One hundred years ago, in 1917, a pivotal moment unfolded at the Berlin Philharmonic. A conference led by Pavel Milyukov, a prominent Russian liberal figure and foreign affairs minister, took place amid a tense clash of empires and ideologies. Two monarchist conspirators, Pyotr Shabelsky-Bork and Sergey Taboritsky, carried out a violent act. Although Milyukov escaped injury, his longtime ally and the father of the future renowned writer Vladimir Nabokov, Vladimir Nabokov Sr., died while trying to subdue the assailants.
The Berlin gathering, held after Milyukov’s return from Washington, began on March 28, 1922. It paired Milyukov with other representatives of the Provisional Government in discussing the limitations of naval armaments and issues spanning the Far East and the Pacific. The event was framed under the banner of a broader idea titled the Restoration of America and Russia, drawing around 1200 attendees who sought clarity about a turbulent postwar world. The Cadet Party, once united, had fractured in exile. Milyukov gravitated toward alliances with the left, while Vladimir Nabokov pursued more rightward, even nationalist, currents. Geographically, Milyukov settled in Paris, Nabokov in Berlin, yet the old camaraderie still lingered, hinting at a possible reconciliation. Nabokov even received a nominal invitation to the lecture and sat in the front rows.
In the days leading up to the talk, a sense of reconciliation emerged. Milyukov recalled in later writings how he found Nabokov waiting with a heartfelt greeting upon his arrival in Berlin. The two old friends spoke of past disagreements, and the moment grew into a kiss that many would later mark as a farewell kiss. The exchange would haunt Nabokov’s memory and became the subject of articles in Nabokov’s own newspaper, where Milyukov published an obituary tribute to a cherished friend. That same publication carried Nabokov’s pieces on the speaker’s influence and the lasting bond between two men who had once stood on opposite sides of a political divide.
During the lecture, a disturbance erupted when a suited man rose abruptly and challenged Milyukov. It later emerged that Pyotr Shabelsky-Bork, speaking with a twisted sense of vengeance, exclaimed that this was a revenge of the tsar. He fired twice, narrowly missing the target. The hall devolved into chaos. The physician Alexander Asnes sprang into action, stabilizing Milyukov and helping to avert a larger tragedy, while panic spread as people rushed for the exits.
The confrontation did not end there. Nabokov acted with remarkable presence of mind, restraining the attacker and trying to disarm him. Yet another conspirator, Taboritsky, moved with deceptive calm and fired three shots into Nabokov’s back. One round found its mark in a vital region, ending Nabokov’s life on the scene and transforming the moment into a grim chapter in émigré history. The shooter attempted to reach the wardrobe and slip away, but a witness identified him, and the crowd quickly restrained him. In addition to Nabokov, nine others were wounded, including the Berlin leadership of the Cadet faction and a key editor of the ruling newspaper, among them doctor Alexander Asnes and the editor Lev Elyashev.
After the assailants were subdued, police quickly took control of the situation. Medical examinations revealed that both men had used drugs that day, adding another layer to a grim episode in which political violence intersected with personal tragedy. Milyukov, miraculously unharmed, wrote a heartfelt note to his fallen friend, reflecting on the brutal coincidence of fate and the fragile line between safety and catastrophe. He described the three bullets as something that could have ended him, yet he remained alive while his friend crossed into death. The letters and recollections that followed echoed across the émigré world, shaping the collective memory of a generation that had witnessed revolutions, exile, accusations, and sudden loss.
The impact of Nabokov’s death rippled through literary, political, and intellectual circles. Writers and public figures, including Alexander Amfiteatrov, Ivan Bunin, Alexander Kuprin, and Dmitry Merezhkovsky, offered their thoughts and condolences. Kuprin, in particular, praised Nabokov for a calm, restrained demeanor that masked a resolute spirit. He described a man whose sense of duty and moral purpose persisted beneath a surface of measured speech and dignified poise, a combination that earned him enduring respect.
Nabokov’s son, Vladimir Nabokov Jr., had just begun to gain recognition as a writer, publishing stories in the father’s newspaper, and he used the moment to reflect on the loss. His lines spoke of a deep sense of sorrow and a world that would never quite be the same. The poem and the journalist’s tribute underscored a family legacy marked by public service, intellectual rigor, and a readiness to confront danger for a higher ideal.
Both Milyukov and Nabokov shared a profile as articulate orators, prolific publishers, and teachers who navigated turbulent political terrains. Their careers included moments of privilege and periods of confinement under both czarist and Soviet authorities, and many of their aphorisms from lectures—brief, pointed, and memorable—are still recalled today. Milyukov’s sharp critique of autocratic power had a long arc that stretched from the Duma to exile, while Nabokov’s legacy as a writer and public voice endured despite the upheavals of the era.
The years that followed would see the fuss of the late 1910s and early 1920s settle into a new order of emigration, exile, and reinvention. The case of Shabelsky-Bork and Taboritsky would later be documented in the newspaper Rul and in Berlin’s legal records. A German court found Taboritsky guilty of complicity in the murder attempt and sentenced him to a lengthy term, while Shabelsky-Bork received a prison sentence for Nabokov’s death. Their eventual releases, the shifting allegiances of the era, and the strange bedfellows of anti‑German, monarchist, and nationalist currents revealed a tumultuous landscape. Shabelsky-Bork and Taboritsky’s paths intersected with the rise of fascist movements, including ties to Nazi networks, before the close of the war. Nabokov’s father, once a central figure in the Russian émigré world, remained a symbol of courage and intellectual integrity for those who remembered his steadfast commitment to principle in a time of upheaval.