I told her the story of the Pilgrim Fathers, and described how they built houses and shops, and so made towns. She was exceedingly interested and inquired, ' Where did they find the toys to sell in the shops ? " Six Years at the Russian Court, by Margaretta Eagar

It appears that some historians forgot that Margaretta Eagar moved on from her nanny position in 1904, when the eldest Grand Duchess was nine and the youngest was three, and perhaps did not look for sources from when the Grand Duchesses had grown up and had slightly more independence.

Over time, the myth appears to have been exaggerated and repeated until it became part of the 'folklore' surrounding the Romanov Grand Duchesses.

Whilst it is clear that the Grand Duchesses did enjoy going shopping in their lifetimes, safety and security concerns meant they could not enjoy shopping as frequently as other teenagers may have. In the same way royals today would not be able to go to shops without being recognised, there was a chance that a crowd could gather. Similarly, Olga and Tatiana appear to have shopped more than the younger pair, Maria and Anastasia, likely due to being older in age and therefore having more independence.

Photos:

First set, left: Olga, Anastasia (hidden behind Olga), and Maria Shopping in Germany, 1910. Right: Olga and Tatiana out shopping in the Isle of Wight, 1909, accompanied by Dr. Evgeny Botkin (in the suit)

Second set, left: Tatiana and Maria shopping with Sofia Ivanovna Tyutcheva, circa 1910. Right: The Grand Duchesses and their entourage by shops, most likely taken in Germany, 1910

Sources:

Journal of a Russian Grand Duchess: Complete Annotated 1913 Diary of Olga Romanov, Eldest Daughter of the Last Tsar, translator Helen Azar, (Independently published: 2015)

A Few Years Before the Catastrophe: The Memoirs of Sofia Ivanovna Tyutcheva, translator George Hawkins, (Independently published: 2020)

Upheaval, Olga Voronova (Woronoff), (New York; London: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1932) -- Free to read online here

Six Years at the Russian Court, Margaretta Eagar, (New York: Charles L. Bowman and Company, 1906) -- Free to read online here

[stromuprisahat]

Hey, umm, feel free to ignore of this is a stupid question, bit why do some people call the Grishaverse “Gregverse”? I’ve seen it used a lot and I can’t figure out why.

Hi, don't be afraid to ask anything. I might be a bit slooooower to answer, but without questions we never learn. ;)

Once upon a time LB (or her publishers) claimed Ravka is inspired by tsarist Russia and so it its language. Unfortunatelly it also drew people interested in such setting, or even familiar with Russian culture, and those pointed out certain inconsistencies in language, naming customs, or the tiny little detail LB decided to call her "not-magicians" by diminutive of an actual name- Grigori (Григорий). Name corresponding with English Gregory, therefore Grisha could be translated as "Greg".

It's a lovely summary of the whole world and the author's approach to its alleged inspiration. It's supposed to look and sound cool and fresh, but you shouldn't look too deeply into it. Therefore Gregverse is often used in slightly derogatory sense by people openly criticising it.

Another funny detail I realized while writing this- Grigori- or Grisha if we want- was the first name of an infamous holy man/charaltan and reputed miracle-worker you'll probably know from certain Boney M song and several Western works of fiction- Grigori Yefimovich Ra-Ra-Rasputin...

[muiitoloko]

Firstly absolutely love your writing, I always look everyday to see if there is a new story written by you. Seriously, love your writing. Would you ever write stories for the other characters the late great Alan Rickman has portrayed in the past like Grigori Rasputin, Metatron, John Gissing, Antonine Richis? Obviously I know you need to have ideas for them, it’s not something you can pull out of the air. I am trying to write my second one shot but, I either lose inspiration or I keep changing things as I over think all the time.

I was thinking about the Rasputin character and had an idea where he is hired by a different royal family to teach the two daughters about god and religion. One princess is to be the heir to the throne, while the other will not be as the doctors found she can not bare any heirs. The princess who is to be the heir tries to seduce Grigori, but he is more interested in the other princess who is treated cruelty by her family He teaches her about how people make a living outside of the royal family. Then asks if she would like him to teach her about the pleasures of the flesh (smut).

it’s cool if this is a bad idea, just thought I would put it out into the universe.

Thank you so much for your kind words and for following my writing journey! It means the world to me that you enjoy my stories. 😊 Writing can definitely be a rollercoaster of inspiration and overthinking, so I totally understand where you're coming from.

As for exploring other characters played by the late, great Alan Rickman, I'm absolutely open to the idea! Each of his characters brings such depth and complexity, and there's endless potential for new stories. Your idea about Grigori Rasputin sounds intriguing and full of possibilities! I love how you've woven together elements of intrigue, royalty, and personal growth. I'll definitely give it some serious thought and see where it takes us. Keep an eye out—I'll be diving into Rasputin's world soon! 😊📝

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

So vampires can make people mysteriously disappear, right? (pretend there's a relevant meta linked here.) What unsolved mysteries do you think were actually vampires per Twilight?

Rasputin

Well, there's always the obvious Grigori Rasputin the man who just wouldn't die.

Rasputin was murdered during the early morning on 30 December [O.S. 17 December] 1916 at the home of Felix Yusupov. He died of three gunshot wounds, one of which was a close-range shot to his forehead. Little is certain about his death beyond this, and the circumstances of his death have been the subject of considerable speculation. According to historian Douglas Smith, "what really happened at the Yusupov home on 17 December will never be known".[86] The story that Yusupov recounted in his memoirs, however, has become the most frequently told version of events.[87]

Rasputin's corpse on the ground with a bullet wound visible in his forehead

Yusupov said he invited Rasputin to his home shortly after midnight and ushered him into the basement. Yusupov offered Rasputin tea and cakes which had been laced with cyanide. Rasputin initially refused the cakes but then began to eat them and, to Yusupov's surprise, appeared unaffected by the poison.[88] Rasputin then asked for some Madeira wine (which had also been poisoned) and drank three glasses, but still showed no sign of distress. At around 2:30 am, Yusupov excused himself to go upstairs, where his fellow conspirators were waiting. He took a revolver from Dmitry Pavlovich, then returned to the basement and told Rasputin that he'd "better look at the crucifix and say a prayer", referring to a crucifix in the room, then shot him once in the chest. The conspirators then drove to Rasputin's apartment, with Sukhotin wearing Rasputin's coat and hat in an attempt to make it look as though Rasputin had returned home that night.[89] Upon returning to the Moika Palace, Yusupov went back to the basement to ensure that Rasputin was dead.[90] Suddenly, Rasputin leaped up and attacked Yusupov, who freed himself with some effort and fled upstairs. Rasputin followed Yusupov into the palace's courtyard, where he was shot by Purishkevich. He collapsed into a snowbank. The conspirators then wrapped his body in cloth, drove it to the Petrovsky Bridge, and dropped it into the Malaya Nevka River.[91]

- Wikipedia

In the Twilight world, although Rasputin was eventually shot to death, the whole ordeal is one that screams supernatural in some manner. His hijinks are also something that Twilight vampires seem to enjoy getting into (see Boris, the vampire who turned Laurent, a fake Russian noble hanging out in Versailles, or else George, the sewer dwelling conman who pretends to be Astaroth).

Jeanne D'Arc

Fully human, definitely gifted, stupidly gifted.

Aro is crying that he didn't make it in time for when she was arrested in Rouen and is still upset about it.

You've got any, @therealvinelle?

[dingostrash]

I’m surprised you haven’t drawn him in a bunny suit considering his stats as the new year servant of the year of the Rabbit.

I have! But I'll do it again because it's fun.

[deborahdeshoftim5779]

I was just discussing Putin's fictious 'family values' that he was boasting about to Tucker Carlson in this post.

Yulia Navalnya, widow of Alexei Navalny, released a video exposing Putin's fictitious 'Christian faith'. That was another boast the dictator made earlier this month to Tucker Carlson, who sat stupefied, as though he were in the presence of the Dalai Lama, rather than the presence of a genocidal dictator. Putin claimed that Westerners were more 'practical' and Russians more 'spiritual'.

Now that we all see Putin continuing to torture Navalny's family even after he murdered Alexei Navalny, everyone can judge this Russian 'spirituality' for themselves. A dictator tortures a grieving mother, a grieving wife, and grieving children, by bribing prison officials to tell lies and refuse to grant the most basic dignity in death to a man who was poisoned, falsely imprisoned, tortured, and eventually murdered.

Navalnaya points out the most obvious moral fraudulence of a man who is careful to be filmed kissing Orthodox icons while maintaining a terror state that murders dissidents.

She also points out later how Putin hid behind religious faith to justify his murderous war in Ukraine, which has now exceeded two years. The Russian Orthodox Church, led by ex-KGB agent Vladimir Gundyaev (now known as Patriarch Kirill), blessed Putin's murderous intentions under the guise of his 'one people' doctrine.

Patriarch Kirill described his 'one people' doctrine of Russians and Ukrainians as including the same Russian Orthodox Church and the same language, Russian. It was Patriarch Kirill who blessed Russian soldiers going to fight someone else's country without justification.

And it has been Patriarch Kirill who has been totally silent when Russian bombs have not only massacred innocents (the same people he claims are part of one entity), but also damaged Ukrainian churches.

It's not just Putin's faith that is fake; the entire Russian Orthodox establishment is fake. It exists on paper as a church, but in reality functions as an embezzlement and money laundering outfit for the Russian government, something Alexei Navalny exposed in his anti-corruption documentaries.

More importantly, the Russian Orthodox Church serves to sanitise and whitewash the ruling dictatorship by presenting the dictators (Putin and Lukashenko) as deeply spiritual men who are single-handedly preserving the religious and cultural foundations of the Russian state and Russian-speaking peoples. (As we know, they define the Russian state and Russian-speaking peoples in imperialist terms, namely, in terms of the non-existent Russian Empire.)

The church falsely advances the idea that without these dictators, Russia's stability would collapse and 'immorality', defined as Western liberal values, would creep in and cause moral ruin.

You had best believe that these 'spiritual' men are paid handsomely in bribes and luxuries like private jets to promulgate this false narrative. You had also best believe that despite their pontification about 'family values' and 'Russian culture', the Russian Orthodox Church has a long history of behaving in exactly the opposite way. Read about the state of the church and the morality of its priests and monks during the days of self-styled monk, Grigori Rasputin (c.1869-1916), as just one example. I put it to you that very little has changed since then.

We do not ask, but we demand: return the body of Alexei Navalny to his family immediately!

[hrefna-the-raven]

See you in Warsaw

Masterlist - Misc. masterlist

Grigori Rasputin x female reader

Words: 2578

Summary: you, dear reader, are a thaumaturge traveling through Russia. As you stop in a smaller village to rest, you hear some shouting outside. Curious about the noise, you decide to take a look...

Notes: this is set before Wiktor arrives in the village where he first meets Rasputin

Reader: short female reader with curves, but no other specific descriptions are used

As the sun began to descend in the evening sky, casting a warm golden hue over the quaint village, you found yourself yearning for a moment of tranquility. The allure of the steaming water waiting in the bathtub called out to you, promising a blissful escape from the exhaustion of the day.

Just as you were on the brink of submerging yourself in the comforting embrace of a well-deserved hot bath, sudden shouts shattered your peaceful plans. Startled, you hurried towards the window, swiftly drawing back the curtains and opening it to peer down into the dimly lit alleyway below. Little did you know that what you were about to witness in that very moment would forever alter not only the course of your evening, but quite possibly your entire life. Lying motionless on the snow-covered ground was a lone tall figure, writhing in pain. Two menacing figures, their faces shrouded in darkness, mercilessly kicked him, their nasty grunts and laughter echoing through the otherwise silent night.

Something deep within you suddenly urged you to help and before you knew it, without wasting a second thought, you climbed out of the window, lowering yourself down from the sill and landing on the pathway below. Adrenaline and excitement coursed through your veins as you took out the dagger that was hidden in your boot and pointed it at the two men, a mischievous grin spreading across your lips.

"Do you like to dance?", you joked before lunging at them.

You danced around the two men with ease, slicing through the many layers of clothes, enough to draw blood without inflicting serious harm. It was your first day in the village and the people barely accepted you given the nature of your kind, so you wouldn't want them to chase you away the following day for killing some of the local idiots. With each punch and kick, the thugs grew increasingly desperate, your years of training and fair share of fights giving you a clear advantage over two drunken farmers so, finally, their cowardice triumphed and they hastily retreated into the shadows.

You stowed away your blade in your boot and knelt beside the injured man, gently rolling him onto his back. His face, twisted with agony, was bathed in the gentle glow of a nearby streetlamp. His skin was pale stood in stark contrast to his long raven hair and the scruffy black beard, and his icy blue eyes seemed stare straight through you.

"Are you alright?", you asked, a hint of concern in your voice as you noticed the trickle of blood at the corners of his mouth.

Extending a hand to help him up, you watched as the man gratefully accepted, mustering a faint smile.

"I've been better but I've also been worse. Thank you for intervening."

Your eyes widened as the man towered before you, he was an almost intimidating figure with his size, dressed entirely in black linen and fur.

"I couldn't possibly let someone get beaten like that, I had to help", you smiled at the man and gestured for him to follow you, "I have a room at the tavern here. Please allow me to take you there and get a look at your wounds. I know a thing or two about mending wounds and I'd feel more at ease knowing you're not in harm's way."

The man chuckled at your offer but followed you nonetheless. Rasputin couldn't help the growing fascination for you bubbling within him. He knew those drunken fools would eventually have lost interest and had backed off again and he would have felt bad but no significant harm would have been done. After all, he had endured worse. Besides, this incident served as evidence that there was something peculiar about this village, just as he had suspected. And yet, out of the sky, a precious little being like you swooped down to defend and protect him. The way you moved with such beauty and grace, it reminded him of one of the God's angels, like you had been a divine force sent by the Heavens to protect a humble strannik down here on earth. His train of thought was abruptly interrupted by the tavern owner's harsh voice.

"I will not indulge in you bringing men up there to do God knows what! I have been generous enough to accept your kind here; you should be grateful for that!"

Rasputin's smile faltered and before he could intervene, he noticed your hand moving into your coat. He wondered whether you'd threaten the man but what happened then, mesmerised him, drawing him further into the enigma that was you.

"Don't you sense the burden of responsibility weighing on you? Too heavy to bear, dragging you down. Aren't you tired?", the tone of your voice oozing a strange allure as you delicately place a coin on the counter, nudging it towards the man, "you deserve a break. Allow me to offer you a drink, courtesy of this fine gentleman here."

With a mischievous smirk you turned to Rasputin and lead him up the stairs to your room. As soon as the door fell shut, his hand reached out to grasp yours.

"Rescued by a thaumaturge", he uttered firmly, his piercing ice-blue eyes staring at you with such intensity that it nearly froze you in your tracks.

"Is that a problem?", you asked, trying your earnest to sound nonchalant.

"Not in the slightest, my dear", the man chuckled, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, "quite on the contrary, I find it intriguing."

"Intriguing huh?", you chuckled, gesturing for him to sit on the bed, "remove your coat and shirt, I'll fetch some supplies to clean and tend to any other injuries."

You felt his intense gaze on your back as you went to retrieve some cloth and different smaller bottles from your bag in the corner of the room. As you turned around, you almost gasped at the sight of Rasputin lifting up his shirt, your eyes widened as you took in his toned yet lean torso, dark purple bruises forming on the pale skin. He sank back onto the bed, deliberately slow while his eyes never left yours. There was something about him that rubbed you wrong in just the right way. It was evident that the circulating rumours about him hardly captured the true essence of the tall man before you. There was a darkness hidden behind those bright eyes, although it differed from what his enemies attempted to portray. You hummed, a faint smile playing along your lips as you wiped away the last traces of dried blood from his face. The smug remark that had started to form on Rasputin's lips upon witnessing your smile instantly vanished when your gentle fingers trailed over the bruises on his chest before gently rubbing ointment on. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as the aroma of various herbs and flowers permeated his nostrils. Some scents were familiar to him, while others remained foreign, prompting him to mentally note down to ask about them later.

"All done", you commented while packing away the small vials, "nothing to worry about but I would advise against angering the locals in the coming days."

The last part earned you a hearty laugh, quickly followed by a pained groan.

"You're welcome to rest here, but I had intended to indulge in a well-deserved bath before rushing to your aid, so if you don't mind...", your voice trailed off as you began to undress, not even bothering to look at him.

One by one, your clothes slid off your body while you kept your back turned to him, until only your undergarments remained. Grabbing a towel, you wrapped it tightly around yourself before discarding the last pieces of clothing and eased into the bathtub, submerging yourself slowly while using the towel to prevent your guest from seeing anything.

"Tease", you heard him mumble and giggled.

"A little patience, Grigori. We've only just met. But I understand, you're accustomed to a more...eager approach with women, aren't you?"

His eyebrow raised at the use of his first name. He hadn't introduced himself, but then again, he was dealing with a thaumaturge who likely had him figured out from the moment their hands touched and, in addition, his reputation always traveled ahead of him. But this ignited a spark deep within him, so small and playful, which unfortunately, unbeknownst to him in this very moment, would grow into an uncontrollable inferno.

"Well, I wouldn't dare assume you're like everyone else, my dear. You appear to be quite unique", the tone of his voice was soft yet unyielding as if he was trying to scratch at your facade, "defying the common mundane expectations...in the most delightful way, of course."

"That would be one thing we have in common", you turned your head towards him, "in addition to the petty little lies being spread."

You smiled and stood up, holding out your hand.

"Would you be so kind as to pass me a towel, please?"

Rasputin blinked at you, whatever thought was forming, whether clever or mischievous, ceased to exist within the moment his eyes landed on your bare body. A tirade of droplets cascading down your curves, hurriedly merging again with the water in the tub. The faint glow of the candles in the room cast a ethereal glow on you, shadows dancing seductively over your perfect curves. Oh the sight of it! It was as if God had touched and blessed his soul. Heaven's saving grace, for him alone and though he felt undeserving of such a gift, he silently vowed to protect and worship you until the end of his days. His breath hitched as you cleared your throat, your lips curled into a knowing grin, you had your own ways of reading others after all.

With trembling hands and unsteady steps he approached you, holding up the towel as if it was an offering to God, and, for the first time since you met him, he couldn't bring himself to meet your gaze, overcome by a sense of awe. A surge of emotions washed over you as soon as your fingertips brushed against the fabric of the towel. The calmness that shrouded his entire being was but a facade and just underneath raged a fire like no other. The ardent passion of man who was plagued by blood-soaked visions that were driving him all the way towards the Tsar's Court. There was a hint of devout belief lingering among his countless schemes and a newer almost fervent admiration for you. Rasputin knew that the moment he'd hand you that innocent little piece of fabric, you'd have him figured out but, just this once, he couldn't care less, because it felt like it was God's will and it fell into place perfectly.

As soon as you were dry and dressed once more, you lightly tapped his shoulder, signaling him to raise his gaze.

"That was an oddly chaste gesture, given your prior stares", you mused.

"Do you truly want me to comment on it or was the towel enough?", he asked, his sly grin returning.

Though only a few hours had passed, he had grown on you, the connection between the two of you felt so effortless and genuine, free from the constraints of societal norms and conventions. You almost began to entertain the notion that there might be some truth to his peculiar little theory of God's involvement. Despite any reservations you both harboured, you decided on sharing the bed, neither of you willing to endure the discomfort of the small wooden chair or the hard, dusty floor.

The night was filled with blissful sleep, devoid of all the usual nightmares. Grigori groaned as he stretched, a dull ache in his chest causing him to wince. A defeated sigh escaped his lips as he turned his head, only to be met with the cold emptiness of the other side of the bed. His eyes darted around the room, but there was no trace of you. The sunlight poured through the drapes, illuminating a small envelope and a sheet of paper resting on the table, as if bestowed upon him by some divine intervention. Rising from the bed, he approached the table and carefully lifted the sealed envelope. It felt weightier than expected, hinting at the presence of an object within. Disappointment washed over him as he noticed the absence of a name on the letter. The mystery surrounding your identity piqued his curiosity to the point of unbearable frustration. It pained him that you remained elusive, evading even the sharpness of his cautious mind. Was this part of God's plan? And why? The letter commanded his attention again, a small piece of paper adorned with only two sentences scribbled in dark blue ink.

Find the Szulkis and you shall find me

PS. I trust in your ability to discern the appropriate time and person to deliver this envelope

A glimmer of hope flickered within Grigori's heart, as his fingers slipped the letter and envelope into the pocket of his coat and an excited smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He knew deep within his soul that he would once again encounter his angel. It was a bond written in the fabric of fate, destined to reunite them before long.

Rasputin listened to Wiktor as he recounted the different observations he made of their fellow train passengers. His fingers nervously fidgeted with the envelope in the pocket of his coat, eyes directed towards the thaumaturge. However, his mind began to wander.

"Is there something on your mind?", Wiktor disrupted the strannik's thoughts, bringing him back to reality.

"As a matter of fact there is, yes", Grigori spoke up, handing over the envelope, "would you be so kind as to describe what you perceive from the object inside?"

"Another test?", the thaumaturge chuckled.

Wiktor opened it and took the small object out, eyes widening as soon as his fingers touched the metallic surface. It was a delicate brooch, featuring silver branches entwined around a glistening ruby in the shape of a skull. His lips parted as he took in all the emotions clinging to the small object and his eyes shifted towards Rasputin.

"Who gave you this?", there was almost a hint of shock in the thaumaturge's voice.

"Someone who became very dear to me in a very short time."

Wiktor's lips twitched as he observed the blush creeping up the healer's cheeks.

"So what do you see?", Grigori asked, growing slightly impatient.

"Many things", the thaumaturge chuckled before handing the brooch back, "a sense of intrigue, excitement and a touch of adoration. Whoever this person is to you, she seems to eagerly await the possibility to meet you again, ending on one last thought, spoken with kindness: see you in Warsaw."

Rasputin's heart danced within his chest, throbbing with a bittersweet ache as he absorbed Wiktor's interpretation of the small brooch you had left him. Carefully tucking it away in his pocket, he caressed its cool metal surface with his thumb, a pang of envy washing over him. How he yearned to experience the emotions you had infused into this precious token. A loving smile tugged at his lips, closing his eyes while he let his own excitement seep into the brooch.

"I can't wait", he murmured, more to himself than to Wiktor.

Part 2 maybe?

Enjoy and feel free to reblog :)

[promises-of-paradise]

Felix Yusupov on his attempts to cover up the murder of Rasputin

I slept until ten o'clock. I had barely opened my eyes when I was told that General Grigoriev, the police superintendent of our district, wanted to see me on very important business. I dressed quickly and went into the next room where the general was waiting for me. "Your visit is probably connected with the shots fired in the courtyard of our house last night," I said. "Exactly. My object is to ask you for a detailed account of what happened. Wasn't Rasputin among your guests?" "Rasputin never comes to my house," I replied. "The reason I ask is that the revolver shots that were heard coincided with his disappearance; the Chief Commissioner of Police has ordered me to send him a report as quickly as possible." The fact that the shots fired at the Moika were at once connected with Rasputin's disappearance was extremely alarming. I hesitated before answering and chose my words with care: "Who told you that Rasputin had disappeared?" From what General Grigoriev said, it appeared that the policeman last night had taken fright and had repeated Purishkevich's imprudent words to his chiefs.* I tried to look unconcerned. I was bound by the oath we had taken not to divulge our secret. We still hoped to be able to conceal the true facts. "General, I'm very glad that you came to see me yourself. It would be most unfortunate if a report made by a policeman under a misapprehension were to have any disagreeable consequences." I then recited my story about the dog shot at by a drunken guest. I added that when the policeman, on hearing the shots, had rushed in, Purishkevich, the last of my guests to leave, had gone up to the man and said a few hurried words in his ear. "I have no idea what they were," I continued, "but from what you say yourself, I presume that Purishkevich, who was drunk, must have spoken of the dog, comparing him perhaps to Rasputin and expressing his regret that it was the dog, and not the starets, who had been shot at. Apparently the policeman didn't understand a word of what was told him." My explanation seemed to satisfy the General, but be wished to know who my other guests had been besides Purishkevich. "I'd rather not give their names," I replied, "as I don't want them to be worried by a lot of unnecessary inquiries about something of so little importance." "Thank you very much for the information you've given me," said the General, "I'll tell the Chief Commissioner exactly what you said." I asked him to inform the Commissioner that I would like to see him and would be obliged if he would give me an appointment.

When the police superintendent had left, I was told that Mlle G.** was on the telephone, "What have you done with Grigori Yefimovich?" she cried. "Grigori Yefimovich? What a strange question!" "Why strange? Didn't he spend the evening with you yesterday?" Her voice betrayed her agitation. "Where is he? For Heaven's sake, come and see me immediately, I'm in a frightful state." The prospect of a conversation with her was extremely painful but, alas, unavoidable, and half an hour later I was in her drawing room. She rushed up to me and said in a stifled voice: "What have you done with him? They say he was murdered at your house and that it was you who killed him." I tried to reassure her and repeated the story I had invented. "It's all too horrible," she said. "The Empress and Anna [Vyrubova] are convinced that you murdered him last night at your house." "Will you telephone to Tsarskoe Selo and ask if the Empress will receive me? I'll explain the whole thing to her, but be quick." Mlle G. telephoned to Tsarskoe Selo and was told that Her Majesty was expecting me. As I was leaving, she took me by the arm: "Don't go to Tsarskoe Selo, I beseech you," she said. "Something dreadful will happen to you if you do; they'll never believe you are innocent of the crime. They've completely lost their heads. They are furious with me, and accuse me of having betrayed them. Ah! why did I listen to you? I should never have telephoned to Tsarskoe Selo. You mustn't go there!" Her distress touched me, for it was evident that it was not entirely due to Rasputin's disappearance; she was also genuinely worried about me. "May God protect you," she said in a low voice. "I'll pray for you." I was just leaving the drawing room when the telephone rang. It was Anna Vyrubova who was calling from Tsarskoe Selo to say that the Empress had had a fainting fit; she could not receive me and requested me to send her a written report on all I knew about Rasputin's disappearance.

A short way down the street, I met a friend from the Corps des Pages; he ran up to me, all excited: "Felix, have you heard the news? Rasputin has been killed." "No, really? Who killed him?" "It's said he was killed at the gypsies', but no one seems to know who murdered him." "Thank God!" I cried. "I hope it's true."

On returning to the Grand Duke Alexander's palace, I found a note from the Chief Commissioner of Police, General Balk, requesting me to call on him. The police headquarters were in a state of ferment; I found the General seated at his desk, looking extremely preoccupied. I told him that I wished to explain the misunderstanding caused by Purishkevich's words. I would like to have the matter cleared up as quickly as possible, as I had a few days' leave and was going that same evening to the Crimea, where my family were expecting me. The Commissioner replied that the explanation I had given General Grigoriev was considered satisfactory and that consequently he saw nothing to prevent my departure, but he warned me that the Empress had given orders to search our house on the Moika. The fact that the shots fired there coincided with Rasputin's disappearance seemed, to say the least of it, suspicious. I answered: "Our house is occupied by my wife. She is the Emperor's niece, and residences of members of the Imperial family may not be searched without an order from the Emperor himself." The Commissioner was obliged to agree, and canceled the search warrant on the spot. I was immensely relieved, as I feared that although we had cleaned the rooms last night something might have escaped us, and a visit from the police was to be avoided at all costs until we were sure that no trace of the murder was left. My mind at rest on that score, I took my leave of General Balk and went back to the Moika. On inspecting the scene of the tragedy, I found that my fears were all too well founded. By daylight, dark stains could be clearly seen on the steps. Ivan and I cleaned the whole place thoroughly once again, and when we had finished I went to lunch with Dmitri. Sukhotin came in after lunch. We asked him to go and fetch Purishkevich. In view of the fact that we were all leaving town - the Grand Duke for General Headquarters, Purishkevich for the front, and myself for the Crimea - it was imperative that we should meet and decide on the line we would take if any one of us were detained in St. Petersburg, or arrested. As soon as Purishkevich arrived we agreed, no matter what new evidence was brought up against us, that we would stick to the story I had told General Grigoriev.

And so the first step had been taken; the way lay open to those who had the means of continuing the struggle against Rasputinism. As far as we were concerned, our role was over, for the time being. I said good-bye to my friends and returned to the Moika. When I got there I was told that all our servants had been questioned during the course of the day. I did not know the result of the examination, and although I considered the procedure somewhat arbitrary, yet what I heard from my servants left me feeling hopeful. I decided to go and see Makarov, the Minister of Justice, to try and discover how the land lay. I found the same confusion at the Ministry of justice as at police headquarters. I had never seen Makarov, and took an immediate liking to him. He was an elderly man with gray hair and a beard, a thin face, pleasant features and a very gentle voice. I explained to him the reason for my visit and at his request repeated my story about the dog which, by this time, I knew by heart. When I got to Purishkevich's conversation with the policeman, the minister interrupted me: "I know Purishkevich very well and I know that he never drinks; what's more, if I am not mistaken, he belongs to a temperance society." "I assure you that, on this occasion, he belied his reputation for temperance and broke his pledge. It was difficult for him to refuse to drink last night, as I was having a housewarming. If Purishkevich is usually as abstemious as you say, a few glasses of wine were probably enough to intoxicate him." Then I asked the Minister if my servants would be questioned again and whether they were likely to have any further trouble. They were all very worried, as I was leaving for the Crimea that night. The Minister set my mind at rest: he said that the police would most probably be satisfied with the evidence they had already got. He promised not to allow our house to be searched, and that he would pay no attention to the rumors that were rife. I asked whether I might leave St. Petersburg; he answered in the affirmative and once more expressed his regret for the annoyance I had been caused. I had a strong feeling that neither General Grigoriev, nor the Chief Commissioner, nor the Minister of justice was taken in by what I had told them. On leaving the Ministry of Justice, I went to see the President of the Duma, Rodzianko - a distant connection of mine whom I liked very much. Both he and his wife had known of my intention to kill Rasputin, and anxiously awaited news of me. I found them in a highly nervous state. Aunt Rodzianko kissed me tearfully and blessed me. Uncle Rodzianko applauded my conduct in a voice of thunder. Their kindly attitude encouraged and soothed me; I very much appreciated their sincere and warm sympathy; and at this juncture, when I was going through such an ordeal entirely by myself, it was doubly precious. But I could not stay long with them as my train was due to leave at nine, and I still had to pack. Before I went, I gave them a brief account of the whole affair. "From now on," I told them, "we will do nothing more and will leave to others the task of carrying on our work. Pray God that concerted action will be taken, and that the Emperor's eyes will be opened before it is too late. Such an opportunity will never occur again." "I am sure that everyone will consider Rasputin's assassination an act of patriotism," replied Rodzianko, "and that all true Russians will unite to save their country."

On reaching the Grand Duke Alexander's palace, the porter told me that the lady with whom I had an appointment at seven o'clock was waiting for me in the small sitting room next to my bedroom. As I had made no appointment with any lady, I asked the porter to describe the visitor: she was dressed in black, but be could not make out her features as she was wearing a thick veil. This all seemed very mysterious, so I went straight to my room and half-opened the door which communicated with the sitting room. I recognized my visitor as one of Rasputin's most fervent admirers. I called the porter, and told him to tell the lady that I would not be in until very late; after which, I started hurriedly to pack. As I went down to dinner, I met my friend Oswald Rayner, a British officer*** whom I had known at Oxford. He knew of our conspiracy and had come in search of news. I hastened to set his mind at case. In the dining room I found my wife's three brothers who were also going to the Crimea, their English tutor Mr. Stuart, the Grand Duchess Xenia Alexandrovna's lady-in-waiting MIle Evreinov, and several others. Everyone discussed Rasputin's mysterious disappearance. Some did not believe him to be dead, and said that all the rumors afloat were pure inventions; some, claiming to have it on the best authority, from eye-witnesses even, declared that the starets had been assassinated during an orgy at the gypsies'; others stated that Rasputin's murder had taken place at the Moika. Although no one thought I had taken an active part in the assassination, they were all convinced that I knew the particulars and hoped that, if enough questions were fired at me, I would give myself away. But I managed to look unconcerned, and took part sincerely in the general rejoicing. The telephone never stopped ringing. The whole town believed that I was responsible for Rasputin's disappearance. Directors of factories and representatives of various businesses rang up to tell me that their workmen had decided to form a bodyguard to protect me if the need arose. I told them all that the stories going about were untrue and that I had nothing to do with the matter. Half an hour before the train left, I said good-by to everybody and drove away with my wife's three brothers, Princes Andrei, Fyodor and Nikita, the latter's tutor, and my friend Captain Rayner. When we got to the station, I noticed a considerable force of police. Had there been an order for my arrest? I wondered. As I was about to pass the colonel of the military police, he came up to me and mumbled something incomprehensible in a voice shaking with emotion. "Speak up, Colonel, I can't hear you," I said. Regaining a little self-assurance, he raised his voice: "By order of Her Majesty the Empress, you are forbidden to leave St. Petersburg. You are to return to the Grand Duke Alexander's palace and stay there until further notice."

"I am sorry," I replied, "that doesn't suit me at all." Then turning to my friends, I repeated the order I had just received. They were extremely surprised at the news of my arrest. "What's the matter? What's happened?" asked poor Mr. Stuart, the English tutor, who had no idea of what was going on... Andrei and Fyodor decided to postpone their journey in order to stay with me. We thought it better, however, for little Nikita to leave for the Crimea with his tutor. We took them to the train, followed by the police who were probably afraid that I might give them the slip. A large crowd gathered, staring inquisitively at our little group as it moved down the platform, surrounded by the police. I went into the compartment to say good-bye to Nikita; the police looked more and more nervous. I set their minds at rest by declaring that I had no intention of taking French leave. When the train started, we drove back to the palace. I felt very tired after such an eventful day. I went to my room, asking Fyodor and my friend Rayner to stay with me.

A little later, the Grand Duke Nikolai Mikhailovich was announced. His visit at such a late hour boded no good. He had obviously come to find out what had happened; I was tired and did not feel like going over the whole thing again. Fyodor and Rayner left me when the Grand Duke came in "Well," he said, "what have you been up to?" "Is it possible that you too believe all that nonsense? The whole business is nothing but a series of misunderstandings. I had nothing to do with it." "Tell it to the marines! I know all about it. I know every detail, even to the names of the ladies who were at your party." His last words proved that he knew absolutely nothing, and was only trying to bluff me into talking. I don't know whether or not he believed the story I reeled off once more for his benefit, but he did not want to seem convinced by it, and left looking slightly incredulous and a trifle vexed at not having discovered anything new. When he had gone, I told my brothers-in-law and Rayner that I had decided to stay with the Grand Duke Dmitri and would move over to his palace the next day. I gave them instructions as to what they were to say if they were questioned. All three promised to carry out my wishes implicitly. The events of the night before came back to me with horrible intensity; then my mind grew hazy, my head heavy, and I fell asleep. Early next morning, I went to Dmitri's palace; the Grand Duke was astonished to see me, as he thought I had left for the Crimea. I told him all that had happened since we parted, and asked him if he could put me up, so that we could be together during the anxious days that lay before us. He then told me that be had been obliged, the evening before, to leave the Mikhail Theater before the end of the performance so as to escape an ovation from the audience. On returning home, he was told that the Empress believed him to be one of the prime movers in the murder of Rasputin. He had immediately telephoned to Tsarskoe Selo to ask for an audience. This had been flatly refused. A few minutes later I went to the room he had had prepared for me, and skimmed through the newspapers. They contained a brief announcement to the effect that the starets Grigori Rasputin had been murdered during the night of December 29.

The morning passed quietly. About one o'clock, while we were still at lunch, General Maximovich, the Emperor's aide-de-camp, asked to speak to the Grand Duke on the telephone. Dmitri left the room to answer the call, and returned looking upset: "I'm under arrest by order of the Empress," he said. "She has no right to issue such an order. Only the Emperor can have me arrested." While we were discussing this unpleasant news, General Maximovich himself was announced. As soon as he was shown in, he said to the Grand Duke: "Her Majesty the Empress requests his Imperial Highness not to leave his palace." "Does this mean that I am under arrest?" "No, you are not under arrest, but Her Majesty insists that you do not leave your palace." The Grand Duke replied, raising his voice: "I consider that this is equivalent to an arrest. Tell Her Majesty the Empress that I will obey her wish." Coldly saluting General Maximovich, the Grand Duke left the room.

All the members of the Imperial family who were in St. Petersburg came to call on Dmitri. The Grand Duke Nikolai Mikhailovich came several times a day, or telephoned the wildest, most improbable news, couched in such mysterious terms that we never really knew what it was all about. He always tried to bluff us that he knew all about the conspiracy, hoping by this means to worm our secret out of us. He took an active part in the search for Rasputin's body. He warned us that the Tsarina, convinced of our complicity in Rasputin's assassination, demanded that we be shot at once. He added that this had raised a storm of protest; even Protopopov had advised her to wait until the Tsar returned. The latter was kept in touch with events by telegram, and was expected back shortly. I heard at the same time from Mlle G., that about twenty of Rasputin's most fervent followers had met in her flat and sworn to avenge him. She had been present, and strongly urged us to take every precaution to protect ourselves against a possible attempt upon our lives. An endless stream of callers, mostly inquisitive newsmongers, kept us on tenterhooks. We had constantly to be on the alert lest we should give ourselves away by a word or a look which would have been enough to confirm the suspicions of those who harried us with questions. They were often filled with the best intentions, which made things no easier, and we hailed the end of each day with relief. The rumor of our impending execution caused great agitation among the factory workers, and they decided to form a bodyguard for our protection.

The Tsar returned to Tsarskoe Selo on the morning of January first. Members of his suite said that he received the news of Rasputin's death without comment, and his cheerfulness had struck those around him. Never since the beginning of the war had he seemed so lighthearted. No doubt he thought that the death of the starets had put an end to the bondage from which he had been too weak to free himself. But no sooner had he reached Tsarskoe Selo than he fell once again under the influence of certain of his intimates, and once again his outlook changed. Although only members of the Imperial family were allowed to enter the Grand Duke's palace, we contrived to receive our friends in secret. Several officers called to assure us that their regiments were ready to protect us. They even went so far as to propose that Dmitri should take the lead in a coup d'etat. Many of the Grand Dukes thought that an attempt should still be made to save the regime by a change of rulers. Their plan was to march on Tsarskoe Selo by night, along with some of the Guards regiments. The Emperor was to be persuaded to abdicate, the Empress shut up in a convent, and the Tsarevich proclaimed Emperor with the Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaievich as Regent. It was considered that Dmitri's participation in Rasputin's assassination made him the ideal person to head this movement, and they implored him to complete the good work he had begun for the salvation of the nation. The Grand Duke's loyalty did not permit him to accept these proposals. The very evening of the Emperor's return, the Grand Duke Nikolai Mikhailovich told us that Rasputin's body had been found near the Petrovsky Bridge, in a hole in the ice. We heard later that it had been taken to the Veterans' Home at Tchesma, a short distance from St. Petersburg, on the road to Tsarskoe Selo. When the post mortem was over, Sister Akoulina, the young nun who had been exorcized by Rasputin, arrived bearing an order from the Tsarina and laid out the corpse with the help of a male nurse. She placed a crucifix on the starets' breast and the following message from the Empress in his hands: My dear martyr, give me your blessing, that it may always be with me for the rest of my sorrowful journey on earth. And from Heaven, remember us in your holy prayers! Alexandra

On the evening of January first, a few hours after the discovery of Rasputin's body, General Maximovich came to notify the Grand Duke Dmitri - this time in the Emperor's name - that he was to consider himself under arrest in his palace. We spent an agitated night. At about three in the morning, several suspicious-looking men, who pretended they had been sent to protect us, tried to make their way into the palace through the back entrance. As they could not produce a written authority, they were turned out, and trustworthy retainers were placed on guard at all the palace entrances. The next day, as usual, nearly all the members of the Imperial family forgathered in Dmitri's palace; his arrest was on everyone's mind and was the sole topic of conversation. To take such a step against a member of the Imperial family was apparently an event of such importance that everything else faded into the background. It never occurred to anyone that interests far greater than our own were at stake, and that the future of the country and of the dynasty depended on the decisions taken by the Emperor in the days to come; not to speak of the war, which could only be brought to a victorious end if the people and the Sovereign were united. Rasputin's death made a new policy possible, which would have rid Russia once and for all of the network of criminal intrigues in which she was involved. On the evening Of the 3rd, several men of the secret police turned up at the palace. They had been sent by Protopopov to guard the Grand Duke Dmitri. The latter sent word that be needed no help from the Minister of the Interior, and that he refused to allow the police to enter his palace. Soon after, an other guard arrived - a military one, this time - sent by General Kabalov, Governor of St. Petersburg, at the request of Trepov, the Prime Minister, who had discovered that Rasputin's followers were plotting to murder us. And so, what with Kabalov's soldiers watching Protopopov's spies, we could not complain that we lacked protection. At the outbreak of war, the Grand Duke had given the first floor of his palace to be used as an Anglo-Russian hospital. This communicated with Dmitri's apartments by a private staircase. Some of Rasputin's partisans entered the hospital on the pretext of visiting the wounded, but really with the intention of trying to gain access to the Grand Duke's apartments. The attempt failed, for they were stopped at the bottom of the stairs by a sentry, placed there by the head nurse, Lady Sybil Grey. We lived in a state of siege. We could follow events only in the newspapers or from what our visitors told us. They gave us their views and expressed their personal opinions, but they all seemed chary of taking any initiative, and no one had any concrete plans for the future. Those who could have acted stayed in the background and left Russia to her fate. They were so fainthearted that they could not combine to take joint action.

Toward the end of his reign, Nicholas II was crushed by anxiety and disheartened by his political misadventures. He was a confirmed fatalist, and convinced that it was useless to struggle against destiny. If, however, he had seen the Grand Dukes joining with some of the leading and more loyal politicians in an effort to save Russia, this would have given him the courage and the energy to try to retrieve the situation. But where were the right men to be found? For many years, Rasputin had by his intrigues demoralised the better elements in the Government, and had sown skepticism and distrust in the hearts of the people. Nobody wanted to take a decision, for nobody believed that any decision would be of any use. After all our visitors had gone, we summed up what we had heard during the day, and the result was disheartening. All our fine hopes, all the ideals for which we had fought during the dreadful night of December 29, had come to naught. And we realized then how difficult it is to change the course of events even when one is actuated by the loftiest motives, and prepared to make great sacrifices. Yet we did not give up all hope. The country was with us, full of confidence in the future. A wave of patriotism swept over Russia, particularly in St. Petersburg and in Moscow. The papers published enthusiastic articles, in which they claimed that Rasputin's death meant the defeat of the powers of evil and held out golden hopes for the future. This corresponded with public opinion. Unfortunately the press was not able to express itself so freely for long. On the third day after the starets' disappearance, an order was issued forbidding the papers even to mention the name of Rasputin. This did not prevent the crowds in the streets from giving vent to their feelings. Complete strangers stopped to congratulate each other on the death of the evil genius. People knelt to pray before the Grand Duke's palace, and before our house on the Moika. The Te Deum was sung in the churches, and at the theaters, audiences insisted on the national anthem being played again and again, We were toasted in regimental messes; factory workers gave cheers in our honor. Letters from all parts of Russia brought us thanks and blessings. True, Rasputin's partisans did not forget us either; they covered us with abuse and uttered dire threats. Dmitri's sister, the Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna, arrived from Pskov where the headquarters of the armies of the North were established; she described the wave of enthusiasm which swept over the troops when they heard that Rasputin was dead. They were convinced that, delivered at last from the starets' evil influence, the Emperor would now be able to choose wise and experienced advisers among his loyal subjects to help him govern the country.

A few days later, my hopes were raised by a summons I received from Trepov the Prime Minister, but I was once again to be disappointed. He had been ordered by the Emperor to find out at all costs the name of the man who had murdered Rasputin. I was taken under escort to the Ministry of the Interior. The Minister greeted me in the most friendly way and asked me not to consider him as an official, but as an old friend of the family. "I presume that you sent for me by order of the Emperor?" I asked. "That is so." "Then everything I tell you will be reported to His Majesty?" "Naturally. I can conceal nothing from my Sovereign." "In that case, do you really expect me to admit anything, even supposing it was I who killed Rasputin? And do you imagine for one moment that I would give away my accomplices? Be good enough to let His Majesty know that those who killed Rasputin had only one object: to save the Tsar and Russia. Excellency," I continued, "allow me to ask you a question, to ask you personally: is it possible that precious time is going to be wasted in tracking Rasputin's assassins at this critical moment when the future of our country is at stake? This is her last chance of salvation. Look at the enthusiasm Rasputin's death has roused all over Russia; look at the panic of his partisans. As to the Tsar, I am convinced that at the bottom of his heart he is overjoyed, and expects all of you to help him in his task. Unite and act before it is too late. Is it possible that no one realizes that we are on the eve of a terrible disaster and that, unless there is a radical change in our home policy, the Imperial regime, the Emperor himself' and all his family, will be swept away on the wave of a revolution which threatens to break over Russia and in which we shall all be lost?" Trepov listened to me in silence: "Prince," be asked, "where did you gain such self-possession and surprising clearness of vision?"

I left this question unanswered. This was the last attempt we made to win over any of the high government officials. Meanwhile, Dmitri's fate and mine remained undecided. It was the subject of endless discussions at Tsarskoe Selo. On January 3, the Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich arrived from Kyiv, which was his headquarters as Chief of Military Aviation. On hearing of the danger we were in, he telegraphed the Emperor, asking for an audience. He came to see us for a few minutes before going to Tsarskoe Selo. As a result of his intervention, the Grand Duke Dmitri received the order transmitted by General Maximovich to leave immediately for Persia, where he was to remain under the supervision of General Baratov, who commanded a detachment of our troops in that country. General Leiming and Count Kutaisov, aide-de-camp to the Emperor, were appointed to go with him; his train left at two in the morning. I also was exiled from St. Petersburg. I was to go that night to our estate of Rakitnoe and remain there until further orders. Captain Zenchikov, instructor at the Corps des Pages, and Ignatiev, an agent of the secret police, were to go with me and see that I spoke to no one until I reached my destination. Both Dmitri and I hated being separated. We had grown to know each other better in the few days we had spent together as prisoners in his palace than in all the long years of our friendship. What high hopes we had had!... And all our golden dreams had come to naught! When should we meet again, and under what circumstances? The future was black, and we were filled with dark forebodings. At half past twelve, the Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich came to take me to the station. The platform was closed to the public, and detachments of police were stationed everywhere. I entered my coach with a heavy heart. The bell rang, the engine whistled shrilly, the platform seemed to glide away and disappear. St. Petersburg vanished into the night as the train started on its lonely journey across the shadowy plains which lay asleep under the snow. My thoughts were dark indeed as the wheels thudded monotonously over the tracks.

*when police came to the house after hearing gunshots, Vladimir Purishkevich, who had fired the shot that killed Rasputin, confessed to the truth.

**the friend who had introduced Felix Yusupov to Rasputin

***Rayner worked in the British intelligence service.

source: Lost Splendour by Felix Yusupov, chapter 24

[best-romanov-monarch]

BONUS ROUND 2: The Royal Favourite Rumble

The main poll is all fun and games, but let us not forget that the charm of the Romanov dynasty is not just about the guys with the crown of Monomakh. In fact, some of them might outright pale in comparison to the colourful characters in their vicinity. And this bonus round is dedicated to exactly such men-behind-the-man (or a woman, or a child). Alas, none of these (with one exception) are official dynasty members, but we'd be remiss if we didn't also celebrate them, and their contributions to the most dramatic dynasty of Early Modern and Modern Europe.

And oh, before anyone asks - Rasputin was disqualified for being vastly more famous than any other person on this poll. No other reason. If you miss him so badly, there are several other shady clergymen one might turn to...

OUR CONTESTANTS

Patriarch Filaret (Fyodor Nikitich Romanov) - Also known as the ACTUAL first Romanov ruler.

Patriarch Nikon (Nikita Minin) - The orthodoxy's biggest drama queen.

Alexander Danilovich Menshikov - Boy went pretty far from (allegedly) a pirozhki seller. And by far we mean Siberia.

Ernst Johann Biron - You know he was an upstanding gentleman just from the fact he was the favourite person of Anna Ivanovna.

Grigory Alexandrovich Potemkin - The reports of his artificial villages were greatly exaggarated. Which is surprising considering how hard exaggarating about this dude is.

***

[versegm]

do you think grigori rasputins jarred cock could be a noble phantasm?

I am saving a screenshot of this ask for the next time I need to curse my friends, thank you.

[illithiddreams]

SIDE BLOGS INFO

@wackyinflatablearmtubeman - Small Sign spinner who is just trying his best to hold down a job despite having horrible luck doing so.

@king-vortigern-pendragon - Legend Of The Sword Rp blog for Vortigern Pendragon

@somanydumbwaystodie - Airheaded idiot cop who is cursed to die in horrible ways and can never find peace.

@brain-over-brawn - Tiny Alien Brain who is trying to disguise as a human to study them and learn how to take over the world with his boss.

@running-on-co2 - Once turned science experiment now the worlds greatest robotic assassin.

@chalk-it-up-to-fate - Well known Artist who traps people in a fake world of his own creation due to envy of the people in the human / real world.

@in-heaven-everything-is-fine - Eraserhead baby Au blog from the movie Eraserhead.

@twists-and-turns-of-fate - Demon muse that wants revenge on one man and seeks out a way to destroy him and the clones that he has created as well as others he sees as threats

@heartbrokenwhispers - Yandere muse blog for a man trying to find love but who keeps having horrible luck doing so.

@the-dukes-archives - Dark souls Rp blog for Seath the scaleless and other muses from that fandom.

@ceaseless-chaos - Prince of Chaos who is cursed to be in pain all his life and only find comfort in his own siblings corpse that he thinks still watches him.

@the-monster-of-scotland - NESSIE!

@lordseekerlucius - Lucius Corin blog / Envy from Dragon Age Inquisition.

@you-reap-what-you-sow - Harold blog from Scary Stories to tell in the Dark series.

@run-run-as-fast-as-u-can - Smol tiny baker trying his best with a cursed magic oven that can make baked goods come to life.

@rise-up-like-glitter-and-gold- Elden Ring Multi Muse blog for my tarnished and my OC Rune.

@the-galaxy-is-on-orions-belt - Small Alien Prince tasked with keeping the world safe from destruction.

@bee-my-queen - Bumblebee OC that made a human appearance hive to go out and try to date and find a new queen.

@deathisjustthebeginning - Elden Ring OC for a man who was once human now cursed to spread death after he tried to cheat it and became a horrible disfigured monster in the process now having to hide behind a fake human mask of his own design.

@the-king-of-villains - King of all villains who learned to steal powers from other villains to become stronger

@ill-met-by-m00nlight - WEREWOLF SWEET BABY :D

@atlas-jericho-carmichael - Atlas Carmichael blog from UA

@squirming-evil - Oogie from TNBC

@bright-and-clever-no-matter-watt - OC blog for the smartest inventor ever.

@bloodline-rewritten - intravenous System OC Muse

@klaus-the-hessian - Dullahan muse

@pastor-of-vows - Miriel from Elden Ring

@all-the-kings-horses-and-men - Soldier that was sent 200 years in the future due to being in a coma after getting injured.

@of-direwolves-and-broken-things - Elden Ring legless baby and his pet direwolf.

@wouldyoustillloveme - Librarian baby who has trouble finding love out of fear of being abandoned / hated

@let-your-dreams-flood-in - Sloth Demon from DAO

@wooden-lies- Pinocchio Au / OC blog

@lord-jab-desilijic-tiure - Jabba the hutt muse

@let-your-evil-shine - Grigori Rasputin from Anastasia blog

@who-can-take-the-sunrise - Literal Chocolatier

@dont-trust-a-thing - Alien shapeshifter :D

@villainsthatliveinmyhead- Gabriel / Madison blog from Malignant

@lord-of-the-dead-aidoneus - Hades from Disney's Hercules

@ruler-of-artisans - Toasty from Spyro

@the-first-murderer - Cain aka the first murderer

@another-1-bites-the-dust - Smol Robot Janitor

@hit-me-one-time-hit-me-twice - Hexxus from Ferngully

@culex-headquarters - Group of assassins that track people Via blood.

@within-a-sea-of-stars - Sea Star OC

@go-ahead-make-your-choice - Imshael / Choice Spirit

@ask-randall-boggs - Randall from monsters inc

@audacity-reigns - Humanized Dagger that chooses those who are worthy

@devourer-of-the-gods - Aldrich from Dark Souls 3

@unfinished-calamity - Calamitous from Jimmy Neutron

@killing-is-mere-childs-play - Charles Lee Ray

@as-luck-may-have-it - Good Luck Charm muse