Two aspects of the October Manifesto call for comment, for otherwise a great deal of the political history of the last decade of the Imperial regime will be incomprehensible.
The manifesto was extracted from Nicholas under duress, virtually at the point of a gun. For this reason he never felt morally obligated to respect it.
Second, it made no mention of the word “constitution.” The omission was not an oversight. Although the claim has been made that Nicholas did not realize he had committed himself to a constitution,125 contemporary sources leave no doubt that he knew better. Thus, he wrote his mother on October 19 that granting the Duma legislative authority meant “in essence, constitution.”126 Even so, he wanted at all costs to avoid the detested word in order to preserve the illusion that he remained an autocrat. He had been assured by the proponents of liberal reforms that under a constitutional regime he would continue as the exclusive source of laws and that he could always revoke what he had granted.* He believed this explanation because it helped assuage his conscience, which was troubled by the thought that he might have violated his coronation oath. This self-deception—the absurd concept of a constitutional autocrat—would cause no end of trouble in relations between the Crown and the Duma in the years to come.
But when the October Manifesto was proclaimed, these problems were not apparent to the liberals and liberal-conservatives who felt confident that a new era had dawned. Even high police officials were telling each other, only half in jest, that they would soon have nothing left to do.127
Witte agreed to assume the chairmanship of the Council of Ministers only on condition that he be permitted to act as a genuine Prime Minister and select his cabinet. Like Ermolov, Kryzhanovskii, and other experienced officials, he felt that a cohesive, disciplined ministry was an absolute necessity in view of the government’s imminent confrontation with an elected legislature.128 Although there was no reason why such a ministry could not consist exclusively of bureaucrats, Witte believed that the cabinet would be much more effective if it included some respected public figures.
On November 19, he initiated talks with Dmitrii Shipov, Alexander Guchkov, a prominent industrialist, Prince E. N. Trubetskoi, a professor of philosophy and the brother of the recently deceased rector of Moscow University, and several other public figures.129 The persons he approached with offers of posts in the government were liberal-conservatives, on good terms alike with the opposition and the bureaucracy. The mere fact of a minister choosing a cabinet was without precedent (and, one may add, without sequel): “For the first time in tsarist history someone beside the tsar had single-handedly dictated the identity of most of the ministers.”130
The negotiations collapsed within a week. Those whom Witte had approached turned down his offer on the ostensible ground that they could not work together with Peter Durnovo, whom Witte had offered the Ministry of the Interior. Durnovo had once been implicated in a sordid affair involving his mistress and the Spanish Ambassador. He was further mistrusted because of his long-standing connection with the police. But the country was in chaos, virtually in a condition of civil war, and it required an experienced administrator to restore order. Durnovo happened to have the experience and the practical intelligence needed for the job. Witte refused to yield to Durnovo’s critics, for he realized that the fate of the reforms hinged on his ability to pacify the country as quickly as possible. But judging by the fate of subsequent attempts to bring public figures into the government, all of which would also fail, it is questionable that Durnovo was anything more than a pretext. The leaders even of the moderate, liberal-conservative opposition feared being accused of betrayal by the liberals and the socialists, for whom the October Manifesto was only a stepping-stone toward a Russian Republic. By entering the government they risked isolating themselves from society without gaining effective influence on policy, for they had no guarantee that the bureaucracy would not use them for its own purposes. But concern over physical safety also played its part: “I would not be candid,” Witte wrote in retrospect,
10. Crowds celebrating the proclamation of the Manifesto of October 17, 1905.
if I did not voice the impression, perhaps an entirely groundless one, that at the time public figures were frightened of the bombs and the Brownings which were in common use against those in power, and that this was one of the inner motives which whispered to each, in the depths of his souclass="underline" “As far as possible from danger.”131
Witte behaved like a Western Prime Minister not only in selecting his cabinet but in requiring the governors and the military authorities, who in Russia carried administrative responsibilities, to submit daily reports to him. He also established a press bureau to promote favorable news coverage for himself.132 These practices were not appreciated at the Court, which suspected him of using the crisis to accumulate personal power and make himself into a “Grand Vizier.” How insecure Witte’s position was may be judged from the fact that in a letter to his mother Nicholas referred to his Prime Minister, who had to deal with Jewish bankers abroad to secure loans for Russia, as a “chameleon” trusted only by “foreign Yids.”133
The October Manifesto, and the political amnesty act that followed, succeeded in good measure in calming strikes and other forms of radical unrest in the cities. At the same time it unleashed even more violent disorders by right-wing elements against those whom they held responsible for forcing the Tsar to concede something as un-Russian as a constitution, as well as by peasants against landed proprietors. It would be futile to seek any logic in these excesses which would rage for the next two years. They were outbursts of pent-up resentments set off by the breakdown of authority: irrational and even anti-rational, without a program, they represented the Russian bunt which Witte feared and hoped to prevent.
The day after the proclamation of the October Manifesto, anti-Jewish pogroms broke out throughout the Empire, accompanied by attacks on students and intellectuals. Panic spread among Jews in the Pale of Settlement and in cities like Moscow where many of them resided on temporary permits: Jews had not experienced such fear since the Middle Ages. There were beatings and killings, accompanied by the looting and burning of Jewish properties. Odessa, which had a record of extreme violence, witnessed the most savage pogrom, in which around five hundred Jews perished. It was common for thirty, forty, or more Jews to lose their lives in a medium-sized city.134
Although subjecting Jews to severe discriminations, the Russian Government had in the past not encouraged pogroms; it had even repressed them, from fear that anti-Jewish violence would get out of control and victimize Russian landlords and officials. Indeed, the two kinds of violence had a common psychological basis: for although radical intellectuals considered anti-Jewish pogroms “reactionary” and assaults on landlords “progressive,” their perpetrators made no such distinction. The spectacle of policemen and Cossacks standing by while mobs beat and robbed Jews the peasants interpreted to mean that the authorities condoned assaults on all non-communal properties and their owners. In 1905–6, in many localities, peasants attacked landed estates of Christian owners under the impression that the Tsar who tolerated anti-Jewish pogroms would not object to pogroms of landlords.* So that, in preventing anti-Jewish violence, the establishment acted in its own best interests.