Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich → Felix Yusupov
2 March 1920, 3 p.m.
50 Onslow Gardens, S.W.7, Kensington 1010
(“D” with grand-ducal crown)
I have just returned from the countryside. My letter will probably surprise you greatly, especially after you returned mine and wrote such a strange letter to Maria.
She knew nothing of my letter to you, since I did not think it necessary to speak to her about it. Questions such as those I raised in my letter to you are always better left between those whom they directly concern — all the more since Maria knows nothing and has never asked me about the details of the December affair.
Felix — I cannot hide from you that I was greatly saddened by such a reply — or rather, by the absence of a reply to my letter. I know it must have been very unpleasant for you. But after all, how many times have you asked me about the reasons that led to the change in our once-friendly relations? I wrote genuinely very frankly and openly, trying to show you what exactly constituted the principal cause.
You write to Maria that I apparently consider you “a scoundrel and a blackguard.” No, Felix — I do not think that. I merely expressed my astonishment at your idea of going to America and making use there of facts known to you. I truly did not expect this from you.
I heard of this idea from Maria, so you were not keeping it secret, since you spoke of it personally to her.
Felix, my dear, how could you suppose that I would look at this differently? Have you forgotten our mutual oath after the murder? The oath that no one would ever speak about it without the permission of the other people involved in the affair?
Remember with what indignation you spoke to me last spring about the publication of Purishkevich’s diary and notes concerning the December night.
If you had personally told me about your idea regarding America, we would have spoken together — but I knew nothing about it. You, however, told Maria and Fyodor about it.
How would you look at me if you learned that I intended to lecture on this subject without warning you?
Felix, my dear — I never called you a criminal in the literal sense of the word. I only pointed out that participants in any killing, political or merely criminal, are always such — before the law.
You and I bear equally both moral and criminal responsibility in this matter. And I cannot call you a “criminal” without realizing that the same epithet could equally easily be applied to me.
Believe me, Felix, all this is very, very painful for me. I so hoped that all this would remain exclusively between us.
We discussed the December night together; together we carried out this deed, and together we swore not to speak of it. Unfortunately, later — when after nearly three years we met again — we began looking differently at the past and understood one another less and less.
It pains me terribly that you reacted so sharply and coldly to my letter, and above all that you decided not to answer me, preferring instead to write to my sister, to whom I had said nothing.
Could it really be that our old friendship was unable to withstand a frank, though severe, opinion on one side — or, at the very least, an acknowledgement of error on the other?
Felix, Felix — I am certain you will reflect upon all this and someday see that I was right.
I wrote truly very frankly and directly, believing I was writing to a man who once knew me and loved me. But you did not take it that way…
Farewell, my dear. If what you write to Maria — that you still intend not to meet again — is truly what you think, then evidently we shall not see one another soon. In any case, I have never borne you ill will and shall always remember you!
Dmitri
P.S. I am sending back to you your letter that you wrote to Maria. If you change your decision not to meet again, it is better not to have such letters that could remind one of this painful misunderstanding.
