And with what result?
The revolutionaries had believed this death would spark a great revolution, but in fact it created not a single demonstration, only widespread mourning. And the new Tsar, Aleksander III, what did he and the Grand Dukes think, including my dear Sergei? Well, they came to hate any kind of revolutionary or progressive thought, for it was the revolutionaries who had killed their father. Worse, they fully believed the murder of Aleksander II was God’s punishment for the Tsar’s folly with liberalism. My husband, shocked by the savage murder of his father, especially felt this, just as he believed that the only way to deal with unrest was by force. And so the great constitution, Russia ’s first, was promptly withdrawn.
Oh, I knew revolutionaries wanted to go from Tuesday to Friday in one giant leap, but were it not for them Russia would long ago have had a constitution. One had only to look upon the murder of Aleksander II to realize that that horrific act took our dear land not forward but back to Sunday, if not further.
And just look at what was now happening, I thought, peering out at a broken street lamp and windows that had been smashed during the recent riots. Just how far were we retreating into chaos? Oh, the simple people of our Russia didn’t know what they were doing in these dark days. They were like sick children whom one loved a hundred times more in their illness than when they were well and happy. One longed to ease their sufferings, to teach them patience. This, I knew, was what I felt more every day.
And then the opera…
Suddenly the grand building with its great columns and electric illumination came into view. Suffice to say that it was a command performance, that our beloved talent, Boris Shalyapin, sang his most famous role, Boris Godunov, which, Sergei remarked, the poor man probably had to sing as often as a tea-kettle whistles. And all society, dressed in their finest uniforms and gowns, were greatly pleased to see Sergei and me in attendance, so I did collect much money for my Charity Fund, and the evening was a grand success.
Chapter 16 PAVEL
Having failed in my task, I retreated into the night shadows of the Aleksandrovski Gardens, shaking and sweating despite the frost. What had I done? Had I ruined the plan altogether? But how else could I have acted, what choice was there?
Little Kalyayev, his sweet face tense with anxiety and cradling the bomb, came dashing toward me, and demanded, “What is it? What happened? Was the Grand Duke not in the carriage?”
“He was there-I saw him!”
“Then what-?”
Shaking and nearly in tears, I pleaded, “I couldn’t kill children!”
“What do you mean, what children?”
“Tell me I did the right thing!”
“You fool, what are you talking about?”
Savinkov, the Polish fellow on the sleigh, the one from whom I had got the bomb, suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Together the two of them pulled and pushed me into a hidden area, where they pinned me against a tree.
Pressing a knife against my throat, Savinkov hissed, “The Grand Duke’s carriage passed right by me as it drove around the corner-he was in there! I saw him with my own eyes! And he’d already be dead if it weren’t for you! You failed and now you’ve put the entire operation in danger!”
“But children… I saw them in there, that young Grand Duchess and Duke, and… and…!”
“What children? I saw none!”
“They were in there, the young ones, sitting just opposite the Grand Duke Sergei!”
All but screaming in my ear, Kalyayev demanded, “Are you a traitor to our cause? Have you betrayed us to the police?”
“No, I swear!” I pleaded. “The Grand Duchess Elisavyeta was in there, too, and I would have given the signal… but the children, the two little ones! I saw the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess and the two children-I saw them all! But… but we never talked about this, what we should do if there were children present! Forgive me, I just couldn’t do it!”
Kalyayev turned away, slammed his fist against his own forehead, and said, “If all four of them were really in the carriage, then our friend here is correct, we couldn’t kill them, not the little ones.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” demanded Savinkov.
“We want the Grand Duke’s death to unleash revolution and… and…” Kalyayev fell into desperate thought. “And that wouldn’t happen if we started killing children. That would turn the workers and mothers against us, not for us.”
“But I saw no children!” snapped Savinkov. “He’s lying-I say we kill this one here and now!”
“Go ahead,” I said, only too eager to pass from this world. “But I swear all four of them were in the carriage!”
A long minute of argument followed, but Savinkov and Kalyayev decided to spare my life, at least for the moment, at least until they could figure out if I was telling the truth. And so they led me from the park and delivered both me and the bomb to several other conspirators, who were dressed as peasants and who in turn led me to a small apartment with only one window. There I was shoved onto a chair and my arms were tied behind my back. The bomb was placed on a table, and Dora Brilliant herself appeared before too long. It was her job to disarm the explosive, which she proceeded to do right before my eyes.
“Did I do the right thing?” I pleaded, my brow beading with perspiration. “Or did I ruin it all? What have I done?”
As she coolly went about her business, she shrugged, and muttered, “You did what you needed to do.”
“Yes, but-”
“Sh,” she said, carefully pulling some small piece from the bomb. “The others will discover for themselves that you are telling the truth-and I’m sure you are, for I can see it in your eyes-and then we will decide upon another time and place to put an end to the Grand Duke.”
Of course I was telling the truth. But of course I didn’t care if they killed me. And yet I couldn’t stop trembling, which perplexed me a great deal and only caused me to tremble more. I had thought everything dead within me, every morsel of compassion, of feeling, long gone. Or was it not? I realized that that was what scared me more than anything else-that I carried a weakness, a softness, which could and would dampen my thirst for blood. I’d felt not a moment of hesitation or remorse when I slit the throat of that unimportant bureaucrat in Novgorod, and yet the sight of those two royal children had caused me to fall apart. What did this mean, the end of my revolutionary path? Was I not destined to avenge the deaths of my wife and child and fellow workers who had fallen on Bloody Sunday?
No, I thought, just picture Shura lying there in that crimson snow, just remember her bright death in that blinding sunshine…
Her delicate work completed, Dora Brilliant disappeared behind a curtain and into the next room. Alone and tied to the chair, I drifted in and out of self-pity for what seemed like hours, one moment lashing myself for my failure to hasten the end of the Grand Duke, the next silently sobbing at the loss of my wife and unborn. I wanted to die. I thought of breaking loose and finding poison, of hanging myself, of taking a gun and blowing my brains out, of leaping across the room and grabbing the disarmed bomb and somehow making it explode…
Hours later the door opened. The two of them, Kalyayev and Savinkov, came stomping in. At the sound of them, Dora Brilliant and some other comrade reappeared. But one glance at Kalyayev and I knew my fate. From the satisfied smirk written all across his brow, I knew, unfortunately, that I was to live.