The Minister of Evil | Page 2

and white paint the equestrian statue in front of the
Merchants' Club, and I was fined twenty roubles by the bearded old
magistrate for the part I played in the joke.
Had there been anything serious against me I doubt whether I should
have occupied, as I did for some years, the post of confidential
secretary to "Grichka," that saintly unwashed charlatan whose real
name was Gregory Novikh, and whom the world knew by the
nickname of "Rasputin."
Of my youth I need say but little. After my student days I obtained,
through the influence of a high Government official named Branicki, a
friend of my father, a clerical post in the bureau of political police of
the Empire, a department of the Ministry of the Interior, and for several
years pursued a calm, uneventful life in that capacity. In consequence
of a grave scandal discovered in my department--for my chief had
secured the conviction of a certain wealthy nobleman named Tiniacheff,
in Kharkoff, who was perfectly innocent of any offence--I was one day
called as witness by the court of inquiry sitting in Moscow.

It was at that inquiry early in 1903 that I first met General
Kouropatkine, who at that time had risen to high favour with Her
Majesty the Empress and was--as was afterwards discovered--urging
the Tsar to make war against Japan, well knowing that any attacks by
us would be foredoomed to failure. At the General's instigation I was
transferred to the Ministry of War as an under-secretary in his Cabinet,
and he sent me--on account of my knowledge of Italian--upon a
confidential mission to Milan. This, I presume, I carried out entirely to
his satisfaction, for on two other occasions I was sent to Italy with
messages to a certain Baron Svereff, a rich Russian financier living in
San Remo, and with whom no doubt Kouropatkine was engaged in
traitorous dealings.
One day, having been called by telephone to the house of His
Excellency, I found, seated in his big luxuriously furnished room, and
chatting confidentially, a strange-looking, unkempt, sallow-faced man
of thirty or so, with broad brow, narrow sunken cheeks, and long
untrimmed beard, who, as soon as he turned his big deep-set eyes upon
mine, held me in fascination.
His was a most striking countenance, broad in the protruding forehead
which narrowed to the point of his black beard, and being dressed as a
monk in a long, shabby, black robe I recognised at once he was one of
those fakirs we have all over Russia, one of those self-sacrificing bogus
"holy" men who wander from town to town obsessed by religious
mania, full of fictitious self-denial, yet collecting kopecks for charity.
Religion of all creeds has its esoteric phases, and our own Greek
Church is certainly not alone in its "cranks."
"Rajevski, this is the Starets, Gregory Novikh," said the General, who
was in uniform with the cross of St. Andrew at his throat.
I stood for a few seconds astounded. On being introduced to me, the
unkempt, uncleanly fellow crossed his arms over his chest, bowed, and
growled in a deep voice a word of benediction.
I expressed pleasure at meeting him, for all Russia was at the moment

ringing with the renown of the modest Siberian "saint" who could work
miracles. For the past month or so the name of "Grichka" had been
upon everyone's lips. The ignorant millions from the Volga to
Vladivostok had been told that a new saint had arisen in Russia; one
possessed of Divine influence; a man who lived such a clean and
blameless life in imitation of Christ that he was destined as the spiritual
Guide and Protector of Russia, and to eclipse even Saint Nicholas
himself.
As one level-headed and educated I had always had my doubts
concerning all "holy" wanderers who meander across the steppes
collecting alms. Knowing much of the evil life lived in our Russian
monasteries and convents, and the warm welcome given to every
charlatan who grows his beard, forgets to wash, lifts his eyes
heavenwards, and begs, I had, I confess at the outset, but little faith in
this new star in Holy Russia's firmament now introduced to me by His
Excellency the Minister of War.
"I have been speaking with the Starets concerning you," the Minister
said, as he turned in his padded chair, and flicked the ash from his
exquisite Bogdanoff cigarette. "I have detached you from my
department to become secretary to the Starets. Yours will be an
enviable post, my dear Féodor, I assure you. Russia is in her
degeneration. The Starets has been sent to us by Divine Providence to
regenerate and reform her."
"But, your Excellency, I am very content in my present post--I----"
"I issued the decree from the Ministry this morning," he