Rafael Grugman - Napoleon Great-Great-Grandson Speaks

The efforts of one secret service do not go unnoticed by another. Having pinpointed the location of French Intelligence activity in southern Russia, they took alarm in Petersburg.

The Russian agents in Paris sat up and took notice. After lengthy efforts, which cost the Third Department no small sum, it became clear: this all had to do with the descendants of Napoleon Bonaparte, no more, no less. The news was improbable. They decided not to believe it.

Common sense whispered to the aces of counterintelligence that the story about Ravelli was most likely a cover for some other, more refined operation. But if the efforts of one secret service were directed toward the abduction of Ravelli, then it was in the interest of the other to protect him until circumstances were fully clarified.

These were precisely the instructions that the police chief of Odessa received. But, to find the true reasons for the French Secret Service's anxiety and the recruitment of Ravelli, the head of the Third Police Department himself, trusting no one, traveled in person to Odessa.

But Ravelli had disappeared. A preliminary interrogation of his business associates yielded nothing. Ravelli had dissolved into thin air, and had not reappeared in Odessa.

The search for him went on for more than a year, and what a surprise it was for the chief of the Secret Police, Colonel Zubatov, when it was reported to him that Yosif Ravelli, firstly, was no longer a Ravelli; and, secondly, had given up the ghost three years since. And Colonel Zubatov decided to interrogate his son, Grigory.

This is how Grandfather Shmuel records Grigory Rivilis' talk with Colonel Zubatov in his diary. The translation, I repeat, from Yiddish to Russian was done with Mama's assistance. And polished by his grandson-that is, by me:

«Wouldn't you like, young man, to go to Paris?» in an insinuating voice, the Colonel began his talk with Grigory Rivilis. «The Lord Emperor is preparing to go there soon on an official visit…hunh? Wouldn't you like to associate with Himself?»

Grigory's heart sank into his boots. He felt as though he were just about to fall off his chair.

«Why have you turned so pale?» the colonel inquired politely. «Do you smoke?» He popped open a silver cigarette case and proffered a cigarette.

Grigory started to stretch out his hand, but then refused.

«Thank you, Your Excellency, but I don't smoke.»

«As you know, as you know…perhaps you'd like some water?» and, without giving him time to catch his breath, he inquired with seeming carelessness, «And, by the way, why did your late father change his name?» He bored into Grigory with his gaze. «We, of course, are guessing…,» he added, and fell silent.

«Y-your Ex-excellency,» stuttering in his agitation, Grigory at last managed to say sorrowfully, «how should we know that?»

«Well, think it over. I won't hurry you. Try to remember, if you don't want your wife and father-in-law to find out the honest truth. That you are not a Jew, but a respectable Christian. A Catholic, what's more.» He felled Grigory with this last sentence. «So, let's work together, if you don't want complications for yourself and your family.»

«Y-your Excellency,» Grigory quickly began crossing himself, «I swear by Christ the Lord, by the Blessed Virgin Mary, this is all a mystery to me. Spare me - and he began to cry-I have a son -, »

«By the way, about that son,» continued the Colonel, «why did you make a Jew out of a Christian? And there was probably a circumcision, according to their laws…»

Grigory nodded in agreement.

«I love her, Your Excellency. And, after all, emperors have married commoners before. Nicholas the First's older brother, Grand Duke Constantine, the heir to the throne -, » he babbled, but the Colonel made a face and interrupted him:

«Stop. We will not touch the imperial name. We are talking about you. So, Mr. Ravelli, I am waiting for explanations. And soon. I've wasted too much time on you as it is.»

Grigory arrived home only the next morning. Rakhil, catching sight of him, simply threw up her hands.

«Gotenu, why do I have such tsures! Girsh,» she called him by his Jewish name, «what have they done to you?»

Grigory collapsed wearily onto a chair and, slowly enunciating the words, got out: «Things are bad for us. Bad,» and repeated the conversation.

Women are usually more resolute than men. And, without thinking about consequences, they make decisions rashly.

«Girsh, get all our documents in order, and let's go to America. They're never going to leave us in peace.»

After deliberating, the couple decided that Grigory should go to Kishinev and begin petitioning to get a passport for foreign travel. And, at the same time, try to find out whether it would be possible, in the near future, to secretly get on any ship leaving Odessa, and illegally travel abroad. And, once he was there, send for his family.

That very day, without waiting for another summons for questioning, Grigory headed for Kishinev; and a week later, sad news made it back to Tiraspol.

According to eyewitnesses, he was walking down the street. Not far away, students had come out onto the thoroughfare. They were shouting antigovernment slogans, smashing glass in wealthy stores, and breaking signposts.

Cossacks, gathered in the side streets to break up the student demonstration, came out unexpectedly. If Grigory had known about riots, he would have managed to dodge them and run into an entryway. But the janitors, expecting the dispersal of the rioters, had prudently locked the gates. When the Cossacks burst out in an avalanche onto the street, smashing every living thing beneath them, he was unable to hide and was trampled by their horses.

Zubatov found out about it sooner than Rakhil. Ravelli's corpse happened to be recognized by a doctor in the city hospital, who had once known, not only Grigory, but his father as well.

That was how it came about that Grigory was not buried as a nameless victim. As for the fact that no family members were present at the funeral-no one is to blame for that. Where Tiraspol is, and where Kishinev is…you have to understand.

For lack of a prime suspect, Zubatov closed the investigation and went away to Petersburg. Ravelli's widow, as he supposed, was ignorant of her husband's secret. And his sisters… Two had died in childhood. The third was a revolutionary. A fugitive. And had long ago severed family ties with her brother.

Zubatov was mistaken. Probably because he had never really loved anyone. And, therefore, had never trusted anyone. Rakhil knew Grisha's secret. If she could make up her mind to deceive her father and marry a Catholic, passing him off as a Jew, then she could keep a secret.

She understood that the police would leave neither her, nor her son, in peace; and, as soon as an opportunity arose, she went away with Shmuel to Gaisin.

At the police department, she represented herself as the victim of a fire, in which all her documents had burnt up; and, in return for a small bribe, she obtained new ones. (In this, she was helped by her cousin, the owner of a barbershop). In any case, she wrote down a different person as Shmuel's father. Her own cousin. Thus my grandfather became Shmuel (Samuil) Solomonovich.

The family's subsequent history was not as unclouded as might be wished, but the police did not trouble them.

The French Intelligence Service, having rooted around for an unspecified amount of time in the Odessa area, and spent no small sum of money, received information regarding Ravelli's death. And calmed down…until 1912…