Royals

Yesterday was SO. MUCH. FUN. The first half of my day was fairly normal. Grammatika and then phonetika, both successful (my definition of success for my RSL classes are defined by my not making a complete fool out of myself). After classes ended, me and three others, Fabi, Jackie, and Hunter, headed to Smolny’s столовая (stolovaya), or cafeteria, for a late lunch before making our way to the Yussoupov palace which is only 0.8 miles from Smolny. For those of you that don’t know, the Yussoupov palace belonged to Prince Felix Yussoupov, who married Nicholas II’s niece Irina, and it was in this palace that the many attempts to murder Rasputin took place. 

On the outside, the palace is mostly pale yellow with huge white columns in front of the entrance. Once we bought our tickets, which were much more expensive than other museums, we headed up the grand staircase to check out the rooms upstairs. I was immediately reminded of Versailles. Each room is extravagant. Every single chandelier, light, chair, bed, nightstand, clock (ANYTHING) shines with jewels and/or gold. It’s not AS fancy as Versailles or what I imagine the Winter Palace will look like of course (I’ll find out today!), but it still makes your jaw drop. Within seconds of getting upstairs and making our way through all the rooms, we all agreed that this was worth the price we paid. We started to explore towards the end of the afternoon, and the palace closes at 5 pm, so we had missed the bulk of visitors and we were rarely in any of the rooms with others, which really gave me a lot of leeway to shriek and say “OH MY GOD” often without having to worry about disturbing the experience of others (minus the three other people I was with). We strolled through bedrooms, dining rooms, vast halls, creepy, dark hallways, offices, libraries, and even a private theater. The palace seemed to twist and turn every which way, always leading into something equally more luxurious and colorful. It’s impossible to imagine living in such a place, on so many different levels. I would have gotten lost so many times! And to think of all the rooms and hidden passageways that we don’t even know exist in that palace. It was fun to explore, but I can imagine it becoming extremely spooky once the sun sets. It was already quite dim when we went there. It’s clear that I would not want to be wandering the halls of the Yussoupov palace by myself at night!

And that’s not just because Rasputin was murdered in the basement (well, technically he did not die in the basement, but it’s just easier to say it that way). Heh, at one point Hunter asked me to tell him what actually happened. Clearly he hasn’t learned not to ask me anything of that nature yet because I proceeded to tell him the whole story (as briefly as I could) about how Rasputin was actually killed. He heard the story first from me in English, and then when we bought extra tickets for the special Rasputin tour (I had to pay for 3 tickets! One to see the palace, another to take pictures, and another to get on the Rasputin tour) which was all in Russian. We caught the last tour from 4:30 - 5 pm, and it was just us with a Russian couple. The tour started in a completely different wing of the palace, and wove through various staircases and doors. I cannot tell you how chilling the route to the basement is. 

Which makes me wonder. Rasputin sensed in the weeks leading up to his death in December 1916 that he was going to die. His name came up in the Duma often (the Russian parliament), and nasty rumors about him and Empress Alexander circulated Petersburg society. He most definitely had heard some theories about plots to kill him. As Massie wrote, 

“[Rasputin] was preoccupied with the idea of death. Once after a lonely walk along the Neva he came home and declared that he had seen the river filled with blood of the grand dukes. In his last meeting with the Tsar, he refused to give Nicholas his customary blessing, saying instead, ‘This time it is for you to bless me, not I you.’ (374). 

To make things more spooky and mysterious, “it was during these last weeks of December 1916 that Rasputin produced the mystically prophetic letter which has become part of the legend of this extraordinary man” (374). In short, Rasputin wrote a letter explaining the following: I will die before January 1st. “If I am killed by common assassins, and especially by my brothers the Russian peasants, you, Tsar of Russia, have nothing to fear, remain on your throne and govern, and you, Russian Tsar, will have nothing to fear for your children, they will reign for hundreds of years in Russia. But if I am murdered by boyars, nobles, and if they shed my blood, their hands will remain soiled with my blood, for twenty-five years they will not wash their hands from my blood. They will leave Russia. Brothers will kill brothers, and they will kill each other and hate each other and for twenty-five years there will be no nobles in the country. Tsar of the land of Russia, if you hear the sound of the bell which will tell you that Gregory has been killed, you must know this: if it was your relations who have wrought my death then no one of your family, that is to say, none of your children or relations will remain alive for more than two years...” (374). 

Well, do you know what happened? In less than a year the Romanov monarchy was toppled. Everywhere Romanovs were sought out an murdered. Communism, with its ideals of equality swept through Russia. In July 1918, Nicholas and his entire family were slaughtered in a basement in Ekaterinburg. And of course, Rasputin was killed. WHADIYA MAKE OF THAT?

Now, you might be wondering. Why did Rasputin accept an invitation to have tea in the basement of a palace with a boyar if he knew he was going to die before the New Year? Apparently knowing Rasputin and his kryptonite well, Felix Yussoupov told Rasputin that his wife, Princess Irina, would be present for the evening. Princess Irina was supposed to be gorgeous, and Rasputin just could not resist. Real quick- Rasputin was known as a holy man and a mystic. He believed in salvation through sin, which roughly translated to him finding god through drunken orgies, public nudity, and overall hooliganism throughout Petersburg (he also raped a nun...). Anyways, Rasputin was a ladies man and he loved women. Princess Irina will be there? Sold. 

I won’t ramble on for too much longer, but I MUST tell you about how he actually died! So, Felix Yussoupov and his droogs had been planning for a while now how to do it. A certain Doctor Lazovert carefully ground cyanide of potassium and sprinkled it all over the tea cakes Rasputin was to ingest. They also poisoned the wine. When Rasputin and Yussoupov finally found themselves seated at the table in the basement, the moment of truth finally came. Rasputin ate two tea cakes and drank the wine, but nothing happened. Then Rasputin asked Yussoupov to play the guitar; “through one song after another, the terrified murderer sang on while the happy ‘corpse‘ sat nodding and grinning with pleasure’” (376). Haha! Two and a half hours later and incredibly freaked out, Yussoupov took one of his co-conspirator’s Browning revolver upstairs and shot Rasputin in the back, where Rasputin fell backwards onto a white bear skin rug. The Doctor pronounced Rasputin dead. Success? You wish, Yussoupov. Basically Yussoupov was left alone in the basement with Rasputin’s supposed dead body momentarily when Rasputin’s crazy eyes suddenly opened, and “Rasputin, foaming at the mouth, leaped to his feet, grabbed his murderer by the throat and tore an epaulet off his shoulder. In terror, Yussoupov broke away and fled up the stairs. Behind him, clambering on all fours, roaring with fury, came Rasputin” (377). AHHHHHH! I’m currently at my host parent’s breakfast table (they’re away at their dacha today) and my heart rate is picking up (I haven’t read this story in a while). It’s only 11:44 am!! 

You guys, I was in that VERY ROOM! I was in the basement, and I saw the table where Rasputin ate the cakes and drank the wine. One thing that stuck out to me in particular were the exceptionally low ceilings. Another defining characteristic of Rasputin besides his electric blue eyes was his height. This guy was HUGE. I remember walking down the staircase and picturing how Rasputin must have had to duck his head as he walked down those very same steps. If I saw Rasputin clambering after me after being shot and poisoned, I think I would have died right then and there on my way up the winding staircase out of that cursed cellar room. 

On another note though — I am leaving out so many details! I know this entry has gone on for too long at this point, but there are so many cool things about this story that I don’t have the time, and you don’t have the attention span here, to read. But I hope you do some day :) (Remember! Nicholas and Alexandra by Robert K. Massie). 

Getting back to the story, the next thing the murderers know, Rasputin is running across the palace courtyard in an attempt to escape. After a bunch of missed shots, Purishkevich (another conspirator) shot and hit Rasputin in the shoulder. And then again possibly in the head. Soon after, he ran over to Rasputin and kicked him with his boot to Rasputin’s head (good ol’ boot to the ‘ead! Ok, not funny.). Once Yussoupov finally recovered from his shock and came outside into the snowy courtyard, he proceeded to beat Rasputin with a rubber club. When Rasputin finally stopped moving, they bound him, rolled him up in a blue curtain, and pushed his body through a hole in the ice into the Neva river. When the body was recovered three days later, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Rasputin had died, according to the autopsy, by drowning. His hands had also come unbound. 

WAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Incredibly cool stuff, right? But my blog post continues. 

After dinner most all of us in the program met up at the metro station Primorskaya at 8 pm. It’s the first real Friday we’ve spent here, and naturally we all wanted to go out. We went to a bar in the northern part of Vasilievsky island where a student who studied here last semester frequented often. The bar was relaxed, with plenty of tables that, when we arrived, were almost all full. The walls were brick, and MTV music videos were playing on a big flat screen. 

I had SUCH a great time. Minus uber sketchy Alexander from Ukraine who would not leave me alone. I first met him when we were in line to get drinks. I tried to avoid eye contact, but ohhh did I know that we were about to make small talk. He appeared friendly at first, talking to me in English when I told him I didn’t speak or understand Russian very well. He asked if he could buy me a drink to which I said no thank you; I am with friends. I was definitely flattered, but that flattery went away quickly. I think Alexander meant well, but he was drunk, doughy, and at one point in conversation said “Thirty years ago...” (I know what many of you are thinking, (stop laughing) and NO!). When he left, he reached out his hand and when I shook it and said goodbye, replied with, “No. See you LATER!” 

As promised, maybe twenty minutes later he came back to my table, where I was clearly surrounded by friends, and asked my for my number. I told him I didn’t have a telephone here (lies). It didn’t work. He kept hovering and would not leave me alone, despite the many attempts by my friends to tell him to fuck off. At this point I stopped laughing and trying to conduct myself in Russian. I switched to English and as nicely as I could tried to get him to shoo. When this wasn’t working, like a night in shining armor my friend Adam from the table over plopped down in the chair in front of me and asked me what was up in English. Now, Adam is a very shy guy. Super nice, but he keeps to himself, and I can’t say I know much about him. But boy was he chatty and friendly last night! He was so animated in front of me, and before I knew it, he introduced himself to Alexander as my boyfriend. He grabbed my hand across the table and started a conversation with Alexander. When the creep asked where we studied in St. Petersburg, Adam went off about the Swiss embassy (or was it the Polish one?) past the Dostoevsky (or was it Gogol?) statue, completely on the fly. He kept laughing, as did everybody at the table but me, and at one point Alexander told us that Russians don’t like to joke. Dear lord, I was waiting for him to pull out a gun or something. But he didn’t, thank god. Instead, he asked if he could kiss my hand, and when I basically said HELL NO YOU MAY NOT, he asked about my fingers. I can’t remember what happened next, but I think my friends from the other table lured him over, and engaged him in conversation. THEY still thought it was all funny. Eventually he did leave, and I breathed a bit easier. 

But yes, besides that, I was my normal, intoxicated self. I started to say things like “THIS IS SO MUCH FUN GUYS,” and “I LOVE RUSSIA!” and “YOU HAVE NO IDEA I’VE BEEN IN LOVE WITH PATRICK DEMPSEY SINCE I WAS 14! I TOUCHED HIS ARM!” I drank a blond Belgian beer, and then a large goblet or sorts of some Russian apple mead which tasted like candy. I was pleasantly content for the rest of the night, getting to know my fellow Americans, and sharing stories about myself. At one point when I went up to the line for the bathroom, I passed my friend Clarissa who was playing darts with two Russians who looked like they were apart of a 90s grunge band. She asked me if I wanted to throw some. Whhhhy not? I threw the three, sharp metal darts and they all landed on the board. Score! A few minutes later after someone cut me off for the bathroom, the jerk, one of the rocker Russians offered me to throw again. This time I hit one on the circle immediately around the bullseye, with the other two not far away. I threw my hands up and celebrated loudly. I guess I take after my dad, who plays ping-pong better when he’s had a drink or two. I do wonder though: why are darts a thing in bars? When you think about it, isn’t that a terrible idea?? Would YOU feel comfortable handing a 20 year old tipsy girl metal darts to throw at a wall? NO! But nevertheless, I didn’t kill anyone. I returned the darts, and ran into the bathroom the second it opened. 

Me and three others left the bar a little before midnight. We caught a bus to the metro station Primorskaya, where I only had one stop to go before the closest metro stop to my host family’s apartment, 10 minutes away. Thankfully everything worked out, and I was home at midnight like the good little Russian Cinderella I am. When I woke up this morning, I still reeked of cigarette smoke (from others in the bar, mom and dad), and I reached over to my nightstand for the ibuprofen bottle before I even left my bed. 

What an awesome day yesterday was! 

But I have to go now. I need to gulp down the soup Nina Vasilievna left for me and get ready to go to the Hermitage at 1:30 pm. 

Hopefully I’ll have a good entry for that later tonight or tomorrow!