Noble Blood - Ra Ra Rasputin

Episode Date: April 26, 2022

The rumors about Rasputin—the mad monk who treated the hemophilia of the Tsar and Tsarina's only son—range from comical to absurd. But the truth is buried somewhere beneath, in a story about power and manipulation. Support Noble Blood: — Bonus episodes and scripts on Patreon — Merch! — Order Dana's book, Anatomy: A Love StorySee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is an I-heart podcast. Guaranteed Human. Readers, Katie's finalists, publicists. We have an incredible new episode this week for you guys. We have our girl Hillary Duff in here, and we can't wait for you to hear this episode. They put on Lizzie McGuire at 2 a.m. Video on Demand.

This guy's bobo-o-bubim. 2 a whatever time it is. Lizzie McGuire. And I'm like, the paper view. It was like a first closet moment from me where I was like, I don't feel like she's hot, like the rest of that. No, no, no. I was like, she's beautiful.

But I'm appreciating her. in a different way than these boys are. I'm not like, but listen to Los Coleristas on the Iheart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or whatever you get your podcast. Hello, gorgeous, it's Lala Kent. Host of Untraditionally Lala. My days of filling up cups at Sir may be over,

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Hi, I'm Iris Palmer, host of the Against All Odds podcast. Every week, I'm sitting down with exceptional people who have broken barriers even when the odds were stacked against them. Like chef Victor Villa of Vias Tacos. You know the taquero from the Bad Bunny halftime show? It was great.

It was a big moment. It was special, and I felt like I was really representing my family, you know, my brand, my city. I was representing all taqueros, not only of like, you know, the U.S., but of Mexico and beyond, all the taqueros of the world. Listen to Against All Odds on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcast, or wherever you get your podcast. Welcome to Noble Blood, a production of IHeart Radio and Grimmin Mild from Aaron Manky. Listener discretion is advised. We don't have sex in the USSR.

Those are the words that greet visitors in person. bold block lettering upon arriving at the Museum of Love and Erotica in St. Petersburg. From the outside, the Muse Aros, as it's called, appears fairly innocuous. Muted reds and grays, long since faded by the sun, paints the building's facade, blending into the equally faded asphalt of the parking lot it shares with the shell gas station across the street. But once inside, the pallid hues of the city give way to midnight blacks and electric pinks, decor unapologetically flaunting, sex and kink over every square inch of its curated studio space. Past the throne of dildos and gift shop laden with leather accessories,

the museum offers exhibit after exhibit of artifacts, dedicated. to the exploration of sex and sexuality through history. Fertility statues stand proudly next to displays of vintage vibrators of, I'll say, dubious historical accuracy. But perhaps the most interesting piece in the entire space is sitting in a jar behind a pane of glass. It isn't dressed in the same jarring neon or velvet allure in keeping with the rest of the exhibit. But then again, it doesn't need to. The pound of flesh bobbing inside the formaldehyde-filled jar speaks for itself. This artifact, of course, is the dismembered penis of one Gregory Rasputin. In the century since his death, the infamous Russian mystic has become more myth

than man, though the latter is hard to ignore after catching a glimpse of the astonishing appendage on display at the museum. At least it would be astonishing, if it were real. False reports involving the aforementioned phallus have been in circulation since the 1920s, after a group of women in France claimed to have kept it in an icebox to take it out for use in certain fertility rituals. Others say that was just a sea cucumber and the actual genitalia resided with Maria, his daughter, until she sold it sometime in the 70s. It's difficult to trace, then, what happened to the, quote, actual or, quote, false penis, but in the year 2000, a man would pay $8,000 for something that claimed to be a resputin's penis,

and the man proudly stated, I am 99% sure that it is real. Now, there's a lot to unpack there. After all, who pays $8,000 to only be 99% sure they have the real deal? Or maybe it's worth taking a step back and asking the more glaring question of, why would someone want to buy the penis in the first place? Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, actually, I do not have the answers to those questions. But here is one answer. If you were wondering whether the organ is real, I can tell you that at the time of

Rasputin's autopsy, his body was, yes, riddled with bullet wounds and blunt force trauma, but otherwise fully intact. And the organ on display in the Muse Aros is, at least in this writer's estimation, probably from a non-human animal, with a size meant to shock audiences to increase the mythology of its alleged source. Fascinating and deeply compelling as the pickled mystery meat is, I think it's even more interesting to examine the actual human who is allegedly once attached to it. When he was still alive,

Rasputin aroused distrust and scandal without having to say a word. One look at a photo of him with his long, greasy black hair and his gaunt, deep-set eyes provide all the reason as to why. Over a hundred years later, his image is still deeply unsettling. The story of his life is infamously debauchous. Even today, his name is synonymous with villain in our cultural psyche. Though perhaps it's all too common for stories to be lost, to be consolidated over time, the mad monk's legend defies historical precedent.

Instead of being lost or diminished, histories are inexplicably being added, like jenga pieces stolen from the base of a teetering tower that refuses to fall. So why is it that museums boast to have his most prized possession, even though it is most certainly not real? And why has Resputin as a myth persisted as a cultural phenomenon while the man himself has really slipped into shadows? The answer is a fact that Rasputin himself knew entirely too well. As long as people want to believe something is real, the truth can afford to be subjective. I'm Dana Schwartz, and this is Noble Blood.

When Google searches of Rasputin turn up picture after picture of greasy beards, wild eyes, and political cartoons illustrating sexual acts with Russian monarchs, It's sometimes hard to remember that long before any of that, he was just Gregory Elfimovich Rasputin, a young man from a small village in Siberia. Born in 1869, he married young at 18 and fathered seven children, though only three made it to adulthood. But such was life in late 19th century Siberia.

Childhood mortality rates were high. Access to basic education was practically non-executive. and the Russian idea of Subda, or God's will, was the guiding force for the majority of the peasant population. There is very little known about the exact details of Ersputin's early life, most of which come to us via a biography written by his daughter, Maria, long after he had passed. It's safe to say that this biography might have some historical inaccuracies. Early on, she claims that a comet tore through the sky on the night of Resputin's birth, when in reality we know there is no recorded comet passing

in Earth's view that entire year. But we do know the one aspect of his adulthood that would shape the rest of his life. When Rasputin was 28 years old, he took a trip to a Siberian monastery and returned as a Stranic, or a religious pilgrim, ready to share all that he had learned on his travels, and spread the word of God. According to accounts from his closest acquaintances, his intentions began honestly enough. But that didn't mean that he practiced quietly. Quite the opposite, in fact. He immediately garnered attention from other villagers with his peculiar ways. He stopped eating meat and drinking alcohol, but his most unusual affectation was the way he performed during his services with crazy glances and grimaces. He became impossible to

ignore, and fairly quickly, his strange confidence and charisma led to followers. After that initial pilgrimage, Rasputin didn't stay home for long. He continued traveling across the continent, going so far as Greece, but never failing to make his way back to Russia. But the more that he traveled, the less it seemed that Russia wanted him back. People were becoming more skeptical of the unkempt holy man roaming their streets, especially since a large portion of his disciples were women, which wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't openly kiss them in public. So that was troubling, as were the vague allegations of sexual assaults that tended to follow in the wake of his travels. Even before Gregory had married, he had amassed quite the

reputation as a young ladies' man. So you can imagine the type of power dynamic at play when Rasputin found himself in a position where people not only listened to what he had to say, but respected him, praised him. Resputin found a way to exploit his power for personal gain. In one instance, when a woman came to him distraught after a sexual encounter between the two of them that she had felt coerced into, he simply replied that, quote, there was no sin in what they had done. They had simply been celebrating the Holy Trinity. Another report accounts that two sisters, aged 15 and 20,

were manipulated into sexual acts with the man after being lured into a bathhouse. When their mother confronted resputin seething with anger, he merely looked at her calmly and said, quote, Now you may feel at peace, the day of salvation has dawned for your daughters. In Resputon's mind, or at least the way he spun his religious teachings to his followers,

opening oneself to the possibility of sexual encounters, i.e. stripping in bathhouses, was a way to prove to God that they were able to resist temptations of the flesh. And sometimes those trips did end in abstinence. Temptations resisted. but only sometimes. For his part, Rasputin did openly admit to being a sinner,

explaining that while he did try to resist sin, he was ultimately exempt from judgment because he was, quote, a man of God, succumbing to these sins while in his service. Now, I am of the belief that if something looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it's most likely a sexual predator and that Rasputin was using the religious rhetoric of confronting temptations as a way to exploit

vulnerable women. Unfortunately, at the time, his exploits were seen as merely salacious. Monks will be monks. But as gossip around his personal life spread, so did rumors of his abilities as a mystic. One night, the Virgin Mary supposedly came to him crying, tears streaming down her face as she told him to, quote, go wander and cleanse the people of their sins. Rasputin believed that he had been chosen by God,

and he made it his job to let everyone know. For however creepy and manipulative this man was, he was also smarter than most people gave him credit for. He was an expert at the long con, planting seeds of gossip that would flower exactly when he needed them to. His action seemed erratic at times, but every move was calculated to cultivate this man-of-god persona, which he was honestly probably narcissistic enough to believe was true. But at the time, especially in more elite social circles, people took him pretty plainly at face value.

He was a peasant, most likely simple-minded, and he therefore posed very little threat. So what, if he had a reputation as a philanderer? Surely only the weak fell for such ploys, right? Before we go any further into Rasputin's story, I'd like us to pivot for a moment towards St. Petersburg. Behind the waves of civil unrest and political turmoil, the Romanovs sat comfortably inside the walls of Alexander Palace, confident in their nearly 300-year-old dynasty. and they're obviously God-given authority to rule. At least, if they told themselves that enough times, maybe it would finally become reality.

In truth, the royal family was harboring a possibly dynasty-ending secret. The Tsarevich was sick. Alexi, the fifth child but only son of Tsar Nicholas and the Tsarina, a Zarina Alexander Federovna, had been diagnosed with hemophilia, a rare blood disorder that, inhibits blood from clotting normally, subjecting its victims to possibly fatal internal bleeding at the drop of a hat. The Tsar and Zarina were understandably distraught concerning the health of their son, though his illness posed a greater threat to the Russian monarchy as a whole. Alexi was their

only son, and if you remember our past episode on Paul I of Russia, his grudge match against his mother, Catherine the Great, still persisted into the 20th century in the form of a law that only sons could inherit the Russian throne. The Tsar and Zarina had desperately waited for a son. With each pregnancy, their hopes were renewed, and with each daughter their hopes were dashed. Four times in a row. Girl, girl, girl, girl. The Zarina, Alexandra had been so desperate for a son that she had turned to the church and mysticism for help. Though originally of German descent, Alexandra converted to Russian Orthodox Christianity

upon her engagement to Nicholas, and she adopted the practice wholeheartedly into her life. It's easy to laugh at the idea of mysticism now, but in the turn of the 20th century in Russia, it was not an uncommon practice, especially amongst the aristocracy, people craved excitement, anything to break up the monotony of their day-to-day lives. I mean, think about the way wealthy people today talk about moon juice and alkalized lemon water

and healing crystals. But at that time, for those inside the palace walls, mysticism had genuine credence. One of the crown's closest religious advisors would tell the Tsar, God sends consolation to his people from time to time in the guise of right. righteous men, and they are the mainstays of Holy Russia. Considering that the Tsar and Zarina truly believed that they had been chosen by God to rule the people of Russia, their belief in mysticism compounded. God had chosen them, so obviously he had chosen these mystics to carry out his work as well. So after one mystic claimed to be able to influence the gender of a child

during pregnancy and then the Sarina gave birth to a son, the practice of mysticism came to be consulted on all matters of everyday life, and that man, not Rasputin yet, just some other random guy, became a mainstay at court. After the diagnosis of her son, Alexandra sought the help of that mystic more, desperate to alleviate her son's suffering. But over time, members of the court began to grow skeptical of that religious advisor whispering in the queen's ear. After a considerable amount of pressure from his staff, Tsar Nicholas was forced to send Alexandra's beloved mystic away. But before the mystic left, he foretold one final prophecy,

quote, "'Someday you will have another friend like me who will speak to you of God.'" The dust had barely settled on that mystic being fired, before Rasputin was suddenly knocking on the palace door. Well, metaphorically knocking. Rasputin knew that the road to power ended on the Romanov doorstep, but he also recognized how nearly impossible it was going to be for him to get there. After all, he was a peasant, with no connections to the capital

and only a questionable reputation to his name. But he wouldn't let that stop him. By virtue of his chosen profession, by 1905, Rasputin had become an expert in finding spaces for himself in social circles where none had existed before. He was a social climbing assassin, using people and then burning bridges like he needed the tinder to keep warm. Maybe he did, but that didn't mean the flames would never catch up to him. As it were, in 1905, Rasputin found his. himself in St. Petersburg, in the company of three of the Tsar's closest acquaintances.

Years of travel and power-grabbing all came down to one tea on an innocuous autumn afternoon. So what did the Siberian peasant do to woo the god-divined rulers of Russia? Absolutely nothing. Or rather, he made the nobles feel as though they were nothing, certainly no more important than any of the peasant that he often met on the street. He used the informal Russian U pronoun that used for friends and family instead of the respectful U reserved for elders and people of higher birth. And when Rasputin met the Tsar and Tsarina,

he addressed them as Batushka and Matushka, or Little Father and Little Mother, which was the common name the peasant class took to calling the royal couple. and infuriatingly enough, they ate it up. Nicholas and Alexandra hated all the pomp and circumstance that typically followed them as Russian monarchs. So when Rasputin, who had been waiting years for this very encounter, showed them the same ambivalence he showed, say, soap,

the royal couple was immediately smitten. After years without a quote-unquote man of God, at her side, the Tsarina remembered the parting words of her last trusted religious advisor. Someday you will have another friend like me who will speak to you of God. And as she watched with wide eyes and bated breath, while the mysterious holy man stood over her son and her son's muscles finally uncrenched after days of restlessness, there was no doubt in her mind. Her friend had arrived.

The views of Rasputin's present in the palace quickly made the rounds in St. Petersburg. Unsurprisingly, people were skeptical of the unkempt, self-proclaimed spiritual healer who spent so much of his time around the royal family. His infamous reputation as a sexual predator had followed him on his travels to the capital, and yet the Tsar and Tsarina kept him in their inner circle, unwilling to listen to anyone who disparaged their newfound friend. Worse yet, the rumors were beginning to fester. After all, what exactly was he doing with the royal family?

They had five children, four of them young girls, someone with a past like his. Shouldn't the Tsar and Zarina be more concerned? For once, peasants and nobles were in agreement. Rasputin needed to go. He was not known for his reticence in sharing political opinions, and the last thing that anyone wanted was for Rasputin, notorious sex fiend parading around as a religious holy man, to have influence over the Russian government.

Public outcry trickled its way into the palace, but would be destined to fall on deaf ears. For the Tsarina, Rasputin's place in the palace was indisputable. His prayers were keeping her son alive. Alexi's hemophilia was still a state secret, one that the crown couldn't afford to get out for fear that their God-given right to rule would crumble under the ailment of the crown prince. After all, if God had chosen them, why wouldn't he have given them a healthy air? Their silence would ultimately only add more fuel to the fire of rumors

swirling around the city. Before long, speculation as to the nature of Rasputin and Zarina's relationship was being called into question, especially after correspondence between the two was leaked to the press. Quote, I know that much of what I do and think is not good. I want to be a good Christian, a good person, but it is so hard, Alexandra had written in a private letter to the monk, quote, so often I have to fight bad habits, but help me, don't abandon me, I am weak and not good, and quote. Suddenly, all of the bridges Rasputin had burned to reach the Romanovs had their flames threatening to burn down the entire palace. Even beyond

the basic accusations of infidelity, other more disturbing allegations were coming to the forefront. People were beginning to question the paternity of the Tsarvich himself, with others accusing the mad monk of sexually assaulting the young Romanov daughters, even possibly getting one pregnant. Before long, the entire country was alight with conspiracy, conspiracy that would carry on for far longer than one lifetime. Boney M's now iconic lyric, Ra Ra Rasputin Lover of the Russian Queen is no doubt a clever couplet, but its evidence is placed on faulty ground. The

Zarina may have had her faults, but if she was anything, it was a devout Christian and loyal wife. And in addition to keeping her son's illness out of the public eye, she also suffered from chronic pain in secret. After five difficult pregnancies, her body had taken a fair amount of abuse, leaving her with sciatica that would sometimes keep her bedbound for days. She was not in a condition to be carrying on an illicit love affair, even if she wanted to, which, based on her character, I don't think she did. But of course, once again, the truth is. didn't matter. Before, the rumors could have just been dismissed, but after personal letters surfaced and were proven legitimate by the Tsar himself, the crown was looking as unstable as

ever. The people thought that the infidelity rumors were true, and the Tsarina was furious. The question remained, who had leaked the letters? How did this happen? The obvious answer lies with the recipient, but Rasputin was a trusted friend. Surely he never would have done such a thing. It should come as no surprise that no one was a bigger fan of Rasputin than Rasputin. So when the Zarina herself began sending him not just letters but personal confessions, he couldn't keep them to himself. Years earlier, an acquaintance of Resputins had found himself inside the monk's St. Petersburg apartment, where Rasputin was showing off his personal letters from the Tsarina. He was boasting about his status as one of her closest spiritual advisors.

The acquaintance smiled and nodded, acting impressed when he was called to do so, but in the back of his mind he was taking notes. Perhaps he asked to see the letters up close. Fast forward three years and the Zarina's letters were being printed and dissected by every major news outlet around the world. Rasputin attempted to do some damage control, but Alexandra would no longer permit him inside the palace walls. After years of begging, the Tsarina was finally taking the advice of nearly every one of her advisors, and she sent Rasputin packing. After all, her son hadn't had a severe attack in years. There was no immediate

need for a resputin services. So that autumn, on a family vacation to their hunting lodge, nobody thought twice when their carriage took an unusually hard bump in the road. That was, until the young Tsarvich could no longer contain his screams. After what seemed like no time at all, Alexi went from playing on the grounds to crying helplessly in agony on his deathbed. Nicholas and Alexandra were beside themselves. Their family vacation had turned into their worst nightmare. Their son lay pale and incoherent, while his leg and hip swelled with blood. He was in pain so agonizing that the staff took to putting cotton in their ears to deafen his blood-curdling screams. The doctors worked on him tirelessly, but the crown prince showed no signs of improvement.

When Alexei was finally read his last rites, the Tsarina could no longer sit and watch helplessly as her one and only son slipped away painfully into the night. Rising from her son's bedside, Alexandra used what little energy she had to compose a telegram to Gregory Rasputin, asking him, begging him, to help save her son. When Rasputin received word of the young boy's condition,

He was remarkably unbothered. The doctors had told the royal couple their son would be dead by morning, but the mystic simply scoffed. God has seen your tears and heard your prayers, he assured the queen. The little one will not die. Do not allow the doctors to bother him too much. Upon receiving word, Alexandra immediately relaxed. She walked back to her son's bedside with renewed vigor,

announcing to the others holding vigil, that during the night I received a telegram from Father Gregory, and he has reassured me completely. And, miraculously, despite quite literally being on the brink of death, Alexi recovered. Within days, his fever broke. The swelling began to receive and his appetite returned. It was a miracle, one that seemingly only took place under Rasputin's command. None of it made any sense, and yet it didn't have to. All that mattered was that the Tsarvich was alive, and the monarchy was safe for another day. Over a century later, Alexei's recovery remains a mystery to historians, but of course there

are several theories. The first, and probably most likely, has everything to do with the final words of Rasputin's telegram to Alexandra. Do not allow the doctors to bother him too much. To this day, there is still no cure for hemophilia, but given the advancements in medical knowledge, we are now certainly aware of how not to treat the disease. Rule number one, don't give the patient blood thinners. Unfortunately for Alexi, aspirin seemed to be the royal doctor's drug of choice. The new, at the time, miracle drug, now widely known as a blood thinner, seemed to be a cure for

so many common ailments, so why not try it against the, well, rare blood disorder that prevents blood from clotting? But in any case, Rasputin's intervention against the doctors could have possibly saved Alexi's life. Ironically, the best sort of treatment the boy could have received at the time was time. Time without doctors force-feeding him blood thinners and poking and prodding at his already bleeding body. But others are more skeptical that Rasputin was involved at all in the young boy's treatment plan. The timeline of events that led to Alexi's recovery is sketchy at best. At what point exactly did Alexandra send that telegram? How quickly did Rasputin respond? It's widely understood that contacting Rasputin had been the Tsarina's absolute final option, with the last rights, having already been

read to her son. After a certain point, the doctors would have most likely stopped treating the boy to let him pass on in peace. Rasputin's words could have reached the hunting lodge while Alexi was already on the mend. But once again, the truth didn't matter. The Zarina believed Rasputin had been sent by God to save her son, and any previous grudge she may have held against the man meant nothing so long as her son was safe. Without even being on the safe, side of the country, Rasputin had once again managed to make his way back inside the royal palace. The start of the new year brought with it the 300-year anniversary of Romanov rule in Russia. A legacy that great came with a mounting pressure, Nicholas was beginning to feel in his bones.

Ever since the 1905 revolution, when his power as supreme autocrat had been stripped, with the founding of the Russian legislative body known as the Dumas, he had never been able to shake the shadow of revolution that he felt breathing down his neck. He was the Tsar of Russia, wasn't he? Duma be damned, he was a Romanov, and the Romanovs had been chosen by God to rule the mighty nation of Russia, come hell or high water.

So how would he strive to prove himself as a competent ruler? By going to war, of course. or rather by sending thousands of young men to go off to war for him. Unlike the majority of Russian aristocrats, Rasputin was actually staunchly against Russia going to war. He didn't need to be able to see the future to know that war would mean the deaths of thousands of young Russian men, primarily peasants like himself, not aristocrats.

Rasputin was quoted as saying, quote, We're already the biggest country in the world. Why do we need more real estate? But try as he might, Rasputin's efforts went unheard. Luckily for him, vodka proved to be a great listener.

With war on the horizon and feeling his influence waning, he wasted no time in drowning his sorrows and drowning his decade-plus of sobriety. After an assassination attempt in his hometown left him bedbound as he healed, waking up one morning to the newspaper reporting Germany's declaration of war against Russia

was enough to make him want to curl up at the bottom of a bottle. Resputin's dependence on alcohol would follow him for the rest of his life. From this point on, he rarely ever attended event sober, only pulling himself together enough for the royal couple not to suspect that something was seriously wrong. So when Alexandra ordered the monk to embark on a trip to Moscow in a desperate attempt to bolster his reputation into something salvageable, she couldn't have known that this trip would lead to one of the most infamous nights of

Rasputin's life. On the evening of March 26, 1915, Rasputin went to an establishment called the Yarr in Moscow to partake in their typical nighttime festivities. Never one to be unprepared, Rasputin arrived, having already downed half of his body weight in vodka. and he promptly ordered more upon his arrival. Other patrons of the Yarr began to take notice of the haughtily dressed, boisterous man in the corner.

The patrons held their hands up to their mouths in shock when the man started to grab at more than a few of the performers, and then, Resputin stood and started off on an alcohol-fuel tirade for the benefit of the entire establishment. According to witnesses, the unhinged monk became, quote, sexually psychopathic, alluding to his legendary phallus and rumored indecent relationship with a Zarina. He referred to her as, quote, the old girl, and proceeded to detail his control over her, eliciting even more disgust from the crowd.

Finally, when one patron dared him to prove that he was the real rebuton, he did the only thing a man like Rasputin would think to do. He dropped his pants and waved his member at the crowd. Its legendary size, apparently, all the identification needed. After that, the police were called, and Rasputin was led away, quote, snarling and vowing vengeance. Today, Rasputin's night at the Yard is debated wildly amongst historians. Some say there are no police reports from that night that would suggest Rasputin was even at the R in the first place. Meanwhile, others say that there were too many reputable witnesses to have the story be anything but true.

In my opinion, the truth behind the actual events of that night are of little importance. What mattered, what still matters in Rasputin's story, is that people believed it was true, and so it was. Which leads us to one of the most notorious myths in the Rasputin canon, the prophesies. the prophecy. In the months leading up to his death, Rasputin had, rightly so, begun to grow increasingly paranoid about his demise. He took on an extremely fatalistic view on life, often recounting his knowledge that the end for him was near. But according to legend, in the weeks before his death, Rasputin wrote a letter to the royals, describing what would be

known as his, quote, final prophecy. Russian Tsar, he began, I have a presentiment that I shall leave this world before the 1st of January. If I am killed, then not one member of your family will survive more than two years. The tragic demise of the Romanovs and the Russian monarchy has been the subject of fascination and speculation

for over a hundred years, and this letter remains one of the most infamous relics of the past. And while this letter does seem like exactly the type of manipulation Rysputin would pull to try to solidify his place within the royal fold, it really is just another tally on the ever-growing list of false rumors associated with the infamous mad monk. The letter itself is really the prophecies undoing. It's the diction that really disproved.

the letter's authenticity. It begins by addressing Nicholas as Russian Tsar, which, as we stated earlier, was just not how Rasputin spoke. He rarely, if ever, used terms of authority with royals, and he continued to call the Tsarina and Tsar little mother and little father until his death. The prophecy, like so many other parts of the Rasputin myth, is something that people love to hold on to, in this case maybe because it's a detail that makes the Romanov killings next all the more tragic and romantic. On the night of December 16, 1916, Rasputin was invited to the home of a man named Felix Yusuf for an evening of dinner and drinks. When Rasputin arrived, Yusuf and his two compatriots greeted their new companion with warm smiles and casual conversation. But beneath the

thin veneer of pleasantries, a more sinister plot was already brewing. The young Russian prince, Felix Yusuf, had been orchestrating a plan for weeks, carefully crafting timetables and alibis in preparation for what was sure to be his crowning achievement, ridding Russia of the religious fraud, Gregory Rasputin. Yusuf was not necessarily how one would imagine a murderer. For one, he had never before committed a serious crime, let alone homicide. But ever the idealist, Yusufov had watched from afar as Rasputin whispered into the ear of the Zarina, and he became increasingly infuriated with his position in court. Why should this peasant have such sway over the most important political decisions in Russia? In his mind, Rasputin needed to be taken out of the equation,

and he wanted to be the one to do it. Originally, Yusipov went to the president of the Duma to collaborate on the assassination attempt, pleading, quote, if the emperor were freed of the influence of Rasputin and his wife, everything would change. He would be a good constitutional monarch. Unfortunately for him, the president would hear nothing of it.

Quote, do you think I keep office for assassins, he blustered? In truth, as much as the Dumae, Duma hated Rasputin, killing him would not have been beneficial to their cause. It was obvious that the end of the monarchy was near, and when it finally fell, the Duma was trying to establish a democratic government that would rise in its place. Resputin's influence over the Romanovs was making them tremendously unpopular and only helping bring down the monarchy quicker. Why would the Duma want to help kill a man who was making their job easier? And so, Prince Felix, Yusufov, a man with the criminal rap sheet of a pacifier, was left to orchestrate the assassination

of the most notorious villain in all of Russia alone. I think it's important to note that the events that occurred next will always remain something of a mystery. After all, we only hear the version told from the point of view of the murderer. As I've said on this podcast many times before, history is told by the victors, and the night of December 16th, 1916, is no one. exception. Around 11 p.m. Rasputin arrived at Yusipov's home, where he was promptly led down into the basement to wait for Yusuf's wife to join them. While they waited, Felix offered Rasputin refreshment. Small cakes and glasses of wine were pushed in Gregory's face, which, after an initial hesitation, he indulged him thoroughly. Usopov watched him with a mixture of horror and fascination,

the memory of having crushed cyanide capsules between his fingertips, still fresh in his mind, as he waited for the man to succumb to the poison. Slowly, Rysputin's eyes began to droop. He brought his hand to his throat, almost distractedly, like he was fighting off an itch he couldn't scratch. But after an hour, he still sat, drinking his poisoned wine, completely awake, and very much alive. By one in the morning, Yusufov was livid, having had to entertain the man he was trying to kill for over two hours. Excusing himself, Yusipov ascended from the basement to reconvene with his co-conspirators.

This wasn't how the night was supposed to go. The poison was supposed to allow them time to dispose of the body cleanly, to cover their tracks with minimal risk. Now it was obvious they would have to use a more sure-fire method. When Yusipov returned, it was with a revolver behind his back. Taking a deep breath, he told the monk, Gregory Elfmovich, you'd best come look at that crucifix and say a prayer before it. He brought the gun out from behind him and pointed the barrel at the other man, and after a moment's hesitation, he fired a bullet into Rysputin's chest.

Immediately, Rysputin fell to the floor, and upon hearing the shot, Yusupov's compatriots came down to inspect the body. As the blood began to spread, the men dragged Rasputin's body across the floor to avoid, God forbid, staining the bearskin rug, and then they took the jacket off of his back. Although the first part of their plan had gone slightly off the rails, the second phase was being put into play. Another of the men dressed in Rasputin's coat and drove away from the palace to make it look like Gregory left of his own volition. While the man opposing as Rasputin made his swift getaway, the rest of the men left the basement and hung about the house, waiting for their next move. But Yusipov couldn't sit still. For some inexplicable reason,

he felt the need to check the body. When his feet found their way back to the scene of the crime, he took a small breath of relief. The body was just as they had left it. But the then the figure on the ground began to move. With blood leaking from his mouth, Rasputin opened his eyes, greenish and snake-like, according to the prince, and stared him down with an expression of satanic hatred. Felix, Resputin croaked, blood flying from his mouth with every forced syllable. Yusipov ran to warn the others, but when he came back down, Rasputin was gone. He'd walked out the door and into the snow, heading toward the side courtyard. The prince followed after him, his accomplices in tow, as they followed the bleeding peasant

past the iron gates. One of the men shot once, twice, but they both missed, until the third finally found its home in Rasputin's back, causing the man to once again collapse to the ground. Upon approaching the body, a fourth and final bullet was fired, this time between his eyes. The sound of the last bullet cut through the night air like a knife, making the silence that followed feel almost like a dream, or maybe a nightmare, as the blood slowly dyed the snow beneath their feet crimson red. At last, the mad mystic, the most universally hated man in all of Russia, Gregory Elfmovich Rasputin was dead. This morning, at 6 o'clock, Gregory Rasputin suddenly passed away after a party at one of the most aristocratic houses in the center of Petrograd.

Days before they would find the body, news outlets were already reporting the murder, and the citizens of the capital city were celebrating in the streets. Felix Yusupov, however, was not one of those people celebrating. The morning after the assassination, Yusuf woke at his father-in-law's house to a phone call from his residence. The police had arrived to question him. When he did meet with the police, he immediately took offense at being accused of anything. Quote, if people murder Rasputin, they plan to connect the crime with me and my party, he refuted helplessly as the police raided his home. When questioned about the multiple gunshots heard by multiple witnesses the night before, Yusufov claimed, certain members of the party overindulged and shot a stray dog for fun. He took them back to his home

and showed them the carcass of said dog still lying in the snow. As the police drove away, their questions unsatisfactorily answered, Yusipov couldn't help but stare at the snow-covered courtyard, where, just 12 hours before, an entirely different body had been lying beneath his feet. That body had still yet to be found, but everyone in Russia seemed to agree that all signs pointed towards Felix Yusipov. Meanwhile, inside the Alexander Palace, the Romanovs, specifically the Tsarina, were inconsolable. By her orders, Yusipov was illegally placed under house arrest, no longer able to flee the city like so many of his accomplices already had. Her friend was gone. and somebody was going to pay.

It would be two more days until Rasputin's body would be pulled out of the icy Nivo River, nearly 250 feet away from where the party had dumped his body from the top of the great Petrovsky Bridge. When the police finally excavated the body from the ice, Rasputin's torso was still bound by rope, but his arms extended out from his body, situated in such a way that it was rumored, Rasputin was still alive when he hit the water, and his final act was making the sign of the cross as he died. For years, Russian officials kept the autopsy of Gregory Rasputin out of the public eye,

leaving the real cause of death up for speculation. All the while, newspapers at the time, with nothing else to go on, were also reporting off hearsay. Combined, these circumstances almost encouraged the story to grow into the mythic, proportions we've come to know them today. However, since then, the autopsy has been made available, and here's what we know. At the time of his death, Rasputin had been very drunk. The report notes the thick stench of alcohol on his corpse, even after spending two nights in the icy depths of the river. He had suffered a large, blunt force trauma to the head, in addition to the three bullet wounds found on his body. His lungs, however, did not contain any water, suggesting he was actually

dead by the time he was thrown from the bridge that night. The autopsy concluded the third bullet wound to the forehead, not the drowning, was Rasputin's real cause of death. However, what's more interesting is the lack of any trace of poison, other than copious amounts of alcohol in the bloodstream. The very distinct scent of cyanide was found nowhere on the body, leading the doctors to believe that the goods were Sputin ingested earlier that evening were never poisoned in the first place. Historians have a couple of working theories as to how this happened. The first is that one of Yusipov's co-conspirators had a sudden change of heart before Sputon was scheduled to arrive at the palace, and he switched the actual cyanide with a harmless alternative. Another theory is that the poison they sourced might not have actually been lethal in the first place.

Yusipov was not exactly the world's greatest hitman. It would have been easy for him to have been duped into thinking he had purchased the real thing. The final theory is one that changes what we know about the night of Resputin's murder altogether. This theory is that Yusufov jazzed up the story for dramatic purposes. After a sputin's body was found and Yusipov was understood to have been the culprit behind his demise, the Zarina wanted to put him and his accomplices on trial. However, it was painfully obvious from the celebrations in the street that a jury of his peers would find Yusipov not guilty. And while the Zarina wanted justice to be served, she also knew that a not guilty verdict would be viewed as a slight on the monarchy,

an institution that was growing less and less stable by the day. The solution to this was Yusufov's ordered exile from the capital to his family's estates in central Russia without a trial. Years later, after the monarch he fell, Yusuf and his family fled Russia and he took with him, among priceless jewels and a couple of Rembrandts, his story about the night he killed Gregory Rasputin. Yusupov often boasted of this accomplishment to people he would meet on his travels,

and it makes sense he would aggrandize some of his claims to bolster his reputation, especially if he could stand to make money off of it in the memoir he would go on to write. So what actually happened that night? Well, it's impossible to say. After all, as Joseph Furman notes in his biography, Resputin, the Untold Story, the autopsy surgeon could have not been looking for the poison and failed to see it. An autopsy from 1916 is hardly as reliable as one would be today. So in reality, Rasputin very well could have been poisoned, but just not given a lethal dose.

Some like to speculate that Rasputin had built up an immunity to poison, but that's actually not possible with cyanide. Personally, for no real reason, just a hunch, I think that the prince was sold fake pills, and he didn't use a lethal dose, but in the larger sense, the truth about Rasputin's murder stopped mattering a long time ago. The lack of details released to the public in the immediate aftermath, mixed with the already larger-than-life mythos of the man in question, created a perfect storm of mystery and intrigue that has flourished into a story that is, most likely far superior to the actual source material. which brings us back to the, excuse me, pickled penis sitting in the Museum of Sex and Erotica in St. Petersburg. Although its origins are now widely understood to be of the bovine variety,

the legend associated with it remains. And if we are to believe the events of that night at the R actually occurred, then Rasputin obviously wanted his, let's say, larger-than-life legacy to have carried on. The question does remain. Why do we continue to give the spotlight to someone as deeply controversial and problematic as Rasputin? On a purely aesthetic level, the idea that someone with the hygiene practices of a cockroach had access to Russia's most powerful royals is a confounding mystery in and of itself. But mix in the sex, the scandal, and the mysticism, and it's a recipe for intrigue.

The legendary assassination is just icing on the cake. But underneath the chaotic Jenga tower that has become Rasputin's legacy, I think it's important to remember that the man beneath it all was just a man, one whose all-too-real body was exhumed shortly after the Tsar's abdication, taken to the outskirts of the city, and hastily cremated by the hands of inexperienced soldiers. And after the flames had died out, the men dumped what charred remains there were into a nearby stream, where he calmly washed back into the earth from whence he came. That's the strange and possibly even true story of Gregory Rasputin,

but stick around after a brief sponsor break to hear the all-too-real story of one of the few people he left behind. Readers, Katie's finalists, publicists, we have an incredible new episode this week for you guys. We have our girl Hillary Duff in here, and we can't wait for you to hear this episode. They put on Lizzie McGuire 2am video on demand disguised. 2 a.m.

whatever time it is, Lizzie McGuire. And I'm like, a wild batch you were with. It was like a first, like, closet moment from me where I was like, I don't feel like she's hot, like the rest of them. No, no, no. I was like, she's beautiful. But I'm appreciating her in a different way than these boys are. I'm not like, but listen to Los Coleristas on the Iheart Radio app,

Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. I'm Iris Palmer and my new podcast is called Against All Od, and that's exactly what the show is about, doing whatever it takes to be thoughts. Get ready to hear from some of your favorite entrepreneurs and entertainers as they share stories about defying expectations, overcoming barriers, and breaking generational patterns. I'm talking to people like award-winning actress, producer, and director, Eva Longoria. I think I had like $200 in my savings account and my mom goes, what are you going to do? And I was like, I'll figure it out. We got a one-bedroom apartment for like $400 a month and we all could not afford.

Like, I was like, how am I going to make $100 a month? I'm opening up like I've never before. For those of you who think you know me from what you've seen on social media, get ready to see a whole new side of me. Listen to Against All Odds with Iris Palmer as part of the MyCultura podcast network, available on the IHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. If you are a founder or a freelancer or the friend who always says, hey, you know what, what if I started that?

This is for you. I'm telling you I had nothing to my name. I didn't know a single person in New York. And somehow I'm dressed by Oscar de Lorenda walking down that red carpet. This month, we sit down with entrepreneurs and creators who actually did it, who turned the scary leap into a business, a paycheck, and a life they are proud of. Direct center of our happiness or our regrets is whether or not we're taking action on the things that matter to us. They're not selfish.

They're so important. They actually lead to our greatest contributions because when we're living fulfilled, we actually show up better everywhere. We lead better. We're better friends. we're better relationships and collaborators and all those things because we have passion about the things we're doing. If you're trying to build something of your own this year,

join us in these conversations that will make you braver and smarter with your money. Listen to Dos Amigos as part of the Michael Tutta podcast network available on the IHard Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. Readers, Katie's finalists, publicists. We have an incredible new episode this week for you guys. We have our girl Hillary Duff in here,

and we can't wait for you to hear this episode. They put on Lizzie McGuire at 2 a.m. Video on demand. This guy's... 2 a.m. Whatever time it is. Lizzie McGuire. And I'm like... Wild. A wild batch you were with. It was like a first, like, closet moment from me where I was like... You're like, I don't feel like she's hot.

Like the rest of that. No, no, no. I was like, she's beautiful. But I'm appreciating her in a different way than these boys are. I'm not like... But listen to Los Angeles on the I Heart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. I'm Iris Palmer and my new podcast is called Against All Odds. That's exactly what the show is about, doing whatever it takes to be thoughts. Get ready to hear from some of your favorite entrepreneurs and entertainers as they share stories about defying expectations,

overcoming barriers and breaking generational patterns. I'm talking to people like award-winning actress, producer, and director, Eva Longoria. I think I had like $200 in my savings account and my mom goes, what are you going to do? And I was like, I'll figure it out. We got a one-bedroom apartment for like $400 a month and we all could not afford. I was like, how am I going to make $100 a month? I'm opening up like I've never before. For those of you who think you know me from what you've seen on social media,

get ready to see a whole new side of me. Listen to Against All Odds with Iris Palmer as part of the MyCultura podcast network, available on the IHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. If you are a founder or a freelancer or the friend who always says, hey, you know what, what if I started that? This is for you. I'm telling you, I had none. Nothing to my name. I didn't know a single person in New York. And somehow I'm dressed by Oscar

to Lorenta walking down that red carpet. This month, we sit down with entrepreneurs and creators who actually did it, who turned the scary leave into a business, a paycheck, and a life they are proud of. Direct center of our happiness or our regrets is whether or not we're taking action on the things that matter to us. They're not selfish. They're so important. They actually lead to our greatest contributions because when we're living fulfilled, we actually show up better everywhere. We lead better. We're better friends. We're better relationships and collaborators and all those things because we have passion about the things we're doing. If you're trying to build something of your own this year, join us in these conversations

that will make you braver and smarter with your money. Listen to Dos Amigos as part of the Michael Tutta Podcast Network available on the IHard Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. Perhaps the only person to rival the larger-than-life persona of Gregory Resputeen is his daughter, Maria. After fleeing the country following the Bolshevik Revolution, Maria lived a nomadic lifestyle with her first husband until his death in 1926. As the mother to two daughters by this point, she knew she had to find a way to provide for her and her family. Cut to Maria Rasputin, Taming Lions in the Traveling Circus. In 1929, Maria joined the Bush Circus as a dancer,

eventually making her way to America with the Ringling Brothers as their animal tamer. She was often billed as the daughter of the mad monk whose feet in Russia astonished the world. When asked if she minded being in a cage with the animals, she famously replied, Why not I've been in a cage with the Bolsheviks? Her career with the circus only ended after she was brutally mulled by a polar bear. Miraculously, she survived the attack. Of course she did. I think it's actually a little ironic.

Polar Bear attack is the only method of death that has never been rumored to be ascribed to Rasputin himself. Maria spent the rest of her life supporting her family by becoming a factory worker. It's funny how history can feel so distant from our lives when, in reality, Resputin's daughter died in 1977. The same year Star Wars would play in theaters for the first time.

Noble Blood is a production of IHeart Radio and Grimmin Mild from Aaron Manky. The show is written and hosted by Dana Schwartz. Executive producers include Aaron Manky, Alex Williams, and Matt Frederick. The show is produced by Rima Ilkeali and Trevor Young. Noble Blood is on social media at Noble Blood Tales, and you can learn more about the show over at Noble Blood Tales.com. For more podcasts from IHeartRadio, visit the IHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you.

you listen to your favorite shows. Readers, Katie's finalists, publicists, we have an incredible new episode this week for you guys. We have our girl Hillary Duff in here, and we can't wait for you to hear this episode. They put on Lizzie McGuire 2 a.m. Video on Demand. This guy's Bougar-2 a Lyddy McGuire. And I'm like

a wild batts you were with. It was like a first closet moment from me where I was like, I don't feel like she's hot like the rest of that. No, no, no. I was like, she's beautiful. But I'm appreciating her in a different way than these boys are. I'm not like, But listen to Las Coltristas on the Iheart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or whatever you get your podcast.

Hello, gorgeous, it's Lala Kent. Host of Untraditionally Lala. My days of filling up cups at sir may be over, but I'm still loving life in the valley. Life on the other side of the hill is giving grown-up vibes, but over here on my podcast, Untraditionally Lala, I'm still that Lala you either love or love to hate. It's unruly, it's unruly, unafraid,

it's untraditionally Lala. Listen to Untraditionally Lala. on the Iheart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. Hi, I'm Iris Palmer, host of the Against All Odds podcast. Every week, I'm sitting down with exceptional people who have broken barriers, even when the odds were stacked against them. Like chef, Victor Villa, of Villas Tacos. You know the Taquero from the Bad Bunny halftime show?

It was great. It was a big moment. It was special, and I felt like I was really representing my family, you know, my brand, my city. I was representing All Taqueros, not only of like, you know, the U.S., but of Mexico, and beyond all the taqueros of the world. Listen to Against All Odds on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcast, or wherever you get your podcast. This is an IHeart podcast, guaranteed human.