There lived a certain man in Russia long ago. He was big and strong, in his eyes a flaming glow. You know the rest. Antony Beevor’s telling of the story of Grigory Rasputin will surely be the greatest literary chart hit of the year.

That the life and death of one of history’s most extraordinary charlatans is a well-known and often-told morality tale doesn’t matter. Beevor makes no claim to have uncovered any great revelations. Rather, he carefully sifts Okhrana surveillance logs, court diaries, memoirs, the Empress’s correspondence and contemporary press accounts and, with his characteristically sharp eye for telling detail, extracts enough gems to decorate a whole Romanov party dress. For instance, the Empress’s letters to Rasputin make for startling reading. She wrote:

My beloved and unforgettable teacher, saviour and mentor. How tiring it is for me without you. My soul is calm and I can rest only when you, my teacher, are seated next to me and I kiss your hands and lay my head on your blessed shoulders. Oh, how easy things are for me then.

My beloved and unforgettable teacher, saviour and mentor. How tiring it is for me without you. My soul is calm and I can rest only when you, my teacher, are seated next to me and I kiss your hands and lay my head on your blessed shoulders. Oh, how easy things are for me then.

A gambling empire called the Compass, organised by Rasputin’s self-appointed secretary Aaron Simanovich, printed its own deck of cards featuring Rasputin’s face as the King of Spades. And there are extensive quotes from the hilarious reports of the secret police agents sent to watch over Rasputin’s outrageous erotic chevauchées through St Petersburg’s high and low society. ‘26 May. Rasputin and the prostitute Tregoubova came home in Manus’s car in an inebriated condition,’ wrote one sober-sided cop. ‘While saying goodbye, he kissed and fondled Tregoubova passionately. Later he sent the porter’s........

© The Spectator