Father Gapon is at the head of the Neva contingent, the same one the young men who appeared at the kitchen of the Karenin Palace were in. His priest’s cassock is covered by an overcoat because the warrant for his arrest has already been issued (this very morning the mayor invited him to the police station for a telephone conversation, but Gapon realized it was a trap and declined). He knows his hours are numbered, that they want to get rid of him. That’s why he isn’t marching at the front of the procession, with the bravest, most notorious and devoted leaders of the proletariat. That contingent is carrying an enormous crucifix and other religious icons, which they’ve just taken from a nearby chapel (others have had less luck obtaining religious items because the reverends have refused to lend them), and portraits of the tsars from the headquarters of the Neva Branch of the Assembly of Russian Factory and Mill Workers of the City of St. Petersburg.

Vasilev (the labor leader who is a member of the assembly) and Gapon’s two most trusted bodyguards are also at the front of the procession, along with Aleksandra (the one who works for Anya Karenina), who is there so Gapon can keep an eye on her. In a state of nervous exhaustion from the events of the past few days, she’s at breaking point. Aleksandra marches with the passion and contagious fervor she first experienced yesterday. Volodin walks beside Aleksandra, not because he merits a place at the front of the procession, but because he feels responsible for her; he gave his word to Giorgi.

All the city’s dispossessed have joined in the demonstration, including activists and students, despite the fact that when one of them tried to say something, he was shouted down: “We don’t need no students here!” In total there are more than two hundred thousand demonstrators. They broke their solemn silence only to pray in unison and sing the national anthem to the tsar (their beloved “father”). Obeying orders, they’re all wearing their Sunday best—young people, old people, women, and of course the children we’ve already mentioned.

There’s not a cloud in the sky. Ice gleams on the rooftops. The cupolas of churches and cathedrals are shining. The white snow reflects the sun. It all seems like a good omen, because it’s been days since the heavens have been visible, and the temperature is mild for this time of year. But the omen is misleading, this is no day for ascendant stars. As Kollontai would write, “That day, the tsar killed something monumental in addition to the hundreds who died. He killed superstition. He killed the blind faith of the people, who had been certain that they would obtain justice by appealing to the tsar.”