"An uninformed majority will always lose a battle of information to an informed minority"
~Unknown
---
The Winter Palace shimmered under the glow of thousands of candles and electric lights, a symbol of the old world embracing the new. The grand ballroom was filled with the hum of conversation and the strains of an orchestra playing a lively waltz. Nobles, diplomats, and industrial magnates swirled about in glittering attire, their faces carefully composed despite the uncertainty that had crept into Russian high society.
Nicholas stood near the dais, the weight of his crown feeling heavier than usual. It was his first New Year's as Tsar, and every decision, every glance, felt scrutinized. To his right, his mother, Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna, watched the crowd with an air of quiet authority, her mourning black softened by the pearl necklace that gleamed against her dress.
"Nikolai," she said softly, her voice low enough to be drowned by the music. "You've done well to host this ball. The court needs reassurance after these tumultuous months."
Nicholas nodded, scanning the room. "Reassurance, yes. But also reminders," he said, his tone firm. "Loyalty to the crown is not a choice. It's a duty."
The Dowager Empress raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Nicholas had changed so much in the course of a single year. But the change wasn't negative. He has become more reassuring and firm. She understood his resolve but wondered how far her son was willing to go...
As the clock struck midnight and the orchestra transitioned to a solemn melody, Nicholas stepped onto the dais to address the crowd.
"Esteemed guests," Nicholas began, his voice steady. "As we bid farewell to the year and welcome the next, we must also reflect on our duty to this great empire. Russia stands on the cusp of an era defined by progress, strength and unity. Together, we will secure its place as the greatest power on Earth."
A cheer rose, glasses clinking in celebration. Nicholas allowed himself a small smile, knowing this moment of perceived 'unity' would give way to the difficult conversations that lay ahead.
...
While crystal chandeliers illuminated the grand halls of the Winter Palace, and nobles toasted their glasses to the promise of a new year, a very different scene unfolded in a small wooden house on the outskirts of Moscow.
The Karpov family huddled around a modest hearth, the only source of light and warmth in their single-room home. Snow piled high against the windows, and the wind howled through the cracks in the walls. Though the family was used to the cold, this winter felt particularly bitter.
Mikhail Karpov, a wiry man in his mid-thirties, poked at the meager fire, coaxing it to life. His hands were calloused from years of labor at the nearby factory, where he worked twelve-hour shifts for barely enough to keep his family fed. Beside him sat his wife, Anna, stitching a patch onto one of her son's worn boots. Their two children, Yuri and little Varvara, played with a makeshift doll made from scraps of cloth.
"Papa," Yuri asked, his voice curious,
"What do you think the Tsar is doing tonight?"
Mikhail glanced at his son, then at Anna. "The Tsar? He's in his palace, no doubt, surrounded by important people. Probably drinking fine wine and making speeches."
Anna frowned but kept her eyes on her stitching. "Let the Tsar have his wine and speeches. It doesn't change much for us, does it?"
Mikhail sighed.
"Maybe not. But they say he's different from the old one. Younger, more determined. Some of the men at the factory think he might actually care about people like us."
Anna snorted softly, her needle pausing.
"Care about us? When have they ever cared? We're just the ones who break our backs to fill their coffers."
"But what if it's true, Mama?" Yuri asked, his eyes wide. "What if the Tsar wants to help us? My teacher says he's promised to help us. That means more bread, right?"
Anna's expression softened as she looked at her son.
"I hope so, Yuri. But we've been promised things before."
Mikhail leaned back against the rough wooden wall, his face thoughtful.
"I heard something similar at the factory. They say he's going to make the nobles pay more. A 'symbolic tax', they're calling it. If that means we keep more of what we earn, maybe there's hope."
Anna sighed, setting the boot aside. "Hope. We've had plenty of that. What we need is action. Real change, not words."
Mikhail nodded slowly. "You're right. But change takes time. Maybe this Tsar will be different. Maybe not. All we can do is keep going."
...
A week later, the nobles were gathered in the Council Chamber by order of the Emperor.
Their attention was fixed on the young Tsar at the head of the room. Nicholas stood flanked by his advisors, including Sergei Witte and Alexei Brusilov.
"My friends." Nicholas began, his tone measured. "The strength of our empire lies in the unity of its people, and the nobility has always been the heart of Russia. Your service and sacrifice have been the foundation of this nation's greatness."
'More like leeching on it because of something your great-great-grandfather did.' Nicholas thought to himself, but he knew he couldn't ever voice these thoughts.
But the room seemed to relax, the flattery soothing their pride.
Only Stroganov shifted uncomfortably.
'This flattery... It's making me uneasy. He has something up his sleeve doesn't he?'
"Yet as we march toward progress, we must ensure that every part of our society contributes to our shared success. I am introducing a symbolic adjustment to the tax system. One that honors the nobility's role in leading by example." Nicholas continued.
The nobles exchanged curious glances, unsure of what this meant.
The Tsar's tone seemed to soften.
"This will not be a burden but a gesture. A show of patriotism that will inspire unity. A modest land tax will be introduced for estates of considerable size and a small luxury tax on the most extravagant goods.
These funds will ensure the modernization of our infrastructure and military while allowing us to reduce taxes on the peasants and workers."
Stroganov's eyes widened. Inwardly, he was happy. This was the perfect opportunity for him to rally more nobles to his side. It was now time for him to be vocal and take the lead in this by being seen!
He rose, his expression guarded and said:
"Your Majesty, while I appreciate the noble intent, do you not risk undermining the very class that has upheld the empire for centuries?"
I concur with Count Stroganov, Your Majesty." Pobedonostsev spat out.
Nicholas inclined his head.
"On the countrary, gentlemen. This reform will strengthen our standing. The people look to the nobility for leadership. By making this symbolic sacrifice, you will inspire loyalty and gratitude among all classes. The Motherland itself will be greatful to you!"
Prince Golitsyn, an influential noble spoke next:
"And if this inspires discontent among the landowners? Will they not see this as the beginning of greater demands?"
Sergei Witte interjected smoothly.
"Your Excellencies, this adjustment is designed to be minimal. More a gesture than a tax. Its purpose is to send a message. A message that every part of Russian society is committed to its prosperity."
Nicholas then added:
"I have no desire to place undue strain on any class. This is a call to unity, not division. Together, we will show the world the strength of a united Russia!"
The nobles became reluctant. They couldn't directly oppose in front of words like "motherland", "patriotism", "unity" "honor" as that would make them lose support...
For now, Nicholas won the battle.