Chapter 49: Nicholas II, the Genius Monarch (2)

While Mikhail and Yakov were courting foreign capital and persuading the French Minister, the nobles were hardly sitting on their hands.

“Your Majesty, we have no objection to the policy of developing Manchuria to secure revenue for Russia.”

“But Manchuria is broad and vast. That one territory alone is far larger than Germany or France, is it not?”

“We fear that developing such an enormous land under the Imperial household’s leadership alone is a plan somewhat lacking in realism.”

The nobles never openly let it show that they had no intention whatsoever of letting the Imperial household monopolize that honeypot of a territory.

This was, after all, loyal counsel offered out of heartfelt concern for the nation, so they cited practical difficulties and clung stubbornly to the Emperor’s ankles.

And of course, slipping in a little sly, subtle obstruction along the way came free of charge.

“Capital is one thing, but manpower is a problem as well. What talented men would wish to go out to a remote corner of the Far East like Manchuria?”

Put simply, it was a warning that if the Imperial household insisted on running wild by itself, it wouldn’t even manage a proper supply of manpower, and was that really acceptable?

But Nicholas II only scratched his head with an expression of complete incomprehension.

“Is… that so?”

In the old days they would have thought him a fool, but now the nobles felt as though they were standing before an immense wall.

‘That despicable… how on earth can a man act to that degree?’

‘He understands every last bit of it, and yet he insists, insists, on making us spell it out for him?’

Of course, Nicholas II, who had no idea the nobles were even issuing a warning, only felt wronged.

He could not understand why these bastards had come calling at this early hour to pile difficult talk upon him, and since they would not withdraw as they usually did, it was truly enough to drive him mad.

“Explain what you gentlemen are thinking in simpler terms. In times like these, pedantic conversation is not very constructive.”

It was a plea, since he genuinely could not understand, to please speak plainly; but to the nobles it sounded like something else entirely.

‘What is this? Is he being sarcastic?’

‘He must be pointing out that however hard we pretend to rack our brains, it’s already showing.’

Having begun to twist the Tsar’s words, the nobles kept their posture as humble as possible while cunningly sharpening the barbs in their speech.

“Your Majesty, Manchuria’s climate is exceedingly harsh. In winter it drops to 40 below zero. Could officials with no experience of the Far East go there and endure it?”

“40 below… is it really that cold?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. That is precisely why men well versed in the affairs of the Far East are essential, and such men are, for the most part, produced on the estates of noble families.”

In other words, bend a little and accept our proposal.

Of course, the Tsar, failing to grasp their true intent, asked back in the same carefree tone as ever.

“Then couldn’t we simply send plenty of warm clothes?”

“Ah…….”

A beat too late, a devastated sigh quietly leaked out from among the nobles.

“Your Majesty, it is not merely a matter of clothing. On the capital side as well, French capital alone may not deliver sufficient speed. Would it not be more efficient to bring in Russia’s private capital alongside it?”

They were dressing it up as “private capital”, but there was no possible way he could fail to understand that what they really meant was cutting noble money into the deal, so what on earth was that lukewarm expression supposed to be?

“Moreover, close cooperation with the military establishment is essential for Manchuria’s very security. And without the cooperation of the noble officer corps, this….”

Was he even properly listening!

However closely they studied his face, they could read nothing in it beyond sheer incomprehension, and it was driving the nobles mad as well.

For there was simply no way of discovering what calculations might be running behind that vacant face.

“Hmm… it does seem everything you gentlemen say might be right….”

Might be right?

“And then again, it might not be….”

Might not be?

“I don’t know what to say, so I shall have to think on it a while longer.”

Could he be playing for time?

Or was he waiting for them to lay more of their cards on the table?

In reality he simply had no idea what they were trying to say and wanted it explained more simply, but the nobles were locked in a death struggle with an imaginary genius monarch.

In the eyes of the Tsar, who merely stared blankly at remonstrance whose barbs showed no matter how carefully hidden, the nobles strained desperately to read intentions that had never existed in the first place.

Of course, since there was nothing there to read, this conversation of mutual incomprehension only dragged on without end.

The nobles expounded on the dangers of a Manchurian monopoly from every conceivable angle, and the Tsar held out with the same vacant expression throughout, rotating through the three stock phrases “Is that so?”, “Really?”, and “Hmm…”

Perhaps sensing that at this rate it would not end before sundown, Nicholas II suddenly raised his hand.

“One moment. My apologies, but I must visit the bathroom.”

At last, the word had come.

Goosebumps rose down the nobles’ spines all at once.

For the nobles, too, had long since heard the rumor that whenever Nicholas II stepped out before an important decision, he invariably went to the bathroom.

And whenever the Tsar came back from the bathroom, he unfailingly pulled off something that turned Russia upside down.

But what subject alive could tell his sovereign not to go and answer the call of nature?

“Please take your ease and return at your leisure.”

What ghastly scheme would that fearsome Emperor draw up from the bathroom this time?

Even watching the Emperor’s back as he ambled out of the room, the nobles could not let their guard down for a moment.

* * *

When the Tsar found me waiting in the bathroom at his signal, unmistakable irritation was written across his face.

In the past he would have wanted to end an uncomfortable audience like that by giving the nobles everything they asked for and finishing it quickly, but these days Nicholas II was clearly showing positive change.

-That’d be your autocrat-gaslighting finally starting to kick in.

Of course, of course. It’d better be kicking in.

I’d been delivering speeches almost daily about how His Majesty was the master of Russia, a man who rightfully ought to hold sway over everything in it.

“Misha, I cannot for the life of me tell what those nobles want. Not enough manpower, not enough capital, we need the military’s cooperation… why must they make everything so complicated? My head is starting to ache.”

“Your Majesty, in the end it’s all just excuses. What they really wanted to say is that the Manchuria project won’t run properly without them, and that they’re going to obstruct you through perfectly legal means. It was closer to a warning.”

The Tsar’s brow snapped into a frown.

“A warning?”

“Yes. At the last Committee of Ministers, you laid all the corruption files out on the table, remember? Back then they played dead and held their breath, but now they seem to have sized things up and decided they can win, so they’re slowly crawling back out.”

“So that’s why they kept talking in circles all this time….”

That he could now manage an expression of comprehension, even belatedly, was remarkable progress indeed.

It had taken him a while, but his emotional intuition was clearly up and running.

The Tsar leaned his back against the bathtub and let out a long, long sigh.

“Misha… those people say ‘Your Majesty, Your Majesty’ with their mouths, but in truth I think they wish to stand above me.”

Yes. That’s it exactly, Nicholas II.

You’ve finally noticed what a pushover the nobles take you for.

At the fact that Nicholas II had, for the very first time, faced the true nature of the nobility head-on, I nearly wept tears of pure joy.

“That’s right, Your Majesty. That’s what nobles really are. They’ve been that way for hundreds of years.”

“Hundreds of years….”

“Even now they’re openly showing their intent to use this chance to break you and teach everyone who the real master of Russia is. That’s why you must push forward, Your Majesty.”

The areas where the nobles could most seriously obstruct the Emperor were concentrated in two elements, manpower and capital.

But there were ways to solve both without borrowing the nobles’ hands.

“For capital, talks are already underway with the French. And if French capital falls short, we can bring in American money as well.”

“Oh, even America?”

“Yes. Director Yakov reported that American capitalists are lining up, eager to invest in Manchuria.”

The Tsar’s expression brightened, if only a little.

“Then what of manpower? The nobles said earlier that there is no talent willing to go out and work in the Far East.”

“That’s where the nobles have it wrong.”

The nobles might not want to admit it, but Russia was overflowing with young educated men itching to break free of the nobles’ framework.

Men who had graduated from university yet could not advance for lack of noble connections.

Men who chafed at the current structure, where even the able could not climb if their family was obscure.

“And you’re saying we draw such men to Manchuria?”

“Yes. If you make Manchuria a land of opportunity led by Your Majesty, it becomes a place where a man can rise on ability alone, without minding the nobles. Set the right mood and talent will gather easily. Then we simply bring the ones who prove themselves out there back to the center.”

Up to this point the Tsar seemed persuaded, and everything went smoothly.

The problem was what came next.

“But Your Majesty, there is one man who has gathered more of these talents than anyone.”

“Who?”

“Chairman Sergei Witte.”

The Tsar’s face, all beaming smiles only a moment before, hardened in an instant.

-Called it.

“…Witte? Are you telling me to use that Witte again?”

The displeasure soaking his voice was hard to believe from Nicholas II, a man who never spoke ill of others.

Sergei Witte.

The former Minister of Finance whom Nicholas II loathed above all others, and the current Chairman of the Committee of Ministers.

Over 11 years as Minister of Finance he had laid the foundations of Russian industrialization, but the Tsar had deemed him a dangerous man threatening the autocratic monarchy and engineered his downfall.

But I know.

The sad truth that the notion of Witte pushing for a Western-style parliament is nothing but Nicholas II’s blatant paranoid delusion.

-You know it too, right? According to his memoirs, Witte actually thought Western-style parliaments were inefficient talking shops.

According to Seong-jun’s knowledge, what Witte pursued was not parliamentary democracy but a centralized model of economic growth, with capable career administrators serving under a strong autocrat.

The only problem was the fundamental impossibility of Nicholas II being the one sitting in that “strong autocrat” seat.

So Witte despised the Tsar as incompetence incarnate, and the Tsar raged that Witte looked down on him.

In short, theirs was the worst possible match, two men fated to loathe each other.

But that was exactly why, at this moment, Witte could be the perfect card to play.

“Your Majesty, they say Witte despises the conservative great-landowner nobles more than anyone alive. And the Nobles’ Committee hates him right back; they call him ‘the cancer of the empire’.”

“That much… I know. It’s why the nobles all approved when I moved Witte from his ministry to a sinecure post with nothing but honors attached.”

“Which is exactly why the nobles will never imagine you calling Witte back. There isn’t a soul in Russia who doesn’t know that you and Witte are on bad terms.”

Which made it all the more effective.

To build a strong autocracy centered on the Emperor, a working staff to hold it up from below was indispensable anyway.

If we lopped off noble heads one after another, who was going to fill the posts they’d been responsible for? Their ancestors?

“Your Majesty, this isn’t bowing your head to Witte. It’s you making use of him.”

“But will that man meekly agree to work for me?”

“If Witte refuses, then you simply look into other options without a second thought. There is nothing to lose.”

The Tsar folded his arms and sank into thought.

In any case, the day would never come when Nicholas II had to face Witte in person and say anything humbling.

Director Yakov could handle that sort of thing in his stead.

“Here’s what we’ll tell Witte. That you are sorry for everything until now. That to reduce the nobles’ influence you first had to build up the Okhrana, and that to build up the Okhrana you had no choice but to play the part of a man who never ruffled the nobles’ feathers.”

“Well… I suppose that much could be said.”

A strong autocracy centered on the Emperor, and an efficient bureaucratic system.

This was the ideal political order Witte had dreamed of his whole life.

With the Tsar himself extending a hand and asking him to build it together, would any man refuse over old bad blood?

The resistance in the Tsar’s expression slowly began to thin.

“Very well. Then we shall do it your way. For now, I return to the nobles and tell them I will give their proposal careful thought, yes?”

“Yes. Then I’ll go straight to Director Yakov and ask him to arrange a meeting with Witte.”

The Tsar nodded and headed back to the room where the nobles waited, and I left the palace with Director Yakov to take the hand of the bureaucrat the nobles hated most.

The great-landowner nobles versus the career administrators pursuing industrialization built on heavy and chemical industry, two sides that could never, ever mix.

Before, the matchup could not even form thanks to the existence of the hopelessly spineless Nicholas II, but now everything had changed.

Get the picture?

Starting now, kill each other.

~~~

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