Best / Worst Features

[IAmZon]

Generalizations are dangerous things.  They can not be applied individually.  That being said, Chinese students study hard, African Americans are fast, Swiss are precise; Germans are energetic; and rarely do you find a Jew in jail.

What are the positive features or characteristics of Russian ladies?  And what are the negative?

[Albert]

What are the positive features or characteristics of Russian ladies?  And what are the negative?

Positive.  There are a lot of nice looking, well educated, cultured and interesting women in FSU who have kept their teenage shapes well into their late 30s and mid 40s.  For whatever reasons, the women who I would grade as 7-9 (face and body) there are very happy to spend time with me.  There are very few western women of that age group who are graded as 7-9, (body wise) (even though I find them just as well educated, cultured and interesting and even facial pretty as FSU women,) and since their numbers are relatively small, the competition for them is intense.

Negative.  FSU women think they are very beautiful, even when they are not.  Blame the agency hype and the hype from these boards, which the FSU women have bought into totally.

[Jet]

I have to say that the best and worst trait in my wife are the same thing, tenacity. I've met quite a few other guys who would say the same about their Russian wives. Once Lil sets a goal for herself, large or small, she reminds me of that line in the original terminator movie That's what she does, that's ALL she does, and she absolutely WILL NOT STOP! 

[Kuna]

I have to say that the best and worst trait in my wife are the same thing, tenacity. I've met quite a few other guys who would say the same about their Russian wives. Once Lil sets a goal for herself, large or small, she reminds me of that line in the original terminator movie That's what she does, that's ALL she does, and she absolutely WILL NOT STOP! 

Good post Jet...  I like it!   

[Jumper]

Jet - LMAO!  you're killing me.

yes i'd say tenacity and pragmaticism , are both negative and positive things that seem common?


another trait i do like, is my wife never seems to hold a grude per se, not towards *family*(although she would hold one forever towards  anyone who might "hurt" someone in her family)
Anyway as a family, they can fight and argue, but be fine with each other moments later and none the worse for wear.
(italian stereotype come to mind)
The same within our marriage, if we have a big disagrement or "fight"
even if its not forgotten ,or eresolved yet-
shes does not act differently , cold, or anything.Sex is never withheld as a weapon, or even thought of or alluded to in that way,
and she would take the  same motherly care over me, my meals, clothes etc. whatever she determines is her job as a wife, the same wether happy or upset with me.  (no i dont want her to be motherly, but it is her nature)
its perhaps some of that same tenacity showing thru?
 as if these things  are what she thinks as *her thing* to do , ,it will absolutely get done.
being a bit mad at me , isnt going to derail anything at the homestead.it will truck along  on the same precuise schedule, no matter my influence good or bad..LOL

on the negative "tenacity" side,
little will deter her or change her mind on any subject, untill she either finds out herself it is incorrect ,or a bad idea by her own evaluation. Listening or trusting is not a inheirent trait.


Positively-
 i dont know that its a RW trait,
 but she forgets and forgives very easily, if i am wrong , and apologize,  its taken and fully accepted, and then forgotten.
thats refreshing.

another refreshing thing(and i do think this is a RW trait)
 she never *beats around the bush*
if there is an issue , she will bring it up, and in clear and diffinant terms..
same with me, i can speak my mind, be very blunt, and while it may be a subject that is a heated one, she wouldnt be hurt or devasted by blunt direct words, and would rather things be spoken straight up, no BS.
thats refreshing as well.

all these things i knew well before marriage , and are big part of why i fell for,and ultimately married  her.
I like a strong minded ,strong willed person with a lot of self esteem and confidence.
it certainly causes us to butt heads pretty hard at times!!
 as we are too much alike..lol

i can tell you she is a very sweet pereson, cares greatly for all family and friends, and never forgets to do something special for people in her life,,
but she would run over an average nice guy in a heartbeat,like a semi over a field mouse,  and worse,
 would likely ly tire or be bored with a generic *nice guy* quickly as well.

This may seem a contradiction also, but i think RW often are somewhat the essence of walking contradictions,,LOL
(theres your Russian soul coming thru)


I think this strong will and high self esteem is a bit more common in RW, than in western women..
but it flies in the face of whast many men are looking for when thinking about the women of the FSU.


YMMV.

[Michelangelo]

I think this strong will and high self esteem is a bit more common in RW, than in western women..
but it flies in the face of whast many men are looking for when thinking about the women of the FSU.

So true, AJ, so true. 

These girls do have high self esteem
and are not looking for someone to
"save them."

And they definately have
strong wills 

Both of these traits will come
as a surprise to men who
buy the MOB agency sales pitch!

As for me,
these are highly positive
traits

[Jumper]

Micheal- nice new avatar! 


oh, on another note..
 my wife seriuosly  wants you guys to move nearby ..
like really nearby, so they can pal around together.

[Michelangelo]

Thanks, AJ~ we might just do that!   

[smartcat]

Negative.  FSU women think they are very beautiful, even when they are not. 

Oh, my God, Albert, every woman in world, FSU or NA can tell you the same!
One more secret to discover - whatever woman is it (and her beauty in many cases be subjectively graded by certain man's choises), she is conjunction of declaring her beauty out and hesitating inside that her lips can be not so thin, legs longer, waist thinner, etc. Whatever and whoever woman is!
It's like the same to state that "NA loosers think they are not loosers even they are..." (c - perverted)  hehe...

[Jack]

......(and her beauty in many cases be subjectively graded by certain man's choises)......


Of course smartcat, however "certain men" is not the phrase I would use, but "most men".

Smartcat all men are different and as such what one man thinks is beautiful another man would not.  And what one man would think a ladies look is so-so at best, another man would think she is beautiful. Very few men are going to marry an ugly woman unless she is very, VERY wealthy. It's man's nature. He is not going to marry what he perceives as an ugly woman. So in that sense Smartcat almost all men are being judgmental.

If all men thought the same ladies were beautiful then none of the ugly women would ever get married.

[smartcat]

  Jaaaack, we are back on the same horses discussing the same, trying to pour empty jars into each other, as Russians say? 
No doubts you reacted my post, it made me smile!

[Jack]

   daaaaaa smartcat   

[IAmZon]

Hi Jack (you already know that I think you are the Dali Lama.  LOVE your photos and trip reports! wooolf, wooolf) 

Hi SmartCat ... nice to meet you; love your Avatar - meooow.

THE MORE  I LEAN - THE MORE I KNOW.

I submit this thought, and hope that it transverses all the threads.  There are logistical differences between normal dating,  and East West match-making (AND THOSE ARE SIGNIFICANT).  But the other stuff - the boys and girls stuff; is always the same. 

An unattractive guy is not going to turn into Casanova just by travelling a couple 1,000 miles.  HOWEVER, there does seem to be a "trading up" factor at work here.  Perhaps it is just math ... if you stray too far out of your league you risk disappointment and SCAM. 

Simple as that.

That only leaves the truly difficult stuff ... the stuff underneath the surface:)  That takes an entire human life.

[Albert]

Oh, my God, Albert, every woman in world, FSU or NA can tell you the same!
One more secret to discover - whatever woman is it (and her beauty in many cases be subjectively graded by certain man's choises), she is conjunction of declaring her beauty out and hesitating inside that her lips can be not so thin, legs longer, waist thinner, etc. Whatever and whoever woman is!
It's like the same to state that "NA loosers think they are not loosers even they are..." (c - perverted)  hehe...

- - - - -

OK, then let me be more specific. 

Negative.  FSU women, to a much, much, much greater extent than women in other parts of the world,  think they are very beautiful, even when they are not.  Blame the agency hype and the hype from these boards, which the FSU women have bought into big time, totally and without regard to reality much, much, much more than women from other parts of the world.

:-))

I don't know what NA refers to.

[Turboguy]

North America

[Jack]

Hello rivardco, thank you for your kind words.

And what a cool avatar you have, Grigori Yefimovich Novyh, or better known as Grigori Rasputin. What an interesting and often exciting 47 years this man lived.

rivardco you mention the "trading up" factor. This is a very real factor and something I think men need to fully understand, and appreciate.

Again, only this one man's opinion but the overwhelming majority of western men (US, Canada, Mexican, English, French Italian, German, etc) are going to be able to upgrade by 1.5%.  If men will retain their sense's and be happy with a 1.5% upgrade they will do well.

I recommend men to be honest with themselves and give yourself a grade. What are you? An 8, a 6, a 7, a 7.5?  Or maybe your a 9?  If you really are a 9 then your one of those who can seek a 10 in a Russian/Ukraine woman.   If your a 7, go for an 8.5 but not a 9. If your a 6, go for a 7.5, but not a 10. To many 5's and 6's are going for 9's and 10's and why? Two reasons. (1) Because these 9's and 10's are EVERYWHERE and (2) Because they read to much agency hype.

RW/UW of 9's and 10's are not going to settle for a 6, or a 7. This is not 1994, things have changed. Men have to have realistic expectations, and it is very real that we men can upgrade a full 1 or 1.5 over the grade we give ourselves, if we are honest with ourselves.

[IAmZon]

Yes, Rasputin is a life that must be studied! 

Are you familiar with how he died?  The very rich ( I forget the exact family) invited him to a place to look at an exceptional antique curio cabinet.  It was made with exotic materials and had secret doors.  A beautiful woman and the antique pieice were the bait.  The woman poisoned his drink, but he did not die!!!  She poisoned it again, but he did not die.  He was growing amorous, and the lark was about to end, so the men took matters into their own hand and shot him several times!  He STILL walked away into the snow. Later he was found dead in the nearby frozen river. (This is my recollection of study 15 years ago ... some of the details may be rusty, but the main thrust is true I am sure).  Very interesting cat.

1.5 trade up you say?!?!?  Great!  I am a 7.5 without a tan after the flu; pushing a solid 8, otherwise.  So, using your math ... I can find ... I can find, nirvana. 

Thanks Jack:)

You know, as I reflect on this ... it is amazing how accurate the 1 - 10 grading scale has been in my life.  I have enjoyed MANY beautiful girls; from High School, to College; to today.  But the 10s have always eluded me.  I think I just automatically knew the score, and did not try. 

So, off to Ukraine we will go

[Bruno]

Are you familiar with how he died?  The very rich ( I forget the exact family) invited him to a place to look at an exceptional antique curio cabinet.  It was made with exotic materials and had secret doors.  A beautiful woman and the antique pieice were the bait.  The woman poisoned his drink, but he did not die!!!  She poisoned it again, but he did not die.  He was growing amorous, and the lark was about to end, so the men took matters into their own hand and shot him several times!  He STILL walked away into the snow. Later he was found dead in the nearby frozen river. (This is my recollection of study 15 years ago ... some of the details may be rusty, but the main thrust is true I am sure).  Very interesting cat.

Yes, 9 lives like a cat :

In 1915, the Tsar traipsed off to command Russian troops fighting in World War I, leaving Tsarina Alexandra "in charge" with Rasputin as her primary adviser. The virtual abdication to Rasputin was the final straw for a cabal of Russian nobles, who decided to take matters into their own hands and assassinate the Mad Monk.

You would think that Rasputin's enemies would come from the highest and noblest strata of Russian society, but most of the upright Russians were off at war, leaving the task to gay transvestite Prince Felix Yusupov (who some claimed was himself fucking Rasputin), his fag-hag best buddy Duke Dmitri, a loud-mouthed member of the Parliament, an injured soldier and a doctor (whose primary utility to the plot was that he was the only one who could drive).

The plot itself was fairly simple. Its execution, however, would be legendary in its difficulty. If you thought the Terminator was hard to kill... well, granted, the Terminator was pretty hard to kill. But so was Rasputin, which is my point.

It seemed so easy. Felix would invite Rasputin to his house on the pretext of letting the Mad Monk have his Mad Way with the Prince's wife. Then, Felix would poison Rasputin.

What could possibly go wrong?

The trouble began right off the bat when Mrs. Felix, perhaps not enamored of her life as the spouse of a gay transvestite, refused to assist in the pretext part. The plotters decided they would just pretend she was there instead.

Rasputin and Felix made their rendezvous on the evening of December 16, 1916. Felix offered Rasputin a selection of poisoned pastries. Rasputin declined, saying they were too sweet. Whoops! Then, Felix offered him some poisoned wine. Rasputin refused that as well. Piqued, Felix excused himself and left the room, to consult with his co-conspirators.

When he came back, much to his relief, Rasputin was eating the poison pastries and decided to wash them down with the poison wine. Felix sat back gleefully and waited for the poison to kick in. And he waited. And waited.

The evening stretched on and on, with no sign of the fast-acting poison's effects. Incapable of making a decision on his own, Felix again left the room to consult with his cronies. Since the subtle approach didn't appear to be working, Felix scored a gun from one of his friends and returned to Rasputin, and BANG! Point blank, one shot, and Rasputin hit the ground. After checking to be sure the monk was dead, Felix and his cohort celebrated with a few rounds of non-poisoned wine, then returned to fetch the body for disposal.

Alas, this just wasn't Felix's night.

The dead Rasputin sprang up from the floor when his body was disturbed and attempted to strangle the prince, who FREAKED OUT, MAN! Felix fled, while one of his co-conspirators (the loud-mouthed member of parliament) took off after Rasputin, who was dashing out of the building screaming that he would tell the Tsarina about this atrocity.

Loud-mouth emptied his entire pistol in Rasputin, missing the first few shots before scoring a hit in the back. Rasputin stopped running, but didn't fall. Loud-moth shot him in the head. This time, he actually fell, but he kept crawling away. The legislator kicked Rasputin in the head. Still no luck.

The conspirators pulled the monk's body inside to avoid the scrutiny of a policeman who had heard the shots. Once inside, the newly encouraged Felix beat Rasputin's head to pieces with a barbell. After wrapping his body in canvas, the plotters were dismayed to discover that Rasputin was STILL breathing. At this point, the plotters apparently decided to hack off the Mad Monk's 13-inch love tool, although this may be apocryphal.

Finally, they tied him up and threw him in the river. When his body was found a few days later, he appeared to have been STILL alive underwater and clawing to get out of the ropes. There was also enough water in his lungs to support this premise, and three bullets lodged in various regions of the body.

[Jack]

Yes rivardco, have read several varying versions as to how Rasputin died. I think the one source with the "most" truth, and I say "most" because I'm not sure it's the absolute truth but not far from it, is the detailed description of the murder of Rasputin by Prince Felix Yussupov (husband of the Tsar's niece) as he wrote in 1927.

The night of December 29th and morning of December 30th 1916 as told by the one person most responseable for the murder of Rasputin. 

 (and at the end of this story you will see what I have included as to some recent news as to Rasputin's death)

.......................................................................... ...


As I was alone in St. Petersburg, I was staying with my brothers-in-law at the Grand Duke Alexander's palace. On December 29, I spent most of the day preparing for my examinations which were to be held next day.

I intended to receive Rasputin in the flat which I was fitting up in the Moika basement: arches divided it in two; the larger half was to be used as a dining room. From the other half, the staircase which led to my rooms on the floor above.

To avoid arousing Rasputin's suspicions - for he might have been surprised at being received in a bare cellar - it was indispensable that the room should be furnished and appear to be lived in.

When I arrived, I found workmen busy laying down carpets and putting up curtains.

I can picture the room to this day in all its details, and I have good reason to remember a certain cabinet of inlaid ebony which was a mass of little mirrors, tiny bronze columns and secret drawers. On it stood a crucifix of rock crystal and silver, a beautiful specimen of sixteenth-century Italian workmanship. A large Persian carpet covered the floor and, in a corner, in front of the ebony cabinet, lay a white bearskin rug.

In the middle of the room stood the table at which Rasputin was to drink his last cup of tea.

My two servants, Gregory and Ivan, helped me to arrange the furniture. I asked them to prepare tea for six, to buy biscuits and cakes and to bring wine from the cellar. I told them that I was expecting some friends at eleven that evening.

By eleven o'clock everything was ready in the basement. The bell rang, announcing the arrival of Dmitri and my other friends. I showed them into the dining room and they stood for a little while, silently examining the spot where Rasputin was to meet his end.

I took from the ebony cabinet a box containing the poison and laid it on the table. Dr. Lazovert put on rubber gloves and ground the cyanide of potassium crystals to powder. Then, lifting the top of each cake, be sprinkled the inside with a dose of poison which, according to him, was sufficient to kill several men instantly.

There remained the glasses into which cyanide was to be poured. It was decided to do this at the last moment so that the poison should not evaporate and lose its potency.

When everything was ready, I put on an overcoat and drew a fur cap over my ears, completely concealing my face. Doctor Lazovert, in a chauffeur's uniform, started up the engine and we got into the car which was waiting in the courtyard by the side entrance.

I rang the bell. "Who's that?" called a voice from inside.

I began to tremble. "It's I, Gregory Efimovitch. I've come for you.

He opened the door and I went into the kitchen. It was dark. I imagined that someone was spying on me from the next room. Instinctively, I turned up my collar and pulled my cap down over my eyes. "Why are you trying to hide?" asked Rasputin.

"Didn't we agree that no one was to know you were going out with me tonight?"
"True, true; I haven't said a word about it to anyone in the house, I've even sent away all the tainiks.(* Members of the secret police.) I'll go and dress."

Rasputin wore a silk blouse embroidered in cornflowers, I had never seen him look so clean and tidy. "Well, Gregory Efimovich, it's time to go; it's past midnight." "What about the gypsies? Shall we pay them a visit?" "I don't know; perhaps," I answered.

We entered the car and drove off. I looked behind us to see whether the police were following; but there was no one, the streets were deserted.
We drove a roundabout way to the Moika, entered the courtyard and, once more, the car drew up at the side entrance.

As we entered the house, I could hear my friends talking while the gramophone played "Yankee Doodle went to town."

"What's all this?" asked Rasputin. "Is someone giving a party here?"

"No, just my wife entertaining a few friends; they'll be going soon. Meanwhile, let's have a cup of tea in the dining room."

We went down to the basement. Then, at the fateful moment, I made a last attempt to persuade him to leave St. Petersburg. His refusal sealed his fate. I offered him wine and tea; to my great disappointment, he refused both.

We sat down at the table and began to talk.  After exhausting his customary topics of conversion, Rasputin asked for some tea. I immediately poured out a cup and handed him a plate of biscuits. Why was it that I offered him the only biscuits that were not poisoned? I even hesitated before handing him the cakes sprinkled with cyanide. He refused them at first: "I don't want any, they're too sweet." At last, however, be took one, then another.... I watched him, horror-stricken. The poison should have acted immediately but, to my amazement, Rasputin went on talking quite calmly.

I then suggested that he should sample our Crimean wines. He once more refused. Time was passing, I was becoming nervous; in spite of his refusal, I filled two glasses. But, as in the case of the biscuits-and just as inexplicably-I again avoided using a glass containing cyanide. Rasputin changed his mind and accepted the wine I handed him. He drank it with enjoyment, found it to his taste and asked whether we made a great deal of wine in the Crimea. He seemed surprised to hear that we had cellars full of it.
"Pour me out some Madeira," he said. This time I wanted to give it to him in a glass containing cyanide, but he protested: "I'll have it in the same glass."

"You can't, Gregory Efimovich," I replied. "You can't mix two kinds of wines." "It doesn't matter, I'll use the same glass, I tell you. .

I had to give in without pressing the point, but I managed, as if by mistake, to drop the glass from which he had drunk, and immediately poured the Madeira into a glass containing cyanide. Rasputin did not say anything.

I stood watching him drink, expecting any moment to see him collapse.

But he continued slowly to sip his wine like a connoisseur. His face did not change, only from time to time be put his band to his throat as though he had some difficulty in swallowing. He rose and took a few steps. When I asked him what was the matter, be answered: "Why, nothing, just a tickling in my throat "The Madeira's good," he remarked; "give me some more."

Meanwhile, the poison continued to have no effect.

The silence became ominous. I had the feeling that he knew why I had brought him to my house, and what I had set out to do. We seemed to be engaged in a strange and terrible struggle.

When I came to myself, he was still seated in the same place, his head in his hands. I could not see his eyes. I had got back my self-control, and offered him another cup of tea.

"Pour me a cup," he said in a muffled voice, "I'm very thirsty." He raised his bead, his eyes were dull and I thought he avoided looking at me.

Time went by; the clock said two-thirty ... the nightmare had lasted two interminable hours. What would happen, I thought, if I had lost my nerve?

Upstairs my friends were evidently growing impatient, to judge by the racket they made. I was afraid that they might be unable to bear the suspense any longer and just come bursting in. Rasputin raised his head: "What's all that noise?"

"Probably the guests leaving," I answered. "I'll go and see what's up."

In my study, Dmitri, Purichkevich and Sukhotin rushed at me, and plied me with questions. "Well, have you done it? Is it over?" "The poison hasn't acted," I replied. They stared at me in amazement. "It's impossible!" cried the Grand Duke.

"But the dose was enormous! Did he take the whole lot?" asked the others. "Every bit," I answered.

After a short discussion, we agreed to go down in a body, throw ourselves on Rasputin and strangle him.  I convinced my friends with great difficulty that it would be best for me to act alone. I took Dmitri's revolver and went back to the basement.

Rasputin sat where I had left him; his head drooping and his breathing labored. I went up quietly and sat down by him, but he paid no attention to me. After a few minutes of horrible silence, he slowly lifted his head and turned vacant eyes in my direction. "Are you feeling ill?" I asked.
"Yes, my head is heavy and I've a burning sensation in my stomach. Give me another little glass of wine. It'll do me good."

I handed him some Madeira; he drank it at a gulp; it revived him and he recovered his spirits. I saw that he was himself again and that his brain was functioning quite normally. Suddenly he suggested that we should go to the gypsies together. I refused, giving the lateness of the hour as an excuse..
"That doesn't matter," he said. "They're quite used to that; sometimes they wait up for me all night. I'm often detained at Tsarskoe Selo by important business, or simply to talk about God.... When this happens I drive straight to the gypsies in a car. The body, too, needs a rest ... isn't it so?   That's the way it is!" added Rasputin with a wink.

I turned my head and saw the crystal crucifix. I rose to look at it more closely. "What are you staring at that crucifix for?" asked Rasputin. "I like it," I replied, "it's so beautiful."

"It is indeed beautiful," he said.

"Gregory Efimovitch," I said, "you'd far better look at the crucifix and say a prayer."

Rasputin cast a surprised, almost frightened glance at me.

Rasputin stood before me motionless, his head bent and his eyes on the crucifix. I slowly raised the revolver. Where should I aim, at the temple or at the heart?
A shudder swept over me; my arm grew rigid, I aimed at his heart and pulled the trigger. Rasputin gave a wild scream and crumpled up on the bearskin.

On hearing the shot my friends rushed in. Rasputin lay on his back. His features twitched in nervous spasms; his hands were clenched, his eyes closed. A bloodstain was spreading on his silk blouse. A few moments later all movement ceased. We bent over his body to examine it.
The doctor declared that the bullet had struck him in the region of the heart, There was no possibility of doubt: Rasputin was dead. Dmitri and Purichkevich lifted him from the bearskin and laid him on the flagstones. We turned off the light and went up to my room, after locking the basement door.

As we talked I was suddenly filled with a vague misgiving; an irresistible impulse forced me to go down to the basement.
Rasputin lay exactly where we had left him. I felt his pulse: not a beat, he was dead.

Scarcely knowing what I was doing I seized the corpse by the arms and shook it violently. It leaned to one side and fell back. I was just about to go, when I suddenly noticed an almost imperceptible quivering of his left eyelid. I bent over and watched him closely; slight tremors contracted his face.

All of a sudden, I saw the left eye open... A few seconds later his right eyelid began to quiver, then opened. I then saw both eyes - the green eyes of a viper - staring at me with an expression of diabolical hatred. The blood ran cold in my veins.

Then a terrible thing happened: with a sudden violent effort Rasputin leapt to his feet, foaming at the mouth.  He rushed at me, trying to get at my throat, and sank his fingers into my shoulder like steel claws. His eyes were bursting from their sockets, blood oozed from his lips.

No words can express the horror I felt. I tried to free myself but was powerless in his vicelike grip. A ferocious struggle began..

By a superhuman effort I succeeded in freeing myself from his grasp.

He fell on his back, gasping horribly and still holding in his hand the epaulette he had torn from my tunic during our struggle. For a while he lay motionless on the floor. Then after a few seconds, he moved. I rushed upstairs and called Purichkevich, who was in my study. "Quick, quick, come down!" I cried. "He's still alive!"

At that moment, I heard a noise behind me and rushed downstairs, followed by Purichkevich, revolver in hand. We found Rasputin climbing the stairs.

He was crawling on hands and knees, gasping and roaring like a wounded animal. He gave a desperate leap and managed to reach the secret door which led into the courtyard.

To my horror and amazement, I saw the door open and Rasputin disappear.. Purichkevich sprang after him. Two shots echoed through the night.

I heard a third shot, then a fourth... I saw Rasputin totter and fall beside a heap of snow, Purichkevich ran up to him, stood for a few seconds looking at the body, then, having made sure that this time all was over, went swiftly into the house.

The quay and the adjacent streets were deserted; apparently the shots had not been heard. When I had reassured myself on this point, I entered the courtyard and went up to the snow-heap behind which lay Rasputin. He gave no sign of life.
But, at that moment, I saw two of my servants running up from one side and a policeman from the other.

I went up to the policeman and spoke to him; I stood so as to make him turn his back to the spot where Rasputin lay.

"Your Highness," he said on recognizing me, "I heard revolver shots. What has happened?"

"Nothing of any consequence," I replied, "just a little horseplay. I gave a small party this evening and one of my friends who had drunk a little too much amused himself by firing his revolver into the air. If anyone questions you, just say that everything's all right, and that there is no harm done!"

I was terror-stricken at the bare thought that he might suddenly get up again. I ran toward the house, calling Purichkevich, who had disappeared indoors. Purichkevich helped me to my study. We had scarcely reached it when my manservant came to say that the policeman I had talked to a few moments before wished to see me again. The shots, it seems, had been heard from the police station, and my constable, whose beat it was, had been sent for to make a report on what had happened. As his version of the affair was considered unsatisfactory, the police insisted on fuller details.

When the constable entered the room, Purichkevich addressed him in a loud voice: "Have you ever beard of Rasputin? The man who plotted to ruin our country, the Tsar and your brother-soldiers? The man who betrayed us to Germany, do you hear?"
Not understanding what was expected of him, the policeman remained silent.

"Do you know who I am?" continued Purichkevich. "I am Vladimir Mitrophanovich Purichkevich, member of the Duma. The shots you heard killed Rasputin. If you love your country and your Tsar, you'll keep your mouth shut."

I listened with horror to this amazing statement, which came so unexpectedly that I had no chance to interrupt. Purichkevich was in such a state of excitement that he did not realize what he was saying.

Finally, the policeman spoke: "You did right and I won't say a word unless I'm put on oath. I would then have to tell the truth as it would be a sin to lie." Purichkevich followed him out.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I saw Rasputin stretched out on the landing, blood flowing from his many wounds. It was a loathsome sight. Suddenly, everything went black, I felt the ground slipping from under my feet and I fell headlong down the stairs.

Purichkevich and Ivan found me, a few minutes later, lying side by side with Rasputin; the murderer and his victim. I was unconscious and he and Ivan had to carry me to my bedroom.

Meanwhile Dmitri, Sukhotin and Doctor Lazovert came back in a closed car to fetch Rasputin's body. When Purichkevich told them what had happened, they decided to let me rest and go off without me. They wrapped the corpse in a piece of heavy linen, shoved it into the car, and drove to Petrovski Island. There, from the top of the bridge, they hurled it into the river.

.......................................................................... .........................................

Now rivardco it has been discussed for years as to how Rasputin could have survived from eating so much poision.

A newly found book bought at auction by a Russian cellist suggests otherwise. It is a file on Rasputin put together by his opponents from his personnel files and testemonies of his 'groupies' [for want of a better word] suggest that the cyanide used in the attemted murder was diluted to a non fatal dose by one of the opponents who had a sexual emphatuation with him.

This fascinating document also gives credence to the theory that Rasputin had a sexual relationship with the Czarina as in letters to him she constantly calls him 'darling'.

[SANDRO43]

Alas, how far have the great fallen (http://www.rasputin.ru/) .