Home, love, family

by Gabros

… there was once a time the Romanovs had it all. This is just the story of Anastasia and her siblings before the revolution. Prequel to Light at the end of the tunnel.

21. Bloody Nicholas

Trigger Warnings in the end notes.

St. Petersburg. January, 1905.

By the time Ivan has finally managed to drag his injured brother and sister-in-law to an ambulance lined up streets away from the palace, he is absolutely exhausted, his clothes are drenched in blood, and he has completely lost sight of Dmitri.

"Dima!" Ivan cries out for his son, his daughter Sonya wailing in his arms. "Dima!"

He curses the soldiers. He curses the lacking number of hospital wagons and the time it took him to find one that wasnʼt fully occupied or about to be. He curses the fact he didn't prioritize finding Dmitri or do so beforehand.

The memories are as fresh as the blood on the snow, cruelly drawing him away from the task at hand. My son, my vulnerable five-year-old son, Ivan tries to remind himself. He must look for him. The Palace Square, the fatherʼs mind races as he walks back to where the nightmare took place. Dmitri must be there or at least nearby, he couldn't have gone too far.

Kostya is dead, another voice haunts him. His already scarred face has been sliced open by the blade of an irate young Cossack, unnerved by the sight of the burns. His neck was the horse riderʼs following target.

After several sleepless nights soothing night terrors and changing bandages, all the progress Kostya made with Ivanʼs help and devotion has been for nothing. Everything. He was brutally robbed of it. They were brutally robbed of it.

Ivan knows Maria must also be dead by now. How could she not? The arm gunshot wound Ilya received trying to protect her will probably heal in a few months, but there is a limit to what even the most capable doctors can do. When Ivan left his brother and sister-in-law under their care, the poor woman was already delirious from blood loss.

"My baby!" Maria would repeatedly cry as she weakly cradled her swollen abdomen, blood pouring out of her back and womb so abundantly that it fell in drops from the stretcher after having turned a huge portion of her formerly blue dress red. Ivan doesn't know much about firearms, but he reckons one of the bullets that struck his sister-in-law penetrated her back and escaped her body through her gut.

Ivan remembers with anticipatory grief the way Maria cleaned the Tsar's icon every morning. The way she did so this morning. None of this mattered in her hour of need.

When the soldiers began shooting, Maria may have panicked even more than everybody else did, if that is possible, but her screams were drowned in those of the rest of the crowd. Ivan doesn't know how or when she was shot, for Ilya was there with her the entire time, endeavoring to shield her with his body. Maybe it happened amidst the chaos of the race to safety, foiled by the same people struggling to escape as they pushed, hit, and trampled one another.

Madness. It was absolute madness. All Ivan could care about during those horrific moments was covering Sonyaʼs head to make sure no harm came to her, his baby girl. He doesn't know what he would do without his daughter right now. He shamefully remembers having punched and pushed some people down in the hopes of getting her to safety faster. Only the poor are reduced to such undignified behavior at the hands of the privileged and powerful, Ivan thinks. The stampede over coins and sausages during the Tsarʼs coronation festivities crosses his mind. He wasn't there, but he has heard the stories. When have the Romanovs been reduced to animals for scraps? When have they ever begged for their pride?

Ivan wonders if he might have unwittingly killed his son in an attempt to save his daughter. The thought sends shivers down his spine.

Minutes pass. Ivan searches for his son all over the square of the palace and moves on to look for him through Nevsky Prospect and other nearby streets, his heart skipping a beat everytime he encounters a child-sized corpse lying on the ground.

"Dima!" He calls for his son over and over again. No one answers. The little Sonya is no longer crying, but she still seems fairly upset. New tears are constantly rolling down her cheeks. Ivan examines her and discovers she needs a change of diapers. He feels desperate for Mariaʼs help for the first of probably many times.

Tears flood the manʼs eyes. He fears the worst has happened to his child. He is scared. He is hopeless. He doesn't know what to do. And worst of all, he wasn't there. His little Dima might have died a slow, scary, and painful death and he wasn't there to comfort him.

It is only after three hours have gone by unnoticed that Ivan changes his tactics. If Dmitri isn't anywhere near the square or dead he might have been injured and then taken to a hospital by a good Samaritan.

And so, Ivan allows himself to go home and change Sophiaʼs cloth diapers before leaving her with Mr. and Mrs. Smirnov, the only neighbors who have returned home from the procession. Neither is Ivanʼs friend, but they have lived under the same roof as his family for years and are trustworthy people as far as he is aware of.

Ivan stops by the closest hospitals to the Winter Palace in search of Dmitri. He ends up visiting eight in total, solely encountering dead, injured, or grieving strangers. Not ready to be informed of Maria's death, he doesn't go to the hospital where the ambulance took his brother and sister-in-law until it gets dark, but when he gets there, Ilya has already left. Unsurprisingly, Dmitri isn't there either. Before leaving, Ivan asks one of the medical workers about Maria's whereabouts, only to be notified of what he already knew deep down.

Everywhere he goes there is a burglary or brawl between the police and the survivors of the massacre, although some of the troublemakers look more like common gang members and delinquents taking advantage of the disorders. Young men have run past him carrying arms and waving red flags. Some even speak of putting up barricades. It takes him little to figure out a riot has broken out in the city.

In tears, Ivan returns home and finds Ilya sitting on a wooden stool before the chimney fire, his bandaged left arm hanging in a white sling around his neck. He directs a blank stare at his brother, who catches sight of the Tsarʼs icon before it is fully covered by the flames.

If Ivan weren't as desperate to find his son he would probably restrain himself from asking his brother whether he knows anything about the boyʼs whereabouts. He knows Ilya is mourning for his wife and unborn child and that adding to his distress is the last thing he needs. But Ivan is desperate.

Ilya doesn't reply though. He doesn't ask Ivan to leave him alone either. He doesn't say anything at all.

Minutes later, another neighbor arrives at the flat and provides Ivan with valuable information, claiming to have caught a glimpse of Dmitri on the way home.

"He was wandering around a candy shop near Kolesovʼs toy store", the woman says. "I am so sorry I didn't bring him home with me, I thought I saw you with him."

"It is quite alright, Valentina", Ivan replies quickly before rushing out of the house to find his son, "thank you."

Having reached the vandalized toy store, it takes Ivan only a few minutes walking further down Sadovaina Street for him to spot Dmitri just as the boy is turning left at a crossroad, seemingly accompanied by someone, a man. Ivan walks in their direction and follows them through several streets and alleyways until they finally stop walking.

What should be the most relieving moment in his life is instead extremely distressing for the father, who panics the second he gets a clearer view of his son. The young man the five-year-old Dmitri is talking to is a complete stranger. Ivan immediately quickens his pace.

"Really?" The boy is asking.

"Really", the young stranger smiles sinisterly, "there are tons of candy in my house, I have an entire room filled with them. I can give it all to you if you want and then take you to your father, how does that sound?"

"Amazing!"

"Your father and I are friends, did you know that?"

"Really?" Dmitri repeats excitedly.

"Yeah kid, sure", the strange man laughs. "Now, I know you are tired of walking, but you must keep following me if you truly do want the candy." He keeps moving forward, and the little boy nods enthusiastically before proceeding to follow the man again.

Ivan's heart aches as he rushes over to them. He grabs his sonʼs coat and kneels down, pulling Dmitri into his arms before he can go too far.

"Dima… I'm so sorry," he whispers softly, pressing his cheek against the boy's head as tears roll down his cheeks. "I'm so, so sorry I lost sight of you, it will never happen again."

Too startled to realize the man squeezing him is his father, Dmitri doesn't respond to the hug at the beginning, but as soon as he recognises Ivan he clings onto him tightly like a lifeline. A choked sob wracks the boyʼs body, and it takes everything in Ivan's power not to burst into sobs himself. It breaks his heart to think of his son wandering alone for hours after such an upsetting event.

The stranger is nowhere to be seen, probably having escaped upon catching a glimpse of the boy's father. Ivan needs to have a serious conversation with his son about strangers, but that can wait. Right now, he needs to get Dmitri home safe. There are riots in the streets.

"Come on, Dima, let's go home", Ivan says. It takes him a few minutes to ask the following question. "Did he do something to you?" He anxiously glances at his child out of the corner of his eye. "Has anyone else invited you over?"

Dmitri shakes his head slowly, causing his father to sigh with relief.

Oo

Tsarskoye Selo.

Dressed in a dark military uniform, Tsar Nicholas II paces behind his desk with discernible agitation, anxiously twirling his mustache now that he is done smoking his cigarette.

"Who ordered the shooting?" He looks between the many ministers summoned to the emergency meeting at his office, still staggering in shock. Wearing their best suits and ties, all the men give the impression of being well prepared for the gathering, something that could not be further from the truth.

"The specific circumstances of this tragic affair are still under investigation, sir, but it appears everything occurred rather spontaneously", Minister of War Viktor Sakharov says. "The soldiers didn't know what else to do in order to…"

"There was not one order", Sergei Witte cuts in. "The various detachments acted on their own accord."

"Well, someone must be responsible!" Nicholas opens his eyes wide in confusion and disbelief. "This cannot simply…. have happened just like that!" He glares at Witte, but his furrowed brows are those of a completely stupefied man, at loss for words. "How in God's name could something like this have happened?" Blood flows to his cheeks, and for a moment that childish fear of being unmasked returns. He feels impotent and incapable of stopping anything at all from happening inside his own domain. Deeply uninformed and unqualified for his God-given duties.

"Your Majesty, if I may", Minister of Finance Vladimir Kokovtsov speaks. "I am not completely certain the guards were necessarily in the wrong here. The crowds were immensely large and unpredictable, they had to be stopped from storming the palace and possibly putting up barricades, you must remember that most of their leaders are socialist agitators, our men must have panicked…"

"Our guards and those who command them are supposed to be well trained professionals!" Nicholas raises his voice. He stops pacing, ashamed of his uncharacteristic outburst, laying his fists on the desk and looking down instead. A long pause reigned by an awkward silence follows. The ministers look down as well, hoping to avoid eye contact with their Tsar, who is trying hard to bear in mind Kokovtsov's words instead of dismissing them right away. His Minister of Finance may be right. Nicholas wasn't there, he didn't experience what his troops did nor does he know what he would have done differently to successfully protect the government and maintain order.

All over Europe troops are often used to shoot at demonstrations. Nicholas only wishes it hadn't come to that, he was assured it would not, but it seems he has been taken for a fool. He raises his head, eyes searching for Minister of the Interior Prince Pyotr Dmitrievich Svyatopolk-Mirsky.

"Prince Mirsky", Nicholas spots him behind two other ministers. "Your reports mere hours before the happenings led me to believe that this march was no cause for concern, so much so I ordered the decree of martial law to be revoked and the military units to be dispersed thinking there was no further need for them, and yet apparently, this order was never carried out."

"I accept full responsibility, Your Majesty", Mirsky steps forward and bows his head. "Your Majesty is within his rights to carry out any measures deemed necessary."

Nicholas cannot help but resent the man for a moment. He chose to give the relatively liberal Mirsky a chance after the previous Minister of the Interior, his friend Plehve, was killed by a bomb. Together they have taken steps towards reforming the nation such as permitting members of the local zemstvos to discuss broader policy issues and coordinate with other zemstvos in the formulation and execution of programs. Nicholas has wholeheartedly endorsed several of Mirskyʼs plans, such as the removal of restrictions on the Old Believers. Other proposed reforms he is more uncertain of. The inclusion of elected members to the State Council seems dangerous, and so does expanding freedom of the press and religion, broadening the authority of local self-government, and eliminating restrictions on non-Russians.

Despite his doubts, Nicholas has tried to keep an open mind in the hopes Mirsky will fulfill his promises. A more efficient system, averting the threat of revolution. The well-being of the people. Modernization. The moon and stars. It seems almost ridiculous now. Promising is all liberals seem to do. They promise and promise and promise and fail to deliver and get people hurt in the process and then blame everyone else for their own recklessness. The concessions Mirsky made to the moderate and liberal opposition seem to have only achieved their further radicalization.

"Oh, Mirsky, please…" Sakharov speaks up in defense of the new Minister of the Interior. "Your Majesty, there were guilty among several authorities. It may be bold of me to suggest, but Your Majesty's uncle, Grand Duke Vladimir Alexandrovich, is the commander of St. Petersburgʼs military district, and he has always asserted his policies are designed to enforce order at any cost regardless of what that cost might be."

"Your Majesty, we all share in the responsibility", Sergei Witte surmises.

"It was I who recommended additional troops", Mirsky insists, "and ultimately these were the troops who carried out the massacres."

"You were only trying to protect the government!" Kokovtsov exclaims. "We all were!"

Not being able to listen to their squabbles any longer, Nicholas leans over his desk and, still red faced and angry, he takes a minute to compose himself in silence.

It happened, he thinks. Nicholas can not turn back time. What do I do now? He walks towards a nearby window and looks up at the sky as if searching for a divine answer. He then sighs. "What do I do gentlemen?" His voice is calm now.

"Your Imperial Majesty must publicly disassociate himself from the massacre", Witte replies immediately, as if he had been waiting for the right moment to present his advice. "The troops fired without Your Majestyʼs orders. That is exactly what happened, and it is precisely what Your Majesty must say, the truth."

"I donʼt want to place the blame at their feet", Nicholas shakes his head, reflecting on just how little he truly knows about the tragic happenings. "Not when they did what they did to defend me and even their own lives in some of the cases I have been notified of."

"His Imperial Majesty is right", Kokovtsov says. "The Emperor cannot distance himself from the actions of his soldiers. It would be a display of weakness."

"It would be very honorable of His Imperial Majesty to stand up for his troops", Sakharov praises Nicholas.

"At least replace the Governor-General of St. Petersburg", Sergei Witte all but begs the Tsar, secretly fearing Nicholas might genuinely be planning to respond to the tragedy by acting as if nothing had happened. "Fullon failed, he must be sacrificed for someone more competent. We need a scapegoat. The people ought to see we did not intend for this to happen."

"I agree with Minister Witte, Your Majesty", Minister of Justice Sergei Manukhin tells the Tsar. "I also think Dmitri Trepov is a good candidate for Governor-General of St. Petersburg. I have spoken to him, and we both believe it would be beneficial for our public image to meet with several representatives from the procession. Not the radicals, of course, but perhaps a group of workers willing to voice their concerns and those of the crowd in general."

Nicholas doesn't need much time to come to a decision. Speaking directly to his people could help ease the tensions.

"Very well, gentlemen", he accepts the suggestion.

Oo

There had been no single confrontation between the troops and the procession of workers. At bridges and on strategic boulevards, the marchers had found their way to the Winter Palace blocked by soldiers. Unaware of the happenings taking place essentially at the same time and not expecting any violence, the people had marched forward and bullets had smacked into the bodies of men, women, and children.

Nicholas II wrote about the day that would forever be known as "Bloody Sunday" in his diary.

A painful day. There have been serious disorders in St. Petersburg because workmen wanted to come up to the Winter Palace. Troops had to open fire in several places in the city; there were many killed and wounded. God, how painful and sad.

The Tsar wasn't aware of the full extent of the tragedy. He was only informed of the official number of victims. 92 dead and several hundred wounded. The real number was much higher. Thousands dead and several more thousands wounded. These numbers were later greatly exaggerated by foreign and revolutionary papers into hundreds of thousands.

Most of the leaders of the march were captured, but Gapon found shelter in Maxim Gorky's house. Born Alexander Peshkov in Nizhny Novgorod the same year Nicholas was, Gorky had left home by his early twenties and worked in a small village where he met and became influenced by radical groups such as "Land and Liberty", which sent people into rural areas to educate the peasants.

In 1887, Gorky witnessed a pogrom in Nizhny Novgorod. Deeply horrified, he became a fierce opponent of racism and discrimination. Tall, stooped, duck-like nosed and usually dressed in a coat-like jacket and high polished boots, the homely Gorky started getting involved in revolutionary groups, often leaving him under police surveillance.

He later started to write short stories and articles on politics and literature under his current pseudonym, describing the poverty he would witness during his travels, campaigning against the eviction of peasants from their land and the persecution of trade unionists, and criticizing the country's poor educational standards and the growth in foreign investment.

The Okhrana became greatly concerned with Gorky's articles and stories criticizing the police and their treatment of demonstrators in particular, but despite having even been arrested and imprisoned, he was starting to become so popular that harsh measures could no longer be taken against him without causing a commotion.

In 1902, Gorky's path crossed that of the Tsar for the first time when was elected to the Imperial Academy of Literature. Nicholas II was furious when he heard the news and made the Imperial Academy of Literature overrule the decision, but this only caused several writers to resign in protest, alienating the monarchy further from the nation's intellectuals.

Maxim Gorky supported Father George Gapon and his cause wholeheartedly. He attended his march and provided accommodations for him after they both miraculously survived the shooting and avoided capture.

The priest is aghast, horrified, appalled, his worldview having dramatically metamorphosed in seconds. He says there is no Tsar anymore, no church, no God. Gorky knows George Gapon has great influence upon the workers of the Putilov Works in particular and hopes he will continue to lead them. The writer has also changed. He no longer minds the use of violence among the revolutionary groups he supports, not as he did before. Neither do the crowds.

There is no better way of turning a multitude violent than shooting at them. Riots broke out following the tragic events, adding dozens of casualties from both sides as the masses of workers clashed with soldiers and policemen. Rocks were thrown, shots were fired, and hundreds of shops and homes were vandalized and broken into.

From his place of hiding, Gapon would issue a public letter denouncing Nicholas.

May all the blood which must be spilled fall upon you, you hangman! He became a full-fledged revolutionary, inciting an armed uprising against Tsarism.

The many Marxist, socialist and anarchist parties in Russia didn't need any further encouragement. Feelings were running high, and they immediately began to exploit the situation accordingly, boosting the already brewing revolution.

In the aftermath of the tragedy, Grand Duke Vladimir Alexandrovich, the commander of the St. Petersburg military district, was removed from his post.

Dmitri Feodorovich Trepov became the Governor-General of the capital, replacing Ivan Alexandrovich Fullon. During a meeting that the now Chairman of the Committee of Ministers Count Sergei Witte presided on January 31, a manifesto expressing regret over the events of January 22 was presented. This proposed document pointed out the fact that the army had acted without the Tsar's orders. Nicholas, however, refused to cast what he believed to be an unfair aspersion upon the army. The manifesto never saw the light of day, and not a single person was punished for the masacre.

Because of these decisions, as far as the people were concerned the Tsar might as well have ordered the shooting himself. Safe in his cocooned Tsarskoye Selo and detached from the gory reality of the gruesome event, Nicholas did not realize at the moment just how precious of a treasure he had killed with the coldness, aloofness, lack of outrage, and conformity of his response to what had been without doubt an atrocity.

The workers' superstition and faith that they could ever achieve justice from their little father had died amidst trusting expectant faces, the fateful signal of the troops, pools of blood on the snow, the bellowing of the gendarmes, the dead, the wounded, and the cries of the children as they were shot at.

Nicholas followed through with his ministers' suggestions and assigned Dmitri Trepov the task of gathering a delegation of representatives from various factories and organizing a meeting. The workers' furious leaders refused to make the selection, so the representatives had to be hand picked by factory managers and police officials, who were naturally prone to choosing only the least troublesome and most likely to serve as double agents for the police among the workers.

None of this would clean the Tsar's hands in the eyes of the public, who were already beginning to call him "Bloody Nicholas."

Oo

St. Petersburg.

"You need to eat", Ivan kneels before his brother and tries to hand him the potato soup over. Ilya sits on the ground, leaning against the wall. There are still people eating in the small dining room, so Ivan and his children have done so sitting cross-legged on the apartment floor.

"What is the point?" Ilya turns his head around to face anything but his brother. He hasn't taken a bite since his unborn child and wife were butchered less than two days ago, nor does he plan to. A sip of vodka or water is all he will have.

Ivan is lucky his factory has been on strike for more than two weeks. He would have no time to grieve and comfort his children otherwise. Ilya would have already fainted while attempting to lift something heavy or, if he is to be believed, thrown himself into the furnace.

"Can't you do it for me? For your niece and nephew?" Ivan insists, trying to get Ilya to look at him. "Mrs. Smirnova made the soup, we all liked it."

"It is good, uncle", Dmitri approaches the two brothers, leaving Sophia and a few other children behind playing with wooden toys.

"Why?" Ilya cruelly replies without acknowledging his nephewʼs presence. "So I can take care of them for you now that my wife isn't here to do so? So that you are free to get yourself killed with a clear conscience?"

The manʼs words frighten his young nephew, who decides not to say anything. He turns around and goes back to play with his sister and young neighbors instead.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ivan stands up abruptly, causing some of the soup to splash out of the bowl.

"We both know what I am talking about", Ilya glares at him. "You will get bored of playing 'responsible parent' and go back to your old ways sooner or later. This undercover phase of yours won't last long." He knows Ivan, he knows his brother. Ilya used to look up to him for being older, and Ivan would definitely take advantage of that, getting his little brother in all sorts of mischief and mayhem.

Ivan was also his hero, the one who didn't let anyone pick on him. He was everyone's hero. No call for help in the village went unheeded if Ivan was close enough to listen. Maybe God, if He exists, knows that, Ilya thinks. Perhaps that is the reason He is at least slightly more merciful to Ivan. Ilya can only conclude that his brother is divinely favored over him.

"You are wrong", Ivan states, trying not to sound hurt. He truly hopes Dmitri was too preoccupied playing to take notice of his mourning uncleʼs vicious words.

"I am, that is the worst part", Ilya lets out several insincere laughs, as if taunting his brother. "I am wrong!" He opens his arms wide, gesticulating melodramatically. "You were right about everything, Ivan, congratulations! We live in a broken world! Go fight the power!" Ilya claps once in between each word of that last mocking sentence.

"How much did you drink today?" Ivan leaves the bowl of soup on the small round table where Valentina and two of her children sit.

"Do it, Ivan!" Ilya ignores the question. "Do it! Just don't expect me to care about a goddamn thing anymore!"

Unbeknownst to the brothers, Dmitri is struggling to hide the sound of his crying, which unintentionally becomes louder the more his father and uncle fight.

If Ilya hasn't eaten, Dmitri hasn't slept. He was too shaken by the recent events to do anything but languish over his aunt and baby cousin the first night, and all of Ivanʼs attempts to get him to rest by lying next to him and Sonya were futile. The five-year-old had a nightmare the second night, one that woke him up sobbing and panting and kept him up until the morning.

It was not an ordinary nightmare but the worst Dmitri had ever had. His entire family was marching towards the Winter Palace. His brother Andrei was there too, and so was their mother, her face black and white as in the few pictures Dmitri has of her. As they walked forward, the enormous building grew bigger and bigger, more and more majestic and ostentatious. The forbidden palace threatened to gobble them all up, but only Dmitri was aware of this, and no one in his family listened to his pleas to go back. They screamed as the monstrous walls devoured them. When the boy tried to run the other way around, he was met by the angry faces of several mounted Cossacks, their dangerous-looking black horses exhaling fire and smoke from their nostrils. They drew their swords and chopped Dmitri up like meat. After that, Dmitri appeared somewhere else, a dark room. He was completely alone.

Only now does Dmitri understand he should never, ever, think of approaching that palace uninvited again. My hopes of ever living anywhere near as fancy have all been a bit stupid, he reflects on his past dreams.

The effect of the tragedy upon Dmitriʼs family has only deepened its impact on the child. These past few days, his uncle has done nothing but grumble some very mean things to him and his papa, whose life Dmitri now fears for after everything he has picked up on from the words and moods of the adults around him. The boy is scared, he doesn't want his papa to die too.

A knock on the door interrupts the Sudayev brothersʼ intense argument. It makes Dmitri cry out before rushing towards his father in fear. Has papa done something wrong? The child anxiously guesses as he puts his arms around Ivanʼs neck. Is that why Uncle Ilya has been mad at him? Are the Tsarʼs soldiers coming to kill my papa?!

Tears well up in the child's eyes as an unwelcome image of those scary-looking Cossacks from his nightmare slicing through his beloved fatherʼs skin with their swords invades his thoughts.

"It is alright, Dima", Ivan picks his son up calmly, knowing too well the latter has been skittish since the incident.

"They are after you!" Dmitri screams, tears rolling down his cheeks. "They are taking you like they took Patya! Don't let them, papa!"

"Shh, shh", Ivan squeezes the child in his arms, rubbing his back to soothe him. "It is alright, it is alright Dima, I am not going anywhere."

The man is, in fact, somewhat concerned. His nextdoor neighbor Patya belonged to the organization he planned on joining months ago. At nineteen years old, the young and idealistic Patya is a typical member, 30-somethings like Ivan being the exception rather than the rule.

While Patya works at a textile manufacturer, most of the anarchists Ivan is acquainted with are young students of means, some of them even younger than Patya. They frequent impoverished neighborhoods in the hopes of planting the seed of rebellion among the workers. They deliver speeches, circulate pamphlets, and arouse emotions. Sometimes they provide their followers with instructions on how to make homemade bombs. One of these youngsters was even teaching Ivan how to read, taking advantage of their gatherings to do so.

When the police took Patya the night following the Sunday massacre, Ivanʼs entire neighborhood was awakened by the commotion the arrest inevitably caused. Patya tried to escape through a window and one of the policemen deterred him by threatening to shoot his family. The boyʼs mother had been completely oblivious to her sonʼs radical affinities. She repeatedly yelled at the officers that they were making a big mistake.

Dmitri heard everything. Everyone did. My Dima is scared, Ivan thinks as he kisses the childʼs hair. Understandably so.

It is not either of the Sudayev brothers who opens the door but Irina, one of the women living with them in the flat, her two-year-old son on her hip. She speaks with the individual who knocked for a few seconds before turning around and telling Ivan to come.

When he approaches the entrance, Ivan is relieved to see a young courier, no older than sixteen years of age, instead of an Okhrana officer. Even Dima seems to relax in his arms. The relief doesn't last long though.

Ivan silently panics again when the messenger boy informs him that his supervisor Andrei Balabanov is requesting his presence at the same Polunin Metal Works Factory office where the two of them used to meet almost every week. Not having much choice in the matter, Ivan is forced to leave his son behind.

Dmitriʼs reaction is far more alarming than Ivan thought it would be. Crying and screaming, the boy begs his father not to go. It breaks Ivanʼs heart to see his son so terrified by the prospect of a brief absence on his part. His Dima used to be a mostly self-reliant and happy-go-lucky kid, having left such childish outbursts behind before even turning four. Well, they have made a comeback, becoming drastically worse with each tragic loss, Ivan thinks. The fact Ilya is in no position to soothe the five-year-old child makes everything a lot harder for the father.

As Ivan follows the courier out of the flat and through the alleyways of the poor neighborhood, he braces himself for the worst-case scenario, which is that Balabanov has somehow figured out it is not solely Misha behind the Polunin Metal Worksʼs most recent strike.

Ivan had promised himself not to, but every nearby factory was doing the same thing. He couldn't help but organize the walkout shortly before the march that ended in tragedy. It was the perfect way to put pressure on the authorities before the protest.

Ivan spoke to all of his coworkers in secret and made sure everyone was on the same page before putting together a list of demands that Michael would take all of the credit for once it was presented to the factory management. The old man had already lost both his sons during the war, he had nothing left to lose by covering for Ivan and pretending to be the brain behind the workersʼ resistance.

Ivan went as far as publicly denouncing the strike, something the workers knew in advance he would do. He simply wanted to play it safe.

The streets are restless. Few owners have dared to open their shops. Protesters waving red flags still crowd several open spaces, getting into fights with the police. On the way to the factory, Ivan hears more than one gunshot in the distance.

Having been paid in advance, the messenger boy leaves Ivan a street away from his workplace. It is strange for Ivan to see the Polunin Metal Works Factory as quiet, empty, and dark, the nearest source of light coming from Andrei Balabanovʼs office across the street.

When Ivan walks in, his manager is, as usual, smoking. He has gotten fatter since the last time Ivan saw him, if that is even possible, and the glare with which he greets his subordinate is more vicious than the words he uses.

"I don't like you, Ivan", he casually expresses his feelings, "you are a pain in my ass."

"I don't know what you have been told", Ivan begins, trying to conceal his fear, "but I have done nothing these past few days but try to talk sense into my coworkers, time and time again insisting that their stubborn methods will not achieve anything, that we should cooperate with you instead…"

"Sit, Ivan, sit!" Andrei Balabanov rolls his eyes in a contentious manner before looking at the chair in front of his desk and raising his eyebrows in invitation. Ivan obeys, thinking of the offer more as an order. "I don't like you", the manager says again, "but I am more than willing to admit I seem to have no allies among the workers these days. You, of all people, are curiously the closest thing I have to one."

Ivan tries to sigh discreetly. "Strikes barely ever solve anything, they only cause more harm in the long run", he says. "But that doesn't mean I don't sympathize with them, especially considering just how little you do for the workers under your supervision, Mr. Balabanov. I don't think of myself as your ally, I am afraid." Andrei seems gullible enough, but the last thing Ivan needs is for his boss to notice he is just putting up an act by kissing his ass. He needs his cover story to be believable.

"I know that!" The fat man barks. "Do you think I am stupid?! What an obnoxious bastard you are!" He stands up and points his finger at Ivan. "For a semi-illiterate peasant, you sure think highly of yourself, Mr. Sudayev!"

Ivan stays calm. Balabanovʼs words would have hurt his old self, the man he was before meeting the young student who introduced him to anarchism, all while treating him as an equal.

The manager sits back down and smokes in silence. It takes him a while to compose himself. "I have forgotten what I summoned you for… see what you did?" He frowns at Ivan. "What was I going to say?"

Ivan holds back his laughter as Andrei begins frantically tapping his foot under the table and smoking his cigarette faster in the struggle to remember the purpose of the meeting.

"Oh, right!" Balabanov all but jumps from his seat. "I assume you are already aware of what the government's response to the happenings of January 22 is going to be."

Ivan shakes his head, inferring that by "happenings" Balabanov means the atrocity that took the lives of his best friend, sister-in-law, and unborn niece or nephew.

"Well", the manager continues, "you may find this hard to believe, Ivan, but I also receive instructions from my superiors, the only difference is I don't complain about it," he pauses to check Ivanʼs reaction but disappointedly proceeds upon realizing the redhead is unfazed. "Yesterday, they asked me to choose a representative from among the workers, the least… troublesome, you could say. If they had asked me a month ago, I would have never chosen you, but here we are, and what can I say? Things change, I must admit the workers trust you with their concerns, and sending a leader or willing participant of that outrageous strike would have been an embarrassment. In summary, you are the factoryʼs chosen representative."

"A representative for what?" Ivan asks.

"For what you have always dreamed of, naturally", the manager ridicules him, "getting to spit out all of your so-called grievances on someone higher up in the chain of command than me. You won't be able to do so as bluntly as you are accustomed to, of course, but…"

"When is this person coming?" Ivan smiles, suddenly becoming optimistic.

"Who said he is lowering himself down in such a way?" Balabanov stands up. "You are coming to him, you and 35 other workers from all over St. Petersburg."

"When is this happening?"

"Tomorrow. You better start looking for something nice to wear hidden under that pile of rags you call a wardrobe, Ivan. You are about to meet your Tsar."

Oo

Dmitri is the first to know. Ivan informs him as soon as he returns home from Balabanovʼs office. The news frightens the child, which is something Ivan should have expected. It shocks him nonetheless.

"Don't go see him!" The boy cries. "What if he gets mad at you like his soldiers did?!"

Heartbroken by his sonʼs reaction, Ivan assures him there will be nothing to fear this time.

"The Tsar wants to talk to me and several other workers about what happened during the march", the father explains. "He may be hoping to apologize for the incident and help us this time."

Truth be told, Ivan knows the Tsar would never dare apologize to a bunch of lowly workers, but he would never make this known to his son. Dmitri is still too young, too innocent. Ivan doesn't want his child to know just yet how distant and immensely unachievable the ideals he has raved to him about are at the moment.

The worker expects a solution to his and his fellow workersʼ grievances and even hopes for some sort of compensation though. He still does. He wouldn't be about to "lower himself down" the way he is if he didn't. The suffering his family has endured must mean something.

Oo

The little Dmitri hadn't thought much about God until very recently. He only truly did so at night before going to bed. His mother and aunt would pray with him, reciting the Lordʼs prayer and the Theotokos devotion. God and the Virgin Mary were like another mother and father to the boy, who was especially delighted when told he was under the protection of the Lord's wings. Jesus, Dmitri knew, would make sure he lay down in peace and slept without nightmares, dreaming of heaven instead, the place where Andrei and mama had gone.

Dmitri misses these dreams, but he still imagines paradise as a place where people who have died don't have to work anymore and it is never as hot as it is in papa's workplace or as cold as the apartment gets during winters.

Mama taught me how to pray to my angel, Dmitri remembers. She used to say I should do so every night. It is one of the few remaining memories he has of his mother. Natalia explained to his son that each person is assigned a guardian angel meant to instruct them in doing good deeds, set them on the path of salvation, and protect them from all evil influence, but the developing mind of the five-year-old Dmitri understands his late motherʼs words to mean simply that guardian angels are there protect people and keep them from doing bad things.

I prayed to my angel with Aunt Maria every night, Dmitri thinks as he lies amidst old blankets next to his little sister Sophia. The boy is hiding his face with his hands and then uncovering it to make the toddler laugh. So far it is working. Dmitri is glad to be making Sophia happy, as she has been upset more often than not these past few days.

Dmitri doesn't understand why Aunt Mariaʼs angel didn't protect her or stop the soldiers from doing all those horrible things. Were she and his mommy wrong? Did they lie to him? No, that cannot be. Is God angry at Dmitriʼs family and all of the other workers then? But if so, why? Was approaching that palace really so wrong? Or could it be because of him? Because he was jealous? The boy felt his aunt would stop paying attention to him once the baby was born, and he somewhat resented that. Dmitri would not confess to having felt this way about his cousin to his father though, he doesn't want him to be angry too.

Ivan has tried praying with his son in Mariaʼs absence, but it is not the same. Dmitri misses Aunt Maria already. The thought he might have killed her and her baby by being jealous crosses Dmitriʼs mind and his eyes fill with tears.

While there is no closet in the apartment, there is a semi-enclosed space between the living room and the bathroom where the tenants keep their clothes folded on top of a series of wood shelves attached to the wall.

Ivan is there, frantically looking for something presentable enough for Tsarskoye Selo. The men he lives with have all offered their best garments for him to borrow, but so far he hasn't quite yet found anything he would feel comfortable enough wearing inside an actual palace. Even the idea of entering one feels wrong.

"Be good, baby, I love you", Dmitri kisses Sophiaʼs forehead, stands up, and approaches his father. "What are you doing, papa?"

"Oh, Dima!" Ivan stops his search abruptly and smiles down at his son. "I am looking for something nice to wear to visit the Tsar. Do you remember that I told you I had been invited to talk to him today?"

"But why do you have to wear something nice?" Dmitri cocks his head. "What is wrong with our clothes?" The boy is confused about everything. Why does his papa need to look better than usual to see the Tsar? His papa told him no one is better than anyone.

"I…" Dmitriʼs questions take Ivan by surprise. Precisely, Ivan can't help but think. Why am I doing this? "The palace is very elegant, Dima, we can't just dress in our usual rags, my boy." He tousles his sonʼs hair.

Why does papa feel bad about not having a nice suit to see the Tsar? Dmitri wonders anyway. He said we were all equal… did papa lie too? And the Tsar's soldiers are all so mean… does the Tsar know?

"The boy asked a good question, Vanya", Ilya appears behind Dmitri. "Who the hell are you and what did you do to my brother?"

"Don't start with your nonsense, Ilya…" Ivan sighs, exasperated.

"You know I was glad you were beginning to act with some resemblance of responsibility and thoughtfulness towards your family, it was an improvement, but this is too much", he shakes his head.

"What is too much?" Ivan rolls his eyes.

"Why the hell are you trusting that man?" Ilya's voice almost cracks. "Why now?"

"Ilya…"

"Those men… his men, they killed my wife, Vanya!" Ivan's brother finally bursts into tears, a culmination of almost a week of holding back his feelings of utmost despair.

Ivan doesn't respond. The least he wants to do is fight with his grieving brother when he is at his lowest. He offers him a comforting embrace instead. It is all he can do for now.

With the help of his neighbors and fellow apartment tenants, Ivan eventually manages to put together a reasonably decent outfit consisting of a clean and brand new white kosovorotka shirt with red embroidered patterns on the collar, long dark gray linen trousers, black leather shoes, a long black cotton coat, and a dark khaki English golf cap.

When the time comes for Ivan to leave, Dmitri becomes a clingy mess once again. Ivan wipes away the boy's tears and promises him that once he is back they will both go together to the highest place on Earth. Ivan makes sure to clean and trim his red beard before dressing. After that, he buttons his coat and heads out.

Oo

Ivan is picked up by a carriage and brought to the train station, where he meets the remaining 35 workers who will be coming with him. Most of them are younger than Ivan, fresh, hopeful-looking, and wide-eyed men. They continue chatting excitedly, eager to meet their sovereign, even as they enter the Tsarʼs private train. The reason why they were selected could not be more evident. Some of them look nervous, but none seem as apprehensive as Ivan, who spends almost the entire train ride worrying about his attire and comparing it to those of the dozens of men sitting around him.

To be fair, none of them are wearing anything exceedingly fancier than Ivan, but it is hard for him not to worry about this while examining his surroundings. The Tsarʼs private train is a beacon of luxury. Ivan never thought a train could have a salon similar to those of any hotel in the affluent parts of the city, but the Tsarʼs train does. From the ceilings hang fully functional electric lamps, the walls are cushioned, the floors are carpeted, the furnishings are upholstered, and the windows are decorated with beautiful curtains. Even the lavatory is modern, cleaner, and more efficient than any of the ones Ivan has used before.

Bloody Nicholas has an entire bloody apartment inside his train, Ivan cannot help but resent. My family struggles to pay the flatʼs rent each month and he has a bigger and better apartment inside his bloody train.

A skinny short man in his thirties with dark brown eyes and beard sitting on the cushioned chair across Ivanʼs seems to notice the redheadʼs bewilderment at the trainʼs opulence.

"With a train like this, who needs a palace, right?" He chuckles, and Ivan cannot help but smile and nod, playfully looking around in mock amazement. "I am Vladislav Alexeievich", the man extends his hand for Ivan to shake, "what is your name?"

"Ivan Ruslanovich Sudayev", Ivan replies, accepting Vladislavʼs offer and shaking his hand.

It is nice for Ivan to have someone to talk to. His initial nervousness fades away as he and Vladislav speak to each other about their daily lives, and soon enough the remaining workers are joining their conversation. The rest of the trip is mostly enjoyable for Ivan, although the manner in which all of the other workers but Vladislav chat makes the fact he is the only Bloody Sunday survivor among them evident. The men around him are acting in such a giddy and overly enthusiastic way that at some point Ivan is abruptly brought back the instants before the first shots were fired days ago. The sensation unsettles Ivan so much that he is forced to rush to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water as Vladislav watches from his seat with an understanding expression.

Ivan has come to notice Vladislav is different from the others. He makes sarcastic comments about the Tsarʼs wealth that only Ivan seems to appreciate. He isn't as eager to arrive, seemingly acknowledging the trip as the serious mission it is rather than the delightful holiday the rest of the workers appear to be taking pleasure in. When Ivan asks him whether he attended the Sunday march as well, Vladislav shakes his head, but regardless of this, Ivan continues to suspect him to be more politically aware than the others. He has no proof of this, of course, politics have not been mentioned at all during the entire journey, but he ventures to wonder if Vladislav has ever been involved in any radical groups like he has, and if so, how is it that he was selected. Could he have worked undercover like Ivan?

By the time the train stops at the Imperial Pavilion, Ivan and Vladislav seem to have developed some sort of special language only the two of them can understand.

The 36 workers exit the train and are welcomed by a group of maids carrying trays who serve them refreshments such as glasses of juice, fruits, and sandwiches. A number of police officers and imperial guards in colorful uniforms watch the workers closely as well. Their presence makes Ivan deeply uncomfortable, but it doesn't seem to faze any of the other workers, who are all smiling, already overwhelmed with happiness and filled with excitement over meeting their Tsar.

The Imperial Pavilion is a long white building with a steeped roof made of red bricks, at the center of which there is a spire. The workers move through the structure towards two people who wait for them ahead, sporting army uniforms similar to those of the guards. One of these two individuals is a balding man with a huge dark mustache. Ivan has no clue who he is until Vladislav says to his ear that the stranger is Grand Duke George Mikhailovich Romanov, a grandson of Nicholas I and hence the current Tsarʼs first cousin once removed.

Next to the Grand Duke is none other than Tsar Nicholas II, the object of Ivanʼs jealousy and even hatred. And yet Ivan is struck by his eyes. They are kind, warm, and a beautiful shade of grey-blue. Black and white pictures can't possibly do them justice. His reddish-brown beard is similar to Ivanʼs, only darker.

One by one, the workers are warmly greeted by the two Romanovs, and Ivan is yet again struck by the Tsarʼs kindness. Nicholas kisses each of the workers on both cheeks as if he were their friend, saying he is happy to have them here. He either means those words wholeheartedly or is simply a really good actor, Ivan thinks.

Palace Commandant Minister Kokovstsov and Governor-General Trepov escort the Grand Duke, the Tsar, and the workers to the huge and elegant dining room of the Alexander Palace, which is filled with magnificent works of art hanging on the walls.

The Alexander Palace is a big beautiful mansion of yellow walls and white columns, but Ivan can't help but notice it is not as large as the Winter Palace. So this is where the Tsar has been hiding, he thinks, wondering what could have made the Emperor choose Tsarskoye Selo over St. Petersburg.

As the workers begin taking their seats at the table, several imperial guards position themselves around them, remaining motionless as they continue to keep an eye on them.

Just when Ivan thought there would be no more surprises, the Tsar, who remains standing in front of his guests, begins chatting with each of them with effortless familiarity. It starts with a simple small talk Ivan never imagined emperors would indulge in. Then the conversation moves on to their lives as workers.

The quick way in which his initial apprehension dissipates makes Ivan feel almost ridiculous. He no longer cares about his clothes, as it is clear as day the man in front of him would never admonish him for that. He doesn't worry about the way he will express his grievances to him either. Simply being respectful and mindful of referring to him as "Your Imperial Majesty" like the other workers are doing will be more than enough. Keeping that in mind, it should be perfectly acceptable for Ivan to be honest about his working conditions.

Ivan's turn comes to talk to the Tsar. The redhead gives an account of the dangerous conditions at the Polunin Metal Works Factory and the manufacturer his son Andrei used to work at, the factory that took his life. He recalls his hard life as a farmer and then harsher existence as an ironworker, mentioning his wife Natalia and the four children they had together between Andrei and Dmitri, none of whom survived infancy. Ivan endeavors to speak on behalf of every person he has known to have been fired after an accident without compensation or lost children to precarious living conditions. He even tells the Tsar about Gapon, the Assembly of Russian Factory and Mill Workers, and his experience during Bloody Sunday.

Nicholas makes a genuine effort to empathize, not once interrupting his subject like Balabanov would have. Ivan is appreciative of that. When the Tsar does speak, he does so in such a compassionate and thoughtful manner it reminds Ivan of the way he talks to Dmitri. The Tsar interacts with them as a father would interact with a son. It is slightly disconcerting for Ivan, who doesn't quite understand why. He is, overall, comfortable conversing with Nicholas, who assures Ivan he has taken everything he has said into account.

By the time Nicholas moves on to the next worker, Ivan is certain that the Tsar couldn't have possibly willed what occurred that dreadful Sunday. A misunderstanding must have taken place, his guards must have acted without orders. Ivan is sure this will be brought up at some point.

Once he is done speaking to each of the workers separately, Nicholas goes on to chat with them about their daily lives, this time a bit more lightheartedly.

Gradually, Ivan begins to grow a bit frustrated. He likes the Tsar, but they are not friends. Ivan knows his place. Once the meeting is over they will never see or have anything to do with each other again. Their paths are not destined to cross in any way, shape, or form. And yet he is wasting the little valuable time they have left small talking to one of the workers about how beautiful nature is. Nicholas hasn't mentioned or provided them with any future tangible solutions to their problems.

"You, there", Nicholas suddenly directs his attention back to Ivan, almost making the redhead jump for fright. "We spoke a moment ago… Ivan, yes?"

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty!" The spooked Ivan responds excitedly, genuinely touched by the fact Nicholas has memorized his name. It took his current manager months to do so even though they saw each other almost everyday.

"So, Ivan", Nicholas continues, "how old did you say you were?"

"I just turned 31."

"Five years younger than me, then, I didn't realize I was getting so old!" The Tsar lets out a short chuckle, and then he looks down at Ivan with his kind blue eyes, doing so in an almost fond way. "You were telling me about your two little children a moment ago. Your daughterʼs name is Sophia, yes?"

"Yes, Your Majesty!" Ivan nods, legitimately pleased to have further proof that the powerful man has been listening. "Yes! She is one year old, the apple of my eye."

"Just like my daughter Maria is to me", Nicholas addresses all of the workers now. "So, Ivan over here has told me that his little Sophia is quite the ice skater already despite being only one. This couldn't help but remind me of my youngest daughter Anastasia, who is also a fearless and precocious child. She loves jumping off of beds and chairs. One of these days she is going to give her mother a heart attack", he laughs, and the men sitting around the table laugh with him, Ivan among them. "My daughter Anastasia also skates with her sisters, starting early like Ivanʼs little Sophia, and she says she wants to ride sidesaddle on big ponies like her older sisters Olga and Tatiana already do even though she hasn't even turned four yet!"

As Nicholas shares a couple more anecdotes about his children, Ivan reflects on how much he sympathizes with the Tsar as a father. Both men love their children fiercely, and that is something no one could ever deny. The ironworkerʼs frustration is, however, still growing. The Tsarʼs soldiers butchered his best friend as if he were nothing but pork meat. Ivan will never forget it. The pain and anger this caused him won't fade away just by knowing he has things in common with the man who still hasn't denied being responsible for the slaughter. When is he getting to the point?

"Ivan also mentioned to me that he wishes to see his baby boy go to school someday", Nicholas recalls. "Dmitri, yes?" He asks Ivan.

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty", the worker bows his head in respect.

"I have two nephews with the same name", Nicholas smiles directly at Ivan. "My sister Xeniaʼs Dmitri is three years old, and Uncle Paulʼs Dmitri is, needless to say, actually my cousin, but the lad is only thirteen, so it is natural for me to think of him as my nephew."

"Yes, of course, Your Imperial Majesty", Ivan smiles back.

"It is a good name, Dmitri, very Russian, and the way you talked to me about the manner in which your little boy fusses over your baby girl made me think of my daughters as well, they are also fond of the baby of the family and shower him with both motherly and sisterly affection everyday, so much so that at times it seems like they are plotting to steal him away from Alix", Nicholas smiles, pausing for a few seconds before addressing all of the workers again. "Ivan lost friends and family members during the terrible events that took place a few days ago", he sighs, and a long silence descends upon the room. "I know we are all dismayed by the recent happenings, and I would like for all of us to pray for the victims before the banquet." The Tsar turns to Ivan. "I will also be paying each of the families that suffered a loss a sum of 50,000 rubles."

Ivan shouldn't be as surprised as he is. This compensation is, in part, what he has come for, and yet he has trouble believing he will actually acquire it. This is too good to be true, he thinks. 50,000 is more than he makes in years. It is hard to even imagine how he would spend all of that money. He would be able to buy a spacious house by working just a few days a week. He would enroll Dmitri in a good private school and take his brother and children on leisure trips. He would never again have to worry about his next meal or the heat in his apartment.

"God be with you and your family, Ivan", Nicholas tells the worker, whose eyes and mouth are still wide open in amazement.

"Tha… thank you, Your Imperial Majesty…" Ivan stutters. "Uhm… God Save the Tsar!"

The other workers start clapping, some of them patting the redhead on the back to congratulate him, and suddenly Ivan's tentative joy turns into shame. They are praising the Tsar. The man who may or may not have Mariaʼs blood in his hands. The man who may or may not have very justly earned the name "Bloody Nicholas." The man who still hasn't spoken a word to defend himself.

Ilya is right, Ivan thinks. I have changed. No concession has been granted regarding more labor laws, no definite answer has been given to any of the menʼs grievances about their workplaces. The other workers still lack insurance for their families. Ivan has been selfish, thinking only of himself and his own family, content enough to receive monetary compensation as if rubles were able to buy lives.

Ivan sits still, keeping an awkward smile on his face as he tries hard not to let his discomfort become evident.

"I was sadly not present at the Winter Palace to meet with Father Gapon", Nicholas acknowledges the rest of the workers again. "But I assure you all that while many of your concerns are valid, you should never believe for a moment that your sovereign fails to understand the difficulties of your lives."

No, you don't understand, Ivan is convinced. The sovereign has an apartment inside his train, he can afford to give 50,000 rubles away as if that enormous quantity were nothing but a few kopeks, he has more than one palace to choose from, most of which are empty for a good portion of the year, and he probably has enough money saved to last for several lifetimes.

"Patience is necessary", Nicholas proceeds. Our lives arenʼt long enough, Ivan thinks, reminiscing the time he let out those same words before Father Gapon.

Of course the Tsar speaks of patience as a virtue, the workerʼs mind drifts. Nicholas is rich, there is no denying that. A deadline for him has never represented the difference between his family having a roof over their heads and months of homelessness. The Tsar has never had to make his three-year-old daughter beg like Ivan did when he and his brother lost their previous jobs after the strike the redhead organized in 1903. Sometimes, Ivan wonders if the real reason he favors Dmitri as much as he does is guilt. The child was never in any real danger, thinking of asking random strangers for money while his parents hid nearby as a silly game his mother and father found as funny as he did. Ivan regrets it either way.

"We are still in the midst of a brutal war", the Tsar sermonizes using a soft tone of voice, "a conflict in which Russia will certainly be victorious, but a challenging one nonetheless. By halting production, your strikes have only succeeded in making the nation's endeavor even more arduous than it already is. Revolutionary demonstrations are an inconsiderate method for you to use in seeking to overcome your hardships…"

The fact Nicholas has never worried about where his next meal is coming from has never been more clear to Ivan. He has no clue, the ironworker thinks. We just illustrated everything to him and he still has no clue. Ivan finally recognizes what his yearning to hope had made him refuse to admit. He can't expect the Tsar to help them, for he will never be in any rush to do so. He simply doesn't understand. To understand, one must experience poverty first hand knowing there will be no escape without change. Poverty has to be your life, not one chore among many that you can simply defer in favor of a more important one.

Nicholas is far too detached from everything. Ivan knows it is not solely his fault, of course. The Tsar has many responsibilities and can't be everywhere at once. But knowing Nicholas cares more about how the workersʼ protest has impacted on the governmentʼs ability to wage a war he failed to prevent than the workers themselves is aggravating, to say the least, as well as one of the reasons the petition urged an end to the conflict.

"You allowed yourselves to be drawn into error and deception by traitors and enemies of our motherland," the Tsar continues lecturing the men before him. "I know that the life of a worker is not easy. Much should be improved and sorted out. But to announce your needs to me through a mutinous crowd is criminal."

Oh, Ivan opens his eyes in realization, this is where he gets to the point. The redhead's lips tighten and curl inwards. Your henchmen kill women and children, and we are the criminals? His jaw tenses as blood rushes to his cheeks. Ivan didn't come hoping for an apology, but he did expect some sort of explanation or even a mere excuse, and now that he reflects on it, he would have actually preferred it. Not this, anything but this.

"Little father!" The worker sitting next to Ivan stands up to catch the Tsar's attention. "Last Sunday was a disgrace, the work of agitators who tricked the people with wild promises, but we want you to know that your people love you and are loyal to you and your family."

"Thank you", Nicholas replies, talking to no one in particular. "But I must emphasize this. Strikes and riots only excite the unemployed to start disorders which will compel the authorities to use force. I promise you all that I will examine the grievances you have presented to me provided that you understand that future demonstrations and disturbances cannot and will not be tolerated. I pardon your transgressions, as I am confident you will walk out of this gathering believing in your Emperor and his love for the people he rules over."

The sovereignʼs compassionate tone is that of a parent disciplining an ill-behaved child, and only now does Ivan understand why this was disconcerting for him a moment ago. The Tsar takes his role as a father quite literally, with everything it conveys. Overprotectiveness, punishment. But Ivan is not a child, none of the people sitting at the table are. Whether he is aware of it or not, Nicholas is being so condescending Ivan can barely stand it anymore. Sitting in front of him, Vladislav directs a sympathetic glance at Ivan.

Once the Tsar is done preaching to the workers about the importance of fulfilling their duties, especially during wartime, the men gather at a nearby church to pray, kissing religious icons and those of the Tsar himself. Ivan swallows his pride and participates.

Finally, the men return to the dining room to enjoy a delicious afternoon snack consisting of more sandwiches, tea, hors d'oeuvres, cookies, and pastries.

Oo

After being brought back to St. Petersburg, Vladislav and Ivan stop by a pub. Ivan barely ever drinks, he doesn't have the time nor the money, and he has witnessed firsthand what excessive drunkenness can do to formerly decent parents, but he thought it would be fun to share a few drinks with his new acquaintance just for one evening.

The bar they go to is small, with wooden floors, tables, and benches. Vladislav and Ivan pick a spot to sit and ask the waiter for two beers.

"What a narrow-minded man that Tsar is", Ivan takes his seat. "For an instant I thought I was going to return home with a huge change of heart."

"From the moment I met you I knew this wouldn't be the case, my friend", Vladislav does the same, sitting on the chair across from Ivanʼs and carelessly laying both forearms on the table. "You have self-respect."

"And can you believe how gullible those men are?" Ivan asks, almost offended by the other workersʼ reverence for the Tsar. "I wish they had a clue of what it is to lose a friend in such a violent manner."

"They were hand-picked for their gullibility, Ivan, I don't think you can hold that against them."

"I know, but it is still frustrating. To claim Gapon tricked the people with 'wild promises' when the Tsar was right there doing exactly that!" Ivan gesticulates pointedly to express how little sense the other workersʼ devotion makes to him. He lets out a chuckle at the irony.

The waiter arrives with the beers and hands them over to the two men, who start drinking.

"Well, those men were not exactly wrong about Gapon", Vladislav speaks his mind after swallowing a gulp of beer. "He did lead you all like sheep to the slaughter… no offense."

Offense taken, Ivan thinks. "None taken", he says. "But may I ask why you think that? No one could have ever guessed the soldiers would shoot at unarmed men, women, and children for making a petition."

"Oh, Ivan, you are as naive as the rest of them", Vladislav grins sympathetically before sipping on his beer. "Do you even know what the petition contained?"

"Of course I know", Ivan sounds almost offended. "As a member of the Assembly of Russian Factory and Mill Workers, I was bound to know its contents better than most of the workers who attended the march, I even made some suggestions. Sure, the priestʼs demands were many and some of them political in nature, so it is likely that the Tsar wouldn't have agreed to even half of them, but I don't get what that has to do with…"

"Command it to be so, and swear that you will fulfill them…" Vladislav mockingly recites sections of what Ivan recognizes as the last paragraph of Father Gaponʼs petition. "And if you do not will it, if you do not respond to our request, we will die here, on this square, before your palace."

"What is it that you are trying to imply, Vladislav?" Ivan frowns. "That Gapon knew what would happen? Strong words were used, yes. I have read the whole thing, but the plea was meant to convey the workersʼ desperation for a better life. It was not a damn prophecy."

"Father Gapon is not who he claims to be, Ivan."

"What would you know? Were you ever a member of his assembly?"

"I have a friend who was, and if I may be straightforward, he is closer to Gapon than I am betting you are."

"Oh, so you have a 'friendʼ who is close to Gapon", Ivan sarcastically replies, "are you sure it is not the friend of a second cousinʼs friend?"

"A friend. The first thing you need to know about the priest is that he doesn't even know what side he is on or what he wants, he never has. The man has worked for the police, spying on the workers for them and doing their bidding, but he is loyal to neither the government nor the revolutionaries who have infiltrated his circles."

Ivan raises an eyebrow. The man in front of him has his full attention.

"Oh, you didn't know?" Vladislav sounds smug about his inside knowledge.

"I had suspected it", Ivan replies truthfully. "All of it. I am simply certain now."

"He is nothing more than an opportunist", Vladislav continues. "Does he even care about the workers? I don't know, perhaps he is growing confused as to what is best for them, but the fact is he cares about being seen first and foremost, and he will attach himself to whoever can provide him with prominence."

"I didn't take you for a monarchist, Vladislav", Ivan says before sipping on his beer, suddenly realizing he can't share too much information on his illegal activities with him. Vladislav may not be the ally Ivan had previously suspected him to be.

"I am not, and you know that, but that doesn't mean I have to trust the radical opposition or even join them. I don't think it is in our best interests. That is the only reason I was picked to meet the Tsar."

"Radical? Father Gapon?" It is too much for Ivan to believe. "We had to convince the man to act even with moderation!"

"People change, Ivan", Vladislav takes a huge gulp and finishes drinking his beer. "How long ago was that? A year? A few months? Do you have any inkling as to who truly leads the Assembly of Russian Factory and Mill Workers?"

"Everyone knows the police…"

"The police is made up of incompetent fools!" Vladislav exclaims.

"I am not arguing that."

"The Assembly of Russian Factory and Mill Workers was infiltrated and is now led by revolutionaries, primarily Social Democrats. The priest works with them all. The police's level of obliviousness and inaction has been ridiculous, but who can blame them? They trust Gapon."

"I get their agenda may not have been as innocent as we were initially led to believe, but I fail to understand how any of this implies Gapon led us like sheep to the slaughter, or the Social Democrats for that matter", Ivan tries not to sound as sympathetic to the opposition as he truly is. "The fact is most of the people marching were not aware of this, and they didn't do so out of any desire to demonstrate against the government."

"Of course not, but the assemblyʼs infiltrators did. Tell me, did you see any red flags waving in the streets that Sunday?"

"I did. I saw several, actually, but only after the massacre had occurred."

"How soon after?"

It takes Ivan a while to answer. "Immediately after", he finally admits, looking down at the table.

"Almost as if the people carrying those flags had brought them along just in case, huh?" Vladislav pauses, but Ivan doesn't say anything. "They knew this would happen, they even welcomed it, and they could not waste a second while the peopleʼs anger was still hot."

"Whatever they were preparing for, if the Tsar had…"

"What? Received a delegation of workers that day? Made it illegal for his troops to shoot at unarmed women and children? Then this whole thing would have been averted?" Vladislav chuckles. "You are right, the Tsar is a small, weak-willed man with little imagination, a bloody coward, but the infiltrators knew this better than anyone. They know the government they are at war with, how it operates, what gets on their nerves, what they do and don't allow, they even spy on them. Why not warn the workers, Ivan? Huh? They knew. Gapon knew." The man sounds certain. "Did you really think there was any chance for the ministers to allow the Tsar to receive a petition full of political demands with a giant and unpredictable crowd waiting right outside the palace to witness his response?"

"Did your friend tell you this?" Ivan slowly looks back up at Vladislav, who nods.

"I told you, my friend is pretty much a member of Gaponʼs inner circle. He works alongside the radicals. He is one of them. The priest admitted to him that he knew the Tsar would not be there after having been informed of this by a trustworthy source. To his credit, he did find out only shortly before the march, but…"

"But he lied to everyone", Ivan finishes for Vladislav, anger rising up inside him.

"He lied to everyone", Vladislav nods again. "He still needed to incite the workers to go before the Tsar with their petition. Father Gapon and some of his more idealistic friends might have simply had some hope left that the Tsar would come to the Winter Palace at the last minute, but the radicals they associated with had only one thing in mind."

"Turning the workers loyal to the Tsar against the government", Ivan concludes.

"You are starting to get it, Ivan", Vladislav points at him with a grin, but Ivan doesn't find the situation amusing at all. "And how do you do that? You get the troops to fire on them. Now, this was all on the government, but the assembly's radicals knew very well what they had to do to facilitate this, what was needed for the spark of the revolution to be ignited. They understood the authorities would never permit the demonstration and that with enough pressure they would bring in the troops against the workers. They had this in mind when they encouraged the march."

Ivan feels stupid. He can't believe he wasn't aware of this. In hindsight, he might have been too distracted raising his children and later organizing the Polunin Metal Works Factoryʼs strike while hiding his involvement in it. He had even started to lose touch with the assembly, often preferring to work alone.

It seems ridiculous and even contradictory for someone who had planned to join an anarchist cell less than a year ago, but Ivan feels betrayed by the priest as well. For years, he genuinely believed that Father Gapon was simply a naive yet well-intentioned man who desired a peaceful solution to the nationʼs problems. Ivan saw him as a safe bet, a man who would help him and his fellow workers strife for a better life. Ivan wouldn't have to sacrifice his freedom or time with family.

But at the end of the day, the priest was just using them to prove a stupid point or at least allowing others to do so. He didn't care for their lives much more than the Tsarʼs men did.

The point has been proven. Ivan has had a change of heart, although perhaps a foolish one. He can not negotiate with the people who murdered Kostya and Maria, the people who endangered his children. Nothing can make up for that. He will not claim the 50,000 rubles. It is simply not right. Some things have no prize, they shouldn't be paid. It was nice to fantasize about possessing such wealth for a while, Ivan does acknowledge.

He will never again trust hypocrites like Gapon either, those who dance around the problem and play with innocent people's lives, knowingly putting them at risk to prove there is a problem. Those who lie and scheme instead of trusting the workers to figure out for themselves that the Tsarist government must go.

Anarchists are honest, Ivan thinks, they have never lied to me. They know what must be done, the people that have to go.

Oo

When Ivan gets back home, he finds Dmitri playing with Sophia and Pavel, the Smirnovsʼ eight-year-old son. Dima has a lot of questions about his fatherʼs trip, but Ivan assures him they will talk about it later.

The father lovingly kisses his children on the top of the head and then walks towards his brother Ilya, who is still sitting up against a wall and caught up in his own misery. Ivan kneels in front of him. He needs to provide him with a reason to live.

Surprisingly, Ilya is a bit less irritated now. He apologizes for his behavior and even asks Ivan how everything went. The two brothers are able to engage in a fruitful conversation.

Ivan also apologizes, telling his brother that he is sorry for all the troubles his ideals have caused them both in the past. He then admits to losing his way. Multiple concerns led him to abandon the anarchists, fearing for his childrenʼ future and that of Kostya among them.

"But I shouldn't have met with the Tsar", he says. "You were right about that, Ilya, I went too far the other way around. It was a flight of fancy. I thought there was something he could do for us, but he can't. The lives of the people lost during Bloody Sunday can't be bought."

"You are going back to them", Ilya states without using a judgemental or accusing tone. Ivan simply nods.

"I was afraid of being executed or sent away and never seeing my children again", the older brother explains, "but I can't let that fear keep me from doing what I believe is right. I can't keep using Dmitri and Sophia as an excuse, not when their very future depends on me. I am sorry Ilya."

"Don't be", Ilya lays a hand on his brother's shoulder. "This will always be you no matter what I think about it."

"Do not worry about Sonya and Dima", Ivan adds. "I will borrow some money to pay the Smirnovs to take care of them and come to visit as often as I am able to."

"Forget that!" Ilya shakes his head fiercely. "I was not being myself, Vanya. I will take care of them."

"You still have to work, the help will do you good."

"I am betting the money will come from one or two 'expropiationsʼ."

As soon as Ilya says this, the two brothers burst into a laughter that lasts for several seconds. They stay smiling at each other when it stops.

"I can not give you your wife back, Ilya", Ivan tells his brother after a while, "but I can avenge her for you, I can make the people responsible for her death pay."

"We", Ilya says. "We are."

Oo

Dmitriʼs uneasiness fades away when Ivan starts telling him about his trip to Tsarskoye Selo as they sit before the short white balcony of the highest place in the world, a place they have frequented quite often since the strike began.

Ivan hates the Tsar, he still does. Having met and even enjoyed Nicholasʼs company has only made this hatred deeper, more personal, but he doesn't want to taint his innocent Dimaʼs heart with hatred. He is a child. There will be time for hatred when he is older, when it is time for him to fight like his father will, and Ivan still has a small glimmer of hope that it wonʼt come to that. The Tsarist regime may be overthrown before Dmitri reaches adulthood.

The boy feared the Tsar might have been angry at his father until Ivan lied to him, telling him that the nation's ruler was just a bit dimwitted. The redhead may not want his child to harbor hatred in his heart, but he dislikes the idea of Dmitri fearing or feeling inferior to a man who would be nothing special without his title even more.

"He thought we were all coming to the palace to eat him, and so he sent his soldiers to defend him", Ivan tells his son, "can you believe that, Dima?"

"How silly", Dmitri smiles, shaking his head. "He would not even have been enough for all of us." My son, a true comedian, Ivan thinks as he laughs. "Why did he think that?" The boy then asks.

"I don't know", Ivan shrugs, "but he told us there are no problems in Russia. That is why he spends the whole day playing board games instead of helping people. He said we should look out for ourselves and leave him alone in his palaces, the idiot."

"But there are problems, many problems. That is why Andrushka died."

"I know buddy", Ivan strokes Dmitriʼs hair, his heart aching at the memory of his eldest son. He continues telling his Dima both real and made up anecdotes about Tsar Nicholas II. In all of these funny stories, the sovereign comes across as a total buffoon, the Grand Duchess Anastasia making some appearances and pranking him.

Dmitri's fear has turned into curiosity. He seems to want to know everything about the Tsar and his Tsarskoye Selo palace. Ivan answers all of his questions, describing the beautiful place to him and promising him that someday, they will find a way to visit it together. Dmitri remains unsure about this, but he doesn't say anything to contradict his father.

The conversation father and son have the following day is a lot harder. Both of them weep as Ivan promises Dmitri that he will not be leaving forever.

"I will visit every week with more money than we can usually spend", Ivan tells his child as he kneels next to him. "I will buy you the toy train you have always wanted."

"I don't want the toy train!" The five-year-old cries. "I want you to take me with you to fight the police and the Tsar's soldiers." These words make Ivan wish he could take his children with him and Ilya, but he can't. He doesn't want them involved in that world yet. He doesn't want them anywhere near to see his arrest if he is caught and apprehended.

"What I am doing is dangerous, Dima", the father replies. "But you can help me."

"Really?" Dmitri wipes his tears. "How?"

"First of all, you take good care of your sister Sophia."

"I will!" The child jumps.

"Be good to Mr. and Mrs. Smirnov as well, alright? Do as they say and be a good boy, don't misbehave."

"I will try", Dmitri rolls his eyes.

"Awesome, Dima", Ivan pinches his sonʼs cheek. "I am also making sure you start school next autumn."

"But why?!" The child stomps a foot on the ground.

"Now, don't fight with me", Ivan chuckles. "You need to do it for me, for yourself as well", he holds the boyʼs shoulders. "See what is ahead, Dima! You have to learn how to read and write and then never stop learning, that is how we make ourselves better than our circumstances, that is how we make sure we don't end up owing anyone or having to follow their lead. The more you know, the less you will be pushed around by other people", Ivan sees a frown form on his childʼs face. "You will understand what I mean when you are older", he smiles, "but perhaps in just a few months you will be able to read better than your own father, wouldn't that be something?" He places his dark khaki English golf cap on Dmitriʼs head and moves on to say goodbye to Sophia, leaving the boy feeling slightly betrayed, abandoned by his father with only a new hat that is far too big for his head as a consolation.

When the workers who met with Nicholas returned to St. Petersburg, most of them were ignored, laughed at, or even beaten up after trying to convince the others to remain loyal to the Tsar. Only Ivan was spared this fate.

Oo

Ever since she was a little girl, Alexandra has felt anguish for other peopleʼs suffering much more deeply than most. Longing to help and defend others is Alexandra's greatest virtue and sorrow. It is no wonder she was in a state of despair following the ghastly massacre, her mind sometimes anguishing at the thought of what it might have been like for the victims, particularly the ones who lost children.

She does not in any way believe, however, that her husband could have done anything to avert the tragedy. Five days after "Bloody Sunday", she wrote a letter to her sister Princess Victoria of Battenberg.

You understand the crisis we are going through! It is a time full of trials indeed. My poor Nicky's cross is a heavy one to bear, all the more as he has nobody on whom he can thoroughly rely and who can be a real help to him. He has had so many bitter disappointments, but through it all he remains brave and full of faith in God's mercy. He tries so hard, works with such perseverance, but the lack of what I call 'real' men is great….

The bad are always close at hand, the others through fake humility keep in the background. We shall try to see more people, but it is difficult. On my knees I pray to God to give me wisdom to help him in his heavy task…

Don't believe all the horrors the foreign papers say. They make one's hair stand on end—foul exaggeration. Yes, the troops, alas, were obliged to fire. Repeatedly the crowd was told to retreat and that Nicky was not in town (as we are living here this winter) and that one would be forced to shoot, but they would not heed and so blood was shed. On the whole, 92 killed and between 200–300 wounded. It is a ghastly thing, but had one not done it the crowd would have grown colossal and 1,000 would have been crushed. All over the country, of course, it is spreading. The petition had only two questions concerning the workmen and all the rest was atrocious: separation of the Church from the Government, etc. etc. Had a small deputation brought, calmly, a real petition for the workmen's good, all would have been otherwise. Many of the workmen were in despair when they heard later what the petition contained and begged to work again under the protection of the troops. Petersburg is a rotten town, not one atom Russian. The Russian people are deeply and truly devoted to their Sovereign and the revolutionaries use his name for provoking them against landlords, etc. but I don't know how. How I wish I were clever and could be of real use. I love my new country. It's so young, powerful and has so much good in it, only utterly unbalanced and childlike. Poor Nicky, he has a bitter, hard life to lead. Had his father seen more men, drawn them around him, we should have had lots to fill the necessary posts; now only old men or quite young ones, nobody to turn to. The uncles are no good, and Misha a darling child still…

Alix may feel for others more than most people, but she also loves and is completely devoted to Nicholas more than she mourns for anyone. The distress the tragedy caused Nicholas pains Alexandra more than the tragedy itself, for one small grievance of his means the suffering of the entire world to her. She has little sympathy for the people who organized the procession, which was to her an attack against the most important person in her life, an attack she knows could have been worse. She is terrified for her children, painfully aware of the nation's history, of her Nicky's worst childhood memory, the one that every now and then still wakes him up at night. Alexander II. The bomb.

Bloody Sunday was a tragedy Alix blames and will never forgive the ministers for, but she thinks of it as an inevitable occurrence, sheltering from its horror by telling herself that God allows all things to happen for a reason.

Oo

Moscow. February 17, 1905.

Grand Duke Sergei is no longer Governor-General of Moscow, having stepped down out of disillusionment with the state of affairs in Russia. He appears to be at ease, so Grand Duchess Elizabeth is at ease, happy for him. Power brings out only the worst in her husband.

Sergei is still the commander of Moscow's military district, but as the man who cruelly expelled Moscow's 20,000 Jews and repressed student movements to prevent the spread of revolutionary ideas, he isn't very popular with the city's liberals.

The couple moved to the Nicholas Palace within the safety of the Kremlin shortly after the Grand Duke's resignation because they had been receiving numerous threats that lately have stopped. Sergei is still taking every precaution advised by his detectives though.

On 15 February 1905, Grand Duke Sergei and his wife Grand Duchess Elizabeth attended a Red Cross charity concert at the Bolshoi Theatre with their wards, fourteen-year-old Maria and thirteen-year-old Dmitri.

Ella had a great time with her husband and adopted children, particularly enjoying her husband's animated mood. She was also getting along with Maria. Despite the hardships the nation was enduring, her personal life seemed to be taking a turn for the better.

Unbeknownst to the family, a terrorist organization that knew Sergeiʼs route had planned to assassinate him that day. Their lives were spared when one of the would-be killers decided to call off the attack after seeing Elizabeth and the children in the carriage. To kill the beautiful Grand Duchess Elizabeth and two innocent youngsters would have caused apprehension among those willing to sympathize with the revolutionary cause, setting it back years.

Two days have gone by since the unnoticed incident. Sergei just had lunch with his wife and is now cheerfully walking into the Nicholas Palace rooms where she, Maria, and her governess have resumed working on their Red Cross projects.

"I can not wait for us to move back to ", he smiles.

"Are you leaving now?" Elizabeth asks.

"I need to go to the Governor General's mansion to clear my office", Sergei kisses his wifeʼs cheek. "My last duty, and once that is done we're free."

"More time for us", she beams. Sergei leaves, and Ella keeps on setting Red Cross packages up with Maria and her governess Hélène.

Because the threats against his life are still recent, Sergei refuses to take his adjutant, Alexei, anywhere, as he is married and a father. Drawn by a pair of horses and driven by the coachman Andrei Rudinkin, the Grand Duke's recognizable carriage passes through the gate of the Kremlinʼs Nikolskaya Tower and turns the corner of the Chudov Monastery into Senatskaya Square, alerting Ivan Kalyayev, an undercover member of the Socialist Revolutionary Party's combat detachment who has been waiting inside the Nikolsky Gate with an explosive wrapped in newspapers.

Little more than a meter away from the carriage, the terrorist steps forward and throws the nitroglycerin bomb directly into Sergei's lap. The subsequent explosion is so powerful it shakes every window of the Nicholas Palace.

Too baffled to move, it is only until cries and hurried footsteps from the square below reach her ears that Ella leaps from her chair, terrified.

"It's Serge!" She cries.

Hélène follows Elizabeth as she rushes down the stairs and out of the palace. They are both taken on a sleigh to the square, where several soldiers try to hold Elizabeth back as she struggles to see what happened to her husband.

"No, please, Your Highness", one of them begs her, "don't look…"

Wide-eyed with fear, Elizabeth gathers enough strength to force her way through the soldiers and the crowd, which has slowly been amassing around the ghastly scene.

Scattered all over the bloodstained snow lie two dead horses, splintered planks, the shattered fragments of a carriage, and pieces of scorched cloth, fur, and leather. The Grand Duke seems to have died immediately, but the carriage driver bleeds and moans on the ground.

Elizabethʼs eyes search for the remains of her husband, and she gasps in disbelief and horror when they set on a tangled mass of flesh and bone. Almost reflexively, the dismayed woman, now a widow, starts picking up the pieces of what is left of the Grand Duke. "Sergei didn't like a mess", she hysterically repeats over and over again, occasionally instructing the people around her who aren't aiding the injured carriage driver on how to help her.

The shock and disbelief prevents Elizabeth from crying as she hunts for Sergeiʼs treasures amidst the gore-covered snow. His icons, his medals, rings… the fingers that wore them. It is so dreadful and unreal, she thinks.

The Grand Dukeʼs remains are taken to the chapel of the Chudov Monastery, where Maria and Dmitri find their aunt trying to pray. She embraces them, and the witnesses who followed her to the chapel weep at the sight.

"He loved you", Elizabeth hugs the children tightly, the children who have lost their father figure. "He loved you." It is the truth, whatever else he might have been. "Oh, Sergei!" Her face is pale and stricken rigid, but she is too much in denial to actually cry. She can't cry. She can't believe what just happened.

The dreadful images of what she has witnessed haunt Elizabeth on her way to visit the coachman Andrei Rudinkin at the hospital. His wounds are fatal, and the most Elizabeth can do for him is assure him that Sergei survived so that the poor man can die in peace.

Back in her rooms, Elisabeth lets herself fall weakly into an armchair, her eyes dry and with the same peculiar fixity of gaze. She refuses to cry that day, looking straight into space and saying nothing for hours instead. As visitors come and go, she looks at them without ever seeming to see them.

But as reality slowly hits Elizabeth, she finally abandons her rigid self-control, breaking down into sobs. She can't seem to stop crying after this very first loss of composure. For a time, many of her friends and family members fear she may suffer a nervous breakdown, but she quickly recovers her equanimity.

Oo

Deprived of sleep by nightmares, Elizabeth is only able to reflect on what happened days later. How could someone have done that to her husband? She prays for an answer almost as much as she prays for Sergeiʼs soul and that of his attacker.

Ella doesn't hate the man who murdered Sergei and is instead worried about his eternal resting place. She wonders what could have driven him to such madness. How much hatred does someone need to have in their heart to do something as horrible? Elizabeth has even come to ponder whether she and her family are guilty in some way of causing the murdererʼs resentment. If so, how can she help ease the hatred and suffering of her people?

Dressed in black and with a Bible in hand, Elizabeth summons a carriage to take her to the prison where her husband's assassin is being held.

The jail is a gray building of dark halls and damp walls that smell like urine. When Elizabeth makes her request to the half-asleep guards at the entrance, they stare at her in astonishment. One of them grabs a bunch of keys and disappears through a passageway. Another one suggests that the prisoner be taken to the main office so that the Grand Duchess can be kept safe at all times.

"There will be guards inside standing close by", he says, "and should he insult Your Highness in any way…"

"Thank you", Elizabeth smiles, "but that won't be necessary. I wish to speak to him alone."

He nods, turning pale. A third guard appears and guides the Grand Duchess to a small, barren chamber inside of which there are only two wooden chairs and a table between them. Sergeiʼs assassin sits on one of the seats.

Ivan Platonovich Kalyayev is a bearded man in his late twenties, although the state he is in makes him appear older. He is unshaven, his light brown hair and beard a tangled mess, and he also looks somewhat emancieted. Elizabeth gets the strange sensation that she has seen him before.

She approaches him, closing the door behind her, and her eyes overflow with tears she reveals upon pulling the black mourning veil she has been wearing over her face.

The man frowns, evidently confused. He intends to walk out of his chair to make a point and stands up to do so, but the glare the guard outside the barred door directs at him compels him to sit back down.

"I am his wife," Elizabeth answers Ivanʼs unspoken question before sitting right in front of him, only the table separating the two of them.

"What do you want?" He asks matter-of-factly. A brief silence descends upon them as Elizabeth struggles to compose herself. The tears that cloud her sight seem to unsettle him.

"Why?" She whispers in a barely audible manner, wiping a couple of tears away from her face. "Why did you kill my husband?"

Elizabeth expects him to mock her, she expects him to laugh, to brag about his deeds diabolically like some villain in one of her and Nicholasʼs favorite plays, the ones they have acted out together. "Please, don't cry," Kalyayev says instead, and the softness of his tone is so inconsistent with the violence he recently perpetrated that Elizabeth's astonishment and confusion only becomes greater.

"Why?" She asks again, her tears flowing more freely. "I sense there is still some good in your heart. What drove you to do such a thing?"

"Why do you care?" He crosses his arms. "I will be dead soon, and you will get your justice."

"I want to understand what made you hate my husband enough to kill him. I only wish to prevent future tragedies. If there is something he did that caused you pain, we can find a way to rectify it."

He shakes his head and smiles, looking quite amused. "Now you come and speak to us", he puts emphasis on the word 'now'. "Now you want to 'rectify it.' You people care only for yourselves! Terror is the only method capable of drawing your attention to those less fortunate. Why didn't you ask this question before? Because it was only us worthless plebs suffering?"

"No, no", Elizabeth shakes her head, her features contorted by grief.

"Very well then, I killed Sergei Alexandrovich because he was a weapon of tyranny. I was taking revenge for the people he imprisoned and oppressed."

"He never meant to hurt anyone, he was just protecting the nation's law and order..."

"The only thing he ever cared about", Ivan Platonovich nods, chuckling cynically. "But I care about his motives just as much as you truly care about mine, which is not at all. This could have been avoided if the Grand Duke had just listened to his people, but the poorʼs cries for help fell on deaf ears."

"He did try to listen", Elizabeth sighs, "I wish we had met before, I could have introduced you to him, if you had addressed him with your concerns he would have…"

"Listened?" Ivan scoffs at the idea. "Like the Tsar listened to the workers of St. Petersburg?! Women and children shot in cold blood! Do you have any idea of how ridiculous you sound after what happened? The Grand Duke didn't care about the people of Moscow any more than Bloody Nicholas does."

"That is not true."

"He wouldn't have believed them if they had come to his doorstep with a detailed account of their hellish lives, let alone helped them. He would have deemed the peopleʼs suffering an overstatement in order to sleep at night."

"You are mistaken", she closes her eyes at the harsh words, "he knew about the hardships the people have to endure."

"He had no idea!" He slams his palm against the table. "You have no idea! You go from palace to palace, from fanciful self-aggrandizing ceremony to fanciful self-aggrandizing ceremony, from ball to ball with your fancy carriages, fancy clothes, and fine jewels, and fine food, and petty problems. Have you ever stopped to think that only streets away from those glittering ballrooms, there are babies dying of malnutrition and children turning to prostitution just to earn enough money to live?"

Elizabeth flinches at the straightforwardness of the man and the gruesomeness of what he is describing. Ivan takes notice of this.

"Oh, I am sorry", his tone becomes sarcastic. "Have I offended you? Is it too much for a delicate Grand Duchessʼs ears? Are these low-lives undeserving of your distress?"

"I am not the heartless monster you have conjured up in your mind", Elizabeth replies, "and neither was my husband."

"Did the Grand Duke care about these children when he sent his spies into the city to exile their parents for daring to speak up for the poor?" He presses on.

"He did care", Elizabeth insists passionately. "Sergei took part in the activities of so many educational and charitable organizations that he was far too busy for me and even the children at times, he taught me everything I know. The Moscow Society for Charity and Education of Blind Children, the Committee for the Provision of Benefits to War Widows and Orphans, the Moscow Society for the Protection of the Homeless and Juveniles Released from Places of Confinement, the Moscow Council of Orphanages…"

"Not nearly enough", Ivan mutters, looking down.

"He was a good man!"

"Good?" He jumps up from the chair, shaking his head wildly in frustration. "Tell that to the 20,000 Jews he expelled from Moscow! He surrounded their homes with mounted Cossacks ready to evict them in the middle of the night while the temperature was 30 degrees below zero!" Ivan takes a look at the guard stationed outside and sits back down.

Having no way to justify her husband's actions, Elizabeth remains silent as she reflects on what happened that night of 1892. "God will punish us severely", she remembers telling Sergei. And so He did.

"They ransacked every house, barely giving anyone time to pack their belongings", Kalyayev continues, speaking lower. "Young Jewish women were made to register as prostitutes if they wanted to stay in the city."

"I know", Elizabeth decides to say. She could have told him about the way her husband agreed to stop the expulsions until the weather conditions improved, but this small act of mercy could be considered laughable in the grand scheme of things. "Sergei might have made mistakes, but…"

"Might?" The assassin raises his eyebrows.

"He was a sinner, as you are, as we all are, and we need to repent. Don't let your heart be hardened, it was not your place to be judge and executioner, repent."

"But it was his place?!" Ivan's eyes flare up with anger. "Don't compare me with that…!" A look of guilt crosses the assasinʼs face, and Ella wonders if he intended to touch upon the many rumors and false accusations against Sergei that have circulated since her arrival at Russia. "This is not something to discuss with you. I know you are grieving, so I will spare your feelings. It is not you that I ever held a grudge against anyway."

"By killing him", Elizabeth wipes her face, her eyes stinging from crying, "you killed me." Sergei didn't beat her like strangers love to whisper, he wasn't untrue to her. He was a good husband, her world.

"I am sorry about your suffering, but you're not the only widow in Moscow," Kalyayev replies coldly. "There are widows of those whom your husband exiled to freeze to death in Siberia, widows of soldiers fighting the Tsarʼs war, widows of massacred workers, widows of…"

He suddenly stops speaking, looking up at the tearful Elizabeth like a child caught doing something wrong. "I know this doesn't change the fact that you hate me, but…"

"No", Elizabeth denies sincerely.

"And I know you are not your husband", the assassinʼs eyes soften. "I risked my life to save you."

She cocks her head, looking at him questioningly.

"Two days ago, the night of the gala performance", he clarifies. "I had been entrusted to carry out the attack then. I had the bomb and the perfect position. My comrades had prepared everything in advance, and they are prone to anger when things don't go as planned. You would have suffered the same fate as the Grand Duke, I was about to do it, but at the last minute, I just couldn't."

"So that is why your face seemed so familiar", the Grand Duchess murmurs, opening her eyes wide in realization.

"It was you I saw in that carriage, you and the children", Ivan explains, "not him, and I couldn't do it."

The unexpected revelation of this small act of mercy renews Elizabeth's hope for the manʼs redemption. There is still light beneath the darkness of his anger. She can't help but reflect on the fact he is still a human being, a human being who was once an innocent child, that something in his past might have turned him into the man he is today.

"I am very grateful for the risk you took to spare me and my young wards", she says, and he nods. "But you still murdered people." Ivan rolls his eyes. "And not only my husband", Ella ignores his contempt, "but also Andrei, the coachman. He was an innocent man. If you can not repent for what you did to my husband then at least repent for what you did to him."

"Collateral damage", Ivan shrugs. "Thousands are dying in Siberia fighting the Tsarʼs war as we speak."

Elizabeth stares at him with a sad expression. "I am aware this may be of no consequence to you, but I still want you to know that my husband would have forgiven you."

He looks away, shaking his head and smirking.

"I want to help you", Elizabeth persists.

"They will hang me, and there is nothing you can do about it. I would ask you to care instead for the thousands crying out for help right now, but nothing will change for them until the whole autocracy is overthrown."

"Violence is not the answer", she says.

"There is no other answer when the people most affected by the governmentʼs policies have no voice to speak up against them, the Tsar makes sure of that. No votes, no elected government, no way to express your grievances without fearing repercussions… but there is no point in talking about this with you. You will never understand, not when your place in life depends on rooting against everything I stand up for."

"I didn't come here to discuss our different political views, I came to understand your motives, and now I think I do. I also came because Jesus taught us to love our enemies, and He loves you as well. Do not listen to your pride. Repent... and I will beg the sovereign to give you your life. I will ask him for you. I myself have already forgiven you."

"I don't want the pardon of Bloody Nicholas. He is the one who should be begging on his knees for the people's pardon after the ills they have endured under his yoke."

"For your own sake, not for mine, I beg you to repent of this hatred and anger", the Grand Duchess urges him.

"No!" Kalyayev yells. "I do not repent. I must die for my deed and I will... I want to. My death will be more useful to the cause than Sergei Alexandrovich's death. Others will rise to take my place."

Elizabeth doesn't respond to that, simply handing him the Bible and icon she brought to the prison. Ivan looks down and reluctantly accepts them. "I am sorry for your grief," he says sympathetically, "but I don't regret what I did. It is the simple truth. I am, in fact, proud of it. If I could go back in time, I would do the exact same thing again."

Ella stands up to leave, and the guard outside opens the cell door for her, but before walking through, she directs one last glance at the assassin. "I will pray for you," she promises him.

Not long after Elizabethʼs visit, Kalyayev was sentenced to death and hanged.

"I am pleased with your sentence", he told the judges. "I hope that you will carry it out just as openly and publicly as I carried out the sentence of the Socialist Revolutionary Party. Learn to look the advancing revolution right in the face."

Oo

Elizabeth spent the days before the burial in ceaseless prayer. On her husband's tombstone, she wrote: 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.'

The experience of losing her husband in such a violent manner would change Elizabethʼs life dramatically. The happy, irrepressible girl who had guided her small, motherless sister Alix to marry Nicholas, fended off the attentions of Wilhelm II, and skated and danced with Tsesarevich Nicholas was gone. She disappeared, becoming instead more dedicated to philanthropy than ever, her gentle, saintly qualities strongly coming forward. Ella would start visiting Moscowʼs slums and poorer districts, selling her jewels and building hospitals and schools for the people, especially the children living in the streets.

Nicholas and Alexandra weren't able to go to the funeral, as their lives were believed to be at risk of another attempt. This was mortifying to Alix, who had longed to be there for her sister. But the imperial couple's advisors were being prudent, for violence was spreading to every corner of Russia as the months went by.

"It makes me sick to read the news," Nicholas wrote, "strikes in schools and factories, murdered policemen, Cossacks, riots. But the ministers instead of acting with quick decision, only assemble in council like a lot of frightened hens and cackle about providing united ministerial action."

Bloody Sunday had sparked a revolution. A storm of mutiny swept across the ships remaining in the Baltic and Black Sea. Angered over being served portions of bad meat, the sailors of the battleship Potemkin threw their officers overboard, raised the red flag, and steamed their ship along the Black Sea coast, bombarding coasts all the way to Odessa's harbor, where the mutineers tried rallying the workers.

When news of the Potemkin revolt reached Nicholas II, he ordered his military to quash the mutiny at all costs. "Each hour of delay may cost rivers of blood in the future", he said.

Odessa swelled with protesting workers, many of them urging the Potemkin's crew to help them take over the city. They began to riot and set buildings on fire. Following the Tsarʼs orders, the city's military garrison began firing on them as Cossack guards cut through the crowd with their sabers. Around 1,000 Odessans lost their lives, and a mutiny on the battleship of St. George followed.

As this was happening, the British press continued to advocate loudly that the Royal Navy prevent German steamers from coaling the Russian warships, having done so incessantly since the Russians accidentally killed two of their fishermen. This was driving Kaiser Wilhelm mad.

"I agree fully with your complaints about England's behavior", Nicholas had written to his German cousin regarding the matter. "It is certainly high time to put a stop to this. The only way, as you say, would be that Germany, Russia and France should at once unite to abolish Anglo-Japanese arrogance and insolence. Would you like to lay down and frame the outlines of such a treaty? As soon as it is accepted by us, France is bound to join as an ally."

The summer of 1905, Wilhelm telegraphed Nicholas in secret and invited him to come as a tourist to a rendezvous at sea. Nicholas agreed, leaving Peterhof one afternoon without taking any of his ministers.

Kaiser Wilhelm and Tsar Nicholas's imperial yachts, the German Hohenzollern and the Russian Standart respectively, sailed to Björkö on the coast of Finland, where the two sovereigns had dinner together. The next morning, Wilhelm reached into his pocket and showed Nicholas the draft of a treaty signifying an alliance between Russia and Germany.

"In case one of the two Empires is attacked by a European Power, his ally will help it in Europe with all its land and sea forces", said the first article.

"High Contracting Parties undertake not to conclude separate peace with any common adversary", was the second.

The third article made it clear that the treaty would enter into force as soon as the war between Russia and Japan ended, and the fourth agreed that France was to be told only after Russia and Germany had signed and then invited to join.

"That is quite excellent", Nicholas said upon reading Wilhelmʼs proposal. "I agree."

"Should you like to sign it," the Kaiser replied casually, holding back his almost girlish excitement, "it would be a very nice souvenir of our interview." Nicholas did sign.

"Oh!" Wilhelm exclaimed with tears of joy. "I am sure that all of our mutual ancestors are looking down on us from heaven in ecstatic approval!"

But when the two sovereigns returned to their respective capitals, both of them received unpleasant responses to what they thought had been a brilliant geopolitical move. The German Chancellor Von Bülow criticized the treaty as useless to Germany and threatened to resign.

"The morning after the arrival of your letter of resignation would no longer find your Emperor alive", the hysterical Kaiser wrote to Bülow in a melodramatic letter. "Think of my poor wife and children."

Russian Foreign Minister Lamsdorf was aghast and could not believe his eyes and ears.

"The French alliance", he pointed out to Nicholas, "is the cornerstone of Russian foreign policy. It cannot be lightly thrown aside. France will never join an alliance with Germany, and Russia can not join such an alliance without first consulting France."

Wilhelm was eventually informed that the treaty could not be honored as written.

"Your ally notoriously left you in the lurch during the whole war, whereas Germany helped you in every way", the Kaiser wrote to the Tsar imploring him to reconsider. "We joined hands and signed before God who heard our vows. What is signed is signed! God is our testator!"

The Björkö treaty was, nonetheless, never invoked again, and the private Willy-Nicky correspondence would gradually dwindle away too. Nicholas was beginning to reckon that Wilhelmʼs attempts at bringing Russia and Germany closer and advocating for the Russian Empireʼs Asian expansion had been mainly self-serving in nature.

From then on, the Kaiser's influence over the Tsar faded rapidly, and so did that of his uncles Vladimir and Alexei after Sergeiʼs passing. After 10 years of reign and countless adversities, Nicholas was starting to think for himself. In August, Nicholas signed a manifesto creating the Duma, a sort of parliament that worked in a way which did not conflict with the principle of autocratic power, as the Tsar could still issue laws without its approval. He was developing his own style of ruling, which was neither good nor bad, but it was, for once, his.

But the Tsarʼs eyes had been opened way too late. The strikes and riots continued, and partially as a result of this breakdown of law and order, ancient conflicts had broken out throughout the ethnically diverse parts of the Empire, including vicious pogroms against the Russian Jews and clashes ending up in brutal massacres between Armenians and Caucasian Tatars all over the Russian Caucasus.

The political assassinations targeting policemen and government officials went on, as did the bombings. In several cities, revolutionaries put up barricades and fired into the streets from houses.

The war with Japan kept raging on and Russia was losing. After the disastrous battle of Tsushima, Nicholas reluctantly recognized that Russia no longer had a chance of winning the war and sent Sergei Witte to America. The Tsar hoped his statesman would make the best of an upcoming peace conference that President Theodore Roosevelt had offered to mediate.

"When a sewer has to be cleaned, they send for Witte," the minister grumbled. "But as soon as work of a cleaner and nicer kind appears, plenty of other candidates spring up."

The greatest Empire on Earth had been subdued by an island, but despite his initial embarrassment regarding the whole situation, Sergei crossed the Atlantic on a German liner, giving the image of an undismayed representative of a mighty nation which had simply become temporarily involved in a slight difficulty.

He was met with a tricky challenge, as the Americans, prone to romanticizing whoever gave the appearance of an underdog, were filled with admiration for the "plucky little Japs".

Not a quitter, Witte succeeded in changing the American public opinion, gradually winning their press over by treating all those he encountered with utmost simplicity. When traveling or dining, whether on special trains, government motor cars, or steamers, Witte thanked everyone, talked and shook hands with the waiters and engineers, and made jokes. Sergei treated everybody equally and took advantage of his charisma to stir the Americans against Japanʼs cause.

The formal and reserved Japanese rather avoided the press, slowly ceasing to arouse as much sympathy among the extroverted Americans.

Sergei Witte's negotiations were relatively successful. Roosevelt decided to support the Tsar's refusal to pay indemnities, but Russia had to recognize Korea as part of the Japanese sphere of influence and agree to evacuate Manchuria. The Russian Empire was also forced to sign over its 25-year leasehold rights to Port Arthur, losing their only and highly valued ice-free harbor. It could have been much worse, however, as many Japanese had expected the war to end with Russia ceding the Russian Far East to Japan owing to the islandʼs success in every battle on land and sea.

The Treaty of Portsmouth was signed on 5 September 1905, putting an end to the Russo-Japanese War. Emperor Nicholas II was so grateful to Sergei Witte that he bestowed upon him the rank of count in spite of his and Alexandraʼs personal feelings for him, which were not too friendly.

Although the war had been a bloody failure, the Tsar refused to allow the official record to whitewash anything.

"The work must be based exclusively on the bare facts", he said. "We have nothing to silence, since more blood has been shed than necessary. Heroism is worthy to be noted on an equal footing with failures. It is, without exception, necessary to aim at recording the historic truth inviolably."

Nicholas could now focus on the many troubles afflicting his Empire, which were many. In Moscow, the bakers were on strike, as were the plumbers, the locksmiths, the tram conductors and the print workers. The newspapers did not come out, making what was happening in the ancient capital all the more mysterious to the government of St. Petersburg.

The appalled Nicholas was mostly ignorant of the underlying causes of the uprising. He had most definitely heard of them, but the safety concerns hadn't allowed him to visit any slums to see for himself what the people were so angry about, and neither had he thought it necessary to do so in order to understand the nation's situation better. The main fault, he truly believed, lay with the radicals stirring up the people against their Tsar and thus making it harder for him to help them.

The fatalistic Nicholas felt as if he were being led by outside factors he had no control over, and in some ways he was right, having inherited centuries of accumulated problems from his ancestors. Whether fate or God's will, the challenge he was facing was bigger than himself. A man of limited imagination, the solutions he implemented were conventional and traditional. He didn't know what to do except hope and pray that the police and the army would successfully deal with the violent uprising as they had done back when the Decembrists stood up to his great-grandfather Nicholas I.

More than looking at the advancing revolution right in the face, uncovering its allure in order to compete with it, Nicholas left everything in the hands of providence, seeking answers from self-proclaimed seers such as Gérard Anaclet Vincent Encausse, whose esoteric pseudonym was "Papus".

Encausse served the Tsar and Tsarina as a mediumistic spiritual advisor. But Nicholas and Alexandra's trust in the supernatural turned out to be too much even for the eccentric Papus, who literally made a living out of peopleʼs credulity. Encausse was, in fact, curiously concerned, and he went as far as warning the imperial couple about their heavy reliance on occultism to assist them in deciding questions of government.

As the situation in Russia deteriorated, several ministers started suggesting that the Tsar grant the people more liberties along with a constitution, but Nicholas refused to back down. The only thing that could compete with his love for his family was his love for Russia, and he expressed that love in a very possessive way. His conscience cried that it was his responsibility.

Russia's "Holy Mission" in Asia had nevertheless ended, the Empireʼs very existence at risk. In the middle of a revolution and humiliated by the Japanese "monkeys," the Russian giant staggered back toward Europe. While sorry for his relative as he watched the events unfold, the Kaiser was not exactly displeased. With a sullen, defeated army, no navy and a disillusioned, embittered people, the once imposing Russian Empire was no longer a neighbor to fear. Wilhelm soothed Nicholas, reminding him that even Frederick the Great and Napoleon had suffered defeats, and hoping to remain on good terms with him, he bragged about the loyalty he had shown to Russia by guarding its frontier in Europe during the war with Japan from his own ally, Austria.

Throughout the many catastrophes of 1905, the imperial family has been kept safe and cocooned at either Tsarskoye Selo or Peterhof, granting Nicholas some peace of mind despite feeling deeply ashamed of hiding as his Empire collapses, unable to leave his own home due to security concerns.

Oo

The four little Grand Duchesses have kept playing and rolling in the Alexander Parkʼs green grass unbothered, only Olga slightly suspicious that something is wrong. They were informed about what happened to their uncle in the most undetailed and child-friendly of manners, being made to understand that some very bad people were currently on the loose. The eldestʼs many questions haven't yet been answered.

Fortunately for Nicholas and Alexandra, who are in no rush to expose Olga to the complexities of Russia's current situation, baby Alexei has provided the little Grand Duchesses with a huge and pleasant distraction, although the girls' innocence makes drawing their attention away from everything that troubles Nicholas an easy task for the parents.

The day Maria turned six, Alix took the children to a Moleben service of intercession. Later, at 3 o'clock, Nicholas and his family celebrated the birthday with a little picnic in Ropsha, a palace south of Peterhof. They walked around the park, explored the palace, and drank some tea on the terrace. The children had a good time as Olga and Tatiana took turns carrying Alexei to show him the flowers of the garden or trying to teach him how to walk.

The Tsarevich is growing into a handsome little boy with blue eyes and golden curls. From the beginning, he has been a happy, high-spirited infant. Nicholas still fails to miss an opportunity to show him off. When the baby was only a few months old, the Tsar met with the Director of the Court Chancellery A. A. Mosolov just outside the nursery.

"I don't think that you have yet seen my dear little Tsarevich," Nicholas said. "Come along and I will show him to you."

Mosolov followed the Tsar to the nursery washroom, where the baby was being given his daily bath, lustily kicking out in the water. The Tsar took the child out of his bath towels and put his little feet on the hollow of his hand, supporting him with the other arm. The director smiled. There was the little heir, naked, chubby, rosy, a wonderful boy!

"Don't you think he's a beauty?" Nicholas beamed.

The spring following his birth, Alix took Alexei for rides on her carriage and was delighted to see the people along the road bowing and smiling before the tiny heir, who is developing into an incredibly happy baby who cackles as often and

contagiously as his older sister Anastasia did. Now both of them do so together when the four-year-old makes funny faces at him.

Maria loves caressing baby Alexeiʼs tummy, also shaking him lightly whenever one of the nannies leaves him lying on a big cushion nearby so that the girls can play with him supervised. These innocent displays of affection make the baby giggle at his devoted sister, who also enjoys receiving him in her arms with a hug when he tries to crawl to her, something the smiling Alexei seems to find comforting and amusing as well.

Whenever the imperial family sails on the Standart yacht, Tatiana will carry Alexei around on deck and show him the horizon. The eight-year-old girl can tell the baby loves the sea as much as she does, and he makes the sweetest happy little noises when she smiles down at him.

Nicholas records almost every single little thing his greatest comfort does in his diary.

He behaved well during a Christmas party for officers that all of the imperial children attended. In February, he grew his first tooth, and later that same month he had a high fever with a cough. He got better in March and is constantly doing sweet things.

Alexei behaved as well as his sisters when their Uncle Heinrich and Aunt Irene visited. He sometimes conducts himself properly at church as well, taking communion and kissing the cross with great enthusiasm.

On the 30th of July according to the old calendar, the "little treasure" celebrated his first birthday receiving a deputation of the Ataman regiment, which brought him an icon. Already curious about the military menʼs uniforms, the child climbed into the arms of the sergeant. On October 10th, the baby heir received a deputation of ten people from the Moscow Voluntary Guard, who touchingly wished to see Alix and the little one. They achieved their goal.

Oo

Olga and Tatiana needed a new French tutor, and Alexandra would soon find the perfect candidate.

Pierre Gilliard was born on 16 May 1879 in Fiez, a French-speaking municipality in Switzerland. The slim 26-year-old has a round face, dark brown hair, a mustache the same color, and a matching triangle-shaped goatee.

Having become a French teacher at a fairly young age, the elegant Pierre Gilliard is often dressed in suit and tie with a fedora hat topping his head. He traveled to Russia in 1904 to serve as a French tutor to the family of Duke George of Leuchtenberg, a cousin of Emperor Nicholas II and grandchild of Nicholas I.

Pierre stayed at the Duke's small estate on the shores of the Black Sea, where he was greatly surprised by the tragic events of 1905 as he heard people discussing Bloody Sunday, the much nearer revolt of the Black Sea Fleet, the bombardment of the coast, the series of pogroms, and the violent acts of repression which followed. For a young apolitical man from a small democratic nation, this has all been shockingly ghastly. The vast Russia has been introduced to him under a terrible and menacing aspect.

At the beginning of June, the family of Duke George of Leuchtenberg took up their residence in the attractive Villa Sergievskaya Datcha at Peterhof, where seeing the Great Palace from afar made Pierre think of Versailles.

Tsarina Alexandra and the Duchess of Leuchtenberg were close friends who visited each other often, so Gilliard was able to get occasional glimpses of members of the imperial family while tutoring for that of Duke George of Leuchtenberg. This was all, at the beginning, fairly exciting for the modest Swiss educator, who came from a small village.

The day came when the Dukeʼs family recommended Pierre Gilliard to the Empress, who trusted their advice. He would stay as tutor to his pupil and at the same time teach French to the Grand Duchesses Olga Nikolaevna and Tatiana Nikolaevna.

After a short visit to Switzerland, Pierre returned to Peterhof in the early days of September, and on the day appointed for his first lesson, a royal carriage came to take him to Alexandria Cottage, the relatively small mansion where the Tsar and his family were then residing.

Gilliard learned for the first time ever just how sheltered and protected the Romanovs were in their gilded cage. Despite the orders regarding his arrival, the Swiss citizen was stopped at the park gates by the guards. Several minutes of discussion followed before he was allowed to go through.

Pierre was then escorted to a soberly furnished small room on the second floor of the building, where he waited for a few minutes before the door opened and the Tsarina came in, holding her daughters Olga and Tatiana by the hand.

"Monsieur Gilliard!" She greeted him with a smile. "I have heard only good things about you!"

After a few more pleasant remarks, she sat down at the table and invited him to take a seat on the opposite side, the children sitting at each end.

Pierre couldn't help but notice that the Tsarina was still a very beautiful woman. He unintentionally blushed at the thought. She was tall and slender, carrying herself superbly. Then he looked into her gray-blue eyes and saw in them the emotions of a sensitive soul. From then on, he could only think of her as an unreachable mother figure, wiser than her years.

The educatorʼs eyes met next with those of nine-year-old Olga, who surprised him by pulling her tongue out at him while her mother wasn't looking. She was a very fair girl with sparkling, mischievous eyes and a slightly retroussé nose. Amused by Pierreʼs startled reaction, Olga smirked playfully, pleased with herself.

She continued to examine her new teacher with a look which to him appeared to be searching for the weak point in his armor, something that could set him off. There was, however, something so pure and frank about the child that the man could not despise her for it. She liked her straight off.

The second girl, Tatiana, was eight and a half. She had auburn hair, and Pierre thought her prettier than her sister, but the shyness he was unaware of also gave him the impression that she was less transparent, frank, and spontaneous.

When the lesson began, the Tsarina stayed to listen to and observe everything the new Swiss teacher said and did.

Pierre Gilliard was amazed and even embarrassed by this. I am not giving a lesson, he thought in dismay. I am the one undergoing an examination! He had not imagined the Tsarina would care so deeply about her daughtersʼ education.

To crown his discomfort, Olga and Tatiana were much less advanced than he had assumed they would be, and in consequence, the exercises he had selected for the girls proved to be far too difficult for them. Turning red, Pierre had to improvise his lesson and resort to expedients.

Throughout the following weeks, the Tsarina remained present at the children's French lessons, in which she took visible interest. When the girls left the classroom, she would often discuss with Gilliard the best means and methods of teaching modern languages, surprising him with the shrewd good sense of her views.

On a late October day, however, the Tsarina remained sitting on a low chair looking out the window, instantly striking the French tutor as absent-minded and preoccupied. Her face betrayed her inward agitation, and although she made several noticeable efforts to concentrate her attention on her childrenʼs lessons, she always relapsed into melancholy. Her needlework slipped from her fingers to her lap, her gaze lost and indifferent to the things happening around her.

Pierre had made a practice of shutting his book when the lessons were over and waiting until the Tsarina rose as a signal for him to retire, but that day, distracted, she did not move for minutes, up to a quarter of an hour. Not wanting to be impolite, Pierre kept reading. It was only when one of the bored Grand Duchesses went up to Alexandra that she became aware of the time.

Two days later, Pierre would deduce what had caused the Tsarinaʼs apprehension. The October Manifesto was about to be signed.

Oo

By mid-October, all of Russia was paralyzed by a general strike. From the Urals to the European regions of the Empire, trains stopped running, factories closed down, and ships lay idle alongside piers. Food was no longer being delivered in , where the schools and hospitals had closed, the newspapers had disappeared, and even the electric lights had started flickering out.

Crowds marched through the streets cheering orators, and red flags flew from the rooftops. Crime had skyrocketed, so the nights were empty, dangerous, and dark.

The peasants raided estates and stole cattle throughout the countryside. Overnight, a new type of workers' organization bloomed, becoming numerous. These councils called themselves the "Soviets" and consisted of elected delegates, one for every thousand workers.

When the Soviets threatened to wreck every factory that refused to participate in strikes by closing down, companies of soldiers were brought into the city.

Liberals and conservatives fought amongst themselves as the government struggled to decide what to do. Everyone knew the final decision, whether good or bad, would be the Tsar's, whose hands were arguably already stained with blood.

"So the ominous quiet days began", Emperor Nicholas II wrote to his mother at the height of the crisis. "Complete order in the streets, but at the same time everybody knew that something was going to happen. The troops were waiting for the signal but the other side would not begin. One had the same feeling as before a thunderstorm in summer. Everybody was on edge and extremely nervous. Through all those horrible days I constantly met with Witte. We very often met in the early morning to part only in the evening when night fell. There were only two ways open. One, to find an energetic soldier to crush the rebellion by sheer force."

Nicholas still was, in many ways, the same man he had been upon assuming the throne. Well-intentioned. Detached from his peopleʼs reality. Not very imaginative. He would do whatever was required to keep the peace, even if this ended up costing lives.

"There would be time to breathe then", his letter continued, "but as likely as not, one would have to use force again in a few months, and that would mean rivers of blood and in the end we should be where we started."

But ironically enough, the man countless people now called "Bloody" Nicholas dreaded the thought of "rivers of blood" flowing through his cities. He was not willing to consciously and deliberately sacrifice lives, at least not with the pre-planning or calculation attributed to him.

"The other way out would be to give to the people their civil rights, freedom of speech and press, also to have all laws confirmed by a state Duma—that of course would be a constitution", he finally admitted. "Witte defends this energetically. He says that, while it is not without risk, it is the only way out at the present moment. Almost everybody I had an opportunity of consulting is of the same opinion."

More pressure was put on Nicholas when the potential constitution was vehemently endorsed by Grand Duke Nicholas Nikolaevich, his six-foot-six-inch cousin and the man in command of the St. Petersburg Military District. The Grand Duke objected to the idea of becoming military dictator so strongly that he brandished the revolver in his holster and shouted: "If the Emperor does not accept the Witte program, if he wants to force me to become dictator, I shall kill myself in his presence with this revolver. We must support Witte at all costs. It is necessary for the good of Russia."

Nicholas had little choice. His self-confidence was at an all-time low. On the 8th of October, the Grand Duke Cyril Vladimirovich had secretly married Ducky against church custom by the beautiful German lake of Tegernsee. Nicholas couldn't even control his own family, let alone his Empire. Perhaps Witte was right. Perhaps, he thought without much certainty, liberals like Mirsky were right all along.

"Witte put it to me quite clearly that he would accept the Presidency of the Council of Ministers only on condition that his program was agreed to and his action not interfered with", Nicholas reached the conclusion of his letter. "He… drew up the Manifesto. We discussed it for two days and in the end, invoking God's help, I signed it. My only consolation is that such is the will of God and this grave decision will lead my dear Russia out of the intolerable chaos she has been in for nearly a year."

The Imperial Manifesto was issued on October 30, 1905, transforming Russia from an absolute autocracy into a semi-constitutional monarchy. This document promised "freedom of conscience, speech, assembly, and association" to the Russian people. It also granted an elected parliament, the Duma, and pledged that "no law may go into force without the consent of the State Duma."

But the Tsar was not willing to forsake his power, which to him was God granted. He made sure to retain his prerogative over defense and foreign affairs and the sole power to appoint and dismiss ministers.

This was not enough for Alexandra, whose worst fear had come true. Her sonʼs inheritance, his full birthright, had been cruelly snatched away from him, not by plotters in court circles, but by traitorous ministers.

Trigger Warnings: implied/referenced past police brutality, shooting, violence, deaths (extras), child deaths, and blood. Minor character deaths, including a child death, gunshot wound description (nothing graphic). There is also a blink-and-you-will-miss-it background character that is implied to be a pedophile making an appearance, but he doesn't get to hurt any children.

Lots of info from Nicholas and Alexandra by Robert K. Massie, Spartacus Educational, Pierre Gilliardʼs memoirs, History + sources I have already mentioned, Wikipedia, etc. I was again inspired by several scenes of Christina Croft's "Most Beautiful Princess" and a thread on the Alexander Palace Time Machine Forum where they discuss a hypothetical tv show about Nicholas and Alexandra. It is easy to find and very interesting.

Sorry this chapter took so long, perfectionism attacked again and I ended up re-editing this entire fix, which took a long time not because it was hard but because it was such an incredibly tedious task I delayed and performed it at uselessly slow rates until entire months had passed. I promise I will never go on a re-editing spree again. I learnt my lesson. If I find a typo I will only fix that typo. As if that weren't enough, I also have a lot of personal stuff going on. Another chapter of Bulletproof Jewels is coming, don't worry, it is what I am going to be working on.

And in case you are thinking "What has Gleb been doing all this time? The revolution has just started and we haven't heard from him!" Don't worry, that is what a huge portion of the next chapter is going to be about. This means there will be a time skip backwards to some degree, but not much, only months. I don't usually like going back and forward but so much is happening during this year (1905) that it is simply necessary for my sanity lol