Murder and Revolution

by Evelyn Weiss

  Lebedev snarls at her. “Shut up. You understand nothing, nothing at all.” But Aristarkhov darts a hard glance at Lebedev, who is suddenly silenced. There’s a pause, as if no-one quite knows what to say. Then the general looks at Emily, and answers her.

  “Miss Neale, the incident on the Nevsky Prospect was a long time ago. I was carrying out legitimate military duties, following the orders I’d been given. Much has happened since then, and things are different now. From today, Russia will be governed by the workers, represented by Comrade Lenin, Comrade Trotsky and the St Petersburg Soviet – and the Red Guards, of whom I am one.”

  “You mean, you switched sides.”

  “I had no ‘side’ before February, Miss Neale. I was simply a military commander. When Comrade Lenin returned to Russia, I understood his vision for our nation. At that point, I joined the Red Guards, and I serve them loyally. You, on the other hand, have supported Chkheidze, who has been collaborating with the Provisional Government.”

  Aristarkhov’s speech has not calmed Emily at all. She snaps back at him. “So what if I worked with Chkheidze! I support the revolution. Hell’s teeth, I’m a communist!”

  “It is possible to be the wrong sort of communist, Miss Neale. There are people who call themselves communists, but who have a misplaced faith. They believe in democratic government representing all parts of society – even the bourgeoisie and the capitalists. But real revolution means handing all power over to the workers.”

  Emily and I look at Aristarkhov; his Red Guard uniform, his hardened but aristocratic face. He glances briefly again at us, then speaks once more, quietly, as if to himself.

  “I’m tired, Lebedev; it must be nearly morning. A new dawn for Russia. You and your men have done well tonight. But I still have much work to do. So please, take these two women away.”

  14 At the Hotel Metropole

  Lebedev stands and gestures towards the door, signalling us to move. But before we can get up, we hear a knock.

  “Come in.”

  It’s the guard who’s been standing outside the room. “Sir, I still have Captain Sirko here. What am I to do with him?”

  Aristarkhov and Lebedev both go over to Yuri. They stand in the doorway, questioning him. They are asking him whether he knows Emily or Dr Jansons.

  I glance at Emily, and put a finger to my lips. Neither Aristarkhov or Lebedev is looking at us. The manilla envelope that Lebedev had is still lying on the table. I reach inside. There’s only a single sheet of paper in it: quickly, I fold it and stuff it in the pocket of my nursing uniform.

  One moment later, Lebedev is standing over us, and within seconds Emily, Yuri and I are being marched by four Red Guards down the stairs, through an archway, and out of the Winter Palace into the dim light of early dawn. Emily is the only one who protests.

  “Where are you taking us?”

  “It’s for your own protection. You will be aware that there is fighting in this city. It’s not safe.”

  Yuri holds up his plaster-clad arm. “I’m wounded, but I’m still a soldier. I don’t need protecting.”

  “We have our orders, sir. All three of you must stay together. Now walk with us, please.”

  From the Palace Embankment, we look out across the river. It’s a cold daybreak over the dark waters of the Neva. The ironclad battle cruiser Aurora looks colossal, sitting in the middle of the river. A red flag flies from its masthead, and the grinning muzzles of its guns are outlined against a pale, ice-blue sky. Our breath makes gray-white clouds in the chill air. Our guards march us along the Embankment, then we turn the corner to walk along the Nevsky Prospect. The great wide street is completely deserted. Except, at every street corner, I see the guards, wearing their red sashes, and watching us with suspicious eyes.

  I notice each group of Red Guards, as we walk down the street. They are a motley collection of men. Most are young, although one or two are quite elderly. Some wear a variety of old Army uniforms, and their faces seem hardened by the long years of warfare. Others are in civilian clothes, with only the red sash to show their status. I can tell by their dress that some of the men are members of St Petersburg’s large Muslim population. I can understand their motivation: the Tsar was no friend to Islam. Other guards have blond hair and pale skin. They might be from any of the nations that the Tsar ruled over – Finland, Poland or Ukraine. But every man wears the same expression –alert, determined and purposeful. And every one carries a rifle.

  We walk for over a mile, without any idea where we are being taken. All along the Nevsky Prospect, every store window displays the same banner “We support Comrade Lenin. This shop is protected from crime by the Red Guards. Looters will be punished with utmost severity.” And, on each wall that I see, I read the same poster, again and again, printed in bright red ink.

  “On behalf of Russia’s workers, the Bolsheviks Party has, without bloodshed, deposed the treacherous Provisional Government. We did this for peace, for bread, and for the power of the people!”

  Finally, a railway station comes into view: one that I’ve never seen before. Emily immediately blurts out. “You’re sending us away! Where the heck to?”

  The guards say nothing. Throughout our walk, Yuri has been grimly silent. But now he whispers to me.

  “That, Agnes, is the Moskovsky Station.”

  “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  As our express speeds through the Russian countryside, I look at the one guard who has boarded the train with us. Emily, Yuri and I are in a first-class compartment along with this young man, who looks rather like the sober cadet in that state room at the Winter Palace. Except that this youth’s Army uniform includes the obligatory red sash, and I sense arrogance in his eyes and his mouth. Even while seated, he keeps his rifle over his shoulder: he seems to be taking his duties very seriously.

  I repeat my words. “I need the bathroom.”

  The soldier’s reply is surly. “You must all stay together so I can guard you. I can’t allow one person to leave the group and wander freely about the train.”

  Yuri smiles at him. “I once had the same problem. You have to use your judgement, young man.”

  The guard is silent: he’s thinking what to do. Outside our window, forests and lakes fly by. Yuri has told us that we are now travelling through the Valdai Hills, half-way between St Petersburg and Moscow. He said that these hills are the heart of the Russian Empire, the source of three great river systems. From here, the Daugava flows west to Riga and the Baltic, the Dnieper runs south through Ukraine to the Black Sea, and the mighty Volga flows through Russia to the Caspian. But to me, I just feel that western Europe, already far away when I was in St Petersburg, is becoming like a distant, half-forgotten memory.

  After a moment’s thought, the soldier looks at us all. “Very well. We will all have a bathroom break together. All of you will walk with me, along the carriage corridor, and go into the bathroom one by one.”

  Yuri grins broadly. “I’m glad to hear you say ‘one by one’. Four of us in a bathroom would be a squeeze.”

  The guard doesn’t smile. Instead he says “By now, telegrams will have been received in Moscow. They will know that the government of St Petersburg and of all Russia is in the hands of Comrade Lenin and the St Petersburg Soviet. So in the same way, the Moscow Soviet of People’s Deputies will take charge of the city of Moscow. I am looking forward to handing you over to them at Nikolayevsky Station. But for now, get up, all of you, and come with me along the carriage.”

  As we file into the carriage corridor, Yuri continues his banter with our guard. “You seem very sure of the state of affairs in Moscow! What if the city council doesn’t want to hand over its power to the Moscow Soviet? Just because the Bolsheviks have grabbed St Petersburg, Moscow needn’t follow suit.”

  Yuri says this with a disarming smile. But the soldier is determined to show us he’s in charge.

  “Where St Petersburg leads, Moscow will follow. Besides, there are rumors that Lenin will
move the capital to Moscow. The city will welcome him with open arms.”

  We come to a door labelled “Bathroom”. The soldier states the obvious. “Here we are.” Then he looks at me. “You go first, Miss.”

  Inside the bathroom, I have only one thought. Despite the uncertainty of our own situation, I’ve been burning with curiosity. I reach into the pocket of my nursing uniform, take out the document I took from the envelope at the Winter Palace and, as the train rumbles on, I unfold it.

  It’s a large sheet of paper, covered on both sides with handwriting. There are even a couple of small pen-and-ink drawings. I peer closely at the first drawing, a little cartoon-like sketch. It’s of Dr Jansons himself, and in a few brief strokes of the pen, it’s captured him rather well.

  What on earth can this paper be? I scan briefly up and down, then I begin to read it. But after a few seconds I pause, my hands trembling, as I realise what the paper is.

  It’s a letter written by a child.

  “Hurry up in there!”

  I hear Yuri’s voice outside. “Young man, is Bolshevism not compatible with good manners? You’re speaking to a lady.”

  I decide to wait to read the letter. I want to talk it over with Yuri – and Emily too, who I feel I can trust. I wash my hands and open the bathroom door. To my surprise, the young soldier decides he’s next in the queue, and steps past me into the bathroom. Yuri guffaws.

  “He’s been bursting for hours! That’s why he frog-marched us all here –”

  I interrupt. “I’ve found something. I’ve just had a look at it, in the bathroom.”

  Emily frowns at me. “By ‘something’ do you mean that document you stole from the envelope in the Malachite Room? I only hope that by taking it, you don’t get your friend Dr Jansons into any trouble.”

  “He won’t be in trouble. I’ve seen those long brown manilla envelopes before, Emily. They were used by Okhrana, and they contain evidence they used to incriminate people.”

  Emily narrows her eyes at me. “So if it’s evidence that belonged to Okhrana, how come the Bolsheviks now have it?”

  Yuri looks at her. “For a while, Emily, I used to work for an Okhrana official. I’ve not seen inside their files, but I know what the envelopes look like, and Agnes’s description sounds right. It’s an old Okhrana file.”

  The train rattles around a bend, and we sway with the moving floor as Yuri continues. “But you are right too, Emily. Okhrana would have made every effort to stop those files falling into the hands of the revolutionaries. I have no idea how the Red Guards could have got hold of it.”

  The train is noisy, but I keep my voice down so that it can’t be heard inside the bathroom. I try to explain.

  “Taking that paper can’t harm Dr Jansons, Emily. It might even help him, by getting rid of evidence that the Bolsheviks might have used against him. But actually, I don’t think the Bolsheviks are interested in Dr Jansons at all. The letter that in the envelope is of purely personal interest, to General Aristarkhov.”

  Emily starts to speak, but at that moment the soldier comes out of the bathroom, and we fall silent. I whisper to her in English “I’ll explain later.”

  The guard barks at me. “Quiet! None of your American words, telling each other secrets! When any of us speak, we use Russian only, so I know what you are talking about.”

  “I’m enjoying this journey” says Yuri. “It’s so convivial.”

  “Ladies and gentleman – I’m sorry to interrupt your perusal of our hotel menu. I’ve come to inform you that all your personal belongings from your accommodation in St Petersburg have now arrived safely at this hotel. They have all been taken up to your rooms. But in addition, the Bolshevik Party has provided each of you with a personal allowance for new clothing, any souvenirs you may wish to buy, and so on. Your funds may be collected from the reception desk. And, let me know if I can do anything else to increase the comfort of your stay in Moscow; it would be a pleasure to assist. Now I will leave you, so that you may look at this evening’s menu at your leisure.”

  The maître d'hôtel bows to us. Emily, Yuri and I sit around a table at the centre of the sumptuous dining-room of Moscow’s attempt to be like New York and London: its very own Hotel Metropole. After the cold vastness of the Winter Palace, the hotel is modern and well-appointed. But there’s an air of imperial splendor in the vivid colors of the stained-glass ceiling, like a huge church window suspended horizontally above us. The walls are decorated with the sinuous curves of Art Nouveau designs, lit by the glow of ornate, elaborate lamps.

  I’m glad we’re staying here. It show that the Bolsheviks recognise the status of Emily and me as foreign nationals, and are sparing no expense to keep us comfortable. Yuri, his arm in a sling, glances up at the glass ceiling, then across the room at the scores of elegantly-dressed diners, all of them chattering about the events in St Petersburg. Some voices sound excited: others have an edge of fear. We hear the name “Lenin” recurring in every conversation. Yuri opens his menu.

  “I grew up on the banks of the Volga – but I’ve never eaten in a restaurant with Volga caviar on the menu! I’m going to try it – even if I have to offend etiquette by eating one-handed. Travelling with you two ladies is giving me a taste of luxury. I think I will write a note to myself, to remind me to spend as much time as I can with American women.”

  Laughing, I add “The best thing of all is that we have no Bolshevik guard watching our every movement. We seem to be totally free here, as long as we sign in at the hotel desk once a day.”

  Emily and Yuri nod. After our journey, this freedom is a welcome relief, and the three of us are now dining without any kind of chaperone. I carry on.

  “So, I can now read to you the letter that I took from Dr Jansons’ file. But first I’ll explain about Dr Jansons. As well as working at the Winter Palace Hospital, he had a private practice as a hematology specialist. One of the illnesses he treated was the blood-clotting disorder hemophilia. This is a personal letter to him, from a young patient.”

  I unfold the sheet of paper. Again, the little sketch catches my eye. I read the letter out loud.

  “Dear Doctor Jansons

  Thank you for all your care, treatments and medicines! I am feeling quite well, although tired. I do hope you will come and see me again soon. Mother says you are the best blood doctor in all of Russia. And I miss the funny stories you tell.

  I hope all is well at the Winter Palace Hospital, and that you are helping all the soldiers to get better.

  Mother and I arrived at Tri Tsarevny today. It is a funny old house by a lake. It was amusing, the servants here all bowed one after another to me, and each one said ‘Welcome, Prince Tsarevitch Alexei, to the Three Princesses!’

  It made me laugh, because of course I have four sisters who are princesses. But my sisters are busy working in hospitals, and they are not coming on our holiday at Tri Tsarevny. I miss them so much. It can be very lonely at times.

  I am in an upstairs bedroom. I am feeling very tired and Mother has said I am not allowed to go outside to play for a few days. There is a small schoolroom for me, where my new tutor who is called Nestor will teach me, but not many lessons each day, because I am so tired.

  July 26th – I have decided to keep a Diary of my holiday. So this letter is my Diary. Mother is being very strict about my health today. I have to spend most of my time in bed. But Nestor has brought books for me to read while I lie here – ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’, and also ‘The Time Machine’ by the Englishman Mr H. G. Wells, and some poems too, about the fighters who defended the Roman Republic in the old days – ‘Horatius’ and ‘The Battle of Lake Regillus’.

  I read a little in the morning, but I was not feeling very well in the afternoon, so I slept.

  July 27th – A much better day! Nestor has given me Binoculars, saying that if I sit up in bed, I can watch the grounds of Tri Tsarevny. I can see the lake and the little islands, and the Princess Houses on each island. A very beautiful lady lives
in the middle Princess House. I can often see her sitting out on her porch, looking at the lake. And Rasputin has come to visit us. He is going to stay in the furthest of the Princess Houses.

  July 28th – A very good day. The beautiful lady asked to meet me! She came up to my room. Her name is Svea and she is from Sweden. I showed her my book and she really liked it.

  July 29th – 11.00am – Last night I could not sleep, so I looked out of my window. It was bright moonlight so I could use the Binoculars and see clearly. I could see two people on the causeway to the islands. One person was far away, near the middle Princess, and wore a long white robe. I think it was Rasputin. The other was closer to the shore, and they walked along the causeway onto the island with the old storeroom. I could not tell who it was.

  July 29th – 4.00pm – This afternoon, there has been such excitement! It is a warm day, my window has been open, so I can hear all noises from outside. At about two o’clock I heard a shot!

  As soon as I heard it, I looked out of the window with the Binoculars. I could see, on the porch of the third Princess House, the Cossack captain peering around, looking at the lake and the houses. It looked as if he was trying to see who fired the shot. I could not see anyone else.

  One second later, a man opened my bedroom door. I had not seen him before. He was an Army General, and he seemed very alarmed. He said ‘I heard a shot. Are you all right, Tsarevitch Alexei?’

  I said ‘Of course. But I heard the shot too.’ He told me not to lie down, to not worry, and most of all not to look out of the window.

  A few minutes later, exactly the same thing happened again! There was no shot, but a different man came into my room to check if I was all right. But this one wasn’t in the Army. He looked like one of the servants, but I’ve never seen him before. He was shaking and seemed very nervous. After a while, he went away.