The boy lifts his rifle to his shoulder, and pulls the trigger. The plain-clothes Okhrana official falls, and lies in a crumpled pile at Aristarkhov’s feet. And I hear a new chorus of voices – young men’s voices, loud and strong, chanting “Bloody Nicholas!”. It’s the soldiers. The soldiers themselves are pulling the barricades aside, and the group of women step forward into the gap, followed by others. There are hundreds now, and the soldiers are mingling with the surging crowd. Many of them throw down their military caps, but every one still holds his rifle. Every gun is now pointing the other way.
I look at the professor. “Let’s run. Back the way we came.”
We’re about a hundred yards down the street: I risk a glance back. I see that not just the regular soldiers but many Cossacks, too, are now joining the protesters. The Ohkrana officials are running away in terror. General Aristarkhov, and Yuri, are nowhere to be seen.
11
To the Finland Station
“Riot and revolution, and the Tsar has abdicated, but nothing’s changed. The war goes on, and the Germans keep on slaughtering us like lambs. This week, we’ve had more admissions to the hospital than ever.” Sister Kusnetsova, who is in charge of our ward, speaks softly; many of the patients are taking a midday nap.
“Things may be changing for me, though, Sister. A few days ago, the United States entered the war. Until last week, I was a neutral person in Russia; now I’m your ally.”
“And Okhrana, who kept you prisoner in Russia, has vanished like smoke! Do you think you’ll be able to travel home to America? Or you could nurse American soldiers, on the Western Front?…”
“I hope so. I think the professor and I can now sail back to Sweden without obstacles. I told you about Mr Bukin, and how he stopped us travelling. Well, I went to his office yesterday, to ask about leaving Russia. I found the place closed down, and there was one of those guards there – the ones with the red sashes. He told me that everyone working in the office had been arrested. I said ‘By whom?’ and he said ‘By the people’. So then, I went over to the harbormaster’s office and asked them about Shipping Regulation 15A: they said they’d never heard of it!”
“So you’re free to go.”
“I’m not planning to quit immediately, Sister. Professor Axelson and I will travel back to Sweden together, before I go on to France or the States. But the professor gave a promise to visit the Lapinlahti psychiatric hospital in Helsinki for a month or so, to examine and treat their shell-shock victims. He’ll honor that promise, before we leave. So it will be a few weeks before we leave Russia.”
“Has he gone to Helsinki yet?”
“He’s catching his train today. Would you allow me, Sister, to take the afternoon off, and go with the professor to the Finland Station, to see him off on his journey?”
As Professor Axelson and I walk down the steps of the hospital onto the Palace Embankment, we see an odd sight. Scores of middle-aged men, dressed in fine suits, are surrounded by a cordon of armed soldiers. The whole group is coming up the steps from the Embankment towards us. The lieutenant leading the soldiers gives me a cheeky smile; I go over to him.
“Excuse me, officer… I’m just curious. What is happening here?”
“Nice to meet you, Miss! Me and my men are escorting members of the Provisional Government, who have taken over running the country, now that the Tsar has stepped down. They are setting up office in the Winter Palace. Half the building will remain as a hospital; the other half will become the seat of Russia’s new government.”
Compared with the ornate Vitebsky terminal, the Finland Station is a small building; its roof is not much higher than the tops of the double-decker trams that pass in front of it. An archway below a large clock leads to the platforms, which to my surprise are crowded with people. An announcement rings out. “The Grand Duchy Express to Vyborg and Helsinki is standing on Platform One, but departure is delayed due to a fault with the engine.”
It’s no surprise: the professor smiles thinly.
“Yet another opportunity, Miss Agnes, to practise a useful but rare virtue: patience.”
“That’s very philosophical of you, Professor.”
“I am not naturally a patient man. But we all need to be patient – especially here in Russia. Now the United States has joined the Allies, Germany is on the brink of defeat. Russia could still emerge victorious from this war, and rebuild – with a democratic government at the helm. It will be terribly hard, but better than any alternative.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, I do. Starting this war was the stupidest mistake in the whole of human history. But if Russia begs for a cease-fire now, it will be another mistake. The Kaiser’s peace terms will be utterly crippling. He will rule all the lands from the Baltic to the Black Sea. Some say he will even insist on the Provisional Government gifting St Petersburg to him. But if Russia can hold on, then by next year, the Germans will be defeated.”
“Most people seem to want the Provisional Government to make peace as soon as possible, at any price.”
“Right now, the people of Russia just want the war to be over. They can’t see beyond that, because they are exhausted by misery and suffering. Patience, as I mentioned, has become a rare thing.”
For some reason I recall Lord Buttermere’s words that likened Russia to an express train, speeding to its doom. Since the February revolution, I’ve seen shops being looted, and gangs of men openly carrying guns and knives. There are hardly any policemen about: most were associated with Okhrana, and have been dismissed. Whenever I go out of the hospital, I’ve taken to carrying the gun that Yuri and I found at Tri Tsarevny. It doesn’t work, of course; but it might frighten an attacker off.
“It’s cold on this platform, Miss Agnes. Nor do I want to board a train that may not depart for several hours. Instead, let’s wait in there. After all, it is no longer reserved for royalty.”
The professor points across the platform to a large, ornate doorway, out of proportion with the rest of the station. Above it, a carved double-headed eagle has been vandalized; its heads have been broken off, as has the orb and sceptre that it used to hold in its talons. Axelson smiles at me. “It used to be the Tsar’s private waiting-room. It’s now a café, for all to use.”
We walk towards the broken symbol of imperial authority, and the professor explains.
“Nicholas II had his own personal waiting-room at this station, even though he never bothered to visit Finland. He simply sent his deputies to try to bully the Finn people.”
I see a poster that someone has hastily pasted up on the walclass="underline" a print that shows a nymph-like girl with flaxen hair, holding a banner saying “Freedom for Finland”. The professor follows my gaze.
“You would like the Finnish nation, Miss Agnes. Like you, they are keen on fairness and equality. Back in 1906 they declared suffrage for all, including women. Then of course, the Tsar’s government stamped on their plans. Now, their hopes for independence from Russia are rising fast.”
Among the masses of people on the platform, I notice a woman standing close by, nodding to herself in agreement at the professor’s remarks. Then I look at her face again. I have no doubt; her features are etched on my mind. It’s the woman who spoke out against the Tsar and faced down the soldiers. I can’t help myself.
“Excuse me – I’m Agnes Frocester; this is Professor Axelson. And we saw what you did two months ago, in the demonstrations on the Nevsky Prospect. I admire your courage.”