Chapter 48: Nicholas II, the Genius Monarch

Nicholas II’s declaration on the development of Manchuria naturally drew a great deal of attention, not only within Russia but across all of Europe.

Europe’s financiers, after all, were currently desperate to sniff out any new corner from which money might flow.

The wide world that had once seemed endless had already fallen, for the most part, under the influence of the great powers, and nearly every place worth money already had somebody’s flag planted in it.

The old established powers, Britain and France.

The rising powers, America and Germany, knew that creating more wealth meant opening overseas markets, but a new market was not so easily opened.

In that respect, Manchuria was a land of opportunity that was already more than half proven.

French capital had gone in and the Chinese Eastern Railway was already laid, and reports were pouring out that the region held all manner of minerals and might even boast high food production.

Manchuria had traditionally been classified as a region too cold for farming, with investment risk far too high on account of the conflict between Russia and Japan.

Recently, however, Manchurian soybeans had ignited an explosive craze, and above all, Japan’s momentum had not merely faltered but collapsed outright, and the risk had vanished with it.

For Japan, driven all the way to national default after its defeat in the Russo-Japanese War, starting another war against Russia was close to impossible.

As the imperial house’s plan for developing Manchuria drew the eyes of financial circles in every country, Russia’s political situation naturally landed on the chopping block as well.

The first to react was, of course, the patient whose persecution complex flared up the moment Russia was involved, the British Empire.

As it happened, the Liberal Party had just won a landslide in the general election, and Henry Campbell-Bannerman had taken office as the new Prime Minister.

And so.

Edward Grey, Foreign Secretary of the new cabinet, could not help suspecting that something was wrong with the report that had landed on his desk.

“Large-scale internal reform underway in Russia… the Okhrana greatly strengthened, and even military personnel authority concentrated in the imperial house. Land reform and improved labour law transforming the country’s very constitution… what?”

For the British Empire to take an interest in Russia’s movements was simply the natural order of things.

The problem was that this interest always arrived at one and the same conclusion.

Sure enough, upon hearing that Russia was returning to health, Britain’s persecution complex flared up right on schedule.

“What if a Russia grown that strong comes storming into India?”

“What if a Russia with food to spare from land reform sets its sights on India?”

“What if a Russia with even more advanced industry sets its sights on India?”

India, India, India.

The British Empire’s paranoia, where everything ends in India, soon curdled into voices demanding that immediate countermeasures be drawn up.

Shouldn’t relations with Russia be reconsidered?

Shouldn’t the plan to move closer to Russia as a check on Germany be revised?

What about injecting British capital into the Manchurian development and checking it from the inside?

And yet, in the midst of this great chaos, a single sentence appended to the end of the report dumped the ice-cold water of reason over the Foreign Office’s raging head.

[All of these movements are judged to be proceeding under the direction of Nicholas II.]

“……?”

The eyes of the minister reviewing the report stopped in midair.

“…Nicholas II?”

That volcano of incompetence, kind and well-mannered but swayed by everyone around him, dragged about by his wife, incapable of making important decisions and putting his staff through utter hell… did what, exactly?

“Nicholas II has purged the Grand Dukes, is raising the secret police into a monster, and is tearing apart and rebuilding Russia’s entire power structure… every action until now was an act….”

Wait, wait, wait.

What is this, some kind of alternate-history novel?

With this much nonsense strung together, one had to start doubting even the report’s basic facts.

“Could it be… that our people over in Russia have been played by someone?”

In the worst case, someone with ties to the Conservative Party might be feeding them exaggerated intelligence to cloud the judgment of the newly installed Liberal cabinet.

The Foreign Office’s fever, which had been boiling over India only moments before, cooled rapidly.

That Russia was growing stronger was probably true, but the notion that the cause was Nicholas II’s hidden genius was nonsense that invited nothing but laughter.

Just imagining what they would hear if they brought a revision of Russia policy before the cabinet on that basis was enough to make one’s head spin.

He wanted to have it properly verified this instant, but regrettably, the British Empire did not yet possess a systematic intelligence organization.

There was the Naval Intelligence Department, but its main business was naval movements, and the Army General Staff intelligence section was too small to have any capacity for deep analysis of Russian internal politics.

In the end there was no choice but to rely on the reports of the Petersburg embassy, and the conclusion that very embassy had sent up was ‘Nicholas II is a genius who has been hiding his power’.

“Tell them I don’t mind if it takes some time. Have them redo our intelligence on Russia from the beginning, every last piece of it, and bring it back.”

That was the full extent of the Foreign Secretary’s instructions.

The German Empire, the rising power threatening Britain, was not much different.

The German General Staff’s Third Section held Russia and France as its two great objects of surveillance, yet it suffered under chronic budget shortages and cold treatment from within the army.

The perception that intelligence officers never got ahead was widespread, and the reports coming up from the Third Section were not treated with much seriousness even inside the General Staff.

But this latest rumor leaking out through Russian high society was so bizarre that it reached the ears of Chancellor Bernhard von Bülow himself.

The moment Bülow received the report, he slyly unpacked the tale before Wilhelm II.

Not, of course, as a serious submission.

“Your Majesty, an amusing rumor is making the rounds in Russia. Might I share it with you as a little after-dinner treat?”

“Amusing news? What is it?”

“Yes. It is said that among the Russian nobility, word is going around that His Majesty Nicholas has in fact been playing at incompetence all this while, and that only now, with all his preparations complete, has he shown his true colors as a hidden genius monarch.”

“…….”

Wilhelm’s jaw dropped open.

And then.

“Heh heh… GAHAHAHAHAHA!”

An unrestrained roar of laughter filled the office.

“N-Niki? What? Niki, a genius? Heheheheh!”

Wilhelm laughed until he was pounding the desk and shaking his head.

Even now he vividly remembered his frail cousin, who had never managed a single step out of the vast shadow of his father, Alexander III.

For that Niki to have suddenly been hiding his abilities all along… how was that any different from the fantasies a child scribbles into a notebook?

“Have the nobles and Niki had a falling-out of late? Perhaps they’re slandering Niki with some aim in mind.”

“I cannot ascertain the precise intent either, but I suspect nobles disgruntled over the recent Okhrana expansion and the purge of the Grand Dukes have inflated their delusions of grandeur.”

“Delusions of grandeur… true, that could well be it.”

Wilhelm nodded, the laughter still not gone from his face.

“Chancellor, in truth I too have been hiding a secret, that I am the reincarnation of Frederick the Great and Otto the Great, heh heh heh.”

“That sounds a great deal more plausible than the claim that His Majesty Nicholas has been hiding his abilities.”

“Doesn’t it? Gahaha!”

Of course, Germany too had sensed that something was changing in Russia.

The purge of the Grand Dukes and the reorganization of the Okhrana were public facts, after all.

But even if one wanted to plant false information, one had to plant something that at least made sense. Who was going to fall for this?

“Honestly, these wretched Russian nobles. Do they assume every other country’s leaders are on their level?”

Bülow matched the Emperor’s mood and expressed his fervent agreement.

“Quite so, Your Majesty.”

“Which office handles that intelligence again? The Third Section? At any rate, have a word with them. If they mean to be led about by that sort of drivel the Russian nobles are spouting, they may as well take off the uniform themselves and come home.”

At least babble something worth a moment’s consideration, and one could pretend to think it over.

The organization that was supposed to be analyzing what was actually happening in Russia kept fetching back rumors like this day after day, and even the Chief of the General Staff made no effort to hide the open contempt on his face.

No one took the matter seriously.

It was so absurd, so laughable, that Wilhelm II could not suppress his sneering for the entire rest of the day.

Because it was, quite literally, purely funny.

* * *

Around the time Britain and Germany were shutting their ears to wild rumors and trying to analyze the true causes.

France, which possessed in the Deuxième Bureau the most systematic military intelligence organization in Europe, was looking at this affair rather differently.

Though it had produced the Dreyfus Affair, a dark history for the ages, France’s actual capacity for foreign intelligence collection at present was solid beyond any comparison with Britain’s or Germany’s.

Above all, France was Russia’s ally.

Gathering intelligence on an enemy and grasping the inner workings of an ally differ in motive, but they are cut from the same cloth in that both must be accurate.

While heads were being racked in search of an answer to this question, Maurice Bompard, the French Minister at Petersburg, received an unexpected invitation.

An invitation from none other than Yakov, Director-General of the Okhrana.

For the head of the secret police to summon an allied nation’s minister was no ordinary matter, so Minister Bompard appeared at the appointed place half in wariness, half in curiosity.

“Minister Bompard, thank you for coming all this way.”

“When the Director-General himself extends the invitation, of course I must come. What is this about?”

“You may perhaps have guessed, but I wish to consult you on the matter of Manchuria.”

Perhaps because he was no diplomat, he was, sure enough, straight to the point from the very first.

“His Majesty intends to pursue the development of Manchuria directly under the imperial house. And His Majesty holds a firm resolve to keep the nobility’s hands off the concessions of the Far East.”

“I have heard such rumors, but is it actually feasible? The nobles’ backlash will be considerable.”

Yakov gave a small chuckle and nodded..

“Minister, you surely remember what became of Bezobrazov’s clique when they tried to pocket the Manchurian concessions for themselves?”

“Of course. As a result, did relations between Russia and Japan not turn ugly?”

But the Grand Dukes had been purged to the last man, and at present there was no noble drawing any meaningful concessions out of Manchuria.

This much had already been confirmed through the Bureau’s reports, so Bompard had no particular objection.

Only one thing remained of which he was not yet certain.

Was Nicholas II truly behind all of this?

Bompard fixed Yakov with a gaze full of doubt, and in place of an answer, the man glanced quietly to the side.

Where his eyes led, a young child was bustling busily about.

A ten-year-old child, seated in the office of the Director-General of the Okhrana, handling documents.

He had heard the stories, but seeing it with his own eyes, one did not need a diplomat’s eye to know that this was no ordinary sight.

“Minister, this is Young Master Mikhail, whom His Majesty holds especially dear.”

Yakov carried the introduction along as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“A collateral branch of the princely house of Odoyevsky, and currently chief aide to the Director-General of the Okhrana. Within a few years he will be sitting in this very seat of mine, so it may be well to make his acquaintance in advance.”

Bompard’s eyes shifted, minutely.

Grooming a ten-year-old as the next Director-General, and declaring it openly to an allied nation’s minister, no less.

This was no mere introduction; was the imperial house not saying something, ever so obliquely?

It was a direct demonstration of just how long ago, and how deliberately, the Tsar’s selection and cultivation of talent had been set in motion.

“Hello, Minister.”

The young master called Mikhail, quite unlike his childish appearance, offered his greeting with a well-mannered smile.

“…Fascinating. Russia’s future looks bright indeed.”

“Thank you. Then let us return to the main subject.”

Yakov straightened his posture and continued.

“As you no doubt anticipate, His Majesty wishes to actively attract French capital for this development of Manchuria.”

“Oho….”

“The imperial house and French capital would establish a joint-stock company, and Manchuria would be developed through it. In this way, any intervention by the Russian nobility can be cut off at the source.”

Bompard’s expression turned serious.

For France, it was genuinely difficult to find a reason to refuse this investment.

At the very moment France was pouring all its strength into its relationship with Russia to check Germany, the imperial house itself had extended a hand.

What was more, with Japan shriveled up in the Far East, it was no exaggeration to say that Manchuria’s investment risk had effectively evaporated.

There was even precedent, French capital having already gone in during the construction of the Chinese Eastern Railway, so there was room to view this as an extension of that earlier investment.

Turn it over from every angle, and there was simply no particular reason to refuse.

Pass this news along to Paris, and the financiers who handled the money would come charging in at once, drool dripping from their lips.

Except for one thing.

Whether a foreign country invests in an imperial enterprise or not depends on just how capable that country’s emperor is.

Invest an enormous fortune on the strength of trusting Nicholas II.

There was not a person alive who did not know how catastrophic that sentence was.

But taking the recent currents into account, look at it however one liked, they had no choice but to revise their judgment.

Were the two people right before his eyes not saying as much themselves?

As for our Majesty Nicholas II, he is a man who knows how to bide his time, a possessor of such patience that, for the sake of his goal, he will not hesitate to play the fool, the utter Moron.

“Minister, His Majesty said that he truly wishes to work together with France, whom he can trust.”

And on top of everything, a single remark that pricked their anxieties with exquisite precision; the child did not leave a single opening.

That was plainly a way of saying that if they dragged their feet on bidding, British capital might be brought in next.

The investment, best get on with it right away, hadn’t they?

~~~

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