The morning of October 25 arrived in Petrograd not with explosions or barricades, but with a strange sense of uncertainty.
Most of the city's residents awoke without fully understanding the scale of the events that had unfolded during the night. Trams still moved through the streets. Shops opened their doors. People hurried to work. The queues outside bakeries had not disappeared. At first glance, the capital appeared unchanged.
Yet beneath that appearance of normality, a new reality had emerged.
During the night, the Military Revolutionary Committee had taken control of a significant portion of the capital's key facilities. The government still remained inside the Winter Palace. Ministers still signed orders and issued instructions. However, the space in which those orders could actually be enforced was shrinking with every passing hour.
Reports began arriving at Smolny from early morning onward.
Some concerned the garrison.
Others dealt with railway stations.
Still others focused on communications and developments in different districts of the city.
The situation was changing almost hourly.
In one meeting room, several men studied the latest reports.
One of them spoke thoughtfully:
—"A week ago we were discussing the possibility of an uprising. Now we are discussing the administration of the capital."
His companion allowed himself a faint smile.
—"Do not rush ahead. Taking power is easier than keeping it."
—"First we have to secure it."
This time, nobody disagreed.
Because the struggle was not yet over.
The Winter Palace remained the symbol of the Provisional Government's authority.
As long as the ministers remained there, the government itself continued to exist, at least formally.
Meanwhile, in another part of the city, the situation looked far less certain.
Inside the Winter Palace, meetings continued almost without interruption.
The ministers appeared exhausted.
Many had not slept for more than a day.
The reports arriving at the palace grew increasingly alarming.
Yet the central problem was not merely the loss of key facilities.
The greater problem was uncertainty.
No one could state with confidence what forces remained at the government's disposal.
No one could guarantee the loyalty of the garrison.
No one could be certain that the next order issued would actually be obeyed.
Kerensky stood beside a large map of the city.
Over the previous hours, that map had changed more dramatically than it had during many of the preceding months.
Facilities considered secure only a day earlier were now under insurgent control.
Some military formations failed to respond to inquiries.
Others responded evasively.
Still others had ceased communicating altogether.
One minister finally broke the silence.
—"We can still restore control."
Several heads turned toward him.
—"How?"
—"Gather the reliable formations. Bring in reinforcements. Re-establish order."
This time, a general from the district headquarters responded.
His voice carried the weight of exhaustion.
—"Minister, plans of that sort assume the existence of an army that obeys orders without hesitation. If such an army still existed, we would not be having this conversation."
The room fell silent once again.
Too many people had spent the past months speaking about military formations as though they were merely numbers on paper.
The revolution had repeatedly demonstrated otherwise.
Every regiment.
Every battalion.
Every company.
Each now possessed its own political will.
That was why the mere existence of soldiers no longer guaranteed control.
During the first half of the day, Kerensky made the decision to leave the capital.
It was not an easy choice.
Some ministers reacted with visible dissatisfaction.
Others supported him.
Arguments were voiced from every side.
—"If you leave now, it will look like flight."
—"If I remain here, we will never obtain reinforcements."
—"And what if they never arrive?"
Kerensky looked at the speaker for several seconds before replying calmly:
—"Then the question will become irrelevant."
No one found an answer to that.
Everyone understood how dangerous the government's position had become.
Some time later, Kerensky's automobile departed the city.
He hoped to locate military formations willing to support the government and restore control over Petrograd.
Inside the capital itself, however, events continued to move in their own direction.
By midday, the influence of the Military Revolutionary Committee had become impossible to ignore.
Commissars appeared in an increasing number of institutions.
The garrison looked more and more to Smolny for instructions.
The structure that had been built over previous months was gradually beginning to function as a genuine system of power.
That same day, the Second All-Russian Congress of Soviets began its work.
Delegates from across the country arrived at Smolny throughout the day.
Workers.
Soldiers.
Representatives of various political parties.
Some came hoping to prevent another crisis.
Others already expected a transfer of power.
Still others simply wanted to understand what was happening.
The corridors of Smolny quickly filled with people.
Arguments broke out everywhere.
Rumors circulated constantly.
The latest news from across the city passed from one group to another.
Yet more and more discussions ultimately returned to the same question.
What would happen next?
Because even among the Bolsheviks' supporters, not everyone felt certain of the outcome.
During one conversation, a delegate remarked:
—"If the government manages to gather enough forces, everything could still change."
His companion shook his head.
—"Perhaps. But for the moment, events are moving in the opposite direction."
By evening, the position of the Provisional Government continued to deteriorate.
The Winter Palace increasingly resembled an isolated island inside a city that was gradually passing under the authority of another power.
Yet most residents of Petrograd still failed to grasp the true scale of what was occurring.
For them, the revolution still consisted mainly of rumors, conversations, and an unusual number of armed men in the streets.
But inside Smolny and the Winter Palace, one reality had already become clear.
The struggle had entered its decisive phase.
And its outcome would be determined within the coming hours.
By the evening of October 25, the position of the Provisional Government had become critical.
Only that morning, some ministers had still been able to convince themselves that they were facing a temporary crisis that could be overcome once loyal troops arrived. Now such illusions were gradually disappearing. Most of the capital was already under the control of the Military Revolutionary Committee, communications were becoming increasingly unreliable, and the reports arriving at the Winter Palace grew more alarming with every passing hour.
Yet the government still existed.
That was why the Winter Palace remained important.
The issue was no longer the building itself.
Nor was it its military significance.
As long as the ministers remained free, the Provisional Government continued, at least formally, to be the lawful authority of Russia.
Both sides understood what that meant.
Both sides understood how this night would end.
The defenders inside the palace were not numerous.
Several hundred military cadets.
Part of the Women's Battalion.
A small number of officers and volunteers.
For a structure as vast as the Winter Palace, it was clearly insufficient, especially considering that many of those inside possessed little experience of real combat.
In one of the halls, several officers discussed the latest reports.
One of them threw another dispatch onto the table in frustration.
—"Another position has been abandoned."
His colleague glanced at the paper.
—"Men leaving?"
—"Some are leaving. Others simply say they have no intention of taking part in a political struggle."
For several moments, no one spoke.
Similar reports had been arriving for hours.
The problem was not merely the number of defenders.
The problem was their state of mind.
Too many people had spent recent months growing tired of politics, crises, and the endless struggle for power.
One of the cadets standing nearby spoke quietly:
—"To be honest, I'm no longer sure what exactly we're holding this place for."
An officer looked at him.
—"For the lawful government."
The young man gave a faint, weary smile.
—"Does it still exist beyond these walls?"
It was an uncomfortable question.
Because the answer was far from obvious.
Meanwhile, the atmosphere in Smolny was entirely different.
There was tension there as well, but it was the tension of the advancing side.
Reports continued arriving from every part of the city.
The Military Revolutionary Committee received information about the condition of the garrison, the movements of the palace defenders, and the disposition of the forces surrounding the building.
In one office, discussions had continued for several hours without interruption.
One participant studied the latest reports.
—"The palace is surrounded."
—"Completely?"
—"Almost."
—"What about the garrison inside?"
—"A mixed force. Exhausted. Uncertain. Many are simply waiting to see how this ends."
A commissar seated at the table slowly shook his head.
—"That is the main difference from February."
Several people looked toward him.
—"In what sense?"
—"Back then, the monarchy was collapsing. Now it is the revolutionary government that is collapsing."
He paused briefly.
—"And most people no longer want to defend it."
His words captured the situation well.
The success of the Bolsheviks was not explained solely by organization.
Not solely by agitators.
Not solely by the work of the Military Revolutionary Committee.
They were also aided by the fact that the Provisional Government had spent months steadily losing the confidence of those it claimed to govern.
Around nine o'clock in the evening, pressure on the Winter Palace intensified further.
The insurgents occupied additional positions.
More forces arrived.
The streets surrounding the palace filled with increasing numbers of armed men.
Yet a major battle still failed to materialize.
Many had expected a dramatic struggle for power.
The reality proved far more complex.
One side was steadily losing the ability to govern the country.
The other was steadily taking its place.
Shortly before ten o'clock in the evening, an event occurred that immediately drew attention throughout the city.
The cruiser Aurora lay anchored on the Neva.
Orders had already sparked considerable debate among members of the crew and officers, but the decision had now been made.
A blank shot thundered across Petrograd.
The sound rolled along the embankments and echoed through the streets.
Its military significance was minimal.
Its symbolic significance was not.
For some, it marked the beginning of the final stage of the uprising.
For others, it confirmed that the old order was collapsing beyond recovery.
Everyone inside the Winter Palace heard it.
Several people instinctively turned toward the windows.
One minister let out a long breath.
—"It seems history has decided not to wait any longer."
No one replied.
Too much had already become clear without words.
Late that evening, insurgent forces gradually began entering the palace.
There was no single overwhelming assault that immediately determined the outcome. The vast building slowly absorbed groups of armed men moving through corridors, stairways, and passageways. Some positions surrendered, others withdrew, and a few still attempted to hold their ground. With each passing hour, the area controlled by the defenders grew smaller.
As the night continued, the government's position became increasingly hopeless.
By midnight, many already understood how events would end.
One minister finally spoke in a quiet voice.
—"The strangest thing is that a state can die almost silently."
His words caused several heads to turn.
—"Silently?"
—"Yes. We imagine the collapse of power as some great battle. In reality, it ends when orders are no longer obeyed."
This time, no one argued.
Because that was exactly what had happened during the preceding months.
Around two o'clock in the morning, resistance effectively came to an end.
Groups of insurgents secured the palace.
The ministers of the Provisional Government were arrested.
Some accepted it calmly.
Others attempted to argue.
Still others remained silent.
Thus ended the history of a government that only months earlier had claimed the authority to rule one of the largest countries in the world.
Yet in another part of the city, inside Smolny, men were already gathering to decide what form the new government would take.
By the time final confirmation of the ministers' arrest reached Smolny, the night was already drawing to a close.
The news spread through the building with remarkable speed. It passed from office to office, through couriers, delegates, committee members, and countless conversations in crowded corridors. Only a few hours earlier, people had spoken of an uprising. Now a different word was being used more and more often.
Power.
Yet alongside the excitement came growing tension.
Even among the victors, there was no agreement about what the future should look like.
The Second All-Russian Congress of Soviets continued its work inside Smolny.
By that point, few delegates were paying attention solely to the official agenda. Events outside the assembly hall were moving too quickly. New reports arrived constantly, and each piece of news altered the mood of those present.
When confirmation arrived that the Winter Palace had fallen and the ministers had been arrested, the hall erupted into discussion.
Some welcomed the news.
Others appeared deeply concerned.
Some reacted with open outrage.
One Menshevik delegate rose from his seat and demanded to be heard.
When the noise subsided enough for his voice to carry across the chamber, he spoke loudly and deliberately.
—"What happened tonight is not a victory for the revolution. It is a blow against the revolution itself."
Shouts immediately broke out across the hall.
Some supported him.
Others protested.
Several delegates demanded that he be allowed to finish.
The speaker continued:
—"Power cannot be built through the seizure of state institutions by armed detachments. Today, you are destroying the unity of the revolutionary movement for the sake of your own party interests."
The uproar only intensified.
But this time a Bolshevik delegate rose to answer.
—"And where has that unity been during these past months?"
Part of the hall applauded.
Others responded with angry protests.
The delegate continued without hesitation.
—"Where was that unity when the country was losing control of itself? When the front was collapsing? When ministers changed faster than decisions could be implemented? You urge us to wait. We have waited long enough."
Several people attempted to speak at once.
The chairman was forced to restore order.
Yet it was becoming increasingly obvious that the argument had moved beyond a dispute between political parties.
The real question was power.
Could the Provisional Government continue to exist after what had happened?
For many delegates, the answer was already clear.
The debates continued for hours.
Mensheviks and Right Socialist Revolutionaries accused the Bolsheviks of seizing power illegally.
The Bolsheviks replied that it was precisely the government's paralysis that had brought the country to disaster.
Each side claimed to be defending the revolution.
Yet with every passing hour, the possibility of compromise grew smaller.
Eventually, groups of delegates began leaving the hall.
Their departure was accompanied by fresh accusations and bitter arguments.
Some left as an act of protest.
Others believed further participation had become meaningless.
Few fully understood the consequences of that decision.
With every opponent who departed, it became easier for those who remained to shape the future direction of the congress.
By morning, attention increasingly shifted toward a new question.
If the old authority had ceased to exist, what authority would replace it?
It was at that moment that Lenin took the podium.
Many delegates had not seen him for months.
During that time, countless rumors had surrounded his name.
Some regarded him as the principal architect of the events unfolding in Petrograd.
Others saw him as a dangerous radical.
Still others viewed him as a politician who had successfully exploited the weakness of the government.
As the hall gradually quieted, he began to speak.
There was no theatrical performance.
No dramatic gestures.
Instead, there was the confidence of a man who understood that the moment for which he and his supporters had worked for years had finally arrived.
He spoke about the need for a new government.
About ending the war.
About land.
About the authority of the Soviets.
About the inability of the old system to overcome the crisis that had consumed the country.
The debates resumed almost immediately.
But now they revolved around specific decisions.
No longer around whether change should occur.
But around what form that change would take.
During the following hours, the congress began adopting the first measures of the new government.
The Decree on Peace was discussed.
The Decree on Land was discussed.
New governing institutions were organized.
The Council of People's Commissars was established.
For the first time in many months, the political center of the country was no longer attempting to preserve the existing system.
Instead, it was creating a new one.
By the morning of October 26, many delegates were exhausted.
Some had not slept for more than a day.
Others had spent nearly every hour in meetings and debates.
Many were still trying to comprehend the speed of the events they had witnessed.
Only a few days earlier, Russia had formally been governed by the Provisional Government.
Now that government no longer existed.
In one of Smolny's corridors, two delegates stopped beside a window.
Beyond the glass, a new day was beginning.
One of them spoke thoughtfully.
—"Strange. It feels as though everything happened too quickly."
His companion remained silent for several moments before replying:
—"On the contrary. It took a very long time. Tonight we merely saw the result."
For a few seconds, both men looked out at the awakening city.
Neither could know what awaited the country in the years ahead.
No one inside Smolny yet understood the scale of the upheavals that were coming.
But one fact had already become undeniable.
During the night of October 25–26, one government had come to an end.
And another had begun.