Boris Akunin - She Lover of Death

Tormented by this question day and by night, we decided to make certain enquiries, which led to an extremely strange discovery. People who knew both of the suicides well are unanimous in declaring that the relationship between Lamm and Shutov was one of ordinary friendship and they did not entertain any ardent passion for each other.

Well now, we pondered, acquaintances can often be blind. Perhaps this young man and woman had grounds for carefully concealing their passion from everyone else?

Today, however, we came into possession (do not ask in what way – that is a professional journalist’s secret) of a poem written by the two suicides shortly before the fatal volley was fired. It is a poetical work of a highly unusual nature and even, perhaps, without precedent. It is written in two hands – evidently Shutov and Lamm took it in turns to write one line each. What we have, therefore, is the fruit of a collective creative endeavour. The content of this poem casts an entirely different light, not only on the deaths of the strange Romeo and Juliet, but also on the string of suicides that have taken place in the old Russian capital during recent weeks.

Nothing but riddles from beginning to end. What does the ‘white cloak’ mean? Who has sent this emissary – She or He? Where was he actually standing, in the doorway or outside the window? And what kind of eyes did this intriguing gentleman actually have – dark and stern or light and gentle?

At this point we recalled the recent and, at first glance, equally motiveless suicides of the photographer Sviridov (see our article of the 4th of August) and the teacher Soimonov (see our articles of the 8th and 11th of August). In each case a poem was left as a suicide note, something which, you must admit, is a rather rare event in this prosaic Russia of ours!

It is a pity that the police did not keep the note written by the photographer Sviridov, but even without it there is certainly more than enough food for thought.

Soimonov’s farewell poem mentions a mysterious female individual who revealed to the poisoner ‘the fearsome love that sets one free’ and later plucked him ‘like a pining flower’. Shutov was visited by an emissary of love from ‘Her’ – an unnamed female individual; Lamm’s emissary was from a certain bridegroom, who for some reason also has to be mentioned with a capital letter.

Is it not, therefore, reasonable to assume that the face filled with love that figures in the poems of the suicides and sets their hearts trembling so reverently is the face of death itself ? Many things then become clear: passion urges the enamoured individual, not towards life, but towards the grave – this is the love of death.

Your humble servant is no longer in any doubt that a secret society of death-worshippers has been established in Moscow, following the example of several other European cities: a society of madmen – and women – who are in love with death. The spirit of disbelief and nihilism, the crisis of morality and art and, even more significantly, that dangerous demon who goes by the name of fin de siècle – these are the bacilli of the contagion that has produced this dangerous ulcer.

We set ourselves the goal of discovering as much as possible about the story of those mysterious secret societies known as ‘suicide clubs’, and this is the information that we have managed to glean.

Suicide clubs are not a purely Russian phenomenon, in fact they are not Russian at all. There have never previously been any of these monstrous organisations within the bounds of our empire. But apparently, as we follow Europe along the path of ‘progress’, we are also fated to suffer this malign pestilence.

The first mention in the historical annals of a voluntary association of death-worshippers dates back to the first century bc, when the legendary lovers, Antony and Cleopatra, established an ‘academy of those who are not parted in death’ for lovers ‘who wish to die together: quietly, radiantly and when they choose’. As we know, this romantic undertaking concluded in less than idyllic fashion, since at the decisive moment the great queen actually preferred to be parted from her conquered Antony and tried to save herself. When it became clear that her much vaunted charms had no effect on the cold Octavian, Cleopatra eventually did take her own life, demonstrating a thoughtfulness and good taste truly worthy of antiquity: she deliberated at length over the best means of suicide, testing various different poisons on slaves and criminals, and eventually settled on the bite of the Egyptian cobra, which causes almost no disagreeable sensations apart from a slight headache, which is, in any case, rapidly replaced by ‘an irresistible desire for death’.

But this is legend, you will object, or at least, these are events of days long past. Modern man has his feet too firmly set on the ground, he is too materialistic and clings to life too tightly to set up any ‘academy’ of this sort.

Well then – let us turn to the enlightened nineteenth century, a period when suicide clubs flourished to an unprecedented degree: groups of people organised themselves into secret societies with one single goal: to depart from this life without publicity or scandal.

As early as 1802 in godless post-revolutionary Paris, a club was founded with a membership of twelve, which for obvious reasons, was constantly renewed. According to the club’s charter, the sequence in which members left this life was determined by a game of cards. At the beginning of each new year a chairman was elected, and he was obliged to do away with himself when his term of office expired.

In 1816 a ‘Circle of Death’ appeared in Berlin. Its six members made no secret of their intentions – on the contrary, they attempted to attract new members by every possible means. According to the rules, the only ‘legitimate’ way to commit suicide was with a pistol. The ‘Circle of Death’ eventually ceased to exist, because all those who wished to join had shot themselves.

Later on, clubs whose members sought death ceased to be something exotic and became almost de rigueur for large European cities. Although, of course, persecution by the forces of law and order obliged these associations to maintain strict conspiratorial secrecy. According to information in our possession, ‘suicide clubs’ existed (and perhaps still exist to this day) in London, Vienna and Brussels, as well as in Paris and Berlin, as already mentioned, and even in the backwater of Bucharest, where the ultimate temptation of destiny was a fashionable amusement among rich young officers.

The most sensational reputation was earned by the London club, which was eventually exposed and disbanded by the police, but before that happened it had facilitated the despatch of about twenty of its members to the next world. These worshippers of death were only tracked down as a result of betrayal from within their own close-knit ranks. One of the aspirants was incautious enough to fall in love, as a result of which he became inspired with a rather poignant attachment to life and a violent aversion to death. This apostate agreed to testify. It emerged that this top-secret club only accepted as members those who could prove the seriousness of their intentions. The sequence of departure was determined by chance: the winner of a game of cards acquired the right to die first. The ‘lucky man’ was eagerly congratulated by everyone, and a banquet was arranged in his honour. In order to avoid any undesirable consequences, the death itself was arranged to look like an accident, with the other members of the brotherhood helping to organise it: they dropped bricks from roofs, overturned the chosen one’s carriage and so on.