"I can't simply pour all of this into relief efforts," I thought.
"If the consolation money arrives in installments," Tolstoy suggested, as if reading my thoughts, "you could issue bonds to secure funds immediately."
How much did this half-exiled man know?
"It would be a shame to abandon the Far East," I mused aloud.
The Far Eastern territories represented immense potential—vast lands rich in resources, though poorly secured. Through Vladivostok, we could engage in free trade with America, and already immigrants from nomadic tribes, Korea, and China were gathering. Japan's payment could serve as seed money for developing a Russian frontier, perhaps even preparing for the later Russo-Japanese conflict.
"Your Highness? Are you listening?" Tolstoy's voice cut through my thoughts. "Regarding relief work—we must act before famine strikes. We must organize purchases and select regions now for maximum efficiency!"
"Yes, of course," I replied automatically.
This famine wouldn't reach the catastrophic levels of certain other nations' disasters. If it had, the Russian Empire would have suffered far more than hundreds of thousands of casualties. Nevertheless, it would crack the autocratic foundation my father had built.
"The communists will begin their burning exactly from this time," I realized.
If I invested in militarizing the Far East, communist terrorism would only intensify. Yet if I directed everything toward relief, I would merely delay the empire's collapse by days.
A compromise, then.
"Count, I've been thinking about migration."
"Migration?" Tolstoy frowned.
"Relief in severely affected areas is good, but what about accepting migrants to the Far East? With a year's support included."
"To that distant land?" Tolstoy seemed skeptical.
We already welcomed immigrants there, offering three desiatinas of land (nearly 30,000 square meters) and tax exemption regardless of nationality. But most who came were Asians, with few Slavic settlers.
If we could transplant Slavic people eastward, the region would essentially become mine personally.
"Your Highness, that doesn't align with relief purposes," Tolstoy objected. "Starving people need bread, not new land. And the cost—"
"Twenty-six point five million dollars," I stated firmly.
Why wait for installments? Begin ambitiously.
"The money from Japan," I explained.
"In rubles—" Tolstoy began calculating.
"Roughly thirty-five million. More considering some will arrive as gold."
The silver-backed ruble was weak against gold, making foreign currency sometimes more valuable within the empire.
"Wouldn't that make migration feasible?" I pressed.
"Did you truly receive so much?" Tolstoy appeared stunned.
"Not yet. But over four years."
At this point, I was confident the payments would arrive.
"Things have become quite significant, haven't they?" I observed.
"Ce-certainly..." Tolstoy stammered.
"Too complex to discuss here. Please send your famine region materials."
Tolstoy's expression suggested a growing headache. Mine threatened to explode as well.
I had proposed something monumental without certainty it would succeed, or whether my influence in the Far East would grow as intended even if it did. Nevertheless, I knew exactly who could execute such a plan.
After Tolstoy departed in a daze, I changed clothes immediately. Despite my humanities background as a history graduate, I needed a scientific mind now.
It was time to meet the man who could make this happen.
Why wasn't the Russian Empire's decline visible externally?
Frankly, my father's domestic policies had been disastrous. They were restrictive and oppressive, epitomized by the Okhrana under the Interior Ministry—the symbol of political counter-reform.
Established to crush left-wing revolutionaries upon his ascension, the Okhrana had spent years eliminating urban leftists. Logic dictated it should have disbanded after completing its mission.
Instead, it grew more powerful despite the absence of revolutionaries.
Born from my father's rage upon taking the throne in '81, the organization had transformed into a tool for expanding Interior Ministry authority. Now, unsatisfied with targeting just the left wing, it pressured even local governments under the pretext of fighting corruption.
My grandfather, Alexander II, had created regional elected governments (Zemstvos) and city councils (Dumas)—institutions crucial for vast Russia. He guaranteed press freedom to combat corruption, recognizing the impossibility of monitoring numerous regions.
The results were remarkable: decreased corruption, increased tax revenue, exploding infrastructure development, and properly implemented primary education.
My father had castrated this press function.
He crushed anti-government publications using the Okhrana and arrested anyone who threatened national unity. Where my grandfather reformed, my father counter-reformed. Grandfather championed autonomy and freedom; father demanded unity and obedience.
He revived religious censorship, promoted anti-Semitism, persecuted non-Russians, suppressed university autonomy, implemented nationalist policies, cut military and civil servant wages, increased taxes on nobility, prohibited luxury culture—the list went on.
I understood partially. Grandfather's reforms had ultimately caused his death. Still, father's power consolidation seemed excessive. As opponents of the Tsar's authority disappeared daily, pressure within this giant empire grew, threatening to explode anywhere, anytime.
So why did Russia appear to grow externally rather than decline?
"Your Highness Crown Prince," came a voice, answering my question.
"I hope I'm not wasting the Finance Minister's valuable time," I said.
"Your Highness, I am not the Finance Minister."
"Since you'll assume the position next year, let's not split hairs."
If our neighbors had Bismarck, we had someone who operated above Bismarck's level.
The Railway Minister who would become Finance Minister next year at just forty-three, attempting to awaken slumbering Russia. His power derived solely from the Tsar, not from status, faction, or background. His civil service capabilities were unquestioned, and his knowledge of physics, mathematics, development, and invention was brilliant.
I explained the connection between this year's poor harvest and Far East development, sharing Tolstoy's visit as well. The minister fell into prolonged thought.
"Since no immediate budget allocation is needed, there's no great burden," I argued. "It's a temporary policy lasting three years at most. Haven't we been developing the Far East since grandfather's time anyway?"
"Your Highness, do you understand what populating the Far East means?" he asked gravely.
Was there some special significance? I simply wanted to make it truly Russian territory, a habitable place rather than neglected land. Using my personal funds, no less.
"As the Far Eastern population grows, we must station more military personnel. We must dispatch administrators and manage ethnic conflicts. Diplomatic friction will increase, and since the region barely generates tax revenue, the deficit will grow exponentially."
"Ah..." I faltered.
"The empire continues gradual reform by carefully allocating limited resources. Now you propose pouring more national power into the Far East? To accommodate Count Tolstoy? Your Highness, is that land truly worth such investment? Do we have compelling reasons to proceed?"
Though momentarily unsettled by Finance Minister Witte's almost pleading questions, this wasn't a proposal I'd made lightly.
"Finance Minister Sergei Witte, Far East development is as crucial as reform."
"Development won't be delayed if we wait for the Trans-Siberian Railway's completion. That would be the appropriate time."
"Yes, I agree. Developing such vast territory without rails is inefficient. We should build internal strength and expand influence after completing the transcontinental railway. But..."
Four years planned for the Amur River section. At least eleven years for the Lake Baikal southern bypass. Approximately twenty-five years at current rates for a single track.
"I cannot wait that long," I declared.
"Your Highness..." Witte's voice betrayed concern.
The world wouldn't wait for us to complete thousands of kilometers of railway track.