“They tried stabbing him, poisoning him, beating him, shooting him five times, and they even tried drowning him,” a history teacher said, “but a Russian peasant named Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin refused to die.”
This provocative introduction to a chapter in Russian history left a sophomore class of boys spellbound. The teacher went onto detail how this Russian peasant climbed the ladder of Russia’s otherwise strict class structure to provide some influence on the Romanov empire. The teacher described how this precipitous climb occurred as a result of Rasputin’s reputation for having mystical, healing powers that some believed bordered on being supernatural, and how these tales led some to call him “The Mad Monk”.
This history teacher, unlike the many I had since, was a gifted storyteller. He laid that provocative description out there, and he spent the rest of the class detailing the life of Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin. As interesting as the tale of Rasputin’s rise was to us, it paled in comparison to that “the man that couldn’t be killed” provocative introduction.
“The truth of Rasputin’s murder,” counters author Joseph T. Fuhrman. “Was not as amazing as the mythology that has surrounded it.”
While it may be true that all of the attempts to kill Rasputin occurred in the manner listed above, it is not true, as my history teacher’s verbal commas would suggest, that they all occurred on separate occasions.
It is true that Rasputin was stabbed on one occasion, by a woman without a nose, but that did not prove fatal. It is also true that he was shot at five times in the course of one night, but two of those shots missed, and two of them penetrated locations that would not have been immediately fatal to any other, normal human. It is also true that the conspirators, that would take his life on this fatal night, did try to poison Rasputin, but it’s conceivable that they failed give him a lethal amount of that poison. When the poison failed to produce the immediate results they desired, they panicked, and they began shooting at him, and he did survive, but it wasn’t the real life Freddy Krueger/Michael Meyers-style resurrection we students imagined. It was more about the location of the shots, on Rasputin’s body, than anything supernatural, or mystical. One of the bullets, Fuhrmann notes –citing autopsies performed on Rasputin’s body– passed through Rasputin’s stomach and liver, and another passed through his kidney. Neither of those bullets proved to be fatal, as they wouldn’t have on any other mere mortal, but they would’ve … given enough time.
In the intervening minutes that occurred after the first shot –that went through his stomach and liver– Rasputin did manage to regain his feet and make a move on his assailant, but all Rasputin ended up doing, was grab his assailant’s shoulder and tear an epaulet off his uniform. He did not, as some speculate, reach up and begin choking his assailant. He grabbed his assailant’s shoulder, tore the epaulet off, began grumbling the assailant’s name, and fled into the snowy night.
While attempting to flee, Rasputin was shot at four more times, two missed, one struck him in the back and traveled through the kidney, and he dropped. The other, the fifth and fatal shot, went through his forehead. Some have it that that final shot occurred from a distance, but the autopsies suggest it was delivered execution-style, due to the gun residue located at the entry point on Rasputin’s forehead. Some autopsies suggest that there was water in Rasputin’s lungs that would suggest that he was alive when he hit the water, as his assailants attempted to drown him after the shooting, but Fuhrmann suggests that the greater evidence informs us that Rasputin was dead before he hit the water.
As for my history teacher suggesting that they tried beating him to death, the evidence derived from the post-mortem examination suggest that the bumps and bruises Rasputin received all occurred as a result of a beating his body received after death. The execution-style gun blast to the forehead ended the story of Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin, but his mythology began there.
This idea that Rasputin was difficult to kill speaks to this very human fear of how easy it is to kill a person. Movies and TV shows leave the impression leave the impression that when a person shoots at us, the bullet almost always finds our most delicate and vulnerable locations, and we’re dead within seconds. The same holds true for an attempt to poison another. When we learn that another did not die as quickly as we fear we might in a similar situation, especially when those facts are presented in a provocative ten second introduction, we immediately assign supernatural qualities to that survival.
Our teacher also told us that Rasputin’s presumed dead body was thrown in the water, with a stone tied to him, and that the Russians dragged the lake and found the ropes and the stone, but they never found Rasputin’s body. This is not true, but it added a necessary ingredient to the “he who never lives can never die” narrative our history teacher was building. I still don’t know if my teacher was such a great storyteller that he wanted to avoid the facts of his narrative, or if he believed what he was telling us, but the captivating details led me to do some research on Rasputin later that night.
To those of us that love great stories, and the mythology that grows around them, it was disappointing to learn that Rasputin’s body was as vulnerable to those agents that cause death as anyone else’s. We consider it much more interesting to speculate about the differences between history’s good guys, and bad guys, and how history’s bad guys are somehow able to escape that which would leave mere mortals more susceptible. On a certain level, we all know that none of this is true, but it’s more interesting, and fun, to speculate and mythologize an otherwise normal, albeit brutal story regarding one’s demise by leaving out key details.
The Parables of History
“Those that don’t study history, are doomed to repeat it,” George Santayana said to give history teachers a gift that keeps on giving.
“All right, but I wouldn’t have fallen for that,” a cynical student of history might say, when learning of Santayana’s quote, in conjunction with some of history’s greatest failings. They might use this mindset in response to the Romanovs’ involvement with Rasputin. “We’re not as hyper-religious as those in the Russian Empire were at the turn of the century, so we’re not going to be as vulnerable to a charlatan that states that he knows scripture backwards and forwards, that states that he has God’s ear, and thus gains a Svengali-like hold on the minds of the citizens.”
“As opposed to the messages in modern media, history is replete with charlatans, both religious and non,” that history teacher might respond. “It’s also replete with victims that have failed to learn from the mistakes made in history, and proceeded to repeat the same mistakes when the next charlatan comes along with different promises of something bigger and better. If your takeaway from this lesson is that a charlatan follows a uniform code of conduct, or that you can spot a charlatan by spotting a cross in their ensemble, you’re more likely to become one of history’s next victims.”
“How could they have been so stupid?” will still be on the lips, and in the minds, of these cynical students reading through the history of the Romanov Empire, just as it will be when they learn of the lead up to the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Now that we know the outcome, we can’t help but feel superior to those that ignored, or misread, all that led up to the great deceptions in history.
Are we superior now, after learning history’s lessons, or will future students of history be shaking their heads, and condemning our generation, for missing all of the undeniable signs of inevitability that led to the terrorist attack on 9/11/01? “How did your generation’s leaders fall for that?” these future students may ask. “There were so many signs. How could they have been so stupid?” All I can tell you, we may say to that member of another generation studying your history, is that you have the advantage of hindsight. You weren’t there.
Other than the rise to influence that Grigori Rasputin attained in the Russian Empire, and the healing of Alexis Romanov at the miracle at Spala, Rasputin’s name is etched into history by the manner in which he was murdered, and the mythology that surrounds it.
The Mythology of the Mad Monk
The lone mythology of the murder of the “Mad Monk” that Fuhrmann willing entertains is the idea that the British Secret Intelligence Service (the BSIS) either organized the plot to kill Rasputin, or they encouraged it. He states that what lends this speculation plausibility is the idea that Britain may have believed that Rasputin was influencing Nicholas II to end Russia’s participation in World War I (WWI).
“Rasputin was not doing this,” Fuhrmann writes, “but Britain may not have known this, and Britain needed (WWI adversary) Germany concentrating at least some of their forces on Russia, until the United States would enter the war.” Fuhrmann further states that “Britain’s Military Intelligence, Section Six, (MI6), promised to publish its files on Rasputin’s murder, but it decided to delay it, we can assume, to avoid cooled relations between Moscow and London.”
Those that portray Rasputin as a towering figure that loomed over the Russian Empire may be putting too much weight in the characterizations put forth by Rasputin fans, and those that seek to characterize the man as a monster for the benefit of their monster stories.
Objective reporters report that Rasputin was 5’9”and thin. They will also tell you that he was born an illiterate peasant, and he died having never achieved what observers would call a well-educated background, but that he did make the most of that limited education. They will report that far from being detached from tangible possessions, or status, Rasputin accepted, and showed off, gifts from the Romanovs and their loyalists with child-like glee. Witnesses characterized this glee as similar to that which a dog may display after receiving treats for performing tricks, and like that dog Rasputin never recognized that the treats were laced with unintended condescension. These objective historians will also report that if Rasputin ever towered over the Russian Empire, in the manner some historians suggest, it was dealt a hefty blow when the girl without a nose stabbed him. Those favorable renditions claim that Rasputin recovered, and they leave it at that to further the mythology. Rasputin did recover, but it took a considerable amount of time in which Rasputin could be found wounded, sick, frail, and paranoid from that point forward. In the time he spent healing, and in the state of mind he was in in the aftermath, Rasputin lost whatever influence he may have had at one time. Even if all of these objective reports are true, it could still be stated that Rasputin achieved a position that was light years above the station in life his friends and family in Pokrovskoye ever knew.
The Politics of Grigori Rasputin
Reflecting on the life of Grigori Rasputin, some historians suggest that he was nothing more than a “right place, right time” opportunist that wasn’t as proactive in shaping his story as others suggest. Fuhrmann refutes that by stating that Rasputin exhibited a politician’s ability to make connections, and that he was adept at choosing those connections that would prove most conducive to advancing him into an influential position.
He also managed to persuade those in power, in a political manner, to change his name from Rasputin to Rasputin-Novyi, or “New Rasputin”. The modus operandi for this, according to Fuhrmann, was that the name Rasputin carried some negative connotations within the Russian Empire of the day. Rasputin further managed, as some “more adept” modern politicians have done, to persuade those in the Empire to deem it “unethical” for anyone to use his true name. Rasputin later stated that it was never his idea to change his name, but Fuhrmann states that the name change was made as a result of Rasputin’s petition to Tsar Nicholas II. Rasputin also managed to have the Tsarista Alexandra refer to Rasputin, in the letters she wrote of him, with a capital ‘H’ on the pronoun him, a convention of the English language most reserve for God. Thus, it could be said, Rasputin did have some hand in creating the legacy we know today, in that he knew how to manipulate his perception in ways the modern culture will when they attempt to soften perceptions of criminals and terrorists with more pleasing terms, even if those calculated manipulations tend to appear inconsequential at the time.
“If I die, or you abandon me,” Rasputin is reported to have told Nicholas II, “You will lose your son, and your crown in six months.”
This has been regarded as an ominous prophecy by Rasputin, based on the fact that the Romanov rule would end seventy-five days after Rasputin’s murder. If one dissects the timeline, however, they would realize that once the one that plagued the empire was out of the way, the “excuses” for the failures of the ruling family would be gone too, and the Romanovs would then become the center of the focus for any of Russia’s failures.
Reading through Joseph T. Fuhrmann’s excellent book Rasputin: The Untold Story, the numerous internet sources on the subject, and watching the Rasputin documentaries on Bio and Discovery, one cannot help but realize how much speculation and uncertainty looms over the events that occurred in the life of Grigori Rasputin. Just about every story appears to have two distinct versions, and three different opinions that result from those differing versions. Rasputin is regarded as a dominant force in Russian history by some, an opportunist that seized upon a vulnerable empire by others, and still others suggest that he was a savvy man, in a political sense, in that he manipulated some of the most educated, most influential people of his day as well as any manipulator in history has.
“No figure in modern history has provoked such a mass of sensational and unreliable literature as Grigori Rasputin,” writer Colin Wilson states. “More than a hundred books have been written about him, and not a single one can be accepted as a sober presentation of his personality. There is an enormous amount of material on him, and most of it is full of invention or willful inaccuracy. Rasputin’s life, then, is not ‘history’; it is the clash of history with subjectivity.”
The Beginning: Part I: Rasputin Rises
Fuhrmann, Joseph T. Rasputin: The Untold Story. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons. 2013. Print.