22 February 1905, Moscow
Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich, military commander of Moscow, did not find it easy to change his mind or reverse a course of action, so his decision of today had come as a surprise to many. Prince Georgy Lvov, his guest, was foremost among those to be thus pleasantly surprised. Lunch, music and pleasant conversation – Lvov was an accomplished conversationalist, and a very pleasant man, Grand Duke Sergei admitted to himself – began the approach. Later, the two men would head out to the Bolshoi for a concert. A private theatre box was an admirable place to negotiate things. Seated in the carriage, flanked by mounted police, Grand Duke Sergei began to outline his suggestion: “You understand, your Excellency, that an abdication is ourt of the question. The principle of autocratic government cannot be questioned. But his Majesty is interested in discussing options with the more moderate proponents of reform and come to an accomodation. I understand you are acquainted with some of them...”
Prince Lvov nodded cautiously. He was hesitant to enter the minefield of politics – not himself a revolutionary by temperament or belief, his involvement in the semstvo was based on his charity work more than anything else. But the Grand Duke was appealing to his patriotic duty, and Lvov shared his concerns about the possibility of a genuine revolution.
“I cannot make any commitments on anyone else's behalf, obviously, but I will...”
The carriage slewed sideways. Duke Sergei instinctively ducked as he heard a horse neigh in pain. The first shots did not take him by surprise. Drawing his revolver, he raised his head to bring his eyes level with the window. The gendarme was down, his horse collapsed on the man's body. Two armed men approached the carriage, firing their pistols as they went.
“Assassins!”, the Grand Duke shouted to Prince Lvov who seemed locked in fright. He raised the revolver and fired, noting with some satisfaction that the attackers seemed dismayed and confused to see him returning fire. Prince Lvov snapped out of his paralysis, looking out of the window to see what was going on. The two revolutionaries looked on in utter shock as they recognised the man. One of them reflexively raised his gun, but the other struck down his arm. “Idiot!” His shout could be heard inside the carriage. “Not him!”
Duke Sergei roared with anger. Firing again, he rose to shout for help, oblivious of the danger. There were two more mounted police with them. Where were they? One more shot, then another. A bullet spanged off the metal fittings of the coach. Duke Sergei took careful aim and felt sure he would have hit his target dead center if his leg had not buckled under him. He fell, momentarily confused in a tangle of noise, shots and hoofbeats. Two gendarmes had rounded the corner and opened fire straightaway. One of the assassins dropped, clutching at his stomach. The other ran. Prince Lvov had dropped to his knees, struggling to breathe. Blood seeped from his shirtfront. Sergei felt sure that he could not have been hit by the gunmen. He opened his mouth to breate the policemen for their stupidity just before he fell forward.