Prince Felix Felixovich Yusupov, Count Sumarokov-Elston Jr. (1887-1967) - a noble aristocrat whose family owned an enormous fortune. He studied at the Page Corps and at Oxford, was bisexual, and married the niece of Nicholas II. One thing everyone knows...
about him - he killed Rasputin. After the Bolshevik Revolution, the prince happily escaped death and spent nearly half a century in exile. The full text of "Memoirs" is published in Russian for the first time, and in such a wonderful translation that it’s hard to believe the prince wrote in French. "Memoirs" is completely devoid of authorial vanity: Prince Yusupov tells about himself and others with the simplicity and grandeur of a true aristocrat who does not need to account for himself or to justify himself. In anything... He has a keen memory and a lively mind, a light style and a sharp gaze, quirks and oddities, depth and levity, humor and charm, brilliance and poverty. And behind the self-portrait, without indulgence or complexes, history looms and Russia appears - lush and corrupt, insane and worthy, paradoxical and genuine...
Prince Felix Felixovich Yusupov, Count Sumarokov-Elston Jr. (1887-1967) - a noble aristocrat whose family owned an enormous fortune. He studied at the Page Corps and at Oxford, was bisexual, and married the niece of Nicholas II. One thing everyone knows about him - he killed Rasputin. After the Bolshevik Revolution, the prince happily escaped death and spent nearly half a century in exile. The full text of "Memoirs" is published in Russian for the first time, and in such a wonderful translation that it’s hard to believe the prince wrote in French. "Memoirs" is completely devoid of authorial vanity: Prince Yusupov tells about himself and others with the simplicity and grandeur of a true aristocrat who does not need to account for himself or to justify himself. In anything... He has a keen memory and a lively mind, a light style and a sharp gaze, quirks and oddities, depth and levity, humor and charm, brilliance and poverty. And behind the self-portrait, without indulgence or complexes, history looms and Russia appears - lush and corrupt, insane and worthy, paradoxical and genuine...
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