Auschwitz

It is a scene of apocalyptic proportions. Grotesque brick chimneys point their sombre fingers to the heavens, whilst all that remains of the majority of the wooden barracks are their ruined foundations. The rubble of a crematorium cowers under the weight of its own atrocities. A brittle wind scours the air. It is what is missing that renders this scene so powerful, for many of the barracks and crematoria were razed to the ground in the Nazis’ frantic attempt to erase their crimes before the Red Army discovered Birkenau. The desolation is overwhelming.

In 1940, a former Polish army garrison in the town of Oświęcim was identified as a suitable facility for a new concentration camp to incarcerate opponents of the Nazi regime. Its purpose was to relieve the overcrowded prisons in Silesia and to cope with the inevitability of further mass arrests in the future. The town was commandeered by the Nazis and retitled Auschwitz. It was also conveniently situated at an important railway junction, making it easily accessible for trains from as far away as Italy, France and Greece; this position would prove to be crucial in the coming years. Auschwitz I became the alma mater of a network of camps comprising three main sites – Auschwitz I, Auschwitz II-Birkenau and Auschwitz III-Monowitz – as well as over forty smaller ones. Over the next five years, more than one-and-a-half million people – a quarter of those who died in the Holocaust – would be murdered here.

The concentration camp at Auschwitz shocks with its brutality and indifference to life, but to visit Birkenau is to gaze into the abyss of inhumanity and to witness the void that remains when man abandons all morality. The anguish of the past is still snagged on the barbed wire, and a terrible misery stagnates over the camp, its spores infiltrating the hearts of visitors in the 21^st century. Built by prisoners who became its first victims, each crematorium attended to the daily slaughter of several thousand innocent people. Three-quarters of all arrivals to this Golgotha were sent straight to their deaths in the gas chambers. The atmosphere is saturated with a distinct and visceral horror, for it was an extermination camp unrivalled in its capacity for torment. In order to plumb the depths of its harrowing past, however, we must entrust ourselves to the memories of others. Miklós Nyiszli’s account of his time there, ‘Auschwitz: A Doctor’s Eyewitness Account,’ is searing in its intensity and honesty, for he assisted the very men who orchestrated the deaths of thousands.

Nyiszli was a Hungarian Jew who was transported to Auschwitz with his wife and daughter in May 1944. After spending a month working at the synthetic rubber factory in Monowitz, he was deployed to Birkenau, where he was exposed to the ‘nauseating odour of burning flesh and scorched hair.’ A forensic pathologist, he was selected to assist Dr Josef Mengele, the camp doctor infamous for his genetic experiments and callous selection of victims on the railway ramp. This was a role that would both damn Nyiszli and save him. From a total of 800,000 Hungarian Jews, 437,000 were deported when German troops occupied their homeland. 90% of those dispatched to Auschwitz were killed in the gas chambers.

In some respects, he was relatively fortunate: residing in comparative comfort, he continued to practise his profession by conducting autopsies instead of being sentenced to hard labour. On several occasions, swift thinking and Fate appear to have intervened to deliver him from death when others perished. Yet he lived knowing that his compatriots were being massacred, whilst he was an accessory of the regime, observing the abominations of the SS at first hand. As a member of the Sonderkommando – a ‘special unit’ of prisoners – he endured the everyday terror that ‘hovered over our heads, suspended by the thinnest of threads… it would descend bringing with it instantaneous death, leaving in its wake only a pile of silvery ashes.’ The Sonderkommando, whose primary duty was to burn corpses in ovens, had intimate experience of the genocide and were thus deemed a liability. To prevent their secrets from reaching the outside world, the Nazis systematically gassed all members of the Sonderkommando after they had served only four months’ labour. The first task of new members was to cremate their predecessors; some prisoners recalled as many as twelve generations of Sonderkommando.

Nyiszli’s job required expertise and skill, thereby making him less dispensable than his contemporaries. He worked closely with Dr Mengele, and it was under his aegis that Nyiszli was able to obtain privileges such as contact with his family. Mengele was a ‘criminal doctor’ who had sent ‘millions of people to death merely because, according to a racial theory, they were inferior.’ He was the camp’s ‘most dreaded figure’ who, according to Professor Richard J. Evans, entered ‘a Faustian pact with the regime and its ideology that ultimately destroyed the scientific validity of his work just as it violated every moral canon of the discipline he professed to follow.’ He was particularly notorious for his experiments on those he regarded as abnormal, from twins to cripples, and dwarves to pregnant women. Nyiszli, it must be noted, never helped him in this regard; he was instead commissioned to perform autopsies when Mengele had finished with his living specimens.

Nyiszli was forced to exercise immense self-restraint during his time in Auschwitz, and this is reflected in his measured and clinical prose, which is needed to disinfect his mind of the deadening horrors of the camp. The factual tone of his descriptions of the autopsies further indicate his necessary emotional detachment. Retrospective vilification or condemnation would have weakened his account, so when his loathing for Mengele manifests itself, it does so with the rarity and might of a lightning bolt.

The scale of the slaughter numbs the reader. A group of seventy women selected each evening to be shot in the back of the neck seems almost insignificant when compared to the 45,000 inmates of Camp C who, upon the decision to liquidate their camps, were ‘herded passively into the gas chambers’ where they met the ‘hand of the sure physician, Death.’ Nyiszli draws together specific details and encounters to create a disturbing portrayal of the camp’s depravities. Consider the fate of the girl who, having been sent into the gas chamber, was knocked to the ground and found her face pressed against the damp floor. Miraculously, ‘that bit of humidity had kept her from being asphyxiated,’ and Nyiszli managed to revive her. An appeal for her life to be spared was rejected though, and, half an hour later, she was ‘led, or rather carried, into the furnace room hallway’ where she was shot in the neck.

Many layers of deception were implemented in order to deceive the condemned until the last moment: the Nazis’ cynicism was ‘complete and terrible.’ A ‘reassuring’ sign in various languages by the gas chambers read ‘Baths and Disinfecting Room,’ dispelling the fears of even the most suspicious so they ‘went down the stairs almost gaily.’ Those undressing were instructed to remember the number of their coat hanger ‘in order to avoid all useless confusion upon his return from the bath.’ The Nazis took it upon themselves to ensure that the plundering of every arrival was as complete and profitable as possible. Thus notices were issued to those being deported, stipulating that they should bring their worldly possessions with them, including tools, suitable winter clothing and food. Such items were taken straightaway and amalgamated into the Nazi behemoth. It was organised robbery executed in the most manipulative of ways. To quash rumours about the camp, prisoners were commanded to write postcards under the false heading of ‘a resort town located not far from the Swiss border.’ Replies from family and friends desperate for contact with their loved ones were destroyed immediately. This was ultimately of little consequence, for the ‘addressees had been burned before the letters.’ 

One can attempt to rationalise the acts of a lone murderer or psychopath by attributing them to an individual madness and deeming the guilty an aberration. When, however, it is a crime with so many perpetrators, there seems to be no explanation for their behaviour: it is hard to comprehend such collective and pervasive evil. It was, of course, one man’s vitriol which polluted the waters of a nation. Yet this raises the question: does everyone have a dormant ‘homo homini lupus’ trait? Primo Levi suggested instead ‘Monsters exist, but they are too few in numbers to be truly dangerous. More dangerous are the common men, the functionaries ready to believe and act without asking questions.’ For Nyiszli, it was therefore imperative to ‘tell the world about the dark mysteries of these death factories’ so that it would never forget, and to make it aware of the ‘unimaginable cruelty and sordidness of a people who pretended to be superior.’ His life’s purpose was to ensure that truth escaped from the camp, even if he did not; he strove to survive in order to bear testament to the suffering of his race and the tragedy of millions.

The Death of Rasputin

This article was published on the blog of 'It's History Podcasts': http://itshistorypodcasts.com/blog/2014/2/1/a-plot-against-the-russian-royal-familys-unlikely-aide-could-rasputin-be-killed#.UxEIsjnBGFJ


The Moika Palace, resplendent in yellow hues, stretches like a supine lion beside the river in St. Petersburg. The residence of the Yusopov family from 1830 to 1917, it was the site of a gruesome murder that continues to mystify and intrigue today, for the details of the night read like a vividly-imagined crime story. No definitive and coherent narrative exists; indeed, the only eyewitness accounts are those of the assassins themselves, and these are, of course, biased. They do, however, provide a starting point from which strands of fiction and truth can be separated and ordered.

Grigori Rasputin’s stratospheric rise to power – akin, perhaps, to Thomas Cromwell’s – transformed him from an illiterate peasant to the trusted confidante of the Russian royal family. This association was divisive, at times scandalous, and ultimately destructive: his presence at court and sway over them – in particular the Tsarina – contributed to increasing resentment towards the Romanovs in the months preceding the February Revolution of 1917, and precipitated their downfall. An enigmatic figure, much of Rasputin’s life is obscured by conflicting accounts of his character and actions. He was portrayed by his followers as a ‘starets’ or mystical ‘elder’, who possessed supernatural powers to heal the heir to the throne. His critics, on the other hand, regarded him as a licentious and decadent charlatan with a propensity for excessive drinking. He was despised by many in the highest echelons of society, who believed that their bête noire was corroding the popularity of the Romanov dynasty. In the winter of 1916, this resentment became overwhelming.

Prince Felix Yusopov, heir to a vast fortune and husband to the Tsar’s niece, arrived at Rasputin’s house in the middle of the night of 16^th December in order to escort him to the Moika Palace. The invitation had been extended at an earlier date: the prince had decided to entice Rasputin to his home by indicating that his beautiful wife, Irina, would be present. In fact, Irina was staying in the Crimea with his parents. Rasputin seemed to have taken particular care over his appearance that evening, donning a silk shirt embroidered with cornflowers, velvet breeches and polished boots. Even his unkempt, matted beard had been combed. Yusopov led Rasputin outside, where a car driven by Dr. Stanislaus de Lazovert was waiting to take them to the palace.

A basement in the east wing had been specially prepared for the occasion. There was a convivial atmosphere: the room was sumptuously furnished with a thick Persian carpet on the floor, and a fire crackled in the background. A gramophone in the adjoining study played ‘Yankee Doodle’, and tempting cakes were laid out on the table. To avoid suspicion, tea had been poured into cups to give the impression that a meal had taken place there recently. The mise-en-scène was set. Unbeknown to Rasputin, Yusopov and his fellow disaffected conspirators had laced the cakes with enough cyanide ‘to kill several men instantly.’ These collaborators, who included the Tsar’s cousin, Grand Duke Dmitry Pavlovich, and a forthright politician, Vladimir Purishkevich, were waiting elsewhere for the deed to be executed. When Rasputin enquired after Irina, he was informed that she would be joining them shortly. Yuspov then proceeded to offer him the sweet pastries and poisoned wine. At first, Rasputin declined, citing reasons of health: had he detected that treachery was afoot? Eventually, however, he relented and sampled a few of the delicacies. They had crossed the Rubicon: Yusopov’s work was complete.

Several hours later, the poisoned wine and pastries had had no effect on Rasputin. One can only imagine Yusopov’s disquiet as that inviolable gaze continued to bore into him with unnerving intensity. Rasputin’s face is almost simian in photographs, with a feral, hypnotic glint in his eyes suggesting a simmering madness. Yusopov recalled in his memoirs: ‘Under Rasputin's heavy gaze, I felt all my self-possession leaving me; an indescribable numbness came over me, [and] my head swam.’ In desperation, Yusopov retreated upstairs to seek the counsel of the other men, who were shocked at Rasputin’s apparent immunity to the poison. It was agreed that Yusopov should go back armed with a revolver to put an end to the fiend, for who could survive being shot?

Rasputin was observing a cabinet inlaid with ebony in the corner of the room when Yusopov returned with the gun concealed behind his back. He is reputed to have exclaimed, ‘Grigori Efimovich, you would do better to look at the crucifix and pray to it,’ before shooting him in the chest. With his silk shirt stained with blood, Rasputin lay dead upon a bearskin rug. Yusopov informed the others of his success, but was ‘suddenly filled with a vague misgiving; an irresistible impulse forced me to go down to the basement.’ What followed next could be plucked straight from the pages of a horror story. According to Yusopov, ‘Rasputin leapt to his feet, foaming at the mouth. A wild roar echoed through the vaulted rooms, and his hands convulsively thrashed the air. 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. And all the time he called me by name, in a low raucous voice.’ Such claims should be taken with a pinch of salt, however: it is important to note that Yusopov was seeking to justify his actions by portraying Rasputin as a demonic monster from whom he had saved Russia.

As Rasputin attempted to escape through the garden, Yusopov called for assistance from Purishkevich. The latter seized a revolver and felled him with two shots. They bound his body and drove to the Malaya Nevka River, where they cast it off a bridge into an ice-hole. Two days later, a frozen corpse was dredged up, and, to the amazement of onlookers, Rasputin’s arms were raised as though he had been struggling to escape from his bonds. Some press reports even suggest that a few people rushed to the site clutching pots and buckets, believing that the water surrounding this individual might instill in them a measure of his mystical power.

Whilst the murderers’ accounts are compelling, they are flawed and inaccurate, and do not stand up to close scrutiny. The autopsy carried out on the thawed corpse refutes many of Yusopov’s exaggerated statements. It revealed that Rasputin had been hit three times: once in the left side of his back, once in the left side of his chest, and once at close range in his forehead. The pathologists confirmed this final shot to be the cause of death, yet Purishkevich never mentioned firing a bullet into Rasputin’s head from such a short distance. The final contradiction of Yusopov’s testimony was the absence of poison in the body

As if the historian’s role is not challenged enough by excavating the past for gems of truth amongst the rubble of legend, let us now introduce Lieutenant Oswald Rayner to the list of dramatis personae. There is considerable evidence that the British viewed the situation in Russia as increasingly precarious and unstable: a mercurial compound jeopardised by the oxygen of revolution. The ambassador at the time, Sir George Buchanan, gave voice to these concerns in a meeting with the Tsar himself, in which he implored him to make some concessions regarding the constitution. ‘If I were to see a friend walking through a wood on a dark night along a path which I knew ended in a precipice, would it not be my duty, sir, to warn him of his danger? And is it not equally my duty to warn Your Majesty of the abyss that lies ahead of you?’

Rayner was a British officer employed by the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) in St. Petersburg. He was also a contemporary of Felix Yuspov, for the two men had formed a close relationship when studying together at Oxford. The British were worried that Rasputin’s significant influence over the royal family would result in his directing them to withdraw troops from the war. This would have been catastrophic for the Allies. Russia’s conflict with Germany in the East provided a crucial buffer, as it meant that the Germans could not concentrate all their forces on one front. Rayner visited the Yusopov residence on several occasions around the time of Rasputin’s death, leading some to suspect the SIS of instigating the assassination. Was it Rayner who shot Rasputin in the head with the precision of a trained killer? There were certainly persistent rumours that he had somehow been involved; even the Tsar and his family became wary of Buchanan and his supporters. The intelligence historian, Andrew Cook, uncovered an incriminatory message sent by a British intelligence officer in the aftermath of Rasputin’s death. If Rasputin is the ‘Dark Forces’ to which he refers, then this memo is most damning indeed: ‘Although matters here have not proceeded entirely to plan, our objective has clearly been achieved. Reaction to the demise of “Dark Forces” has been well-received by all… Rayner is attending to loose ends.’

Historians can dissect documents and posit theories, but, ultimately, the true events of that night will continue to elude them. Instead, they must sift through the pile of myths and reach their own conclusion. Should Yusopov’s account take precedence over others? Was the SIS complicit in the murder, or, indeed, can a different explanation altogether be justified? The most compelling aspect of Rasputin’s story is the aura of mystery surrounding his death: the truth has been swept away by time, with only a few fragments of the past remaining, half-glimpsed through the prism of the years.

Bibliography

Lost Splendour: The Amazing Memoirs of the Man Who Killed Rasputin – Felix Yusopov

My Mission to Russia, and Other Diplomatic Memories – Sir George Buchanan

How To Kill Rasputin: The Life and Death of Grigori Rasputin – Andrew Cook

George Orwell Biography

My biography of George Orwell has just been published. It has been a fascinating process, as it allowed me to explore the 20th century through the prism of one of its most prominent and significant commentators. 

 http://www.amazon.co.uk/George-Orwell-Explaining-History-Century-ebook/dp/B00HLRW8YQ/ref=sr_1_8?ie=UTF8&qid=1388570578&sr=8-8&keywords=julia+routledge