“The life of Rasputin is one of the most remarkable in modern history. It reads like a dark fairy tale. An obscure, uneducated peasant from the wilds of Siberia receives a calling from God and sets out in search of the true faith, a journey that leads him across the vast expanses of Russia for many years before finally bringing him to the palace of the tsar. The royal family takes him in and is bewitched by his piety, his unerring insights into the human soul, and his simple peasant ways. Miraculously, he saves the life of the heir to the throne, but the presence of this outsider, and the influence he wields with the tsar and tsarita, angers the great men of the realm and they lure him into a trap and kill him. Many believed the holy peasant had foreseen his death and prophesied that should anything happen to him, the tsar would lose his throne. And so he does, and the kingdom he once ruled is plunged into unspeakable bloodletting and misery for years…”
- Douglas Smith, Rasputin: Faith, Power, and the Twilight of the Romanovs
Everyone knows at least something about Rasputin.
Take, for instance, my then-6-year-old daughter, Emilia.
Shortly before reading Douglas Smith’s Rasputin, I was sitting on the couch, watching the 1971 biopic Nicholas and Alexandra, covering the downfall of the Romanov dynasty. When Emilia walked in, Rasputin had just been introduced to Empress Alexandra by Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich. She hopped up on the couch, always eager to watch a “daddy movie,” and immediately asked: “Is that the villain?”
Intrigued by the question – Rasputin was not doing anything overtly villainous, other than look super intense – I replied: “Why do you think he’s the villain?”
“Because that’s Rasputin!” she said.
Surprised at her knowledge of Russian history, we discussed the matter further. Perhaps unsurprisingly, her facts came from Disney’s Anastasia, which I didn't know she’d seen, and have never watched myself. She described the plot to me, and I cringed in horror (Rasputin a sorcerer? Banished by Nicholas II? A talking bat?).
“That’s not what really happened,” I said.
“Then what happened?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you when you’re sixteen,” I dodged, not quite ready to explain the fate of the Romanov girls, their sickly brother, or their parents, in that awful basement of the Ipatiev House. “Let’s just say there wasn’t a bat involved.”
***
Emilia's conception of Rasputin does a good job illustrating his legacy. We’ve all heard the name. We’d probably recognize his face (those eyes, that beard). And we all have a bunch of preconceived notions about him, most of them negative.
Douglas Smith’s ponderous biograpny attempts to set the record straight. In 680 dense pages of text, he tries to knock down literally every rumor and hyperbolic anecdote and false legend that ever swirled about the Siberian starets who has been blamed with toppling an empire. He succeeds in stripping away most of the falsehoods. Once he’s done, unfortunately, there’s not enough left of the man to justify this enormous biography.
***
When I say this is 680 pages long, I don’t think it gives an accurate indication of Rasputin’s actual length. It feels like a thousand pages. More to the point, it probably would have been, if Smith had been able to find out anything about the first three decades of Rasputin’s life, before he stepped onto the historical stage.
Grigory Rasputin was a Siberian peasant turned pilgrim who gained a following due to his devoutness and perceived abilities as a healer. Introduced to Tsar Nicholas II and Tsarita Alexandra by Grand Duke Nikolai, he was warmly received by a Royal Couple quite susceptible to charismatic religious figures. (Smith, as an example of his thoroughness, devotes an entire chapter to Monsieur Philippe, a charlatan enthusiastically embraced – for a time – by Nicholas and Alexandra).
The Rasputin of legend, which is to say, the Rasputin of conventional knowledge, gained his power over the Tsar and Tsarina by his ability to “heal” Alexei, the young hemophiliac heir to the throne. When Russia entered World War I, and began to suffer massive casualties, shortages, and labor unrest, he came to be a lightning rod of criticism. Both the left and right saw him as a devil on Tsar Nicholas II’s shoulder, controlling him for some nefarious ends.
In Smith’s recollection, Rasputin’s role was much more tangential. Yes, Empress Alexandra believed that his prayers helped Alexei during various illnesses, but Smith shows that the Royal Couple brought Rasputin into their confidence for reasons beyond their ailing son. Yes, Rasputin gave Nicholas a lot of advice, but Smith shows that Nicholas ignored most of it. Rasputin’s historical importance, then, resides not in what he actually did, but in what people thought he did.
And boy, people had a lot of thoughts!
***
The number of people who hated Rasputin is staggering. It reminds me of a classic episode of The Simpsons, when Sideshow Bob asks Homer: “How can one ordinary man have so many enemies?” To which Homer responds: “I’m a people person…who drinks.”
As was Rasputin.
Despite his faith, which Smith finds honestly held, Rasputin loved to drink, flirt, conduct the occasional affair, and visit the occasional prostitute. From these kernels of truth sprang a cottage industry of defamatory reports: Rasputin the rapist; Rasputin the organizer of orgies; Rasputin the cult member (or khlyst). One Rasputin hater went so far as to claim, in a single broadside, that Rasputin both conducted sexual affairs and had a non-functioning penis. It takes a certain depth of hatred to make that claim!
Smith’s way of cutting through the fog is meticulous and commendable. It also makes for a slogging read. A typical chapter of Rasputin will begin with an entertaining story from Rasputin’s life. Just as you reach the end, Smith will tell you that’s the “accepted” story, by which he means “a lie.” He will then go on to unearth the evidence he has produced (this is massively researched) showing what he thinks actually happened. In terms of thoroughness, I give him props. In terms of literary style, not so much. There were times I became utterly perplexed as to which version of the truth was the Smith-approved version. It was like watching Rashomon in Japanese with Cyrillic subtitles.
On top of that are the characters. Oh, there are so many! Hundreds of names, many appearing just once or twice. I couldn’t keep them straight. Now, I am not an expert in Russian history. I have, though, read more than a few books on this period. Even with that background, I couldn’t keep up with the depth of detail. I was constantly flipping back to remind myself who was who. (Honestly, I think the simple addition of a dramatis personae in the beginning would have helped so much).
***
This took me a good long while to finish. Between the careful parsing of truth and fiction, there are moments of great clarity and insight. I really liked Smith’s discussion on Rasputin’s actual “healing powers,” in which Smith utilized modern-day studies on the power of prayer, positive thinking, and touch to give an approximation of what gifts the holy man might actually have possessed. Rasputin’s murder, too, is given a full discussion, and does a decent job making sense of all the different narratives that sprang from it.
Rasputin certainly has its rewards for those who have the patience to finish. I definitely feel like I have a better grasp of his role in the Romanov collapse. Smith never quite finds the beating heart of the man, but he works overtime to humanize him. It struck me, for instance, that when Prince Yusupov arrived to take Rasputin back to his home – to kill him – Rasputin had just put two of his daughters to bed. Grigory Rasputin has become a lot of things to history; at one time, though, he was a father tucking in his children.
***
Ultimately, Smith’s Rasputin is the price you pay for historical fidelity. It does its job. It clears away the exaggerations, the lies, the adornments of myth, to draw a portrait that hews closer to reality.
It also strips away all the things that got me interested in reading about Rasputin in the first place.